In Memoriam: Gerald Bonner, 18 June 1926-22 May 2013

Thou Hast Made Us For Thyself And Our Heart Is Restless Until We Rest In Thee

(St. Augustine of Hippo, The Confessions, Book 1)

Yesterday, in his eighty-seventh year, my father Gerald Bonner passed to his heavenly reward surrounded by his loving family and in the City of Durham that had been his home for so many years. Funeral arrangements are pending.

Husband, Father, Friend and Scholar, he has touched the lives of many, both in Europe and North America.

His earthly journey has ended but his reception among the Redeemed (while observing all the Anglican proprieties) will be a joyful one.

Requiescat In Pace    

I Have Fought The Good Fight, I Have Finished The Race, I Have Kept The Faith

(St. Paul, Second Epistle to Timothy, 4:7)

The Office: The Moral Subtext

The Office ended yesterday and while there were wonderful moments throughout "No Place like the Office," the closing sequence was surprisingly moving, from Andy's lament: I wish there was a way to know you're in the "good old days" before you've actually left them, to Creed's philosophic: No matter how you get there or where you end up, human beings have this miraculous gift to make their place home.

The best, however, was saved for last and (appropriately) for Pam: There's a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn't that kind of the point? Could this be the reason why The Office struck such a chord in a decade so racked by political polarization and anomie? Far from being larger than life, the characters of The Office were all too human. For all their foibles and flaws, ordinary people living humdrum lives showed a degree of loyalty and commitment to fellow members of their community that compared favorably with the world at large.

The undoubted humor of The Office frequently obscured its moral subtext, yet in "No Place like the Office" the viewer was reminded of its importance.

Well worth watching in its entirety, the final sequence appears below.

Observations of the Quincy Trial, April 2013

Now that proceedings are concluded, I wish to share such portions of the transcript as are currently available. Reading what I actually said is a salutary reminder of how new the adversarial process is to me; it's far removed even from a stormy academic debate.

First we have Allan Haley's attempt - on behalf of the Diocese of Quincy (ACNA) - to set the history of TEC in a broad context on April 9:



Then we have Mary Kostel's cross-examination on behalf of TEC on April 10:



Finally we have a most intriguing report by Mike Romkey of my academic counterpart, Dr. Robert Bruce Mullin, on the stand on April 30:

Chatting during recess, Father Stone remarked that Mullin was a formidable witness he would not want to take on in court. As Runyan began his cross-examination of Mullin, it became evident that it would be equally uncomfortable to be in the witness chair with the South Carolina lawyer asking questions.

Runyan wore a black suit with a red power tie. He looked directly at the witness and often smiled as he asked detailed questions that tended to present lots of detailed information before asking Mullin whether he agreed or disagreed, or whether in his estimation a statement was true or false. His questioning tended to work around the edges of issues, gradually accumulating information that would lead to an overall conclusion. He worked to bring the witness along with him, following Mullin's answers by remarking, "All right," or "OK then," before going on with his next question. Runyan started off quizzing Mullin on how much money TEC had paid him for expert testimony. Was accurate, Runyan asked, to say that TEC had paid Mullin nearly $900,000 for testimony going back to 2007. Mullin said it was. Mullin said he has an arrangement to be paid $15,000 per month to even out the payments.

Runyan asked Mullin about his practice of annotating bills to keep track of on what he had spent research time. Runyan then put up a slide showing Mullin's billing for his research into the matter of Episcopal Church hierarchy. The billing was concentrated in two years after Mullin became TEC's expert witness. Runyan asked if the slide showing when Mullin's researched focused on hierarchy was accurate. Mullin told Runyan the slide looked about right.

Had Mullin published any peer-reviewed papers on Episcopal Church hierarchy?

Mullin told Runyan nothing he has written on the subject has been published yet.

Runyan asked if the audience for Mullin's research and writings on church hierarchy had been mainly lawyers and judges?

Mullin said yes, that was case.

