NRHAnglican Christianity
- One merciful pastor at a local Lutheran church followed up with me, though, and offered to help me in my search, even if our family didn't choose his church. He said the most important thing to do after a big move and lots of changes was to connect to a body of believers. I think I was too proud to take him up on his offer at that point in time, but I will always remember his kindness. ↩
- Recognition of the Bible as Holy Scripture
- Leadership by bishops in apostolic succession (this means each bishop must trace his ordination back to the Apostles)
- Recognition of the Seven Ecumenical Councils as authoritative in their theological statements
- Acceptance of the Nicene Creed as a definitive statement of Christian orthodoxy
- Worship that is liturgical/ceremonial and centers around Holy Communion
- Sacramental theology that considers Holy Communion and Holy Baptism as real means of grace and signs of the New Covenant.
- Technically, the church I attend is really kind of "broad-church," that is, it incorporates elements of both very simple liturgy and more ornate rituals. We're between high and low church (with a preference toward high compared to most Evangelical services). We've got this cool casual-yet traditional, informal-yet-liturgical thing going on that I love. For instance, we ring bells to start the service (high church), but we sing Hillsong and sometimes the clergy wear jeans. ↩
- Nicene orthodoxy
- Agreement with the ecumenical councils of the undivided church
- Threefold orders of deacon, priest, and bishop
- Sacramental theology
- Valid apostolic succession
- Deuterocanonical books used liturgically
- Requiring or forbidding the veneration of icons and saints (adiaphora)
- Papal infallibility (error - this is neither supported by Holy Scripture nor substantial church tradition)
- Exclusive claims to being "the one true church" (error - other churches preach the Gospel, adhere to the creeds, and stand in apostolic succession)
- Recognizing 7 sacraments (adiaphora)
- Liturgy not in the vernacular of the people (error - worship that is impossible to understand on a deep level cannot form the congregation spiritually; the early church worshiped in common languages)
- The filioque (adiaphora)
- Very specific theologies of election (adiaphora)
- Mode of baptism (adiaphora)
- Beliefs about Mary like her immaculate conception, her dormition, her perpetual virginity (adiaphora)
- From the 39 Articles, a definitive confession for orthodox Anglicans along with the eccumnical creeds: Sacraments ordained of Christ be not only badges or tokens of Christian men's profession, but rather they be certain sure witnesses, and effectual signs of grace, and God's good will towards us, by the which he doth work invisibly in us, and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen and confirm our Faith in him. ↩
- From the 39 Articles, a definitive confession for orthodox Anglicans along with the eccumnical creeds: Baptism is not only a sign of profession and mark of difference whereby Christian men are discerned from other that be not christened, but is also a sign of regeneration or new birth, whereby, as by an instrument, they that receive baptism rightly are grafted into the Church; the promises of the forgiveness of sin, and of our adoption to be the sons of God, by the Holy Ghost are visibly signed and sealed; faith is confirmed, and grace increased by virtue of prayer unto God. The baptism of young children is in any wise to be retained in the Church as most agreeable with the institution of Christ. ↩
- Although I was ultimately led to move away from my dear Baptist home and into the orthodox Anglican tradition, the journey I am on remains difficult. Yet, I am sustained by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. ↩
- TheAM core values and beliefs ↩
Looking forward to the ESV Anglican Edition
Why I observe Lent
I had been in an emotional and spiritual struggle for years, processing how the Body of Christ could be so defined, so marked, by division, quarrels, and willful ignorance of each other. My spiritual journey had led me right into the middle of some of those painful internal wars, and I hadn’t escaped without getting hurt.
My wounds weren’t gaping open, but they were profound. I left them largely untreated because they were–at first–easy to ignore. They became infected with a certain amount of bitterness, anger, and cynicism, almost without me being aware of it.
Something happened to me, however, on Ash Wednesday of 2011. Baptists, Anglicans, Pentecostals, Non-Denoms all gathered together. I saw the auditorium filled with Christians with deep disagreements over theology and practice nevertheless admitting to one another their deep need for a savior, their total moral, emotional, intellectual, spiritual bankruptcy apart from the Cross of Christ and the promise of his Resurrection.
