General Crazy

It seems everyone’s up in arms about the two men whose union was blessed in a London church this week.  This thought from the BBC is the most accessible defense of gay marriage I have seen yet to date.

Heather’s been after me to write something about General Convention ever since I was elected to be a deputy from Eastern Michigan. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to describe General Convention in a way that isn’t insufferably boring. I’m not sure it can be done. I thought about trying to write a haiku to capture the zen of it, but it turns out the classic poetry formula of 5-7-5 syllables is just too orderly for a messy thing like church government. 

Now, don’t get me wrong. General Convention, by all accounts, is far from boring. It’s just that describing a legislative body that’s too big, too polarized, and older than the Library of Congress in any succinct way is just too difficult for me. But I’m going to give it a shot anyway: imagine if the Daughters of the Confederacy, the ACLU, the 700 Club, and PFLAG all got together and threw a party in the same convention center. That’s kind of what General Convention is like, because it’s a representative body of The Episcopal Church. Southern aristocrats, Northeastern liberals, Heartland conservatives, and California gays all trying to discern the will of God for the church while keeping an eye on their respective agendas. Oh yes, politics is involved. Whenever human beings try to agree on something in a group, politics is involved. “Politics; the art of the possible” (Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, Evita) 

If that’s not descriptive enough, here are some facts. General Convention is the highest decision-making body in The Episcopal Church. It meets once every three years for about two weeks. General Convention has the authority to do things like authorize new prayer books, permit ordination of women to the priesthood, and confirm the election of openly non-celibate gay bishops, to name just a few of the more fun items you might not have heard of. There are two divisions of the Convention: the House of Bishops, and the House of Deputies. Does this bicameral organization remind you of anything else excessively large, expensive, and self-important? I thought so. Many of the founders of our nation were Episcopalians, and it is believed that while they were creating Congress during the day, they created General Convention in the evening. And there was evening, and there was morning, the eighth day.  

The House of Bishops is made of up, well, bishops. You have to be a bishop with jurisdiction to be in this one. So don’t get your hopes up too high. They all get in (well, except if they’ve been deposed, inhibited, or otherwise snubbed by everyone else). The House of Deputies is made up of four lay people and four ordained people from each diocese (110 or so, depending on if you’re bff with Greg Venables – more on that in another post). Altogether that’s about 1100 people trying to do the business of the church. So yeah, it’s a riot! 

Meetings of the Convention have been described as a professional basketball game, requiring skilled players who can keep up with the fast pace. The days begin with committee work at 7:30am and many days do not end until 10:00pm with special events or legislative sessions. Hundreds of resolutions, elections, and decisions will be voted on during Convention; few will make sense to anyone but the associated committees. The two houses meet separately, but the final legislation must be passed in identical form by both houses. Interesting point: deputies are not “delegates”. They are not elected to serve the interests of or represent the members of their home dioceses. They are elected to serve the whole church. They must do their very best to prayerfully vote as they believe the Holy Spirit leads them. Bishops are also elected and ordained to do the same, but the context of their ministry is in the whole church, rather than just meetings of the General Convention. The next General Convention will be held in 2009 in Anaheim, California. 

Resolute, we vote,

Someone’s bound to demonstrate;

Disney, here we come!

I did it!

I was compelled to respond to this post at Episcopal Cafe.

I am a cradle Episcopalian.  Four generations ago my great-grandfather, an ordained Methodist pastor, chose to join Christ Episcopal Church in Owosso, Michigan.  He and my great-grandmother raised their children as Episcopalians, as did my grandmother and grandfather, as did my mother.  As a while male who grew up in the Midwest with no particular ethnic heritage, I often refer to the Episcopal Church as my ethnicity.  I shan’t try to define ethnicity in any useful way, but for me, many of the ethnological characteristics of my personality and identity are quite clearly the result of four generations of Episcopal upbringing.

Much the same way that third and fourth-generation children of immigrants will grow up entirely American absent the intentional preservation of homeland culture, I too have grown up with no real sense of spiritual history in any other tradition.  Luckily, I have some very close friends and cousins who have other tradition histories, so throughout my childhood and adolescence I was exposed to different churches and ecclesiastical cultures.  As a young adult I learned from personal experience and from classroom training about the richness and diversity of Christian denominational history in America and about the vast systems of belief that have existed throughout the world from pre-history until today. 

My rector recently commented that I am the epitome of an Episcopalian.  I didn’t agree with her at first, and now I think there are morsels of truth in that comment.  My initial reaction is related to the first sentence of this piece.  Cradle Episcopalians are not in the majority of our churches any more.  The realization of that truth sometimes gives us “cradles” over to feelings of invasion and a sense of erosion of cherished traditions.  We see it over and over again: “newbies” show up, fall in love with our liturgy, our pageantry, our connection to ages of Christians through the apostolic succession, and they want to change it – some of them even get ordained.  They have ideas and experiences from their previous spiritual homes (or secular homes) and they want to make things better.  The cradles’ response is to affirm that our tradition is wonderful and of course others would be drawn to it, but if that’s what they’re drawn to, why do they want to change it?  We sometimes forget that by allowing others to have agency in a system, they take ownership and are more likely stay invested.  But we have an emotional reaction to the rearrangement of furniture, to the reorganization of a prayer book, to the different faces wearing collars on Sunday morning and we say “no”.  These changes represent “them” messing with the fundamentals of our identity.  So we fight back, create barriers, run them off, and lament the empty pews.  Even with a progressive theological, social, and political outlook, I am as guilty as anyone in this.  Don’t move my pew!

