First Blessings

APOSTLES ANGLICAN CHRUCH
Fr. John Roop

St. Lucy’s Day (13 December 2023)
(Revelation 19:5-8, Psalm 131, Matthew 25:1-13)

Collect
Almighty God, who gave to Lucy the grace of complete devotion in body, mind, and spirit and the courage to proclaim her faith in the day of persecution: Grant to us, your servants, that same resolute holiness and unshakable commitment to the Bridegroom of the Church, our Lord Jesus Christ who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Let’s begin with a question: what is the first commandment? I know that the question itself is a bit ambiguous — intentionally vague — and I know that it allows for multiple answers. Even so, how would you answer it?

We could certainly point to the Decalogue and its first commandment:

I am the LORD your God. You shall have no other gods before me.

Or, we might remember the words of our Lord Jesus Christ when asked about the greatest commandment:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment.

Both of these commandments have priority of place; they are first in the sense of being of fundamental importance. And, they are expressing the same foundational principle: remember that God is God and put him first in all things. To answer in this way is to take “first” to mean “of primary importance.”

But, if we take “first” in a chronological or sequential sense to mean before all others, then the first commandment given to humankind is found in Genesis 1:

And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth” (Genesis 1:28).

Not to be crude, but God’s very first commandment to the primal pair of humans was to have sex and to have babies — lots of babies, enough through their descendants over generations to fill the world. And notice that this commandment was part of God’s blessing upon his creation and especially upon his humans; so the enterprise of having sex and having babies, within the covenant of God-ordained marriage, is a good and holy thing. It is fundamental to the human vocation, part of what it means to be human, and certainly necessary to perpetuate the species. God embodied humans in the way he did — gave us the gendered anatomy and physiology we have — to make this vocation possible.

The Jews took this commandment, this vocation, very seriously. That is why barrenness is considered such an affliction in Scripture; it is the inability to keep the first commandment. So, we sorrow along with Sarai and Rebekah and Rachel and Hannah and Elizabeth in their infertility, and we rejoice with them when at last they conceive. We grieve for Jephthah’s daughter who dies childless because of her stupid father’s stupid vow. Her words are tragic:

37 So she said to her father, “Let this thing be done for me: leave me alone two months, that I may go up and down on the mountains and weep for my virginity, I and my companions” (Judges 11:37).

She weeps that she will die a virgin, that she will die childless.

So, in the Old Testament ethos, to be infertile was a great tragedy and to choose to remain childless was … well, it wasn’t a thing; it was essentially unthinkable in that culture, a rejection of the human vocation.

One might expect that same ethos to prevail in the Church since the cultural and spiritual blood of Israel flows through the Church’s veins. And, to some great extent, it does; the Church has always upheld the sanctity of marriage and family life. In the Church, children always were and still are considered a blessing from the Lord. But, alongside the blessed state of marriage and child-rearing there grew up another God-given and God-blessed state of life: chastity — consecrated virginity. Hear these words from St. Thomas Á Kempis:

CONSIDER the lively examples set us by the saints, who possessed the light of true perfection and religion, and you will see how little, how nearly nothing, we do. What, alas, is our life, compared with theirs? The saints and friends of Christ served the Lord in hunger and thirst, in cold and nakedness, in work and fatigue, in vigils and fasts, in prayers and holy meditations, in persecutions and many afflictions. How many and severe were the trials they suffered—the Apostles, martyrs, confessors, virgins, and all the rest who willed to follow in the footsteps of Christ! They hated their lives on earth that they might have life in eternity (A Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, Book 1, Chapter 18).

Look at the noble fellowship in which he includes the virgins: the Apostles, martyrs, confessors, virgins, and all the rest who willed to follow in the footsteps of Christ.

We don’t make much of consecrated virgins in the Anglican Church; I doubt many cradle Anglicans have even heard of them. Part of that is almost certainly due to the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII — frankly, a great loss for our church in my estimation — and to the elimination of the requirement for priestly celibacy. But, the early Church and the other churches now in the Great Tradition — the Roman Catholic Church and the Orthodox Church — have retained this charism and honor it highly. That should be enough to cause us to rethink the issue.

But, as good Anglicans, as we think about it, we will ask a fundamental question: does celibacy — consecrated virginity — have biblical warrant? Is it found in Scripture? Yes. St. Paul acknowledges consecrated virginity as a gift from God, as a holy state of life, and, in some cases, as even preferable to marriage and child-rearing.

Speaking of his own celibacy, St. Paul writes:

1 Corinthians 7:7–9 (ESV): 7 I wish that all were as I myself am. But each has his own gift from God, one of one kind and one of another.

8 To the unmarried and the widows I say that it is good for them to remain single, as I am. 9 But if they cannot exercise self-control, they should marry. For it is better to marry than to burn with passion.

He then continues with a two-fold defense of consecrated virginity or of widowed celibacy. The first justification is practical, based upon the difficulties of the time in which he lived.

1 Corinthians 7:25–26 (ESV): 25 Now concerning the betrothed [παρθένων, virgins], I have no command from the Lord, but I give my judgment as one who by the Lord’s mercy is trustworthy. 26 I think that in view of the present distress it is good for a person to remain as he is.

In a time of persecution, it is perhaps better, St. Paul says, not to multiply responsibilities or attachments. It is difficult enough to suffer for Christ oneself; imagine the difficulty of watching one’s spouse or children suffer. Is there the possibility of committing apostasy in order to end the suffering of a spouse or child? Yes, certainly that would be a great temptation. Better to avoid all that through celibacy.

St. Paul’s second justification is just as practical, but is also directed toward one’s relationship with Christ.

1 Corinthians 7:32–35 (ESV): 32 I want you to be free from anxieties. The unmarried man is anxious about the things of the Lord, how to please the Lord. 33 But the married man is anxious about worldly things, how to please his wife, 34 and his interests are divided. And the unmarried or betrothed woman is anxious about the things of the Lord, how to be holy in body and spirit. But the married woman is anxious about worldly things, how to please her husband. 35 I say this for your own benefit, not to lay any restraint upon you, but to promote good order and to secure your undivided devotion to the Lord.

Do you see what St. Paul — whether consciously or not — is doing here? He is moving from one “first commandment” — Be fruitful and multiply. — to another first commandment — You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. In doing so, he is not pitting married life against celibacy. It is a matter of gifting, a matter of the vocation to which God has called each one. If you have the gift of celibacy, it is a holy estate, the means God has ordained for your sanctification and service. If you have the gift of marriage and child-rearing, it, too, is a holy estate, the means God has ordained for you to become a saint and to minister to others. St. Paul’s exhortation is thoroughly practical and thoroughly spiritual. Look to the times; look to your gifting. Look to what God has in mind for you.

In its best moments, the Church has listened to St. Paul’s guidance and has honored the role of consecrated virgins. These women vow a life of perpetual virginity for the sake of devotion to Christ and service in the Church and in the world. Some become cloistered nuns and devote themselves exclusively to prayer. Some live in the world and devote themselves to acts of charity, education, service to the poor.

The early Church particularly honored four virgin martyrs among whom we find St. Lucy, whose feast day is observed on 13 December. That is, of course, why we are talking about this topic at all; today is the Feast of St. Lucy. As Anglicans we don’t quite know what to do with her. St. Lucy’s feast day is listed on our calendar as an optional, ecumenical commemoration which means it is largely ignored as a feast in its own right. It is mainly noted only to set the date for the winter ember days, the set of three days each season when the church fasts and prays for those called to or in holy orders. The winter ember days are the Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday following the feast of St. Lucy. The virgin martyr serves as a signpost pointing to something else; we notice St. Lucy mainly so we will know when to observe the ember days.

But, what of St. Lucy herself? What do we know of her?

Lucy was born in 283 in Syracusa, a city in Sicily, to affluent, Christian parents, who raised her in the faith from her birth. Her father died when she was young, and her mother Eutychia had a serious health issue also. As with the woman in the Gospel, Eutychia had suffered for four years with a flow of blood the doctors were unable to stanch. It was Lucy who insisted that she and her mother travel to Catana to pray for healing at the tomb of St. Agatha, a holy virgin martyr of Sicily. It was there — or at least as a result of the prayers offered there — that Eutychia was healed. And, perhaps it was that incident that confirmed in Lucy her own desire to offer herself fully to God as a holy virgin and to distribute her portion of the family wealth to the poor. She made this vow secretly; she did not reveal it to her mother.

Not knowing about her daughter’s vow, Eutychia sought to arrange a marriage for Lucy, as was the norm. An agreement was made with a young nobleman, but he soon began to suspect something was amiss. He noticed that Lucy had begun selling her jewelry and other possessions and was distributing the proceeds to the poor. That practice was highly unusual, except among one group of people: the Christians. Knowing now that he had been misled — inadvertently misled by the mother, but misled nonetheless — he denounced Lucy to the authorities as a Christian. All this was transpiring under the final but brutal persecution of Christians under the Emperor Diocletian. Without going into the details, Lucy refused to submit to her betrothed and to renounce her faith; she was tortured and died as a result of her wounds in A.D. 304.