Runyan knew Mullin's testimony and affidavit in detail, and in the course of Runyan's questioning, Mullin corrected, amended or qualified several points.

Runyan put up slides quoting constitutions from the Roman Catholic and a protestant church, each containing language explicitly stating those churches' hierarchal natures. He asked Mullin why such language wasn't in the Episcopal constitution.

Mullin said such language wasn't present because it was the accepted sense of things.

Runyan asked Mullin about the word "accession" and what it means.

Mullin said that when individual dioceses acceded to the greater Episcopal Church, they ceded the power to later decide to be independent. The dioceses had the power to act independently while forming a union, but once that association was made, it was permanent.

Runyon asked Mullin what TEC acceding to an international Anglican communion organization implied. It was a different kind of accession, Mullin said, one that did not imply TEC surrendering authority.

Runyan recounted Mullin testimony saying that his survey of 19th century commentary provided "an unequivocal and unanimous view of the hierarchical nature of the church and a lack of independence of its dioceses." With a smile, Runyan said that kind of statement was like waving a red flag in front of a lawyer. He then presented a series of slides from 19th century Episcopal sources that seemed to contradict Mullin.

"Furthermore, each diocese is absolutely independent," one said. Another from 1883 said "certain limited powers" were given to the national church, "leaving the respective dioceses independent as to all matters which concern dioceses only."

Mullin took issue with each statement for a variety of reasons, saying one didn't qualify as commentary, and that others were exaggerations or misrepresentations of what the author intended to say.

Testimony was expected to continue through the week with the possibility things will be prolonged for written and oral arguments over the discovery issues that came up Tuesday. After that, it will be up to Judge Ortbal to sift through evidence and write a decision. It does not appear it will be an easy case to call. The two sides are diametrically opposed in their positions, and each time the one side introduces an opinion represented to be factual, true and probative, the other side introduces evidence to contradict it or throw it into doubt.

As Judge Ortbal said at one point with certain resignation while ruling on an objection, "This trial has been nothing but opinions."

Read the whole thing at Virtueonline.

A Thought to Ponder

I’m not your average pew sitter—which is what makes up the vast majority of those in congregations: people who have a few unfirm opinions, aren’t all that active, certainly aren’t pushing their beliefs one way or the other, and are fairly non-committal and passive.  Most people haven’t thought a whole lot about a lot of things, haven’t troubled to inform themselves, and don’t particularly care.

In short—the way “most human beings” are about most things. That’s not a “bad” thing either—it’s just the way human beings are.

Once, however, you’ve studied, experienced, thought, formed groups, and generally made some very firm decisions—and acted upon them consistently over the years and decades—you’re in a new and very different category—that of the activist.

Those people—and again, I include me in that group—are very very solidified in their beliefs.  Their lifestyles, values, actions, thoughts, emotions, beliefs, world views, are all aligned and in congruence.  They’re not “fly by night” and you’re not going to read them a verse in Scripture or quote something from Augustine that will make them slap their foreheads and say “goodness, I never thought of that!”  Further, since they don’t share the same most basic of definitions of key theological concepts, you’re not even actually “communicating” when you *do* share a verse in Scripture or a passage from Augustine.  We really are not even playing the same game, much less on the same playing field.

Once someone has reached that point about certain issues, and even more about fundamental and foundational world views, it will take far far far more than rhetoric to change one’s mind or heart.  It will take something akin to a large bundle of dynamite—in short, an “act of conversion.” 

Over the years I've frequently disagreed with Sarah Hey (for it is she), but her comment appended to a post orginally authored by her on Stand Firm does wonderfully illustrate the notion of liberal Protestantism's "different Gospel," which conservative Anglicans have been endeavoring to critique since the 1990s (if not before). My first thought, however, is whether the average pew-sitter in ACNA is any more of an activist than his or her counterpart in TEC, and if not, why not?       

