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The Very Rev Ruth Lawson Kirk

The Rev Canon Pamela Jane Mott

The Rev Canon V Gene Robinson

The Very Rev Robert L Tate

Biography

“What if we simply open wide the doors, lift up our hearts, and keep on saying, ‘The Lord be with you’?.…Can we continue to seek new ways to shout from the housetops, in simple and understandable terms, ‘Jesus saves’”?.…I for one am not anxious about the church or its future...I am not anxious about our struggle to remain faithful to the gospel, even in the midst of our raging pluralism.”

The Reverend Joe Goodwin Burnett has been Professor of Pastoral Theology at the School of Theology, and Priest Associate at All Saints Chapel, the University of the South, Sewanee, Tennessee, for four years, after twenty-five years in parish ministry. He served eight years as Rector of Trinity Church, Hattiesburg, Mississippi, a historic church with a $450,000 budget and $1.2 million endowment. While there, Joe revitalized liturgy, strengthened adult and children’s education, and embraced more extensive outreach, leading to growth in membership, attendance and giving, especially among young couples and singles.

Joe has published numerous articles, contributing to the Sewanee Theological Review, the Sermons That Work series (Morehouse Publishing), and Journal of the Association of Anglican Musicians. A regular participant at Church Music/Liturgy conferences, he is often a faculty member of the Preaching Excellence Program for Episcopal seminarians. “I value the conventions of the Episcopal tradition and ethos, [its] musical heritage and theological pluralism.” In the Diocese of Mississippi, where he is canonically resident, he chaired committees on Church Music/Liturgy, Mission Strategy, Evangelism/Renewal, and College Work.

As a participant in Mississippi’s Religious Leadership Conference, he advocated social justice and interfaith dialogue and cooperation. In Hattiesburg he chaired the public schools’ Task Force on Racism, served on the diocesan AIDS Committee, and was President of the Mississippi Council on Adoptable Children. In 2002, Joe was Keynote Speaker at the Solo Flight (Episcopal Singles Organization) Conference at Kanuga, North Carolina. He has developed and facilitated a variety of parish youth programs. In 1982, 1988, 1991, and 1994, he was alternate deputy to General Convention.

A 1970 graduate of Millsaps College, Jackson, Mississippi, he earned his M.Div. in 1974 and D.Min. in Congregational Development in 1985 from Perkins School of Theology, Southern Methodist University. After two years as Curate, four years as Assistant Rector, and four years as Vicar, he was called as Rector to St. Peter’s by the Sea, Gulfport, Mississippi, where he remained seven years.

Joe has three grown sons, Justin, James, and Joseph. He is married to Marty Wheeler Burnett, associate organist at Otey Parish, Sewanee, and adjunct instructor of music at the University of the South and the School of Theology. An enthusiastic cook and musician, he receives assistance in his yard work from Border collie Sebastian.

“The pastoral task is the same now as it has always been in perilous times…Interpreting the Christian life and gospel with clarity and contemporary relevance… Building sacramental communities that are immersed in the life of the world...Articulating a clear Christian witness against state sponsored tyranny and terror of any sort...Honing a Christian ethic for people in global crisis...And always rooting our words and actions in a context of mutual love and care.”

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The Reverend Joe Goodwin Burnett
Responses to Questions

Describe three contemporary saints who have influenced your ministry.

My contemporary saints are not on the calendar of Lesser Feasts, but they have profoundly influenced my pastoral and personal life. First is my father, Marshall Emmett Burnett, Sr., a United Methodist minister who died in 1997 at the age of 91. A consummate pastor and lover of persons, his quiet witness thundered against the prevailing Mississippi culture. I vividly remember a time in 1964 when a contingent of irate racist members tried to hijack a board meeting and force our congregation to leave the "liberal" Methodist Church. My father listened to their tirades, then calmly but firmly replied: No, he was not going to leave the Methodist Church, and furthermore, neither was the congregation. An interminable silence followed. Then one by one, other board members rose to voice their support for their pastor. The church remained. As we face schism and division today in the Anglican communion, my father's determination gives me courage and hope.