We can assume that Lucy was honored locally from the time of her martyrdom onward. By the sixth century, within three hundred years of her death, that honor had spread throughout the Roman Church; Pope Gregory I (590-603) included St. Lucy in his sacramentary, the book used by bishops and priests for liturgical services. Her popular devotion had spread to England by the eighth century, where her feast day was observed until it was “lost” during the Reformation. As I understand it, the Church of England now observes St. Lucy’s Day as a lesser feast of the Church, but not so the American Anglican Church.

Might it be good for us to reclaim the virgin martyrs, to honor them again as the Church has always done? I think so. I think so because it makes room for and honors the variety of ways God calls people to holiness and service, and it uses the full range of God’s gifts for the sake of the Church and the world.

I think we should say about this what St. Paul says:

17 Only let each person lead the life that the Lord has assigned to him, and to which God has called him. This is my rule in all the churches (1 Cor 7:17).

St. Paul goes on specifically to contrast circumcision and uncircumcision, servitude and freedom. But, later in the letter he makes clear, implicitly, that virginity and marriage fall under this rule also. God has called people to sanctity of life and to faithful service in a vast array of different ways, and we should exult in all of them, utilize all of them to the glory of God, for the welfare of his people, and for the sake of the world.

In the end, one is not made holy by either state of life, virginity or marriage. One is made holy by one’s faithfulness to God expressed in and through a particular state of life. We do not honor St. Lucy just because she was a virgin, but rather because through her virginity she expressed her complete self-offering to God, a devotion for which she was willing to suffer martyrdom. That is the Christian goal, the Christian purpose, in any state of life to which God has called us — all of us. Amen.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Eve of Thanksgiving 2023
(Deut 8/Ps 65:1-8/James 1:1-17/Matt 6:25-33)

Collect for Thanksgiving
Most merciful Father, we humbly thank you for all your gifts so freely bestowed upon us: for life and health and safety, for strength to work and leisure to rest, for all that is beautiful in creation and in human life; but above all we thank you for our spiritual mercies in Christ Jesus our Lord; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

17 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change (James 1:17).

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Just in case you haven’t looked at your calendar recently, let me remind you that tomorrow is a holiday; it is the Eve of Black Friday, the Great Vigil of Christmas Shopping Season, sometimes known also, I understand, as Thanksgiving Day.

I’m not really as cynical about the day as that made me sound; I like Thanksgiving even if its observance sometimes seems a little off. It is good that our secular government acknowledges the human duty, right, and need to be thankful. It’s at least an implicit recognition that Someone has blessed us — God sneaking in through the back door of a government holiday. It may not be explicitly the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God perfectly revealed in Jesus Christ, but it is at least “Nature’s God,” the Creator who has endowed all men with the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. And — pardon the double negative — that’s not nothing.

For Christians, not least for Anglican Christians, Thanksgiving should be a day like any other day, a day of business as usual. Except perhaps for the time off from work, the parades, and the football games, Thanksgiving Day should be just another Thursday. That’s true because we are, day in and day out, a thanksgiving people. Consider the Daily Office of Morning and Evening Prayer. We begin the day with an Invitatory Psalm, usually the Venite, Psalm 95:

O come, let us sing unto the LORD;*
let us heartily rejoice in the strength of our salvation.

Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving*
and show ourselves glad in him with psalms (BCP 2019, p. 14).

We end the day with The General Thanksgiving:

Almighty God, Father of all mercies,
we your unworthy servants give you humble thanks
for all your goodness and loving-kindness
to us and to all whom you have made (BCP 2019, p. 51).

Our days, all our days, are bracketed with thanksgiving — morning and evening. But, it’s not just our days; it’s our weeks, as well. On the first day of each week we gather with God’s people for the principal service of Christian worship, the Holy Eucharist, which “is a chief means of grace for sustained and nurtured life in Christ” (BCP 201, p. 7). “Eucharist” — the name we often use for Holy Communion — comes to us directly from the Greek εύχαριστία which simply means “thanksgiving.” The Eucharistic Prayer itself is called The Great Thanksgiving. It begins with a dialogue between priest and people:

Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right to give him thanks and praise (BCP 2019, p. 132)

before it turns to prayer to God himself:

It is right, our duty and our joy, always and everywhere to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth (BCP 2019, p. 132).

Daily, weekly, always and everywhere the Christian life is bracketed by, punctuated by, and characterized by thanksgiving. That the government makes space for such thanksgiving one day each year is a good thing, but for us it is simply business as usual; we are a thanksgiving people.

Having the “official” day does give us cause and time to consider the nature and practices of thanksgiving, though, and that is what I’d like to do for just a moment. I’ll start with this general conviction:

What we are thankful for depends on and reveals what we value.

Let me give a trivial example. If someone were to bake a tray of fresh garlic knots for me, I would certainly be grateful for the thoughtfulness and the expression of hospitality, but I would not be thankful for the gift itself; I find garlic distasteful. To me it has no redeeming value. But, if someone were to pour me a fresh cup of coffee, I would be both grateful for the act and thankful for the gift. Coffee is proof that God exists and that he loves us; I value a good cup of coffee very highly. So, back to my conviction:

What we are thankful for depends on and reveals what we value.

Now, imagine we could go house to house tomorrow afternoon, interrupt people’s celebrations and ask this survey question: What are you especially thankful for today? What are some answers you would expect to receive?

Lifeway Research actually conducted such a survey in 2020. Here are the results in decreasing order of thankfulness: family, health, friends, memories, personal freedom, stability, fun experiences, opportunities, achievements, and wealth (https://research.lifeway.com/2020/11/17/americans-most-thankful-for-and-to-family-this-thanksgiving/, accessed 11/14/2023). The answers aren’t particularly surprising, though the order of a few are not what I would have predicted. I’ve tried to generalize and categorize the answers. What are Americans most thankful for? What do we most value?

Relationships: family and friends, memories

Security: health, stability,

Self-Fulfillment: personal freedom, fun experiences, achievements

Provision: wealth

Relationships, security, self-fulfillment, and wealth: these values are certainly reflected in how we celebrate Thanksgiving. We feast securely in our homes with family and friends. We tell stories and share memories and observe family traditions. We review the highlights of the year — all the fun experiences and achievements — and perhaps we grieve some losses, thankful that at least we’re still here and healthy: relationships, security, self-fulfillment, and provision.

This is an overly simplistic summary, I know, but we are thankful for those things that make us happy. We value happiness. How many times have you heard parents say about their children, “I just want them to be happy”?

And so, I am right back to this conviction:

What we are thankful for depends on and reveals what we value.

We — typical Americans — value relationships, security, self-fulfillment, and provision. We value happiness.

Here’s the question that brings to mind, a question I’d like to think about a bit with you. What if we valued holiness instead of happiness, or at least valued holiness more than happiness. How would that change what we are thankful for?

The lectionary for Thanksgiving Day appoints a reading from the Letter of St. James, beginning with the 1st chapter, the 17th verse. It takes verse 17 as the first verse of what follows. Today I would instead like to consider verse 17 as the last verse of what goes before and let the first sixteen verses spur our thinking on the question I proposed: what if we valued holiness more than happiness? How would that change what we are thankful for?

James 1:2–4, 12 (ESV): 2 Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. 4 And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.

12 Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.

If we value holiness more than happiness, we will be thankful for trials and testing and not just for ease and comfort. This notion is strictly counter-cultural in our society. Our culture today has a great affinity for “safe spaces,” for contexts and situations where people are always affirmed, always made comfortable, never challenged, never corrected, where everyone’s “truth” is considered equally valid even if those various truths are objectively false and contradictory. One of the many problems with such safe spaces is stagnation; no growth can happen there. Growth requires challenge, stretch/stress/tension. Growth — psychological, intellectual, physical, and yes, spiritual — requires trials and testing. Almost by definition trials aren’t pleasant in the moment; nor is testing. But, they do good work in us and on us and for us as we cooperate. If we pass the test, we grow in steadfastness, in the stability and strength of our faith “until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ” (Eph 4:13, ESV). And if we fail? Then we participate in the grace of repentance for the salvation of our souls. Either way — success or failure:

2 Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness (Jame 1:2-3).

If we value holiness more than happiness, we will be thankful for our limitations.

James 1:5–8 (ESV): 5 If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him. 6 But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind. 7 For that person must not suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; 8 he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.

St. James specifically mentions the limits of our wisdom and our need to pray God for it. But, this applies more generally, also, to our human limitations of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control —to all the fruit of the Spirit (see Gal 5:22-23). We cannot overcome our limitations of virtue on our own. We must pray, and pray with faith knowing that our good Father wants to give these generously. We can — and should — be thankful for all human limitations which make us recognize our utter dependence upon God and which drive us to him in prayer. As St. Paul instructs us, when we are weak — when we are limited — then we are strong.

5 If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him (James 1:5, ESV).

If we value holiness more than happiness, we will be thankful for the great kingdom reversal.

James 1:9–11 (ESV): 9 Let the lowly brother boast in his exaltation, 10 and the rich in his humiliation, because like a flower of the grass he will pass away. 11 For the sun rises with its scorching heat and withers the grass; its flower falls, and its beauty perishes. So also will the rich man fade away in the midst of his pursuits.

