Should I Leave?

Should I Leave?

A Letter from One Priest to Another

Warner White

Dear Harry,

I’ve been mulling over our phone conversation and I’ve decided to write you a letter. I want to speak as clearly, as systematically, and as theologically as I can to the question you’re asking yourself, “Should I leave my parish? Should I be seeking a new rectorship?”

What struck me most was your telling the vestry at the time they called you to be rector, “I do not want ever to be the center of controversy the way Father Jones was, and if such a time arrives, then I will leave.” I believe I understand your reasons. The parish was split apart over Father Jones. It appeared to you that very likely he should have left earlier, on his own, without being pressured into going. You vowed to yourself that you would never be the source of such discord, but today it seems that you are. You find yourself attacked by some parishioners and defended by others. You say to yourself, “Here it is. Just what I feared. I want no part of it. I will leave.”

We talked well together the other day, you and I, because we trust each other, because, despite your newness in the priesthood, you are a mature man with much experience of human nature, and because you are also humble and want to “pick my brains,” to learn from my years of experience. So here goes—let me tell you the principles of judgment I have come to and the experience that led me to them.

Principle 1:
You are a symbol to your congregation

For your congregation you are not just Harry Woolman, you are The Priest,^ⁱ you are a walking image of something deep in the human soul. To understand what is going on in a parish you must be very clear about the difference between you, the rector, as a person and you as symbol-priest.

For example, from time to time I call on someone in the hospital who is from out of town. Almost always they greet me with warmth and trust. I do very simple things for them. I enquire about their health, we talk a little, I say a prayer, I anoint them—the ordinary things that clergy do. Yet they often react with immense gratitude—and admiration for me. I swell inside, I have a sense of great power, of being bigger than life for them. I also have a sense of unreality—I’m just me, what I’ve done is very ordinary, and yet they are reacting as if it were very extraordinary.

What has happened? Is it me, Bill Hampton, they are reacting to? I think not, for the reaction is far out of proportion to what I in my real personhood have done. No. They are reacting to The Priest. What they are seeing is not me, but me-as-symbol. I feel larger than life because this person sees me as larger than life. To be a priest is to be singled out for others as a symbol of divine power and caring. Priesthood is not a property belonging to you or me; it is a clothing we put on for others.

After you have been in a parish for a while, and parishioners begin to see your humanity as well as your priesthood, you can begin to notice how at times they see other clergy differently from the way they see you. For example, have you ever felt a twinge of jealousy at the fuss and bother, the seeming excess of regard—the adoration almost—you perceive in laypersons as they prepare for the bishop’s visitation? How do you react to the admiration laypersons show for the visiting priest who has just said something you’ve been trying to tell them for years? I find myself thinking, “I know him. He’s just an ordinary guy like me. Why are they turning such cartwheels? They don’t do that for me!” They are seeing The Priest, where you and I see just another of our peers.

From time to time parents laugh telling me of ways their children confuse me with God or with Jesus. The children hear that I’m going on vacation and they ask their parents if there will be church, since “God is going away.”

We laugh. Isn’t that just like children! But down deep it’s also like adults! The priest-symbol triggers deep hopes and fears and longings. Clothed in priesthood, you and I evoke the longing for a loving parent, for the perfectly caring one who will make things all right. We evoke fears of wrath, of failing to please. We evoke deep hopes of being understood and valued by one who really matters.

Principle 2:
The priest is always the center of controversy in a parish

In a parish the priest is not only a symbol, the priest is also a human being. The priest’s mere humanity shows. The tension between these two factors, the priest as symbol and the priest as human being, is probably the most difficult problem for priests and parishes to live with. It means that at all times there are disappointed parishioners, parishioners who long deeply for The Priest, for the larger-than-life holy one of God who will rescue them, who will care for them—and what they find instead is Harry Woolman or Bill Hampton. Make no mistake—the large gap between The Priest and our personal reality is a serious scandal to many persons. They hope for much more than we are able to be for them, and their disappointment is deep.

Some parishioners never get over their disappointment. They become deeply angry at us and remain so. I have found such anger and disappointment very difficult to deal with. I have sometimes been tempted to leave a parish in order to escape it. But that’s a mistake. Only if your judgment is that your weaknesses are so severe as to invalidate your sense of call, and only if your judgment is confirmed by observers who care for you, should this be a reason for leaving.

Principle 3:
Pay attention to the character of the pastoral bond

When you and I accept a call to a parish, we and our parishioners commit ourselves to a pastoral relation. We exchange vows in a ceremony much like a wedding.

That step establishes the pastoral relation, but it is only the beginning. From that moment on what matters is the process of bonding between priest and parish. What matters is the way in which priest and parish become attached to one another in spirit, emotion, and behavioral pattern. The priest’s pastoral task in the early years is the building and nurturing of that pastoral bond.

There are several elements in the pastoral bond—trust, caring, regard, power, centering, and the like. In a healthy process of bonding these elements go through various stages until the bond is established. I shall discuss three of them—regard, power, and centering.

The marriage encounter movement teaches that marriages go through three stages—illusion, disillusion, and realistic love. The illusion stage is the honeymoon stage, the stage in which the partners see each other through rosy glasses, in which the partners are on their best behavior. She is wonderful! Everything I ever dreamed of! She is the answer to all my longings. . . . Thus I see her more in terms of my own longings than in terms of her reality.

Then comes disillusion. I begin to see her humanity, and I am disappointed. This is a very painful stage, in which the partners can be very cruel. All too often they become so disillusioned they seek divorce. But if all goes well, the partners begin not only to see each other realistically, they begin to accept and respect each other as they are. When this happens the partners find great joy. Now she loves me for who I am! Now I love her for who she is! We love the real person, not the illusion. Now I am able to reveal myself to her without fear of losing her, and she is able to reveal herself to me.

I would expect the honeymoon between priest and parish to last a year or two, disillusionment to last three or four years, and realistic love to arrive thereafter. Any decision about leaving or staying must take into account the stage of the bonding process. Where are you in that process? What should be happening at the present time?

These stages can be applied to the bonding elements of regard and power.

Principle 4:
A healthy bonding process goes through three stages of regard— adoration, disappointment, and respect

“Adoration” is a very powerful word to use for the regard shown a priest at the beginning of the pastoral relation. Perhaps it is too strong. I choose it, nevertheless, because it expresses the particular nature of the “rosy glasses” with which the priest is viewed in the honeymoon stage.

I heard a priest once describe how he was greeted in his new parish as “the messiah,” “the one who was going to set all things right.” “And the trouble was,” the priest added, “I believed it! I thought I really was going to do all those things.” He went on to describe his own disillusionment with himself, as well as the disillusionment of his parish when they discovered that he couldn’t do everything they had hoped for.

“Adoration” suggests—accurately I believe—that the priest is viewed in divine terms. The priest-symbol is superhuman. When we start a new ministry that’s where we begin. Larger-than-life hopes and longings are stirred up and are focused on us by parishioners. And we, too, are likely to have larger-than-life fantasies of what we will accomplish, of adoring crowds coming to hear us preach, of large numbers of converts through our ministry, of great social action programs being carried out, and the like. This is especially true early in our priesthood.

Then, of course, comes disappointment. We and our parishioners become painfully aware of our mere humanity. We and they are faced with the necessity of accepting a merely human rector instead of a messiah. If that task is successfully completed, and both priest and parish move on to the stage of respect, in which the priest respects himself or herself, and in which the parish respects the priest in that priest’s humanity, a healthy bond of regard is established.

I do not believe that The Priest ever vanishes, however. Even when you and I are known as the human beings we are, we still remain, somehow, the image of The Priest. We still are walking symbols of God’s care and love for his people. In a healthy pastoral bond the tension between humanity and The Priest is resolved, not by banishing The Priest, but by accepting the human being.

I have come to understand the meaning of clerical dress and of vestments in this fashion. These special forms of clothing are a concrete sign that the person who wears them is functioning as a symbol, even though he be merely Harry Woolman or Bill Hampton.

Notice that in the progression from adoration, through disappointment, to respect, there is also a progression in perception. At first parishioners know little about the rector as person, they see the rector mainly as priest-symbol. Later, if all goes well, they become able to perceive symbol and real person in harmony. They respect the person who plays the symbol and they accept that person’s offering of the symbol to them.

I speculate that in many of those cases where parishioners become stuck in the stage of disillusion, the rector as real person is never perceived. Instead, the rector becomes the symbol of anti-Christ. “We thought she was the messiah, but she is just the opposite!” The rector becomes the symbol of betrayal at the most profound level.

Just as “adoration” may seem too strong a term for positive regard at the beginning of a new ministry, so “anti-Christ” may seem too strong a term for the negative aspect. And perhaps it is. Yet I have received letters from disillusioned parishioners couched in negative language so strong as to suggest depths of evil far beyond my limited capacities!

In these cases parishioners flip the superhuman coin. They flip from perceiving the rector as beneficently superhuman to seeing the rector as maleficently superhuman. They never perceive him or her as truly human at all.

Principle 5:
A healthy bonding process goes through stages of power settlement

Group formation theory distinguishes three stages in power settlement— dependence, counterdependence, and interdependence. In a new group the members at first wait upon the designated leader to give direction. They depend upon the leader to get things going. Later they begin to see faults in the leader’s performance and begin to rebel against the leader. Finally, group and leader develop patterns by which they depend upon each other.

These stages can be distinguished in the process of bonding between priest and parish. At first parishioners wait to see what direction the new rector will take. They look for clues to the new rector’s intentions, and their general tendency is to cooperate. Later they begin to find fault, and finally they work out a pattern of decision making that is a balance of the forces within the parish.

PRINCIPLE 6:
The bonding agenda is set by the character of the previous pastoral relations of the parish and of the priest

It is well known that parishes tend to call priests as rector in reaction to the character of the previous rector. If the previous rector focused on social action and neglected spiritual life, the parish is likely to look for the same in the new rector if they were happy with the previous rector and to look for the opposite if they were unhappy. This sets the parish’s agenda with the new priest.

Similarly, the priest seeks to establish the same or different characteristics in the new pastoral relation in accordance with the priest’s previous experience. This sets the priest’s agenda with the new parish.

So two agendas set by past experience come together to form the details of what must be worked through in the bonding process. In my present parish I am very conscious that parishioners have been testing me on matters made important to them by their experience with my predecessor. I noticed that in the early months of our relationship they tended to interpret my actions in accordance with the character of my predecessor. I am also conscious that I have been looking for the likenesses and differences between this parish and my previous parish. The bonding process is not complete until the past agendas have been dropped, and new agendas based on present realities have been adopted.

You must ask yourself about the present controversy surrounding you, “What agenda is it? Is this controversy a leftover from my predecessor, or does it realistically concern me and this parish?”

