(me)defining Anglimergent identity: An Anglimergent Fundamentalist?!

[Tim Mathis]

No, not really. I did however want to throw out a few of my thoughts in the theology section here about what seem to me to be the fundamental elements of Anglimergent identity at this juncture in history. Let me know what you think.

1) First off, we're liturgical/sacramental in orientation, and we affirm the three legged stool of Scripture, tradition and reason. By liturgical/sacramental, I don't just mean that we like structure and wine (who doesn't?), but that we affirm the underlying importance of the physical. That is, to use Alister McGrath's term, we believe in the 'Enchantment' of the world, that God is present around us, in what we do and how we act, and in the physical Eucharist that we eat on Sundays. By 'affirm the three legged stool', I mean that in some form or another, we believe that those are the proper and primary sources for the developing Anglimergent belief and practice--wherever that might take us.

2) In the same vein, we're Nicene Creed-centric rather than Bible or "gospel"-centric. Some of the evangelical wings of the emerging church conversation tend to find their unity in Scripture, while we find it in our common affirmation of the creed. (And our common dis-affirmation of the band Creed).

3) Like other elements of the emerging conversation, we are self-consciously post-modern when it comes to our epistemology. That is, we like to say "I don't know" a lot, because we've realized that we actually don't, and ultimately can't. We're part of a bigger dialogue with reality, and we never finally come to an absolute final 'answer' to any of our questions--particularly religious ones. Like Michael Polanyi and John Polkinghorne, I like to identify this approach as "Critically Realist" rather than "relativist", because it's not that we don't believe that ultimate reality exists--we do, and we call it God--but we just are realistic about the fact that we can't totally grasp it. "I still haven't found what I'm looking for...but yes I'm still running..."

4) Along the same lines, we're conversational in orientation. We don't fully trust dogma, so we try to network with other people with other opinions in the attempt to move closer to the truth. Tied to this, we call ourselves 'conversational' because we don't want to be labeled as a 'movement' or 'trend', although if you think about the definitions of those terms, that's what we are. I don't know what's so bad about that...

5) We're closet Anglophiles with secret crushes on Bono. Just thought I'd throw that in. But seriously, we do embrace the old (i.e., England) and the new (i.e. U23D) --hence we tend to identify as the 'new monastics', the 'new friars', and so forth.

6) We're trans-institutional, and communitarian. I don't like the term post-institutional, because I think that's a little bit over dramatic. We are, however, happy to cross institutional boundaries and disregard institutional requirements when we find it to be expedient. That's because we believe in the concept of the priesthood of all believers, and have a catholic spirit about the unity of the body of Christ. We're CANA, ECUSA, COE, non-denominational, etc. etc.

7) We have an ethical/missional/kingdom of God orientation rather than an 'evangelism' orientation. This is almost a cliche at this point, but it's true. We're trying to impact our communities in a way that is different from an Evangelical evangelistic model. We believe in building the Kingdom of God, loving our neighbors, and generally not being assholes (we also curse self-consciously as our petty little stand against traditional religious authority). We think the Christian message is important, but believe that it is integrally connected to a Christian way of acting. Orthodoxy and Orthopraxy aren't mutually exclusive.

[Mike Croghan]

Hmm. Good points, Sara, and well-taken. On the other hand, the Church is a real thing (i.e., a real collection of people through history), and there's quite a bit of tradition behind referring to it as the Body of Christ. I, for one, would not be eager to give up that language.

However, I'd be very open to re-thinking what is meant by "the Church". I certainly don't think that "the Church" equates to "the people blessed and loved by God" (that's everybody) or "the people doing the work of God" (that includes lots and lots of people who aren't consciously following Jesus). I'd maybe define "the Church" more like, "the set of people throughout history who intentionally participate in the mission of God as followers of Jesus Christ".

I think that set of people is a real thing, and I would personally be comfortable referring to that set of people using the traditional descriptor "Body of Christ". I think it's useful to think about and talk about that set of people as a unit sometimes (despite the inherent boundary-drawing involved in that practice) in part because there are important teachings of Jesus that he specifically addressed to that set of people (i.e., his followers). Examples include the Great Commission (Matthew 28) and the New Commandment (John 13:34-35).

[Aaron]

I think this is great conversation, and here’s my two cents. I’ll admit I’m a flip-flopper on this issue of creedalism, but here’s where some of the tension is for me. I think there are compelling arguments on both sides.

