I could wax theological here. I could talk about discovering The Episcopal
Church as a young adult with my fiancé in South Carolina. I could go on about suffering from salvation
anxiety as a Baptist and the need to feel born again; and how the tangibility
of the Sacraments became the blessed assurance that Jesus was mine, O what a
foretaste of glory divine. That helped
make me an Episcopalian in 1984. But to
answer why the Episcopal Church, I need to confess how I became an Episcopalian
again in 1999.
By 1989, Laura and I were married and living in Washington
D.C. We loved the Anglo Catholic liturgy
at St. James on Capitol Hill. I was settling into the role I had been destined to play
since reading George Orwell as a teenager.
I had taken a detour from that destiny in my college years as I mourned
my mother. But I was back on track in
‘89. That role was political activist,
and the dream was to make history. And
as it became clear that my politics were different from many other
Episcopalians in the DC area, I felt increasingly uncomfortable, and
occasionally unwelcome.
I wanted the truth, in politics and religion. And in those days, TEC began to seem too hazy
for my taste. Down the street from where
we lived in SW Washington was St. Dominic’s.
There I found authority, and at the time, it was an attraction I
couldn't resist. Right after Christmas 1989,
I became a Roman Catholic, without my wife joining me.
Laura was pregnant at the time, but we didn't know it. Would I have “converted” if I had known
that. Maybe not, but I doubt it. I was too selfish in my opinions at that
time. In the summer of 1990, we moved to
Alexandria. Blessed Sacrament Catholic
Community was within walking distance. A
little further away was Grace Episcopal Church on Russell Road. As a family we settled into a pattern of
going to both churches for the most part.
One Sunday, I had slept in while Laura and John had gone to
Grace. When they came back home and
John, a little more than two, had been hoisted in his high chair, Laura said,
“Can you tell Daddy what you had in church today?” His eyes lit up, he smiled and said, “I had
Jesus Christ!”
About a year later, we had moved around in “NoVa,” and I was
attending a different RC parish, though as a family we still drove nearly a
half hour on Sunday morning to Grace.
One Sunday afternoon, Laura was sick, and I hadn't been to Mass yet. So off I went with John to the last chance
Mass at 5pm. When it came time for
communion, I knew that John wouldn't be able to receive. The simplest explanation I could come up with
for a three-year-old was, “In this church you have to be older to have Jesus
Christ.” At least two weeks later, the
same set of circumstances found us back here at 5pm. It came time for communion, John looked up at
me with a sad face and said, “I'm older now.”
From then on, we went to Grace as a family, and I snuck off
to the other church when I could. As the
years went by, I found myself seeking out Fr. Malm, the Rector at Grace, when I
was in some crisis or another. All three
of is came to look forward to the parish retreat at Shrine Mont every year
after Labor Day. At one point, he asked
me to help teach Sunday School, and I gladly did. When the church found itself dealing with
some troubled neighborhood youth, I stepped in to help minister to them.
Finally, on the day after New Year’s, 1999, I was called by
the person recruiting vestry nominees at Grace.
“Well, uh, I think I'm still officially Roman Catholic,” I
sputtered. Oh, uh, I guess that, uh,
would be a problem,” she sputtered back.
What made her think I was an Episcopalian, I thought after we hung
up. Just because I'm there almost every
Sunday, have helped teach Sunday School, have ministered to the Neighborhood youth,
why would she think I'm an Episcopalian.
But in truth, I am forever grateful to her. For she had presented me with my truth, not
my opinion of the truth, but the truth of where God had made me a living member
of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church: Grace Episcopal Church.
My translation of the first verse of the eighth chapter of
Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians is, perhaps, a bit of a paraphrase. It's usually “knowledge” that puffs us up. But in truth, the Corinthians’ problem wasn't
their knowledge, but their excess of strongly held opinions. I've had my opinions in the past, some have
changed, some have not. But salvation is
not about learning the right opinions.
It is about reflecting the steadfast, loyal love that God has shown in
the calling of Israel and above all in the Word made flesh, Jesus the Son.
At the Easter Vigil in 1999, I knelt before Bishop David
Jones, and laying his hands on my head, he received me into the fellowship of
this communion known as The Episcopal Church.
That Easter Sunday, and for weeks after, I felt a peace deeper in my soul
than I had ever known. I was home. I am home.
And here in this fellowship of diverse opinions and love I shall remain.
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