For a brief 2 hours, I saw the Church, not in perfect unity, yet nevertheless walking together toward Jesus. For the first time in a long time I thought she looked like the Bride of Christ. Hope sparked.
As we received Communion it was as if that spark turned into a roaring fire, and I found my hardened heart couldn’t stand it. Just like that, the bitterness, anger, and cynicism melted away and–in a word–I was healed of my old injuries.
I had hope once again that Jesus will in the power of the Holy Spirit make his Church what she is meant to be.
To me, this is the power of Ash Wednesday and Lent: making space to remember that at the end of the day, all our hope is in Christ, and we will never hope in vain.
This Kept Me From Abandoning The Church
Not so long ago I was ready to abandon the Church, at least in all its institutionalized forms.
I had been hurt (no one’s fault but my own, really) and was confused by my “sense of call”. I couldn’t seem to get hired full-time at a church, even though I felt I had the skills and was being led that direction by God. Although it’s obvious to me now, I couldn’t understand why churches in my lifelong Christian denomination (Baptist) wouldn’t hire me. I came to faith in the Baptist church, was married in the Baptist church, and started my ministry in the Baptist church. It just turned out I wasn’t Baptist ;)
After months of interviews and no progress, I decided to take a non-ministry position in Arizona. I saw it as a chance to start fresh and figure out where I belonged. Nothing stuck. It wasn’t that I was looking for a perfect congregation, but going back to the drawing board allowed me to see a fundamental unbalance in the Evangelical landscape. Everybody seemed to emphasize one pet doctrine or worship style at the expense of everything else.
To make matters worse, my wife and I couldn’t find a spot where we were both comfortable committing to long-term. I contacted a local house-church I found online, explained my situation, and said we needed a place to figure out some things. I was hopeful because they seemed to want to move beyond institutionalism and focus on authentic community. They blew me off on the phone and never reached out again1.
It was rough. I ached for a church home, and the fact that our search was causing some tension in our marriage only furthered my discouragement. I allowed my disappointment in the whole situation to turn to cynicism. My wife kept searching though, and didn’t let me give up, even though I wanted to. I was basically done, but she coaxed me into visiting one more church, where we discovered something that was–to us–remarkable.
Balance.
We looked in the bulletin we were handed on the way in and discovered this church had a peculiar philosophy of ministry and worship. They called it “three streams” and put it in terms of being liturgical, charismatic, and evangelical.
This idea of “three streams” Christianity has been vital for keeping me engaged with the Church, because it articulates exactly what I had been yearning and looking for, for so many years. It just makes sense:
The Scripture - Our authoritative guide in faith
The Sacramental - Our ancient practices and rhythms in faith
The Spirit - Our peace and power in faith [source]
In my own life, I’ve come to articulate this as being Catholic, Evangelical, and Charismatic. Each compliments the other and prevents excesses that are often identified in movements that focus on just one of these aspects of the Christian faith.
How can we be reverent, enthusiastic, focused on mission, grounded in history, open to the Holy Spirit, and looking to the future, all at once and all the while staying centered on the Gospel?
I think the balance lies in embracing the “Three Streams.”
Why I say I am a Catholic Christian
It often surprises people when I describe myself as a Catholic Christian, because the association immediately goes to the Roman Catholic Church. In reality, Catholic is simply a word that means “universal,” and is particularly associated with the unity of the Church.
One faith, one hope, one Lord, one baptism
When, in the Apostle’s Creed, we say “I believe in the holy catholic church” we are saying that we believe fundamentally, the church is one. Political and secondary theological issues aside, there is a unity in our common, core confession of Christ that binds all Christians universally into one church. All Christians are part of one catholic Church in this sense and should be able to say this part of the Creed without feeling uncomfortable.
There is another sense in which the word is used, however, and that is to refer to “the Catholic faith.”
