It began by crossing out the King from the Prayer Book; Our Anglican divisions and where we go from here

In his day, Jacob Duche´ was the rector of the most important church in America – Christ Church, Philadelphia, located across the square from what became known as Independence Hall. On the afternoon of Thursday July 4, 1776, Duche´ watched as the Continental Congress declared independence from Great Britain. Then Duche´ walked across the square to his church, and convened a special meeting of his Vestry.

With the Vestry’s concurrence, Duche´ opened his parish’s large Book of Common Prayer, and he began crossing out all references to the King of England. He replaced those references with the “United States of America.”

The American Episcopal Church was, in effect, born that day with his act of independence from the mother country and the mother church.

As author Bruce Feiler explains in his superb book, America’s Prophet: Moses and the American Society, Duche´ understood well that his editing of the Book of Common Prayer was an insurrectionary act. When the British seized Philadelphia, Duche´ was arrested and imprisoned. As the war dragged on, and the Americans lost battle after battle, Duche´ became despondent. He wrote a letter to George Washington urging him to give up the war. Washington termed the letter “ridiculous” and released it to Congress.

Duche´ was forced into exile in Britain, a man with no country; he returned to Philadelphia after the war, and he was a broken man. Jacob Duche´ who had been the most important cleric in America died forgotten, and was buried in an unmarked grave.

The experience of Duche´ is perhaps a metaphor for The Episcopal Church’s tense relationship with the Church of England and the wider Anglican Communion. In his book, Feiler quotes The Rev. Tim Safford, rector of Christ Church, Philadelphia, about the dilemma faced by his predecessor of two centuries ago: “[T]he life of a pastor is trying to hold very distant poles in some sort of tension with each other.” (p. 59)

Sometimes the center holds. Sometimes it doesn’t. We are living in one of those times when the center is not holding.

The root of our tension stems from the events of the American Revolution and our ambiguous relationship with the mother church. We claimed our independence from England long ago, and yet, for better or worse, we view our catholicity as somehow channeled through the historic see of Canterbury.

Our American relationship with the Church of England is usually just part of the wallpaper, and on any given Sunday, most of the time it doesn’t enter into our collective church conscience. So it is particularly jarring when the tensions of that relationship do burst into the open, as it did last week when the American Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori was asked to remove her mitre so as not to offend a contingent of the Church of England who will not accept women bishops (or, we suspect, women priests).

The slight has enraged many American Episcopalians who note that Archbishop of

Canterbury Rowan Williams and other British bishops are not asked to remove their emblems of ecclesiastical office when visiting the United States. Lambeth Palace, the headquarters of Rowan Williams, last week exhibited nothing but the airs of old-school British colonialism and the odor did not set well on this side of the Atlantic.

It has also been noted in recent days that Bishop Katharine was required to give proof of her ordinations before being allowed to preach and celebrate at Southwark Cathedral, London. Considering that she hosted Rowan Williams at last summer’s Episcopal General Convention in Anaheim, and did not ask him to produce seminary certificates or an ID card, the request to her came off as petty harassment.

More ominously, she was also asked to resign from an elected Anglican body, and she refused to resign. Other American Episcopalians were removed from various ecumenical commissions by the archbishop; all this in response to the Diocese of Los Angeles having the temerity to elect an openly lesbian assisting bishop, Mary Glasspool. As The Rev. Canon Kenneth Kearon, the general secretary of the Anglican Communion explained at a meeting of the Episcopal Executive Council last Friday, Archbishop Williams felt he had to do something.

On one level, all of this is rather silly – it is about a hat and a few petty insults. But the incidents last week go to the deeper rift between the two branches of Anglicanism – branches, after all, that at times have been rivals over the last two centuries. A number of excellent commentaries have been published on-line in recent days, among the best by Diana Butler Bass in the Huffington Post. You can read her commentary by clicking HERE.

Another frequent blogger, Father Jake Stops the World, suggests that Williams’ latest moves are designed to force The Episcopal Church to tie itself more closely to the English Church as part of an intricate legal strategy to regain church property in Virginia. You need to read Jake’s legal theory to understand what he is getting at by clicking HERE. I tend to think the Brits aren’t quite that strategic and are making this up as they go along.

Our tensions and knee-jerk responses on both sides, let me suggest, stem from a deeper cultural and historical divide. We are, after all, two peoples divided by a common language.

The Episcopal Church was, indeed, born in the crucible of the war for independence from Britain in 1776. Yet the Episcopal Church has never quite found a way to live completely independent from the mother church or the mother country. Other churches – Methodists, Presbyterians, Lutherans – went their separate ways from churches that birthed them, but not The Episcopal Church in the United States.

In the colonial era, no bishop lived in America. The Bishop of London was the bishop of colonial America. After the Revolution, the newly organized Protestant Episcopal Church of the United States of America sent Samuel Seabury across the Atlantic to be consecrated a bishop. The English bishops refused, and so he went to Scotland where the bishops there ordained him a bishop. The Americans never forgot the snub, and the American Episcopal Church remains close to this day to the Episcopal Church of Scotland. Bishop Katharine was welcomed enthusiastically there -- no ordination certificates required -- when she appeared there late last week.

Relations with English church counterparts remained sour for nearly 100 years after the American Revolution. The Episcopal Church developed within a vibrant American religious marketplace and a culture that respected the separation of church and state. The English church remained the established church of Britain, impervious to change, and its bishops appointed by the monarch and sitting in the House of Lords.

The modern Anglican Communion was born in the late 19th century after a series of meetings in Chicago and Lambeth that resulted in a succinct statement of what binds us, not what divides us. You can find it on pages 876-878 of the Book of Common Prayer. In a nutshell, the Chicago-Lambeth Quadrilateral of 1888 sets four common points of communion:

1. Holy Scriptures are the ultimate standard of faith.
2. The Apostles Creed and Nicene Creed, though brief, are sufficient statements of Christianity.
3. Baptism and Eucharist are the two primary sacraments (the others being optional).
4. We are knit together by bishops through the long history of Christianity.

That is it. No lengthy covenant, no long “confession,” no tricky language with loopholes, no declaration of a “magesterium” like the Pope (or Archbishop of Canterbury), no dictation on

how church governance will be structured. Latitude is wide for how we live into those four points in our own local context.