Our fallen world is upside down, and the Gospel is the proclamation that the right side up Kingdom of God has dawned. It is right there in the Magnificat:

He has shown the strength of his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the imaginations of their hearts.

He has brought down the mighty from their thrones,
and has exalted the humble and meek.

He has filled the hungry with good things,
and the rich he has sent empty away (BCP 2019, p. 45).

It is right there in the Beatitudes where the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted and the reviled are the blessed ones. This world cannot be redeemed, cannot be put to rights unless it is turned on its head, unless there is a great, Gospel reversal. And we should be thankful whenever and wherever and however we see it happening in the name of Christ. Our churches should be models of the great reversal — costly models. Those who are privileged in this upside down world may well find the great reversal initially disorienting. But it will prove to be a blessing.

9 Let the lowly brother boast in his exaltation, 10 and the rich in his humiliation, because like a flower of the grass he will pass away.

If we value holiness more than happiness, we might even — and I think we would — come to value temptation; not sin, but temptation.

James 1:13–15 (ESV): 13 Let no one say when he is tempted, “I am being tempted by God,” for God cannot be tempted with evil, and he himself tempts no one. 14 But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. 15 Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death.

Notice what makes temptation possible: our own disordered passions/desires. How many people today are tempted by and led into sin by pornography? It is a major spiritual epidemic even among Christians, men and women of all ages. Imagine showing a pornographic image or video to a saint. The result would not be lust, not the stirring of disordered passions but rather deep sorrow for all those dehumanized and degraded by such sin, deep sorrow which would move the saint to deep prayer. Having been purified of lust, there is nothing in the saint to resonate with the outward enticement, with the temptation. But the rest of us? Whatever tempts us reveals to us a passion in ourselves that has yet to be healed, has yet to be rightly ordered by the Spirit. And that provides us with the self-knowledge necessary for repentance. Consider temptation like a spiritual x-ray or MRI that reveals in us a previously undiagnosed illness that if left untreated will prove fatal. Wouldn’t you be thankful for that test?

14 But each person is tempted when he is lured and enticed by his own desire. 15 Then desire when it has conceived gives birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death (James 1:14-15, ESV).

Tomorrow, on the day our government has gracious provided us, we will be, and we should be, thankful for relationships, security, self-fulfillment, and provision. But, if we value holiness more than happiness, we might also want to make a start of thankfulness for trials, limitations, the great reversal, and even temptation — all good gifts.

17 Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change (James 1:17).

Amen.

I have found St. Ignatius of Loyola to be a faithful spiritual director and his Spiritual Exercises to be a reliable roadmap along the way of discernment and spiritual growth.

These following concepts, presented so well in God’s Voice Within, by Mark E. Thibodeaux, SJ, are foundational for Ignatian spirituality. The following summaries are my own, but I commend Fr. Thibodeaux’s book.

Man is subject to two spiritual “forces”, the false (evil) spirit and the true (good) spirit. We might think of the false spirit — in biblical and Anglican terms — as the world, the flesh, and the devil, the congeries of influences that distort our thinking, lead us into temptation, draw us from the love of God, and lead to a waning of the theological virtues of faith, hope and love. Contrary to this is the true spirit, supremely the Holy Spirit, but also a constellation of influences clustered around the great transcendentals of the good, the true, and the beautiful — everything that comes from and conduces to the love of God and that increases in us faith, hope, and love.

One under the influence of the false spirit is in the state of desolation, while one under the influence of the true spirit is in consolation. To be clear, one may feel elated in a state of desolation and miserable in a state of consolation. These are not descriptions of one’s emotional affect, but rather of the guiding influence under which one is operating. One may feel quite content when moving from sin to greater sin; in fact, the false spirit will encourage that affect. But, that one is still is desolation and, perhaps worse still, in delusion. To the contrary, one may — by the grace of God — realize his/her sinful state and lament that offense against God and man with tears and anguish and precisely because of that be in a state of consolation, of moving toward God and increasing in faith, hope, and love.

St. Ignatius used these movements of the spirits and the states of being as reliable aids to discernment. While these are primarily intended for spiritual introspection — Under which spiritual influence am I moving and in which state do I find myself? — they are also reliable as an external testing of the spirits such as St. John commends. Listen to the words being spoken by another. Do they come from and promote an increase of faith, hope, and love or are they rather base, manipulative, harsh? Do they raise the spirit Godward or rather plunge it into the depths? Do they waft the aroma of Christ or is there the scent of sulfur about them? Jesus cautions us to be careful how we hear (Luke 8:18). It is possible — and surprisingly easy — to be drawn into another’s desolation and delusion. St. Ignatius offers us essential tools, critical questions: Does this draw us to the love of God and increase in us the virtues of faith, hope, and love? If not, rest assured that it is from the false spirit and leads only to desolation and, God forbid, jeopardy for one’s soul.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Continuity with Development: A Reflection on Acts 4:5-31

Collect, Proper 24
Set us free, loving Father, from the bondage of our sins, and in your goodness and mercy give us the liberty of that abundant life which you have made know to us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

“Whether it is right in the sight of God to listen to you rather than to God, you must judge, for we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:19-20).

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

There is a principle at work in the biological realm that is obvious even to people like me who know little about the science of biology. There is probably a scientific name for this principle, but I’ll just call it continuity with development. I think an example will make this principle clear.

A human child starts with the union of egg and sperm and under normal circumstances develops in the womb for nine months, is born, grows into a toddler, then a child, an adolescent, a young adult, a mature adult, and finally an elderly adult. I have been through all these stages. But it is the same “I” that has been through them. There is biological continuity from the womb to me, standing here, speaking to you, the same person throughout. I have a unique DNA signature that began at conception and continues throughout my life: continuity. And yet, I have developed; I have grown. I look and function differently than when I was in those other stages of adolescence or young adulthood: development. I am me — continuity — but I have grown and changed — development. That is the principle: continuity with development.

We see this same principle in various aspects of our culture. One type of musical composition, for example, is called theme with variations. In it, a musical phrase is given as a basis or theme for the composition. Then that same theme is played in many different, but recognizable variations: perhaps in both major and minor keys, perhaps inverted or backwards, perhaps with a different rhythm. It is the same, recognizable theme throughout — continuity — but with variation — development.

The opening of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony is an example, with its classic four note theme repeated at different musical intervals and with slight variation. Or consider literature. Imagine one grand, sweeping story in two volumes. You finish the first volume and open the second with a set of expectations: (1) that volume two will be a continuation of volume one, that it will not be a totally different story and (2) that volume two will not be simply a repeat of volume one, but that it will take the original story farther along. Again, what you are looking for is continuity with development.

This last, literary example is pertinent to our text today in Acts. Acts is the second volume of a two volume history of the inauguration and growth of the Kingdom of God. The first volume, the Gospel according to St. Luke, recounts the in-breaking of the Kingdom of God in the incarnation, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of the Lord Jesus Christ. The second volume, Acts of the Apostles, records the working out and expansion of that Kingdom — the founding and growth of the Church — particularly in the missions of two Apostles, Peter and Paul. In these two volumes — in this single story — you would expect to see both continuity and development: the story begun by Jesus continued with growth and change through the Apostles — not a different story, but the same story realized in different ways and in different places: continuity with development. And that is precisely what we see.

Jesus’ ministry “technique”, if I can use that word, was simple. He performed signs and wonders: healings of all kinds, exorcisms, nature miracles, even resurrections. Then, when people asked, “What can this mean?” or “What kind of man is this?” or “By what power and authority can he do these things?” Jesus announced the in-breaking of the Kingdom of God: “Repent, for the Kingdom of God is at hand.” And that is the pattern that both Peter and Paul continue in Acts of the Apostles. Jesus healed; they heal. Jesus proclaimed the arrival of the Kingdom of God; they proclaim the presence of the Kingdom of God in and through Jesus.

The story of Peter and John before the Council that we have in our text from Acts 4 today, actually begins a chapter earlier in the Temple with the healing of a man lame from birth. Even there you see the continuity with Jesus; Jesus healed a lame man on the Sabbath, causing quite quite an uproar, and he healed a man blind from birth.

How did the people respond to the healing of this lame man?

Acts 3:8–10 (ESV): 9 And all the people saw him walking and praising God, 10 and recognized him as the one who sat at the Beautiful Gate of the temple, asking for alms. And they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.

They begin asking the same questions that Jesus’ signs had evoked. What can this mean? What kind of men are these? By what power and authority can they do these things? And those questions give Peter the opportunity to proclaim the Gospel.

Acts 3:12–16 (ESV): “Men of Israel, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we have made him walk? 13 The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, the God of our fathers, glorified his servant Jesus, whom you delivered over and denied in the presence of Pilate, when he had decided to release him. 14 But you denied the Holy and Righteous One, and asked for a murderer to be granted to you, 15 and you killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses. 16 And his name—by faith in his name—has made this man strong whom you see and know, and the faith that is through Jesus has given the man this perfect health in the presence of you all.