Principle 7:
Of special importance for the new rector are the bonding agendas of your predecessor’s in-group and out-group

Your predecessor undoubtedly had an in-group, a group of people to whom he was especially close and who felt supported by him, persons whose needs he met in a way satisfying to them. He also had an out-group, people unhappy with him in various ways who felt distant from him. When a new rector arrives each group has a special agenda. The in-group hopes that they will have the same relationship with the new rector, and the out-group hopes for something better. The in-group will seek to continue the set patterns. The out-group will seek to change them.

Chances are that neither group will be completely satisfied. The new rector is a different person and will not satisfy the same needs as the previous rector, so some of the in-group will become unhappy. The new rector is likely to continue many of the same policies and practices as the previous rector, so some of the out-group will remain unhappy. The bonding process cannot be considered complete until the relations with these two groups have been worked out. Successful bonding requires that both groups perceive the new rector for the unique person that he or she is, and that they cease to perceive the new rector in terms of the previous rector.

Principle 8:
The healthy pastoral bond is centered in Christ

One of the grievous ills of priesthood is the temptation to the cult of personality. A parishioner says of us, “What a great priest!” and we believe it. We must be clear that we are not The Priest; we are the symbol of The Priest. This means that both we and our parishioners must find our center in Christ.

In behavioral terms this means that the center of parish life must be worship, and in worship you and I as persons must be transparent—we must be symbol to the parish. Our persons must be subordinate to our office. Our vestments must signify more than our persons. Both we and parishioners must focus on Christ.

Principle 9:
Listen to the heart of the parish

The heart of the parish is that group of parishioners who center in Christ by faithful worship, faithful giving, and faithful support and nurture of one another. They are the heart of the local body of Christ and he is at their center. They are bonded to one another in him and it is your bonding to them in him that is crucial. Listen to the heart. What do they tell you?

Principle 10:

The parish must be viewed not only from the perspective of the pastoral bond, but also from a long-term perspective, in terms of parish history and norms

You spoke of how parishioners were in conflict about your predecessor when you arrived, and you spoke of the harm you saw them doing to each other. What you were observing were the established norms of the parish for dealing with conflict, and if they were harmful, then you were observing patterns that need to be changed. Any decision you make about staying or leaving must take into account its effect on parish history and norms. Will your staying or your leaving help those norms be what they ought to be?

Principle 11:
You yourself have a history and a calling

You are yourself at a particular stage in your relation to God. God has brought you to where you are and God is calling you to take the next step, whatever that may be. Any decision about leaving or staying must take into account your own history and calling from God at this stage of your life.

Illustrating the Principles

Let me now illustrate these principles in two controversies from my own experience.

I have been the focus of two parish conflicts in the past eight years. In one case I decided that I must leave. In the other I decided that I must stay.

Last year was my sixth at St. Richard’s. At the end of our annual meeting a parishioner moved that the vestry be charged to evaluate the rector’s performance and to report back to the parish with a list of changes to be made or with the rector’s intention to resign. The motion was amended to include the possibility that the vestry might give the rector high marks, and then it passed. I asked for a vote of confidence and received it. As you might imagine, the meeting was very upsetting to me and to a lot of people.

I discovered later that the parishioner who made the motion had gathered a group ahead of time in support of it. I was not surprised by his hostility. Nor was I surprised that there were others who were hostile. Some had personal disappointments. Others were angry about some of my policies. My attempts at understanding and reconciliation had not borne fruit.

The vestry, which included both supporters (the majority) and critics, spent many hours doing the evaluation, basing it on the criteria of the Book of Common Prayer and the canons. It was very painful for them and for me. They were able to agree unanimously, however, on a written evaluation which said, in summary, that I was adequately fulfilling my duties, and they appended a list of specific perceptions, favorable and unfavorable, of my performance. I responded in writing, and then we circulated the documents in the parish. That took care of the charge given us by the annual meeting, but it did not end the controversy. Vestry meetings were painful. I dreaded them, because at every meeting the critics harassed me about something. Two persons complained about me to the bishop. And during all of this I was filled with self-doubt. What had I done? How could I reconcile the complainers? And worst of all was the sinking feeling, the knowledge, that I couldn’t do anything, that it was me they didn’t like—me the way I am—and that my basic convictions were what led to the disagreements in policy.

During this time I received lots of support. I felt confident of the large majority of the parish. But I was aware of critics who had stopped coming to church and of critics who had withdrawn financial support. It was clear that we were going to run a large deficit.

At vestry meetings I kept trying to respond to the critics. I kept insisting that we work on reconciliation and that we strive for consensus within the vestry. But finally it became evident that the dissenters would have none of it. They were going to oppose not only me, but anything I proposed. This sort of strife was familiar in the parish. Some of the same people who were angry at me had circulated a petition seeking to get rid of my predecessor. Others had been angry at his predecessor. Power politics had been the parish norm.

I finally made two decisions: (1) I was going to stay; and (2) I was going to work with those who were willing to work with me, and not allow the dissenters to bring that to a halt. From that moment everything got better. Our energies were no longer consumed by attempts to reconcile the irreconcilable. Vestry meetings became easier. We began to get things done. One of the dissenters resigned. Another rotated off. And at the annual meeting the dissenters failed to win any seats on the vestry.

During all of this our Sunday worship and our sense of fellowship went well. There was no sign that dissent was growing; indeed, it was quite the opposite. We gained a few new families, and—most striking of all—our pledge canvass resulted in a marked increase in giving.

The controversy at St. Peter’s was different. It erupted in my fourteenth year as rector as a result of one action I took—I fired the music director. I can still see in my mind’s eye the coffee hour after the news got out. People stood around in isolated groups, and when I entered the room I felt cut off. Our music program had been a source of immense parish pride, even though it had also been the source of immense problems.

In this case a lot of my friends were angry at me. We called a parish meeting and decided two things: (1) the parishioners and I would hold a series of small group meetings to see if we could air out and work through things, and (2) we would get an outside consultant to help us find our way.

The small-group meetings were excruciating for me. They became garbage-dumping grounds. Parishioners heaped on me complaints that were years old and of which in many instances I had had no awareness. Vestry meetings were also painful. Friend was pitted against friend. Vestry members who had loved me and supported me were now my critics.

Parish life went on pretty much as usual in terms of attendance and giving and activities, but it hurt a lot. We were having a hard time with each other. The consultant talked with parish leaders individually and had a session or two with the vestry. Finally he advised me that in his judgment I had lost the confidence of the key parish leaders and should leave.

This had been my parish for many years. I had chosen to come to the neighborhood as a young man. I had been ordained from the parish. My wife had been born there and had grown up in the neighborhood. We had raised our children there. I felt a very strong sense of identity with the parish. I had never considered leaving. I wanted to stay, and I told the vestry so. We negotiated an agreement. We would have a parish vote of confidence and allow that vote to be our guide.

When the vote was taken I won by 60 percent to 40 percent. That night I decided to leave.

These two controversies came to different conclusions, and, I believe, the right ones.

First, the two controversies occurred at different stages in parish life. Here at St. Richard’s we were still engaged in the bonding process and were at the disillusionment stage. At St. Peter’s we had long before established the pastoral bond. Here we had been deciding whether or not to go on to the stage of mutual acceptance. There we were experiencing a trauma to the established bond. I had struck a violent blow to that bond, and the question was whether we could survive it.

Second, at St. Richard’s there was a division between the heart of the parish and the dissenters. At St. Peter’s everybody (with but few exceptions) was my supporter. Here it was the heart who wanted me to stay and persons outside the heart who wanted me to go. There it was the heart who said, “Bill, you’ve got to go.”

Third, here the bonding process was proceeding successfully with the heart of the parish. I became aware as the controversy went on that I was in danger of abandoning that heart in order to appease a power-politicking group committed to other values and persons.

Fourth, St. Richard’s has a history of divisions and of settling them by a power struggle—in short, a history of unhealthy conflict. St. Peter’s had no such history; the conflict was carried out with a deep commitment by the leadership to the welfare of everybody involved. Here the dissenters sought to coerce others by withdrawal of support. There support continued throughout.

Fifth, I felt overwhelmed at St. Peter’s. I remember those months as months of muteness. Whereas normally I am voluble, then I was subdued. Whereas normally I am filled with ups and downs of emotion, then I was overwhelmed with sadness. In contrast, my years here at St. Richard’s have been years of blossoming. I have done a lot of writing and new thinking, and have received a tremendous response. A flood of creativity has broken forth from me.

As I see it now, my firing of St. Peter’s music director was not only an attempt on my part to solve a deep parish problem, it was also (although I didn’t realize it at the time) a blow for freedom, both for me and for the parish. As I see it now, I had become too identified with the parish and the parish with me. Rather than being two equal partners in a marriage, we were a merger of personalities. I was drowning and didn’t know it. I needed to get free and didn’t know it. Moreover, the parish needed to be free of me. They needed a rector with a strong sense of himself or herself as a person in his or her own right, a rector who would be more able to see them as they were and to confront them where they needed confronting.

Here at St. Richard’s I am conscious of a different relation to the parish. I am conscious of a difference in me, of my ability to see them more objectively. Here I am much more conscious of the parish’s needs as distinct from my own.

The crucial difference in the two cases is signified by the tactics of the critics and their relation to me. At St. Peter’s the critics were my friends, they cared about me and sought to see to my welfare, even while they criticized. At St. Richard’s the critics were foes, they withdrew support of both me and the parish, and engaged in power plays. They valued the Lord’s Table so little that they withdrew from it in an attempt at coercion. They had so little sense of bonding to the rest of the parish that they abandoned them as well. St. Peter’s had healthy norms of conflict; St. Richard’s had unhealthy ones. My staying would not have helped St. Peter’s; my leaving did us both good. My leaving St. Richard’s would have done harm, for it would have reinforced the unhealthy norms of conflict—it would have strengthened the tactics of withdrawal and coercion, and it would have undercut the tactics of support and consensus seeking.

There is much more to be said, of course. But perhaps the above will be of help.

Your brother in Christ,

Bill

Originally published in Action Information 12, no. 1 (January/February 1986): pp. 14-19.

i Readers from some traditions may find the term The Priest foreign. To catch the larger-than-life intent such readers should think of how Lutherans use the term pastor and some Protestants use the term minister. What is intended is the representational sense of the ordained ministry that evokes feelings and images of The Person of God, the one set apart to represent God’s love and holiness for the people of God. The Priest may not be in his or her own person a holy man or woman, although some priests and ministers are; The Priest is the one who represents, signifies holiness. I suspect that this sign-aspect of ordained ministry is stronger in those traditions that emphasize the ordained minister’s role as president of the sacraments, but I think it can hardly be absent from any tradition that ordains.

It is also important here to see that I am not making a theological claim. I am not saying that ordination causes such-and-such a change in the person. I am, instead, making an observation about what I observe actually happening. As a priest I find myself being experienced as The Priest, not just as a person. I find myself being experienced as larger-than-life. I also find myself sometimes being experienced as transparent; that is, as not being experienced as a distinctive person at all.