The faith once delivered
Jesus gave special teaching authority to the Apostles, who in turn ordained and taught leaders in the church, who came to be called bishops. For one thousand years the Church existed in relative unity under the authority of bishops that came together in ecumenical councils–gatherings of church leaders that passed down what they received from the Apostles and hashed out the theological implications of the Apostolic witness. As challenges to the faith arose, these leaders articulated definitive summaries of the faith and issued theological statements as to how the Scriptures were to be interpreted and Christian worship ordered. The one Catholic Church existed in visible unity.
In 1054 the Great Schism occurred between the East and the West, and with it the degradation of visible unity of the Church. Without a universally agreed-upon authority structure, truly ecumenical councils became impossible. By time the Protestant Reformation had run its course, there were many competing theologies, confessions, and particular churches.
Nevertheless, some churches (while introducing and perhaps over-emphasizing secondary matters) remained faithful to the pre-Schism practice of the Catholic Church and the teachings of the Ecumenical Councils. This doctrine and practice together, once universally acknowledged by all orthodox Christians, are what we now call “the Catholic faith.”
Today all orthodox Christians hold to at least part of the Catholic doctrinal tradition, which includes the doctrine of the Trinity, the dual nature of Christ as fully human and fully Divine, and the rejection of Pelagianism.
In broad strokes, the core of Catholic faith may be said to include:
Everywhere, always, and by all
This is the Christ-centered and authoritative faith we see in a visibly united Catholic Church for one thousand years, illumined by the Holy Spirit as she met challenge after challenge. This Catholic faith has been faithfully passed from generation to generation in the Church from the most ancient times.
In every place the the Gospel has been preached the Catholic faith has been believed, and it endures still to this day, with the majority of the world’s Christians (Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican, and more) remaining steadfast in their witness to it as the truth. Historically it is certain that this is the faith of the early church and thus–I believe–that of the Apostles. This is important because if the Catholic faith is the faith of the Apostles, then it is the fullness of the truth from the Holy Spirit and carries the authority of Jesus.
This is why I am a Catholic Christian.
Further Reading:
Reformation Day Shouldn't Be a Celebration
It’s not that I don’t recognize that the Church was in a rough spot in the Middle Ages.
It’s not that I don’t admire the courage and tenacity of the Reformers in fighting for a faith that was closer to the Early Church that addressed abuses, un-Godly practices, and biblical illiteracy.
But I can’t celebrate Reformation Day.
I’m profoundly grateful for so many things that came out of the Reformation, like the beautiful English liturgy used by Anglicans, a rediscovery of the primacy of Scripture, the Authorized Version, and renewed focus on clergy formation through biblical training. God used the Reformation to bring light into places of darkness, to give the people of God worship in their own language and access to the Sacraments. Historic revival movements began, and many were willing to die and did for their stand for biblical, ancient, and Apostolic truth.
Yes, God has used and continues to used the Reformation and its children, but the Christian Church has failed to really, truly reform from within. Instead the Reformers (sometimes against their will) had to separate themselves, forming new Churches. Ultimately new ecclessiologies developed that essentially gave the individual permission to break communion with other Christians and start their own semi-autonomous group if they are not in full doctrinal agreement.
This has resulted in–over time–thousands of new competing versions of Christianity, all of which claim to be “the most true” based on sectarian readings of the Scriptures. Obviously, they cannot all be correct, yet division, anger, and disunity remain. Unity within diversity is possible and in fact exists as a result of our common confession of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, yet we do not exhibit it with our attitudes and actions.
We refuse Holy Communion to those that differ with us on the exact nature of the Eucharistic mystery, we invalidate baptisms because of secondary issues of form, and there’s often not a sense of a hierarchy of truths. It seems as if some people all but explicitly say, “Either you agree me all the way, or God bless you, I hope you get to heaven but it’s not looking good.”
What about authority? Many say they find it in the Bible, but in practice they find in themselves and their own judgement of the “plain and obvious meaning” of passages that have from the beginning been debated. Never mind that for most of these issues, an Undivided Church spoke with one authoritative voice–a voice most of us that identify as Evangelicals have largely forgotten or chosen to ignore.