The Anglican Communion began as an alliance (or peace treaty) between the American and English churches; it expanded to include other national Anglican churches as the British Empire contracted, much as the British Commonwealth of Nations filled the English psychic space left when the sun finally set on the Empire. Yet colonial attitudes die hard amongst the Brits.

In our own time, Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams and his Lambeth advisers consistently misunderstand and badly underestimate our differences in polity – and how those very different ideas of church governance and secular democracy influence our respective approaches to decision-making in the life of our respective branches of Anglicanism.

Williams and his entourage display little understanding or respect for American polity; their tone-deafness smacks of British colonialism, pure and simple. And Americans, for the most part, are unaware that Williams was chosen by a monarch upon the recommendation of a prime minister. It would be like having our Episcopal Presiding Bishop chosen by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi and confirmed by President Obama and then seating her in the U.S. Senate.

Over the last century, the Anglican Communion has grown in size and complexity with ecumenical commissions, missionary boards, consultative bodies, observers at the United Nations and national primate meetings. Most of that structure involves primarily bishops, and while not exactly Roman Catholic, it is not surprising that this structure is viewed as parallel to the Roman Catholic world. The current Archbishop of Canterbury seems to edge in that direction, and he has attempted to use such structures as a weapon to punish the Episcopal Church for ordaining openly gay bishops.

“Everywhere I go,” Kearon said on Friday, “everyone wants him to act as a sort of an Anglican pope as long as he does what [they] want him to do."

Really?

Some Americans welcome the archbishop’s action. But do they really want an Anglican pope? Or to put it another way, do they really want to give up their American independence? And does Williams really want to be a pope?

It also seems a contradiction-in-terms to withdraw membership on an ecumenical commission as a means for enforcing a particular formulation of orthodoxy. Ecumenism by definition requires dialogue and soft boundaries around doctrine. Why bother talking about someone else’s faith if you don’t want to listen to what they have to say?

What then should our response be to all of this? Where do we go from here as Episcopalians living in a post-colonial world but with structures born out of British colonialism? Williams has proposed a complicated “Anglican Covenant” that places power with the national presiding bishops from the various national Anglican churches. His actions this week give us a glimpse of what life would be like under such a covenant with the Archbishop acting as a “magisterium.” The American Episcopal Church, along with the Canadians, Brazilians, South Africans and New Zealanders, are not likely to go along. In the name of unity, Williams is essentially threatening to split up the Anglican Communion. That well could be his legacy.

Or maybe after the pettiness and snubs of this past week, another course will be chosen by the clerics of Lambeth Palace. Perhaps Williams and his advisers will draw back from acting like the Vatican; perhaps this will be the low point of relations, and it will be uphill from here. Perhaps they will look again at the “indaba” listening process that Williams so brilliantly promoted at the Lambeth conference of bishops two summers ago. Perhaps. Lambeth Palace, with its British flair for obfuscation, is anything but transparent. We are left only to guess.

And what should we do in The Episcopal Church? I am inclined to agree with Diana Butler Bass: let us do as Jesus would do, walk the extra mile with those who would persecute us, carry their cloak – carry our hat in our hand – and listen for how the Holy Spirit is guiding us. Let the slights go. Walk the walk as disciples. As Bishop Katharine said in her sermon at St. Paul’s in January: “Be bold.”

Today's Collect for Sunday provides a perfect prayerful direction for all of us:

O Lord, make us have perpetual love and reverence for your
holy Name, for you never fail to help and govern those whom
you have set upon the sure foundation of your loving-kindness;
through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you
and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

We are called to serve as Christ’s hands and feet in the world, and we have much work to do. The Kingdom of God, which Jesus proclaims, is about inclusion and radical welcome of the outcast and the lowly, the sick and the lonely, prisoners and sinners, and those considered unworthy by the religious purists. Today’s epistle goes to the heart of the matter, and it is there where we should dwell:

“As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to the promise.”

Paul’s Letter to the Galatians 3:23-29

Letters from Bishop Shannon Johnston and the Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia concerning their votes on Canon Mary Glasspool as bishop

We received two statements this afternoon, one from Bishop Shannon Johnston and the other from the Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia, concerning the election of Mary Douglas Glasspool as suffragan bishop of Los Angeles. Some of you have asked what these statements mean. Here is my best attempt:

The Rev. Canon Glasspool, who serves as the canon to the ordinary on the Diocese of Maryland, was elected suffragan (assisting) bishop by a convention of the Diocese of Los Angeles last Fall, which would make her the second openly partnered gay bishop in the Episcopal Church and Anglican Communion.

To be consecrated, anyone who is elected a bishop by a diocese must undergo a confirmation process involving the entire Episcopal Church. To be confirmed requires receiving consents from a majority of the elected Standing Committees representing each of our 110 dioceses, and a majority of the bishops. Canon Glasspool has, in fact, received the required number of consents to be confirmed, and she will be consecrated a bishop at a ceremony in Los Angeles in May.

The statements coming today from Virginia were to tell us how our representatives voted; both Bishop Johnston and our Standing Committee voted to withhold consent (i.e., voted no). Bishop Johnston, by the way, mentioned in his letter that he voted after Canon Glasspool had already received enough consents to be confirmed.

I believe you should let these letters from our leaders speak for themselves, and the letters are posted below. It is unusual, by the way, for bishops and standing committees to explain their votes, so this is also a mark of the sensitivity of this matter. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask.

April 9, 2010
Dear Diocesan Family,

The Rev. Canon Mary Douglas Glasspool, a priest of the Diocese of Maryland and a partnered gay woman, was elected to serve as a bishop suffragan in the Diocese of Los Angeles in December 2009. The consent process, a 120-day period, requires the receipt of consents from majorities of the Standing Committees throughout the Episcopal Church and from the Church's bishops with jurisdiction. On March 17, just before the opening of the House of Bishops meeting at Camp Allen, Texas, the presiding bishop's office announced that Canon Glasspool had received the number of consents required to proceed with her ordination and consecration as a bishop.

Along with several other bishops, I had been delaying my vote until the House of Bishops meeting so that we might confer with one another as to the implications of this episcopal election. As consent is a responsibility upon all diocesan bishops, I then sent in my ballot even though the process had already been decided. Understandably, the diocesan offices have received numerous inquiries as to how I voted. I write this to announce my decision for this particular process and to say something about what this means (and doesn't mean) for my leadership in the Diocese of Virginia.