Duncan M. Gray, Jr., was my Bishop in Mississippi from 1974-1993. The account of his brave resistance during the violent riots of 1962, as federal marshals sought to enroll the first African-American student at the University of Mississippi in Oxford, appears in Will Campbell's book, And Also With You: Duncan Gray and the American Dilemma. However, a deeper dimension of Gray's witness became clear to me years later when I watched him tell his unassuming story to Episcopal seminarians. He shared from sermons he had preached during that period at St. Peter's, messages of deep integrity, drenched with the gospel's promise and demand. I realized then that the essence of his prophetic spirit was a pastoral commitment to friend and foe alike, persons in and out of his parish, who knew and respected him even when they disagreed with him.

Leslie Neal Casaday (1940-1995) was Principal Parish Musician of St. Philip's Church in Jackson, Mississippi, and founding director of the Mississippi Conference on Church Music and Liturgy. This annual event has left an indelible mark on the liturgical life of the Episcopal Church, and has shaped the vocations of countless church musicians. Casaday's legacy is remarkable given the fact that he was an openly gay man in an era when the church resisted affirming homosexual persons. Until his death from AIDS in 1995, he was outspoken in his conviction that such affirmation was a matter of simple human dignity. His passion for music ministry led me to re appropriate my musical heritage as an essential dimension of my priesthood, and, moreover, his integrity has inspired me to embrace the full social implications of my baptismal covenant.

What risks have you taken for the Gospel?

As I reflected on this question, several social and political situations came to mind in which I felt I "went out on a limb" to promote what I believed to be a faithful response. However, in the light of the witness of the persons I just described, it would be pretentious for me to claim that I have ever taken any real risk for the gospel. In one sense, this is a blessing, for it suggests that I have been fortunate to spend my ministry in congregations where tolerance and respect for diversity have been prized, and where circumstances have not converged to put me in a position of serious vulnerability. I do believe that I must always be ready to bear witness in an appropriate and courageous way. Yet I am also mindful that prophetic ministry so often takes place in the midst of the day to day life of people and parishioners who are beset with the hurts and hopes, joys and sorrows, of daily living. I cannot minister with full integrity in one arena of the human drama without a deep concern for what happens in other arenas, for in an ultimate way all these arenas are one mission field. I am inspired by the fact that the ordained leaders who have had the most significant impact on issues of social justice have almost always been pastors of congregations. Nevertheless, I feel sure that in all the places I have served, more could have been accomplished if I had been more forthright in my proclamation and Christian witness.

How have you been called as a leader and a Christian to respond to the events of September 11th? How have you led your faith community to be a witness in the post-September 11th world?

After the terrorist attacks of September 11, how are we to preach and pastor and bear witness to the gospel in a new world, in an era of "new war," facing a dangerous and uncertain future? As a pastoral leader who teaches pastoral leaders, this is what I have said we should do.

First, we must reconsider our church's current fascination with corporate design and management technique. I fear that our eagerness to expand our memberships has brought us to the point where, as Eugene Peterson puts it, we tend to treat congregations as "loot," as raw material for manufacturing this program or that, and in the process we have forgotten our people. The tragedies that befell our nation on September 11 have reminded us that "we have this treasure in earthen vessels," meaning the gospel and the community of Christ. Let this be to us a clarion call to reclaim this church's soul. And in reclaiming its soul, let us also reclaim the power of the gospel of God's scandalous generosity and searching love.

Second, we need to learn appropriate ways to affirm the universality of this gospel in the context of a pluralistic religious world. I believe that the gospel of Jesus Christ contains the criteria for its own sharing, and calls us to a posture of mutual respect, tolerance, and forbearance in the face of what others intend for evil. Let those who pray for peace work together in peace.

