"Chreasters"

Today is Christmas Day, and as with most Episcopal churches, things are dark at St. Matthew's. The big deal was last night—and it was quite a big deal indeed. We had special music, candles everywhere, and wreaths. We also had more than fifty people in the room, something of a recent record for us.

I didn't do any asking, but I got the impression that a lot of the visitors were family members of regulars, and that's OK with me. And we did have (as we do on Easter) a few newcomers who showed up just for Christmas Eve.

Donald Trump had originally planned on going to Florida for a couple of weeks, but, in the middle of a lot of political trouble, he stayed back in Washington while his wife went to Florida. Then she came back and (apparently with very little prior notice) they showed up at Washington National Cathedral for Christmas Eve.

As an Episcopalian, I can be proud that he chose our outfit over the others; as a Christian, I'm intrigued. Trump's personal history has never been very religious. The church he listed as his home church when he was campaigning had no record of him. When he tried to comment about Scripture at Liberty University, he obviously had never heard of II Corinthians. At a Presbyterian church, they passed the plate of Communion bread and he tried to put money in it. At George Bush's funeral, he obviously fumbled with the Apostles' Creed. I'd say he's not into the routine of being in a church on Sunday morning.

If he and Melania had simply stayed put in the White House, I doubt if there would have been much comment.

A couple of days ago, an excellent Washington Post article on Chreasters (the people who only show up on Christmas and Easter) appeared. The author made the point that those twice-a-year attenders might be looking for something transcendent in their lives, something beyond power and politics and money. And besides, our Episcopalian slogan is "everyone is welcome." So hooray for the Chreasters and welcome to Donald Trump. I hope you began to find what you were looking for.

Our New Visibility

First a bit of history

You probably noticed that the religious right ("Evangelicalism") got itself focused on two issues: abortion and gay marriage. Yes, there were other issues as well, for example the display of Christian artifacts (Nativity scenes, the Ten Commandments, etc.) on public land, but abortion and gay marriage were the litmus issues.

One result of this litmus test was that organizations such as the Episcopal Church who are not putting much energy into opposing abortion and who accept gay marriage got labeled as "not really Christian" by the loudly vocal mainstream.

Another result was that, especially in politics, "Christian" became rather narrowly defined as opposition to abortion, hatred of sexual minorities, and the willingness to say "Merry Christmas." Each of us can name a friend or neighbor who said that so-and-so is THE Christian candidate because he is solid on these points—never mind such minor issues as honesty, sexual morality, or racial prejudice.

The secular press noticed how basically wrong-headed this is, and for the last year or two, we have seen a rising tide of articles in publications such as The Washington Post, The Atlantic, and The Guardian, pondering how Evangelicalism lost its soul and became anything but Christian—essentially a jingoistic political party that meets to sing hymns on Sunday morning.

Enter Bishop Curry

When Bishop Curry was consecrated, I heard a lot of comment that he would breathe new life into an old structure and that it was great to have a Black man as our most visible leader (diversity, you know). People who know him personally are unwavering in their praise. I heard him preach a couple of times, and I was awestruck. Maybe he would be good for the Episcopal Church.

Then came the royal wedding. I don't think any of us saw this one coming. Is there a more visible moment for a preacher? Yes, we have public prayers at the President's Inauguration, and eulogies at the funerals of important figures, but the public is trained to sleep through those (and most of them aren't worth much attention anyhow). Curry's sermon was different. It came as a high point in a fairy-tale event that caught the hearts of millions of people. I doubt there's been a more public sermon (or one that got as much attention) in the last thirty years.

He didn't stop there. Curry is, according to the Washington Post, a "prime mover" in a movement to shift the church from being an arm of a political party to proclaiming that Jesus is Lord. Today, he will be part of a candlelight vigil marching on the White House, inspired by a declaration titled "Reclaiming Jesus: A Declaration of Faith in a Time of Crisis."

What this means for us

First, Bishop Curry is our leader, and I think he's got it right. The world is not waiting to hear about Episcopalianism; the world is starving for the message of the saving love of Jesus. We need to plant our feet in that message and keep proclaiming it (even if that feels a bit awkward).

Second, this new visibility for the Episcopal Church and our message will surely bring in some newcomers. Bishop Curry is never portrayed in the responsible media as just "that black church leader." He is always referred to as the presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church. We have never had an advertising campaign this extensive. Curious newcomers will show up and they will not look or sound much like the rest of us. They won't know when to kneel and they won't know our weird vocabulary. We need to welcome them. And we need to be ready to be changed by their presence.

