Gain the world, lose the soul. . .

There was no Episcopal congregation near where I grew up -- only Lutherans and a smattering of Evangelical Covenant and Methodist folk.  I had no experience of Anglicanism except for books and they contributed more to the mystery than the revelation.  It was not until college that I knew them first hand.  There I found a small congregation in Southern Kansas with a building that looked as if it had been ripped out of the English countryside and dropped in the most unlikely spot possible.  It was just after the 1970 General Convention had declined to ordain women but the handwriting was already on the wall.  Yet in this very Anglo-Catholic little church in Kansas almost to the Oklahoma border, nothing could steal my joy at discovering this very promising version of Christianity so much more interesting than my own simple Lutheran upbringing.  It started a fascination and affection not only for all things Anglican but for all things English.  The two went hand in hand and it did not take long for me to become a bona fide Anglophile.

If the building were interesting, the liturgy was even more.  There was more ceremonial than I had ever experienced -- Vatican II was already beginning to unravel Roman reverence and replace it with a more casual approach to the mystery of God.  Lutherans were liturgical but not quite ceremonial.  I learned new hymns and the congregation was filled with welcoming people.  It did not hurt that they had wine and cheese at the drop of a hat.  I probably knew down deep that this would never be more formal church home but it had already found a home in my heart, or, better, my imagination.  With it came some new terminology.  High church was a mostly Anglican term at the time although now it much more ecumenical.  Then there was some heavy baggage to lift.  Liberals claimed the heritage and identity and so did the evangelicals (broad and low).  Neither appealed much to me.  Apparently they came together as a package.  You could not simply choose one.  That was thought by some to be the strength of Anglicanism but it proved to be its undoing -- a church without a firmly defined soul.  Protestant.  Catholic.  Evangelical.  You name it.  They shared a fine liturgy, a decent preaching tradition, great music, nice vestments, gorgeous architecture, real bishops, fine ritual, seemingly honest reverence, and, depending on how you interpreted it, an honest confession of faith.  It turned out that as wonderful as these all were and even together as one package they could not save a church.

I will always have a soft spot for Anglicanism -- my Britbox subscription is testament to my continuing Anglophile credentials -- but it was and is a tragic story.  My affection for it all let me down.  As I write this The Episcopal Church is said to be dusting off its headquarters to sell as the denomination bleeds off people and congregations.  The church of the presidents has revealed its theological vacuity for all the world to see.  History, great ritual, and deep reverence (for something if not for God) turned out not to be enough.  They still have their history but I am not at all sure they have a future here in the West, anyway.  They just don't seem to know Jesus anymore -- or at least the Jesus of council, creed, and confession.  The Anglo-Catholics are gone; the big names long dead or departed to Rome.  Most of the evangelicals and low church folk are also packing their bags or have headed out the door.  The liberal are firmly in control of what is left.  Oh, to be sure, there are those who claim the identity and legacy of Anglicanism (ACNA) but they differ from what is by degree and not by substance and their enthusiasm masks their small numbers.  Yes, there is hope in the Southern Hemisphere but that is for another post.  What I thought I had found nearly sixty years ago is but a memory.

This is written not as a trip down memory lane nor as a confession to cleanse my own old soul but as a warning to other churches and to my own.  We think that if you win on the big fronts you have preserved the house from falling.  We think that a big tent approach to differences will preserve the core and content.  We think that uniformity in essentials, trust in the motives of all, and charity toward diversity will suffice to keep our fragile structures from caving in upon themselves.  We think that some good men and some good seminaries are enough to stave off collapse.  We think that preserving the liturgy will keep its content.  But we need all of these.  The Church never loses its soul by wholesale surrender but by degree, by a vote here and there and a blind eye to things that seem benign for now.  We end up one day realizing that when the for sale sign goes on the headquarters building that there is nothing really left.  We have little to sustain the people who are remain and nothing to offer the world except the palest imitation of its own lost soul with religious clothing.  We need it all and must settle for it all.  A robust church does not have a few good things going for it but all of them.  If we are to be of use to God and feed the lost souls for whom Christ died, we must believe in Him with more than half a heart and have good food to offer.  It always seems to begin with the same question of Eden.  Did God really say...  Then it seems to comfort us that whether or not He did or did not say it or it was or was not true, we can still keep the core of Christian faith and practice.  All of it ends up a lie we tell ourselves to make us feel better about surrendering our souls to something other than the cause of Christ, the message of Christ crucified, and the hope of glory Christ leads us to know now by glimpse before we will know Him and it face to face.  So there it is.  Let us learn from the example of others.  What good is it to gain the world and lose your own soul.  Those words were not simply spoken to individuals.  They were spoken to the Church.