Third, this era is reminiscent of others in the church's life that have been torn by persecution, terrorism, and violence. Yet the pastoral task is the same now as it has always been in perilous times: interpreting the Christian life and gospel with clarity and contemporary relevance; building sacramental communities that are immersed in the life of the world; articulating a clear Christian witness against state sponsored tyranny and terror of any sort; honing a Christian ethic for people in global crisis; and always rooting our words and actions in a context of mutual love and care.

Identify three top issues or trends in the life of the Episcopal Church today and how you envision us as a diocese under your leadership relative to these issues and trends.

The first issue has to do with our church's current fixation on numerical growth. I support ministries of evangelism and church growth, but I am concerned that some expressions of this enthusiasm run the risk of diluting our distinctive Anglican character and personality. I am in the Episcopal Church because it offers persons a life affirming, intellectually open, liturgically vibrant expression of the Christian faith. I believe such an environment fosters diversity. I also believe it is that very diversity that generates spiritual strength and maturity for responsible Christian living in a complex world. I want to work with you to enhance our opportunities for witness and service and growth, but I want to do it by forging a clear Episcopal identity for each and every congregation, and embracing it with no apologies.

The second issue has to do with the way in which our ritual life forms our baptismal life. It has often been said that praying shapes believing. A corollary to this is that praying, or worship, shapes our mission and evangelism, our social outreach, our pastoral care, and, indeed, all of our diverse ministries. This being the case, I would invite each and every congregation of the diocese of New Hampshire to share in further enriching our liturgical life in a way that deepens and broadens our sense of God's call, as well as gives voice to God's action and our response in more inclusive language and imagery. When the church prays, the way in which we name one another, as well as the way in which we invoke the nature and being and action of God, has a profound effect on the way in which we think about issues of gender, community, and justice. Continuing prayer book revision is an integral part of our liturgical heritage. I believe we can honor the traditions that sustain that heritage, and at the same time move forward in expanding our language and liturgy to express the fullness and richness of God's creation, redemption, and mission.

Third, I am hopeful that our church is moving in new directions in dealing with human sexuality, and I will gladly join with the members of your diocese in supporting what I believe is a movement of the Holy Spirit. I affirm and welcome, as do so many of you, the lay and ordained ministries of gay and lesbian persons, and I further believe it is time to offer ritual and pastoral resources for honoring their faithful and committed partnerships. I believe that if we act with courage and love, these steps will contribute to the building up of the Body of Christ. I also care deeply about those faithful church members who sincerely disagree, and I will continue to reach out to them in love. Charity and patience will be needed by all concerned to see this journey through. But see it through we must, now and in the days to come.

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Brief Highlights of Experience in Eight Areas–
The Reverend Joe Goodwin Burnett

Pastoral care
• Twenty-five years in parish ministry; hospital/home visitation; interim supply 1999-2002;
• Chaplain to parish/diocesan Daughters of the King; Frequent Cursillo Spiritual Director;
• Chaplain to national music/liturgy conferences; Chaplain associate at the Univ.of the South, on-call/pastoral care components; Teach pastoral care in seminary.

Teaching
• Many years general parish teaching, misc. classes; EFM Mentor; Kerygma Bible Study;
• Instructor, Dio. Leadership Program for Musicians; Dio. School for Vocational Deacons;
• Seminary teaching; University catechumenate; National Preaching Excellence Program.

Ministry with and to children and youth.
• Parish education design; Catechesis/Good Shepherd, Godly Play, Journey to Adulthood; Innovative parish programs, groups, and one to one teaching and ministry;
• Long time leader/worker–EYC, Vacation Bible School, “Kids’ Night Out,” etc.

Congregational development.
• Developed new congregation; D.Min. degree in Evang/Congregational Development; Dio/region/natl workshop leader, consultant; Teach some cong. dev. in seminary studies.