Bishop-elect Glasspool's election has been both a source of celebration and of alarm for many in our diocese, just as in the Episcopal Church and our wider Anglican Communion. In my judgment, both "sides" make compelling arguments and have quite legitimate concerns. Personally, I am more torn by this decision than by any other decision I've yet faced, whether as priest or bishop. After deep prayer and thought, I voted to decline consent to the ordination of Bishop-elect Glasspool. This is not to reflect on Bishop-elect Glasspool herself (who, by all accounts, is indeed highly qualified and well suited for the ministry of bishop) but rather is about the circumstances of this case.

My decision was based on the unique context of this particular election. Under other circumstances, I would have voted differently. Frankly, I look forward to the time when I can. As it is, however, several points swayed my decision; taken together they presented what was to me an overwhelming weight.

First, as I have stated before, I believe that it is theologically inconsistent to ordain a partnered gay person as a bishop without provision for the Church's recognition and blessing of that partnership. (We would not do this with heterosexuals.) As things stand now, the cart is before the horse. To me, the controversy about partnered gay bishops would be moot if we dealt successfully with the blessings of monogamous gay relationships. I will continue to work for that result: first things first.

Second, immediately following last summer's General Convention, both the presiding bishop and the president of the House of Deputies wrote to the archbishop of Canterbury (in letters made available to the Convention) stating that the Convention's actions did not overturn, and should not be interpreted as overturning the moratorium on the consecration of partnered gay and lesbian bishops. That moratorium had been in place since 2006. With statements from both presiding officers of Convention affirming that it remained, for the present, the policy of this Church, it seemed to me that a denial of consent to this election was necessary.

Third, the 2006 General Convention committed the Episcopal Church to participation in the work developing an Anglican Covenant for consideration by the Communion. My understanding is that we pledged to cooperate in those deliberations until the Covenant was either adopted for this Church or not. We gave our word, and I believe that we should live up to that word. To proceed with such a controversial move at the very time that the Covenant is under consideration is, I believe, contrary to the good faith necessary in our commitment to that work and ensuing discernment.

As I made clear when I was elected bishop for the Diocese of Virginia, I am committed to the Anglican Communion. The Communion is not some patched together entity; still less is it something merely abstract. Communion across international bounds and embracing the globe is nothing less than a gift of grace. This is why it must be held dear. I do not know just where this controversy will lead us, but as your bishop I will work to support and strengthen the unique witness that is the worldwide Anglican fellowship of faith.

At the same time, as I have stated clearly in a variety of settings, I am no less committed to the full inclusion of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters in all areas of ministry in the Church's life. I understand that my vote to deny consent in this case could be interpreted as backing away from that commitment. Even so, I can only declare again my deep conviction that full inclusion is also a sign of grace-and we should be reaching to embrace it.

From this, it follows that I am both "pro-Communion" and "pro-inclusion." I reject completely any notion that these positions are mutually exclusive. I remain hopeful, even confident, that there is a way to be faithful to this "both/and" witness. Our history teaches us that we Anglicans-when we are at our best-have been able to hold perceived opposites in a creative and liberating tension that has room for everyone and gives birth to new answers. This is the time to reclaim our best yet again.

Faithfully,

The Rt. Rev. Shannon S. Johnston
Bishop

Statement of the Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia

The Standing Committee of the Diocese of Virginia has declined to consent to the election of the Rev. Canon Mary Douglas Glasspool as bishop suffragan of the Diocese of Los Angeles because, in the view of a majority of the Committee, her election is inconsistent with the moratorium agreed to by the General Convention of the Episcopal Church. That majority believes that, at this time, failure by individual dioceses to respect the Church's agreement to the moratorium would be detrimental to the good order of our Church and bring into question its reliability as an institution. The committee found no other reason to withhold its consent to the election of Canon Glasspool.

Inclusion in the Church: Beyond the arguments

Yesterday we received word that The Rev. Mary Glasspool of Maryland has received the necessary consents of diocesan standing committees and bishops to be ordained a bishop suffragan in the Diocese of Los Angeles. She will become the second openly gay bishop in the Anglican Communion and in our branch of it, the Episcopal Church. There really is no going back.

Before the rhetoric becomes overheated, I think it important to step back and have a look at how far we have come, how we got to this moment, and where we might be going.

On March 4, The Rev. David Norgard, the president of Integrity USA, gave a speech at the Virginia Theological Seminary entitled "The Future of Inclusion." I think this is an important speech, and I am reprinting it in full today because I think he gives a good summation. It is also timely; the House of Bishops convenes tomorrow at Camp Allen, Texas, for its Spring meeting, and at the top of the agenda is a discussion about same-gender relationships.

In his talk, Norgard sketches a highly readable history of the fight over including LGBT people in the Episcopal Church. He notes that his giving such a speech at the Virginia seminary is historic and would not have been possible a few short years ago.

At the conclusion of his speech, Norgard asks provoking questions about the relevance of the Episcopal Church, and evangelism beyond LGBT community; he looks beyond the fights of the last 30 years, and he ends on an optimistic note:

But as I see it, it’s not a matter of acquiescing to a more inclusive future for the sake of those who have been on the outside. It is rather a matter of embracing opportunities that give us all a future as a community – a community of mystery and reason, of determined commitment and unconditional love.

I commend this to you today. It is worth your time to read:

* * *

The Future of Inclusion

By the Rev. David Norgard

Good evening. I want to begin by thanking the Dean for the invitation to be with you this evening. It was a most gracious offer that he made to me to come and speak here at the seminary and I am delighted to be doing just that. I also wish to thank you all for being here. I consider it both a great pleasure and a privilege to share with you my perspective on “The Future of Inclusion in the Episcopal Church.”

As you may be aware, the Dean issued the invitation to me to speak on this topic in my capacity as President of Integrity USA. For those of you who may be unfamiliar with it, Integrity is an organization dedicated to advancing the inclusion of lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender persons (LGBT) in the life and ministry of the Episcopal Church. Composed of individual members and parish partners from across the country, it has been engaged in its ministry of advocacy and education for thirty-five years now, ever since being founded by an Episcopal layman from Georgia, Dr. Louie Crew, in 1974.

