QUINQUAGESIMA
February
14, 2010
St.
Augustine Anglican Church
“I
am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”
The Rev.
Gerald Parks +
The great Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century, especially as it
developed among the English, should remind us of how easy it is to profess
allegiance to the teachings of Jesus, but how very hard it is to actually live
as He would have us live. The memories of those turbulent times – the
blood and the burnings – have largely faded, as has the consciousness of the
blame for them due to both sides of the struggle. But one thing remains
that hasn’t faded from people’s hearts, silent perhaps but persistent, and that
is the suspicion and resentment with which Protestants and Catholics view each
other, yet today.
That the Reformation in England had more to do with politics than it did with
religion is surely a matter open to discussion. The Roman Church was
guilty of many abuses, not the least of which was the claim of the Pope in Rome
to temporal power. But the English King Henry VIII, himself a practicing
and devout Catholic, and considered a “defender of the faith” by many, demanded
from the Pope permission to divorce his wife and remarry. When that
permission was not forthcoming, Henry simply did it anyway, and declared
himself supreme head of the Church in England, giving rise not to a new
religion so much as to a new direction and center of loyalty to that same
religion among the English.
Tudor England was not an easy place to live for the average citizen who
treasured both religion and monarchy. If you valued your life, you had to
be especially sensitive to the changing times: meaning that, depending on the
Sovereign, your professed religion could get you into deep trouble. Henry
started it with his takeover of the Church; he was followed by his son, Edward,
a fervent Protestant; and he was followed by his sister Mary, a committed Roman
Catholic; and she was followed by her sister, Elizabeth, who finally put an end
to the affair by a Settlement that said simply that you may believe what you
will, but you will attend the Established Church of England, under penalty of
law.
I bring all this up not because any of it is truly relevant to today’s Epistle
(1 Cor. 13: 1-13), but because it shows how badly some well meaning people can
get carried away by the passions of the moment, and forget the very essence of
Christ’s message that we love each another as we love ourselves, and as we love
God Himself. Or, as St. Paul wrote, “And now abideth
faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.” (1
Cor. 13: 13)
The uneasy truce of the Elizabethan Settlement went a long way in calming the
bloody religious struggle in England, but it did little to settle the main
problem: the deep religious differences between the several distinct groups
calling themselves Protestants, on one side, and those still loyal to the Roman
Catholic faith, on the other. The two sides were formally brought together
and forced to coexist under the banner of Reformed Catholicism (or Anglicanism
as it is more commonly known), but the resentment was still there, and the
struggle continued, as one side and then the other sought and achieved
predominance. And that struggle continued for centuries, a struggle we
might call the ebb and flow of “high church” versus “low church.”
It was only a matter of time (or centuries as we said) until one side
completely overpowered the other, and a final split or schism occurred.
And I believe that is what we witnessed during the 1960’s and 70’s, in the
Protestant Episcopal Church in the USA, as ECUSA tore itself apart. And
we are the results of that split, in what now appears to be an irrevocable and
possibly fatal separation, for at least one and possibly both sides.
Well, we are still Reformed Catholics, and what at first appeared to be our
defeat, now seems to be less so. But it is clear that we cannot go back
to what was; to an edifice that no longer under any circumstances accepts what
we have always been. So, the question is, what do we do next?
St. Paul wrote, “Though I speak with the tongues of man and of angels, and have
not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal,” (1 Cor. 13:
1) meaning that without love in our hearts, whatever we say or do has no
value. Currently, we of the Traditional Anglican Communion are being
asked to consider whether the time has come to put aside all the resentments
and ancient animosities that fill our common Anglican and Roman past, and come
together with Christian brethren who share our faith and so much of our
history, in reconciliation and the spirit of Christian love. Many doubts
and questions remain as to whether such a reunion is even possible between two
such hitherto implacable enemies, and whether we can ever have union with them
without also experiencing absorption and the loss of our Anglican heritage and
identity. That some of those doubts and questions will be addressed, I have
no doubt, as some of us travel to Quincy, IL, in the near future for a meeting
of all the clergy and postulants of the Diocese of the Missouri Valley, with
Bishop Strawn. But there is one thing that is perfectly clear: our future
as a Church, whatever that may be, and as Reformed Catholics, lies much more in
our future than in the faded glories of our past.
As we consider the implications of all this, our Lord’s prayer to the Father,
“That they all may be one,” should give us pause to ask ourselves whether our
pious utterances of love and charity for all men, said in Church, are a sincere
expression of our true feelings, or only, as St. Paul termed it, the noise of
“sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.”
Jesus prayed, “That they all may be one; as thou, Father, art in me, and I in
thee, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that thou
hast sent me. (John 17: 21) … “I in them, and thou in me, that they may be
perfect in one; and that the world may know that thou hast sent me, and hast
loved them, as thou hast loved me.” (John 17: 23)