Of course, Peter goes on to proclaim the full Gospel and to call for repentance. And that upset the temple authorities, the priests and the Sadducees, particularly when Peter proclaimed in Jesus the resurrection of the dead. The two Apostles were taken into custody overnight and trotted out the next day before the rulers, elders, and scribes, before Annas the high priest and Caiaphas and John and Alexander, all members of the high priest’s family. And these powers-that-be ask precisely the question that Peter intended for them to ask: “By what power or by what name did you do this?” That, again, is in perfect continuity with Jesus: sign, question, proclamation. The development lies in the Apostles’ witness to the resurrection.

Acts 4:8–12 (ESV): 8 Then Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, said to them, “Rulers of the people and elders, 9 if we are being examined today concerning a good deed done to a crippled man, by what means this man has been healed, 10 let it be known to all of you and to all the people of Israel that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead—by him this man is standing before you well. 11 This Jesus is the stone that was rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone. 12 And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.”

By what power and by what name? By the same power of God that raised Jesus Christ from the dead and in the authority of his name, the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. And next comes one of my favorite commentaries in all Scripture:

Acts 4:13 (ESV): 13 Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. And they recognized that they had been with Jesus.

How is it that uneducated, common people — nobodies like me — can be bold before the powers-that-be? Such boldness comes from being with Jesus. It also comes from being with the Church in prayer. Let me jump ahead in the story a bit. After being warned to speak no longer in the name of Jesus and then released, Peter and John sought out the church. And what did the Church do? It held a good, old-fashioned, Wednesday night prayer meeting! Listen to their request:

Acts 4:29–30 (ESV): 29 And now, Lord, look upon their threats and grant to your servants to continue to speak your word with all boldness, 30 while you stretch out your hand to heal, and signs and wonders are performed through the name of your holy servant Jesus.”

They didn’t pray for the Lord to smite the Jewish authorities. They didn’t pray for the Lord to protect the Apostles or the Church from persecution. No. They prayed for boldness to defy the authorities who were gathered together against the Lord and against his Anointed, boldness to speak God’s word. They prayed for God to stretch out his hand with signs and wonders that would spark more questions and more opportunities for proclamation. Is that a God-honoring prayer? Well, look at the results.

Acts 4:31 (ESV): 31 And when they had prayed, the place in which they were gathered together was shaken, and they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and continued to speak the word of God with boldness.

This seems like Pentecost: The Sequel, doesn’t it? And isn’t that what we want: a church that prays so fervently that it is shaken to the core and filled with the Holy Spirit and with holy boldness to speak the word of God to all who are ignorant of it or opposed to it?

That’s the story we are presented. I suggested earlier that one of the keys to appreciating the story is the principle of continuity with development. Peter acts in continuity with Jesus in his method of evangelism: sign, question, proclamation. Work a sign that provokes people to ask, “What can this mean?” or “What kind of person is this?” or “By what power and authority can he/she do this things?” Then proclaim the Gospel of Jesus Christ in word as well as in deed. What is the development? Jesus could only proclaim the coming of the Kingdom of God. We can proclaim its arrival and presence through the resurrection of Jesus Christ and the inauguration of the Church.

I also asked you to consider Luke’s recounting of the grand story as a two volume set: The Gospel according to St. Luke and Acts of the Apostles, a set that demonstrates continuity with development. Now, I’d like to expand that a bit by suggesting that there is a third volume, The Acts of the Church, and that we have the honor and responsibility of writing a paragraph or two or maybe even a page of it. The principle of continuity with development is still essential in this third volume. That means, not least, continuity with the method of evangelism that Jesus and the Apostles used: (1) Do some sign that is so out of the ordinary, so counter-cultural that it provokes people to ask “What does that mean?” or “What kind of a person does such a thing?” or “By what power or authority does this person act?” and then (2) proclaim the Gospel boldly, even though you might be shaking in your boots. That is the continuity.

What is the development? Well, the signs we work will likely be different than those of Jesus and the Apostles. I don’t have the gift of healing as they did. Some today do; I do not, though I do exercise a priestly, sacramental healing ministry of the church through the laying on of hands, anointing, and prayer. My signs will be different, and many of yours will be as well. What do those signs look like? I don’t know. That is for you to determine with prayer and a consideration of your gifts and opportunities. In considering such possible signs, theologian Stanley Hauerwas said, “If in a hundred years, Christians are identified as the people who don’t kill their children or kill their elders we will have done well.” That seems like such a low bar, such a feeble sign. But in a society where aborting babies seems reasonable and where euthanasia is just around the corner, standing for the sanctity of human life because all life belongs to God is really a pretty astounding sign and will call for explanation. And the explanation is the Gospel. Forgive someone who has hurt you; there’s a sign. Be generous instead of greedy; there’s a sign. Get up on Sunday morning and go to worship the Lord with a bunch of other redeemed sinners; there’s a sign. Then, on Monday morning, act like Sunday made a difference; there’s a real sign. I don’t know what signs and wonders you are called and empowered to do; that is between you and God. But, how exciting it is — what a great adventure it is — to confound the world, to make them scratch their cultural heads and wonder what in the world we’re up to. They might just ask. Just in case they do, we should be prepared to answer with a reasonable proclamation of the Gospel.

There is one other clear point of continuity — prayer: prayer for boldness for ourselves and for our brothers and sisters, prayer for the Church to go boldly into the world — boldly, not timidly — with the truth about Jesus, the truth that, in Peter’s words, “there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved” (Act 4:12).

If we do this, get ready: the Church might just be shaken to the core and filled with the Holy Spirit. Then, who knows what will happen? Amen.

XXII. OF PURGATORY
The Romish Doctrine concerning Purgatory, Pardons, Worshipping, and Adoration, as well of Images as of Reliques, and also Invocation of Saints, is a fond thing vainly invented, and grounded upon no warranty of Scripture, but rather repugnant to the Word of God (Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, BCP 2019, p. 780).

First, an apology of sorts: the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion were written in a time of great theological conflict and are expressed in polemical language. While it was and is appropriate to critique certain accretions and abuses that characterized the medieval Roman Catholic Church, today a more irenic tone is generally in order. I quote the Articles not to give offense, but to reflect upon certain aspects of Anglican thought.

This particular article came to mind as I prayed the Daily Office this morning, particularly during the appointed Old Testament reading, 2 Kings 13, a portion of which follows:

20 So Elisha died, and they buried him. Now bands of Moabites used to invade the land in the spring of the year. 21 And as a man was being buried, behold, a marauding band was seen and the man was thrown into the grave of Elisha, and as soon as the man touched the bones of Elisha, he revived and stood on his feet (2 Kings 13:20-21, ESV).

The bones of Elisha are reliques (relics) of the prophet. And while the Articles are right to condemn worship of relics, it would be a “fond thing vainly invented, and grounded upon no warranty of Scripture, but rather repugnant to the Word of God” to deny that God has worked — and may still work — through such relics to vindicate his servants, to bless his people, to bring honor to his name, and to draw men and women to himself.

11 And God was doing extraordinary miracles by the hands of Paul, 12 so that even handkerchiefs or aprons that had touched his skin were carried away to the sick, and their diseases left them and the evil spirits came out of them (Acts 19:11-12, ESV).

Handkerchiefs and aprons, too, are relics, and God used them not least to vindicate Paul and his ministry. Is it a step too far to think that God might still work in such a way, to believe that relics of a holy man or woman of God might be imbued with power and used by God for the healing of body, mind, or spirit? Were I healed through such a relic, would I not treasure it as a marker of God’s grace? Treasure it, yes. Honor it as a sacramental through which God had worked powerfully, yes. Worship it, no. Superstition and idolatry are twin poles around which we may not orbit. Cranmer was right on this.

As I have expressed before, the issues we face today are not co-terminal with those pressed upon the Reformers. Cranmer dealt with a culture that had moved beyond sacramentalism to superstition. Our culture has moved in the opposite direction: from sacramentalism to materialism. Our materialistic Western culture does not seem to believe that matter can be sacramental, can be imbued with power or can be a channel of grace. That is true, of course, because it no longer believes in the God of creation who called matter into being. One of the challenges of the Church today, then, is to “re-enchant,” to “re-consecrate” the world, to show it as sacramental. It is not unimportant then — in fact, I would say it is vital — that we embrace the material as revelatory of God, as instrumental in his working: bread, wine, oil, water, incense, candles and the like. This is not merely a matter of personal preference for “bells and smells,” but rather a conviction regarding the imminence of God and the revelatory and sanctifying nature of his material creation as sacramental.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop
Pentecost 21 (22 October 2023)

Render Unto Caesar?
(Matthew 22:15-22)

Matthew 22:17 (ESV): 17 Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?”

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

You’re surely familiar with “no-win questions” — questions that can’t be answered without incurring significant, self-imposed, personal damage. These questions often trade on complex or controversial issues, reducing them to a ridiculously oversimplified “yes/no” format where each answer presents an untenable and dangerous option. Political pundits — I will not dignify them by calling them journalists — political pundits have made asking these questions into an art form and politicians have made evading these questions into an equal and opposite art form.