Part of my problem with creedalism (in particular, the Nicene Creed in Episcopal use) is that there is a strange tension in the Anglican communion we claim, on one hand, that we don’t embrace a dogmatic theology but, on the other, in the center of our service we recite a creed which is, itself, a theological statement drawing lines of orthodoxy. I’m not a historian by any means, but I’m fairly confident that the phrase “eternally begotten of the Father…begotten, not made, of one Being with the Father” is a product of the “Arian controversy” over the issue of the "homoousian" statement. Basically, it was intended to make the belief that God/Jesus/The Holy Spirit were all eternally of the same “substance” (i.e. begotten, not made) orthodox and the Arian position (that Jesus was adopted into God’s divinity later) heretical. I realize many folks might not understand the deep history embedded in the statement, but no matter which way you slice it, it is intentionally drawing lines of theological orthodoxy and heresy.

In addition, as much as we (I include myself in this) Anglicans claim the creeds are our link to the “body of Christ” (i.e. across both time and space), I’m not sure they actually are. To my knowledge, most contemporary Christians don’t use the Nicene Creed in their services or could even distinguish the Nicene Creed from the Apostles from any other number of historical creeds. (My Baptist friends bristle at the fact that I can’t recite any piece of the biblical text, but know the prayer book by heart.) But, historically, because it was not a statement of affirmation, but of isolation we can’t claim it actually represents the totality of theological belief with any sort of accuracy. Even though we may really want to believe this is our profound remaining link to the ‘body of Christ,’ its kind of a small island on which we sit. I would gather the closest piece of textual solidarity we have is probably the Bible (or at least, particular books of the Bible).

And then of course there are the issues of gendered & monarchical language, which I won’t get into.

Of course there is another side of the issue. This is the issue of whether or not it is important to have and voice a communal statement of faith, knowing that statement will inevitably isolate people within the community.

Truth be told, my Anglican identity leads me to argue rigorously for including communal statements as part of the liturgy (whether the Nicene Creed is the best one is another question entirely). I think some of the profundity of the Anglican Communion is just that: it is a communion. While protestants all over the country are “discovering” intentional communities, we’ve been home-growing them for quite a while, in large part because we find strength in our ability to shed the hyper-individualism embedded in American (and most protestant) culture and put our faith in the communion. Part of that communalism, I think, requires participation in many forms of solidarity – worship, working for social justice, and potentially even statements voicing our commitment to solidarity. I have a blog post about this titled “anglicanism and emergence” (March 1,2008) which explains my take in more detail.

At the end of the day, I personally think creedalism is an important piece of Anglican identity (though it is not the linchpin of Anglican identity). Yet I also think a creed should be more of a vision statement than a mission statement. In other words, not stating where we stand apart from everyone else, but where we believe God wants us to be.

[Paul Fromberg]

Aaron,

What does "Anglican Identity" mean? Is it political identity? Does it depend on a set of beliefs that one ascribes to? Is it about action? Is it what PLU's do?

Questioningly - Paul

[Aaron]

Paul,

I suppose by saying “my Anglican identity” (intended to say “my” all three times I employed the term, rather than just the first time) I just meant the constituent elements of my personal faith that call me to membership of the Episcopal Church rather than, say, the Baptist church or the Jewish faith or no faith at all. This is different for everybody. Some people like the creedalism, some like the hymnal, some like the history, and some just like it all. In terms of that last post, for me, creedalism is part of what draws me to the Episcopal church, but its neither the only thing, nor the most important thing. I typically find out what these core components of my own faith are when I am in deep dialogue with my friends of different (or no) faith traditions. In terms of a political identity, I suppose in many ways my spiritual identity and my political identity do overlap, too. In other words, I personally find it difficult to claim myself a Christian without action for social justice. But for others this is very different, and they might separate completely political action from religious action. In terms of a set of beliefs one ascribes to, this isn’t what I mean at all. As we continue to know each other, I'm sure you’ll find that it’s easier to describe my faith-paradigm as relativist and agnostic leaning rather than doctrinal. In other words, I find most of us (including myself) are so filled with contradiction and tension and question that trying to draw a line around "right belief" (in other words, to assume we have access to "right belief") is problematic at best. You’ll have to excuse me for not knowing what PLUs are, or I would speak to them. Hope that helps. Cheers –

Aaron

[Paul Fromberg]

Sorry... PLU's = "People Like Us".

[Paul Fromberg]

Tim,

I'd take your comment a step further, and say that it's NOT the prayer book - it's the liturgy, stupid.

The liturgy (by which I mean a gathering where people eat bread and wine and say "Hey, I'm eating God!") is the thing which binds us together IMHO. Regardless of style (emergent, anglo-catholic, evangelical) it is an action which humans all over the planet do, oftentimes regardless of their religious affiliation. The creed stands out in the liturgy as a clear boundary marker - "This is the way it is and if you don't agree, then you do not belong." (I'm holding back from using one of my favorite folksy aphorisms in reference to the creed in liturgy: "it's like a turd in the punchbowl"--- oops, I said it.)