Anglicanism Future: Church of the Incarnation, Pittsburgh

Last week, I was on the stand in Quincy, Illinois, testifying to the condition of Anglicanism past; on April 13, I listened enthralled to Bishop FitzSimons Allison (a sprightly eighty-nine year old retired bishop of South Carolina) on the Scylla and Charybdis of Anglicanism present; and on April 14, I observed the state of Anglicanism future, as manifested at Pittsburgh’s Church of the Incarnation. While my focus here is on Church of the Incarnation, Bishop Allison’s remarks threw Sunday’s worship experience into sharp relief.

  

In 2011, when Trinity Cathedral withdrew from its earlier commitment to dual membership in both the TEC and ACNA dioceses, a significant section of the congregation felt unable to remain. Initially meeting as a house church, Incarnation’s founders – foremost among them, Fathers Paul Johnston and H. Lawrence “Laurie” Thompson and their wives Sharon and Mary – worked to assemble the necessary mission structures even as they searched for a suitable building for Sunday worship. Initially, the mission explored possible sites in the Johnstons’ neighborhood of Squirrel Hill and Pittsburgh’s downtown community (known as the Golden Triangle), but without success. Instead, there came an entirely unexpected offer from the owners of Bar Marco, an upscale wine bar located in a former firehouse in Pittsburgh’s Strip District. The upper level of the firehouse, then used for art exhibitions, would be available on Sundays after 3:00 PM (when Bar Marco closes for the day). To Incarnation’s leaders, it seemed an answer to a prayer.

To see this former firehouse for the first time dramatically alters one’s perspective on the nature of liturgical space. As with most missions, the weekly need to set out congregational seating and vest a table (purchased from IKEA) to serve as an altar helps emphasize the priority of the Body of Christ over the church building as sacred space set apart from the world (while there may be a spiritual downside to this, it is the nature of this community). The room itself is long and rectangular approached by two rear staircases one rising from the bar and the other from the rear kitchen. Above the congregation looms an impressive cast tin roof installed in a less utilitarian age when form mattered as much as function (even for the emergency services). At the west end (the liturgist may deplore it, but Church of the Incarnation celebrates the Eucharist at the West End) are three large glass windows looking out onto the Strip. In a reminder that worldly and sacred space intersect at Incarnation, the art on exhibition remains in place (except for one painting temporarily taken down to accommodate the Cross), but Incarnation also proudly celebrates its own individually crafted Paschal Candle (the work of Suzanne Trenney).

Incarnation is a church of artists and musicians, actors and dance professionals, and even an architect who is presently working on developing movable screens to make best use of the temporary space. Many of Father Johnston's students (he teaches music at Carnegie Mellon University) have blessed Incarnation with their professional skills (last Sunday’s worship, for example, featured a euphonium quartet) and the congregation boasts a portable keyboard – acquired by Father Johnston – with a musical character much closer to an organ than one might expect. It is also privileged to have two seminary professors – Laurie Thompson and John Macdonald of Trinity School for Ministry in Ambridge – and a professor emerita of English literature at Geneva College – Ann Paton – providing pastoral support. Such personnel advantages are, however, no substitute for congregational participation and in that Incarnation is well supplied, from the choral team to the altar guild and hospitality ministry. Other ministry teams are already being planned, since the possibility of burnout increases exponentially with a congregation that has no institutional footprint.

For a congregation whose average Sunday attendance has been steadily rising in the past year (more than sixty were in attendance on Sunday) the setting presents a truly different perspective on evangelism. If it is not Anglo-Catholic, neither is it the archetypical Evangelical mission. Tradition, in its broadest sense, and the confluence of spirituality and the arts both matter. The world is literally just a staircase away. The communicant approaching the altar is greeted not by stained glass windows that shield the Body of Christ from the World, but clear glass opening onto the somewhat grubby reality of an urban commercial district. That reality is also the mission field and those receiving the Sacrament also receive an emphatic reminder of the end to which the Eucharist is intended.