For many years I fought against being seen in a larger-than-life way and against being unseen as a person. I resisted wearing clericals. I asked to be called by my first name. I defensively emphasized joint ministry. But I found over and over again that many people still treated me differently from other persons, that many people wanted me to be different, that they wanted me to be something for them other than just myself. And for that it was necessary that I become transparent, that Warner White disappear into the background and The Priest come into the foreground. I finally made a decision: I would do it: I would be The Priest for them. And from then on wearing clericals was easy—it meant putting on my sign. It meant taking on the task of representing.

Long Arms and Long Legs

NOTE: This play concerning parish conflict was written in the 1980’s. The particular issue its center is long-past — should girls be acolytes? But the dynamics of conflict have not changed. You can read the play in the light of any current conflict.

A parish morality play

Characters

In order of appearance:

Agnes Whitlock, parishioner of St. Philip’s Episcopal Church
 Mary Carson, junior warden
Harriett Berman, parishioner
Winifred Jordan, wife of Major Jordan
Major Jordan, senior warden
Rick Campbell, vestrymember
Gina Bonnelli, vestrymember
Gladys Anderson, parishioner
Baxter Homan, vestrymember and treasurer
Jim Whitlock, vestrymember, husband of Agnes
Samuel Blackburn, lay reader
Jeannette (“Nettie”) Blackburn, his wife, lay reader and vestrymember
Owen (“Olly”) Whitlock, son of Jim and Agnes
Woodward (“Woody”) Berman, son of Harriett
William Campbell, son of Rick
Harry Prior, vestrymember
Thomas (“Tip”) Thompson, parishioner
Steven Franklin, parishioner
Michael Bogan, first vicar of St. Philip’s Church
John Jameson, second vicar
Other parishioners

ACT ONE

Scene One. The parish house of St. Philip’s Church sometime in the mid-1980’s. A pass-through and a door to the kitchen are on the left. Double doors to the hallway are at center rear. The furnishings have been arranged for a stand-up reception. At the left is a table upon which are set a silver tea service and coffee urn. At the right is a table upon which will soon be put a large flat cake and many gaily-wrapped gifts. Off to one corner is a third table for serving fruit juice and cookies to the children. On a large paper banner are painted the words, “We’ll miss you, Father Bogan!”

Two women enter by the kitchen door.

Agnes. Don’t you feel guilty, Mary, sneaking out of the service like this? I always do. Sometimes when we’re leaving the communion rail to come out here I have the feeling Father Bogan will look up from the altar, point a finger at me in front of everybody, and say in a loud voice, “Agnes Whitlock, you come back here! You can’t sneak out of here like that! Do you think kitchen work is more important than the work of the Lord?”

Mary. Oh Agnes, you always think everybody’s looking at you. Don’t you know, even though Father Bogan talks that way, he knows as well as we do that somebody’s got to get out here and see to the kitchen. He talks pious. He’s supposed to. But he’s as practical as anybody else. And besides, today he’s anxious to have everything ready for his farewell. You know how he watches over every detail. Don’t tell me he wants to come out here after the service and find us just starting!

The women begin to put cookies and little cakes on the serving table. They take a large flat cake from the pass-through and put it on the right hand table. They take gift boxes from a cupboard and put them out. Etc.

Agnes. I do hope Major Jordan has everybody’s speeches all properly arranged.

Mary. Don’t worry. If there’s anything the Major likes, it’s telling other people what to do and how to do it. My concern is Father Bogan. The two sides of his character are going to be in mortal combat this morning. He fusses over every detail and gets upset when they don’t go right, but he’s also very sentimental. He’s going to be deeply moved, and he might not do his own part in the perfect way he likes. I can just see him worrying afterwards because he was so choked up he didn’t make exactly the right speech.

Agnes. Father Bogan? Mary, what are you talking about? What’s he got to be worried about? We’re doing everything for him. We’re giving him this farewell. We’re giving him presents. We’re giving him thank you speeches. All he has to do is sit and listen and lap it up. I wish I had a life as easy as his. Priests are always judging others; nobody judges them.

Two women enter breathlessly.

Harriett. Good morning, Mary. Good morning, Agnes.

Mary and Agnes. Good morning, Harriett. Good morning, Winnie.

Harriet. Are the tea and coffee ready? Winnie and I have agreed that she will take the coffee and I will take the tea. Ah yes, I see you’ve put out the anniversary settings— good. Winnie, we’d better get in place; they’ll be here any moment.

Voices are heard from the hallway. Parishioners enter talking. Some go to the serving table. Others gather in clumps. Major Jordan, small of stature, graying, tweedy, mustached, a stereotype of the retired Major, bustles in, goes to front and center, looks at each corner of the room, grabs a younger man by the arm, and pulls him front and center.

Major Jordan. Are they ready? Did you brief Anderson and Bonnelli? I see they’re in position at each corner of the room.

Rick [patiently]. Yes, Major. I’ve briefed them. When you start clapping, they’ll start clapping. I’ve also asked two of the women to hold Father Bogan in the sacristy for a minute or two on some excuse or other so we’re sure everything is ready before he gets here.

Major Jordan. Very good, Campbell. Now we must check on the other arrangements.

They seek out Mary and Agnes. Gina and Gladys now come from the serving table into the place the two men have just vacated.

Gina. Oh, Gladys, I don’t know what we’re going to do without him. I know the bishop will send us another priest, and I know that he’ll be just fine, and I know that a church is not built on the priest— but what are we going to do? Whenever I’ve felt low, I’ve been able to go to him, and he understands. I know I’m silly, but I get worried, and he’s always been so patient and has made me feel so much better. What am I going to do? What if the new priest doesn’t understand?

Gladys. Maybe you should talk to your husband, Gina, instead of the priest.

Gina. Gladys! You’re awful! You know I can’t do that! Joe would never understand.

Gladys. Well, I’m glad Father Bogan understands, and I hope the new priest will too.

They move off. Two more take their place.

Baxter. Jim, I just hope the new priest is a little more practical and a little more relaxed than Father Bogan. Father Bogan is always wanting to give away our parish funds, and he’s always fussing over things. I’d like someone who realizes that we have to stash money away for a rainy day instead of giving it to the cathedral or to somebody we don’t even know; and I’d like a priest that doesn’t fuss about whether the acolytes wear gym shoes under their robes.

Jim. Baxter, I don’t think you and I will ever agree about money. I’m with Father Bogan, and I hope the new priest will be too. But I agree with you about the gym shoes and the fussiness. I’d like somebody more relaxed too.

They move away. Samuel and Jeannette Blackburn stop Major Jordan at the center as he is bustling across the room.

Sam. Major, just a moment. Nettie and I were talking. We’re concerned about the lay readers. You’re the director; so you’re the one to speak up for us. What do you suppose the new priest will do? Will he know how important the lay readers are to this parish? Will we have to be licensed all over again? Will we have to take vocal projection and expression tests again?

Major Jordan. Sam, I just don’t know, and I confess I’m as concerned as you are. I’m afraid the new priest may not realize how vital to the health of this parish the lay readers are, and how important it is for him to pay special attention to the group. Maybe not every priest would be as willing as Father Bogan was to meet Sunday noon. But since we make it fun by having lunch together and since it’s only once a month, I figure it shouldn’t be too hard to adjust to the way we do things. Maybe it’ll mean a little extra effort, but he should be willing.

Sam. I agree, Major, I agree. But I don’t think it’s any special effort for Father Bogan. He enjoys our time together. He doesn’t have a wife and children; so we’re his family.

Major Jordan. One of the first things I’ll do with the new priest is impress upon him how important the lay readers are to this parish and to him. But now excuse me, I have things to see to.

They move off. Three high school boys take their place.

Olly. I just hope he doesn’t let girls into the acolytes.

Woody. That’d be awful! We have a good time together, and girls would just spoil it. Besides they don’t know how to serve. They wouldn’t do a good job at all.

Bill. Aw, we don’t have anything to worry about. Remember how we all talked about it, and how we all decided not to let girls in. Not even our mothers wanted girls to be acolytes.

Olly. But it was close, Bill. Don’t forget it was close. Some of the mothers want girls to be acolytes, and who knows what the new priest might do.

They move off. Three men take their place.

Harry. I hope the new priest has long arms and long legs.

Tip. Long arms and long legs! What for?

Steve. You know! Harry’s thinking about the men’s Sunday afternoon basketball. He wants a priest that can really dunk that ball.

Tip. Oh, yeah, sure. I knew that. Well, when you said it…well.

Harry. Listen. We gotta have a regular guy. None of this stuck up stuff like some priests— where they’re better than you. We want a guy who’s regular, just like Father Bogan— only with long arms and long legs.

Steve. Father Bogan’s not a regular guy. It just seems that way sometimes because he plays basketball with us and goes to our children’s school plays and their football games; and he remembers our birthdays and anniversaries. But did you ever call him by his first name?

Harry. His first name! You don’t call priests by their first name! They’re special.

Steve. That’s what I mean. He’s the father. You never forget he’s the father.

Tip. We don’t even call the Major by his first name.

Harry. He doesn’t have a first name.

Steve. But that’s different. The Major needs his title— especially since he’s no longer in the army. Who’d he be without it? Father Bogan’s not like that, but I’d never call him Mike!

Major Jordan suddenly rushes up.

Major Jordan [in a hoarse whisper]. Now! Now! Clap now! Here he comes!

The hall doors open. Everybody turns toward them and begins clapping. Father Bogan enters, dressed in black clericals. He looks a bit startled, breaks into a broad smile, clasps his hands over his head and shakes them, then begins to clap too.

Scene Two. An evening two months later. The parish hall is set up for a vestry meeting. Three tables are set in a U shape with the opening toward the audience. Seated at the center of the crossing table on the outside of the U, facing the audience, is Major Jordan. To his left is Mary. To his right is Baxter. On the outsides of the other tables are the remaining vestrymembers: Rick, Gina, Jim, Nettie, and Harry.

Major Jordan. There are two issues before us tonight— one is the proposal made by our junior warden, Carson here [The Major tosses his head sideways towards Mary without looking at her], that we delay getting a new priest and do a parish self-study first; the other is what I trust will be our main item of business, the election of our new vicar. As you know, we are a mission church, rather than a self-supporting parish, and so the bishop could appoint our new priest for us, if he wanted to. But he doesn’t want to. He wants us to act like a parish as much as possible. That’s why he calls this body a vestry, he calls me senior warden, and he calls Carson here [Tosses head] junior warden. He wants us to elect our new vicar, and I think that’s what we should do. But Carson here [Tosses head] has another idea. She wants— but let’s have her do the explaining. Carson.

