Hidden Lessons from General Convention

I’m profoundly disappointed. So, it seems, is just about everyone else. And maybe that’s the single best thing to come out of the Episcopal Church’s General Convention.

After days of discussion, the convention passed Resolution B033, which calls for restraint in consecrating bishops “whose manner of life presents a challenge to the wider church.” That “wider church,” in the form of the Windsor Report, had called for an outright moratorium on the consecration of gay and lesbian bishops.

“Liberals,” like me, are disappointed that it’s a step back from full inclusion of gays and lesbians in the church. “Conservatives” complain that it leaves too much room for the church to go forward in ordaining gays and lesbians.

Do I detect the aroma of the will of God in here?

Might it be a stroke of divine brilliance to allow passage of a resolution that ticks everyone off? Might God be using that disappointment and anger to give us a jolt, force us out of our own heads, and consider new ways to be the worldwide church?

Maybe it’s just me. This morning, mulling over my own disappointment, I realized that I’ve become too attached to the results of this Convention. It’s taken over too much of my thought life, as though the entirety of human history depended on its outcome. And though I have prayed for God’s wisdom to prevail, I ended up surprised when that wisdom turned out so much different from anything I had thought.

Maybe what I’m saying, bottom line, is that I didn’t quite let God be God enough.

Please don’t get me wrong. The issues considered at General Convention are very important. They touch on things at the heart of our faith: issues of justice, of mercy, of just how you interpret Scripture, of how we can disagree and still be the church.

That last part is important, because technically, as of right now, we’re still all related to one another, church-wise. And because of that, we have to keep talking—and listening—to those we so deeply disagree with. It’s such hard work. It hurts like hell sometimes. But I really think that dialogue, and prayer, will be the only things that see us through.

Gays and the Episcopal Church

Since this week’s Episcopal General Convention is deliberating the issues that have roiled its “parent” body, the Anglican Communion, I figured it was high time to read the Windsor Report. This report looks at the recent controversy over gay union and consecration—specifically, what it’s done to the worldwide church’s unity-in-diversity—and recommends a course of action for healing. I found it a mature, nuanced, thoughtful document, and maybe it provides a basis for all of us, pro- and anti-gay consecration, to go forward together.

What really grabbed my attention, however, was Paragraph 135 of the report:

We particularly request a contribution from the Episcopal Church (USA) which explains, from within the sources of authority that we as Anglicans have received in scripture, the apostolic tradition and reasoned reflection, how a person living in a same gender union may be considered eligible to lead the flock of Christ.

OK, I’m Episcopalian. I believe in the validity of Gene Robinson’s ordination. And I’m just nervy enough to think my perspective counts. So here goes:

1. So much of this comes down to how you read the Bible. Many believers read it literally and ahistorically: that is, every word (by and large) is not only true, but also meant to apply to all believers at all times. These are good people, and their faith is genuine. But once you dig deeper into this approach, you run into trouble—and the controversy over homosexuality is an ideal example.
2. In the entire Bible, there are perhaps five to seven isolated passages (or individual verses) that touch on homosexuality. Two of them—the creation story and the Sodom/Gomorrah story—can support a wide range of interpretations, not just a condemnation of homosexuality. The two condemnations in the Jewish law are clear enough; however, if we take the Jewish law literally, as applying to us, we also need to exclude people with disabilities from worship and stop wearing polyester blends. St. Paul condemns homosexuality twice, and I’ll admit that his passages give me a bit more trouble. But it’s interesting to note that he mentions the issue almost in passing.
3. On the other side of the scales, the Bible as a whole repeatedly speaks to the value of mercy. “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” “Love one another as I have loved you.” For all God’s Old Testament punishments, ultimately his orientation is one of love, restoration, healing. And even those punishments tell us something here: God directs so much more of his anger and grief to injustice, ill treatment of the poor, and worship of other gods than to sex in general, let alone homosexuality.
4. What does this emphasis mean? To be sure, we as believers cannot tolerate certain behaviors, but right now we’re focusing on the wrong ones. Far better to speak prophetically to, say, the rising gap between rich and poor, the world’s all too frequent genocides, the abuse of children, and our obsession with celebrity and consumer culture. On the mercy side, we ought to be trying to see just how big a tent we can make our faith. Why not err on the side of acceptance, rather than exclusion?
5. Now let’s turn to reasoned reflection. The evils that I’ve just described have something in common: they clearly serve to dehumanize those made in God’s image. A reverence for materialism, for instance, completely neglects the rich spirituality inside all of us; as that spirituality withers, our capacity for mercy and cooperation evaporates. Child abuse and the others are obvious in their maltreatment of human beings. Now let me pose this question: how does a loving, committed, monogamous relationship between two people of the same gender inflict dehumanization? Based on the gay couples I’ve known, I just don’t see it; if anything, they elevate the humanity of each other and those around them.
6. To show mercy, display commitment, and elevate the humanity of those around you: aren’t those precisely the type of qualities we want in any clergy person, especially a bishop? Don’t they qualify such a person, regardless of sexual orientation, to lead the flock of Christ?
   

Let me make it clear: I am exactly one person, with exactly one voice. So there’s every chance I’m all wet in some part of this or another. But this is intended, not to be the final word by any means, but to contribute one small strand to the dialogue that will fashion our response to the Windsor Report. May it help to bring healing to our brothers and sisters worldwide.

Loving Those We Have Seen

It’s funny how you can hear the same Scripture passage for years, and then one day it reveals a completely different insight. The readings from a few Sundays ago included this snippet from 1 John:

“If we do not love others whom we have seen, how can we claim to love God whom we have not seen?”

When I heard the verse read out loud, it suddenly struck me as backwards—and I realized that I’ve come to consider loving God as the easier of the two. God is gentle, loving, perfect: someone, in short, who’s easy to love. Taken from another angle, God is invisible, so it’s easy to make of him and his will what I want. That makes for a smoother relationship.

But it’s not love.

Maybe that’s why other people are the real proving ground of love. They’re right in our face, with all their warts and imperfections and annoying habits and offensive opinions. It takes a deliberate choice, made over and over, minute by minute, to put oneself aside and love these people.

And maybe that is easier. Because with human beings, at least we’re dealing with a semi-known quantity. So if we can learn to love them in that self-denying way, maybe it’s the first step to doing the same with the utterly ineffable God: the God whose actions in the world are infinitely more bewildering and, sometimes, disheartening. To put oneself aside for that kind of God takes practice—exactly the practice we get with one another.