When Mike Angell, a student here from the Diocese of San Diego and occasional preacher to the President, first contacted me about arranging this visit, he posed a straightforward yet intriguing question: What is the future of inclusion in the Episcopal Church? If I were someone who was prone to pithy answers, I would say “bright” and call for the next question. The very fact of my being here – at the Virginia Theological Seminary – as President of Integrity – provides strong evidence for the soundness of such optimism. There was a time within the living memory of some in this room (myself included), when such an occasion as this would not have been contemplated, let alone realized. This moment we are sharing right now, my friends, is in itself richly symbolic of the long road we have traveled together as Episcopalians over the past four decades. In fact, I believe that it is a directional sign toward where we are headed as a church….as you put it here, “orthodox and open”

I am not prone to pithy answers though, as you can already tell. So I would like to expand on my sunny forecast and give you a full report of the indicators as I read them. Speculating intelligently on the future is always first an exercise in interpreting history, particularly recent history. So let me begin there.

Recent history clearly has been a story of advances toward a more and more inclusive church, with only occasional setbacks. Looking at the issue broadly, we can see this progression a number of ways. For instance, we can observe how the role of women in the church has evolved and expanded. Thirty-five years ago, there were no women in the House of Bishops. Now there are sixteen. Thirty-five years ago, women were still somewhat new to the House of Deputies. Now a woman is President. In a similar vein, we can look at how the Spanish language has entered the life of the domestic Episcopal Church. Four decades ago, to hear Spanish in an Episcopal church was a novelty. Nowadays, many dioceses have at least one congregation where Spanish the primary language. We can look at various demographic trends and, generally speaking, they point to a denomination that is exhibiting more diversity in both its membership and leadership. My particular competence, however, lies in the area of the conscious inclusion of sexual minorities and, on the national level, that particular storyline begins in 1976.

That year General Convention debated a resolution which acknowledged and recognized homosexual persons as [quote] “children of God.” When you stop to think about that for a moment now, in 2010, to some of us it sounds just a little quaint…kind yet presumptuous in that old-guard, true-blue Episcopalian sort of way. That body of mostly churchmen, in all their magnanimity and sagacity, were moved to vote on the question of who was a child of God.

Thankfully – and to the great relief of many whose ontological validity hung in the balance, the vote was in the affirmative. (Don’t some of you feel much better now?!) Soon after that, presumably in the spirit of that declaration, the Bishop of New York, Paul Moore, ordained the first openly lesbian woman to the priesthood, Ellen Barrett, at the Church of the Holy Apostles in Manhattan.

The church at large was not at all amused, however. Mountains of letters of protest were delivered both to the parish rectory and the diocesan chancery, including (sadly) no small number of bodily threats and spiritual curses. Apparently, being a child of God was one thing; being a priest was entirely another. In a notable demonstration of elegant backtracking, another resolution passed at the next convention, declaring the Ordination of “practicing homosexuals” to be “inappropriate” at that time.

Permit me a personal excursus here. Despite the apparently ill-timed nature of my desire or desires (whichever), upon returning from the convention in Denver, I proceeded with my own plan of seeking Ordination and enrolling in seminary. It was a very big step for my home diocese, Minnesota, to sponsor an openly gay man. As a lot, Minnesotans are quite reluctant to be inappropriate; it’s just not in their nature. But the bishop, Robert Anderson, was a man of steadfast conviction and quiet courage. As the local process proceeded and the national debate intensified, he never wavered in his support. I recall one instance that might resonate especially with those here tonight. After receiving my admission application, the dean of the divinity school where I applied called my bishop to express his serious concern. He explained ever so delicately, almost apologetically, that I had listed Integrity – of all things – among my church involvements. The dean discreetly whispered over the phone to the bishop, “He is probably gay;” to which the bishop whispered back, “Actually, I have met his partner, and he is definitely gay…Is there some problem?” There was none for him if there wasn’t any for the bishop, the dean stuttered, leaving the bishop to wonder: Was it his chairmanship of the board or his matter-of-fact approach that had been more persuasive?

Back to the larger saga: For the next dozen years, no convention was without its resolutions about homosexuality. The topic seemed to move from being the love that dare not speak its name to the debate that would never end. Meanwhile, more and more lesbian and gay people, lay and ordained, lived on one side or another of an increasingly sharp and deep divide within the church. On the one side, more than one bishop prohibited any known homosexuals from serving at their cathedral’s Altar, unless they first took a vow of celibacy. At a prominent seminary, openly gay clergy were barred from serving as supervisors of field education. On the other side, another divinity school named a scholarship after Dr. Crew…and several bishops became increasingly vocal about their gay-supportive views, rejecting outright the argument that the church would fall apart if it accepted lesbian and gay people fully. Douglas Theuner, a predecessor of Gene Robinson in New Hampshire, coined the rallying cry of the whole movement. “There can be no unity without justice,” he declared emphatically to the House of Bishops. For years, his quote was displayed on the front cover of every Voice of Integrity magazine. And I dare say that it is still timely and pertinent today on an even larger plane.

By the start of the nineties, more than a decade of debates and studies and hearings and speeches had brought no resolution. They had brought dozens of resolutions actually but no solution to the controversy. So, what was an “Episcopal” church to do when confronted with such vexation? Turn to its bishops was the answer that came to the Phoenix convention in ’91. The theologians among them (“bishops” and “theologians” not being coterminous, you realize) would undertake another extensive study and report back at Indianapolis in ’94. If nothing else, we are a studious church. Just parenthetically, I do wonder about our bishops sometimes. They have studied homosexuality for years and some still claim to be perplexed. It only took me a summer to learn it…but I suppose that is a story for another time.

Back to Indianapolis: The bishop who succeeded Paul Moore of New York, a man by the slightly unfortunate name of Dick Grein, delivered the report to a packed and tense House of Bishops. The report started well enough from the perspective of those hopeful for a breakthrough in LGBT equality. It recognized that gay people existed, that they were in the church, that indeed they were children of God, that they did some good things, and that many of them were actually very nice…lovely, in fact…devoted to partners, devoted to church, great on the Altar Guild, etc., etc…but…But the report concluded, nevertheless, they still should not be ordained and we should not be marrying them either, particularly to each other.

That night everyone felt a pall hang over the entire convention. Liberals were in despair. Conservatives were anxious. What would happen next? It was not at all obvious. Integrity folk worried: Would these unfounded conclusions somehow end up enshrined in canon law? Had the struggles and efforts of so many of us for so long been for naught? As a church, were we about to retrench?