Mary. I don’t think we’re ready yet for a new priest. I know we’ve met with two candidates, two fine men, two very promising interviews. But they’re the ones who are ready; we are not.   Father Bogan was with us for 20 years. He is an exceptionally fine priest, and the only priest this parish has ever had. The diocese sent him here to found this parish, and he did. Everything here bears the stamp of his personality. He chose the building plans. He chose the cross over the altar. He chose the vestments. He chose how we do the service. He trained our acolytes, our lay readers, our altar guild. In many ways he chose us, his parishioners and his vestry, too, because we who are here are the ones who fit his way of doing things. We are the ones who came to this parish instead of to St. Thomas’s or St. Paul’s; and we did it because we liked what we found here— and that’s because of Father Bogan. 

Now we need to find ourselves, independently of Father Bogan. A new priest is not going to be Father Bogan. A new priest will be different. We will not be able to make a new priest over into Father Bogan’s image. We need to take a good look at who we are. We need to settle some things among ourselves. Then we will be ready to call a new priest. 

I move that we delay the calling of a new priest by six months in order to do a self-study and to prepare more thoroughly for the new priest.

Rick. I second the motion.

Major Jordan. I know that Carson here [Tosses head] means well. I know she has our good at heart, and once in a while she has even proved to be right. But in this case I feel she is urging us to make a major mistake. I know it’s the fashion these days to do the sort of thing she suggests. It’s very much the rage. But I’m old-fashioned. What we need is not very complicated. We need a priest who will do the services, see to the Sunday School and the youth, and bring in new people. Father Bogan got us started, and I don’t wish to criticize him, but everyone of us here knows what his weakness was— he just wasn’t a go-getter. He never got in new people after those first few years; he only kept us going. We need someone with youth and vigor, who’s good with young people, and who will attract newcomers. I don’t see any sense in wasting time with a study.

Rick raises his hand.

Major Jordan. Campbell.

Rick. I’d like to support Mary’s suggestion. I think it’s unrealistic for us to expect a new priest to bring in newcomers. We all know— or we should all know— that after the first few years of this parish’s life, this community stopped growing in population. We’ve stood still in numbers in this community as well as the parish for the past 15 years. I think what the Major says just underlines our need for a self-study. We need to become clear about what we expect from a new priest, and increasing our numbers I don’t believe should be one of them.

Gina raises her hand.

Major Jordan. Bonnelli.

Gina. I think we should be sure to get a priest who is a good listener, someone who is patient and understands people. There are a lot of people in this parish who need to be able to talk to their priest.

Major Jordan. Bonnelli, I’m sure you’re right. Priests should be understanding. But that’s not what we’re discussing now. We’re discussing whether or not to have a self-study.

Mary, Rick, and Jim speak simultaneously— But— Major Jordan!— That’s—

Major Jordan. One at a time. One at a time. Whitlock.

Jim. Gina was right on the subject, Major. She was beginning to do what we all should do in a self-study. She was beginning to tell us what she thinks our important needs are in a priest. It’s exactly because you and she and others don’t agree on what we need— whether we need a good listener or a people-getter or what— we can’t have everything in one priest— that’s why we need a self-study. I suspect the sensitive listener Gina wants is not likely to be the people-getter you want.

Major Jordan. Now there I think you’re wrong. I think we have such a person right now. I think we’ve talked to him. I think Father John Jameson is just the man for us. He’s young. He’s vigorous. He has a fine, attractive personality. He’s right out of seminary; so he’s up-to-date. I’m sure he’s a good listener. Didn’t you feel that when you talked to him!

Baxter. He’s not going to break our pocketbooks either. I know that’s an unpopular matter to bring up. But the fact is that the other man, Father Stowton, is a lot senior to Father Jameson and will cost us more money— money we don’t have. I think that with Father Jameson we will not only be getting youth and vigor, we will be getting a reasonable price.

Noticeable silence.

Major Jordan. Well, yes, Homan, you’re right, of course, but for the moment you’re out of order. We’re not discussing the two candidates yet; we’re discussing the matter of a self-study. Are there any other comments on Carson here’s [Tosses head] proposal for a self-study?

Harry. I know what I want, and Father Jameson sounds like just the guy.

Nettie. I liked what he said about lay readers.

Major Jordan. Are we ready to vote? [Pauses.] All those in favor of Carson here’s [Tosses head] motion for a self-study raise your right hand.

Mary, Rick, and Jim raise their hands.

Major Jordan. All those opposed use the same sign.

Gina, Baxter, Nettie, and Harry raise their hands.

Major Jordan. The vote is four to three in the negative. The motion fails. We will now proceed to the main item of business, the election of a new priest. All of you but Harry here were present at the interviews of Fathers Jameson and Stowton. We had a thorough discussion of the two men with the special committee last Sunday, for which Harry was present. We have had a brief discussion of the two men and of the issues involved just now, although most of it was out of order. Are there any further comments? Are you ready to vote?

Mary. I have some comments. 

I said earlier that both are fine men. Either one could be a fine vicar of St. Philip’s. I am prepared to support and help whoever we call, yet I do believe there is a clear and important difference between the two men that leads me to urge the election of Father Stowton. 

Father Jameson has been a priest for barely a month. As you know, his only experience as an ordained parish minister is the six months he has just completed as a deacon on the staff of a large parish. He would come to us, in other words, almost straight from seminary. Father Stowton, on the other hand, has had twelve years experience in parish life, three years in his first parish and nine in his second. He was frank with us about the difficulties he had in his first parish and about what he learned from them. He was also frank about his strengths and weaknesses. We know that if we call him we will be getting a man who is experienced and skilled in counseling, pastoral work, routine parish administration, and preaching. We know also that he does not see himself as skilled in youth work, community work, or promotional work. If we call him we can depend upon him for the first kinds of work and we will have to provide some other way for the rest. But, most important of all, we know that Father Stowton understands himself and parishes. He knows how parishes work, how parishioners react to him, how he needs to respond to their various expectations, and what effects his particular personality and ways of doing things are likely to have. 

I think Father Jameson is a fine young man, but I am afraid of what will happen to him and to us if we call someone with so little experience or training in the complexities of parishes. I am appalled that our seminaries offer such inadequate preparation in this respect. From everything I can tell they depend far too much upon their graduates’ becoming assistants in large parishes, or upon their doing as Father Stowton says he did— making a lot of mistakes and learning from the pain!  I intend to vote for Father Stowton and I urge you to do the same.

Baxter. I didn’t mean to speak. I thought I had said everything when I talked earlier about Father Jameson’s youth and vigor and reasonable salary expectations. But when Mary talks about Father Stowton, a man who admits to failing in several very important ways, I can’t keep quiet.  Did you hear Father Stowton talk about the misunderstandings he has had with parishioners? Did you hear how he talked about disappointing them? About the expectations that he failed to meet? Did you hear about the conflicts in his parishes?  Is that the kind of man you want? 

I find it hard to believe that Mary is serious. But I’ve heard her talk in this impractical way before; so I suppose she is. 

Do you want a man who expects conflict and difficulty instead of a young and vigorous man whose seminary record is as excellent as Father Jameson’s and whose attitude is so cheerful and outgoing? I know which I want, and I imagine that all of you do too.

Rick. Mary, I have to part company with you here. I supported the notion of a self-study, because I really think we can benefit from a period of readjustment from the loss of one priest and of preparation for a new one. But I think that if we are going to vote now, we ought to go with someone of ability instead of someone whose record is so spotty. I feel for Father Stowton. I sympathize with his pain and with his dedication, but he’s oriented in a negative way. He expects problems. I don’t like that. I want a positive, forward looking attitude in our new vicar.  I am going to vote for Father Jameson.

[Silence.]

Major Jordan. Does anyone else wish to speak? 

If not, are you ready to vote? 

All those in favor of Father Stowton raise your right hand.

Mary raises her hand.

Major Jordan. All those in favor of Father Jameson raise your right hand.

All the rest, except the chairman, raise their hands.

Major Jordan. Father Jameson is elected. 

Will the clerk please record the results of the election and send a copy to the bishop so that he knows that we wish to hire Father Jameson at the diocesan minimum wage.

Scene three. Two months later. Setting as in Scene One, except this time the banner reads, “Welcome Father Jack Jameson!”

Agnes and Mary enter as in Scene One.

Agnes. Didn’t you just love that sermon, Mary! I never realized how stuffy and out-of-date Father Bogan was until now; Father Jameson— er, Father Jack— is so much more up on things! Isn’t he wonderful! And I don’t feel at all guilty about sneaking out after communion to get ready for coffee hour! Father Jack would never say an unkind word!

Mary. Yes, Agnes, he is a nice young man. I think we are all going to like him very much.

The women busy themselves as before— except there are no gifts or flat cake.

Harriett and Winifred enter breathlessly.

Harriett. Good morning, Mary. Good morning, Agnes.

Mary and Agnes. Good morning, Harriett. Good morning, Winnie.

Harriett. Are the tea and coffee ready? Winnie and I have agreed that she will take the coffee and I will take the tea. Ah yes, I see you’ve put out the anniversary settings— good. Winnie, we’d better get in place; they’ll be here any moment.

Voices are heard from the hallway. Parishioners enter. Major Jordan bustles in, goes to front and center, looks at each corner of the room, grabs Rick by the arm, and pulls him front and center.

Major Jordan. Are they ready? Did you brief Anderson and Bonnelli? I see they’re in position at each corner of the room.

Rick [patiently]. Yes, Major. I’ve briefed them. When you start clapping, they’ll start clapping. I’ve also asked two of the women to hold Father Jameson— er, Father Jack— in the sacristy for a minute or two on some excuse or other so we’re sure everything is ready before he gets here.

Major Jordan. Very good, Campbell. Now we must check on the other arrangements.

They move away. Gina and Gladys replace them.

Gina. Oh, Gladys, isn’t he wonderful! He looks so gentle and kind! I just know he’ll understand me!

Gladys. Have you tried Joe, Gina? Are you sure your own husband isn’t the one you should talk to?

Gina. Gladys! You’re awful! You know I can’t do that! Joe would never understand.

Gladys. Well, I’m sure Father Jameson— er, Father Jack— will understand, and things will be just fine for you.

They move off. Baxter and Jim take their place.

Baxter. I managed to talk to Father Jameson— er, Father Jack— for a little while just before the service, and I’m very encouraged. I told him what I thought about giving so much money to the cathedral and he said that it sounded like something we should look into. I can see already that he’s going to be more reasonable than Father Bogan. And did you notice, he’s wearing loafers and a grey shirt, instead of the formal black ones Father Bogan always wore. He’s definitely going to be more relaxed about the acolytes’ shoes.

Jim. Baxter, I wonder if Father Jameson— er, Father Jack— meant what you think about the money. I hope that when we do what he said— when we look into what we give outside the parish— he may come to the conclusion that we’re not doing enough.

Baxter. Nonsense! Any sensible man— or at least most sensible men— I’ve never been able to figure you out, Jim— sensible men prepare for rainy days. I’m sure that’s what he meant.

