Bishop Little has written a pastoral letter to the diocese reflecting on the recent meeting of the Primates of the Anglican Communion.
Bishop Little
Address to the 117th Convention of the Diocese of Northern Indiana
Bishop Little's Address to Convention is now available for download.
Pastoral Reflections on the 78th General Convention
Dear brothers and sisters,
God came among us in the person of Jesus of Nazareth to change the world, to change it from the nightmare it often can be into the dream that God intends. He came to change the world, and we have been baptized into the Triune God and summoned to be disciples and followers of this Jesus and to participate in God’s work, God’s mission of changing and transforming this world. . . . We are part of the Jesus Movement, and he has summoned us to make disciples and followers of all nations and transform this world by the power of the Good News, the gospel of Jesus.
- The Rt. Rev. Michael B. Curry, Presiding Bishop-elect
On June 27, the House of Bishops elected Bishop Curry as the 27th Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, a first-ballot election that captured the deep affection and respect that the bishops feel for this godly Christian leader. Bishop Curry is profoundly Christ-centered, a spell-binding preacher, and a bridge-builder whose wide embrace embodies St. Paul’s reminder that we are to “lead a life worthy of the calling to which [we] have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace” (Eph. 4:1-4). You can find a video link to Bishop Curry’s sermon on the final day of General Convention, quoted above, here.
While the election of our next Presiding Bishop added drama and excitement to the work of General Convention, many other issues also drew the attention of bishops and deputies. We passed, quite literally, hundreds of resolutions, covering topics as diverse as church governance, marriage, liturgical matters, evangelism, and issues of peace and justice. These reflections, necessarily, cannot detail all that Convention did during eleven days of work. I will simply highlight a few items of particular importance.
For three years, in response to a call from the 77th General Convention in 2012, the Episcopal Church has been discussing “structure,” the governing bodies that include the Episcopal Church Center in New York City, various boards and agencies, and General Convention itself, both its size and scope. The idea behind these conversations has been to create a leaner and more “nimble” structure, for the sake of mission. The 78th General Convention took a fairly modest approach. The relationship between Executive Council (the body that governs the church between Conventions) and the staff of the Episcopal Church was clarified, especially in matters of hiring and supervision; and the number of Standing Commissions (groups that study issues and propose resolutions to General Convention) was reduced to two (Constitution and Canons; Liturgy and Music). There was little energy for reducing the size, scope, and frequency of General Convention. Much work, I think, still needs to be done in order to fashion a more mission-driven church structure. That will be left to a future General Convention.
General Convention passed resolutions to begin the process of revising both the Book of Common Prayer and the Hymnal 1982. The Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music has been directed to devise a “plan” for revision, and to present that plan to the 79th General Convention in 2018. The Constitution of the Episcopal church requires two successive meetings of General Conventions to revise the Prayer Book. Since the plan for revision won’t be presented until 2018 – with a first “reading” of the new Prayer Book three years later, in 2021 - the new versions cannot be approved until 2024 at the soonest. I voted against the proposals, for a couple of reasons. First, we are still internalizing the changes that the 1979 Book of Common Prayer brought to the church, particularly regarding the centrality of baptism as the fount of the Christian life and the Eucharist as the primary act of Christian worship. It takes generations for texts (and the practices connected with those texts) to find their way into our hearts and minds. Second, I am concerned that current theological trends, and especially a tendency to eliminate male-oriented language for God, will lead us to a Prayer Book where words like “Father” and “Lord” will be rare. It is better, I think, to allow these trends to marinate for a few decades and to see if they hold up to long-term theological and spiritual reflection. My reservations, however, did not carry the day, and the process for Prayer Book and Hymnal revision is now set in motion.
Two important initiatives were added to the Episcopal Church’s budget for the 2015-18 triennium: evangelism and church planting, and racial reconciliation. Both are significant. The best way to reach “unchurched” people is to plant a new church, and there was a good deal of excitement about bold and creative ways to form winsome and engaging new Christian communities. Racial reconciliation, too, was much on the hearts of bishops and deputies, particularly in light of the tragedy in Charleston on June 17. And so General Convention allocated significant funds to assist the church in addressing the sin of racism and seeking ways to foster deep and healing conversation. These initiatives are, I think, positive steps for the church, addressing both the spiritual needs of men and women and the great gulf that continues to plague our nation.
I have attended General Convention since 1991, either as a deputy or a bishop, and every Convention has been dominated by difficult and sometimes painful discussions regarding human sexuality. The underlying question has been: How do we welcome gay and lesbian people into the church, and what is the best way to minister to them? Three years ago, in 2012, General Convention authorized a liturgy for blessing same-sex unions, a liturgy that required the permission of a diocesan bishop in order to be used in that bishop’s jurisdiction. This year, the discussion had moved to marriage itself. A marriage task force, commissioned by the 77th General Convention, recommended a change to the church’s canons (the laws that govern the church) re-defining marriage to include same-sex couples. In addition, the Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music submitted a number of liturgies for the solemnization of the marriage of two persons of the same sex. And so the 78th General Convention debated both canon law and liturgical practice. In the background, by accident of timing, on the fourth day of General Convention the United States Supreme Court ruled that same-sex marriage must be made available in all 50 states.
Debate on both proposals – the change in canons (Resolution A036) and the provision of liturgical forms for same-sex marriage (Resolution A054) – was heartfelt and gracious. The resolution which authorizes liturgical forms includes the following: “Bishops exercising authority or, where appropriate, ecclesiastical supervision will make provision for all couples asking to be married in this Church to have access to these liturgies. Trial use [of these liturgies] is only to be available under the direction and with the permission of the Diocesan Bishop. . . . [T]his convention honor[s] the theological diversity of this Church in regard to matters of human sexuality; and . . . no bishop, priest, deacon, or lay person should be coerced or penalized in any manner, nor suffer any canonical disabilities, as a result of his or her objection to or support for the 78th General Convention’s action on this resolution.” Both A036 and A054 passed, with substantial majorities in the House of Bishops and the House of Deputies. While I voted no on these resolutions, I am grateful that General Convention recognized the diversity in the church and made explicit place for those who find themselves in a theological minority.
During the debate on liturgical forms I said, “As a matter of Christian conviction, I must vote no. I do not believe that we have the authority to alter the sacrament of holy matrimony. That sacrament is rooted in creation and redemption, and is a sign of God’s good provision for humankind.” But I am well aware that many in the Diocese of Northern Indiana will be distressed that I could support neither the canonical re-definition of marriage nor the liturgies for same-sex marriage. I am committed to them – and, in particular, to the gay and lesbian members of our diocesan family. Jesus has called us together, and it is important that we find ways of caring for one another. People on all sides of these difficult and complex matters are committed to Jesus and to the church, and are seeking to follow our Lord faithfully. Mutual affirmation in the midst of painful disagreement is at the heart of our call to Christian community.
