the cassandra pages

Hermit Diary 33: 50 Years of Ministry

 

On Monday I did this interview with Michael Pitts, former Dean of Christ Church Cathedral in Montreal, author of the newest book at Phoenicia Publishing, and a good friend. The next two days were spent on editing, resulting in the video shown above. Michael is a very progressive thinker and theologian who has written a lot about the issues facing the world and the Church -- and he's not someone who's afraid of change. I hope some of you will watch this, even if you're not a religious person, since we talk about issues of justice, the pandemic, doubt and uncertainty, and how mystery and science need to co-exist, not negate each other.

Here's a preview, in case you want a taste of the longer version:

 

I have to say that I love doing this kind of work, and that learning more about the technical side of video editing has been a pleasure, not a chore. My mind is racing with ideas of how to use live online events and recorded video for effective and creative communication: it's one positive and exciting outcome of our present situation.

 

 

Hermit Diary 30: Spiritual Inheritance

This entry is cross-posted from the Daily Bread blog at Christ Church Cathedral, for which it was written.

 

Psalm 92

The righteous will flourish like a palm tree,
    they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon;
planted in the house of the Lord,
    they will flourish in the courts of our God.
They will still bear fruit in old age,
    they will stay fresh and green,
proclaiming, “The Lord is upright;
    he is my Rock, and there is no wickedness in him.”

 

Today, June 19, is my maternal grandmother’s birthday. Born in 1900, she would be an impossible 120 years old today, but actually she did live a very long life, to the age of 92, “still bearing fruit in old age.” If I have an “Anglican” forebear, who somehow gave me my faith and also a willingness to be involved with, and work for, the Church, it was my grandmother.

I grew up my grandparents’ big Victorian house in a sleepy town in rural central New York. They lived downstairs, and my parents and I lived upstairs, but it was essentially one home so far as I was concerned, extending outdoors onto the porches and into my grandmother’s gardens. We lived across from the Episcopal rectory, and the church was next to it, across a street, so in addition to being parishioners, we were neighbors and friends with the priests and their families, who were also in and out of our house all the time. Behind the white-clapboarded, New-England style church was an extensive, centuries-old cemetery where my mother taught me to read the inscriptions on the tombstones, before I ever started school.

My father came from a musical Methodist family; my paternal grandfather was a Methodist minister and my grandmother a devout, white-gloved, conservative minister’s wife who never touched alcohol or played cards but loved music and dramatic reading. My tenor-voiced, irrepressible father had been the wild black sheep of that family of four children, and though I inherited the musical gift, their rigid spirituality didn’t have much appeal.

My maternal grandparents, by contrast, were liberal, worldly, expansive people. I guess you could call them “pillars” of the church: staunch supporters and consistent attendees. My grandfather was a frequent member of the vestry, my grandmother was active in the Episcopal Church Women and the altar guild. I grew up singing in the choir and my family always went to church, but I dropped out of Sunday School after a year; I was constantly questioning what was being said and taught, and having a smart but agnostic mother probably didn’t help.

But somehow, my grandmother’s steady faith became an example. She was outspoken and opinionated; a feminist; a longtime teacher; an avid reader; skilled cook, gardener, and seamstress; and a matriarch who ruled the family from her armchair, knitting basket and New York Times Sunday paper at her side (she did the crossword each week in ink). But also tucked away next to that armchair was her 1928 Book of Common Prayer, and a copy of Forward Day by Day, which she followed and prayed from daily, though I never saw her doing it. Her faith was a private matter, and I don’t remember discussing it with her very much, but even as a little girl, I sensed that it was what guided and steadied her strong ship. I spent many years away from the church, but I never completely stopped believing. I always felt that something from my grandmother had taken hold of me and was stored away inside; when I came back, it was clear to me that it was not only her faith, but her broad, inclusive Anglicanism with its love of language, ritual, and music.

After my grandmother died, my mother approached me one day with something in her hand. “I thought maybe you should have this,” she said, handing me my grandmother’s well-worn prayer book. She was right; of the various things I inherited from her, that little book is the most precious. Inside the cover are three simple prayers written in my grandmother’s Palmer-method handwriting: two for preparation for worship, and one for after: “Grant O Lord that the lessons I have learned may take root in my heart, that I may remain faithful to the confession of my faith, and that I may put my faith to practice in my daily life. Through Jesus Christ our Lord.” And I just noticed today that she had left the frayed black ribbon for marking pages at Psalm 139, my own favorite: “O Lord, thou has searched me out and known me,” which contains perhaps the most beautiful expression of God’s constant presence in all of Scripture. In the most difficult moments of my own life, I’ve often thought of my grandmother, and gratefully felt her strength and steadying presence -- which is, of course, simply feeling God through her.