To the issue of saying it and not meaning it, or saying it and meaning something else, that creates a huge problem for me. It's like security lines at airports. We are terrorized by uniformed guards into acting in an orderly and unified way as we unpack our laptops, take off our shoes, go through the metal detector. And the whole time it is a charade; it's political theater. But we all do it, even though we sense deep down that the real threat to liberty is not through terrorists sneaking bombs on planes, but through the very insistence that we all march in the same direction, without jokes please. The creed, said while your fingers are crossed ("these are not the droids you're looking for") or while a nervous giggle crosses the congregation ("honestly, the things they expect you to SAY here") is just the same thing.

I believe (there I said it) that the liturgy is best served when we do real things rather than when we recite things which we may or may not believe in. The liturgy becomes real when we act like Jesus and welcome everyone regardless of their purity, preparedness, or belief. It is the verb that transforms, not the noun. When we DO things together in liturgy, we have a hope of being changed into God - regardless of what or how we believe.

Peace and Action - Paul

[Mike Croghan]

Paul, this is brilliant. I'm still not sure what I think about creeds in liturgy (largely because I'm a part of a community, and I feel like making my mind up about this is less important than reaching an ever-open-to-change consensus on it together), but I may quote you when we discuss this issue next. :-) Thanks.

[Aaron]

Paul,

I think this is very interesting, and I completely agree with you that communities at their best are practice-centered rather than doctrine-centered. And yet I’m still left wondering what the difference is between, on one hand, saying a creed in unison as a community and, on the other hand, saying anything as a community. I’m certainly not trying to defend forcing anyone to say the historical creeds to maintain church membership, but just pondering the difference between the nature of creedalism and confessionalism.

It seems that the sticking point might be that, historically, the creeds were intended to draw very sharp theological and doctrinal boundaries. I agree that this is not only problematic but completely inappropriate. This may be reason enough to dispense with them. On the other hand, it also seems to me that there are lots of things that are spoken during the course of a worship service (either communally or from one speaker toward the community) with which people disagree. For example, the hymns, selections from the Bible, and readings from the prayer book are all problematic for a lot of people for different reasons. Personally, there’s a lot in the New Testament with which I don’t agree. Yet I’m still forced to accept that the Book of Revelation and a lot of Paul’s writings are part of the traditional canon. In addition, I’m not sure if being practice-focused rather than language-focused dissolves the tension between (a) taking a stance and (b) people in the community disagreeing with that stance. In other words, visual phenomenon and participatory actions have the ability to isolate just as much as words. The Eucharist is as much a stance as the Bible or the prayer book or the creeds. For example, in the church I was raised the ridiculous “sit down / stand up / kneel” wars are still going on; it’s like one nauseating game of Simon says. The point being that simply because it involves practice or movement, rather than language, doesn’t make it less conceptual or divisive.

Ultimately, I think you and I share very similar lines of thought. And I intended this response as less of a statement and more of a question, or voicing a tension that I’m not sure can or will be resolved. I like Mike’s “ever-open-to-change consensus.” This seems to capture just how I’m feeling about this issue. But I suppose the tension is this: how does one deal, on one hand, with the fact that taking any stance (visual or verbal or enacted) necessarily creates points of disagreement and, on the other, the fact that the community still has to embody something in order to act in the world? The creeds raise this tension, yes, and perhaps they need to be done away with. I’m okay with that. But they also are not the only culprits - I would contend every liturgical choice is open to this critique. In other words, even at our most authentic, we are still only interpreting what we believe Jesus might have been like or wanted for our communities. We truly can’t know for sure. We can’t get away from the problem of interpretation, no matter how we slice it. Perhaps the best we can do is, as I believe you correctly suggest, opt only for that stance which radically includes and radically embraces and radically loves. We take this stance, we remain empathetic and we let the chips fall where they may.