As noted above, the resolution authorizing liturgies for same-sex marriage requires that bishops make provision for couples who wish access to these liturgies. At the same time, the resolution states that in each diocese the use of the liturgies requires the bishop’s direction and permission. To honor both mandates, I am continuing the arrangement that began in 2012, after General Convention authorized a liturgy for blessing same-sex unions. In Northern Indiana, that means: 1) that I cannot, because of conviction and conscience, authorize the use of these liturgies in the diocese; and 2) that if a couple wishes to married under these liturgical provisions (Resolution A054), they and their priest may cross into a neighboring diocese and, under the license of the bishop of that diocese, celebrate the rite. I have spoken with the bishops of Chicago, Western Michigan, Michigan, Ohio, and Indianapolis, and all of them have most graciously agreed to this arrangement. It is not an ideal solution. No compromise is. But, at a minimum, it provides a “container” in which both conscience and pastoral care can be provided for all.
Following the passage of A036 and A054, I joined with a group of bishops in issuing the “Communion Partners Salt Lake City Statement.” We attempted to be at once clear and irenic, affirming both our convictions and our commitment to brothers and sisters with whom we disagree and to whom we are bound indissolubly in baptism. The House of Bishops graciously received this statement, and unanimously passed its own “Mind of the House” resolution, entitled “Communion Across Difference,” for which I am profoundly grateful. This statement serves as a reminder that in a season when the church is not of one mind on a difficult issue, we are one in Jesus. “He is our peace” (Eph. 2:14). Thus our “opponents” are not opponents at all, but fellow disciples – brothers and sisters who love Jesus as we do, and who wish the best for his church.
Several times, over the course of these reflections, I have used the word “gracious.” Even when General Convention was at its most heated, when disagreement was most pronounced, I experienced enormous generosity of spirit. Deputies and bishops stretched out their hands and their hearts to each other across theological divisions. For that generosity I praise God.
Let us now pray for our church; for Katharine, our Presiding Bishop, and for Michael, our Presiding Bishop-elect; for those who will bring the decisions of General Convention back to their dioceses, and for wisdom in communicating this information; and for the whole church, that together we may join in “looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith” (Heb. 12:2) and find in him both the source of our unity and the inspiration to bring Good News to the world.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
A Pastoral Letter on the Charleston Tragedy
Dear brothers and sisters,
Shortly after the devastating news of the mass murders at Emmanuel AME Church began to spread, a deacon of our diocese wrote to me. “Why?” he asked. “How could such a thing happen in a sacred place? What can I say to people who are looking for an explanation?” I have pondered those questions for a day and still am unable to answer. The “Why?” and the “How?” are unfathomable in the face of overwhelming evil. Nine people are dead, brothers and sisters in Christ. They were cut down solely because of their race. How could one human being inflict such a thing on another? How can we hear God’s voice in the midst of the storm of emotions – from fear to anger to bewilderment – that sweep over us?
In the end, we are reduced to silence and prayer. I find myself seeking to be still in the presence of the Lord. I find myself gazing at the cross, and into the face of the One who suffered immeasurably on our behalf. I find myself allowing the questions simply to be, now and perhaps forever unanswered. Meanwhile, we can seek comfort in the familiar and oft-prayed words of the Bible and the Book of Common Prayer – words that themselves were written by people who asked the same questions and struggled with their own version of the same pain.
Here are some texts that have seared themselves into my heart. Perhaps they will touch yours as well. In the first, the Psalmist – like us – pleads for understanding, and then slowly, tentatively, recognizes the Lord presence, without “explaining away” the evil.
O God, why have you utterly cast us off?
Why is your wrath so hot against the sheep of your pasture?
Remember your congregation that purchased long ago,
and the tribe you redeemed to be your inheritance,
and Mount Zion where you dwell.
Turn your steps toward the endless ruins;
the enemy has laid waste everything in your sanctuary.
Your adversaries roared in your holy place;
they set up banners as tokens of victory.
Yet God is my King from ancient times,
victorious in the midst of the earth.
(Psalm 74:1-4,11)
In the second, the author of Hebrews reminds us that Jesus himself suffered our sufferings and prayed our prayers (indeed, his Prayer Book was the Book of Psalms). He walked the way of the Cross not only to rescue us from sin, but also to drink to the dregs the pain of human life.
During the days of Jesus’ life on earth, he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears to the one who could save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered. (Hebrews 5:7-8)
And finally, two prayers from the Book of Common Prayer.
Lord Jesus Christ, we commend to you our brothers and sisters Cynthia, Sharonda, Ethel, Tywanza, Clementa, Myra, DePayne, Daniel, and Susie, who were reborn by water and the Spirit in Holy Baptism. Grant that their death may recall to us your victory over death, and be an occasion for us to renew our trust in your Father’s love. Give us, we pray, the faith to follow where you have led the way, and where you live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, to the ages of ages. Amen.
(BCP, p. 498)
O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
(BCP, p. 815)
I ask that this Sunday, in all the parishes of the Diocese of Northern Indiana, prayer be offered for the victims, for their families, for the city of Charleston and all touched by this tragedy, and for our nation. With all blessings I am
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
April's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
This past Tuesday I presented a letter to the Standing Committee, announcing my retirement as of June 30, 2016. At the time, I will have served as bishop of this wonderful diocese for 16 years. My ministry as your bishop, however, will actually conclude three months earlier – March 31, 2016 – when I begin a three-month sabbatical to write a long-planned book.
Palm Sunday marks the first day of a new visitation cycle. In my closing cycle, I will have the opportunity to visit all 36 churches of our diocese and to thank you for your witness to Jesus, for your faithfulness in mission and ministry, and for your kindness and encouragement to Sylvia and to me.
I have said many times and in many settings that if I had the opportunity to choose any diocese in the Episcopal Church to serve as bishop, I would without hesitation select Northern Indiana. Our diocese is a profoundly Christ-centered community, a place where Jesus is known, loved, worshiped, and followed. Our relationships are deep. Indeed, the small size of our diocese is a blessing, because it has given me the gift of knowing people and parishes in a way that my colleague bishops envy. March 18, 2000, the day of my consecration in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart on the campus of Notre Dame, marked a turning point in my life for which I will always give thanks. You have touched Sylvia’s life and mine, welcomed us into your hearts, and drawn us ever more deeply into the heart of Jesus himself.
Sunday is the high point of my week. Worshiping with you, hearing the Word and sharing the Eucharist, and seeing Jesus at work in a glorious variety of ways have planted memories that I will forever cherish. I offer thanks to God for the gift of walking with you as fellow disciples, and am humbled by the expressions of love and support that Sylvia and I have received during a decade and a half of ministry in Northern Indiana.