This pandemic has made us all more aware of age, and the aged among us. It has made older people feel more vulnerable and isolated, and, to some extent, expendable; it has brought the pain of separation from loved ones and the fear and reality of dying alone. Western society is particularly good at discarding rather than respecting its elders and seeing them as a source of strength and wisdom. Navigating life’s challenges from a spiritual perspective really does boil down to “forward day by day”, as trite as it sounds; those who have done it have a great deal to teach us.

I love the image in today’s psalm of the human being flourishing like a palm tree, or a cedar of Lebanon, still bearing fruit in old age and staying fresh and green. So, on the positive side, perhaps this crisis could cause us to consider the ways in which we segregate by age, and how we could do more to encourage spiritual mentorship and friendship, as well as youthful companionship, within our own congregation.

 

 

Hermit Diary, Montreal. 7. A Medieval Saint, and the Psalms

My post for today is a piece I wrote for the new blog, Daily Bread, at Christ Church Cathedral, Montreal. Today, March 20, is the Feast Day of St. Cuthbert, Bishop of Lindesfarne, who lived in Northumbria in the 7th century, so I wrote a bit about him. The second half of the post is about Psalm 91, the psalm appointed for Evening Prayer today, and my own experience of singing the psalms as a choir member. In the Anglican Church, these ancient poems are an important part of every liturgy, and when we do choral services -- a sung Mass or Evensong, for instance -- we chant the psalms using four-part settings written by many composers for the church.

We're hoping that a number of parishioners will contribute to this new blog during these weeks when we can't meet together - the idea is to take off in some creative direction from the readings appointed for the day in the lectionary. So please have a look! Eventually I'll cross-post the entry here, but not while the post is new on the cathedral website.

I almost forgot, but March 20 is also my blogiversary: The Cassandra Pages started in 2005, during another time of upheaval. Cassandra does not like being right about things, but she's had a pretty good track record. (She also predicts we'll get through this one.) Love to all of you who've been faithful readers, and a warm welcome to anyone who is relatively new. i try hard to answer comments, and am grateful for every single one.

At the National Cathedral

While in D.C., we went to the Washington National Cathedral on Sunday afternoon. I hadn't been there since singing with my choir from St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Hanover, NH, at the bishop's invitation, on New Hampshire Day at least ten years ago -- and a memorable experience that was!

This time we arrived at about 3:30 p.m., before the 4:00 service of Evensong. And just as happens in the Montreal cathedral where I now sing, the choir of Men and Trebles (boys, in this case) was finishing their rehearsal as we walked up the long aisle of the nave.

While my friends looked around, I went up into the side chapel where the choir members were putting on their white surplices and waiting until it was time to begin the processional. I went up to one friendly-looking fellow and asked some questions about their schedule, and very soon we were deep into a happy conversation about lifelong choir singing, liturgical repertoire, Benjamin Britten, and the differences and similarities between the musical life of our two cathedrals.

Then I saw my friends starting to come up the chancel steps into the choir loft and realized we were going to be able to sit in the stalls: a treat that sometimes happens in big cathedrals. As it turned out, I ended up right next to the choir, facing the conductor, and across from the organ, so I could hear the performance and watch the director almost as if I were singing myself. Some of the young boys had absolutely beautiful, clear voices, and the men were professional and supportive, singing the tenor and bass parts. It was extremely interesting to watch and listen to another top-flight choir in action -- and, if I can be permitted a little bit of self-praise, it made me realize how very good our choir and our director really are.

There was netting above us throughout the space; we learned that this was a precautionary measureto catch any loose mortar, as restoration work proceeds on the damage caused by the magnitude 5.8 earthquake that struck the Washington area on August 23, 2011. The cathedral sustained quite a bit of damage but has been declared structurally sound.

After the service, which filled me with happiness and peace after a very busy weekend (that's what can happen when you aren't performing!) I visited some of the other side chapels, and took some photographs of favorite windows. Aren't they gorgeous?