I don’t want to wax partisan here, but I do need to give a recent example to make this idea clear. Don’t read anything into this example other than an attempt to give needed background as I segue into the Gospel text.

Several Republican notables are vying for the party’s presidential nomination, and all trail Donald Trump by double digits in the polls. In a recent debate — actually before the debate, I think — all the candidates were asked this question: If Donald Trump becomes the Republican Party nominee for President, will you pledge now to support him?

How can you answer such a no-win question? “Yes” would essentially be a concession, an admission that you don’t really think you have a viable shot at being the nominee and that you are really just trying to garner name recognition in hopes of some cabinet appointment or perhaps the vice-presidential slot on the ticket. It might well erode what little support you have. But, a “No” answer is no better. “No” would alienate much of the base and even much of the undecided block. Can you really trust someone who is openly disloyal to his/her party, who won’t support the party’s nominee? There simply is no way to answer that question without damage. That is why it was asked: to watch the politicians squirm on the public stage.

Or what about this political-adjacent question: Are you in favor of personal autonomy, of the right of each individual to make final decisions about his/her own body? Answer “yes” — which might seem the obvious answer — and the follow up comments will implicate you in the approval of abortion — the right of a woman to make final decisions about her own body — and of support for a minor’s right to receive gender-affirming surgery or hormonal therapy without parental consent. Don’t want to go there? Then answer “no.” But wait: that means that someone else, perhaps even the state, will have the right to make final decisions about your body. That makes you complicit in supporting euthanasia, the right of the state to determine when you should no longer receive medical care and should instead be “murdered with dignity.” There is simply no way to answer that complex and controversial question with yes or no. It was intentionally designed to be unanswerable, to trap the respondent.

Why ask such no-win questions? It seems to me there are two fundamental reasons: either the questioner seeks to elevate his own status — See how clever I am? — or else he seeks to destroy the respondent’s status or power — Watch what this question does to your following. This kind of question puts people in their place.

To be fair, Jesus himself used such a no-win question on a least one occasion to silence the chief priests and the elders. Watch how it works, and how well it works:

Matthew 21:23–27 (ESV): 23 And when he entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came up to him as he was teaching, and said, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” 24 Jesus answered them, “I also will ask you one question, and if you tell me the answer, then I also will tell you by what authority I do these things. 25 The baptism of John, from where did it come? From heaven or from man?” And they discussed it among themselves, saying, “If we say, ‘From heaven,’ he will say to us, ‘Why then did you not believe him?’ 26 But if we say, ‘From man,’ we are afraid of the crowd, for they all hold that John was a prophet.” 27 So they answered Jesus, “We do not know.” And he said to them, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I do these things.

So, Jesus posed a no-win question to best and to silence the temple authorities. It worked all right, but, turnabout, they say, is fair play. So, in our text today, the Pharisees and the Herodians come with a similar no-win question for Jesus, maliciously intending to entangle him in his own words.

Matthew 22:15–17 (ESV): 15 Then the Pharisees went and plotted how to entangle him in his words. 16 And they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and you do not care about anyone’s opinion, for you are not swayed by appearances. 17 Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?”

We must give credit where credit is due, even if grudgingly; this is a clever question. It is a classic example of the no-win form: a complex and controversial issue reduced to an over-simplified yes/no question format with each possible answer incurring significant, self-imposed, personal damage on the respondent. Well done, you Pharisees. Good on you, Herodians.

If Jesus answers “no” — as his most ardent supporters and the general downtrodden masses almost certainly want him to do — then he will place himself in open rebellion against Rome; he will position himself — or will allow the Pharisees and Herodians to position him — as the leader of a tax revolt. He is already on shaky ground with Rome due to his entry into Jerusalem just days before and his disruption of Temple commerce. That’s two strikes; one more strike over taxes might just be enough to force Rome’s hand.

But, if Jesus answers “yes” — as perhaps his most sober minded opponents among the high priests and Sadducees want him to do — then he will effectively renounce his messianic aspirations; his support will go instantly from relatively small but growing to vanishingly small and decreasing.

It is a splendidly wicked question, matched only by — surpassed only by — Jesus’ answer.

Matthew 22:17–22 (ESV): 17 “Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?” 18 But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why put me to the test, you hypocrites? 19 Show me the coin for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. 20 And Jesus said to them, “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” 21 They said, “Caesar’s.” Then he said to them, “Therefore render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” 22 When they heard it, they marveled. And they left him and went away.

How can we describe the brilliance of Jesus’ answer? It is a living chess gambit, a spectacular mate-in-three victory.

Move 1: “Show me the coin for the tax.” This crucial move sets everything in motion.

Move 2: “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” Get the opponents to commit.

Move 3: “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” Spring the trap.

Now, before we look at these moves in detail, we first must consider what game Jesus is really playing. This is not a petty game of one-upsmanship. “Oh, so you think you’re clever? Watch this.” This is not a partisan game of religious rivalries: Pharisees and Herodians and Priests and Sadducees versus the Nazarene. This is not a high-stakes game of political “chicken” — Israel versus Rome. It doesn’t even really have anything in particular to do with taxes. Although I introduced the language of games into Jesus’ answer, this is not really a game at all. It is a pitched battle for the hearts, minds, and souls of the human race: God in the Person of his incarnate Son contending against all the forces of the world, the flesh, and the devil in the forms of misguided religion, brutal state power, and feckless humanity, contending for the hearts, minds, and souls of the very people trying to ensnare him with their no-win question. This is serious business with eternal consequences.

To better understand Jesus’ answer, I think we have to read it backwards, to take the moves in reverse order starting with the conclusion.

“Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” That “answer” isn’t intended to put a period at the end of the sentence and stop the discussion; it is intended to provoke a soul-searching question: What actually does belong to Caesar, and what actually does belong instead to God? We should stop here for some prayer and reflection on that, but time won’t allow. So, we’ll move on directly to the litmus test that Jesus gave.

“Whose likeness and inscription is this?” Jesus is asking about the coin for the tax, of course, but surely he wants us to broaden the question and the answer. What is it that uniquely and solely bears Caesar’s image? Asked another way, what is it that does not bear the imprint of God?

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. This is the very first assertion about God in Scripture. And then, surveying all that he had made God said, “It is good.” Why is it good? Because it expresses his will. Because it bears the imprint of God. Lest we miss this, St. John tells us again in his Prologue, intentionally harkening back to Genesis but now with Jesus front and center:

John 1:1–3 (ESV): 1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made.

There is nothing in all the created order that does not bear the imprint of the Word by whom, through whom, and for whom it was made: nothing. Whose likeness is this? God’s. Whose inscription is this? The Word’s.

And now, more personally:

Genesis 1:26–28 (ESV): 26 Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth.”

27 So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.

28 And God blessed them.

The whole sordid history of this world is simply a record of man denying the imprint of God upon himself and others, the attempt to eradicate the likeness and image of God in the face in the mirror or in the faces across the border or behind the barbed wire or the prison bars or in the faces across the boardroom table or in the faces and bodies seen in the pornography on the computer screen or in the baby in the womb or in the old person in hospice or in the beggar on the street. Who is it that bears the image of God? Jesus prods us to ask. Who doesn’t?

And as difficult as that question might be to face directly, there is even more. Jesus asks his interlocutors whose likeness they see on the coin. They almost certainly look first at the coin and then at him before they answer, and that — right there in the space between them, as they look at him — is where the real question hangs in the air: Forget the coin for a moment. Look at me. Whose likeness do you see? They have no answer. They don’t even perceive the question. But we have the answer, given to us by St. Paul:

Colossians 1:15–20 (ESV): 15 He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. 16 For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. 17 And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. 18 And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. 19 For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, 20 and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.

The Pharisees and Herodians are haggling over a little piece of metal on which Caesar has stamped his imprint when the image of the invisible God of all creation stands right there before them, the one who bears the fullness of God in human flesh. For God’s sake — truly, for God’s sake — ask the right question, people: Whose image and inscription do you see in the face of Jesus?

And now we come to the first, pivotal move of Jesus’ answer with a chance of beginning to understand its brilliance: Show me the coin for the tax. This much is obvious; Jesus doesn’t have a coin. I don’t think this is a commentary on his poverty or on the fact that Judas has the moneybag for the group. I don’t consider it primarily a comment on Jesus’ piety, a refusal to carry a graven image of Caesar. Taken in context, I think it is a declaration: There is nothing about me that bears the image of Caesar or that belongs to him. Caesar has no claim on me, and I do not owe anything to Caesar, but instead everything to God. And what is true uniquely and supremely of Jesus is true derivatively of us. The world, the flesh, and the devil have no claim on us for we are citizens of the Kingdom of God and we bear the image of the one who has redeemed us and made us his own, the one who indwells us through the Holy Spirit. Is it proper to pay tribute to the world, the flesh, and the devil? Show us a coin. Now look into the face of Jesus.

