Circles and Straight Lines

The lasting effects of the glossolalia 

There are times in my standard Earth week when I find myself hanging with the dudes from the funky charismatic churches. The great joy of our Church of England, apart from the joy and solace to be found in the wording of draft amendments to draft bills for draught excluders is that we are a broad church.

At one end of the spectrum you get the funkies in their open-neck shirts, perma-smiles and and prayers that are two-thirds the word "just". At the other end, you get us old dears, in our black suits and white collars, quaffing gin and stinking of burned resins. And I think that it is a remarkable and wonderful organisation that can house us all. 

In wider society, there is talk of high and low, or else of candles and the upper or lower placings thereon. In other words, one would imagine that my brothers and sisters from the bean-bag edifices of the Holy Stage-Set were the furthest end of the continuum from us from the "if it ain't prehistoric it just ain't cool, man" wholly cluttered-up edifices. Nothing in common, differing emphases on the persons of the Godhead, different outfits, different language and all that. 

I used to think that too. I am the first to say that much of the charismatic wing is a complete mystery to me and I fit into it like my feet do my daughter's fluffy slippers. Equally, I know that my mates from the charismatic wing think me basically papist and a throwback to times before churches had electricity. And that is fine. Actually, it presents a perfect balance - I think. 

Rather than a straight-line with ends - us on one, them on t'other - I have now come to the point of view that despite previous best-efforts to deny this thrice until my cock crowed, we are actually a lot closer. I think the whole thing is a circle, not a line. What charismatic Anglicans and Anglo-catholics have in common is a deep sense of engaging physically with the worship in which we are part. The truth be told, we all wave our arms around and I could no more not cross myself at a Blessing than they elevate arms in praise songs. It isn't contrived - it is just who we are. You look at a picture of a large act of worship at the cathedral church of the Holy Trinity in the Archdiocese of Brompton, and you would see as much smoke, light and effect accompanying the music as in the spikiest of High Church shrines. Perhaps the music is different and we use different linguistic styles, but in the end, we tune ourselves into the bit of God we understand most of all in a physical and specifically tactile way. I sort of get it, truth be told. 

In the end, I think we are all a lot more similar than any of us would have courage to admit. There is always the danger that particularism will prevail and "mine" becomes better than "yours" which does nothing but stifle this wonderful breadth of ours. The more that "we" can be "us" and "you" can do the same, I think that the balance achieved is the best in the world. However, for now I will leave it that in the great circle of church existence, only the accidentals stop us from being rather alike. 

On Being Insulted Nicely

As one of your common or garden liberal Anglo-Catholic types, there are things I do well and things I do less well. I come with my own story and as priest, it is a story that contains (in large italicized print) the whole Calling Thing and in my case one that was within my consciousness most of my life.

As one of your common or garden Christians, I have me a relationship with God that is reciprocal, fruitful and yes, life giving. This Christian appreciates a bit of ritual, regard the Sacraments as central to my faith's expression, enjoy the beauty given by things like music and practice that (probably for very good reason) have survived the test of time and can now be regarded as old. I have been ordained in Holy Orders and as one who regards those orders as sacramental, endlessly wrestle with worthiness and and my place in such a precious ministerial and spiritual place. 

The Triduum - I can do that like a pro. You want liturgies emotional roller-coasters born of ancient ecclesiastical practices? I can do that. Tenebrae? Yup! Stripping of Altars after the Pange Lingua? Yessum! The unfolding light of Holy Saturday? No problems! Want pathos squeezed from familiar and ancient words? I'm your man! Want to sense the Passion, not just rock it up? My place, please!

Pentecost? Less sure of that, actually. For I am not your common or garden born-in-the-spirit charismatic Christian c1960s. Baptized in water and glad for it, but in the Holy Spirit? Can't claim that as a fact of my past in the way meant by so many. Do I find myself speaking in tongues on demand? No, not me. am I open to the possibility? Absolutely, but the Holy Spirit of the Charismatics seems not to want this meagre Christian man. 

After this Sunday's main service, a delightful women (and I mean that, her presence here is cherished) said to me that she wished I knew the Holy Spirit better. Now - that may sound like a nice thing to say and it was certainly said with love. However, the net result was that I felt like a stinking fraud. For the rest of the day. I regard the Spirit to be God as the Son is God and so on - so this was received as the gravest accusation delivered with such grace and without a scintilla of malice or desire to offend. 

The problem is (if 'problem' is the right word) that I am made as I am made. I am the disciple I am. I am not another sort of disciple, and if being Charismatic is what God wants, and that I need to be more richly imbued with God's Holy Spirit, then I am not the man for this job. Is being Charismatic the only way? Does the Lord only want people who speak in tongues? Why not me? I love God too, in my own way. If I am part of a wing in the church that God wishes reformed into oblivion, then God will lose my ministry and he will lose me - because he will have been stringing me along for long enough. 

I am what I am, and I cannot start to feel bad about it now. It's far too late for that.