Stewardship and evangelism.
• Parish stewardship education, training and implementation;
• Chairman, Dio. Evangelism Comm.; Dio/regional/natl workshop leader, consultant;
• Province IV Evang. Steering Committee; Church Growth Institute Advanced Training;
• D.Min. study in Evang.; Currently teach some stewardship, evangelism in seminary.

Ecumenical and interfaith work.
• Board of Directors, MS Religious Leadership Conference interfaith task force; advocated social justice/service, interfaith dialogue/cooperation; Misc. ministerial associations;
• Hattiesburg Interfaith Alliance/community service/social justice issues/interfaith worship.

Leadership in outreach and social justice.
• Years in parish Adopt-a-School Outreach for “at-risk” youth; Misc. parish ministries;
• Chaired Task Force on Racism, Hattiesburg Pub. Schools; Habitat for Humanity;
• Dio. AIDS committee; President, MS Council on Adoptable Children, policy reform group; Board of MS Religious Leadership Conf., advocated social justice/service.

Administration, including responsibility for personnel and finance.
• Program/corporate parish (1991-99), 3 full-time clergy/lay; 3 half-time; pre-school director/staff; With vestry, oversaw $450,000 budget, $1.2 million endowment;
• Family/pastoral/program congregations, 1- 6 employees, $50,000 - 250,000 budgets;
• Budget Priorities committee, University of the South; Advisory to University Budget;
MS Dio. Exec. Comm/Ministry Development Cabinet, administered $1 million + budget.

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A Sermon Preached by the Rev. Dr. Joe G. Burnett
Wednesday, May 2, 2001 (Athanasius of Alexandria)
The Chapel of the Apostles, The School of Theology
The University of the South, Sewanee, Tennessee

Forgive the Twelve if they seem a bit reticent now. Jesus has just called them together, and he is sending them on an outlandish mission. “Go and proclaim the good news,” he says. Say, “The kingdom is near.” Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. Take no money, no bag, no sandal, no staff, one tunic.

And then there’s my favorite instruction—that slightly different spin on new member ministry:
Knock on the doors of the first prospects you meet, and announce that you’re moving in! And, you’re staying until you’re finished with the new church start!

“Let your peace be upon that house,” Jesus says. But if it is not worthy, take it back, shake the dust off your feet, and move on. You know, Sodom and Gomorrah, and all that. You will be like “sheep in the midst of wolves.” You’ll be arrested, flogged, and dragged into some kangaroo court. But not to worry! For what you are to say will be given to you at that time.

Oh, and don’t concern yourself at first with plans for that new multi-purpose family life center. Because my gospel will turn brother against brother, fathers against children, and children against their parents.

And just one more thing: “...you will be hated by all because of my name.”

Note that this take on evangelism ministry is somewhat different than we see today. Can you imagine a diocese running this ad in Episcopal Life?

Treacherous but growing new subdivision, needs missioner. No career track, limited pay, zero benefits. Only self-starters with no immediate survivors need apply.

In our nominally churched society, such a mission as Matthew describes in chapter ten seems outrageous. And yet Jesus has the temerity to say, “Do not worry.” Do not be anxious.


We’ve heard this before. Earlier in Matthew’s story, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “Do not be anxious.” He was affirming God’s providential care in the midst of the disciples’ fretting about the so-called “necessities” of life. “Do not worry,” “take no thought,” “do not be anxious,” Jesus told them. Do not be anxious about your life, or about what you will eat, or what you will drink, and so on. For God, who so abundantly feeds the birds of the air, and so lavishly clothes the grass of the field—God knows you have need of all these things. Strive first for God’s kingdom, and God’s righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.

Interesting how we get echoes of that sermon in our lesson for today:

Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. And even the hairs of your head are all counted. So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows. (Mt. 10:29-31).

Take no thought about what you are to eat or drink. Do not worry that I have sent you out in the midst of a hostile world. Do not be afraid. Do not be anxious.