Such a Big Deal

Sunday was the 25th anniversary of our priest's ordination. As usual, I was not prepared for what a big deal this would be. Dozens of visitors showed up, including the Bishop. We had dinner for 75 (40 is our usual attendance). There was a profusion of clerical garb and robes—most of the Episcopalians in some form of white with a lot of decoration, while our UCC friend was in dove grey. We had special music and special food and gifts.

I'm not used to all this.

Perhaps I'm not used to it because my family played down birthdays and anniversaries, rarely celebrating anyone's birthday after childhood.

Perhaps I'm surprised by ecclesiastical celebration because of my previous church experience. Before St. Matthew's, I was in a church where people joined up by simply asking for their names to be put in the church directory. That was it. And that's why I almost missed my own Confirmation—it came at an inconvenient time in my schedule, and I wondered why I should cut my vacation short just to return to Ohio and stand up during the church announcements. Little did I realize that Bishop Williams would be there and that Confirmation counts as a Very Big Deal indeed. Gifts, photos, decorated cake and the whole nine yards.

I could get used to this. There's a lot of celebration in the New Testament, particularly when Jesus comes to town. And these celebrations make the point that my life is significant and so is my history with God and with the Church. Good to remember.

Afraid of the Church

I spent last weekend at the 2016 Diocesan Winter Convocation in Sandusky, Ohio. It was a great weekend of old friends, good food, and deep thinking—with the added benefit that it isn't actually a decision-making body, so we didn't vote (or argue) about anything.

I came away with a brain full of ideas, but one selection of thoughts stands out.

Anyone who reads newspapers, listens to the TV news, or spends time on Internet news sites has gotten a truckload of words about Christians in general, and (at least for a week) the Episcopal Church in particular. It's not good. We Christians come across in the news articles as a disagreeable bunch who don't like one another, who don't believe in science, and who are in the business of supporting political candidates. Then there's the whole gay business. To listen to the news reports, one would think that the whole Gospel is summed up in "support heterosexual marriage and hate gay people." (I think that's a misrepresentation of even the most conservative churches' view, by the way.) Then there's the news (again somewhat misrepresented in the popular press) that the Episcopal Church USA got into some sort of trouble with the international body for supporting gay marriage.

Back to the roots

An outsider, looking at all this, has a right to feel uneasy, maybe even frightened. And yet, God draws people to himself, all the time. People aren't necessarily looking for the Episcopal Church; they are looking for God. If we can remember that priority, and remember, that for all our fine buildings, ancient words, and fancy robes, we are—at our best when we remember our true mission—a way for people to find God through Jesus Christ.

Then there's the Fear Factor. It takes a lot for people to walk into a church, especially if they haven't been there much before. Newcomers who are returning to the Episcopal Church they knew as children aren't quite as ill at ease, but those who are total newcomers know absolutely nothing about what they are supposed to do, what is expected of them, and how they can avoid looking like idiots. (Remember the prominent political candidate who recently, apparently on his second or third visit to a Presbyterian Church in decades, mistook the plate of Communion bread for an offering plate when it came down the row, and dropped some money in it.)

We sit, we stand, we kneel, we cross ourselves. Most of us know enough about the Sunday liturgy to do the responses from memory. When all those people go up to the altar rail, we all know what to do. It's frightening to the outsider. One speaker at the convocation asked how comfortable we would be if we decided to visit a mosque for prayers. Or a synagogue.

So much of it is just housekeeping! I can name two or three churches that don't have an obvious front door! And what does it matter if I'm kneeling to pray while you are sitting and the person next to you is standing?

So one final take-away from that conference is simply to put ourselves in the place of the newcomer and try to see things with fresh eyes.

Transplants

I saw somewhere that 70% or so of Episcopalians are transplants—people who began somewhere else and landed here. That's reassuring to someone like me; I was born and baptized Presbyterian and spent a bunch of time in a sort-of-Baptist independent church before landing here. Even though I've been at St. Matthew's for years and sometimes even teach Confirmation classes, I still have moments when I feel like an outsider, usually when I have to ask questions like "Is that how we are supposed to do this?"

I keep running into great quotations from other transplants, so I'm going to start a series of them. This is the first.

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This one is from a member of the Prayer Book, Liturgy and Music Committee of the House of Deputies:

Occasionally I would hear someone talk about the “old” prayer book and the “new” prayer book, but for me there was only the prayer book. The text of the book lifted me heart, mind and soul to a place that I had only barely been able to imagine in my conservative Christian past.

Paul Fromberg, writing in the House of Deputies News