Anger has been simmering inside me for a couple weeks now over a certain current even, and it has reached a boiling point. I’m talking about the Episcopal Church’s recent election of Katharine Jefferts Schori to the role of presiding Bishop.
My mama raised me Episcopal. She had been a Catholic all her life till she met Daddy, a Methodist. They decided that rather than one having to join the other’s faith, they would decide together on a new denomination. They chose the Episcopal Church. My father, a staunch Republican, was oddly drawn to the Episcopal faith because, as he said, “of all the churches, it’s the most liberal.” There are two things my father loathed in life. Unions and Baptists. And fans of the Mississippi State Bulldogs, but I’ll save that till football season.
If you are not overly religious, the Deep South is a tough place to live. My mother was religious. Daddy just sat on the fence when it came to God. He didn’t want to burn in hell when he died, but at the same time, a lot of what he read and heard about the Bible seemed like “fairy tales invented by sober people.” Hey, those were his words, not mine.
So though I took after my daddy – I hated the Bulldogs with a passion and much preferred the Ole Miss Rebels, who Daddy thought were the closest things to angels on earth – Mama made me go to church every Sunday. Sometimes, to be sociable, I would go to the church of my pals, be it Baptist or Presbyterian or Methodist. Those are your choices in Vicksburg, Mississippi; at least those were the choices of the kids I hung out with.
Nothing made me miss the Episcopal Church like going to someone else’s church. Everything out of the other preacher’s mouth was “Jesus” this and “Jesus” that, which may not seem unusual as it is church, but in my church, there was more talk of Saints and the G himself. The other churches weren't all fancy and gilded like mine. And their choirs were too “kumbaya” for my taste. Our choir was more like an opera than a choir, with sopranos and baritones and the somber but dramatic organ pumping out Phantom-like notes. But I enjoyed Reverend Saul’s sermons. He always told amusing stories about someone long dead and historical, and every sermon was an allegory that made you think, “Hmm, maybe I should stop talking bad about people.” The service was polite and well-mannered, no clapping, no, “let me here you say ‘Praise Jesus’.” It was very ceremonial, almost like a nutty secret society for rich men wearing purple robes. I liked it as far as churches went. But the Episcopals haven’t faired well in this evangelical country of ours, mainly because they were too stuffy and not “Jesusy” enough. Hey, I just invented a word.
As soon as I turned 18, I stopped going to church. I have no proof there is no God, and I have no proof there isn’t one, and frankly, I get more spiritual comfort from a raucous Saturday night, which leaves me exhausted on Sunday morning. Sometimes on airplanes I pray, swearing I’ll be good if He or She just lets the plane land safely. Once, I had a cancer scare, and I prayed: “Dear God, if I’m going to die, please let there be good meds. I’d like to go out with a nice buzz.”
When I heard that the Episcopal church had elected Jefferts Schori as presiding bishop, I felt proud to have been raised Episcopal. I love the idea that out of all the ignorance and hatred that spews out of the more Evangelical faiths, the Episcopal Church elected a woman as their top dog. But not all is well in the pulpit. Not only is Jefferts Schori a woman, but a couple years ago, she voted with the majority of Episcopal bishops to approve the New Hampshire Diocese's election of V. Gene Robinson, the first openly gay bishop in the Anglican Communion. She has allowed the blessing of same-sex couples in her Nevada diocese.
In other words, she’s a liberal. You know, like Jesus.
So now six U.S. dioceses already have rejected her authority. Many church leaders predict that by the time she takes office, about five more, for a total of 10 percent of the nation's 111 Episcopal dioceses, will have joined the rejectionist camp.
Daddy died in 1995. He hadn’t been to church in about ten years – maybe on Christmas Eve Midnight Mass, but I think he did that for the reception afterwards at the Reverend’s Rector. I really don’t believe he would have had a problem with the election of a woman to the head of the church. He may not have agreed with her views on gays, but he would have said it was none of his business what other people do.
Jefferts Schori was trained as a scientist as well as a theologian, she entered the priesthood late in life, only 12 years ago, after an initial career as an oceanographer specializing in octopuses and squids, who evidently treat her better than members of her own church. Her husband is a retired professor of theoretical mathematics, and they have a daughter serving in the Air Force. The Bishop isn’t a slouch and neither is her family.
She got in big trouble during a sermon recently for referring to the “Mother Jesus” in a sermon. In her response to criticisms of heresy for referring to a female Jesus, she gave a learned disquisition on medieval mystics and saints who used similar language, including Julian of Norwich and St. Teresa of Avila. "I was trying to say that the work of the cross was in some ways like giving birth to a new creation," she said. "That is straight-down-the-middle orthodox theology.
So take that you dumb-asses who won’t tolerate a brainy, gay-loving woman with squid cooties leading your church.
The Episcopal majority is concerned about the split, but I say, “let them go.” There are plenty of bible-thumping, women-hating, gay-loathing denominations that will have them. If Daddy were here, I know what he’d say. “Try the Baptists.”
