This past Tuesday, Pope Benedict, the Bishop of Rome, made
headlines when, in the words of one commentator, he parked the tanks of the
Roman Catholic Church on the well manicured lawns of Canterbury and made a
hostile takeover bid of the Church of England, and, therefore, all of the
churches that descend from that branch of the Christian tree—all churches
Anglican, including the Episcopal Church here in the US of A.
In essence, the Roman Catholic Church offered refuge to the
Anglo-catholic church. This is a
historic event, for in one stroke of the pen the Roman Catholic Church has
recognized that the Church of England and all its Anglican descendants are
legitimate and part of, as we say in the creed, “the one holy catholic and
apostolic church.”
Well, not all Anglican churches or all Anglicans. It turns out that I am
“pre-excommunicated.” I am not
getting an invitation to this party. As I believe in democratic catholicity, and that the church rises from
the people who compose it, I do not share in a church that is imposed from a
hierarchy above. It took the
protestant reformation to realize that the church could only be catholic,
meaning universal, if chosen by faith, and that the only authority over the
church could not be contained in human hands, but in the discernment of the
scriptures and the confession of faith in Jesus Christ as our ruler, and not an
earthly power, be that power governmental or ecclesiastical.
Moreover, I believe women should be priests and bishops; I
believe that the church is based on radical hospitality and inclusion; I
believe that extends to gay and lesbian Christians.
In a few moments, Susan Richardson will stand at the table
with you, in a sense, around her, and will say on our behalf, the Eucharistic
prayer, and then break the bread and share it with us. In our faith, we will receive it,
following the commands of Jesus to be part of his body, the risen Christ in the
world.
You have given Susan the power and the authority to do this
on your behalf. For many within
Anglicanism, and for the Roman church, this is an outrage. Who are you to decide that Susan can be a priest? What Benedict did this past Tuesday was
offer refuge to all in the
Anglican world who believe that Susan should not stand at that table—the
altar. Bring your prayer book,
your tradition, and your fine gothic churches, Pope Bendict said. You can even bring your married male
clergy—just don’t bring Susan.
The Episcopal Church, which is but a fraction of the world’s
Anglicans, is liberal, not because of our women clergy and generally tolerant
attitude toward same-gender commitments, but because we have arrived at those
positions democratically. As we
all know, just because a position is determined democratically doesn’t mean
that everyone agrees or is comfortable with the decisions of the democratic
process.
It is this democratic process that so shapes our understanding
of catholicity that so undermines and offends traditional church
hierarchy—which, lest we forget, is exclusively male in the Roman Catholic
hierarchy.
In the gospel today, Jesus is leaving Jericho, the last city
he will pass through before coming into Jerusalem to confront the
principalities and powers of the world.
He walks past a blind beggar, whose name is Bartimaeus, a
name that means, son of the unworthy. Note that he has a name—Bartimaeus—and recall that just a few verses
before this account, in the gospel passage we had two weeks ago, the opposite
of a poor beggar—a very rich man—called out to Jesus. He had no name. Scripture is so sly. This
story of Bartimaeus is meant to be compared with the account, when the nameless
rich man who asks Jesus what must he do to inherit eternal life. You may remember that Jesus tells him
to leave all that he owns behind and follow him.He has so much, he cannot.
Bartimaeus has nothing; the only thing he has is his cloak,
spread out before him for the pilgrims going to Jerusalem to throw their cons
upon. Jesus calls to him, and we hear, “Throwing off his cloak he sprang up and
came to Jesus. He did what the
rich man could not do; he left everything behind.“What do you want me to do?” Jesus asks, but it is an
unnecessary question, for blind Bartimaeus has already done what is necessary
for faith and wholeness. He has
risen above the fate that his been placed upon him. He has put off his blindness because he responded to the
call of God’s healing.
Possibly the greatest loved hymn in the book is Amazing
Grace:
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch
like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind, but now I
see.
John Newton, who wrote those words, said that he was
thinking of his career in the slave trade, selling human beings. He was blind. But, when he heard God’s call to righteousness, he was able
to see. Not only did he stop
trading slaves; he worked for the abolition of the slave trade.
When Bartimeaus left his dirty cloak behind, and rose, and
went to Jesus, he left his old life behind. He chose a new life, and with that life, came sight.
The point being, he chose his new life.It was not imposed upon him.
Jesus is wont to say, “The first will be last, and the last
will be first.”A puzzling maxim,
at best. I think Bartimeaus shows
that when we have little to leave behind, it is easier to put off the blindness
of the earthly life and rise. The
rich man is weighed down by so much, he cannot rise. In Jesus’ economy, the rich man is last, the poor beggar
first. May we not be blind to see what this means to us.