Well, perhaps I should have guessed what was coming, since I happened to know the antagonist so well. The next afternoon, a son of this very seminary, the famous or infamous Bishop of Newark, Jack Spong, stood to a point of personal privilege. Slowly, dramatically, he read what eventually became known as a Statement of Koinonia, i.e. of community. With forceful eloquence, he stated unequivocally that he would ordain whoever was fit and called, homosexual or heterosexual. He took a similar stand with respect to blessing the committed relationships of same-gender couples. Then, with savvy and audacity, he invited his colleagues with courage enough to share his convictions publicly to sign the statement along with him. That evening the special service sponsored by Integrity was overflowing…and so were the tears. By 7:00 o’clock, about five hours later, dozens of other bishops had signed that statement and by late the next day the number had reached 78. There could be no mistake. It was by no means the end of the struggle…but our church had reached a turning point.

Still, skirmishes continued through the rest of the decade. Between General Conventions, the Episcopal Church caught the attention of our nation’s secular media by the novelty of conducting a heresy trial, namely that of the Rt. Rev. Walter Righter for ordaining a gay man named Barry Stopfel. As anachronistic – can I say medieval? – as it appeared to many reporters, several were nonetheless kind enough to note how the Episcopal Church maintained its sensibility throughout the ordeal. The Wall Street Journal, for example, noted that afternoon tea was served to the journalists and from a proper silver service.


The new century and the new millennium arrived…but not the end of the conflict. The story picks up in Minneapolis in 2003. That bastion of radical liberalism, New Hampshire, had the audacity to elect Gene Robinson, a gay man with a partner, as its bishop and, because of the timing; it was up to the General Convention to consent to the election. The line of people rising to speak their mind, pro and con and sometimes both in truly Anglican fashion, stretched all the way to the back of the huge hall. The testimony was variously emotional, logical, political, personal, and theological. Frankly, it was probably also unnecessary. Most people knew how they were going to vote before they ever entered the room. Nevertheless, the debate ran its full allotted time and then the House of Deputies voted. With a majority that was neither vast nor slim, it confirmed the election of the church’s first openly gay bishop in the church of God and the bishops did likewise, with the added dramatic flourish of a score of them abruptly walking out upon announcement of the results. Eventually, Gene tied with Desmond Tutu as the most recognized Anglican bishop in the world. (Sorry, Rowan.)

With the advent of a gay bishop, a reasonable outside observer might have expected the Episcopal Church finally to get on to other business. It had now been debating essentially the same subject for three decades. The Nicene Creed had been produced more quickly. Yet in 2006, at the proverbial eleventh hour, the same Presiding Bishop who had presided at Gene’s consecration pushed through a resolution designed to ensure that what had happened in New Hampshire stayed in New Hampshire. Although couched in sober and pious phrasing such as “exercising restraint,” Resolution BO33 basically called for a moratorium on the consecration of any more gay bishops.

That brings us close to the present moment and to Disneyland, or, I suppose I should say, to the 2009 General Convention in Anaheim, California. The passage of two resolutions by the convention brought the saga that had lasted nearly as long as “Days of our Lives” to its long-awaited conclusion. The resolution finally came.

Resolution #C056, originating from the Diocese of Missouri (whose Standing Committee just consented to the election of Mary Glasspool), moved the Episcopal Church decisively toward recognizing – and solemnizing – same-sex unions. Specifically, it acknowledged the changing legal landscape with respect to marriage and called upon our bishops to provide for generous pastoral response, especially in those places where civil unions of one sort or another are now permitted. Furthermore, it mandated the Standing Liturgical Commission “to collect and develop theological and liturgical resources for the blessing of same-gender relationships” while, it added, “honoring the theological diversity of this Church in regard to matters of human sexuality.” In other words, we recognized that not everyone is happy about the emerging reality but it is what it is and we are moving forward.

The other landmark resolution, #D025, unequivocally affirmed that God has called and may call LGBT individuals to any ordained ministry in the Episcopal Church. In other words, the de facto moratorium of 2006 on gay and lesbian bishops was lifted and what was characterized as “inappropriate” and untimely back in 1979 was at last found to be entirely appropriate and indeed timely.

That brings us to 2010, to the present day, which is by definition of course, the threshold of the future. Looking across the ecclesiastical landscape now from the perspective of the history I have just recounted, I believe the direction that this church is headed is clear. Collectively, we are now moving in the direction of transforming the legislative victories attained at the national level into living realities at the diocesan and congregational levels. We have decided, finally and unabashedly, in favor of being the kind of faith community in which lesbian and gay people are truly part of the family. We have become a “Modern Family,” to borrow another TV show title, and Mother Church, if you will, has come out. She has come out as a “P-FLAGer.” As an individual Episcopalian and as President of Integrity, my outlook is both hopeful and optimistic because once you have come out of the closet, friends, it really is not all that easy to go back in.

Having said that, I hasten to add that, as it is with the stock market, so it is in politics: Past performance is no guarantee of future results. Even the freshman student of history knows that human progress is not inexorably linear. History is littered, in fact, with examples of progress not merely coming to a halt but taking a violent u-turn. The “war to end all wars,” World War I was followed by World War II. In China, the move toward a free market was followed by the brutal clampdown of free expression in Tiananmen Square.

Nevertheless, there are multiple sound reasons for optimism. Let me cite just a few. Just recently, the Attorney General of Maryland announced his official opinion that his state should recognize same-sex unions performed elsewhere. The nearby District of Columbia, of course, just became the latest civil jurisdiction to allow such unions and even though the city has long been regarded as a bastion of liberalism (like New Hampshire), the symbolic value of the nation’s capital city doing so is potent. Likewise with Iowa: Today, in the Midwestern heartland, same-gender marriage is the law of the land and a fact of life. Looking northward from here, the Bishop of Massachusetts, Tom Shaw, has granted his clergy permission to perform marriages for same-sex couples in the churches of that diocese, C056 being his justification. And across the country in my new home diocese of Los Angeles, the convention elected the Rev. Canon Mary Glasspool, a partnered lesbian, to serve as one of its two bishops suffragan. As of yesterday, 55 of 56 required Standing Committee consents have been received and her consecration is tentatively scheduled for May 15th.