In the coming months, I ask for your prayers for the Standing Committee, under the leadership of its president, Fr. Matthew Cowden. Their task is to discern the next steps for the diocese and to oversee the process of electing the 8th Bishop of Northern Indiana. This challenging and exciting work will be an opportunity for the entire diocese to walk in faith into the future that God has planned.
St. Paul’s words seem especially apt, and express something of what I feel as I write this letter: “I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy, because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:3-5).
I lean on St. Paul’s words because I am overwhelmed with gratitude, beyond my ability fully to articulate, for the privilege of serving as Bishop of Northern Indiana. With love and blessings I am
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
March's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
“Come, Holy Spirit!”
Millions of people around the world are mourning the death – and giving thanks for the life and ministry – of Fr. Theodore M. Hesburgh, former president of the University of Notre Dame. My own reflections are more personal than professional. We cannot help being aware, of course, of his enormous achievements: at Notre Dame, of course, and as a major Christian voice in our era. For 15 years he served as a member, and eventually chairman, of the U. S. Civil Rights Commission, and received both the Presidential Medal of Freedom and the Congressional Gold Medal in recognition of the huge impact he made throughout decades of fruitful ministry. Under his leadership, Notre Dame grew and prospered and came to occupy a central place in the nation’s academic and spiritual landscape. I am particularly grateful for his long friendship with the Diocese of Northern Indiana – a friendship that began, many years ago, with his friendship with Father (and later Bishop) William C. R. Sheridan.
It was Fr. Ted who made the Basilica of the Sacred Heart available for Bishop Sheridan’s consecration in 1972, and that tradition continued with Bishop Frank Gray’s in 1986 and my own in 2000. When Bishop Sheridan celebrated the 60th anniversary of his ordination to the priesthood in a glorious Eucharist at St. Thomas’, Plymouth, in 2003, Fr. Ted was there, and in a luncheon speech paid tribute to his friend Sherry (as the bishop was known to those closest to him). Two years later, in 2005, Fr. Ted was present for Bishop Sheridan’s Requiem Eucharist, and joined the diocese in commending his old and dear friend into the care of Jesus the Good Shepherd.
Memories flood my mind, and not necessarily in chronological order. At our Diocesan Convention in 2002, we designated Fr. Ted as an honorary canon of the Cathedral of St. James. The word “canon” means “model” or “standard,” and I can hardly think of a better standard of Christian faithfulness than Fr. Theodore M. Hesburgh. Fr. Ted preached at the Convention Eucharist that night. Even then, at the age of 84, Fr. Ted suffered from macular degeneration, and thus could not produce a written sermon text. Instead, he preached from the heart – and touched our hearts. He talked about his own prayer life, and told us that he began every day with the same simple prayer:
“Come, Holy Spirit!”
That prayer has infused my own ever since.
Later than evening, at the Convention banquet, Fr. Ted spoke briefly and lovingly about the relationship between the University of Notre Dame and the Diocese of Northern Indiana. His remarks concluded, he left the platform, walked over to the table where Bishop Sheridan was sitting, knelt down before Bishop Sheridan, and asked for his blessing.
A final word. Fr. Ted and I were, in an odd way, classmates. I graduated from the University of Southern California in 1968. At my graduation ceremony, as is standard practice, a number of dignitaries were awarded honorary doctorates. One was John Wayne. Another was . . . Fr. Theodore M. Hesburgh! (Over the course of his lifetime, 150 universities awarded Fr. Ted honorary degrees.) And so he and I received our degrees at the same time from the same school. Little did I know, as a graduating college senior in 1968, that some day Fr. Ted would touch my life so deeply and personally. I am profoundly grateful to have known this courageous priest. Christians without number, all around the world, are saying the same, and offering thanks for his ministry. Following his example, I continue to pray:
“Come, Holy Spirit!”
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
February's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
The Archbishop of Canterbury tweets.
The Most Rev. and Rt. Hon. Justin Welby recently wrote a blog (that’s short for “weblog,” an internet opinion page) in which he talked about the dangers and limitations of cyberspace. Please understand that Archbishop Justin is a regular and frequent electronic communicator. He maintains, in addition to a Twitter feed, a Facebook page (I’m his “friend”) and the aforementioned blog. I should disclose that I’m an avid Facebooker; and so, like Archbishop Justin, I recognize the positive use of electronic media. In a general way, the Archbishop’s approach reminds me of the Apostle Paul’s: “Woe to me if I do not proclaim the gospel. . . . I have become all things to all people” – including, I might add, a blogger and a tweeter – “that I might by all means save some” (1 Corinthians 9:16,22). Whatever it takes to makes Jesus known, St. Paul and the Archbishop of Canterbury will do it.
That said, Archbishop Justin is rightly cautious. In his blog, which was reprinted in the online Huffington Post, the Archbishop doesn’t de-value electronic media. Indeed, I would add that many of our parishes use these forms of communication in creative and positive ways. They help us to connect with people, often those outside the church. I’m aware of one parish that “livestreams” its Sunday Eucharist on the internet, and another which posts videos of sermons online. In a couple of congregations, sermons are “tweeted,” while others use Facebook quite effectively both for evangelism and for in-parish communication. That’s all to the good, and I’m grateful for these creative ways of presenting the gospel.
The danger comes, says Archbishop Justin, when we try to push electronic communication beyond what it does best; when we use it, for example, in times of
conflict, or when we’re dealing with complex and sensitive topics. “The subtleties we lose when we communicate electronically,” the Archbishop tells us, “have to do with expression, with touch, with the face-to-face aspect of relationship. Social media does not show tears in the eye, a hand on the arm when saying something painful, body language that speaks of inner turmoil, deep distress – even gentle respect.”
In other words, when you’re struggling with a difficult or painful topic, don’t send an e-mail. Talk face-to-face.
Archbishop Justin goes on to point to the New Testament pattern for dealing with difficult matters. “Disagreements always happen,” he says. “They always have, and always will – we only need to read the Acts of the Apostles and the letters in the New Testament to see that. But the best examples of disagreement and strain are dealt with personally. The Gospel of Matthew, chapter 18, sets out the pattern. . . . For disputes within church communities, Jesus in Matthew’s Gospel makes it quite clear that personal interaction is essential.”
So what’s the “takeaway” from Archbishop Justin’s blog? To begin with, YES to social media. It’s a good thing to make Jesus known in any and every way possible. Remember that the Archbishop’s article was itself communicated electronically. “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns’” (Isa. 52:7). But NO to social media (be it e-mail, Facebook, Twitter, blogs, texts) as a substitute for face-to-face communication. Personal engagement is at the heart of the gospel. After all, “The Word became flesh and lived among us” (John 1:14). When God the Father wanted to reach out to us, he didn’t send an e-mail. He sent his Son. And when we want to connect to one another most deeply, we look one another in the eye.