Jim. Hmm. Well, you and I agree about one thing, Baxter— about the way he dresses, and about the gym shoes and the fussiness. I like somebody who’s relaxed about those things too.

They move away. Sam and Nettie stop Major Jordan at the center as he is bustling across the room.

Sam. Major, just a moment. Nettie and I were just talking. Have you had a chance to talk to Father Jameson— er, Father Jack— about the lay readers? Will we have to be licensed all over again? Will we have to take vocal projection and expression tests again?

Major Jordan. I talked to him yesterday and impressed upon him the importance of the lay readers to the life and health of this parish. I am happy to report that he agreed with me wholeheartedly. In fact, he wants to have a special meeting with us as soon as possible.

Nettie. But will we have to take all those tests again?

Major Jordan. I didn’t have time to ask him about that. I just told him about our Sunday noon meetings and lunch, and how important it is to us for him to be there and to take part. I’m sure he understood.

Sam. But what about the licenses? Are we going to have to do those things all over again?

Major Jordan. Licenses? Oh, I don’t know, Sam; you’ll have to ask him yourself.

They move off. Olly, Woody, and Bill take their place.

Olly. Whaddya think? Is he gonna let girls into the acolytes?

Woody. That’d be awful! They’d just spoil it for everybody! But he seems like a nice guy, doesn’t he. Didn’t even notice my gym shoes!

Holds up one foot to show the gym shoes he is wearing. All three boys guffaw.

They move off. Harry, Tip, and Steve take their place.

Harry. Did you see those arms and legs! Did you see how long they are! He’s gonna be great!

Tip. Long arms and legs? What are you talking about?

Steve. Have you forgotten already? The men’s basketball— Harry wants a priest that can really dunk that ball.

Tip. Oh, yeah, sure. I was just kidding. Well, when you said it…well.

Harry. Listen. He’s a regular guy. You can tell that just by looking at him. None of this stuck up stuff like some priests— where they’re better than you— only he has long arms and long legs.

Major Jordan suddenly rushes up.

Major Jordan [in a hoarse whisper]. Now! Now! Clap now! Here he comes!

The hall doors open. Everybody turns toward them and begins clapping. A young priest appears, dressed in a grey clerical shirt and a sport coat. He is flanked on one side by his four year old daughter, whose hand he is holding, and on the other side by his wife, who has a baby in her arms. They appear mildly startled by the applause, smile, and move hesitantly into the room.

Steve [aside to Tip]. His arms and legs don’t look extra long to me.

Scene Four. A week later. The parish house is set up for a vestry meeting.

Father Jack, Major Jordan, and Mary enter.

Major Jordan. I think it would be wise, Father Jameson, for me to chair the meeting. You are not yet familiar with the parish and its difficulties, and some of them are right on the vestry.

Father Jack. I think we had better set the right pattern from the beginning, Major Jordan. Canon law says that a rector is to chair vestry meetings, and we as a mission are urged to function as much like a parish as possible; so I think I had better chair the meetings starting with the very first one.

Major Jordan. But—

Mary. Your long experience, Major, and your insight are very important, and I suspect that Father Jack may benefit even more from them if you’re at his right hand giving him advice. Isn’t that true, Father Jack?

Father Jack. Oh, yes, of course…

Slight pause.

Mary. The Major is senior warden for good reason, Father Jack. He really has earned his position. He was not only the right hand man to Father Bogan on the vestry and in parish management, he also has been director of lay readers for— how long has it been, Major? Twenty years?

Major Jordan. Not that long, Carson. It’s only been nine, though I confess it sometimes seems like twenty.

Lights are dimmed and then raised. Twenty minutes have elapsed. The vestry is now seated at the tables as before, except that now Father Jack is at the center, Major Jordan at his right, and Mary and Baxter at his left.

Baxter. So you see, Father Jack— and members of the vestry— it is imperative that we cut our disbursements to the cathedral substantially and begin to accumulate a fund to prepare for a rainy day, the day when our roof needs repair or the furnace breaks down.

Father Jack. I believe our giving to the diocese is set by agreement among the parishes at our annual diocesan convention, isn’t it?

Major Jordan. The diocesan convention votes on it and imposes it on us, if that’s what you mean.

Rick. Yes, that’s right. The parishes of the diocese together determine what each parish’s share of the expenses will be. If we want to have a lower amount, we’ll have to come to some arrangement with the other parishes. I believe there is a method for doing that if we can show cause.

Baxter. Aren’t a leaking roof or a broken down furnace cause enough?

Rick. They’re not broken down.

Baxter. Yet— but they will be. Any prudent man knows that the day of reckoning will come. We can’t continue to live so high on the hog, spending so much on office equipment and supplies, giving so much away, and not expect to pay the price one day— and soon. We all know it’s coming.

Father Jack. What percentage of our budget are we giving to the work of the diocese?

Baxter. I haven’t figured it out, but it’s too much.

Jim. It’s about twelve percent.

Father Jack. That doesn’t seem too high.

Curtain.

ACT TWO

Scene One. Several months later. The parish house. Set up for an ordinary Sunday after-service coffee hour, ordinary coffee urn instead of silver tea and coffee service.

Agnes and Mary enter.

Agnes. I’m really disappointed. I made a special effort to let him know that our Olly was going to be in the game, and he didn’t come. He said something about his family. But why should they stand in the way? Father Bogan always came to the things our children were in— the school plays, the football games, the scout troop meetings— all the things that are so important to our families. I don’t see why Father Jack can’t do the same.

Mary. Father Bogan was single. He had no other family but us. The extra time that Father Bogan spent with us is the time that Father Jack spends with his wife and children. Father Bogan’s parish time and private time weren’t separated; apparently he didn’t need them to be. But Father Jack needs his private life and so do Linda and the children.

Agnes. All I know is that Olly was very disappointed, and Jim and I are too.

The women busy themselves as before.

Harriett and Winifred enter breathlessly.

Harriett. Good morning, Mary. Good morning, Agnes.

Mary and Agnes. Good morning, Harriett. Good morning, Winnie.

Harriett. Is the coffee ready? Winnie and I have agreed that I will take the coffee and she will take charge of the children’s table. Ah yes, I see you’ve got those tasty danish rolls— good. Winnie, we’d better get in place; they’ll be here any moment.

Voices are heard from the hallway. Parishioners enter. Major Jordan bustles in, grabs Rick by the arm, and pulls him front and center.

Major Jordan. We’ve got trouble. Do you know what he’s done! He renewed all the lay readers’ licenses without so much as a word to anyone. Do you know what that means?

Rick. No. I don’t. What does it mean?

Major Jordan. It means he didn’t have a meeting, he didn’t talk with the lay readers, he didn’t have them read anything, he didn’t talk with me, he didn’t come to our last meeting— he just isn’t paying any attention.

Rick. Oh. Didn’t he come to your last Sunday meeting? Surely he’s come to some of them? Didn’t I hear—

Major Jordan. Yes. Yes. He came to two of them, but then he said something about his family and about how tired he is after Sunday services. I tried to explain to him how important to the parish the lay readers are, but he didn’t seem to care. And now he’s just gone off on his own, doing something by himself that we used to do together. That means trouble.

Sam and Nettie walk up.

Sam. Did you hear?

Nettie. Yes, Major, did you hear?

Major Jordan. Hear what?

Sam. About the lay readers’ licenses. He’s renewed them!

Nettie. And without those tests! We didn’t have to go through all that enunciation and projection stuff that Father Bogan—

Major Jordan. — and I—

Nettie. — made us go through. Isn’t it wonderful!

Major Jordan. Yes, I suppose so; it’s fine for you. But listen to me. Don’t you realize—

The group moves away. Gina and Gladys take their place, pulling Father Jack with them.

Gladys. The time has come, Father Jack, for you to do something about it. We’ve waited long enough. We were patient with Father Bogan because we loved him, but he certainly was off base on this one. There is no reason in this day and age why girls shouldn’t be acolytes as well as boys. My girl and Gina’s are just dying to serve, and all you have to do is say the word. Father Bogan never appointed an acolyte master; he ran the acolytes directly himself; so you don’t have anyone to contend with. All you have to do is to start training our girls, and we’re all set!

Gina. That’s right, Father Jack, almost all the women are for it. We’ve waited long enough.

Father Jack. I don’t see any problem. Practically all the other parishes have girl acolytes. I think I can promise you a change. Gladys, how would you like to be acolyte master?

Gladys. Me?! Acolyte master! But I don’t know anything about it.

Father Jack. That’s easy enough. I’ll show you everything you need to know, and then you can just go into action. Whaddya say?

Gladys. Well, I never dreamed it would come to this. Well, OK, if you think I can do it.

Father Jack. Good. This should be a lot of fun.

Scene Two. Two months later. The hall is set up for a vestry meeting.

Father Jack, Major Jordan, and Mary enter.

Father Jack. I wanted this time before our vestry meeting to tell you about a decision I have made that may cause some trouble and to get your advice.

Major Jordan. More trouble!

Father Jack. Well, I hope not too much more— especially with your help.

Mary. What is it you want to tell us?

Father Jack. As you know, I’ve been having some problems making it to the lay readers’ meeting and lunch. You may not know I also find it hard to make it to the Sunday afternoon basketball games. In fact, they’re even harder because they’re every week. Frankly, by Sunday noon I’m exhausted, and these two events are just too much. I can’t continue to take part in them— at least not on Sunday.

Silence.

Mary. What do you want from us, Jack?

Father Jack. I need your help to face those two groups. Major, you’re already mad at me, and so are some of the other lay readers; and I have the feeling that some of the basketball players know how I’ve been feeling and resent it. How can I make them— how can I make you— understand?

Major Jordan. Mary, I guess you were right. We elected someone too young and too inexperienced. 

Father Jameson, I have to tell you straight out, I can’t help you. I don’t think anybody can help you except you yourself. As I see it, the problem is your attitude. You don’t seem willing to live the life of a priest dedicated to his people. Your own personal needs seem to come before the welfare of your flock. Only you can change that.

Silence.

Mary looks at the Major. Then she turns towards Father Jack.

Mary. Jack, did you know that I voted against calling you here?

Father Jack. No. I didn’t.

Mary. I thought we needed a more experienced man to follow Father Bogan. But I’m beginning to change my mind.

Father Jack and Major Jordan. Change your mind!

Mary. I think that was a courageous thing you did just now. I think it took a lot of guts and a real love for this parish and for yourself to tell us the problem you were having and to ask for help. 

Major, don’t you see the strength in what Father Jack just did? I hope you will change your mind and help explain to the lay readers and to the basketball players that Father Jack is not Father Bogan and that they cannot expect him to do exactly what Father Bogan did. I know it’s disappointing to you and to them— you had a deep and satisfying relationship with Father Bogan— but Father Jack is a different person and things just have to be different. He has to learn a lot of things about how a parish works and about how he fits in a parish— and I see him beginning to do that— but we have to change too. There is no way another priest can come in here and be Father Bogan for us. We have to adjust too.