Why all this movement in a forward direction? Fundamentally, I believe it is because nearly everyone today knows someone who is dear to them and lesbian or gay: a brother, sister, son, daughter, father, mother, neighbor, teacher, student, judge on “American Idol.” This increasing familiarity has brought contempt some places, to be sure, but mostly, to know us has been to love us.

My primary ministry these days is as an organizational development consultant to churches and nonprofits. In that work, I spend a fair amount of time helping leaders articulate mission and vision statements for their organizations and communities. A vision statement is essentially an articulation of what you want to be true when you have succeeded in your mission. It implies a commitment to do whatever is possible toward making that preferred future the reality. If I were to draft the de facto vision statement of the Episcopal Church, it might read, in part, something like this: “The community and its leadership are diverse in age, gender, race, culture, ethnicity, sexual orientation, and familial constellations. This fact is a great blessing and is nurtured in the way we live together.” If this phrasing sounds familiar to you, it should be. I adapted it from the student body section of the VTS website.

As with any great cultural shift, this one will too will continue to meet resistance. A review of the national church’s website illustrates the point. There is an extensive section on diversity that includes a, b, c, d, x, y, and z…but not l, g, b, or t. Thinking historically again, just consider the Ordination of women or the adoption of the current Book of Common Prayer. Years after the formal actions were taken at General Convention moving the church forward on these matters, battles still raged on. Every great struggle, it seems, is defined by and motivated in part by the resistance with which it must continue to contend. And in this vein, I see the struggle for a diverse faith community as no exception to that historical rule. Three challenges in particular are possible and substantial enough to merit specific mention.

First is the desire for a scapegoat, a common temptation in community life. Whenever some crisis occurs or some unforeseen disaster descends upon the scene, it can seem expedient or advantageous to cast blame upon a vulnerable target. Jerry Falwell blamed AIDS on gay men, for instance. Never mind HIV. The only necessary ingredients for combustion are some inflammable scandal or incendiary economic friction coupled with invidious rhetoric.

Another viable force of resistance to a diverse church is the temptation of political expediency. It is well within the realm of possibility that the Episcopal Church might persuade itself to do the wrong thing (in my view) for the right reason. For instance, it is not implausible to imagine a scenario in which our church moves toward a recognition of global interdependence and, in the process, negotiates away aspects of its own identity or polity.

The third challenge I would name is perhaps the most worrisome of all because it pertains to our very viability as a community. I speak of the challenge of our own apparent irrelevance in the sight of the world around us. What if we Episcopalians finally do invite all the gays and lesbians in our neighborhood to our party…and they don’t to show up? What if what we have to offer is just not seen as being all that appealing? I do wonder: Have we fought for two generations to be included in a community that our younger gay brothers and lesbian sisters will simply regard as unimportant?

This question, it seems to me, leads to an even larger one: In an increasingly complicated world…one in which individuals are at once bowling alone and inextricably interdependent…one in which many doubt the primacy of any one theological narrative just as others defend their one true faith ever more militantly…one in which the strongest trend is identifying as “spiritual” and not “religious”…in such a world as this, is what we have to offer sufficiently authentic and compelling to appeal to those we would welcome?

I would like to offer two suggestions before I close. First, I believe we are perhaps uniquely positioned as a Christian denomination to offer to the spiritual seeker a community where a sense of mystery in life goes hand-in-hand with a respect for reason in the life of faith. As a communion, historically we have welcomed honest inquiry. To borrow words from the VTS website again, “our church, under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, has been open to new truths discovered by reason and experience.” At the same time, it is a church that has generally also been open to the ineffable, especially through experience of the aesthetic. In short, we are equally comfortable with answers and questions, with art and science. In my personal experience, this perspective on the world resonates with individuals who identify as belonging to a sexual minority. It does so because, in a culture where gender roles are still defined by straight lines, they are outliers on the spectrum of conventional understandings of social reality.

Secondly, I believe we are necessarily yet nonetheless sincerely at last beginning to see ourselves not first and foremost as an institution to which people, if they have enough sense, will just join naturally. In our most vital congregations anyway, I see evidence of a very different self-understanding. Instead of institutions bound by law and dedicated to self-perpetuation, they see themselves as communities bound by love and dedicated to purposes beyond themselves. This also resonates with LGBT persons in my experience for it mirrors the story of LGBT families and communities. No social conventions have brought us together, let me assure you. It has been nothing other than the soulful desire to belong to a family of choice and a community of choice that allows us not only to be ourselves but also to be there for the other.

If we continue along these lines, I believe there is hope not just for the future of inclusion but for the future of our church over all. We will be a community whose appeal to all sorts and conditions of folk is neither a passing fad nor an artifice of political strategy but rather the natural further expression of a catholicity that stretches all the way back to the coming together of Jew and Greek.

Friends, in the first few years after the advent of the Ordination of women, I recall a question arising frequently in conversation: Do you believe in women’s Ordination? It was almost like out of the Baptismal Covenant. Whether it was intended to elicit an affirmation or a renunciation, you couldn’t always be sure. In either case, the most memorable response I ever heard came from a very sincere if somewhat naïve man who said, “Do I believe in them? I have seen them!”

As openly gay and lesbian people become a common and unremarkable aspect of the cultural landscape, I do believe that more bishops will ordain LGBT persons, more vestries will elect them to serve as rectors, more congregations will elect them to vestries, and most importantly of course, Altar Guilds won’t wince at the need to set up a wedding for two grooms or two brides. We are past the turning point. We have crossed the tipping point and the forecast is bright.

There will be resistance. The impulse to respond eagerly and faithfully to the emerging realities of each succeeding age is always met with the opposing impulse to preserve and hold fast to what has been familiar and comfortable. But as I see it, it’s not a matter of acquiescing to a more inclusive future for the sake of those who have been on the outside. It is rather a matter of embracing opportunities that give us all a future as a community – a community of mystery and reason, of determined commitment and unconditional love.

Thank you for your kind attention this evening and your willingness to reflect on these intriguing questions together. I dearly appreciate your hospitality and your openness to this conversation. I invite all of you – lay and ordained, straight and not-so-much, to walk with Integrity in your ministries going forward. It is, after all, by walking with integrity (small “I”) that we have arrived at the threshold of the future we behold, one that is bright precisely because it is blessed with a veritable rainbow of color.

