Essay

Learning from the Episcopalian Experience

By offering theological and liturgical novelties,, or even by failing to curb those who do so, religious leaders can deprive ordinary lay people of a crucial sense of certainty.

By Donald D. Hook

How is it possible that a cleric can publicly poke fun at his own religion, and mock the faith professed by his own denomination, without being held accountable?

It seems that the people of the church--clergy and laity alike--are either too uninformed to recognize the purveyors of heresy and blasphemy; or too apathetic to take an interest; or too intimidated to mount any resistance.

A Catholic pastor proclaimed that he "didn't want to know about all the problems in the Church."

Nor does any bishop have the right to wreak havoc on the faith of his flock, no matter what his own disbelief entails, his ego directs, his pocketbook urges, or his rational approach dictates.

If the world remains worldly and religion accommodates itself to the world, that is change. But it is also change if religion remains unchanged and the world accommodates itself to religion.

As recent converts to Catholicism from Anglicanism-gone-secular, my wife and I are still, by habit, on the lookout for signs of apostasy and for ways to warn our fellow Catholics of impending danger, which might be caused by disregard of dogma and discipline or by constant and often irresponsible tampering with the liturgy. As a retired professor of linguistics, I have continued to produce scholarly articles on theolinguistics in response to the radical feminist attempts to rewrite scripture, doctrine, and liturgy for political purposes. And as an informed, practicing Catholic I exercise my right and responsibility to question innovations of belief and practice. Even the Catholic Theological Society of America (CTSA) has pointed out the inseparability of theology and liturgy, including the connection between "inclusive language" and the ordination of women. The principle still stands: Lex orandi, lex credendi.

The (Protestant) Episcopal Church in the United States (PECUSA) has just completed the process of self-destruction at its most recent triennial general convention, held in Philadelphia during July 1997. Leading up to this final death knell there was a long series of changes that began with the unpopular replacement of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer with the doctrinally suspect 1979 version. This was followed by the legalization of the non-canonical ordination of women, the promotion of all homosexual initiatives, the exclusive of traditionalists in a number of ways, and jettisoning of the principle of apostolic succession. There have been other less obvious contributing factors in this progression, of course, such as the mounting number of scandals involving the sexual, marital, and financial indiscretions of members of the clergy.

If any of the above sounds familiar to Roman Catholics, let me assure readers that there are indeed many similarities in both the destructive actions that are being taken and the legitimate concerns that they arouse. Because of the origin of Anglicanism out of Catholicism, what was and is of prime importance, doctrinally and liturgically, to Catholics and Anglicans alike, may seem unimportant or unnecessary to members of other Christian communions. However, that is precisely why the fate of the autonomous PECUSA-- which has so strongly influenced the entire Anglican communion, and will in all likelihood bring out its eventual transformation--provides us Catholics with a horrendous model of what can go wrong when the shepherds of the Church no longer themselves believe or endeavor to promote belief among their flocks.

One example should be sufficient to make the point.

It was reported in December 1995 that in a public address, the Episcopal Bishop of Newark, New Jersey, John Shelby Spong, had ridiculed (among other things) the veracity of the story of Christ's nativity, and put down the Decalogue as "immoral" because he was sure women were designated therein as chattel. According to a supporter, Spong and the audience--which consisted largely of homosexuals of both sexes--enjoyed themselves immensely throughout the bishop's remarks. The connection between tolerance for--or promotion of--homosexuality and the deconstruction of Christian beliefs was not made explicit in Spong's presentation, but uncloseted homosexuals presumably make up a portion of the group which he mentioned in his book Resurrection: Myth or Reality? "who find themselves alienated from institutional forms of religion," and who therefore require a non-dogmatic church.

Disregarding Bishop Spong's well-known flair for the dramatic and the startling, and assuming that there is a bottom level of utter seriousness beneath his public humor, one might well ask what exactly is going on when he seems to deny the Virgin Birth and the Resurrection. How is it possible that a cleric who tests Christian doctrines in the crucible of science and reason can publicly poke fun at his own religion, and mock the faith professed by his own denomination, without being held accountable by the adherents of that faith? Why have not his brother (and now sister) bishops taken him to task for heresy again? Just how much provocation does Bishop Spong have to offer before Episcopalians challenge him? After all, this one address was not unique; he has written and said as much before. Yet the response from all quarters seems to be, for the most part, silence.