I mentioned morsels of truth, and they do exist.  Many examples abound.  I am the epitome of propriety and correct church behavior.  I know how to conduct myself at worship and during fellowship and service.  I can recite all the creeds without looking.  I know that the service of Holy Eucharist, Rite II, begins on page 355 of the Book of Common Prayer; the spine of my BCP is permanently creased at that page.  I know the difference between a tabernacle and an aumbry, and I think you should, too.

Those things are somewhat inconsequential and potentially divisive, but they were bred into me; I cannot cast them aside.  I call upon others to recognize that if I’m not always as accommodating of innovation as I could be.  Some of those pieces point to the unique richness of substance and depth of spiritual wealth that the Episcopal Church offers.  I don’t want to ever deny them.  However, I try to mitigate the divisive pieces by being as friendly and welcoming as I can be.  I recognize feelings of grief and loss when things are changed, and I try to work through them if the changes bring about goodness and peace.  I think that I have been successful at supporting and championing those things that are good, and at providing some comfort when the changes are just too hard for my fellow cradles to bear.  If the Episcopal Church is about reconciliation in the world, then I hope I’m playing my small part.

Today, I was putting away some dishes and cooking utensils, and I noticed that I keep things in the same places that my mother and grandmother kept them in their kitchens.  I also noticed that they are not often kept in the most convenient place, or the place that has enough room for them, or any other logical location.  I think part of it is a subconscious choice; I just go to the place that I’ve always gone all my life if I want a measuring cup. 

What I find charming about this practice is that I’m pretty sure it’s hardwired into my psyche by my church tradition.  Liturgical Christians find meaning in ritual and repetition.  I go to church (almost) every week and participate in worship that follows roughly the same structure and themes every time.  It is cyclical (repetition), and while we infuse it with new and relevant music and language, every year I can count on the same structure holding me up as I live my life’s journey.  I inherited this tradition from my mother and grandmother in the same way as I inherited the need to store measuring cups above the stove.   Measuring cups aren’t really spiritual items inherently, but my religious practice of keeping them in the same location in every home I’ve had kind of flips the “spiritual, but not religious” theme that people like to adopt for themselves. 

How would a measuring cup become a spiritual object?  As I learn to cook more, I get a lot of enjoyment out of sharing the product of my efforts with others, and as a single person, I don’t get to do that everyday.  Table fellowship is another spiritual practice that comes naturally to liturgists.  The repast that will follow may be wonderful and delicious, but the real reason is to bring people together.  I think the Eucharist is like that.  We eat a simple meal together, but what we’re actually eating is not really the focus.  We are spending time together as the body of Christ, being nourished and strengthened by good things. 

My measuring cup, depending on the intent of my heart, can be a paten or a chalice.  It can be just a measuring cup, but wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was always a chalice?  Thanks be to God for every time that it is.

I found a story on NPR about Jeff Deck, a man I consider to be my hero.  This is a man, so distraught at the sight of misspelled words that he’s launched a crusade to search out and correct typos wherever they hide.  I think the fact that he’s calling them “typos” is telling of the generosity with which he is approaching this task.  If I were in his shoes, I’m sure I’d be less kind.  I’d probably denounce the so-called “typos” in my oh-so-special way as the result of poor attention to detail, shoddy work, or something of that ilk. 

I don’t know how to spell that.  It’s chicken fat.  It’s Yiddish.  It’s really good.  It was all over my kitchen last night.  I decided to roast a whole chicken for the first time.  I ended up very tired but very satisfied.  I invite you to roast your own chickens at this time. 

If we confess our sins, aren’t we just making room for more?

The rector asked me to write something for the next newsletter about what it means to be a deputy to General Convention.  My first response was that I don’t even know myself. 

The part that’s going to shock some folks is that deputies are not representatives.  I think that’s somehow implied in the word, “deputy”.  As a deputy I must vote my conscience with the well-being of the entire Church in mind.  I’m not voting on behalf of my parish, my convocation, or even my diocese.  That means some of my votes may not reflect the feelings of my diocese in general.  Likely some of my votes will definitely displease some in my parish.  I’m just one person, after all.

Bonnie Anderson, President of the House of Deputies, wrote recently,

“Most importantly, it is our primary responsibility as deputies to watch for, to expect, to pray for, and to be open to the Holy Spirit.  God guides and governs church affairs.  To this end, the Holy Spirit dwells in the church and presides in its councils.  What a council seeks to understand, by its debates and votes, is not the mind of the majority of its church members, but the mind of the Spirit.”

I think that sums it up much better than I ever could.

I’ve never been good about the tithe.  I want to blame it on my parents, who provided no example whatsoever of charitable giving.  But I’m a grownup now, and I know better.  Last year was my worst in some time.  I had lots of excuses, but that’s all they were. 

I’m doing better this year.  I hope to keep it up.