The divisions (not necessarily disagreements) that exist in the Church today damage the credibility of our witness to truth of Christ and stand in direct opposition to will of our Lord, that
they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me. (John 17:21-23, ESV)
It’s one thing to bear with one another, as the Scriptures teach, striving with zeal to “to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God…,” but too many Christians have stopped trying (Ephesians 4:12-13, ESV). Phrases like, “we’ll never be one visible church again this side of Jesus coming back” are thrown around with careless abandon. With Christ all things are possible and this is his desire for us.
Don’t shortchange the Holy Spirit.
Reformation Day has become in many corners an excuse to celebrate caricature and delight in division instead of remembering God’s faithfulness to his church and pursuing unity in the Spirit. It’s time for Protestants to take the log out of our eye and get to work on being the Body of Christ.
I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. (Ephesians 4:1-6, ESV)
Rhythm & Blues: Why I Pray the Daily Office
Few things have had as much impact on my life as the discipline of praying the Daily Office, a cycle of morning and evening prayer in the Anglican tradition.
This is because it’s given me a steady structure and emotionally honest framework for prayer.
Rhythm
I can say in all honesty that most days, I love to pray. I am astounded often that the creator of the universe is with me and ready to listen, and desires for me to listen to him as well. I try to cultivate an attitude of gratefulness for the truly wonderful gifts he’s given me: forgiveness, hope, life, the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, though, I don’t feel like praying.
I’m busy, tired, whatever. This is when having a plan helps: set prayers, regular time of day, and Bible readings all picked out.
Discipline begets discipline, so I notice when I’m faithful in the Office it’s easier to control my body, my thoughts, and emotions. I find I sin less for the simple fact that I know I’m going to meet with God in just few hours for confession. I know we will have to talk about what I did and/or thought about doing today.
When things seem to get out of control, when life is crazy, stressful and days seem dim, the Office becomes (by virtue of the Scriptures and ancient prayers it presents) a brighter spot and a source of comfort. When you pray the Office, you know you are not alone. My whispered prayers are joined by millions of others the world over, contemplating the same texts, breathing the same pleas for mercy, thanking the same God for the means of grace.
Blues
The Daily Office gave me the gift of the Psalms. All of them. When you pray the Office, you pray the happy, inspiring ones about God’s love and faithfulness alongside the ones that ask God hard questions, like “How long will you judge unjustly / and show partiality to the wicked?” (Psalm 82). You pray the ones that are brutally honest about fervent desires for justice to be done:
O daughter of Babylon, doomed to be destroyed,
blessed shall he be who repays you
with what you have done to us!
Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones
and dashes them against the rock!
These are heartbreaking, violent, and often confusing words for all of us. Yet these Psalms give us permission and a path to bring all of ourselves–even and especially the angry, doubting and dark places–into the context of God’s faithfulness. After all, the Psalter is also a retelling of the whole Biblical narrative, including Christ, if we know where and how to look.
I don’t have all the answers yet, but after about five times through the Psalter so far this year I’ve gained some peace through these poems. I’ve begun to understand what it means to honestly long for God’s justice without succumbing to the temptation to exact revenge for myself. I’ve begun to learn how to pray to God even when I might be angry with him. God is big. He can take our questions and our frustration and even our possibly less-than-pure motives and by grace enable us to “walk in the light of life” (Psalm 56:13).
Rhythm and blues. That’s why I pray the Daily Office.
5 Reasons This Millennial Went High Church
Rachel Held Evans and others have been posting about the recent trend for Millennials (those currently in the 18-29 age bracket) to end up in the high church traditions–Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican, etc.
Here’s why I came to embrace the way of ancient Christianity.
1) It points me to Jesus.
The ancient liturgical traditions each have specific theological reasoning behind them. Each one, whether it be saying a corporate confession of sin, “passing the peace,” or even the style of vestments used are meant to communicate something about God. They function as a continual guide during worship back to meditating on Jesus.
2) It connects me with history.
The past matters for the high church traditions. We worship with prayers, songs, and actions that have been practiced since the Apostolic era. This connects us with with all those saints that have gone before us, keeping us grounded in what God has done and living in the reality of the “great cloud of witnesses” (Heb. 12:1).
