I'm not Anglican, I only worship that way
I’ve taken Anglican communion and worshipped at an Anglican church for five years now. At first, it was a mystery to me why it engages me better, as an adult, than the kinds of church services I attended as a child.
On the most elementary level, a more orthodox and ancient mode of worship circumvents my critical nature. Sitting in a typical Protestant service (of any denomination or style), I find myself mentally re-writing and editing the music, the announcements, the sermon.
The music is too professional, or it’s not professional enough. The sermon went long, and it ignored the context of the scripture it drew from. Communion was rushed. The baptism distracted from the sermon. On and on. So I sit in my seat and wait for the events of the service to present themselves to me, to meet with my approval. I consume church. It is as if the very nature of Protestantism (whose root is, inescapably, “to protest”) is a cancer in my spiritual character.
As a passive observer, I see what’s wrong with everything. That’s not a good perspective for the ostensible pilgrim. It’s close to considering my belief, and my knowledge- what might be called my “right-thinking” -sufficient for my salvation. Rather than be reminded that I am a desperate soul in need of his mercy, I make myself God’s co-conspirator.
Combating this tendency takes something that supersedes my convictions, something that transcends even my sense of outrage at all the insensitive, awkward, and boorish faux-pas of the church that are so obvious to me.
What I find in the liturgy and sacraments enlists me as a participant more than an observer, and makes no pretensions about appealing to my opinion and its self-satisfied observations. How can I say these words and observe these rites, again and again, and rectify their assertions with what I know to be the deceit of my own heart? The truth is that I can’t. I must trust that they first require not my adherence so much as my consent.
Take the Nicine creed; while one can reasonably object to the creed entirely, one is foolish to quibble over it. Have I vetted every line, can I possibly live out every statement and attest firsthand to its absolute truth? Of course not.
I’ve come to see the creed in the same light I do all modes of worship: it is not so much prescriptive as indicative. Of course it is inadequate, of course it is human. (And I find it difficult to be any more disturbed over its origins than I am over the very roots of the language I speak: who picked this alphabet, and why didn’t they consult me?!! )
The Nicine creed is not to me a statement of right-thinking which I repeat smugly, but recite out of hope in the face of despair. To believe these things! A virgin birth, a resurrection, an active spirit, a vibrant church, a second coming?? These seem to me much more counter-cultural and audacious than the mere Golden Rule and its societal corollaries, the common morality to which we all assent and pay lip-service. Those are the barest minimum of human decency. When it comes to religion, I’m looking for something in addition to a reason not to cuss out the guy who cuts in front of me.
This is a radical and absurd faith, one so grand and encompassing that it doesn’t need my explanations or justification for it, and can’t be enhanced or excused by making it more palatable to the mores of the present age. We’re mistaken in assuming that our right belief alone pleases God, and we’re wrong to presume that seeking our own good opinion is pleasing to Him.
Far from being sure, we throw ourselves at God’s feet. Here, I think, is the real litmus test of belief. In this light it certainly is at odds with the pride of certainty that we often hear trumpeted as “faith”.
And here is where I encounter my reluctance to become a card-carrying Anglican (or a card-carrying anything, really). To count myself so certain would be to undercut the humility of actual belief. But I do not hesitate to point to the sacraments, and the action that belief in them requires, as evidence of the reality of the kingdom of God, and my utter dependence on Him.
Because there, at the bottom of it all, the remaining question is not, Can you stomach this set of beliefs? It is, Is Jesus Savior and Lord?
On the most elementary level, a more orthodox and ancient mode of worship circumvents my critical nature. Sitting in a typical Protestant service (of any denomination or style), I find myself mentally re-writing and editing the music, the announcements, the sermon.
The music is too professional, or it’s not professional enough. The sermon went long, and it ignored the context of the scripture it drew from. Communion was rushed. The baptism distracted from the sermon. On and on. So I sit in my seat and wait for the events of the service to present themselves to me, to meet with my approval. I consume church. It is as if the very nature of Protestantism (whose root is, inescapably, “to protest”) is a cancer in my spiritual character.
As a passive observer, I see what’s wrong with everything. That’s not a good perspective for the ostensible pilgrim. It’s close to considering my belief, and my knowledge- what might be called my “right-thinking” -sufficient for my salvation. Rather than be reminded that I am a desperate soul in need of his mercy, I make myself God’s co-conspirator.
Combating this tendency takes something that supersedes my convictions, something that transcends even my sense of outrage at all the insensitive, awkward, and boorish faux-pas of the church that are so obvious to me.
What I find in the liturgy and sacraments enlists me as a participant more than an observer, and makes no pretensions about appealing to my opinion and its self-satisfied observations. How can I say these words and observe these rites, again and again, and rectify their assertions with what I know to be the deceit of my own heart? The truth is that I can’t. I must trust that they first require not my adherence so much as my consent.
Take the Nicine creed; while one can reasonably object to the creed entirely, one is foolish to quibble over it. Have I vetted every line, can I possibly live out every statement and attest firsthand to its absolute truth? Of course not.
I’ve come to see the creed in the same light I do all modes of worship: it is not so much prescriptive as indicative. Of course it is inadequate, of course it is human. (And I find it difficult to be any more disturbed over its origins than I am over the very roots of the language I speak: who picked this alphabet, and why didn’t they consult me?!! )
The Nicine creed is not to me a statement of right-thinking which I repeat smugly, but recite out of hope in the face of despair. To believe these things! A virgin birth, a resurrection, an active spirit, a vibrant church, a second coming?? These seem to me much more counter-cultural and audacious than the mere Golden Rule and its societal corollaries, the common morality to which we all assent and pay lip-service. Those are the barest minimum of human decency. When it comes to religion, I’m looking for something in addition to a reason not to cuss out the guy who cuts in front of me.
This is a radical and absurd faith, one so grand and encompassing that it doesn’t need my explanations or justification for it, and can’t be enhanced or excused by making it more palatable to the mores of the present age. We’re mistaken in assuming that our right belief alone pleases God, and we’re wrong to presume that seeking our own good opinion is pleasing to Him.
Far from being sure, we throw ourselves at God’s feet. Here, I think, is the real litmus test of belief. In this light it certainly is at odds with the pride of certainty that we often hear trumpeted as “faith”.
And here is where I encounter my reluctance to become a card-carrying Anglican (or a card-carrying anything, really). To count myself so certain would be to undercut the humility of actual belief. But I do not hesitate to point to the sacraments, and the action that belief in them requires, as evidence of the reality of the kingdom of God, and my utter dependence on Him.
Because there, at the bottom of it all, the remaining question is not, Can you stomach this set of beliefs? It is, Is Jesus Savior and Lord?