Incensed

My son's new wife has industrial asthma. That means her lungs are extremely sensitive to any particles in the air, from pollution to perfumes. She had a reaction to Anne's hand lotion when we were together over Christmas. We are having to learn to be aware and plan ahead when we see her. There is no question in our minds that love trumps lotion.

Recently the Reformed Episcopal church where David has been a member for years began to use incense in their morning service--which is a total disaster for Channon. After David objected, the vestry met and informed him that the practice would not be changed. This is basically excommunication for a physical inability from the worship of God as the vestry understands it. My son and daughter-in-law will be searching for another church within the same tradition. I love the Anglican tradition, and I love my family, and I’m conflicted. So, here goes.

First: the proper form of the worship of God is the raison d'etre of Anglicanism. The title of Peter Toon's Which Rite Is Right? pretty much sums up the Anglican passion. The nature of true worship trumps (though certainly does not ignore) evangelism, pastoral care, and discipleship. It is difficult to question this passion without appearing to be unconcerned about what pleases God, and frivolous about the depths and majesty of the liturgy. My only response to this is that Jesus gave a two sided answer to the question of what was the greatest commandment--Love God, and Love your Neighbor. It strikes me that worship involves both of these. The Apostle John told us that we cannot love God if do not love our neighbor. When a passion for correct worship negates passion for the development of the human spirit, the balance has been lost.

Second: there is no question that modern American churches (just because they are American) have to contend with "the tyranny of the weaker brother." Members of American churches constantly threaten to leave (with their tithe) over issues like the lighting in the sanctuary and the color of the new bathrooms. It is a power game. Church leaders have to eventually draw some lines, or they will be overwhelmed by democratization, the result of which is always mediocrity. But that is simply not the case here. We are not talking about preference or rebellion against authority, but plain, pure, physical necessity.

Third: there are a host of new Anglican denominations springing up in reaction to the swing to the far left in the older groups, especially ECUSA. These groups have two things in common: they are conservative, and they are, well, new. They are churches longing for continuity with the past who have no past, so they must create it instantaneously. Like Athena, they have to spring from the head of Zeus full-grown, with a history, all in one generation. Members of the REC may object to this characterization, since they are over 150 years old. But the recent attempt to break with their “Presbyterians with a prayer book” reputation, and their attempt to become more Anglican in order to reach disenchanted ECUSA’s, means that they are as “new” as more recent denominations.

Such churches do not have the luxury of real, in-time parish, diocesan, or denominational tradition like the Roman or Orthodox church down the street. They are having to create 500 years of Anglican tradition with a 21st Century generation, and create it quickly. I know whereof I speak. I was an Anglican for ten years. First was the alcohol issue. 16th Century Englishmen had never heard of Carrie Nation, but 21st Century evangelicals have, like it or not. Both parishes that I served gave in to the wine in the chalice/ grape juice in the tray compromise. The incense question was never even raised in my first parish. It was a matter of space. It would have been like firing up a thurible in a bathroom. Choke. Gasp. In the second parish, the rector tried it a couple of times. Those who did the most coughing and spluttering were long-time vestry members. Conviction gave way to expediency. We wanted a congregation (and its leaders) still present when the smoke cleared.

I must admit that I was disappointed. Here was an opportunity to finally do things right. I didn’t leave my past commitments and go through ordination to waffle around with compromise. But there were two major problems. One was the weight of history since the Reformation. We have seen two Great Awakenings, the holiness movement, the pietistic movements, the Pentecostal and charismatic renewals, and now, Emergence is upon us. I am not arguing for the validity of any of these. I am simply saying that history did not stop with Cranmer. Arresting the apex of all true worship in the 16th Century locks the Holy Spirit in that time frame.

The second problem is irritating and profound. The greatest obstacle to creating perfect worship is depraved, recalcitrant, God-loved, forgiven humanity, whose stomachs growl, whose posteriors grow numb, whose knees pop at the altar, whose lungs rebel against smoke, who want lunch and a quiet afternoon at home alone on Sunday with the little woman. Anyone who strives for the perfection of the ancient liturgy is going to have to reckon with this heaving mass of reluctance. Yet it was not the smell of incense, but this mass of sneezing, coughing, gurgling mutineers against all that is sacred that urged the heart of God to Incarnation and Passion. May I dare to say that they are the “real deal” in Christianity. If not, we could just leave the incense burning in the nave and go home, content that God would be honored without all this humanness.

Fourth: What the heck does God think? Well, it is certainly true in the Old Covenant that otherwise true believers were barred from the central worship places because of physical handicaps. God's concern at the time was to emphasize his utter separateness and holiness. Rules for worship trumped personal weaknesses. But now enters the New Covenant. The church moves through Christ from an exclusive stance to an inclusive one. "Do not touch the mountain" becomes "Come unto me, all you who are weary and heavy laden...." Is it possible that the sacrifice of the perfect form for the least saint is an odor more precious in the nostrils of God than all the properly prepared incense in Christendom?