Redwoods and The Episcopal Church

an essay by John C. N. Hall

When walking among the massive coastal redwoods in the Muir Woods National Park north of San Francisco, one speaks in hushed tones. Dwarfed in the deep shade of these colossal trees, one senses the sacred nature of an ancient cathedral. The tallest redwoods are reaching higher than the Statue of Liberty. The oldest began growing before Christ was born. Yet, these top-heavy giants have shallow roots and would easily be felled by the constant coastal wind if growing alone. So, as if by some divine command, the trees grow in groups, with roots twisted and intertwined to form a vast labyrinth of support for all, just below the surface. This unseen mesh of connectedness binds the forest into one vast living organism with unifying strength, and allows each individual to reach in safety toward heaven. The trees are one.

In the seventeenth chapter of the Gospel of John, Jesus prays that his followers would be kept in safety as one. Seeking unity for those he loves, Christ petitions the Father saying, “Keep them safe by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one just as you and I are one.” It is this unity, spoken of by Christ in prayer, for which people long, the desire for God-given oneness, to live together as one Body in Christ, and to be reconciled to each other, to the world, and to God.

Some might say a realistic look at The Episcopal Church suggests that all is not well. Others find the Church poised for new learning, new growth, and a bright future. Certainly, universal agreement is neither a hallmark of The Episcopal Church in this present moment, nor has it been in times past. Nevertheless, while the Lord Jesus in his “high priestly prayer,” as it is sometimes called, prays for unity, Christ is not ordering his followers into oneness, as some action of collective will. Rather, Christ is praying that God will preserve his loved ones in the unity that is already theirs in Jesus’ name. “Keep them safe by the power of your name, the name you gave me…” he prays. It is by belonging to Christ, by gathering in the name of Jesus, that the Church’s roots are kept bound together. The Episcopal Church is, in fact, already one in Christ Jesus by the will of God.

The fourth chapter of Ephesians provides the first words of the service of Holy Baptism. “There is one Body and one Spirit; there is one hope in God’s call to us.” In claiming the promises made at Baptism, Christians live as beloved sisters and brothers, and members of one Body, the Church. Saint Paul’s wonderful description of the Church as the Body of Christ, complete with eyes, ears, nose, and hands, in his first letter to Corinth reveals the Church’s diversity in the midst of its unity in Christ. This unity in the body does not necessarily equate to uniformity, or even agreement, however. An eye and a toe behave differently. They are one in the body and still surprisingly unique. Yet, the Body of Christ, when functioning optimally, seeks to live by one simple rule: agreement follows unity rather than unity following agreement.

The faithful members of the Body of Christ in The Episcopal Church are like the magnificent redwoods along the Pacific coast, they already are knit together in unity, rooted as one in the name of Jesus Christ.

Body Parts

an essay by John C. N. Hall

You shook my hand hard at the door of the church, leaning your face too close to mine, and waving your index finger at the corner of my eye. “Just visiting from Virginia,” you said. “I am an Anglican. Always have been. Always will!” you assured me. “I’m a cradle Episcopalian, but my Church has left me. My Church has left me. You and your church have gone too far. You have left me,” you accused.

“Nice to meet you,” I smiled. I wondered what you thought of the service we had just shared. I doubted you had really heard any of the sermon I had just preached about unity in Christ. I assumed you felt uncomfortable as you exchanged the Peace with someone in your pew. I suspected you missed the warm words of welcome I offered to all of our guests and visitors during the announcements. I thought you might have questioned the validity of the sacrament we had received, since I, a priest in this wayward church, had presided at the Eucharist.

“I’m here this week visiting my sister,” you went on. “I have left the Episcopal Church. In fact, most of my whole congregation has left,” you explained. You spoke louder, as if I couldn’t hear, and barked, “What with the bishop in New Hampshire. The new woman elected as Presiding Bishop. And now the General Convention denying Christ.” With a final squeeze of my hand you reached your crescendo, “I have left this church, but I’ll always be an Anglican!”

Your grip finally loosened and my fingers recovered as the blood-flow returned. My eyebrows rose a bit. “You’re welcome to join us for coffee and refreshments,” I said, offering a toothy smile.

Just then, your sister bumped you with her elbow as she took my hand and greeted me – another parishioner in the line at the door, another member of the Body of Christ.

I have thought of you often since then. Our encounter clings to the folds in my brain. It saddens me when one is so sure of truth that there is no alternative but to cut off the community of faithful seekers. Had you not read Saint Paul’s wonderful description of the Church as the Body of Christ, complete with eyes, ears, nose, and hands, in his first letter to Corinth? How Paul writes, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you’”? Why would you sever yourself from the Body? Or, why suggest we removed you?

I wanted to acknowledge before you that we are not perfect, but you wouldn’t understand. I wanted you to know that we are not all in agreement, but your mind was already made up. I wanted to suggest that there is room for questioning, but you already had all the answers. I wanted you to remain attached to the magnificent-awkward-astonishing-embarrassing-beautiful-warty-flexible-Body, created in the image of God, but you would have no part of it. Most of all, as a nose, or a kneecap, or a middle toe, or whatever I am, I wanted you to know that I need you – we need you – but you had already gone to the Coffee Hour to corner and excise another body part.