Episcopacy asserted: Part I

Our Episcopal and Anglican world is regularly rocked by the doings of bishops, and in recent years, how they become bishops. This is perhaps not surprising, given our name is “episcopal,” the Greek word for bishops, and our church structure is (theoretically) hierarchal with bishops at the top.

The selection of American Episcopal bishops is recently in the international news with the election of The Rev. Canon Mary Glasspool of Maryland (photo below) as an assisting, or “suffragan,” bishop in Los Angeles. Canon Glasspool, if confirmed, will be the second openly gay bishop living in a partnered relationship; her election has roiled the waters of the already fractured Anglican Communion.

You may recall that in 2003, the Episcopal Church elected and confirmed Gene Robinson, an openly gay partnered man, as bishop of New Hampshire, and we are still living in the aftermath of that election.

You might also ask why have bishops at all if this is so much trouble. Or perhaps you are a faithful practitioner of another church, or another faith tradition, that is not so encumbered by bishops, and you might find the rest of this posting less than relevant to your life. Fair enough.

Whether to have bishops at all was a hot topic in the Reformation, and a number of Protestant churches have gotten along perfectly well, thank you, without bishops. Also fair enough.

But we in the Episcopal Church have bishops, and like it as not, we are joined at the hip with the other bishops of the Anglican Communion, that odd creaky federation of churches that is an outgrowth (or backwash) of the British Empire. We in America were the first to break with the Brits, and our Episcopal Church was the first to find its own path, and our path not surprisingly has always had a major independent streak from that of England.

What I’d like to do today is look a bit at the topic of bishops and make a few observations that I hope might clarify some of the issues before us. I have no huge solutions to offer, but perhaps some smaller ideas that I hope will add to the dialogue. This is not a posting about gay inclusion issues, so please hold your fire on that for another day. Today, let's talk about bishops.

In my estimation, there are two countervailing forces at work that make this debate over bishops seem intractable. The first is a difference among Anglican provinces in how bishops are selected. The second is a conflict in how the various Anglican churches view the authority of bishops. The two are interrelated, but let's pull them apart for the sake of argument.
Today I will look at the election of bishops, and another time, at their authority.

The American Church began electing bishops in local church conventions soon after independence was won from Britain. The first American so elected, Samuel Seabury (picture at right), sailed to Britain in 1784 seeking ordination from the English bishops. The Archbishop of Canterbury and his fellow bishops refused to “lay hands” upon him, so Seabury went to Scotland where a group of “non-juring” bishops ordained him.

The Scottish “non-juring” bishops were dissenters from the English bishops on the matter of choosing monarchs. Their political arguments are not so important to us now, but they highlight that the American Episcopal Church got off to a rocky start with the English bishops, and since then Americans have never really consulted the Archbishop of Canterbury on who should be a bishop in America. The snub from England was patched over in the decades that followed but never really forgotten.

It needs to be underlined that our election of bishops by a church convention is a novel, thoroughly modern idea, and it is a practice not widely shared in the rest of the world. In one sense, we are not very Anglican at all because we have long practiced a form of democracy in the election of bishops.

To understand how different we really are, I’ve gone back into the depths of Anglicanism by reading Jeremy Taylor’s essay, Episcopacy asserted, written in 1642, his first major work. At the time it was published in Oxford, Taylor (1613-1667) was a rising star in the Church of England (years later he would be made a bishop) and he was considered the most eloquent "divine" of his generation; at the time, Taylor and the Church of England were battling the Presbyterians over whether there should be bishops at all.

Taylor (picture at right) painstakingly traced the history of bishops from the early letters of the New Testament forward through the early church and into his own time. His conclusion was that Christ commanded that there be bishops, and that the earliest apostles would “fix” a bishop in place whenever they established a new church.

How a man became a bishop (they were all men, after all) was not by an election of a local church, but by the other bishops or apostles. “But here lies the issue and strain of the question,” Taylor wrote.

And so it is the “strain of the question” for us. Centuries ago, the English church began selecting bishops with the approval of monarchs and their ministers, and sometimes with their active promotion.

Thomas Cranmer was the pick of Henry VIII as Archbishop of Canterbury. As the British parliamentary system grew, bishops took seats in the House of Lords. Church and state grew intertwined in the persons of bishops.

In the modern Church of England, the Prime Minister, in the name of the Queen, approves the bishops. The selection process is done largely in secret, and is a mystery to all but the insiders. That church and state in Britain are a muddled mess is a major understatement. Indeed, most Americans would be highly offended if the Congress and President picked our bishops, but that is precisely how bishops are chosen in Britain.

Meanwhile, Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams has repeatedly suggested that the American Episcopal Church should consult more widely with the Anglican Communion in the making of bishops. He holds that our “catholicity” requires us to consider how our bishops are connected one to the other across national lines. He is perhaps correct. But his assertion invites scrutiny of how he was selected as a bishop and how other Anglican bishops are selected in other provinces.

The question for Williams should be this: Should the rest of the Anglican Communion, including the American Episcopal Church, be consulted on the appointment of the next Archbishop of Canterbury? After all, we define Anglicanism, in part, as recognition by the Archbishop of Canterbury. We have a stake in who holds that office.

And that should raise a very uncomfortable question for the Church of England and all of the Anglican Communion: Should the Anglican Communion continue to be entwined the British government? The Anglican Covenant, promoted by Williams, should address this issue as well.

This is no small question, and I would submit the issue is a major reason why our churches seem to be talking past each other. The bishops in the rest of the Anglican Communion, including in Britain, have consistently brushed off our arguments that our way of church governance is crucial to our understanding of our identity.

Meanwhile, we have perhaps underestimated (and taken this value for granted) that our church is not an arm of the U.S. government. In fact, much of the world assumes correctly that their governments and religions are enmeshed, and not just in the Christian world (though it should be noted that the Vatican would never put up with the Italian government thinking it could pick bishops). The separation of church and state is still largely an American value, not well understood or appreciated in other countries, and much misunderstood in our own.

This is an old issue. Taylor himself touched on it in another book, A Discourse on the Liberty of Prophesying, published in 1646. The book itself has a curious history. Taylor, once he became a bishop, tried to disown it and asked his publisher to gather up any copies that could be found and burn them. He did not succeed; I have a first edition copy in my personal library, and Liberty can be found in the compendiums of Taylor’s work. And thank goodness, for it is a little known masterpiece of the English Reformation.