The lights are dimmed, then raised. Twenty minutes have passed. The vestry is meeting.

Jim. As chairman of buildings and grounds I am sorry to report serious problems with the roof. We have some expensive repairs ahead of us.

Scene Three. A month later. The parish house is set up for the Sunday morning coffee hour.

Agnes and Mary enter.

Agnes. That was the most outrageous sermon I have ever heard! It was self-centered, self-serving, and just plain unfair. He made an arbitrary decision at the urging of a small group of malcontents, and now he wants to defend it in terms of the equality of all souls before God! Well, I feel perfectly equal to any man, and I never served at the altar! I see no reason why girls should be acolytes!

Mary. I suppose your Olly is upset too.

Agnes. Of course he is! He and the other boys and Father Bogan used to have such a good relationship. They had a good time together and they learned a lot. Father Bogan was wonderful with boys, and now this new man has gone and spoiled everything— and on top of that, he did it all on his own. When those same women raised this issue before, Father Bogan had a big parish discussion. We all talked it over, then did a survey, and most of us were against it. Father Bogan said that as far as he was concerned that settled it. Apparently Father Jack doesn’t care what we think. He’s just gone and made this change without talking to us at all.

Mary. Yes, I am sorry about that. But don’t you see— he was trying to respond to a considerable group of people and also to follow his understanding of the gospel. That’s what he was trying to tell us this morning— how in Christ there is no male or female— that we’re all equal in the sight of God.

Agnes. I know that. I said that. I’m equal. I always have been.

Mary. And he was apologizing for the way he did it. He apologized to us— didn’t you hear that?— for rushing ahead without more consultation. He didn’t know about our discussion and survey. We didn’t tell him, and it didn’t occur to him to ask.

The women busy themselves as before.

Harriett and Winifred enter breathlessly.

Harriett. Good morning, Mary. Good morning, Agnes.

Mary and Agnes. Good morning, Harriett. Good morning, Winnie.

Voices are heard from the hallway. Parishioners enter talking. Major Jordan bustles in, grabs Rick by the arm, and pulls him front and center.

Major Jordan. That was an outrage!

Mary detaches herself from Agnes and seeks out Father Jack.

Mary. Jack, I need to talk to you.

Father Jack. Yes, Mary.

Mary. It’s about the Major.

Father Jack. Oh yes, Mary.

Mary. He’s hurting.

Father Jack. Hurting!

He’s hurting! What do you mean?! He’s criticizing me, he’s blaming me, he won’t listen to me— there he is now, pouring venom into Rick’s ear— and you say he’s hurting!

Mary. Yes. He’s hurting. Have you ever wondered why no one calls him by his first name? Have you ever wondered why he wants to be called Major? Have you ever wondered why he wants to be senior warden? Why he’s been head of the lay readers so long?

Father Jack. He needs to feel important.

Mary. Yes. He does. And you’re taking that away from him. Father Bogan knew the Major needs special attention, and he gave it to him. The Major needs reassuring praise just the way small children need it. I suppose a psychologist could explain the reasons. All I know is that when he feels important and recognized he’s a fine person, but when he feels unnoticed or criticized, he falls apart, he does things he’s ashamed of later. 

He needs you, Jack. He needs your attention. He needs your approval. You’ve got to give it to him, or you and he and this parish will all suffer.

Our attention turns to front and center, with the Major and Rick.

Major Jordan. I don’t think it can go on much longer like this. Unless he changes drastically, I think he’ll have to go.

Rick. I don’t think it’s as bad as that. Besides we don’t have the authority to get rid of him. Only the bishop can do that.

Major Jordan. I’ll be on the phone to the bishop soon enough if that’s what’s needed, but I’m not ready to do that yet. He still needs a chance. I’ll talk to him once more to see if I can bring him to his senses.

They move away and are replaced by Gina and Gladys.

Gina. I never was so disappointed in anyone in my life! I went to see him, but he didn’t understand at all. He asked if I had discussed my feelings with Joe, and when I said I hadn’t, he suggested that I do it. When I said that was impossible, he had the gall to suggest that I have professional counseling. I told him that Father Bogan had understood and had helped me a lot, but that didn’t seem to matter to him.  Oh, Gladys, what am I going to do?

Gladys. Why don’t you talk to Joe?

Gina. Gladys! You’re awful! You know I can’t do that! Joe would never understand.

Gladys. Well, I think Father Jack understands, and I hope you will too.

Harry, Tip, and Steve now replace Gina and Gladys.

Harry. He doesn’t have any arms or legs at all, as far as I’m concerned. He doesn’t want to play with us, and I don’t want to play with him. If something drastic doesn’t happen soon, I’m going to resign from the vestry and go to another parish.

Tip. What’s that? Another parish? What for?

Steve. Harry, I think Father Jack deserves another chance. I think Sunday afternoon is just like he said— a bad time for him. I know that I wouldn’t want to play basketball at six o’clock on a weekday night, right after coming home from work. That’s what it’s like for him. It’s his most tired time of the week. It’s his time off. He told me that’s when he likes to fall asleep in front of the TV or go to a movie. He says he needs to do something mindless and effortless. He says he needs the time from Sunday noon until Tuesday morning for rest and recovery.

Harry. Rest? Recovery? Rest and recovery from what? He doesn’t do anything worth doing. Does that look like work to you— what he does? It doesn’t look like work to me. 

No. I’ve made up my mind. Either he goes or I go!

Curtain.

ACT THREE

Scene One. Two days later. The rector’s study. Father Jack and Major Jordan sit facing each other with the desk and bookcases, etc., in the background.

Father Jack. Thank you, Major Jordan, for coming to see me.

Major Jordan. I had been meaning to call you myself.

Father Jack. I know how busy you are and how many people seek you out for advice and help. I’ve hesitated to take your time, but I need to draw on your experience and insight and influence in the parish.

Major Jordan. Oh, yes. Of course.

Father Jack. I’ve been thinking about some of the things you’ve said, and’ve decided I’ve perhaps been too hasty at times. I need your counsel now on what to do about a number of things. Especially I need your help in dealing with the anger that some people feel toward me. What do you think I should do?

Major Jordan. Well now.

[Clears throat.] I wish you had come to me earlier.

Father Jack. I did come to you earlier.

Major Jordan. With a repentant attitude, I mean.

Silence.

Father Jack is swallowing his pride.

Father Jack. I meant— I mean— to be penitent.

Major Jordan. Good. That’s the place to begin.

Father Jack. Yes, it is. We can be repentant together.

Major Jordan. Me, repentant!

Father Jack. Yes. I think it’s important for us to be two sinners together before God, two needy souls seeking his help and each other’s.

Major Jordan. I thought we were here to discuss your problem, not mine.

Father Jack. We both have problems.

Major Jordan. Oh, is that right? Tell me about it! [Very tensely.] Tell me about my problem!

Father Jack. Maybe this isn’t the time.

Major Jordan. You’ve started it! Now finish it! What problem? What’s my problem?

Father Jack. I really don’t think you’re in any condition—

Major Jordan. Any condition! I’m here because I wanted to help you. I still do. But you begin by telling me I have a problem. Now I want to know what it is! Tell me! We can’t go one step farther until you tell me!

Father Jack. I think, Major Jordan, that you are a wonderful person.

Major Jordan. That’s not a problem.

Father Jack. I think you are also a needy person.

Major Jordan. Needy!

Father Jack. Yes. I think that just as I have weaknesses, so you have a weakness— you have a need to be important to people, to do things to help people in such a way that you receive from them the thing you also need.

Major Jordan. Something I need.

Father Jack. Yes. It’s a simple enough thing. We all need it in one way or another, some a little more than others. You need recognition. You need it from me. You need it from the vestry. You need it from the lay readers. You need it from the parish.

Major Jordan. I need a lot don’t I?! I’m a very needy person, aren’t I! I’m practically a mental cripple, aren’t I, I’m so needy! Well, let me tell you who’s needy. You’re the needy one. You’re the one who needs help. You’re the one who’s in trouble. Needy! I’ll show you who’s needy.

The Major stomps out.

Scene Two. Vestry meeting a week later.

Major Jordan. As you all know, several of us on the vestry have been in touch with the bishop concerning the crisis here at St. Philip’s. We have asked him about the procedure for dismissing our vicar, Father John Jameson. He has advised us that he will abide by any decision we as a vestry make. He says that he thinks it important for these decisions to be made on the local level. We should be aware that because of the resignation of Harry Prior from the vestry a vote of four will be sufficient to pass a motion.  [Pauses.] I believe that Baxter Homan has a motion he wishes to introduce.

Baxter Homan raises his hand.

Father Jack. Baxter.

Baxter. This is very painful for me. I wish you no harm, Father Jack, but I think that for the sake of the parish I must proceed. I move that this vestry petition the bishop to dissolve the pastoral relation between us and Father John Jameson.

Father Jack. Is there a second to the motion?

Gina. I second the motion.

Father Jack. The floor is now open for discussion.

Baxter. I don’t believe we need more discussion prior to this vote. We have already discussed enough. I’d like to call for the question, but if anyone really wants to speak I don’t want to deprive them of the opportunity.

Mary. I agree, Baxter, that discussion is not likely to change our minds, but I think it’s important for us to be able make public our reasons for our votes. I suggest, therefore, that we cast our votes one by one and that those who wish have the opportunity to explain their vote.

Silence.

Father Jack. I can’t tell from your faces whether you’re agreeing or disagreeing with Mary.

Baxter. I agree. I think it’s a good idea.

A general murmur of assent.

Father Jack. I take it that you all agree. Very well, we will proceed with the vote. Shall we begin with the maker of the motion and the seconder and proceed around the table?

Silence.

Father Jack. Does that silence mean assent?

Baxter. Yes. It does for me.

A murmur of assent.

Father Jack. Baxter, what is your vote?

Baxter. I vote Yes, to dissolve the pastoral relation.

Father Jack. Do you wish to explain your vote?

Baxter. No. My position is well known.

Father Jack. Gina?

Gina. I vote Yes. I do not wish to explain my vote.

Father Jack. Rick.

Rick. I vote No. I believe that we are now in a position, if we all work together, to heal our wounds and move ahead.

Father Jack. Jim.

Jim. I vote No. I agree with Rick.

Father Jack. Nettie.

Nettie. I vote Yes. Anybody who can do what you did to the— I don’t want to say any more.

Father Jack. Major Jordan.

Major Jordan. I want to give my explanation before I give my vote. 

As all of you know, I have been angry with Father Jameson. I believe he made a number of serious mistakes almost from the beginning. It has seemed to me that the situation was irrecoverable. A large number of parishioners are angry with him. Several families have transferred to other parishes. Harry Prior, as you know, has resigned from the vestry and transferred to St. Paul’s. Several other families have either reduced their giving to the parish or have threatened to leave. 