  
No mission – like no human being – will ever get everything right, but it’s hard to fault Incarnation on the essentials. Much remains to be done, not least the manner in which the congregation will actively relate to its secular neighbors, but to be present is to see twenty-first century Anglicanism in action. If you live in Pittsburgh, pay them a visit. I can guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

Public Opinion Nailed Me to the Cross

Don Camillo threw out his arms impatiently."Lord, I'm only telling you what I hear. People . . ." "'People?' What does that mean? 'People' as a whole are never going to get into Heaven. God judges 'people' individually and not in the mass. There are no 'group' sins, but only personal ones, and there is no collective soul. Each man's birth and death is a personal affair, and God gives each one of us separate consideration. It's all wrong for a man to let his personal concience be swallowed up by collective responsibility." Don Camillo lowered his head. "But, Lord, public opinion has some value . . ." "I know that, Don Camillo. Public opinion nailed Me to the Cross."

Giovanni Guareschi, Don Camillo's Dilemma (1954), 156-157

Is TitusOneNine Changing?

A frequent charge of conservative Anglicans (and conservatives generally) is that their views are silenced in the mainstream media and on liberal blogs through forms of moderation that edit out dissident voices. Such a charge almost certainly has a degree of truth. At the same time, conservatives insist that their own blogosphere is open to all, although that does not mean that liberal comments will not be challenged vigorously.

It therefore has come as something of a shock to me to discover something of that selective moderation at work on one of the most respected of conservative Anglican blogging sites, TitusOneNine (T19), which is operated by Canon Kendall Harmon of the Episcopal Diocese of South Carolina. For almost a decade, Harmon has maintained one of the most frequented sites in the Anglican blogosphere, with an interesting mix of religious and secular news items. Two features of the blog stand out: there is very little commentary (and, indeed, very little material from the host himself) and the commentators hail from across the political and theological spectrum.

Since 2006, I have been a frequent reader of T19 and have posted many comments (1,112 at last count). For an independent scholar without day-to-day interaction with colleagues, joining such discussions has been a great solace. I have also had the privilege of several links to my own blog, particularly my reports for Pittsburgh's diocesan conventions from 2006 to 2011, which has certainly given my jottings a profile they would otherwise not have enjoyed. The general approach to commenting has been that comments were not pre-screened, except in certain cases where Canon Harmon deemed passions would run high.

To assist what had become a major operation, Canon Harmon recruited a number of assistants (dubbed Elves) to manage the system, monitor comments and occasionally delete those that had strayed off-topic or become needlessly personal. From time to time, an Elf has posted an article on their own account, but the lion's share of selections were Canon Harmon's and his alone. Recently, Canon Harmon elected for family reasons to reduce his presence on the blog, turning over more responsibility to the Elves. It is under these circumstances that I experienced what I feel is a change in tenor at T19.

In an entry on February 7, the Elves provided a link to the "Statement on the conclusion of the meeting of the [English] House of Bishops," which they headlined CofE: House of Bishops ignores General Synod. I added a comment pointing out, as Canon Harmon was wont to do on such occasions, that the T19 headline was not the one in the original and that using it conveyed a misleading impression of what the report actually said. I don't think the House of Bishops covered themselves with glory on this occasion, but I did feel that the former standard of T19 should not be sacrificed. As you will observe, my comment was deleted without explanation. I wrote an email both to the Elves and Canon Harmon on February 8 as follows:

I have to say that I consider the failure to offer an explanation for my deleted comment (and then to delete a follow-up comment) a profound discourtesy. I have been a participant (and a linked contributor) on these boards for some years and have always endeavored to uphold the standards that Kendall+ seeks to maintain.

The Elves have frequently failed to police comments that were much less charitable, perhaps because they reflected their own ecclesio-political biases. I'm unclear why, simply because I call into question an Elf's choice of headline, that should be grounds for removal.

Kendall+, Ultimately it's your blog, but I must say I expected better. 

Answer came there none.