The more I hear those words, the more I am reminded of some striking parallels with the teaching of a modern day Rabbi, the late Edwin Friedman. As many of you know, his language about anxiety has become part of the everyday lingo of many clergy, care givers, and helping professionals. Friedman’s basic theory of leadership had to do not with how much information one had, or how well any given technique had been mastered. It had little to do with expertise, but very much to do with how a leader functions within his or her emotional system.

Crucial to any successful leadership, Friedman argued, and to the health of any family or community, is a leader who can define his or her own goals and values while maintaining a non-anxious presence within the system. Being non-anxious means being self-differentiated, non-reactive, and yet still closely connected to the people we serve.

Countless persons have benefited from his simple and direct approach to leadership. He often referred to it as “headship.” But despite this evocative scriptural language, very few have recognized in his thought (the mentorship of Murray Bowen notwithstanding) its deep scriptural roots. Indeed, Friedman once said that what makes pastoral counseling pastoral is not whether we have packaged our psychology in scripture, but whether we, the pastors, have listened to scripture. I have long been intrigued with the fact that Friedman’s ideas find their most logical philosophical home in the synoptic portrait of Jesus of Nazareth.

Look again at Matthew’s gospel, and then again at this particular passage for today, with “Friedman eyes.” From start to finish Matthew’s story is brimming with anxiety. Some of it is revealed in the language Matthew uses. Words and phrases that we translate “have no fear,” “do not be afraid,” “take no thought,” “do not worry,” can also be understood as “Do not be anxious.”

Yet, anxiety is all around. You can see it in the people, you can see it in the religious leaders, you can see it in the disciples. And in the mist of it all stands Jesus. He remains, from start to finish, the quintessential non-anxious one.

Look at the announcement of his birth. Joseph is told by the angel of the Lord, do not be “afraid” to take Mary as your wife. When wise men from the East come seeking the newborn king, Herod, and all Jerusalem with him, are “troubled,” “anxious.” The disciples on the boat in the middle of the windstorm are asked by Jesus, “Why are you afraid?” The chief priests and Pharisees who are stung by his parables want to arrest him, but they “fear” the crowds.

Over and over again, Jesus encounters and engages the people, the religious leaders, and the disciples with his compelling preaching, teaching, and healing. And over and over again the response of almost all comers is, anxiety. And yet Jesus urges them time and again: Do not be afraid. Do not be anxious. Indeed, in the closing verses of the gospel, when the risen Jesus meets the women running from the empty tomb, he says, “do not be afraid.” And then he says, “Go, and tell.” And he sends the disciples “into all the world” to “preach the gospel...”

So in today’s passage, as Jesus sends them out, he says “have no fear:”

What I say to you in the dark, tell in the light; and what you hear whispered, proclaim from the housetops. Do not fear those who can kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell. (Mt. 10:27-28).

Fear, worry, careful thought—anxiety—have no place in the mission of the church. And yet, when I look around the Episcopal Church today, I see it a lot of anxiety.

Back in March when Neil Alexander and I and the other candidates for Bishop of Atlanta were traveling around that diocese for what they called their “Presentation Events,” I was asked this question in one of the groups. “What do you think is the most important issue in the Episcopal Church today?” Without a moment’s hesitation, I replied, “Anxiety.”

You will recall, of course, that I lost the election.

But purple shirt or no purple shirt, I stand by my answer. Anxiety is the “sleeper” issue in the Episcopal Church today. Ironically, this anxiety erupts at a time when our society enjoys unparalleled prosperity. It manifests itself at a time when the church in this country has only minor league opposition. It comes at a time when, unlike our brothers and sisters in some other lands, where being Christian still invites persecution and retaliation, we live in communities where the mission of Jesus as outlined in Matthew seems overly dramatic.