Furthermore, where are those earnest advocates of "politically-correct" behavior, who are always so quick to protect other racial and religious groups from any form of mere innuendo--to say nothing of persiflage, mockery, and insult? Where are the philosophers and academics who ought to point out that Spong, even at his most serious level of argument, presents no new scholarly insights into Christianity--as Spong himself has admitted--but instead a kind of latter-day, well-heeled Enlightenment outlook, in which his scientific God is juxtaposed against a more popular God in the popular imagination? Where is the pastoral attitude theoretically attributed to bishops, who allow the faithful to hear these insidious theories without issuing their own public protests and corrections? Why does Spong seem to lack compassion and understanding from traditionalists within the Episcopalian ranks, or even from plain ordinary churchgoers? Many people are now belatedly asking how he dare attempt to destroy that sense of certainty on which faithful Christians depend for their inner comfort.

In all fairness, it should be said that various possible answers come to mind, including the possibility that Bishop Spong has been badly misunderstood and that the Christianity he proposes is the only viable version--or, of course, that what he writes and says in intentionally and aggressively intended as an attack on orthodox belief. If Spong did actually and purposefully ridicule the basic tenets of Christianity, then he is gravely at fault. If his research has led him to make a non-literal assessment of the Gospel, that is another matter; after all, few scholars deny the inadequacy of literal interpretations of biblical and traditional sources. But what is at issue here is not merely a question of scholarly style. The more serious point is that Bishop Spong is acting as a public iconoclast, because such behavior is utterly at variance with the pastoral duty of the bishop.

So again, how is it possible for Bishop Spong to act this way, with apparent impunity? The more obvious answer seems to be that the people of the church--clergy and laity alike, except for those who agree entirely with Spong--are either too uninformed to recognize the purveyors of heresy and blasphemy; or too apathetic to take an interest; or too intimidated to mount any resistance. In my own experience, I have seen examples of people who fall into each of these categories.

More than thirty years after first reading Pierre Berton's famous assault on the Anglican Church of Canada, The Comfortable Pew, I re-read the book and published an article outlining how the many ominous predictions in that book had come true in both Canada and the United States. In the course of preparing that article I talked to the author about some of the causes of those tragic changes. When I mentioned Bishop Spong, comparing him with the notorious former Episcopal Bishop of California, James Pike, Baton asked: "And who, pray tell, is Bishop Spong?" Decades ago, when Pike was at the height of his mischief, I had heard the same question asked with reference to him.

In 1994 my wife received a similar inquiry about Bishop Spong's identity from two women in our former Episcopalian parish in Connecticut--who then underlined the problem by asking who was the current presiding bishop. Such ignorance was little wonder, I suppose, since the rector of that parish had once told us that he did not "care what happened, he [was] just going to hunker down and wait out the chaos and, in the meantime, keep the parish as uninformed as possible." A former Catholic pastor took a similar approach, he proclaimed that he "didn't want to know about all the problems in the Church." Unfortunately, the reaction to controversy that is manifest in the reaction of these priests is not all that unusual.

It is safe to say that most people in most American parishes do not know the identity of the strange doctrines and liturgical innovations that are being introduced into Catholic circles today. For example, how many Catholics could identify Cardinal Roger Mahony as the prelate who proposed the "ideal liturgy," which in fact represents a dramatic break with many aspects of the Catholic tradition of worship? How many are familiar with the failed efforts led by Bishop Donald Trautman to promote a gender-free Lectionary in English? How many know who Archbishop Rembert Weakland is, and what he has been doing in Milwaukee? How many have heard of a "rave" Mass, or a polka Mass? How many Catholics even know what "inclusive language" is supposed to be? Judging from the puzzled expressions on the faces of my students and fellow teachers alike when I mentioned the term during religious-education classes for adults--not to mention the poll conducted earlier this year by Catholic World Report--it seems that hardly anyone is paying attention to the debate.

People in a variety of parishes have told me explicitly that they cannot be concerned abut what is happening outside the security of their own local church. It may be that these clerics and lay people whose religious world is circumscribed by their own parish really do represent Everyman. If that is the case, then the nature of Christian belief is bound to change.

There are at least a few issues which predictably stir up some members of the complacent faithful. Hundreds of thousands of Episcopalians are still disturbed by the dumping of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer and the mandatory use of the 1979 version, and by the threat of yet another new prayer book on the horizon, not to speak of all the liturgical aberrations that have been introduced in the intervening years. Despite the rulings of the general convention--which gave what looked like a definitive endorsement--the issue of women's ordination is still far from dead. Still, when even more devastating liberties are taken with Episcopalians' basic beliefs--by their bishops, the very shepherds who are sworn to guard the faith--perhaps it is not surprising that the reaction is to circle the wagons in one's own churchyard, and refuse to see or hear the evil that is afoot outside.

Is this the future of American Catholicism? Let us fervently hope that it is not.