On March 8, the Elves posted a link entitled TEC Witness Intimidation Process Concluded. The link was to the report on the "conciliation process" for those TEC bishops who signed the amicus curiae briefs in Quincy and Fort Worth. This particular saga is one that none of us can feel happy about, but again I thought it inappropriate not at least to reference Cheryl Wetzel's original headline. This time my comment was not deleted because it never appeared. When I posted, I was informed that my comment was being moderated. Unlike Canon Harmon, who always stated that he would take comments by e-mail when he moderated a post, the system is now set up to do it automatically. Just for me, for taking liberties with Elvish prerogatives, or for everyone? I've no idea, but I can guess.

I therefore wrote another e-mail as follows:

My comment on "TEC Witness Intimidation Process Concluded" received notification that it was being moderated for approval. Is this a new policy for all posts on T19 or just ones posted by the Elves? I ask because up to now moderation has been retroactive.

The last time I was moderated it was simply for pointing out that the partisan headline that the Elves employed was not the original one (something that Kendall invariably did when he modified a headline). To me this is important because the whole value of T19 is that, despite its conservative credentials, it tends to post news items without partisan commentary, except where a specific theological issue has to be clarified.

If the Elves start to post material in the manner of Stand Firm, T19 will cease to be read critically across the spectrum, which to my mind, as a historian, would be a loss.

No one ever responded when I asked about my last moderation, which I thought unusually discourteous. If somebody could take the time to respond to this, I would be grateful.

Is comment moderation now the norm and, if so, what criteria are being used to exclude comments and is Kendall aware of this approach? If it's peculiar to me, why is simply pointing out a fact judged so heinous as to merit exclusion? While I certainly wouldn't claim to be the most learned poster, I think my views are not wholly irrelevant to the matters under discussion. After all, several of my blog posts have been made publicly available by Kendall over the years. 

No answer as yet, but several new comments on that post since I was moderated, all employing the same kind of partisan language. I hate to think that T19 is moving away from its former commitment to being an open forum but it's hard not to view such an experience in this light. There's a place for blogs like Stand Firm, which make no secret of their position (and have never moderated me for my dissent), but T19 is, or was, different. If what I wrote is all it takes to get one proscribed today, then T19 will cease to be the resource it once was. And that will be a loss both to the Diocese of South Carolina and the Anglican Communion.

Update, March 10: Comment moderation is still in place. I wait with anticipation to see if the Elves will post my comment on Edward King, Bishop of Lincoln, here. Further Update, March 10: It looks like I'm banned, since I can't really see why a link to historical documents at Project Canterbury shouldn't be posted. I remain bemused by it all and will miss being part of the conversation.  

Update, March 11: The link to Bishop King has now appeared; perhaps an oversight on somebody's part. I hope so. I also hope that automatic moderation has been lifted, as losing the discursive element of T19 would be a sad loss. Though sadly one doesn't see the same extent of in-depth discussion as was once the case.  

The Hinge of History: Henry Tandey and Adolf Hitler

Not exactly a religious story, but one of those haunting moments that illustrate the possible consequences of human foreknowledge:

Tandey was haunted the remainder of his life by his good deed, the simple squeeze of a trigger would have spared the world a catastrophe which cost tens of millions of lives.  He was living in Coventry when the Luftwaffe destroyed the city in 1940, sheltered in a doorway as the building he was in crumbled and city burned like a scene from Dante's Inferno. He was also in London during the Blitz and experienced that atrocity first hand, he told a journalist in 1940, "if only I had known what he would turn out to be.  When I saw all the people, woman and children he had killed and wounded I was sorry to God I let him go".

As Kendall Harmon would say, read it all.

From Glittering Images to Absolute Truths: Susan Howatch's Starbridge Sextet

Lent seems the perfect time to reflect upon the ecclesiastical novel.

Church-centred fiction frequently has difficulty resolving the Christian dilemma of being "in the world and yet not of it." If an ecclesiastical novel confines itself to the life of the Church, it risks alienating the reader unfamiliar with—or even antipathetic to—matters considered "churchy." If, on the other hand, it engages excessively with the Church in the world, it risks creating a narrative in which all consideration of the transcendent is sacrificed and the ecclesiastical environment becomes merely a setting for characters shorn of heavenly aspiration. Fortunately, there are novelists capable of transcending such conflicts and Susan Howatch is certainly among their number.