In spite of all this, anxiety is prevalent in the church today, especially in the Episcopal Church. And this is the context in which most of you are going to be living and functioning as pastors, priests, and parish leaders. What can you do, what can I do, that will help us respond to this with faithfulness and integrity? I think there are some things we can learn about all this from Friedman; from Athanasius, perhaps; and, most of all—thanks to Matthew’s story—from Jesus.

Now I’m not talking here about everyday, garden-variety anxiety. I’ve been going down on Sundays recently to St. Luke’s, a pastoral size Episcopal congregation in Scottsboro, Alabama. They are currently looking for a new rector, and they’re a little anxious right now. That’s to be expected. It’s OK. It’s not making them crazy.

No, the kind of anxiety I’m talking about is much more pervasive, and more destructive. It’s the sort of anxiety I think Jesus warned against. This kind of anxiety begins to make the church, and its members, and its ministers, something less that fully functional and healthy. Here’s one example of how it works its way through a system.

Five years ago, a new family showed up in my parish one Sunday morning. When I called on them the following week, I was surprised to learn that they were members of the Reformed Episcopal Church. For those of you who may not know, the Reformed Episcopal Church broke away from the Episcopal Church back in the mid-nineteenth century. Until recently, this sectarian movement had almost become extinct, but controversies over things like women’s ordination, prayer book revision, and human sexuality have “recharged” its batteries, so to speak. Nowadays, many in the Reformed Church are linking up with folks in the AMiA movement, the so-called Anglican Mission in America.

Anyway, Jeff, the husband, was a former Baptist and Presbyterian, and he had become a deacon in the Reformed Church. I talked with them frankly about the ethos and mission of our parish, and welcomed them with open arms. The only question was, could they be comfortable here?

I said to them, “This parish is a microcosm of the Episcopal Church. There are members who are conservatives and liberals, low church and high church, ‘turned on’ and ‘turned off.’ It’s a pluralistic environment.”

For about two years, it seemed they could make it work. There were moments of disagreement and tension, but for the most part they were active and well liked. Until. Until Jeff decided to begin attending my Assistant Rector’s somewhat freewheeling discussion group. This diverse assortment of professional men and women included many who were on a faith pilgrimage marked by intellectual struggle. But they were drawn to Trinity, drawn to the liturgy, drawn to the community—and they were committed to continuing the journey.

At some point, the group decided to explore the topic of human sexuality. That’s when Deacon Jeff’s anxiety got raised to a fever pitch. Before long, parishioners were telling me about his anger in class. Soon thereafter someone reported that he had gone around to several members with copies of a little paperback book by Walter Wink (my Assistant had used this as one of several discussion starters in this series). Jeff was saying that the clergy at Trinity were “teaching false doctrine and corrupting the youth.”

It should come as no surprise to the seniors who have been in my pastoral theology class this term that, in response to these attacks, my Assistant and I did nothing. Nothing, that is, except to keep reaching out to Jeff and his family with love and acceptance.

A few weeks later, Jeff was in my office announcing his family’s intention to leave Trinity. We had a stiff but cordial visit. And then, as quickly as they had come, Jeff and his family—and all their anxiety—were gone.

Some months later I was besieged by a small crowd of folks at a parish dinner who were all worked up about the latest news from Jeff’s family. It seems he was about to be ordained a priest in the Reformed Episcopal Church, and would soon be opening a mission congregation in our community. “What will we do,” they cried?

“Why, nothing.” I replied. And then I added, “Who do you think we might lose to such an enterprise?” One or two names were mentioned. One or two out of our 900 members. And indeed they were right. We lost those two. But, for a time, the anxiety over what might happen, and who all might leave, had traveled around a good bit of the parish family system.

That’s the way anxiety works. It creates a “crisis” of sorts, but more often than not it is an illusion, an imagined catastrophe.

We can draw this illustration large in terms of the Episcopal Church as a whole. Dissident bishops often succeed in unsettling enough clergy with fears of imminent disaster that they entice them to jump ship. Those clergy, in turn, stir the anxious waters of their parishes, and often get several lay folk to jump ship. The faithful who remain, naturally, begin to get anxious about what’s coming next. Who’ll pay for the new family life center? What about our day school? Will we be able to stay afloat?

