Minority
Foreign & Domestic Missionary Society
What does one do when one’s view of right and good, or even one’s being is so far out of the mainstream that the mainstream votes one out of membership? I know somewhat.
Summer of 1954, it was August, the month before my nineteenth birthday, I was riding the bus, Trailways or Greyhound, from Panama City to Birmingham to see a cardiologist about my heart murmur. The bus was not crowded, and I took a window seat by myself on the left, about halfway back. As we drove along, the bus stopped here and there and began to fill, and by the time we got to some stop, all the white passengers were in front of me, and black passengers had filled in behind me, with the seat beside me empty. A black woman holding a baby looked at me, I motioned her to sit, and she did. Obviously watching, the bus driver slammed the bus to a screeching halt, came down the aisle and told me, “Move to the front of the bus, there’s an empty seat.” I said, “I’m fine.” Face contorting and tone turned ugly, he ordered, “Move to the front or I’ll put you off the bus.”
Summer of 1954, it was August, the month before my nineteenth birthday, I was riding the bus, Trailways or Greyhound, from Panama City to Birmingham to see a cardiologist about my heart murmur. The bus was not crowded, and I took a window seat by myself on the left, about halfway back. As we drove along, the bus stopped here and there and began to fill, and by the time we got to some stop, all the white passengers were in front of me, and black passengers had filled in behind me, with the seat beside me empty. A black woman holding a baby looked at me, I motioned her to sit, and she did. Obviously watching, the bus driver slammed the bus to a screeching halt, came down the aisle and told me, “Move to the front of the bus, there’s an empty seat.” I said, “I’m fine.” Face contorting and tone turned ugly, he ordered, “Move to the front or I’ll put you off the bus.”
In that small way, I know what it is to be treated hatefully because of who and what I am. Most all black folks know too, and LGBT folks. And now, Muslim Americans as well.
That’s what’s happened with the Anglican Communion’s three year penance suspending the Episcopal Church. We are different. The majority hate us, might as well use the word, and it’s foregone that at the end of the three years, by which time they will require us to have repented and we will have done nothing of the kind, we will be voted out of the Anglican Communion.
At the primates’ gathering just ended, those present first voted on whether to ask the Episcopal Church to leave the Anglican Communion voluntarily, a vote that failed 15-20. But the majority did vote the suspension. It’s disappointing but not surprising. Who are our antagonists? Anglican churches of Uganda and Nigeria are among those who favor capital punishment for homosexuality: are we sure we want to be in the same fraternity, loose fellowship, with those folks? It could be interesting to know which provinces voted to suspend us, and which voted not. There is plenty of room for sour grapes in this but, not to take our football and go home, the suspension could be a good thing, an opportunity finally to examine ourselves and the company we keep. Anglican provinces are autonomous, self-governing, no one has authority over us; as the suspending statement mentioned, we do not have a pope. All they can do is decide whether they want to be neighbors with us, and a majority do not. Being a member of the “third largest Christian body in the world after Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox” has bragging rights, but I could visualize our being in fellowship instead with other American and perhaps Canadian bodies. Fellowship and Communion. Or alone. Americans do not need international, foreign oversight. Careful not to be certitudinous myself, I’m not into being “disciplined” by a majority of certitudinous bigots. And though I could be wrong, I’m getting Archbishop Justin, an oil executive, as sadly more political than theological.
Maybe this is the trench we are willing to die in? Bishop Michael may be too new, kind and gentle to say or even think it, but it might be time to become the Domestic Missionary Society. As Jesus said to Julian of Norwich, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." I think so too.
Maybe this is the trench we are willing to die in? Bishop Michael may be too new, kind and gentle to say or even think it, but it might be time to become the Domestic Missionary Society. As Jesus said to Julian of Norwich, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." I think so too.
Thos+