The muddled way of an inclusive church
I saw Episcopal Bishop V. Gene Robinson and his gay partner on "The Today Show" Tuesday morning. Frankly, I was shocked.
How long has host and interviewer Matt Lauer been losing his hair?
Seeing the Episcopal Church, the American branch of the worldwide Anglican communion, taking a risky lead on a controversial social issue barely raises an eyebrow.
Elevation of Robinson as history's first openly gay leader of any major Christian faith fits a pattern for the church from civil rights to environmental protection to the role of women in religion.
Worried about the importation of exotic animals? I am sure the Episcopal Church has a position. A weakness, however — seemingly by design — is an inability to express a coherent, consistent sense of its own religious values.
Via media — a middle way — is the intellectual and theological tradition that supposedly binds 77 million Anglicans around the globe. A middle way in this case means acknowledgment and inclusion of lesbians and gays as full, contributing members in all phases of church life.
Certainly, it's a path between the homophobic rage of those despicable folks holding signs saying "God hates Fags" and decades of denial and repression by the Catholic Church over predatory priests trying to date the boys' choir.
Essentially, the greater church knows Bishop Robinson through those who know him best, the people of New Hampshire who chose him as their leader.
I do not believe Bishop Robinson's sexuality negates his consecration or trumps his ordination and the authority to baptize, marry, bury, pray for healing or offer communion in the name of God.
I cannot cite a single biblical reference or codified position of the Anglican Church to illustrate or sustain that view. Beyond arguing that times change and the Bible is an occasionally fusty document, neither, apparently, can any church leader.
Sadly, the notion of leadership is something of a misnomer. The Episcopal Church hierarchy has a flair for skipping and fuzzing over theology en route to a political position. Church leaders end up desperately short of followers. Membership has been declining for decades, down to 2.3 million in the United States, about the size of a robust cult.
Dazed and confused, Episcopalians too often walk away in silent frustration. Some, I suspect, return to their church roots. Many have seen the Episcopal Church as a welcoming halfway house from conservative traditions or for lapsed Catholics splitting the difference with their Protestant spouses.
Others leave only to stay at home on Sunday, self exiles from a community of faith that is more likely to dismay and baffle than offend them.
I worry about the future of the church. Certainly not the church with a capital C, the one built on a foundation of rock. It's the pebbles, sand and gravel in my own denomination that cause concern.
The destructive fallout from Bishop Robinson's appointment is not the visible anger and tumult, but a quiet conclusion for many that the church is irrelevant, self-absorbed and out of touch.
As an Episcopalian, I may sniff at, and silently envy, those suburban mega-churches that pack in thousands every Sunday with user-friendly sermons on, oh, how to survive a tax audit: "WWJD, What Would Jesus Deduct?" I don't want to recline in theater-style seating watching a bouncing ball lead me through the verses of an Amy Grant song.
Green-tea spirituality that passes Jesus off as a nice man in a merlot turtleneck has zero appeal. Spare me the painfully hip: "God and Sexuality: Get in touch with your G-spot."
Here is the problem: The Episcopal Church is not good at "us against them," culture wars or absolutes. The liturgy, homilies and musical tradition can nurture a direct connection to God, but fewer people notice or care to find out.
For a church already terrible at marketing, Bishop Robinson will be hell on retention and recruiting — in large part because of the church's inability to explain itself.
In all candor, there is a wisp of selfish arrogance to some of the bishop's remarks I find infinitely more distracting than any tensions between his holy vows and his living arrangements.
A great noise will rise in the Anglican Communion over Bishop Robinson. A lot of it will sound theological but is grounded in worries about pensions and real estate.
Keep this family feud in perspective. The message not to be lost is simple: The door is open, and the table is set for all.
Lance Dickie's column appears regularly on editorial pages of The Times. His e-mail address is ldickie@seattletimes.com