Via TitusOneNine:
Charting our Course; Shaping the Future
By the Rt. Rev. Mark J. Lawrence
One of the better descriptions of the Church I’ve read over the years comes from a character in J. F. Powers’ novel, Wheat that Springeth Green. Powers, a semi-reclusive Catholic writer known primarily for his short stories, has given us a helpful analogy for understanding the Church—he pictures her as a big old ship. As one character tells another in the story:
“This is a big old ship, Bill. She creaks, she rolls, and at times she makes you want to throw up. But she gets where she’s going. Always has, always will, until the end of time. With or without you.”
I thought of that description of the church some time ago when I read an article in the newspaper of a cruise ship returning to New York from a vacation in the Bahamas. It seems the ship encountered a storm at sea. One disturbed passenger was quoted as saying, “We were going back and forth, up and down. And then, ‘Boom!’” The cruise ship, Norwegian Dawn was hit by a freak 70-foot wave. Reaching as high as deck ten, the wave smashed windows, flooded cabins, and sent furniture flying across rooms. One passenger complained, “Why would you go through a storm? Can’t they see it coming? I’m trying not to be angry.” The captain of the ship wasn’t quoted in the story so there’s no way of knowing whether the storm was foreseen, unavoidable, or underestimated. This much I know as a crewman on the Ship of Faith: there are times you can see a storm approaching, you can even warn others on board it is coming, but there’s no way to avoid the storm if the course charted and the storm’s trajectory are aligned.
I’ve read enough church history to know some ecclesiastical storms are unavoidable because the church carries out her mission in a world of stormy climates and changing seas. Some storms are less disturbing than predicted, while others hit you with a 70-foot wave after the chief petty officer has announced calm seas ahead. The Episcopal Church at its 2003 General Convention chose to head straight into a gathering storm. Some of us at this convention warned that departing from the charted course of Scripture and catholicity was sheer imprudence. Bishop Salmon, Kendall Harmon, John Burwell and others from the South Carolina deputation were among those who warned of impending danger. As a deputy to General Convention from the Diocese of San Joaquin and a member of the Committee on the Consecration of Bishops, I, too, warned in a minority report from the committee of possible irreparable harm from the course charted. Nevertheless, the majority of the crew—bishops, priests and laity—thought we were merely alarmists. So into the storm we headed. At this point no one knows how it will turnout. This old ship of the Anglican Communion is rolling about on rough seas. More than a few passengers have been tossed overboard, some are in sick bay, and still others have gathered in lifeboats. It is an unfortunate situation, and all the more so in that it was avoidable, or at least could have been more adequately prepared for, and perhaps the worst of it even circumnavigated. Where the Anglican Communion and The Episcopal Church go from here frankly no one knows. These are uncharted waters for all of us. I suppose those of us who love Holy Scripture may take solace in the narrative from the 27th Chapter of The Book of Acts where St. Paul warns the captain and crew of the ship that was taking him to Rome not to set sail, but, ignored as he was, they were soon engulfed by a tempestuous wind called a northeaster. Yes, God’s ultimate purposes were accomplished but at great loss to ship and freight.
I mention this because as we prepare for the upcoming 218th Convention of the Diocese of South Carolina the stormy seas have not abated in the almost six years since General Convention 2003. If anything, the swath from the northeaster has broadened and intensified, engulfing more and more provinces of the Anglican Communion. While nothing is certain at this point, it seems clear to me that there is no immediate solution to our present crisis. In the midst of a storm, most of us can only react to changing circumstances as they develop. My commitment is to keep in line with the Scriptures, the historic faith of the Church, and the larger Anglican Communion. So long as we can remain Episcopalian and keep with these three instruments of trustworthy navigation, there is no reason at this point to man the lifeboats. Though many would like to see this crisis ended, or hear prophetic predictions of calmer seas, such are not likely to be forthcoming. The next foreseeable sounding of significance is the Primates’ Meeting in February 2009 and the Anglican Consultative Council in May. At both meetings, issues regarding the Anglican Covenant and, I suspect, the proposed new province in North America will be in the forefront. Then comes TEC’s General Convention in July. It’s questionable that any of these will be ports of decisive destiny; still, vigilance is a virtue.
While there are many dimensions of our present situation we cannot control, (what else is new?), that does not free us from discerning God’s vision for the Diocese of South Carolina as we near the end of this first decade of the 21st Century and prepare to enter the next. Rather, it makes it even more imperative. This raises for me the question—“What is a diocese supposed to do?” Theologians often reflect on what a diocese is—such as those who say, the Diocese is the basic or fundamental unit of the Church. But that is a statement of being, not of doing. I have spent more than a little time lately reflecting on this question. And from there, the more specific question—“What is the Diocese of South Carolina supposed to do?” Or put another way, “What is God calling the Diocese of South Carolina to do?” This is demanding but essential work if we are to maintain both a macro and micro-perspective in God’s kingdom. In fact, it is all the more essential if we are to be proactive about our future rather than merely reactive to the tossing of every gusty wind and swelling wave. Therefore, I will seek to articulate what I believe this is at our upcoming convention.
What we cannot do alone is resolve the uncertainty of the larger Church. I know it is wearisome to live with this kind of uncertainty about the future; like the character in J. F. Powers’ novel, it has at times made me seasick, and want to throw up. In this day of fast food and email we like immediate resolution. But this old Ship of Faith is usually not good at such quick maneuvers. She is, however, known to have made it through many rough seas and battering storms to the right Port of Call when naysayers were certain she was forever lost. This has less to do with her merit and more to do with the One to whom she belongs—who alone can rule wind and waves. He still speaks to us through His Word and Spirit. He has a vision for what He is calling this diocese to do as well as to be. Certainly part of this is to help shape the future of Anglicanism in the 21st Century. But Peter Senge put it well when he wrote, “Vision becomes a living force only when people truly believe they can shape their future.” I do believe that under God and by his grace we can—and will.
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