3) It fosters communion.
Not only do we actually have Holy Communion each week, but the liturgical way is in fact much more interactive than the typical “sing, sit, listen” pattern in mainstream Evangelical services. “Liturgy” means “work of the people,” and together we stand, kneel, join hands, make the sign of the sign of the cross, respond with written and spontaneous prayers. There’s a rhythm of back-and-forth in most liturgies that reminds us we’re all engaged in the work of worship, and brings us closer together as a community centered around the person of Jesus.
4) It gives me tools to grow.
The ancient traditions include robust devotional tools for daily prayer, meditation, and discipline. The most important for me have been the Daily Office (set prayers and appointed Bible readings for morning and evening), prayer beads, the Church Year, beautiful and ancient art, and of course the writings of the Church Fathers.
5) It reintroduces me to the Triune God.
Fully Trinitarian prayer is a beautiful thing. Without a high degree of intentionality, it’s quite easy to leave out certain members of the Trinity in our daily spirituality. This can sometimes be a especially true when it comes to the Holy Spirit. In the ancient ways of worship, the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are all addressed according to their function within the Godhead, and we are often reminded that they are together one God. This simple prayer has been incredibly influential on my spirituality:
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.
Why An Anglican Christian?
Friends have recently asked me why I am an Anglican–instead of a Roman Catholic or Eastern Orthodox–Christian. Given the similarities between the traditions (Creedal orthodoxy, liturgical worship, sacramental theology), I think it’s a fair question.
I have certainly felt the tug toward Constantinople and a draw to “swim the Tiber” as well. When a church is so ancient–and has compelling claims as a result to the “fullness” of the truth–I think one must seriously consider those claims. I look forward to a day when our three churches are in full communion. I am encouraged by recent dialog between Anglican Church in North America, the Pope, and Orthodox Church in America. I have Anglican friends who have ended up going to both churches, and friends that have come to Anglicanism from both churches.
Nevertheless, I am very nearly convinced that classical Anglicanism is in doctrine and practice the most consistent with the apostolic faith as it was understood by the early (first 500 years) and undivided church. When Anglicanism is most true to those roots as they were formally articulated during the English Reformation, it seems to maintain catholicity while avoiding what seem to me to be the most egregious errors of the Roman and Eastern expressions.
Basically, Anglicanism adheres to catholic (universal, undivided) doctrine, practice and order, without elevating adiaphora (important, but secondary doctrines) to dogma (essential beliefs), and without requiring beliefs that simply cannot be proved from Holy Scripture as it has been historically interpreted by the faithful.
Examples of catholicity include:
Examples of adiaphora and errors include:
As much as I have in common with my Roman Catholic brothers and sisters, my rejection of Papal Infallibility automatically places me outside the boundaries of acceptable Roman Catholic beliefs. Similarly, my desire to remain in communion with churches that ordain women, are capital “R” Reformed, and that do not recognize all seven sacraments isn’t a viable position for a faithful Orthodox Christian.
So if I want to be truly catholic, Patristic, and submissive to a church that teaches what the Apostles and the early church received as “the faith once delivered,” Anglicanism is my only spot to land.
Religion with Room To Grow
One of the best things about classical Anglican Christianity is that it is a tradition where one feels they have room to grow.
I can be more or less Calvinistic, adopt a higher or lower view of the Sacrament, change my stance on icons, discover catholicity, embrace my Protestantism, and refuse to conclusively define “Real Presence.”
I don’t feel I have to stay exactly the same as my understanding of Scripture, tradition, and Church grows and deepens. Yet there are clear boundaries in our formularies (The Book of Common Prayer, the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, the Ordinal) that guide me on this path and keep me from falling of edges of extremes.
This is tremendously freeing and comforting.
Lancelot Andrews Press BCP
Since we began worshiping with an Anglican church, I’ve been extremely interested in the history and various incarnations of the Anglican liturgical standard, the Book of Common Prayer. The definitive edition is the 1662 BCP, which also serves as the doctrinal standard for most orthodox Anglicans.