Before long anxiety makes its way through the food chain and even finds expression in our efforts at mission and evangelism. Unfortunately, outreach that is born of anxiety tends to lead to theological hair-splitting, doctrinal witch-hunts, and the break-up of otherwise healthy communities of faith. Because we fear for our future and our growth, we begin to behave differently when we say who we are, and what our perspective on the gospel is, and how we worship, and whom we welcome. And we turn a deaf ear to that persistent voice in the back of our minds, which says, “no money, no bag, no sandal, no staff, one tunic...do not be anxious.”

Several years ago the husband of a prominent laywoman and vestry member in my parish called for an appointment. Gordon had been raised Baptist. He had come reluctantly into the Episcopal Church only because Doris, his wife, was so active and involved. But Gordon had never been very happy. He didn’t like the liturgy, he didn’t like the Church School classes, he didn’t like the atmosphere or the ethos, and he certainly didn’t like the reports he would read in the newspaper every three years when General Convention met. When he came into my office that particular day, he was as dejected and upset as I had ever seen him. “Pastor,” he said, “this just isn’t working for me.” I listened for awhile, and then I said, “Gordon, what can I do, what can we do, to make it better for you?” He thought for a moment, and then with a stunning flash of honesty he said, “You can stop being Episcopalian.”

For him, that meant the same thing it meant to my Reformed Episcopal friend, Jeff: Put an end to this diversity; not quite so much “moderation in all things;” tighten up on the liberality;
soft pedal the liturgy; teach the scriptures literally; generally, clean house. What baffled him, and obviously baffles so many today, is that somewhere in this rowdy, rag-tag eucharistic community that’s been launched into the world from an astonishing series of English Reformation political and theological circumstances—somewhere in here is the good news of the gospel that so many of us who call ourselves Episcopalians have heard, and to which we have responded. We have heard Jesus saying to us, “Do not be anxious.” And we are not.

Today, we do well to remember Athanasius. In his own time, and in his own way, Athanasius faced an anxious church as a truly non-anxious presence. Five times he was exiled for his stubborn refusal to abandon what he understood to be the orthodox faith. Athanasius contra mundum—“Athanasius against the world”—was the motto that went around among the intelligentsia, on pursed lips sneering with laughter.

But the people loved him! His stellar vision—in words that would in varied expression give voice to Christological thinking for centuries to come—was simply this: Jesus saves.

“Do not be anxious,” Jesus said. “Only fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell.”

What is it that brings such destruction? Could it be the same for us as it was for the disciples in mission? Could it be precisely that anxiety that is born of a deep lack of faith and trust in God and the gospel? Could it be when we as parish priests become anxious for ourselves and our status in the face of other people’s freedom, because we no longer can tell them what to believe? What if, instead, we simply offer them what we have to offer?

Could it be that we are anxious about the salvation of the masses because not everyone is going to come to our church or any other church? What if we simply open wide the doors, lift up our hearts, and keep on saying, “The Lord be with you?”

Could it be that we are anxious for the gospel message, because we suspect that it does not have the power it once had? Can we simply keep on learning, and stay open and keep listening to those who clamor anxiously around? Can we continue to seek new ways to shout from the housetops, in simple and understandable terms, “Jesus saves”?

I for one am not anxious about our church or its future. I am not anxious about our growth, or lack of it. I am not anxious about our struggle to remain faithful to the gospel, even in the midst of our raging pluralism. Indeed, my hunch is that if we, like Athanasius, can “stand against” an anxious world—and an anxious church—we will be surprised some morning when, like the disciples in last Sunday’s reading, our nets are full, and there are more people present than we ever expected, gathered together on the beach, at the charcoal fire, ready for breakfast.


Notes

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