While studying and praying this text, an image kept coming to mind, less an invitation to ponder than an intrusion clamoring for attention. Since I can’t seem to shake it, I’ll share it with you. Imagine a picture of yourself, full body, head to toe. Now imagine that the photograph is actually a jigsaw puzzle — five hundred little interlocking pieces that make you up. Now imagine your boss or teacher or other significant authority figure standing there reaching for several of the pieces, taking them out of the puzzle and saying, “These belong to me.” Then along comes the government to claim a few pieces. And your colleagues. And your family. And your friends — maybe even your enemies, too. And your book club. And, and, and … all claiming the pieces that they think belong to them until all the pieces are gone and there is nothing left of you. And all along you have simply been rendering unto Caesar what is Caesar’s. Right? But there is this little, niggling voice in the background asking, “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” There is this still, small voice whispering, “Render to God what is God’s.”

So, what are we to do? How are we to reclaim the pieces? Perhaps we start here with this recognition and offering from one of our Eucharistic liturgies:

And here we offer and present to you, O Lord, ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice (BCP 2019, p. 117).

What must we render to God? Ourselves, our whole selves, our souls and bodies — all that we are and all that we have.

Our maybe we start with reordering our loves if they have become disordered. Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ says:

You shall love the Lord you God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment (ibid, p. 106).

Or maybe we start by refusing any more to buy security with little pieces of ourselves:

Matthew 6:31–33 (ESV): 31 Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. 33 But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

I know it would be easy to misunderstand what I’ve been so haltingly trying to communicate, just as it was easy for the Pharisees and Herodians to misunderstand Jesus’ answer. I am not talking about social or spiritual isolation, about joining a monastery or convent so that we can spend every waking moment in prayer. I’m not talking about an attitude that says to others, “What we might have given to you, we have devoted to God, so we can no longer help you.” I am saying this: that we must render our whole self to God — nothing kept back, nothing offered to modern day Caesars in whatever form they take — so that God can then use us as he will. Let me offer another image to contrast with the earlier puzzle image, a Eucharistic image this time, that captures what I’m trying to say.

We offer ourselves, our souls and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice. God takes that self-offering, blesses it — blesses us — breaks it — breaks us — into God only knows how many pieces, and gives it — gives us — away for the life of the world. We render nothing to Caesar and everything to God for him to use for his glory and for the welfare of his people. It is only in this offering, only in this blessing, only in this breaking and being given, that we are made whole.

Matthew 22:17 (ESV): 17 Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?”

Amen.

I wrote the following post one week ago in response to the attack on Israelis and the resulting aerial bombardment on Gaza; tensions have escalated since then, and an Israeli ground assault on Gaza seems imminent.

I wrote then, and I write now, from several convictions, not least this one: bad politics, bad religion, and mass indifference or mass fervor make a potent cocktail that often inebriates the unwary and leads to destruction. It is the story of the cross. Brute Roman political power plus self-serving Jewish political interests plus the fervor of some and the indifference of the masses nailed our Lord Jesus to the cross. Yes, this was a providential act of God, but it transpired through the secondary causes of politics, religion, and mob behavior, and those who perpetrated it are not without guilt, except possibly through the dying prayer of Christ for their forgiveness.

I cannot speak to the politics of the present conflict; as a priest, I have no particular political acumen just because one of the parties to the conflict is Israel. But, I can speak to the religious aspect of the conflict, though I fear what I say may surprise and disappoint some. In posting this, I speak as a priest to the members and regular attenders of Apostles, but not on behalf of the clergy of Apostles. As a clerical staff, we have not had the opportunity to meet together for prayer and study and discussion since the initial attack. So, what follows is my own, and it should be understood in that light.

I write to question some false assumptions that I hear and see in the broader public conversation, especially among those with a particular evangelistic theology.

FALSE ASSUMPTION ONE: The state of Israel is the covenant people of God. No: the state of Israel is just that, a political state, one of many among the kingdoms of this fallen world. And all the kingdoms of this world, all political states, are under the sway and power of dark forces; in fact, “the whole world lies in the power of the evil one” (1 John 5:19, ESV). The primary proclamation of the Gospel is simply that God, in Christ Jesus, has fulfilled all of the covenantal promises that God made to Abraham and the Patriarchs. There are no promises remaining to the Jews apart from Jesus Christ. And, there are no promises to the secular state of Israel. St. Paul does envision a future time when, in the mystery of God, the blindness of the Jews will be lifted; but that will be — please God — a time for many Jews to acknowledge Jesus as Messiah. In his Providence, God may yet use the political state of Israel to play a part in the redemption of the world, but that is true of every political state including these United States. But, remember that God used Assyria and Babylonia for his purposes and then judged them when they went beyond the mandate he had given. There are no moral blank checks in the will of God.

FALSE ASSUMPTION TWO: The Church has a religious obligation to support Israel unquestioningly. No: the Church has an obligation to pray for and work for truth and righteousness and peace for all people; in Christ “there is neither Jew nor Greek” — read this as “neither Israeli nor Palestinian” — for all are one in Christ Jesus (Gal 3:28, ESV); otherwise, all are enemies of Christ and the cross. We proclaim a Gospel that ends ethnic and political distinctions by drawing people of every family, language, people, and nation into the one Body of Christ. If you are still concerned about this, please remember that God did not support either the Kingdom of Israel or the Kingdom of Judah uncritically. He stood athwart their religious and political aspirations and ways when they stood athwart his will; hence, the prophets, the destruction of Israel, and the exile of Judah.

The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is far too complex for me to presume to understand or to guide others through; I suspect it is intractable apart from the cross of Christ which is the very grace and mercy of God. But, I can and do caution against unexamined theological assumptions. They are not helpful to anyone. Also, remember that there is an Anglican presence both in Israel and in Gaza, as is appropriate. Please remember that there are both Palestinian Christians and Jewish Christians in our parishes, as is appropriate. We must pray with and for each group for peace and justice and reconciliation between these peoples:

Eternal God, in whose perfect kingdom no sword is drawn but the sword of righteousness, no strength known but the strength of love: So mightily spread abroad your Spirit, that all peoples may be gathered under the banner of the Prince of Peace; to whom be dominion and glory, now and for ever. Amen (BCP 2019, 27. For the Peace of the World, p. 654).

Following is the original post from one week ago.

FOOLISH LIPS

11 A fool gives full vent to his spirit,
but a wise man quietly holds it back (Proverbs 29:11, ESV).

Perhaps what follows ranks me among the fools, but I feel compelled to speak. That is rarely a good sign.

Great evil was perpetrated recently against Israel, actions for which there is no justification, though, in an interview with NPR this morning, Palestinian scholar and politician Hanan Ashrawi traced its roots to ongoing Israeli occupation and brutality against the Palestinian people. Each group has its story of pain and loss, and each is complicit in the ongoing conflict. Each is a pawn in a larger spiritual battle of which both peoples seem largely unaware.

There has been an appropriate outpouring of sympathy for Israel since the attack. Our President has committed on our behalf that we will stand with Israel. That stance is political and strategic, but it also has religious overtones in the popular imagination, and those resonances can beguile and lead astray. It seems to me important to remember that:

1. The political state of Israel is not the elect of God, not the everlasting house of David that God promised through Nathan. That dynasty has been realized not in David Ben Gurion or Golda Meir or Benjamin Netanyahu, but in Jesus, son of David and Son of God.
2. Whatever God has in store for Israel will be accomplished by the Prince of Peace and not by the political engines of war.
3. The political and human right to exist as a nation and to redress grievous wrongs does not present Israel or any nation a blank moral check of vengeance.
4. To stand with and for Israel may require speaking a prophetic word contrary to prevailing attitudes. When the leaders of Judah and Israel failed to live as God’s holy people, as a kingdom of priests, God himself raised up prophets to accuse and convict them, to call them to repent and return. To stand with Israel unquestioningly, to stand with Israel right or wrong, is to expurgate the Scriptures of both history and prophecy.

I write this largely because there are Palestinian Christians who have been suffering for years and who will suffer greatly in the coming Israeli offensive. I write this largely because there are Palestinian Christians in our parishes and churches who tell their family stories of pain and loss with tears in their eyes if we care to listen. How do they hear our uncritical support for the state of Israel?

I write this largely because there is no solution to this ongoing conflict except through Jesus Christ. Political solutions have not worked. Military action has been of no avail. Terrorism — of which each side accuses the other — has only escalated conflict.

Forgive my foolishness. This is a complex — perhaps intractable — situation and I have no political expertise. I have only prayer: that God’s justice will restore and reconcile, that the peace won by the Lamb of God will prevail, and that one day Israelis and Palestinians will bow the knee together before God as his holy people to sing his praises with one voice.

Shout Your Abortion (SYA), a pro abortion group whose slogan is “We Will Aid & Abet Abortion,” has erected a series of six billboards along a two hundred mile section of I-55 from West Memphis Arkansas to southern Illinois as signposts of encouragement for those traveling to procure abortions. You can hear about it on an NPR segment:

https://www.npr.org/2023/10/11/1202456541/billboards-supporting-women-seeking-abortions-are-popping-up-along-i-55-heading-

What particularly caught my attention was the SYA billboard pictured above which proclaims, “God’s Plan Includes Abortion.”

The sign as-is is neither true nor false; it is simply ambiguous.

The sign is certainly true if your god is Aphrodite, worshipped today through sex as pleasure devoid of meaning or commitment or natural purpose.

