What’s Missing from the Anglican Picture

Like millions of others this past week, I’ve read the communiqués and missives and web postings about the latest developments in the Anglican Communion. In the process, I’ve noticed certain elements that are conspicuously absent from the war of words. See if you agree:

1. Care for those on all “sides.” The Primates’ communiqué proposes an entire structure to care for those in the U.S. Episcopal Church who do not agree with the consecration of a gay bishop. To the extent that they need such care, maybe this is a good thing. But there’s not a word about those who welcome GLBT (gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered) people in positions of authority. They are no less in need of care, especially in the face of hostility from segments of the Anglican Communion worldwide. Do the Primates assume that the U.S. church’s structure will take care of them? Or is dogma getting in the way of mercy here?
2. Some explanation of what this is all about. Yes, the controversy is about the role of GLBT people in the church. Clearly, millions of people have deeply held beliefs about this. But people believe things for reasons. And those reasons do not always involve power or control or homophobia or a desire to “get with the times” or the pernicious influence of worldly values. At bottom, I can’t shake the belief that it all comes down to your beliefs about the Bible. Literal truth? Inspired (but sometimes fallible) guide? A book by God or about God? I don’t think we will get anywhere unless we explore the roots of this conflict—and have that debate—in greater depth. Which brings me to:
3. Honest dialogue. From what I’ve read, most people on every “side” have now given up on dialogue. I see no mention of it in the communiqué, and very little to commend it elsewhere. The only person who seems to be discussing it is the Presiding Bishop, bless her heart.
   

This last point is particularly worrisome—and not just for the Anglican Communion. The state of honest dialogue, at least in U.S. society, is appalling. People don’t talk; they scream. And they sure as hell don’t listen. I’ve always thought one of the Anglican Communion’s great witnesses to the world has been its reflective, deliberative approach to issues, discussing them in an atmosphere of mutual respect. If we have lost the ability to talk, how on earth can we help the rest of society get its house in order?

We may never agree. But at least we can talk. All it takes is the willingness to start.

When the Bible Offends

“‘Cretans are always liars, vicious brutes, lazy gluttons.’” (Titus 1:12)

Holy cow. Talk about offensive.

This verse, part of the liturgical readings for Episcopalians yesterday, certainly disrupts the sweet rhythm of worship, to say the least. And it’s not the only one. The entire Bible is dotted with verses and passages that make one cringe. Take the second half of Psalm 149 (an approval of vengeance), or Exodus 4:24 (where God tries to kill Moses for no apparent reason), or Psalm 137:9 (which I can’t even bring myself to type).

What do we do with these? Do we pray them in the liturgy? Can we draw anything from them?

Accepting them as literal truth, let alone as prescriptive truth, is clearly not an option. The other extreme—rejecting them out of hand—is certainly attractive. Perhaps, though, it’s not the best.

Take the verse from Titus, which I wrestled with this morning. In the context, the apostle Paul is advising his young disciple on selecting leaders for the church in Crete and helping church members grow spiritually. In his description of Cretans, here and in other verses, I think he’s trying to set a sociological context for the direction Titus needs to take: “Because Cretan culture is like this, and these people have grown up in the culture, here are the steps that might be most effective in helping them grow.”

The way he says it, of course, would be condemned today, and rightly so. So would his use of gross generalization. But after wrestling with the passage, I take the lesson that when fostering someone’s spiritual growth, it helps to take the whole person into context—including the sociological air they’ve breathed.

Exegetical sleight of hand? Maybe; I’m no scholar. The point, though, is that the truth of hard passages just might come forth in the wrestling. After doing so, you may still think a particular verse or passage should be expunged from the scriptures. But by wrestling with it, at least you’ve tried to wring some truth out of it.

Maybe, too, the wrestling itself hones one’s spirit and attunes it more closely to God. That in itself would make the whole exercise worthwhile.