The situation is very bad. It will take a small miracle to heal our wounds, even with another priest.  But the most critical factor for me has been a scene that took place between me and Father Jack just a few days ago. I had been thinking of seeing him because I wanted to do everything I could to help. As it happened, he phoned me first, before I got around to phoning him. That was very enheartening to me. I thought to myself that if he could reach out to me, perhaps I would be able to reach out to him. I was even more enheartened by the way in which our interview began. He apologized, and asked for my help! He said how much he valued my contribution to the parish. My heart surged with hope. But then he dashed it to the ground. He said something about our both being sinners and our both being in need of repentance. I was incensed! Who was he to judge me? I went home outraged. 

I’ve had time since then to think over the meaning of that interview. It gave me some idea why so many people are angry with Father Jack. 

It’s something like this. He is young and inexperienced. But his heart is in the right place, his intentions are good, and he’s trying. He’s just not very skilled yet. He tried to reach me— that’s what I began to realize as I thought over our interchange. He was trying to reach my soul! He didn’t do it very well. He made me very angry. In fact, he made me so angry that I’m surprised I heard anything at all. But I did finally hear his love. I suddenly realized that he was seeking to love me.  So much to my own surprise I vote No. I wish to keep the pastoral relation between us and Father Jack Jameson.

An audible sigh runs through the meeting.

Gina. The vote is tied! It’s up to you, Mary, and we all know how you’re going to vote.

Father Jack. Mary, what is your vote?

Mary. I vote Yes.

All. Yes!

Major Jordan. Mary, you don’t mean that! That’s a vote to dissolve the relation!

Mary. That’s what I mean. I believe the relation should be dissolved. You may be right, Major. In fact, I rejoice to hear what you’ve said. I rejoice in what has happened between you and Father Jack. I rejoice in his reaching out to you. 

I agree with you that he’s learning. But I think it’s too late for him and us. I believe that both he and we need growth, and that we have started to change— this meeting is a sign of that— but I think we need to do it with other partners. Father Jack needs to start over and so do we. So I vote Yes. I vote to dissolve the relationship.  I believe we should send a letter of explanation to the bishop. We should tell him of our confidence in Father Jack, of the wonderful way in which we have seen him struggle to grow and learn, and we should recommend that he be given another parish— under the supervision of an experienced priest, I should think. I vote Yes.

Father Jack. The motion is carried.

Scene Three. The rector’s study. Father Jack is packing his things. Mary enters.

Mary. I’ve wanted to see you for some time, Jack, but I found it very hard, since I was the one who voted you out.

Father Jack. I’ve found it difficult too. But it helped a lot when the bishop told me you’d been to see him to urge that I be given another assignment. He said he was very impressed by what you had to say. So I’m in your debt. Thank you.

Mary. I meant what I said at the vestry meeting. I think you are on your way to being a fine priest. I’m sorry it has to be so painful.

Father Jack. The bishop is sending me to St. Peter’s, the parochial mission of the cathedral. I’ll be working under the Dean’s supervision. 

What happened here, Mary? What went wrong?

Mary. Jack, I think a parish priest is much more than someone who leads services and visits the sick. Everybody in the parish looks to you for something important in their lives. Somehow you have to sense what that is for each person, and then you have to respond in a way that will help them grow in Christ. You can’t be just one of the guys and you can’t be a psychotherapist. You have to be very savvy and very sensitive and very tough. You walked into a parish that wasn’t ready for a new priest, a parish that was still tied to your predecessor and expected you to be just like him. Parish priests have to do a lot of discerning of spirits— you have to see into people and into groups, to discern the spirit that is in them; and then you have to deal with that spirit. I think you walked unawares into all kinds of spirits until they drew blood.

Father Jack. Yes. We certainly drew blood.

Curtain.

Vision and failure

4 Easter

Introduction. Vision of pastor and pastoral community

“I am the good shepherd,” says Jesus. Ah! How that warms my heart! Jesus’ vision of the good shepherd, the one who loves us, the one who cares for us, the one who searches for us when we are lost.

And later, when Jesus sends forth his church, he sends us as a pastoral community. We are to care for the wounded and the lost and the wandering.

We human beings long for the good shepherd, long for the caring community.

As a parish priest I have seen this longing in person after person. Wounded souls come to the church looking for care, looking for someone who will understand, someone who will take care of them, looking for a flock they may be part of, and in which they will find solace, security, direction.

We are called — you and I — to be a loving flock, a group of loving shepherds. We are called to care for the wounded, for each other, for the world.

1. Flaws and failures

And of course, we fall far short. Among my most painful memories are the times when I failed to help or when I even harmed. I remember also hearing, all too often, of lost sheep for whom no one searched, lost sheep whose absence no one even noticed.

I think of those we have lost here at Trinity. I lost several good friends who were mad at the rector. They just left, and I still miss them. Others left us because of the church’s change of position concerning gays and lesbians. The choir was splintered a few years back when our choirmaster was asked to leave. Many were upset by the departure of Carol Wageman.

I think we’re in pretty good shape as a parish, but we have gone through many hurtful ups and downs. And that’s the way it is in the church. The flock, the shepherds fall far short of being the good shepherd or the good flock.

It was so even for Jesus. His disciples showed all the flaws and failures we see in the church today. They quarreled. They fought among themselves for first place. They failed Jesus in his hour of need.

And it was so for Paul and the early evangelists. Paul and Barnabas quarreled about Mark. Barnabas wanted to take Mark along on their second or third trip, but Paul said no, because Mark had failed them earlier. The disagreement was so great that Barnabas and Paul split up. Barnabas went on a separate trip with Mark, and Paul found himself another companion, Silas, for his trip.

And church history is no better; it’s worse if anything. Look at how splintered we are! Look at our treatment of the Jews! Look at the scandals among our clergy!

It is no wonder that many people have just given up on us. We talk big. Our ideals are wonderful. But our performance leaves much to be desired.

2. Why stay (or leave)?

So why am I still here? I have asked myself that question many times over the years.

How can I still adhere to such a flawed church? And the answer is always the same — because I believe in the vision, and I am committed to the vision. I know that we fall far short. And I repent of that. I sorrow because of that. But I believe in our call, and I see around me other flawed souls who also believe in our call and are committed to it.

When would I leave a community? — I would leave when their vision, when their picture of life and what they see themselves called to, contradicts the gospel vision. I cannot, for example, belong to a community whose vision is success. Our vision is to serve, not to be king of the hill. Neither can I belong to a community that has given up, a community without Holy Spirit. I belong to a community empowered and led the by the Holy Spirit of God.

3. What did Jesus do?

What did Jesus do? He belonged to a religious community — the people of Israel— whose vision he deeply criticized. We see him time after time in conflict with the religious authorities. But he did not leave. He stayed within the community, rejected false vision within that community, and held up authentic vision. He was committed to a vision and he sought to commit others to that vision.

He gathered a community around himself. He ministered to and taught a very large following of disciples. He called twelve very flawed men to be apostles. And he was disappointed in them. At the garden of Gethsemane he asked for their help and did not get it. “Could you not watch with me for one hour?” he lamented. He was hurt by them. But he did not break up with them. He did not leave them.

Their failings led instead to his commitment. They failed him; he gave himself to the cross. And he calls us to both his vision and his method. We are to hold up to the world the vision of a loving community and we are to pay the price. When we are hurt by our companions, when members of the pastoral community fail us and wound us, we are to accept that cross. We are called not to avoid pain. We are called not to reject suffering. We are to embrace it for the sake of others.

There’s a collect in the Prayer Book for Fridays in Morning Prayer that reads as follows: Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace.

We are called, you and I, to walk the way of the cross.

Conclusion. Our clash with the world

I am more and more struck, as time goes on, perhaps because I am approaching my final years, by how much Jesus’ vision is at odds with the world. He wasn’t just at odds with the world of his day; he’s at odds with our world too. We are to be servant, says Jesus, not master. Donald Trump proclaims the gospel of success — we can all become king of the hill — only wimps fail. Jesus leads us on the way of the cross. But the world admires the strong, decisive man of violence — and now, these days, the woman of violence too.

When I say these things I am conscious that I too am infected by the world. I am glad to live in a comfortable home. I am glad to have good food. I am glad to have computers and phones and e-books. I am glad not to be in conflict with the world I live in. I am not rushing out into the nearby woods to find and feed the homeless.

But I’m uncomfortable about my middle-class life, my middle-class privileges. That’s good. I think that if we are not uncomfortable at being well-off, we are not hearing the gospel.

So stick with it. The church is a community of very flawed people, people who fail a lot, but people called to a vision, and, to an important degree, committed to that vision.

The Covenants

2 Lent

Introduction. Evil and the four covenants

It all starts with the creation myth. At each stage of creation, as God creates light, the firmament, the waters, and so on, we hear the chorus, “and God saw that it was good.” But it wasn’t all good. How that came to be we don’t know.

But the tempter was there. And fallible human beings were there. And evil entered God’s creation. And soon there was murder, a brother killing a brother, Cain killing Abel.

God had a problem. What was he — she — to do about the evil in creation? The first, obvious step was punishment. Cain is to be a fugitive.

Later, once murder has spread among humankind, vengeance also spreads. The family of the victim can kill the murderer. A form of crude justice is emerging. But sometimes the killer is innocent of wrong-doing; so cities of refuge are established. If the killer can get to a city of refuge the family of the dead man cannot kill him.

But that’s not a good solution.

God sees such evil among human beings, it is so widespread that he — she — decides to start over. All human beings except for the righteous Noah and his family are to be destroyed by a flood. But when it’s over God decides that that is not a good solution either. So God makes a promise to Noah and all humanity, not to send another such flood. This is the first covenant, and its sign is the rainbow.

We read about that covenant last week. Today we read about a second covenant, one between God and Abraham. God has made another decision. “Instead of wiping out humankind I am going to build a new humanity. I see that Abram and Sarai are a righteous man and woman. I will choose them and their descendants to live in covenant with me. I will give them a multitude of nations for descendants.” Abram becomes Abraham. Sarai becomes Sarah. And the sign of this second covenant is circumcision.

In the next step God makes a radical new decision. Previously the covenants have been with all of humanity or with a great multitude of nations. Now God decides to choose one people, one tribe, the Israelites, with whom to make a covenant. He chooses Moses to lead this people and through him gives the Law, which is now to be his — her — instrument in the struggle against evil. Through the Law God is going to train the Israelites in righteousness.

In human terms we would call this succession of events a path of trial and error. God creates, but his creatures fall. The covenants with Noah and Abraham are not good enough; so God makes another with Moses and the people of Israel.

And now, today, in our second lesson, we hear Paul say No to the Mosaic covenant. He sees this covenant too as another inadequate solution to the problem of human evil. Paul’s argument in support of this conclusion is hard to follow. I’m going to simplify it.