Howatch's Starbridge Sextet was published over a period of seven years, the last—and arguably the finest—Absolute Truths, appearing in 1994. Like Anthony Trollope, her setting is a Cathedral community in southern England (Howatch wrote in the shadow of Salisbury Cathedral). As with Trollope, the conflict between the Bishop and the Dean of the Cathedral forms the central dynamic of the final three novels, but unlike Trollope, the reader is never presented with a cast in which hero and villain are easily identifiable (there are no Obadiah Slopes or Francis Arabins). Indeed, Howatch's twin preoccupations are human fallibility and the necessity of a life transformed by divine grace. Furthermore, although these are novels that focus upon the lives of men engaged in the business of the Church, they are set in the context of a turbulent Great Britain passing from the horrors of economic depression and global conflict of the late 1930s to the cultural unravelling of the late 1960s, when crisis theology or the "new morality" still had meaning beyond the portals of the seminary. In an age when the observations of most bishops of the Church of England evoke little interest even among church-going Anglicans (never mind the wider public), it is well to be reminded of an age when the pronouncements of a George Bell or a John Robinson had the capacity to excite public interest.

Another ingenious feature of the sextet is that while it follows a chronological progression, it also reflects a re-telling of a common story from different angles, most notably those of the three principal characters, Charles Ashworth (Cambridge don and later Bishop of Starbridge), narrator of Glittering Images (1987) and Absolute Truths (1994); Jon Darrow (a member of an Anglican religious order released from his vows to function as a laicized spiritual director), narrator of Glamorous Powers (1988); and Neville Aysgarth (Archdeacon of Starbridge and later Dean of Starbridge Cathedral), narrator of Ultimate Prizes (1989). Outside perspectives are also provided by Aysgath's erstwhile lover Venetia Flaxton, narrator of Scandalous Risks (1990) and Darrow's son Nicholas, narrator of Mystical Paths (1992), though neither novel has, in my opinion, quite the power of the other four.

Howatch's three principal characters—while unquestionably individuals—also serve as theological "types." At one extreme we find Jon Darrow, representative of the Anglo Catholic party at its zenith but also of a mystical tradition that is, as the character acknowledges at one point, beyond parties. At the other pole is the liberal Protestant modernist, Neville Aysgarth, whose disdain for the trappings of ritualism is never far from the surface. Between the two, we find Charles Ashworth, a Prayer Book high churchman increasingly dedicated to resisting the tides of modernity sweeping through the Church of England. Such single sentence summaries do less than justice to the complexity of the characters involved, however, for Howatch displays an enviable skill in exploring both their strengths and their weaknesses. Such a narrative, rendered all the more effective by the fact that it is generally the character that testifies against himself, articulates with resounding force the messages of Sin and Redemption, Incarnation and Atonement, Good Friday and Easter that amplify the limitations of the human condition.

Subsequent posts will explore the principal features of each novel in detail and will be linked to this introduction. It might seem strange to propose such literature for Lenten reading, yet I would personally recommend Absolute Truths (although it is the final part of the sextet, and the penultimate chronologically, it is not necessary to have read the others to appreciate it) as an example of the depths from which a Christian can recover and a reminder that "failure" is as much a part of the human condition for the clerical order as for that of the laity.

The Papal Resignation

It seems only fitting to note today's indication by Pope Benedict XVI of his intention to retire on February 28. The last such resignation was by Gregory XII in 1415, in an effort to end the Western Schism, while the resignation most comparable with today's announcement is that of Celestine V in 1294. While no one expected the current primacy to match that of John Paul II, it's still a remarkable occurrence and the prospect of a Pope who hails from the Global South must now surely increase, though whether from Africa or Asia remains to be seen.