 

 

All the windows in the cathedral are modern, and they are just as beautiful to me as the stained glass of Chartres or Notre Dame. The cathedral "is a privately-owned and operated non-profit organization that receives no federal or national church funding," and while it is staffed by Episcopal Church clergy and follows Episcopal/Anglican liturgical tradition, it is ecumenical in spirit. They try hard to make everyone feel welcome, and the architecture, carvings, windows, ironwork, art, and gardens -- many of which commemorate history and people from our own times -- are all well worth seeing.

Earlier that same day, in honor of St. Francis of Assisi, there had been a Blessing of the Animals. In this press photo, Rev. Baylor blesses a pet mouse:

The vision statement of the cathedral is this:

The National Cathedral will be a catalyst for spiritual harmony in our nation, renewal in the churches, reconciliation among faiths, and compassion in our world.

An Ordination, and Some Memories

The clerical procession

Last Sunday, three of my friends were ordained at our cathedral: one to the diaconate, and two to the priesthood. I was in the loft, singing with the choir, and had a bird's-eye view of the processions and the proceedings (but unfortunately, only my camera phone in my pocket.)

An ordination is a momentous occasion, representing and celebrating many years of discernment, struggle, study, training and preparation. In liturgical traditions such as ours, the ordinand is taking solemn vows and receiving permission to do particular tasks. Deacons (the Greek word means "servant", "minister", or "messanger") are the church's eyes and ears and hands in the world; they also preach and assist at the mass. In most cases being ordained a deacon is the first step toward becoming a priest, which happens after another year, though some people feel called to the diaconate itself as a profession. In the case of priests, ordination means being able to perform all the sacraments such as baptism and marriage, and particularly, to "say mass" or celebrate the Eucharist.

I've known a lot of priests as good friends, and had a number of friends who have become priests during the time I've known them. Following and writing about Gene Robinson's journey from priest to his ordination as bishop gave me an additional window into the deeply personal journey this unusual and difficult path entails. Nobody takes it lightly, and an ordination always feels moving to me.

The candidate for deacon kneels alone at the altar.

The friends who were ordained on Sunday included a woman who is our present assistant at the cathedral, and two men, both of whom are openly gay and in committed relationships. Although such ordinations have been going on for some time in the U.S., this was the first ordination of an openly gay, non-celibate candidate to the priesthood in our diocese. Last year, when he was ordained a deacon, people rose and objected at the point in the service where the bishop asks if anyone feels there is "an impediment." This year, the bishop read a letter of objection he had received, but no one stood up in person , and the bishop calmly proceeded. When the ordinations were finished and the new deacon and priests presented, the congregation warmly applauded for many minutes; most of us have been involved in this struggle for years, and we recognized the moment for what it was.

The clergy gather to lay hands on the candidates for priesthood at the moment of ordination.

As I watched and listened and sang, I thought back to the time when there were no women priests -- in my childhood, women were not even allowed to read the lessons or to serve on the vestry. I thought of Gene Robinson's ordination, and his appearance at this cathedral for our first "OutMass" a year later -- of how packed it was, of the tears in the eyes of people who had never dared hope they would be accepted by a church because of their sexual orientation; men and women who had been shamed and rejected by the Roman Catholic church and denied communion, and community; people who had not taken communion for decades but did so that day as they listened, some weeping, to an openly gay bishop tell them they were loved by God just as they were, for that is how they had been created. That may have been the day, I think, that our bishop made the courageous decision to stand behind the ordination of gay men and women in our diocese, and soon formally accepted the candidacy of one of the men who was ordained last Sunday.

Bishop Gene Robinson preaches at the first OutMass, Christ Church Cathedral, Montreal, in the summer of 2006

For the most part, I feel the church and most congregations in North America, at least, are moving on. In England, there's still a huge and ridiculous debate over whether women are qualified to be bishops, and in other parts of the world the church still upholds laws that demonize and persecute homosexuals. Gene Robinson was utterly alone in the Anglican Communion for a number of years but now is no longer the only openly gay bishop to be elected. (He's also retiring this year.) The Catholic church is still embroiled in scandals over predatory, pedophile priests who did incalculable damage to children, and yet refuses to budge on the issues of ordaining women, or allowing priests to marry. I'm glad my denomination is less stuck, and tries to act with integrity, even as the church's relevance wanes, and glad I've been able to play a small part in the ongoing struggle for equality for all people.

