what's your story? (pt. 3)

A number of weeks ago, I described how I went from being an atheist to a mildly fundamentalistic non-denominational evangelical missionary. The question now is, what drew me from conservative non-denominationalism to the Episcopal Church?

I should begin by defining my terms. By “fundamentalistic” I mean believing in the supremacy and inerrancy of the Bible. [NB: Not all evangelicals are fundamentalists, and many evangelicals regard “fundamentalist” to be a pejorative term. By no means do I wish here to belittle anyone for their sincere, heartfelt convictions about scripture.] This belief is exemplified by the conviction that if scientific research says one thing (e.g., that the earth is 4.6 billion years old), but the Bible clearly says something else (viz., that the earth is only 6,000 to 10,000 years old), the scientific research must be wrong. (Interestingly, Christian fundamentalism generally has no problem accepting a heliocentric view of the solar system, even though the Bible’s cosmology is clearly geocentric.)

By “mildly” I mean friendly. The majority of folks in the fundamentalistic evangelical community of which I was a part were not “Bible thumpers” and certainly took no delight in the thought that anyone who dies without conscious, saving faith in Jesus Christ is consigned to eternal torment in hell. Many of them were, in fact, very kind and hospitable, doing their best to love their neighbors as themselves.

There are a variety of reasons why I embraced mild fundamentalism for so long (from about 1999 [the year of my conversion from atheism to Christianity] to about 2012). One is the comforting simplicity that biblical supremacy offers: all that is necessary to live a good life is in the Bible; there’s no need to worry about what the latest research in ethics or psychology or nutrition or parenting has to say; this one book has all the answers. (And there is some truth to this: multum legendum [est], non multa.)

But reality is not simple.

Emily and I got married in 2006, and in 2007 we moved to Argentina, ready to spend the rest of our lives there serving as missionaries. Within a few years, however, I began to feel the need to pursue more formal theological training. (In hindsight, it appears that I like to do things backwards: I entered fulltime vocational ministry first, and then went to seminary; I finished my MDiv studies in 2014, and not until 2016 did I start the discernment process for ordination in the Episcopal Church.)

It wasn’t that I had gone to Argentina entirely unprepared. From 2002 to 2003 I had participated in an intensive spiritual formation program led by several pastors of a local church. For nine months (September – May) from 6:00am to 8:00am four days a week, I and a group of about 30 other young men took copious notes as these pastors walked us through three quarters of the Bible, explaining the meaning of each verse. By the end of the program, we had studied all the “historical” books of the Old Testament (i.e., Genesis through Esther) and the entire New Testament. Then, in September 2004 I enrolled in a missionary training program offered by the same local church. Although the program was not accredited, it was intense (about fourteen hours of class per week for twelve months) and mirrored a typical seminary core curriculum, with semester-long courses on topics such as Survey of the OT & NT, Intro to Biblical Exegesis, Preaching, Systematic Theology I & II, Church History I & II, etc.

And yet there is no substitute for an accredited seminary—especially for one as academically rigorous and ecumenical as Princeton Seminary, which is where, in the summer of 2011, I began my MDiv studies.

Some fundamentalists lose their faith in such a setting (as did renowned New Testament scholar, Bart Ehrman). For me, Princeton Seminary opened the door to a via media, a middle way, between the biblical supremacism of Christian fundamentalism and the rationalism of atheism (which is its own sort of fundamentalism). On the one hand, the Bible is the foundational text (or rather set of texts, as it is a collection of writings produced by a multitude of authors over a span of nearly 1,000 years) of our faith; it is both sacred and inspired. But, to be blunt: it also contains errors and contradictions. (See below for a few examples.) And this is OK, because the good news proclaimed by and about Jesus Christ is not that the Bible is supreme and inerrant. God’s exhortation to humankind in the gospel is to believe not in the Bible, but in Jesus.

This realization alone was not what led me to the Episcopal Church (as I mentioned in the note above, not all evangelicals regard biblical supremacy and inerrancy to be essential; many put a much greater emphasis on one’s personal relationship with the Holy Spirit). But it caused me to begin to reconsider the nature of divine revelation and the relationship between scripture, reason, and tradition—sources of knowledge (often referred to among Anglicans as “the three-legged stool”) that are all integral to the Episcopal Church’s approach to theology. 