I encourage every parish in the diocese to engage in two-point strategy: first, to use electronic media actively creatively, harnessing its potential to spread abroad the good news; and second, to keep in heart and mind the importance of Christian community that can only be fostered in face-to-face encounter. My moments of greatest joy, after all, are experienced not when I’m posting on Facebook, but when I gather with brothers and sisters around the Lord’s Table and celebrate the mystery of Christ’s Body and Blood.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
December's Letter from the Bishop
Dear Brothers & Sisters,
“Behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:10-11).
Preachers are perpetually out of sync with the liturgical year. It’s in, as they say, the nature of the beast. And so, on Maundy Thursday, we’re preparing for Good Friday; on Good Friday, we’re getting ready for Easter; and while immersed in the John-the-Baptist-like message of repentance that dominates the heart of Advent, we’re casting our eyes forward, toward Christmas and the Word Made Flesh. Thus I find myself, half way through Advent, contemplating Joy.
I’ve just stumbled upon an online article from the English newspaper The Guardian, entitled “Unseen CS Lewis letter defines his notion of joy.” Apparently a “private owner” – left unnamed in the article – bought a used copy of Lewis’ The Problem of Pain in a second-hand bookstore. Several years later, this owner discovered in the pages of the book a previously unpublished, handwritten letter from C. S. Lewis to a “Mrs. Ellis,” in which Lewis talks about Joy.
“Lewis tells Ellis in this letter that ‘everything is going well,’ but goes on to explain that he does not mean ‘joy’ by this. ‘In fact, I meant by ‘things going well’ just that security – or illusion of security – which you also regard as unhealthy. Real joy seems to me almost as unlike security or prosperity as it is unlike agony,’ he writes.” Lewis adds, “[Joy] jumps under one’s ribs and tickles down one’s back and makes one forget meals and keeps one (delightedly) sleepless o’ nights. It shocks one awake when the other puts one to sleep. My private table is one second of joy is worth 12 hours of Pleasure.”
Lewis wrote these words many years before he penned his memoir Surprised by Joy, in which he deals more extensively with the place of Joy in his life. (In a bit of shameless self-promotion, I’ll add that Lewis wrote these words 65 years before the publication of my own book, Joy in Disguise [Morehouse, 2009]!) But Lewis is on to something in this 1945 letter. Joy is something more than feeling good, or being secure, or experiencing happiness. It’s deeper, more thoroughgoing. And it is Joy that the angels proclaimed to the shepherds 2,000 years ago, as they tended their flocks by night.
A shepherd’s life in ancient Judea was not easy. Shepherds faced long, sleepless nights; predators who roamed the edge of the flock, looking for a tasty morsel; hours of weary boredom suffused with an awareness of danger. It was to them that angel proclaims, “I bring you good news of great joy!” The angel doesn’t promise an easier life, or freedom from endless toil, or the elimination of danger. Rather, he points them to the newborn King and says, in effect, “There is the source of your joy.”
On one level, our lives are not merely millennia, but (so it seems) light-years removed from that of the shepherds. Imagine handing a first-century shepherd an iPad or a cell phone! And yet, like them, we face our own versions of long, sleepless nights, lurking dangers, and boredom. The angel says to us, as to the shepherds, “I bring you good news of great joy!” And the angel invites us to join the shepherds in a journey to Bethlehem, to gaze at the one for whom the ancient prophets yearned – Jesus our King; Jesus our Lord and Savior; Jesus our Joy.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
October's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
“God now calls you to a special ministry of servanthood directly under your bishop. In the name of Jesus Christ, you are to serve all people, particularly the poor, the weak, the sick, and the lonely. . . . You are to interpret to the Church the needs, concerns, and hopes of the world” (Book of Common Prayer, p. 543). These words, from the liturgy for the Ordination of a Deacon, seem especially appropriate as I offer thanks for the ministry of the Ven. George Douglass, who has served as Archdeacon of the diocese for six years. (Archdeacons are traditionally styled “the Venerable.” Only Anglicans can come up with such grand titles!) Deacon George is now completing his term in that ministry, and I am profoundly grateful for the way that he has lived out his diaconal vows – not only in his parish and community, but also among his fellow deacons.
All Christians are called to a ministry of servanthood. This is not the special reserve of deacons! The “poor, the weak, the sick, and the lonely” are the concern of every Christian. Yet deacons are set apart as models and mentors. They’re meant to show us what servanthood looks like, and to prod us into action.
That’s what Deacon George has done for six years. His ministry is multi-faceted. He is assigned as deacon at St. Mark’s, Howe, where he and Nancy have worshipped for many years. In addition, he has had a series of roles at Howe Military Academy (his alma mater!), and for three years has served as the school’s superintendent at an important time of transition. In addition, he has assisted Fr. Ted Neidlinger with the Formation Group, an essential part of our diocesan educational program for locally trained deacons and priests. Deacon George has helped our newest clergy to make the connection between the church and the world; to see what it means for Christians to be a force for the Kingdom of God; to offer practical skills for ministry. In addition, Deacon George has convened his fellow deacons twice yearly for a day of teaching, encouragement, and fellowship, a reminder that none of us is called to serve alone, but always in community. And in addition to all of this, Deacon George is a chaplain to the Lagrange County Sherriff’s Department – ministering not only to deputies, but also to people in crisis. Not uncommonly, he accompanies deputies when they have to notify a family of the death of a loved one. Deacons place one foot in the church and one foot in the world, and Deacon George has modeled this in a superb way.
So this note is my word of deep appreciation for his ministry as Archdeacon – and deep appreciation as well for his ongoing ministry: although he is stepping down from his archdiaconal role, he will continue in the remainder of his multi-faceted and multi-point ministries.
The Catechism of the Book of Common Prayer reminds us that all Christians have a “deacon-like” ministry. We are all servants of Jesus (with deacons as our visual aids). Jesus invites all of us to make ourselves available to him, in our workplaces and neighborhoods and schools. And so lay persons, says the Catechism, are “to represent Christ and his Church; to bear witness to him wherever they may be; and, according to the gifts given them, to carry on Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world; and to take their place in the life, worship, and governance of the Church” (p. 855). May Jesus give us servant hearts and servant hands.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
September's Letter from the Bishop
Dear Brothers & Sisters,
A couple of years ago I received a Facebook “friend” request from William, an Anglican Christian living in Peshawar, Pakistan. He was an active parishioner at All Saints Church and a school principal. Over the next few months, he and I got to know bits and pieces about each other as we read Facebook posts and exchanged the occasional “like”. He was, I learned, a man of deep faith, committed to the Lord, to the church, and to his students.