All aspects of culture, including religion, are fragile, and must be protected through the preservation of key beliefs and rituals. That sense of certainty to which I alluded above is a necessary component of a healthy religious life. No single bishop in the PECUSA or in the Catholic Church constitutes a magisterium. Nor does any bishop have the right to wreak havoc on the faith of his flock, no matter what his own disbelief entails, his ego directs, his pocketbook urges, or his rational approach dictates. By definition, faith is bereft of intellectual irrrefragability; it is, rather, a leap into the unknown hoped-for, an act of will. Allowing for the grace of God, it is not a sudden disclosure but the result of an effort.

In the June 1994 issue of his diocesan newspaper Voice (in an article in which he also complained about white racism, people who withhold their money from the church, and the suggestion that homosexuals must "wait before being seated at God's table"), Bishop Spong in effect challenged those fearful and/or indifferent Episcopalians of whom we spoke above, saying: "I see no truth at the heart of this church for which it is willing to die." He went on to say, "An irrelevant church will die of boredom long before a controversial church will die from defections." He may be right; time will tell.

But does it follow that controversy is essential to the health of the faith? We hear often from bishops that religion must continually change, be "purified," "brought up to date," and "made relevant," lest it become impractical, uncertain, or even obsolete. The confusion in that idea lies with the concept of change, which represents nothing more than the differential between religion and the secular world. If the world remains worldly and religion accommodates itself to the world, that is change. But it is also change if religion remains unchanged in its basic precepts, and the world accommodates itself to religion. Both approaches are dynamic, but the second is based on that beneficial sense of certainty which is so necessary to inner peace.

Then why do bishops not use the massive accumulation of biblical, medical, and psychological evidence which so convincingly demonstrates that dependable religious faith, based on time-honored truths, has the power to strengthen, sustain, and comfort? Why do they not loudly contend that homosexuality is far from an "alternative lifestyle," but rather an addictive, compulsive, and lethal disorder which can often be cured? Why have some Protestant diocesan conventions and assemblies refused to proclaim categorically their allegiance to Jesus Christ? Why do some Catholic bishops (not to mention lay people) resist the "uncomfortable" elements of the Catechism and the pronouncements of the Holy Father? The answer, according to one priest of my acquaintance, is that "they simply do not believe either in Christ on in their Church." To be sure one can applaud the honesty of one who, having no faith, does not pretend to have such faith. But one wonders why that same "honesty" does not compel them to resign their priestly ministry.

The Episcopal Church once took pride in being the church of thinkers, concerned with discovering and upholding the Truth. The Catholic Church has always officially designated herself as the sure source of ultimate Christian truth. Why, then, would not both communions be vitally interested in that certainty of belief found in Scripture and tradition--especially insofar as the belief is confirmed by science? What leads any bishop to the conclusion that a non-literal, largely mythological, midrash-based, protestantized, individually interpreted biography of Christ offers any more certainty than the traditional Gospel version?

Moreover, it is crucial to remember that faith does not require proof or evidence of a logical, step-by-step intellectual approach. As Voltaire said, faith "consists in believing when it is beyond the power of reason to believe." Or as Robert Browning wrote, "Tis well averred/A scientific faith's absurd." John Updike, in his In the Beauty of the Lilies, has the Presbyterian moderator Dreaver say to the disillusioned young minister Clarence Wilmot: "Unfaith is a cohort of faith, as Satan is a cohort of God. It is the shadow that shapes the truth into form, the No that must be said, so that Yea can ring out."

Do Bishop Spong and his followers not realize that rationalism has its limits, and is helpless to deal with the aspects of Christianity which require the grace of faith? The Creation narrative in Genesis, the workings of the Trinity, the Virgin Birth, and the Resurrection of Christ all belong to the category of the mysterium, of a realm "beyond thought," containing a difference: a mystery. Such a mysterium allows the recognition that even dogma requires interpretation according to the language and sociology of the times, but it does not accept a relativism that makes truth changeable and indeterminate. A bishop speaking and writing in his episcopal role must be careful that nothing he pronounces with regard to faith and morals is substantially at variance with the mind of the Church, lest he confuse, demoralize, or drive away those among his people who are least intellectually equipped to withstand such suggestions, or break the bonds of collegiality, or forsake his own episcopal oaths. Moreover, any bishop who witnesses such behavior and fails to take his colleague to task is equally culpable. Quamvis acerbus qui monet nulli vocet: The warning voice, however sharp, harms no one.

Donald D. Hook, a retired professor of linguistics and German and a member of the Fellowship of Catholic Scholars, writes from Delaware.