January 21, 2005
Organize
Epiphany 3A (Mt 4.12-23)
God and the devil are walking along the road together. God sees something lying there and picks it up. The devil says, “What’s that?” God says, “It’s the truth.” The devil says, “Give it to me, and I’ll organize it.”
Today’s gospel tells the story of Jesus selecting his disciples. It’s a story of both good news and bad news. The good news is to witness the apparently willing surrender of all that these men held dear — work, family, perhaps even their lives — for the uncertainty of whatever it might mean to follow Jesus, the kind of news that might inspire and embrace us all. The bad news is to witness what are probably the first steps, albeit nascent and even unintentional, in the attempt to organize truth.
A colleague of mine once introduced himself. He said, “I am a member of no organized religion. I am an Episcopalian.” I wish this were true, but of course, it is not. Nevertheless, there is a strange and uniquely Anglican spin on the Gospel and its servant, the church, of which we might just remind ourselves from time to time. It would go something like this:
Perhaps our most important and distinguishing mark is corporate prayer, with thanksgiving (we call it Eucharist) at the center of our worship. All that we do and the way we attempt to understand what we do grows out of our corporate worship, powered by grace, implemented by faith in gratitude.
We discover God’s will for us in Scripture. But also in tradition, as says one of our prayers, “joining with the heavenly chorus, with prophets, apostles, and martyrs, and with all those in every generation who have looked to (God) in hope.” We take this Scripture and this tradition and through our rational capacities we strive to understand these things. They are brought together for us in the shape of the liturgy, the work of the people, so that we can share mutual trust with our inheritance.
We distrust judgmentalism, biblical literalism, election, predestination. These ideas lead to division, then hatred, alienation, and even killing. We embrace inclusiveness, moderation, and toleration.
We live comfortably with ambiguity and do not require certainty in all things. We argue. We fight. But then, we come together once more for Common Prayer and Eucharist. This is our way. We seem actually and rather quaintly to prefer vagueness and imprecision. We practice a generous and forgiving orthodoxy, an ordered freedom. We are the oxymoron of the ongoing Christian endeavor and view of things.
Don’t we wish. But there is hope.
For it is a model of community to which we all might well aspire. It is part of this communion’s “ordered freedom.” It is a delightfully redundant diversity with a graced pragmatism about it all. We proceed by the way of “probable persuasions.”
Frank Griswold, the presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church for whom we pray regularly, claims as his rule of life these words once spoken by a Roman Catholic archbishop from South America:
“The bishop belongs to all. Let no one be scandalized if I frequent those who are considered unworthy or sinful. Who is not a sinner? Let no one be alarmed if I am seen with compromised and dangerous people, on the left or the right. Let no one bind me to a group. My door, my heart, must be open to everyone, absolutely everyone.”
This, of course, must not only be true for our bishops, but it must also be true for ourselves and thus for the church. For it is our fear that prevents us from being such a community, not our welcome and affirmation of diversity. If I must choose, and I hope never to have to, I would choose without question an uncertain church that is loving over a loveless church that is orthodox.
So thanks for listening. Here’s a lagniappe for your trouble:
A Franciscan Blessing
May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.
May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy.
And may God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done. Amen