Advent I

Forgive me for not writing much tonight, but I've been at the cathedral all day long and I'm very tired.

Our guests in the cathedral community during this special week (which is the 150th anniversary of our building) have been the Suffragan Bishop of Cuba, the Rt. Rev. Nerva Cot Aguilera, and her husband, the Very Rev. Juan Ramón de la Paz, who is the Dean of our sister cathedral in Havana. At the 10:00 am service today, Juan preached and Nerva co-celebrated; his sermon was about the great importance of equal friendship between peoples of different cultures - not judging, not feeling superior/inferior because of wealth or opportunity or political idealogy, but simply meeting each other as friends. At the big Advent Lessons&Carols Evensong later in the day, Nerva read one of the lessons in Spanish, and other readings were in French and in English, which was very nice indeed.

Yesterday evening there was a dinner and dance in celebration of this anniversary. I hadn't expected to have such a good time, but I did -- dancing until late in my high heels (and I didn't even feel sore today.) We had delicious Caribbean food served by another Montreal Anglican congregation, who do catering as part of their ministry. But the highlight was watching this couple from Havana dancing to Latin rhythms: so elegant, so dignified, and so joyful. They'll go home in a few days, taking off the sweaters, parkas, and mufflers that have been protecting them during these northern days, but hopefully full of memories of the warmth with which they were greeted here.

I wish I knew what they've been thinking.

The Poaching Pope

 

Charlemagne and the Pope

Pope Benedict announced yesterday that the Vatican is establishing a way for disaffected Anglicans to become Catholics.

By means of a decree known as an apostolic convention, the Pope has created a new structure allowing Anglicans to join the Catholic Church while maintaining their own liturgy – in particular the historic Book of Common Prayer – and in some cases having their own bishops. 

Reaction has been, to my mind, confused and wishywashy, but several points seem obvious and need to be made. (And I write this with some reluctance: after the publication of my book in 2006 about Bishop Gene Robinson and church politics, especially with regard to homosexuality, I felt very weary of the entire subject, and have largely stayed on the sidelines of the ongoing debate. However...)

1) This is a calculated economic and strategic move. Pope Benedict may be retrograde, but he is also shrewd. As Catholic parishes dwindle, and his insistence on "holding the line" against progressive movements that would bring Catholicism into the 21st century fails to result in Catholics "returning to the fold", the Vatican is looking elsewhere to fill its pews, clergy lists, and coffers. Many of the disaffected Anglican parishes are both conservative and wealthy. A drop in the bucket, in international terms, perhaps, but every bit helps. I'm quite sure the Vatican looked around and said, "If these parishes are leaving and aligning with African Anglican bishops, why shouldn't we try to get them to come over to us?"

2) Contrary to sentimental Anglican notions, the Vatican doesn't care about closer ties. Throughout the history of the Anglican Church, a portion of Anglicans have sought to reunite with what they see as "the one true church." These Anglo-Catholics have sought closer ties with Rome but have been repeatedly rebuffed; instead they have formed parishes which have, in many cases, refused to use the revised Book of Common Prayer (revised especially to use inclusive language) and steadfastly opposed the ordination of women. Even so, the Vatican has not made any offers until now - when it sees these parishes leaving the Anglican Communion anyway because of the ordination of gay bishops and priests. This isn't about closer ties that might ultimately lead to a rapprochement with Rome, which would, in fact, require ideological movement by both churches toward one another: it's an acknowledgment of irreconcilable differences and an indication that no movement by the Catholic Church is forthcoming whatsoever.

3) Therefore, the Vatican is essentially saying "welcome" to homophobic, anti-female, anti-progressive Anglicans: you're just the kind of Catholics we want -- rather than seeing what's happening in the Anglican Communion as an indication that fundamental change is required within Catholicism. It may also be a silent tit-for-tat reaction to Catholic defection by progressives and gay people to the Episcopal and Anglican churches.

4) Racism. Anglican and Episcopal leaders have reacted vaguely, but generally positively. I find that extremely disturbing, for the following reason. Besides the AngloCatholics, the other group outraged by gay ordination have been the evangelicals, led by bishops of the so-called Global South, particularly African bishops from provinces such as Uganda and Nigeria. When these Anglican bishops wooed American bishops, held illegal ordinations for new bishops, and circumvented Anglican rules of behavior, it was rightly called "poaching." Now we have Anglican spokespersons making statements like "there's no reason to see the Vatican's move negatively," (Canon Eric Beresford of Canada) or as "a comment on problems within Anglicanism" (Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams).