Based on some recommendations by some fellow Anglican friends, I picked up the Lancelot Andrews Press Book of Common Prayer for a mere $15 shipped.
This edition of the Book of Common Prayer is not authorized by any recognized Anglican body that I am aware of, but is an effort by the publisher to create a version of the 1662 BCP that is conformable to Orthodox theology. The target audience for an edition like this would be Orthodox parishes looking to worship with a Western liturgy, or Anglican congregations that find themselves leaning a little toward the East.
First, let’s talk about the physical book itself. For a $15-$30 volume, I think you get your money’s worth. The soft cover is a nice, red “leatherlike” substance with gold accents. About the size of most standard thinline Bibles, the Lancelot Andrews Press BCP text block is trimmed in red. It’s a good looking book, and my washed-out cell-phone photos below don’t do it justice. On the inside, the paper is sufficiently opaque and the type is clear and easy to read. Rubrics are in red, and–although they border on being too light–are not difficult to parse.
(EDIT: The book is now offered in hardback only)I’ve only really spent time examining the liturgy for morning and evening prayer, so I can’t comment on all the theological tweaks and liturgical alterations, but I can say this: except for the Marian hymns and prayers that are added, Evening and Morning Prayer are virtually identical to the classical 1662 forms. Readers will also find that the Nicene Creed is printed without the filioque, and the date of Easter conforms to the understanding of the Orthodox church. This edition does not include the Articles of Religion.
This really seems like a great devotional resources for both Anglican and Orthodox Christians. The form factor makes sharing the book with someone else for prayers very easy. I also really like the simplified liturgies for family worship, and I find the Orthodox theological nuances educational, at the least, and edifying in many places.
You can get one here.
Love I Do Not Understand
Today is Good Friday, the day our Lord was crucified for us.
Last night, my local church (Desert Mission Anglican Church in Phoenix, Arizona) had a Maundy Thursday service that included Holy Communion and Tenebrae. We gathered in a basement lit only by a few Christmas lights and candles. In the darkness, we read the Scriptural account of the events leading to the crucifixion. In traditional Tenebrae fashion, one of eight candles was extinguished after each reading, slowly engulfing us all in that deep kind of darkness only found in church basements.
Holy Communion was especially meaningful, of course, and the songs our worship leader chose could’t have fit the occasion better. What a privilege to be able to join in and play guitar for a service like this. The part that really got to me was the Stripping of the Altar.
After all the candles except for the center Christ-candle had been snuffed out, the worship team and clergy gathered around the altar (communion table, for you non-sacramental folks :), and stripped it of all decorative items. The candlesticks were taken away and the table cloth was pulled off in one motion by our pastor. The simple, plain wooden table stood completely bare, with only the single, small flame of the Christ-candle left. It alone kept the blackness from swallowing the room.
By the light of the Christ-candle, a deacon read Psalm 22.
…I am poured out like water,and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax;
it is melted within my breast;
my strength is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue sticks to my jaws;
you lay me in the dust of death.
For dogs encompass me;
a company of evildoers encircles me;
they have pierced my hands and feet—
I can count all my bones—
they stare and gloat over me;
they divide my garments among them,
and for my clothing they cast lots….
We exited the building in silence, contemplating what we had just participated in, what we had just witnessed. In Holy Communion, we received the true body and blood of of our Savior and the forgiveness of sins, and immediately afterward, we were thrust into the narrative of what happened so that we could come to that table. The God of the Universe became a man, lived among us, healed us, loved us, cared for us. He fed us and gave us words of life. We turned on him, stripped him of his clothes, beat him while was naked, spit in his face, nailed him to a tree, and left him on splinters to die.
We punctured his side and ripped his skin; he now offers us his body and blood freely as a gift. All the world’s life was created through him; we repayed him with torture and a slow death. Yet, he ransoms us from the powers of darkness, forgives us, and injects us with new life.
I do not understand that kind of love.
How I Became An Anglican
Since we moved to Phoenix in August of 2010, more that a few people have asked me about our church situation–where are we going to church, how did we decide to visit, and perhaps most of all, what lead us to join an Anglican church?