I say “was,” because on September 22, 2013, two suicide bombers blew themselves up during the coffee hour following the liturgy at All Saints Church. 127 people were killed, among them my Facebook friend William.
It has become commonplace for Christians to recognize that we live in the age of the martyrs. Christians are dying for their faith in unprecedented numbers. In Mosul, Iraq, ISIS gave Christians a grim choice: convert to Islam; pay a special tax; leave; or die. Hundreds of thousands have fled. Countless Christians (and other religious minorities) have died. The vicar of St. George’s Anglican Church in Baghdad, Canon Andrew White, tells a heartbreaking story about the death of a child he had baptized, a child murdered by ISIS. “I’m almost in tears,” he writes, “because I’ve just had somebody in my room whose little child was cut in half. I baptized his child in my church in Baghdad. This little boy, they named him after me – he was called Andrew.” In our own day, Christians are dying because they believe in Jesus. Martyrdom is neither theoretical nor a thing of the distant past. My friend William’s story, and young Andrew’s, is being repeated all over the world.
In the face of these monstrous events, what can we do? On one level, nothing. While our government – and many others – debate how to respond to ISIS and other groups that perpetrate atrocities, how and whether to intervene, we daily watch images on television of evil spinning out of control. We can be overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness. On another level, however, it’s essential that we call to mind our primary “weapon”: prayer. After reminding his friends in Ephesus that “our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this present darkness,” he goes on to urge them to don spiritual armor, and then adds: “Pray in the Spirit at all times in every prayer and supplication. To that end, keep alert and always persevere in supplication for all the saints” (Eph. 6:12,18). It is no small matter when the Body of Christ mobilizes in prayer. I encourage every parish in the Diocese of Northern Indiana to include prayer for those under persecution in the Prayers of the People. Hold our brothers and sisters in your hearts. Offer them to Jesus. And remember, too, that painful word of Jesus himself: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matt. 5:44). We pray for the victims, for protection and peace; we pray for the victimizers and place them in God’s hands.
Consider, too, the possibility of a donation to ministries that support persecuted Christians. One organization, recommended on the website of the Anglican Communion, is the Foundation for Relief and Reconciliation in the Middle East (you can find information at http://frrme.org; they also have a Facebook page with regular updates). The Foundation specifically supports the ministry of Canon Andrew White in Baghdad as he most heroically works with the suffering Christian community in that troubled part of the world; it’s website contains much valuable (and tragic) information. Even a small contribution to this or another ministry that supports persecuted Christians is a sign that, in Christ, we are one body, bound indissolubly together. “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it” (1 Cor. 12:26-27).
With all blessings –
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
July's Letter from the Bishop
Dear Brothers and Sisters,
As many of you know, I recently returned from a trip to Israel and the West Bank. The journey was partly “political” and included conversations with people on both sides of the tragic conflict that has engulfed that part of the world for decades. But it was also, once those conversations were done, a pilgrimage: an opportunity to hang around Jerusalem for six days and to pray at length in the holy places where key events of our faith occurred – the Pool of Bethesda (where Jesus healed the paralyzed man in John 5), Gethsemane, the Mount of Olives, the Cenacle (site of the Last Supper), the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (build over the place where Jesus died on the cross and, on Sunday, rose from the dead). I will always be grateful for the privilege of enjoying those leisurely and extended days, and in particular of praying for the Diocese of Northern Indiana and my beloved brothers and sisters with whom I share life and ministry.
The trip included a surprising highlight, one that I hadn’t anticipated. I managed to navigate the Jerusalem Light Rail. This may seem like a small matter, but for me it was a Really Big Deal. The rail system, a relatively recent addition to the city’s transportation network, stretches from one side of Jerusalem to the other. Whenever I’ve been in the city, I have looked longingly at its modern and fast-moving trains, and wondered what it would be like to use them. Finally, on the last day of my trip, I worked up my courage. I’d decided to take a trip out to Mt. Herzl in West Jerusalem, and realized that the light rail line took me directly there from a spot near my hotel. But the whole thing seemed . . . well, rather daunting. Israel is a tri-lingual country (Hebrew, Arabic, and English). Mass transit systems are geared to “locals,” people who know the territory and don’t need complicated directions – for commuters, not tourists. Could I manage to get to Mt. Herzl and back without disaster?
I found myself thinking about a little-known hymn in the Hymnal 1982. W. H. Auden, 20th Century Anglican poet, wrote the words, though (I must admit) the tunes provided in the hymnal are distressingly difficult, and thus the hymn is rarely sung. Here is the first stanza:
He is the Way.
Follow him through the Land of Unlikeness;
you will see rare beasts
and have unique adventures.
Auden is talking about discipleship, following Jesus in unfamiliar places, the “Land of Unlikeness”. True, there are no “rare beasts” on the Jerusalem Light Rail, and the adventures are relatively low-key: figuring out how to buy tickets on a machine whose instructions are in Hebrew (finally I discovered a button that translated the Hebrew into English, but the button was itself identified in Hebrew); listening to fast-paced announcements in three languages; holding onto a pole in the rail car as more and more commuters jammed in; trying to keep track of the stops, counting one by one, so that I’d know where to get off. There’s something faintly disturbing about navigating a light rail system – which reminded me that there’s something more-than-faintly disturbing about following Jesus. He takes us to places we don’t expect. He puts us at risk. “[Jesus and the disciples] were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them; they were amazed, and those who followed were afraid” (Mark 10:32). That was the experience of the first disciples and, in our own small our way, our own experience.
And so the “take away” of my journey on the Jerusalem Light Rail is this: What is Jesus asking us to navigate? What new adventures? To whom is he sending us? Who are the people he is bringing into our lives? There is something about uncharted territory (whether literal or spiritual) that at once unsettles and challenges us. Whatever our own equivalent of an unfamiliar transit system, may we dare to get on – and see where Jesus leads us.
With blessings for a refreshing and renewing summer –
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
May's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
Recently I received a note from Lorrie Morris, a member of St. Andrew’s, Valparaiso, posing an interesting – and apt – question: “What books should every Episcopalian read?” I’ve been pondering my own reading, thinking about what has enriched and challenged and informed me over the years; what has helped me to grow in faith; what has empowered me to be a more effective disciple of Jesus Christ.
Any list that I might produce will be, almost by definition, idiosyncratic. Reading tastes vary. Some people tend toward the “literary,” others look for something more practical and results-oriented. Some prefer straight theology. Others look for writing that is more creative, anecdotal, filled with narrative. The following list reflects my own peculiarities. It is also, in essence, “archeological,” reflecting the books that over the decades have most influenced me. With that caveat in mind, here goes:
It goes without saying (but nonetheless I should say it) that our primary text is the Bible. For Christians in the Anglican tradition, the Bible is paired with the Book of Common Prayer, which helps us to pray the Scriptures. Lex orandi lex credendi is an Anglican motto. Literally it means, “The law of praying is the law of believing,” but could be paraphrased as saying: “You can tell what people believe by listening to the content of their prayers.”