The black African bishops spoke openly about the end of the colonial legacy, and triumphally about the success of evangelical Anglicanism in the developing world, where the numbers are greatest and the church is actually growing. That attitude didn't go down well in North America and Europe, but a white European pope, wearing the same outfit and saying the same mass and preaching in the same restrained way? Well, this is something familiar; he is, for all intents and purposes, one of us - we northerners are all, so to speak, cut out of the same ecclesiastical cloth, and so we'll extend professional courtesy to one another. In my opinion, that's racist.

5) why should anyone care? A good question, and on that has been brought up in the comments in every article I've read about this development. The answer is that there are still people who find comfort and faith in the liturgical tradition maintained by Catholicism and Anglicanism, and - as Canon Eric Beresford so rightly pointed out, "people need to find a home." Here in Quebec, where the Catholic church has been so discredited, and deserted by the French Canadians who once filled every parish pew and balcony, we have an example of what the future looks like if churches refuse to acknowledge the past and look toward a future that keeps pace with the world. In our Anglican parish, the largest group of newcomers are gay former Roman Catholics who have found a home where they are welcome as full participants in the mass, and in the life of the parish. I've writtten already about the enormous damage done to gay men and women who were refused communion and rejected by priests and, in some cases, their own Catholic families as unredeemable sinners. Their personal stories are well known to me now, as is the pain that they've endured and their relief at finding a place with a different message, but the same basic liturgy of the mass. I understand why simply rejecting the church and leaving for good was not an option for many of them (and I also see why this is hard for people to understand who weren't raised in a Catholic tradition.)

Finally, what disturbs me the most is the Anglican leadership's equivocation when they act as if these two divides are somehow equal, natural and right. All that says is "what we care about is not truth, not the existence of moral principles and justice, but the preservation of the institution by whatever means are necessary." Breaking into multiple divisions rather than struggling together is the easier way out, but even if that happens, why should we sidestep what it really means and what we are saying when we support it? Are women and gay people to be endlessly excluded from full participation, or do we actually stand for something? If we do, then it should be said courageously, with no mincing of words, and lived out as fact. Without this, is it any wonder people who can detest hypocrisy are deserting the church in droves?

micropoem

Cathedral baptism:
a family of forty
in high heels and suits
takes vows, provides a cake --
but they'll be gone
before the icing
is licked from our fingers.

Probably should have happened back in 1776...

A good op-ed about the likely break-up of the Anglican Communion, ostensibly over the issue of homosexuality, but more accurately about the North Americans' refusal to toe the "duty" line with their former rulers, the British.

I am, personally, incredibly weary of this debate, and it's affecting my feelings about the church a lot. Why do any of us need this? We're called upon to love one another, no matter what our differences. It's really very simple. If the church gets in the way of that, then I want no part of it, and I can't accept a hierarchical structure that puts a greater emphasis on unity than on love.

Anglicans Really Alive

 

Anglicans Really Alive is the name of the new blog and associated website of a group of progressive Montreal Anglicans. Ostensibly, we're concerned about the future of the church in the light of the current international controversy, but most of us are also interested in the future of religion in general. We want to explore how religion and science can not only co-exist in a post-modern world, but how they can inform and enlarge each other. We're interested in new forms, in dialogue between traditions, in personal spirituality and growth, and in outreach and change.

The blog -- directed by the thoughtful, perceptive and often humorous Very Rev. Michael Pitts, Dean of Christ Church Cathedral, Montreal -- exists for ongoing discussion; the website will contain continually-updated resources on a variety of topics: Institutional Politics; Sexuality; Peace and Justice; the Environment; Theology and Scripture; a Book List; and a weekly "In the Media" page.

I've helped design and launch the two sites and will be maintaining the website for the time being; we hope that some of you will visit and leave a comment or two; and if any readers would consider linking to us or mentioning the existence of these resources on your blogs or to organizations you belong to, we'd appreciate it a lot. In particular, those of us thinking about and working for change in the Canadian church want very much to interact with people in other parts of the world -- Anglicans, Episcopalians, and those of other denominations and traditions -- we look forward to hearing from you!