Try Not to Get Worried, Try Not to Turn Onto...

I have an acquaintance--alternately known as a "Facebook Friend"--who despises politics. If a filter were to be invented that could screen out all references to anything vaguely political, he would be the first to buy it. When he announced--once again--to his readers this morning that he would be hiding all political posts, I thought of Magdalene's musical encouragement, at least in "Jesus Christ Superstar," for Jesus to "let the world turn without you tonight."

This week, my politics-averse friend is in good company, because Holy Week is the time when many Christians pull back a bit from the thrum and bustle of worldly cares. This year, for me, it is with a fresh and unusual sense that things are getting on track, and that I can safely tend to my inner world with some firm hope that the outer world will take care of itself just fine without my nanobit's worth of attention.

Last week's spiritual double-header is the source of my hopefulness. First, we saw a guy take Saint Peter's seat who personally invites trash collectors to his Papal Masses and takes the time to cancel his own dental appointments back in Buenos Aires. He eschewed the ostentatious (fake)ermine-trimmed cape-let and jeweled cross to greet the waiting throngs in the simple white cassock. He bowed his head asking for the prayers of his people before he bestowed his first Papal blessing. He used to cook his own meals and still rides in buses. I am Benedictine enough to believe in the value of physical labor for all members of a community, no matter how highly-positioned in the community. It is good that Francis is Pope. I won't engage in extensive criticism of his predecessor, but it seems highly unlikely that this guy will bother with prissy wording changes, like going back to "and with your spirit" instead of "and also with you." Nor is he likely to micromanage his generally well-trained, competent, and dedicated legions of clergy with administrivia like telling them that they must wear clerical collars every minute that they step outside their homes or that the chalices must all be set out on the altars and filled prior to the Eucharistic prayers.

All this seems very, very good.

Second, we watched this bright-eyed little guy go on a prayer pilgrimage through England before his installation as the Archbishop of Canterbury. He recycled the vestments of a beloved deceased colleague, rather than commission new ones to be made for him. He chose as a text for his sermon Matthew's "Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid," and admitted his own trepidations upon assuming leadership. He had the temerity to talk about "obedience to God, both in public care and private love." He is a man well-experienced in the work-a-day world and three times he narrowly escaped death at the hands of terrorists. Again, I do not wish to engage in extensive criticism of his predecessor, but Justin Welby seems unlikely to suggest that Sharia law would be a good thing to implement in Britain. It is good that he is Archbishop of Canterbury.

With the election of these two men, the world has gained two leaders markedly different from the current crop of secular leaders who cultivate the life-styles of rock-star celebrity. Perhaps these secular leaders will emulate the alternative that Francis and Justin embody. "Calmer, humbler world" sounds a lot like the "kinder, gentler nation" that one of our own secular leaders called for a few years back. Will the celebrity-worshipping media heed the current call to sanity better than the last? Francis' first press conference suggests that they might. Even if not, there is still the likelihood that the public at large will at last remember what true leadership looks like. Ultimately gold is much more attractive than glitz.

Yep--it is with heightened gratitude and decreased anxiety that many will be saying their Good Friday prayers for all the world. China, North Korea, Syria, and Russia may all be rattling their sabers, fellow Christians are being martyred by Islamic hardliners, our national debt continues to soar, and in some places kids can get abortions on demand but not large-sized soft-drinks. Everything is not, as Superstar's Mary Magdalene sang, "all right, yes," but things are, overall, just possibly, trending up.

Who's your Daddy?

As all the various Christian denominations seek to create new believers in a spiritually hungry world, I hope we can avoid the competitiveness that insists that our own particular "brand" is best. I know that a deep confidence in our own tradition of believing and worshiping is necessary in order to be willing to share the tradition with others. Still, that deep confidence need not overshadow the knowledge that other denominations are seeking to do God's work in the world, as well.

In all honesty, I come to this concern with a certain axe to grind. Favorite authors of mine and even close personal friends tend to speak of basic Christian tenets as "Catholic," and they don't, unfortunately, mean the "little c catholic" that we refer to when reciting the Nicene Creed. As Roman Catholics, they even claim the word "catholic," but I don't think the non-Roman portion of God's "one holy, catholic, and apostolic church" is willing to let the word go.

Actually, we "little c catholics" ourselves give away more than makes sense. We tend to acquiesce to the notion that the early and medieval church and everything not explicitly Protestant is by default Roman Catholic. It would be more accurate to say that Roman Catholicism and Protestantism share the same roots in early Christianity and in the medieval church. Just because the Roman Catholic branch is by far the largest branch does not mean that the other branches do not still draw their primary nourishment from the roots of Christianity.

The branching off process was not an abrupt or tidy process. Luther's congregants were still buying indulgences in 1517 when he nailed his 95 theses on the Cathedral door, and Henry VIII was named Defender of the Faith for opposing Luther in 1521. Queen Mary would reinstate Catholic Mass in place of the Book of Common Prayer's Communion service a full thirteen years after Ignatius of Loyola finally managed to get his famed Spiritual Exercises published. Reformation leaders did not have lobotomies that cut all of Roman Catholic piety out of their brains. And, yes, it is true that reciting the Angelus and Ave Maria remained an integral part of the personal spiritual practice of Luther and other key reformers.

So why, in explaining the spiritual influences in his life, does the newly-installed Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, refer to the Benedictine and Ignation influences as Roman Catholic? He needs to claim them proudly as his Anglican birthright just as clearly as I cling to Copernicus, Kosciousko, and Chopin as part of my Polish heritage. That my branch of the Polish family tree now stretches across the ocean to America does not expunge my ancestry. Likewise, the Reformation did not expunge Protestantism's ancestry. It is ours forever, to be shared with loving respect for the other descendants of our beloved ancestors who also cherish our common roots.

Pride in our respective denominations is a good thing, but may it not devolve into an unhealthy religious jingoism. Paul figured this out 20 centuries ago in writing to those quarrelsome, egocentric Corinthians. Is claiming denominational supremacy any less a manifestation of jealousy than claiming Paul or Apollos? Christ is the destination: leaders and denominations are only the vehicles, wonderful though they be.

Let's be circumspect, generous, and honest in claiming and studying our roots. Doing so will make us more attractive and convincing in our efforts to spread the Gospel in a diversely-populated world.