What else?
The first book I read as a new Christian was Your God Is Too Small, by J. B. Phillips, and Anglican priest who is best known for his paraphrase of the New Testament. This book does two things. It looks at “inadequate” conceptions of God; and then it shows us how Jesus is God “focused” into a human being who walked on our planet.
I would recommend the entire “canon” of C. S. Lewis’ writings – his books include children’s literature, science fiction, theology, essays, fantasy, and literary history. But if pressed to choose one book, I’d suggest Mere Christianity. This book has its origins as a series of broadcast talks that Lewis gave during World War II. It covers topics as varied as clues to the existence of God, the Trinity, and Christian behavior.
John Stott is another favorite of mine. He was an evangelical Anglican priest, long-time vicar of All Souls, Langham Place, in London, and a writer of great power. He had the gift of expounding the Bible in a way that is engaging and informative. Like Lewis, he is the author of dozens of books. But for the purposes of this list I’ll recommend two: Basic Christianity (a helpful exposition of the person and work of Jesus Christ) and The Cross of Christ (which points to the many ways that the Bible describes the saving work of Jesus).
Michael Ramsey, the 100th Archbishop of Canterbury, was a scholar as well as a pastor. I had the privilege of hearing him speak in the mid-1970s at a conference at Grace Cathedral, San Francisco. I highly recommend three of his books: The Anglican Spirit (which captures something of the unique giftedness of the Anglican expression of the Christian faith); The Gospel and the Catholic Church (a book on ecclesiology – the place of the church in God’s plan); and – especially for clergy – The Christian Priest Today (taken from ordination retreats that Archbishop Michael gave during his time in Canterbury).
Finally, at least for the purposes of this list, there’s N. T. Wright, the former Bishop of Durham who is now teaching at St. Andrew’s University in Scotland. Bishop Tom Wright is perhaps the most prolific writer on the New Testament in our era, and deeply respect around the world. Some of his books are long and dense, but here are two that are approachable and powerful: Surprised by Hope (on the New Testament teaching concerning eternal life) and Simply Jesus (Bishop Tom’s equivalent, for the 21st Century, of Mere Christianity, a winsome presentation of the basics of Christian belief).
So many books, so little time! At some point in the future, I’ll expand on this list. Meanwhile, many thanks to Lorrie for her question!
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
April's Letter from the Bishop
Dear Brothers & Sisters,
Perhaps the best modern retelling of the story of Jesus’ death and resurrection is found in C. S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. You probably know the basics. The White Witch has, apparently, successfully negotiated with Aslan, the great Lion who is the true King of Narnia. Aslan will “stand in” for the traitor Edmund, die in Edmund’s place. He lies shaved and bound on the Stone Table while the Witch taunts him: “And how, who has won? Fool, did you think that by all this you would save the human traitor? Now I will kill you instead of him as our pact was and so the Deep Magic will be appeased. But when you are dead what will prevent me from killing him as well? And who will take him out of my hand then? Understand that you have given me Narnia forever, you have lost your own life and you have not saved his. In that knowledge, despair and die.” And with that, Aslan is slain.
The Witch’s taunt reminds me of the religious leaders who looked up at the crucified Christ and mocked him. “He saved others; let him save himself if he is the Messiah of God, his chosen one!” (Luke 23:35). Jesus, despair and die.
But death does not get the last word. The Stone Table cracks apart, and Aslan rises. Two children from our world, Susan and Lucy, had witnessed Aslan’s final moments, and now they encounter him – alive, filled with joy. “’Oh, you’re real, you’re real! Oh, Aslan!’ cried Lucy and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses. ‘But what does it all mean?’ asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer. ‘It means,’ said Aslan, ‘that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of Time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards.”’”
Years after Jesus’ resurrection, St. John the Divine – now in exile on the prison island of Patmos – reports a vision of the Risen Lord. Jesus tells him, “I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive forever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and Hades” (Revelation 1:17-18). Death itself is working backwards. The One who died in our stead now lives forever, and invites us to share in his victory over death.
I write this on the cusp on Holy Week and Easter, the story that stands at the heart of the Christian faith. The Book of Common Prayer outlines a wonderfully rich re-telling of the story, from Palm Sunday to the Triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Great Vigil of Easter to the Great Fifty Days in which we bask in the glow of the resurrection. Our role is akin to Susan and Lucy’s. Like them, we are awestruck witnesses of the events around which all history from the dawn of time revolve, grateful recipients of the gift of new life.
May your celebration of the holiest week of the year draw you more deeply into the heart of Jesus himself!
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
March's Letter from the Bishop
Forty days and forty nights
thou wast fasting in the wild;
forty days and forty nights
tempted, and yet undefiled.
That Lenten hymn came to life for me about a year ago during our diocesan pilgrimage to Israel. Our bus was driving west from the Dead Sea, on a route that would take us to Beersheba (associated with the Patriarch Abraham) and then up to Jerusalem. As our bus climbed the hills that rise from the Dead Sea, I noticed how bleak the landscape is: dry, barren, lifeless, and frankly unattractive. No one in his right mind would live there. Suddenly, off to the right side of the bus, a line of camels and their Bedouin masters made their way up the hill, parallel to the road. It occurred to me that nothing much has changed in two millennia. People then, and now, eke out a living in the wilderness. Somehow, in that stark and waterless place, Jesus himself encountered the forces of darkness – and the Power to resist evil. It was here, or somewhere very nearby, that Jesus for forty days and forty nights was “tempted, and yet undefiled.”
As the Lenten season begins, Jesus invites us to join him in the wilderness. While we live far from the desert, we can create (so to speak) a desert in our hearts, a place to face down evil and seek the Power of transformation. The Ash Wednesday liturgy is wonderfully specific. “I invite you, therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word” (BCP, p. 265). There’s a refreshing directness in the Prayer Book’s prescription for Lent. Carve out for yourself the time and the place – the desert – where you can gaze into your heart and ask the difficult questions that the Litany of Penitence poses (BCP, pp. 267-268). That litany, in fact, that be an outline for self-examination. Where, Lord, have I gone wrong? How have relationships soured? In what ways have I excluded you from my life, denied the Lordship of Jesus, gone my own way? Where do I need you to shine your painfully searching light?