In the book, Taylor argued that governments are ill equipped to enforce matters of faith. He rested his argument on the fact that there are honest differences by faithful people in interpreting Scripture. In Taylor’s view, to allow a government to be, in effect, the final authority on scriptural interpretation was irreconcilable with the freedom of conscience of individuals. “For it is best every man should be left in that liberty from which no man can justly take from him.”

The larger Reformation issue he addressed was that the Roman Catholic Church asserted that it was the sole interpreter of the Bible; reformers like Martin Luther disagreed, but some Protestant reformers sought to replace the Vatican with themselves as the sole authority on Scripture. Taylor thought it just as wrong to insert the state in place of the Vatican.

But Taylor also hedged here. He wrote that God spoke through the conscience of human beings (Ductor Dubitantium, 1660), but he also believed that bishops should rule the church. Taylor did not resolve the inherit tension in his stance, and it may be that in his English muddle much of the current Anglican tensions lay.

The notion that bishops are all-powerful is certainly a legacy of the early church and was inherited by the English Church. The issue Taylor confronted was a Puritan government trying to control the church and the bishops. Taylor took it for granted that bishops should govern the church alone with no interference from the people in the pews. “I say they [bishops] had power alone to govern alone, for they had the government of the church alone before they ordained the first presbyters.”

The American Episcopal church, though, took a much different course, shaped by the events of and between the War of Independence in 1776 and the Constitutional Convention of 1789. The Episcopal Church inherited a system of federal checks-and-balances from the founders of the United States; the Episcopal Church saw the authority of bishops differently than their English counterparts. Authority was spread among the people and clergy, and limits were put on the power of bishops. That, too, is underappreciated and misunderstood in the rest of the Anglican world.

Next time I will look at episcopal hierarchy and suggest a different way of viewing the authority of bishops.

New bishops for the Episcopal Church, new controversy (and onward we go!)

The news in our corner of Christendom the last few days comes from my old haunts of Los Angeles. The Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles, meeting in convention this past weekend in Riverside, elected two new suffragan, or assisting, bishops, and both are women: the Rev. Canons Diane Jarden Bruce and Mary Douglas Glasspool.

Canon Bruce (right) is from the diocese of Los Angeles, serving as the rector of the parish in San Clemente, and Canon Glasspool (left) is from Maryland, serving as the canon to the ordinary in that diocese. You can read the Episcopal News Service coverage of the election by clicking HERE.

The most noteworthy development is that Canon Glasspool is a lesbian in an open partnered relationship, making her our second bishop to live openly as a gay person (and we have other bishops who are gay but remain in the closet).

Predictably the reaction came swift and sharp, and sadly lost are the qualifications of these two women who are serving Christ's Church. Both have subjected themselves to a worldwide public spotlight that can only be excruciating at the moment. Please keep them both in your prayers.

The process of becoming bishop is not over for either of the suffragan-elects. To be confirmed, each must gain the endorsement of a majority of the Episcopal bishops and a majority of the elected Standing Committees in each of our 110 dioceses. Such confirmations are not foregone conclusions; the election of a bishop in Northern Michigan was recently rejected. You can expect that both Cns. Glasspool and Bruce will receive intense scrutiny by the bishops and standing committees, and intense media coverage throughout.

It should be noted that other elections have taken place in recent weeks in Oregon and Louisiana, and those elections (of men) have been treated as local events with nary a word in the national or international media.

Suffragan bishops assist the diocesan bishops in their sacramental ministry; they do not have the full authority of the diocesan bishop, who in Los Angeles is The Rt. Rev. Jon Bruno (center in photo above).

Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams reacted swiftly. His statement, in full, is below:

The election of Mary Glasspool by the Diocese of Los Angeles as suffragan bishop elect raises very serious questions not just for the Episcopal Church and its place in the Anglican Communion, but for the Communion as a whole.

The process of selection however is only part complete. The election has to be confirmed, or could be rejected, by diocesan bishops and diocesan standing committees. That decision will have very important implications.

The bishops of the Communion have collectively acknowledged that a period of gracious restraint in respect of actions which are contrary to the mind of the Communion is necessary if our bonds of mutual affection are to hold.

Meanwhile, a number of commentators have pointed out that Williams has remained silent for two months on a proposed anti-gay law in Uganda, though he was able to quickly rebuke the Episcopal Church for the election in Los Angeles. I think that criticism fair, if only because it symbolizes that the archbishop is more concerned with church politics than the politics of the larger world. It ought to be the other way around. But it also shows that he is hemmed in by his own delicate diplomacy with the African Anglican bishops.

To be fair, commentators in the U.K. have noted that if Williams speaks out against the proposed anti-gay law he may only ensure its passage; the Anglican bishops in Uganda have likened homosexuality to Satan, and are only looking for further proof that homosexuality is a colonial import (and that makes me wonder why we want to be in this Anglican club at all, but that is a matter for another day). You can read a commentary about Williams' predicament in the U.K. Guardian by clicking HERE.

My own reaction? Of course I welcome these two bishop-elects. I believe they bring great gifts to our church beyond the diocese which elected them. I believe it was inevitable that we have another gay bishop, and there will be more to come. I believe the Holy Spirit is calling us to lead the way on this, and leading will be painful and progress will come incrementally. I hope the archbishop and the rest of the Anglican Communion will come along, as I think they will sooner or later.

But it is a mixed blessing. Canon Glasspool will now get the death threats Gene Robinson has endured. More angst and anger will overheat our church conventions with little result. I am sad that this is so polarized.

My reaction is also tempered by the fact that, unfortunately, only two suffragans were elected in Los Angeles, and not three. It took seven ballots to elect Canon Glasspool in what was described by participants as a very tense election; edged out was The Rev. I. Martir Vazquez, who was certainly qualified to be bishop. The Diocese of Los Angeles, almost as big in numbers as Virginia and ten times more diverse, has 30 of its 149 parishes that worship entirely in Spanish. Los Angeles very much needs a Latino Episcopal bishop.

It leads me to wonder if Bishop Bruno and his diocese can find a way to have one more assisting bishop, and bring in Fr. Vazquez as a bishop. That would make what ought to be a great celebration even greater.