The sign is certainly true if your god is Autonomy or Convenience or Choice, the gods of our Western culture.

The sign is certainly true if your god is Molech in any of his modern incarnations.

But, the sign is false if your God is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ who was himself God from God, the perfect image of the Father.

Christian theologian Stanley Hauerwas once said, “If in a hundred years, Christians are identified as the people who don’t kill their children or kill their elders we will have done well.” He could say this only because he understands that God’s will does not include abortion. His quote sets a low bar for Christianity, but even so it is a stretch for some who proclaim that God’s plan includes abortion.

Francis of Assisi (c. 1181 – 4 October 1226)

(Galatians 6:14-18, Psalm 148:7-14, Matthew 11:25-30)

Collect

Most high, omnipotent, good Lord, grant your people grace to renounce gladly the vanities of this world; that, following the way of blessed Francis, we may for love of you delight in your whole creation, with perfectness of joy; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

St. Francis once was living at the Convent of the Portiuncula, with Brother Masseo of Marignano, a man of great sanctity and great discernment, who held frequent converse with God; for that reason St. Francis loved him much. One day, as St. Francis was returning from the forest, where he had been in prayer, Brother Masseo, wishing to test the humility of the saint, went to meet him exclaiming: “Why after you? Why after you?” To which St. Francis answered: “What is this? What do you mean?” Brother Masseo answered: “I mean, why is it that all the world goes after you; why do all men wish to see you, to hear you, and to obey your word? For you are neither handsome nor learned, nor are you of noble birth. How is it, then, that all the world goes after you?”

St. Francis, hearing these words, rejoiced greatly in spirit, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, remained for a long time with his mind rapt in God; then, coming to himself, he knelt down, returning thanks to God with great fervor of spirit, and addressing Brother Masseo, said to him: “Would you know why all men come after me? Know that it is because the Lord, who is in heaven, who sees the evil and the good in all places — because, I say, his holy eyes have found among men no one more wicked, more imperfect, or a greater sinner than I am; and to accomplish the wonderful work he intends to do, he has found no creature more vile than I am on earth; for that reason he has chosen me, to confound all strength, beauty, greatness, noble birth, and all the sciences of the world, that men may learn that every virtue and every good gift comes from him, and not from any creature, that none may glory before him; but if any one glory, let him glory in the Lord, to whom belongs all glory in eternity.”

Then Brother Masseo, at such a humble answer, given with so much fervor, was greatly impressed, and learned with certainty that St. Francis was well grounded in humility (Brother Ugolino, The Little Flowers of St. Francis of Assisi).

With the possible exceptions of St. Mary and St. Nicholas, there is likely no more widely and deeply revered saint than Francis of Assisi. And like his companion Masseo, it is reasonable for us to wonder why. Externally, there was little to commend him. He was the spoiled son of an Italian cloth merchant at just that point in history when the merchant class was on the ascendancy both in wealth and political influence. Francis was the leader of a local gang of young men in Assisi, those given to mischief and drinking and romantic exploits. He wasted his time and his father’s money with these adolescent adventures. He had visions of the glories and honor of chivalry and tried to earn a knighthood in battle with the nearby rival city of Perugia. Instead, he was captured and imprisoned, a sobering turn of events that likely began the deep self-examination that led Francis to his conversion. It didn’t happen all at once, but over months and years, Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone — his birth name — died, and Francis of Assisi — St. Francis — was born again.

Even then, there was little to commend him. While contemplating the cross in the tumbled-down local church of San Damiano, Francis received a vision — heard a voice saying: “Francis, go and rebuild my church which, as you see, is falling down.” Even here, Francis misunderstood the heavenly voice and thought it had something to do with carpentry and construction: refurbish this abandoned church at San Damiano. He did, and in the process gained some followers. But, the Lord intended more.

Francis embraced a radical form of spirituality centered around three vows: poverty, chastity, and obedience. It is hard to see these as particularly attractive, but, by the grace of God they were, and a group of dedicated men formed around Francis, a group which became an official order in the Church, the frates minores — the friars minor, the little brothers. And this group did, indeed, rebuild the Church that was falling down. This little group did change the world. And Francis, Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone, became Saint Francis of Assisi.

There are many good and sound theological definitions of a saint. I’m partial to this very imprecise — but quite true — description: A saint is a fool for Christ that everyone admires and that no one want to imitate. How true that is about Francis. The world loves him. The world admires, even reveres him. But few choose to imitate him as he really was, not as we re-create him to be — some gentle, animal-loving, tree-hugging, peace-promoting flower child, left wing radical. There is an element of truth in that description, but, taken in isolation it distorts the true nature of the saint. He was a faithful son of the Church who expressed his vocation in Gospel poverty, chastity, and obedience. Apart from those three vows, it is impossible to truly understand Francis. So, it is to those vows we turn.

Poverty

As a young man, Francis was formed by the notion of chivalry, of a knight’s devotion to a lady. This relationship between knight and lady was one of chaste love in which the knight pledged himself to the honor and defense of his lady, a relationship in which he would risk anything, suffer anything in order to serve his lady. Francis’ patroness, his love, was Lady Poverty.

An early Franciscan treatise on poverty, the Sacrum Commercium, gives a sense of his devotion:

While they were hastening to the heights with easy steps, behold Lady Poverty, standing on the tone of the mountain. Seeing them climb with such strength, almost flying, she was quite astonished.

“It is a long time since I saw and watched people so free of all burdens.”

And so Lady Poverty greeted them with rich blessing: “Tell me brothers, what is the reason for your coming here and why do you come so quickly from the valley of sorrows to the mountain of light?”

They answered: “We wish to become servants of the Lord of hosts because he is the King of glory. So, kneeling at your feet, we humbly beg you to agree to live with us and be our way to the King of glory, as you were the way when the dawn from on high came to visit those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.”

And in that last sentence lies the allusion that explains Francis’ devotion to Lady Poverty: when Jesus came among us — when he came to those in darkness and the shadow of death — he came not in riches but in poverty. Francis saw poverty as the way to follow the King of glory because Jesus himself chose poverty. For Francis, Jesus was the model in everything, the one to be imitated in everything. If Jesus were poor, then Francis and his followers would choose poverty.

He felt so strongly about this that the Friars Minor were prohibited from even touching money. They worked to provide for their needs when possible, but they accepted no money as wages, only food and other material goods like clothing. When they could not find work, they begged; but, again, they would not accept money, only food and other goods. Francis lived at a transition period in history when money was vying with titles in determining what a man was and what opportunities he had; Francis’ time was the rise of the merchant class. And Francis knew — perhaps by family experience — that money had a way of transforming itself into mammon, the idol and god of wealth, and its owners into idol worshippers. Better to honor Lady Poverty and to follow her way to the Lord.

That attitude, the willing embrace of poverty, is counter cultural wherever and whenever it appears, in Francis’ twelfth century Umbria or in our twenty-first century Knoxville. While Jesus repeatedly warned of the dangers of wealth, he did not generally advocate absolute poverty for all. Neither has the Church. Neither did Francis. Francis depended upon wealthy patrons to support his ministry. But his way — not everyone’s way — but his was was the way of poverty.

Is there anything we can learn from Francis about wealth and poverty? Yes, I think so, and it comes by way of the Third Order Franciscans, lay people who follow the way of Francis while still living in the world: working in their professions, serving their families, taking their places in their communities and in the church. Their vows replace the vow of poverty with the vow of simplicity. They possess money, but they resist being possessed by money. They practice contentment with what they have while resisting the siren call of the new, the better, the fancier, the more impressive. They do not hoard goods; instead they give generously. Some follow the maxim I learned from a missionary to Ghana:

Use it up, wear it out,

Make it do, or do without.

This goes against the grain of our consumer culture which tempts us to build meaning and identity around what we own. But the new thing we just had to have today becomes the old thing we wouldn’t be caught dead with tomorrow. Paradoxically, simplicity is more deeply satisfying than is satisfying every material desire. We have a lot to learn from Francis’ devotion to Lady Poverty.

Chastity

Francis was not always devoted to chastity. If the stories about his youth are correct — and there is no real reason to doubt them — his romantic and sexual escapades were the stuff of juicy gossip in Assisi. But all that changed with his conversion; the Friars Minor were expected to be chaste, which for them meant celibate.

Most of us are not called to be celibate. Some are, and it is a holy calling and a gift from God for the good of the Church. Celibates can teach us much about agapē, about holy love. Celibates love and love deeply, but they do not love possessively; there is no sense of ownership in their love. That means they can love the other precisely as other, not for their own benefit but for the benefit of the other, always willing the good of the other. And, holy celibates, those who are celibate as a calling from God, can teach us about rightly ordered love. Because they love God supremely, they are free to love all men subordinately. Celibacy is to be honored among us, not dismissed or diminished as unfortunate and — please God — temporary.