The Lenten desert is also a place to pray. It’s quiet there. Can we find a place of quiet in our lives? It can be a few minutes in the morning, or at the end of the day, or when we’re walking. (Sometimes, to create quiet in the midst of noise and chaos, I put on earphones, connect them to my iPhone, and turn on a “white noise” app!) Lent wisely reminds us that our experience of prayer is enhanced in the disciplines of fasting and self-denial; when we say No to an appetite, it’s a reminder that we are utterly dependent upon God. Here’s a quote from the late Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen, a beloved media figure in the 1950s and -60s: “The Church fasts; the world diets. Materially there is no difference, for a person can lose twenty pounds one way as well as the other. But the difference is in the intention.” Yes, we can certainly (and rightly) deny ourselves for the sake of physical health. Given the Law of Nature – “Where The Bishop Is, There Will Be Food” – this is a reality in my own life! But fasting takes things deeper. We step back from an appetite for a time in order to turn our attention to God.
Re-directing our attention includes, the Prayer Book reminds us, “reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.” Many of you are already doing so in a significant way through the Bible Challenge. Even if you are not, Lent opens a door. Perhaps you might read the Daily Office readings appointed during the Lenten season (BCP, pp. 951-977; we’re in Year Two). However large or small the chunks of scripture you read, you can’t lose. The Lord can touch your heart in long readings or short ones. Remember that in the desert, as Jesus wrestled with evil, he called upon scripture as he faced down temptation (Matthew 4:1-11). The Bible had been planted in his heart. May it be planted in ours!
For forty days and forty nights, Jesus fasted and prayed in the wilderness. The desert’s bleak landscape was transformed into a place of struggle – and triumph. May our time in the desert lead us more deeply into the heart of Jesus.
Yours in Christ,
February's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
Glorify the Lord, O chill and cold,
drops of dew and flakes of snow.
Frost and cold, ice and sleet, glorify the Lord,
praise him and highly exalt him forever.
- Canticle 12 (BCP, p. 88)
Rarely has a Prayer Book text seem more apt! I have never before devoted one of my monthly letters to the weather; but then, I have never before experienced a winter quite like this one. Northern Indiana veterans tell me that the winter of 1978 by far exceeded this winter in sheer overwhelming ferocity. That may well be so. But as a relative newcomer, a mere 14 years, I’m still coming to terms with the daily grind that Mother Nature (or Old Man Winter) has set in our path. We can all, I imagine, tell stories about the demands that winter has placed before us . . . snow blowers perpetually fired up, dogs shivering in the cold as we take them for brisk (and hopefully brief) walks, travel plans cancelled and re-cancelled. In South Bend the city has twice banned all but emergency vehicles from the streets and threatened $2,500 fines for those who violate the prohibition. I’ve had two Sunday visitations scrubbed because the long-distance driving simply wasn’t safe.
So the Prayer Book text indeed seems apt – apt, and also ironic. How can “chill and cold . . frost and cold, ice and sleet” actually glorify the Lord?
The Bible makes a surprising claim about the natural order, about the landscape and the weather and the cosmic and seismic phenomena that we must inescapably confront: that the natural order reveals something about God’s character. Thus the psalmist can say, “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament shows his handiwork” (Ps. 19:1). The many-splendored lights in the sky point beyond themselves to the Creator. So does the earth and its wonders: “I lift up my eyes to the hills; from where is my help to come?” (Psalm 121:1). Gazing at the mountains, the Psalmist ponders the One who made them. The Apostle Paul himself makes a connection between nature and God’s self-revelation. “What can be known about God is plain to [the Gentiles], because God has shown it to them. For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made” (Romans 1:19-20a).
Nature is not fool-proof, however, as a source of God’s revelation. The prophet Elijah – fleeing from his enemy, King Ahab – stands on Mount Sinai and experiences a dizzying variety of natural phenomena. “A great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in a cloak” (1 Kings 19:11b-13a). Sometimes nature speaks to us in God’s voice, the Bible tells us – but sometimes not. Most profoundly we experience God’s presence in Jesus, the Word Made Flesh. “For the God who said, ‘Let light sine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6).
Then what of winter’s fierce onslaught? Is God speaking in “chill and cold . . . frost and cold, ice and sleet”? I must be careful not ascribe too much to the Polar Vortex. But in any case, I’ve learned some valuable spiritual lessons. Nature is uncontrollable, a reminder that God himself cannot be tamed. (Aslan, Mr. Beaver tells Peter, Lucy, and Susan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, is not a safe lion; but he’s good.) Nature too reminds us that God is a God of surprises. He intervenes in our lives when we least expect him, helps us to see our utter dependence upon grace. Winter, in fact, has been filled with grace – like the time a few weeks ago when a neighbor, without my asking, cleared my driveway of snow. “Why did you do it?” I asked him. He shrugged and said that he had a “hunch” that I needed the help. Where did the hunch come from?
Even in the bleak midwinter, when earth is “hard as iron, water like a stone,” when “snow [has] fallen snow on snow, snow on snow” (Hymn 112), we catch glimmers of the all-powerful God who loves us with love beyond our imagining.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
Christmas Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
All my heart this night rejoices
As I hear, far and near, sweetest angel voices.
“Christ is born,” their choirs are singing,
Till the air everywhere now with joy is ringing.
Paulus Gerhardt’s hymn – written in 1656, and still found in older hymnals – captures something of the joy of Christmastide. Our own praises at the Christmas Eucharist join the praises of the heavenly chorus as we sing of the Word Made Flesh. God’s greatest gift is to be born among us. Gazing into the manger, we behold the Master of the Universe, now enfleshed, a tiny, helpless child.
Hark! A voice from yonder manger
Soft and sweet, doth entreat, “Flee from woe and danger!
Brethren come! From all doth grieve you,
You are freed; all you need I will surely give you.”
On Christmas Jesus invites us to bring ourselves – our hopes and fears, our successes and failures – to the One who will experience all of life with us: its tragedies and triumphs, its yearnings and its betrayals, a life that encompassed death, a death that led to Life.
Come, then, let us hasten yonder!
Here let all, great and small, kneel in awe and wonder!
Love him who with love is yearning!
Hail the star that from far bright with hope is burning.
Perhaps it is kneeling in silence before the manger, contemplating the divine humility that would visit us in such a surprising and unexpected way, that we most profoundly experience the meaning of Christmas. Simply gaze at Jesus. “Lord, you came here – for me.”
Thee, dear Lord, with heed I’ll cherish;
Live to thee faithfully: Dying, never perish;
But abide in life eternal
Where with thee I shall be filled with joy supernal.