1. Paul’s rejection of the third covenant

Let’s imagine ourselves in Paul’s situation. He’s a Jew, an heir of the Mosaic covenant. He’s a Pharisee, a student of the greatest Pharisaic scholar of the day, Gamaliel. He’s a Christian. He has tried to get in right relation to God by keeping the Law, by adhering to the Mosaic covenant, but has failed. Keeping the Law has not worked for him. What has worked is faith in Jesus. Through that faith he has received the Holy Spirit and has been reborn in Christ. He has become a new person. And he has witnessed the same rebirth in many other people — both Jew and gentile. You are saved, he teaches, not by keeping the Law, but by putting your faith in God and receiving the Holy Spirit. You do not keep the moral law through your own effort; you keep it through the Holy Spirit, because you have been reborn in the Holy Spirit. Faith, not human effort, is what saves you. Faith opens you to the power of God, and in that power — in that right relation to God — you are able to be good.

So, says Paul, we are not subject the covenant of Moses. Not even our father Abraham was saved through the Law; he was saved by believing the word of God.

2. Our covenant

Our church language sometimes obscures meaning. We speak, for example, of the “New Testament,” and usually understand that to mean a book. We think of the “Old Testament” as one book and the “New Testament” as another. Well, ok. But those are secondary meanings.

The Old Testament is the Old Covenant, the third covenant, the covenant made between God, on the one hand, and Moses and the Israelites, on the other. You and I are members of the New Covenant, the Covenant between all of humanity and God in Jesus. The sign of this covenant is Baptism.

Notice, in particular, that the covenants are with peoples. The covenants are not with individuals. It is Noah and all humanity. Abraham and a multitude of nations. Moses and the tribe of Israel. Us, the People of God and all humankind.

When I was ordained, Baptisms were private affairs. They were performed on a weekday at the convenience of the participants. Baptism was very much a family affair. Thus in practice the new covenant was understood privately, individualistically. What happened in Baptism, in our common understanding, was something between an infant (or occasionally an adult) and God.

That changed for us dramatically in the late 70’s when the present Book of Common Prayer was introduced. Suddenly Baptism was to be performed on Sunday as a public event, as a ceremony of the People of God, not an intimate family event. The change caused a lot of trouble between parish clergy and parents and grandparents. I had conflict after conflict with families that wanted a private Baptism at the convenience of the participants. They resented making what they saw as a private event being turned into a public event.

In Baptism we are reborn into a new humanity, the Body of Christ. In Baptism the People of God initiate a new member. The new member takes on the identity and the mission of the People of God. If you look at pages 304-305 of the Prayer Book, where we subscribe to the New Covenant, you find our identity and mission spelled out. We are to adhere one in another through the apostles’ teaching, the breaking of bread, and the prayers. We are to persevere in resisting evil. We are to proclaim the Good News. We are to serve our neighbor. And we are to minister to all humankind by striving for justice and peace and by respecting the dignity of every human being.

In sum, we are to build a new humanity. We are to carry out the task begun in the Abrahamic Covenant. The old humanity is riddled by evil. In this covenant the evil in humankind is to be combated by the building of a new humanity in the Holy Spirit, through faith in Jesus Christ.

Conclusion. How to combat ISIS

I’ve been thinking a lot about ISIS — the Islamic State — lately. I imagine that all of us have. We have seen one horror after another — kidnapped men beheaded, or burnt alive — or in the most recent case twenty-nine coptic Christians beheaded because of being Christian. And now recently many more Christians have been kidnapped, and in all likelihood will be murdered in some gruesome fashion.

My gut reaction is anger and violence. Go after them! Send our armed forces after them! This is intolerable! They must be wiped out!

I’m reacting like the God of Noah.

If I were God I would send a flood!

But that won’t do.

So what should we do? What should our reaction be to this human evil?

I do not know in particular. I do know in general.

We, the People of God, are called to be and to build a new humanity. Jesus fought evil by giving himself to the cross. Are we to do that? Are we to be martyrs to ISIS or Boko Haram or Al Qaeda? I find that hard to believe.

Perhaps the path we are looking for is the one of non-violent confrontation taken by Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. There is an institution — the Albert Einstein Institution — devoted to the study and propagation of this kind of change action. Their studies show how various non-violent tactics — even against vicious dictators — can bring about change. And it isn’t just talk. Various revolutions have successfully taken place using their nonviolent method. In any case, I believe we as Christians — as the seed of the new humanity — are called to find and use ways to combat evil and build the new universal People of God. It’s our mission. That’s why the New Covenant exists.

http://www.aeinstein.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/OSNC.pdf

http://www.aeinstein.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/How-Nonviolent-Struggle-Works.pdf

http://www.aeinstein.org

Original Sin

Lent 1 A

Introduction. Our ties to one another

I’m going to talk today about sin — specifically, original sin. But in order to do that I need to talk about us — you and me — about our connections, our ties.

My great granddaughter, Olive, was born to two parents, Holly and Warren. She is tied to them and they to her by emotion, by need, by love, by bonds so strong they can be felt by me and anyone else who observes them, by bonds so strong they can almost be seen and touched. She is also tied to her grandparents — to Holly’s parents and to my son and daughter-in-law. And she is tied to me.

She is tied to family networks — to the living and the dead also — and not only to family but to the local and national networks into which she was born. She will speak with a Canadian accent because she is tied to Canadians. She will learn Canadian history. She is learning French as well as English. She will acquire western European attitudes and habits. She will pray as a Christian. She will buy and sell and work within the capitalist system. She will be protected by police systems and armies. She may even be drafted.

The number of networks into which she has been born and into which she will become increasingly tied is vast.

To illustrate how each thing on earth is connected with each other other thing on earth it is said that a petal falling from a flower in Thailand may cause a tornado in Alabama.

We are born, you and I, connected to vast networks of humanity and of earth. There is no such thing as an isolated individual. There is no such thing as a thing by itself.

1. Diseased networks

The problem for Olive and for every newborn child is that the networks into which they are born are diseased. I think my family is reasonably healthy, but I cannot maintain that it has no problems, no spiritual dysfunction whatever. And certainly, as much as I admire Canada, I cannot say that it is entirely healthy. Or the capitalist system. Or our educational systems. Or our businesses. Or the church. Every human network is diseased.

Olive was born into dysfunctional, diseased networks. Olive will struggle all her life against the dysfunction in which she is embedded.

We can call that fact the doctrine of original dysfunction or original disease. Our Hebrew ancestors, however, detected more than dysfunction. They sensed alienation. Somehow they were alienated from their source of being. They told stories from one generation to the next about their fundamental alienation, about a good God who created all things good, and from whom they had cut themselves off, about a righteous God who saw their evil deeds and in outrage destroyed all humankind except Noah and his family, about a loving God who rescued his people from slavery and made a covenant of law with them. From this God, who kept pursuing them, they felt themselves alienated.

Original dysfunction, original spiritual disease proceeding from alienation — that is the doctrine of original sin. We are born into a dysfunctional world alienated from its source of being, God.

I hasten to add that there are other aspects to the doctrine, that there are other ways of expressing it. But this is the best way I know to make it clear that we are each born in sin.

2. Guilt

Notice that Olive is not to blame. Olive did not choose to be born into an alienated, dysfunctional world. Olive did not choose to be born in sin. She has done nothing wrong. She is not guilty of sin. She has, however, been born into a world of sin.

But here’s the joker for Olive. Because she lives and will continue to live in diseased networks, she’ll catch their disease. She will do things she ought not to do; she will sin. And even though she did not choose to be born into such a world, and even though sinful behavior — at least some — is inevitable on her part, she will be guilty. She will come down with spiritual disease and from time to time she will do things she ought not to do, and for that she will be guilty. It happens to us all.

St. Paul calls it slavery. He graphically describes how he is enslaved to sin. And we are too — each of us. I have sinful habits I struggle against in vain. So do you. And so will Olive. That’s the human condition. You and I and our networks are enslaved to sin.

3. Human improvement

There’s a counter-story that needs to be told.

Not only is human history the story of war and strife and alienation; it is also the story of peacemaking and reconciliation and improvement in the human condition. You and I can look around us and bewail a downward trend in American life, but the fact is that our lives are vastly better than the lives of our ancestors. Our political system, as bad as it is, is far preferable to most of those in the world or those that have gone before. Humankind has gone in stages little by little from savagery to rule by petty kings or barons, then to kingdoms and empires, and eventually to democracies, each stage bringing — usually — an improvement in human relations and behavior. So human effort, human learning, human virtue amount to something.

How do such improvements take place?

Each step must be understood, I believe, as a giving up of self. I get better when I stop trying to heal myself by myself. I get better when I give up self to God or to another, loving human being. I get better when I stop trying to protect my ego.

Institutions get better when they stop trying to protect self, when they stop trying to enrich self, when they give up self-interest and seek the good of othersl

Think of some recent battles for and against reform. I’ll take some simple ones — tobacco sales, bottle and can deposits, and now, on the horizon, no more free plastic one-use bags. I choose these issues not because they are specially evil, but because it is easy to see the dynamics. The self-interest of tobacco companies fought and is still fighting against reform. Bottle and can deposits became successful law when the drink manufacturers discovered they could make money from the way the deposits are handled. And, you know, with plastic bags I can see several sets of self-interest that will have to be conquered if change is to take place. Consumers — you and I — and stores will have to give up convenience. Plastic bag makers will probably fight to the end. Giving up their self-interest means giving up a lot of money. And change will take place only when enough people give up self-interest.

Human advance means giving up self. And then I look with amazement at the shelves of books about self-improvement, about expanding the self, about enriching self-esteem. We are really hooked, you and I! We really are centered on self!

Conclusion. The church

That’s where the church comes in — on both the individual and corporate levels.

When we say, “Jesus saves,” we think immediately — at least I do — of individual salvation, of a person accepting Jesus and being saved. John Wesley, whose feast day we celebrated recently, comes to mind. He experienced an inner conversion on May 24, 1738, while listening to a reading of Luther’s Preface to the Epistle to the Romans. “I felt my heart strangely warmed,” he recorded, “I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.”

We Anglicans don’t usually go in for such drama. We are likely to express more doubt, but at the same time more confidence in the church. We are likely to believe that partaking in the sacraments and confessing our sins we’ll turn out all right in the end. We are likely to believe more in a process of conversion than in a one time event.

Corporate conversion gets expressed, gets acted out successfully from time to time. Pope Francis appeals, I believe, because he is calling for corporate conversion, for a converted church. I loved the Episcopal Church I grew up in, but the Episcopal Church of today seems to me to have become a gradually converted church. Our witness and action have helped change many sinful networks — those that oppress women, those that oppress people of color, those that oppress sexual minorities, those that oppress religious minorities. I think we still have a long way to go when it comes to sinful business and social networks.

Such conversion — individual and corporate — is what Jesus is for. That’s what his self-lessness is for. That’s what we are called individually and as a body to be — self-less in the midst of a self-interested, self-centered, self-confident world.