While celibacy is not for everyone, chastity is. Chastity is rightly ordered love within relationships. If single, chastity is expressed by celibacy. If married, chastity is expressed by fidelity. But chastity involves much more than just rightly ordered sexual relations. Chastity is a matter of the heart — the spiritual center of a person — as much as it is a matter of the body. It was this type of chastity that Jesus taught about in the Sermon on the Mount:

Matthew 5:27–30 (ESV): 27 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ 28 But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart. 29 If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell. 30 And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell.

Lust is a violation of chastity. Failure to guard the eyes is a violation of chastity. Pornography is a violation of chastity, and one that is epidemic in our society; it destroys more lives than Covid and there seems to be no effective vaccination program against it. Any base, impure thought, word, or deed is a violation of chastity. It takes firm commitment and strenuous spiritual discipline to keep a vow of chastity, but, like Francis, it is that to which we are called.

Obedience

In my ordination to the diaconate and the priesthood, I was required to publicly and in writing subscribe to the Oath of Canonical Obedience:

And I do promise, here in the presence of Almighty God and of the Church, that I will pay true and canonical obedience in all things lawful and honest to the Bishop of the Anglican Diocese of the South, and his successors, so help me God (BCP 2019, p. 485).

That was a sobering moment and act, because obedience does not come naturally to me. I have since found it to be a great blessing, but it is an acquired taste.

Francis was an obedient son of the Church. And, this is where many people misunderstand Francis. They want to extract him from his place in the church and make him spiritual — a real good guy for all — but not religious. But, that won’t do. Francis was a faithful and obedient Roman Catholic who obeyed his hierarchy from pope to bishop to parish priest, because he found in them the righty and duly authorized representatives of Christ.

While this is important, and has implications for all of us, it is another aspect of Francis’ obedience that most intrigues me. Francis was absolutely obedient to Jesus as revealed in the Scripture. It has been said about Francis that for him, the Bible was not so much a book to be read as a script to be acted out. Why did Francis really embrace Gospel poverty? Because he read Jesus’ encounter with the rich, young ruler as a commandment to himself, and he obeyed. Can you imagine living that way, or at least more nearly that way? What if we actually took the Sermon on the Mount as the script for our lives and determined to be obedient to it? What would change in your life, in my life? That was the nature of Francis’ obedience.

Why You?

Masseo asked, “Why you, Francis?” His question reminds me of some comments I heard about Queen Elizabeth II following her death. One of her former Royal Chaplains, Gavin Ashenden, tried to explain why everyone seemed to love her, even those who have no use for the monarchy. He said that most people were drawn to a kindly, old lady who loved dogs and horses, who smiled and waved to everyone, who dressed in bright colors and always carried a handbag, who served faithfully for over seven decades. But, Ashenden went further. What they were really drawn to — though most didn’t know it — was the fruit of the Spirit that she bore in her life. She loved the Lord Jesus and cultivated a life of Christian virtue. And that attracted people.

Why Francis? Not because he loved animals and all nature, not because he preached and practiced peace, not because he cared for the poor, but rather because he loved Jesus above all else, because he disciplined himself to follow Jesus by embracing poverty, chastity, and obedience, because he exemplified the Christian virtues and bore the fruit of the Spirit. And people are attracted to that. That is among the most important lessons we can learn from Francis: the best evangelists are not those who know the most about Jesus and the faith, but those who most love Jesus and practice obedience to him.

Blessing

May the Lord bless you.

May the Lord keep you.

May He show His face to you and have mercy.

May He turn to you His countenance and give you peace.

The Lord bless you.

The only justification for what follows is that I was asked to write it by a friend and parishioner who wanted my comments on an article by Fr. Charles Erlandson:

https://www.facebook.com/561704043/posts/10160953464999044/

Fr. Charles is a scholar whom I respect and something of an expert on this matter; I most certainly am not. I write as an ordinary priest, neither particularly Reformed nor particularly Anglo-Catholic. I write, as readers will see, with the firm conviction that along with the Orthodox and Roman Catholic Churches, the Anglican Church is part of the one holy catholic and Apostolic Church. It is my home, and I love it. And now to the question at hand: Is the Anglicanism Catholic or Protestant?

In the early twentieth-century, physicists pondered the nature of light: is light comprised of particles or waves? The understanding was that particles and waves are fundamental different and mutually exclusive: either/or but not both/and.

The problem was that light exhibited characteristics of both particles and waves — not at the same time, but at different times based upon the nature of the experiment it was subjected to. In other words, it was (and is) possible to design an experiment that proves categorically that light is comprised of particles. It was (and is) equally possible to design an experiment that proves just as surely that light is comprised of waves. Light simply is what it is, but we can make it demonstrate one characteristic and not another by the questions we ask and the experiments we perform. Ultimately, physicists began to speak of a wave-particle duality as the true nature of light and even of other quantum phenomena.

That brings us to Anglicanism and the question at hand: is Anglicanism Catholic or Protestant? First, I must disambiguate the question because language is crucial here. “Catholic” as used in the question would imply to most readers “Roman Catholic” and not catholic in its true sense as meaning “of the whole” or “universal.” So, to be clear, I will contrast Protestant with Roman and not Protestant with catholic. The question then becomes: is Anglicanism Roman or Protestant?

I will give my answer first, and then explain it. Analogous to light, Anglicanism is a Protestant-Roman duality. We can force it to appear as one or the other by the questions we ask and the data we consider; but in reality it simply is what it is regardless of what we “force” it to be. My contention is that Anglicanism is more than either Protestant or Roman; it is catholic in the true sense of the word. We claim that at every service of Holy Communion when we recite the Nicene Creed:

We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church (BCP 2019, p. 109).

We claim that at every service of the Daily Office when we recite the Apostles’ Creed:

I believe in…the holy catholic Church (BCP 2019, p. 20).

It is important that we don’t say “We believe in one holy Protestant Church” or “We believe in one holy Roman Church.” Catholic is prior to and more fundamental than either Protestant or Roman. Catholic pertains to the faith once delivered to the saints — to all the saints: those essential elements of faith and practice that we share and not those things that separate us. I describe it this way: along with the Orthodox Church and the Roman Church, the Anglican Church is the bearer of the Great Tradition that began at Pentecost, that developed and spread through the work of the Apostles, that is expressed in Scripture and Creeds and Councils and Liturgy, that was nurtured and preserved by the Church Fathers and the faithful of every generation, and that has been preserved to this day.

If you ask me where that Great Tradition may be found, I would answer along with the Chicago-Lambeth Quadrilateral that these are the essential marks of the Catholic Church:

1. The Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments as the revealed Word of God.
2. The Nicene Creed as the sufficient statement of the Christian Faith.
3. The two Sacraments, — Baptism and the Supper of the Lord, — ministered with unfailing use of Christ’s words of institution and of the elements ordained by Him.
4. The Historic Episcopate, locally adapted in the methods of its administration to the varying needs of the nations and peoples called of God into the unity of His Church (BCP 1979, p. 877).

There are many nuances and subtleties to be worked out, and the devil is in the details, as they say. But these are marks of the catholic Church, and Anglicanism possesses them.

So, is Anglicanism Protestant or Roman? It is something more primitive and more fundamental; it is catholic. Now, if this seems to you like begging the question, fair enough. Let’s plunge in a bit further.

Imagine we could submit a “genetic” sample of Anglicanism to a religious genealogy site, a 23 and Me for the Church. What would the results be? Prior to the English Reformation Parliament (1529-1536) our nearest relative would be the Roman Church — all the way back to the Synod of Whitby (664) when King Oswiu of Northumbria brought the proto-English church under the auspices of Rome. Prior to that time, both Celtic and Roman practices co-existed. But, keep in mind that the Great Schism between East (Orthodox) and West (Roman) — the fracturing of the catholic Church — did not occur until 1024. This means that, from the beginning, the English Church was part of the catholic church and remained so even when it adopted Roman practices. The English Church was catholic before and after it became Roman. So, we trace our lineage through the Roman Church back to the united catholic Church. That is our ecclesiastical DNA, if you will.

But, families break apart or intermarry; I’m not certain which is the best metaphor. England broke with Rome and intermarried with other Protestant groups in the 16th century. And, the English Church began to define itself in contradistinction to the Roman Church. That is the essence of many of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion — a polemic against “Romish” and “papist” doctrines and practices. Read most generously — and I think correctly — the English Church retained the essentials of the catholic Church while rejecting some unfaithful medieval accretions of the Roman Church. Now, here is a statement that will get me in trouble and may be used against me; but I nonetheless believe it to be true. In rejecting the excesses of the Roman Church, the English Church embraced some of the excesses of the Protestant Church. That is what reform movements typically do: move from one extreme to another. Then, it takes generations to evaluate and moderate, to recognize that we may have lost the baby with the bath in some instances. And that explains the “muddle” of Anglicanism — why some Anglicans out-reform Luther and Calvin and why some claim we are the Roman Church just without the Pope. That is why I insist that the truth of Anglicanism lies deeper: we are catholic, through the heritage of the Roman Church, and recalled to true catholicism by the Protestant Reformers. It is a difficult “bi-racial” identity; we would have to check OTHER on a form and neither ROMAN nor PROTESTANT.

This answer will likely satisfy no one; some days it does not satisfy me. But, it is the best I have to offer and I have made my peace with it — mostly.