We begin and end with joy. It is not surprising that so many of our Christmas carols use the word or some variation. “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” “Good Christian friends, rejoice!” “Joyful, all ye nations rise, join the triumph of the skies!” “God rest you merry, Gentlemen!” May your Christmas celebration be filled with joy unceasing, joy beyond words, joy that draws you into the very heart of Jesus.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
December's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
“Read it again, Daddy!” my son would demand. And so, once again, we’d make our way through Green Eggs and Ham or The Cat in the Hat or (let’s be pre-seasonal) How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It’s been well more than three decades since I read and re-read and re-re-read those books, but the words are emblazoned in my mind. “I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them, Sam-I-Am. . . . I do not like them in a box. I do not like them with a fox. I do not like them in a house. I do not like them with a mouse. . . “ Over and over and over. Words have the power to become part of our inner life, accessed at any time and in the most surprising ways. If you begin reciting a Dr. Seuss book in my presence, I’m likely to chime in. I won’t be able to help myself.
All of which, I suppose, seems a long way from the Bible Challenge, but it really isn’t. Many of you joined me in reading the Bible cover to cover, Genesis to Revelation, in 2013. But now here’s a secret. Well, not a secret: I’ve been up front about this from the very beginning. The Bible Challenge is not a one-time event – as though, next year, we’ll move on to some other great peace of literature, perhaps War and Peace or the Iliad and the Odyssey. No, the Bible Challenge in 2013 is only the start of a life-long project. My intention, as we enter the new year, is to begin all over again, with Genesis 1 and God’s first recorded words: “Let there be light.” I invite you to join me for Bible Challenge II.
The goal, of course, is to internalize the Story, to take it into our hearts and make it our own. That can only happen when you read and re-read and re-re-read, an ongoing journey rather than a single intense immersion. In other words, Bible reading is a project that we never complete. There’s never a time when we can “check it off” and move on. Like the Christian Year, we continually start afresh – and, like our experience with the Christian Year, we are often surprised by new insights, elements of the Story that we’d missed, passages that we skimmed last time around and this year grab our attention and demand our obedience.
Again we’re sending to each parish copies of the Bible Challenge reading list, a systematic way of approaching the Scriptures. You can also sign up for a Diocese of Northern Indiana Facebook page, and for weekly Bible Challenge e-mailings (http://ednin.org/bible-challenge/). The reading list is based on a pattern of three chapters of the Old Testament, a psalm, and one chapter of the New Testament each day. (The pattern actually slows down toward the end of the year, with shorter daily readings.) If the entire Bible is too big a chunk for you in 2014, you could simply do the New Testament readings. If you read the Bible in 2013, you might consider a different translation, or a version with study notes. Whatever pattern you choose, you can’t lose! Forming a habit of daily Bible reading will help you, in time, to make the Story your own.
“Read it again, Daddy!” – and eventually, over time, I hardly knew when I was reading and when I was reciting from memory, the words had so burned themselves into my mind. Will we ever get to that point with the Bible? It is, admittedly, a much more complex book than anything written by Dr. Seuss! But we should never underestimate the Bible’s power to get into our bones, so to speak, and change our lives. Nor can anything replace the day-in, day-out reading of the Bible as a way to deepen our faith, strengthen our walk with Jesus, and challenge us faithfully to follow where he leads. May Bible Challenge II draw us ever near to the heart of our Lord himself.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed
November's Letter from the Bishop
Dear brothers and sisters,
It doesn’t speak well of me (or maybe it does?) that I especially enjoy murder mysteries – the more puzzling and gruesome, the better. Oh yes, I do a good deal of conventional reading as well: theology (my vocation) and history (my avocation) in particular; but left to my own devices, I’m happy to curl up with a brain-teasing, criminally fueled mystery. So it’s been a special joy to discover a number of home grown mystery writers in the Diocese of Northern Indiana. They’ve enhanced and deepened my appreciation of the genre!
Jeanne Dams, a member of St. Paul’s, Mishawaka, has written a series of mysteries featuring Dorothy Martin, an American married to a retired British chief constable; the most recent in the series: Murder at the Castle. Ruth Foster from St. Andrew’s, Valparaiso, writes mysteries set in late 14th Century England and starring a delightful – and insightful – noblewoman named Lady Apollonia (Ruth’s “pen name” is Ellen Foster); the first installment is entitled Effigy of the Cloven Hoof. Thom Satterlee, a member of Gethsemane, Marion, recently published The Stages; his detective is an American living in Copenhagen, and the mystery centers on the writings of Soren Kierkargaard. Not precisely in the mystery genre, but appropriate for inclusion in this list, is Fr. John Houghton, a priest of our diocese who teaches at The Hill School near Philadelphia, who has written a “supernatural thriller” titled Rough Magicke, set in a fictitious Diocese of Michigan City. While the purpose of this letter is not to sell books, I’m delighted to add that all four authors can be found at online sites such as Amazon.
Why mysteries? Many of you, I suspect, are also drawn to this genre of literature – and rightly so! Mysteries are more than a “guilty pleasure”. They parallel in surprising ways God’s unveiling of his purposes and his nature. The New Testament regularly uses the word “mystery” to refer to God’s self-revelation. “Think of us in this way,” St. Paul tells his friends in Corinth, “as servants of Christ and stewards of God’s mysteries” (1 Corinthians 4:1). To the Christians in Ephesus he adds: “With all wisdom and insight, he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ” (Ephesians 1:8b-9). Slowly, over time, God has been revealing himself: to our spiritual ancestors, the Jews, during nearly two millennia of Old Testament history; to the confused and often dense band of disciples who followed Jesus around Galilee and ultimately to Jerusalem; to those who witnessed the death and the resurrection of Jesus; “and last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me,” St. Paul says (1 Corinthians 15:8). The faith was not revealed suddenly, in one lump sum, but piecemeal, bit by bit, as God’s plan became more and more clear.
It is no surprise that the celebrant says: “Let us proclaim the mystery of faith” (BCP, p. 362). Nor is it a surprise that the Easter Vigil reminds us: “Through the Paschal mystery, dear friends, we are buried with Christ by Baptism into his death, and raised with him to newness of life” (BCP, p. 292). As followers of Jesus, we are immersed in mystery. God has revealed his heart to us in Jesus. He has revealed himself in scripture; in the sacraments; in the ongoing life of the church; indeed, in the eyes of the poorest of the poor. Our life is one of unveiling mystery. “All of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18).
And so mysteries offer us a glimpse into God’s methodology. Truth is discerned – though often slowly, piece by piece. A pattern emerges and suddenly, surprisingly, we grasp what was formerly hidden from us. Bits of evidence that had seemed random and unrelated come together as a coherent whole. “Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us” (BCP, p. 372). The scales fall off and, like St. Paul, we see (Acts 9:18). In an odd (and probably imprecise) sort of way, we are detectives – with this difference: the object of our search is not the bad buy, but the Good Guy par excellence; and the object of our search is not seeking to evade us, but rather yearns for us to discover him, know him, love him, and follow him.
Yours in Christ,
+Ed