Grace and peace –

Aaron

[Mike Croghan]

Wow, Aaron, great thoughts. This is a really good discussion. I wonder what will happen next. :-)

[Sara Miles]

Yeah, well, sure our practices (as well as our verbal assertions) are conceptual, always matters of interpretation, culturally constructed, and potentially divisive. (By the way, following Jesus always risks being divisive, right? He's out there breaking the Sabbath, setting mother in law against daughter in law, bringing fire to the earth, etc. etc..)
But still, as Jesus says: Come on, it's me, don't be afraid.
And when we DO Jesus, instead of just talking about our opinions about Jesus, we open ourselves to others in ways that are less predictable, more likely to allow a little air (ie the breath of God) into the room.
Doing Jesus means--in worship and outside of worship-- acting like Jesus. Doing Jesus in community has knocked me up against the reality that annoying people who don't agree with me are parts of the body of Christ. That people who don't share all points of ideology with me are also God's beloved children. It's humbling. It helps cut through some of the arrogance that creeps in when we imagine that talking about doctrine will save us. Or that we can parse a creed well enough to decide who's inside and outside, who's deserving of God's grace or not.
So I agree with Aaron that our stance is always imperfect. But love in action is not a bad place to begin. Welcome the unprepared and unclean, feed each other, breathe peace on one another, heal the sick, forgive sins, raise the dead. Do this, and see what happens.
Sara

[Tricia Coldren]

Let me play a bit here... So creeds have historically had a place in Anglican worship, but not just Anglican worship. Other Christians use them too, but not too many Protestants. It seems to me that the one thing that most Christians know and use regularly in worship is the Lord's Prayer. Which leads my meandering little mind to ask, are the creeds liturgical? How do they connect with our common prayer and with our living out of our faith? Then... is not what connects us as Anglicans (for whatever that's worth), how we shape our liturgies, how we pray together, - not so much "THE Prayer Book" itself (which one, anyway, the Canadian asks) as the prayer book traditions...

But then if how we pray together doesn't connect with how we live in relationship with all creation, our liturgy isn't really liturgy at all. And Paul already said that, so it's obviously time for me to call it a night.

[Matthew Lyon]

it seems that liturgy is doing and creed is believing. so then, the question is, what do we believe and what do we do? i believe in God the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ his only son, who...etc. i do paper liturgy (litugica penultima) in community (COTA) and then there is the liturgy of community, the pneumatalogical praxis of the Body (litugica ultima), it is how we live and breath and have our being. yet i have a cold, an infection no less, it's called egotism. it tries to flood my lungs and hamper my liturgy of life. here enters scripture, creeds, Eucharist and thinking about it; liturgica penultima.

What i hear (or read) from ya’ll is a lot of either-or stuff, where one leg is longer and the cheeks are sore and the whole thing is rather uncomfortable and laborious etc.

the joy i find in the creed (at least in the apostles creed) is that it settles a lot of questions. i figure God, in his omniscient knows that he/she/it's a bit mysterious. i think that's part of the point of Jesus. i can almost hear God up there going, "Jesus, could you pop down there and explain to them what in the world is going on?"

“sure thing, pop” and so he does.

yet it is not as if God was sitting still. no, in fact he had been very busy in the previous, trying diligently and with mothers affection, to cure us of our little infection. but then, who amungst you can read the ingredients on any given prescription? dia-pepto-try-meta-glycenaeal-bladdy-bladdy-blah. thus spake Christ. and here is a point I wish to make: Jesus doesn't make a whole lot of stuff up, jesus as :the lenses” is cool as long as we remember that "scripture" was the OT; that the medicine for egotism that turns our coughing fit into a life of liturgy was prescribed ages before Jesus ever sneezed.

and here i begin to return back to my point about creeds. a lot of god-encounters have involved head scratching and "come again?"( why else did monks have that bald spot upon their heads...). that is because the inherent approach to the maker of heaven and earth is apophatic. (apo "away, off of, lack of" and phatic, "image" ) whether intentional or not. so it helps (a lot) to have some stuff "figured out", gathered together in tight little phrases. so that we can say, "right then, that's settled, on with praxis". for I do not believe that God, speaking to the angels, et al, after creation, said, "and now I shall be the greatest conundrum the world has even known!" but rather, I think, quite the opposite.

And here I flash back to praxis, for i read the OT and find a great many times where god pops out of no where saying "go…do". i read the Apostles Creed and also find a story about the Triune God doing. Thus is the way of the Lords Prayer. And all this is to help our coughing, our fumbling over the prescription and that dosage etc. Christ comes to us in the Eucharist as a healing sacrament. The spirit soothes us in much the same way. We are enfolded in the triune God as in a warm blanket and heaven keeps back the drafty cold.

Thus I would say that we mustn’t be so quick to try and grade creeds or scripture or reason as part of our praxis. There a bottle and the bottle says “drink me” and when I do I go mad with health. I grow and shrink and grow again. In the bottle is Christ. Sometimes it tastes of liturgy, other times it tastes of scripture and other times it is a series of brain synapse ending in an epiphany. Yet all this is Christ driving me mad with health for I had never quite understood what it meant to not to have to cough until my first spoonful of Christ.

And now, when I "do", people think I’m crazy.