In order to really understand how this decision made sense for me and my family, I am going to have to have to give you just a bit of background on how I got to be where I am theologically and how that has impacted where our family has chosen to worship. Lest this digress into a complete personal theological genealogy, I’m going to try really hard to keep it brief :)
I grew up overseas as the child of Southern Baptist missionaries. Although I was thoroughly acquainted with traditional Baptist theology and thought, the worship style I became accustomed to in West Africa was a bit more–for lack of a better term, enthusiastic–than what you might typically see in most traditional Baptist churches on the North American continent. I also went to a boarding school for missionary kids of all denominations, and there I found out that not only is Christianity much bigger than just my particular flavor, but that I have much to learn from every tradition. I was also highly influenced by my grandparents' Charismatic views, and to a lesser extent their history as Methodists as well. In college I met some wonderful Roman Catholics that taught me a lot about what it means to be a Jesus follower, and they were perhaps my first real exposure to the ancient liturgy (order of worship) of Word and Sacrament. While I was finishing up my undergraduate and graduate degree, I also had the distinct privilege of serving as the minister of music at a wonderful, traditional Baptist Church in Abilene, TX.
So I am something of a melting pot for Christian traditions.
I was in the midst of serving as minister of music for that small Baptist church, and my wife had just completed her degree in Church Music. One of her required textbooks was Robert Webber’s Worship Old & New which I picked up for self-study. That book convinced me of the centrality of the Lord’s Supper for Christian worship, and caused me to seriously reevaluate the “evangelical liturgy,” and consequently its core values and some doctrines. The old adage “lex orandi, lex credenti” (the law of prayer is the law of belief) holds true, I think. How we worship has direct impact on what we believe. As I delved into the theology behind liturgy centered on the Lord’s Supper, I was exposed to the historic Christian traditions, the writings of the Fathers, and my own prejudices and cultural baggage.
When I accepted my current job in Phoenix, AZ, I knew it was time to do a bit of exploring into some other branches of Christianity. Although I absolutely loved the Baptist church where I served (they loved God, and loved people!) It did seem that I was pulling further and further away from the Baptist norm–both theologically and culturally. On the cultural level, I found that the issues that seemed to really concern national and regional leadership were not where my heart was. Examples include moderate alcohol consumption as a sin, legislation in lieu of spiritual formation, and evangelistic campaigns that seemed to be more about numbers than disciples. Theologically, I found myself, through careful Bible study and prayer, adopting a more sacramental1 position on the Lord’s Supper, and more covenant-focused interpretation of Baptism2.
I’d like to emphasize that I did not come to these conclusions lightly. It was with no small amount of heartache, soul-searching, and tears that I finally decided that God was leading me away from the Baptist tradition that had been my spiritual home for so long. I will forever treasure my brothers, sisters, pastors, friends and mentors in Baptist circles, as well as the Godly wisdom and Christian encouragement they have shared with me3.
I really love the Lutheran theology of grace and its staunch refusal to intellectualize the the doctrine of election, yet Amber and I did not feel called together to any of the local Lutheran churches we visited. This is partially because conservative Lutheran theology is very systematic and specific (much like Baptist theology in that way) and didn’t seem to provide a whole lot of wiggle-room on some issues where Amber and I–as a married couple with somewhat differing theological views–needed some flexibility.
Almost on a whim, we decided to visit a local Anglican Mission in America4 church–mainly because it was one of the only non-Lutheran liturgical churches in our area. Almost as soon as we stepped into the Sunny Slope High School Multipurpose room (where our church then met) we knew Desert Mission Anglican Church was something different. We experienced an expressive, charismatic worship, ordered by a theologically solid liturgy and supported with an evangelical focus on Scripture and missions. We even discovered that our church and denomination has a connection to Africa! What we found at Desert Mission was a church that shared our values as a family.
We officially joined with Desert Mission Anglican Church and AMiA on December 12, 2010 for mission and community, and continue to be blessed there each week through Word, Sacrament, and fellowship of the saints.
Edited February 14, 2012 to include the paragraph on the importance of Webber’s work, and footnote #3.