As an evangelical (which in many ways I continue to be), I fully embraced the impulse (rooted in the ad fontes ethos of the Reformation) to seek to recover and implement the beliefs and practices of the New Testament church—to “do church” the way the Apostles did, with no denominations, no episcopacy, no ecclesiastical hierarchy, just networks of pastors, elders, and local congregations. The problem is that at least two elements essential to Christian identity—the New Testament canon and Trinitarian theology—owe their existence not to the clear teachings of scripture but to the ecclesiastical hierarchy. As I came to learn, it was the episcopacy, buttressed by its invocation of apostolic succession, that determined which early Christian writings would become canonical (e.g., the Epistle to the Hebrews, but not the Epistle of Barnabas, or the Gospel of Mark, but not the Gospel of Thomas). And it was the episcopacy that gave us the Trinitarian understanding of the Son as “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one Being with the Father.”

Coming to terms with this reality is part of what drew me to the Episcopal Church. But there are many other reasons why I am here. At the personal level, there is my deep fondness for CS Lewis (who, as I mentioned in part 2 of my story, played an important role in my conversion to Christianity); as a devout Anglican, Lewis was in communion with the Episcopal Church, and had he lived in the United States, he very likely would have been an Episcopalian. (Not that this is a real reason to join a denomination; but I would be lying if I said my affinity for Lewis and his Anglican [and Neoplatonic] ways of thinking did not have a profound effect on me.)

A more substantial and spiritual reason for my move to the Episcopal Church is its regular Sunday liturgy: the Eucharist. Shaped by well over a thousand years of practice, with elements introduced as early as the second century, this form of worship, in its beauty and solemnity, has enabled me to appreciate in new ways the words of Habakkuk: “The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth keep silence before him.” For me, participating in the Eucharist is both a transformative spiritual discipline and an empowering source of humble joy.

Returning to the relationship between faith and reason, I also found (and still find) compelling the Episcopal Church’s firm rootedness in scripture and tradition coupled with its openness to the new (i.e., to the expansion of human knowledge and experience). What was revealed in the beginning—namely, God’s promise to Abraham that in him (through his life of faith and his spiritual descendants) all the nations of the earth would be blessed—remains true. But human understanding of this revelation has developed over time—from Moses through the life, teaching, and redemptive work of Jesus—and continues to progress through theological and scientific inquiry, the production and interpretation of great works of art, and the ongoing revelatory and creative work of the Holy Spirit. The Episcopal Church recognizes and seeks to integrate this progress of revelation in a way that resonates well with who I am.

There are other reasons for my Episcopalization, but I will end with my love of Anglicanism’s three-fold identity, implicit in its self-recognition as a “big tent.” The Church of England and (regrettably, to a somewhat lesser extent) the Episcopal Church do not, as most denominations do, consist of a two-party system of “conservatives” vs. “liberals.” Because of Anglicanism’s unique history, we have three distinct voices in continual dialogue and debate: the “High Church”/Anglo-Catholic voice, the “Broad Church”/liberal or progressive voice, and the “Low Church”/evangelical voice. This is perfect for me, as some days I feel more Catholic (and if it were not for papal supremacy and clerical celibacy, I might cross the Tiber), while other days I’m a full on nineteenth-century Schleiermacherian liberal or a Wesleyan evangelical. In other words, I am helplessly “theology fluid,” and the Episcopal Church graciously allows me to be who I am.

The Episcopal Church is by no means perfect. But what church is? I am grateful to be part of this messy, but beautiful tradition and am hopeful that God will use its commitment to seek and serve Christ in all persons to bring healing to our divided and hurting world.

*An Example of an Error in Scripture: Matthew and Luke make it clear that Jesus was born during the reign of Herod the Great. But Luke also states that Jesus was born when Quirinius was governor of Syria. Both can’t be true. Herod the Great died in 4 BC; Quirinius did not become governor of Syria until 6 AD. Most scholars agree that Jesus was indeed born during Herod’s reign and that Luke was just wrong about Quirinius.

*An Example of a Contradiction in Scripture: According to the Synoptic Gospels, the Last Supper was a Passover meal, celebrated after the Passover lambs had been sacrificed. John, however, states that the Last Supper took place on the evening before the Passover lambs were sacrificed. (This was so that Jesus’ death would occur when the lambs were being slaughtered, in order that John the Baptist’s proclamation [“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”] might more explicitly be fulfilled.)

Read: what's your story? (pt. 1)

Read: what's your story? (pt. 2)