Book titles can be tricky. Some are cute and clever, leaving readers wondering what they will find inside. Others appear direct and straightforward, but lead to surprises once the cover is opened. Samuel Bray and Drew Nathaniel Keane’s new work, How to Use the Book of Common Prayer: A Guide to the Anglican Liturgy, falls into the latter category. It’s not that the title is incorrect; the book does indeed provide a thorough guide to the intentions, spirituality, and practical use of the Book of Common Prayer — just not the one you might expect. This book is a user manual to the International Version of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer published by InterVarsity Press in 2021, edited by Bray and Keane.

Once that initial confusion is cleared up, the book’s intention becomes quite clear: it introduces non-Anglican evangelicals discovering liturgy for the first time to a venerable and time-tested expression of Christian worship, a solid, stately liturgy with a Reformation edge.

Keane and Bray’s book accomplishes this task admirably, beginning with the reasons for liturgy, how it might be both more biblical and evangelical than modern prejudices might imply, moving to a quick history underscoring the Reformation heritage of the Book of Common Prayer, then exploring the central liturgies with an eye to both page-flipping mechanics (keyed to the page numbers of the International Edition) and the spirituality underpinning these interconnected rites.

While the histories of the various services are touched upon as needed, the focus is consistently on how the praying person can appreciate and internalize the theology and spirituality encoded within the prayer book’s system of devotion. The language is clear and engaging, attentive to the kinds of questions and concerns a loosely Calvinist nondenominational believer might ask upon encountering these liturgies, i.e., how rigid liturgies can also be “prayer of the heart,” and what to make of infant baptism.

As they proceed through Mattins and Evensong, Baptism, and Eucharist, Bray and Keane demonstrate how these 1662 liturgies broadly follow a consistent four-step pattern: keeping liturgies passed down through the ages, simplifying them, pruning away medieval additions and elaborations, and bringing a Reformation emphasis on faith through hearing God’s Word. As they explain the contents and spiritual movements of the liturgies, they continually engage five themes they see as the keys to the Book of Common Prayer: “the gospel, thoroughly catholic and thoroughly reformed doctrine, simplicity, and beauty.” If ever one of these principles is suppressed or soft-pedaled it is, not surprisingly, the “thoroughly catholic” one.

Of course, living into a prayer book requires more than just understanding the text on the page; liturgies are inhabited by communities, and patterns of practice shape how the words are lived. The authors are well aware of this fact, and discuss how the liturgies were used in context. The context they offer is specifically that of the Lutheran-Calvinist blend that marked the early English Reformation, and especially the heritage of the 1552 Protestant revision of the Book of Common Prayer that the 1662 book continues. Accordingly, the authors place an emphasis not only on Mattins and Evensong as the daily prayers of the church, but also central services for the Sunday worship of the community; full Communion services (as opposed to the more common truncated Ante-Communion) are recommended monthly or quarterly, which they correctly note “remained the usual practice of most Anglican churches until the second half of the twentieth century.”

Thus, Bray and Keane have produced a fantastic resource to be studied alongside their International Edition of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. They introduce its rites and logics to Christians unfamiliar with liturgical practices, who might bring lingering suspicions of fixed rites, explaining how this Scripture-centered worship connects both to the experience of the first Christians and to the Reformation faith informed by Luther and Calvin, Jewell, and Hooker. The focus is never on history for its own sake, but on the gospel-centered theology and spirituality that flow from the long-term immersion within these rites, forming Christians who live their faith in both word and deed.

What is the utility of this book to someone like me, though — a Catholic-leaning Episcopalian committed to the use of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer? As a scholar with an academic interest in the topic and an aficionado of the spectrum of prayer book liturgies, I appreciate this work especially because it challenges my assumptions and presuppositions. As one who learned about the 1662 prayer book at the feet of decidedly Catholic Tractarian and Ritualist luminaries like Blunt, Proctor, Wordsworth, and Frere, the relentlessly Reformation perspective of this guide made me question and re-examine what I thought of these rites, causing me several times to dive into not just the 1662 prayer book, but several of its predecessors as well, to clarify what was being expressed.

I do think the work downplays the rich Catholic heritage of the prayer book tradition, and makes occasional missteps and obfuscations that conceal it. Nods to the early Church and Church Fathers inevitably become citations of Augustine in his Reformation-approved dress. This is perfectly understandable, given the direction of the work and the lingering anti-Catholic sentiment I’m familiar with from many non-denominational believers, but I think opportunities were missed to connect the deep history of the prayer book with the work of the Holy Spirit through the centuries. Ironically, one of the few times this deep history comes up is when it is leveraged against alternate prayer books: the discussion of the eucharistic lectionary of 1662 touts its continuity with the church of the sixth century in order to assert its superiority over the late 20th-century Revised Common Lectionary.

Indeed, it’s inevitable that a work of this kind will draw contrasts between the 1662 book under discussion and the books used by modern Anglican and Episcopal Churches. While comparisons of this kind do occasionally crop up, their purpose is rarely to vilify the current liturgies (apart from a crack at a figurative recent remodeling of the stately Anglican dwelling covering rich wood floors with “linoleum and orange shag carpet”) and they are kept to a minimum; the goal is primarily to promote the 1662 rather than to tear down later editions.

But what of the non-scholar? Will average users of the 1979 or even the 1928 Book of Common Prayer find here inspiration for their spiritual journey? As much as I hate to say it, I suspect the answer is no. First, this work is a guidebook to the International Edition of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. Without that edition at hand, the book’s purpose as a guide is diminished. Having written a similar guidebook for the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, I know from experience how tightly tied such a guide must be to the text it seeks to explain.

Second, there is, in fact, a gulf between the 1662 edition and the American 1928 and 1979 revisions. The structure and content of the Communion service in the 1662 book directly follows that of the 1552, with reception of the elements directly after the Words of Institution and before the Oblation and praying of the Lord’s Prayer — right in the middle of the Eucharistic prayer from the perspective of the American books. This is because American prayer books have followed the Scottish pattern that hearkens back to the 1549 prayer book, which lacks some of the Reformed elements that characterize both the 1552 and 1662 revisions. As the structure and content differ, so too do the theology and spirituality that flow from it.

Undoubtedly there are nuggets of wisdom and truths about Anglican liturgy generally any believer can find in this guidebook. However, apart from the comparative study of a near relative on the prayer book family tree, I don’t see this work finding much utility in a 1979 or even a 1928 BCP parish.

Dr. Derek Olsen is a biblical scholar and engaged layman in the Episcopal Church.

Book titles can be tricky. Some are cute and clever, leaving readers wondering what they will find inside. Others appear direct and straightforward, but lead to surprises once the cover is opened. Samuel Bray and Drew Nathaniel Keane’s new work, How to Use the Book of Common Prayer: A Guide to the Anglican Liturgy, falls into the latter category. It’s not that the title is incorrect; the book does indeed provide a thorough guide to the intentions, spirituality, and practical use of the Book of Common Prayer — just not the one you might expect. This book is a user manual to the International Version of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer published by InterVarsity Press in 2021, edited by Bray and Keane. 

Once that initial confusion is cleared up, the book’s intention becomes quite clear: it introduces non-Anglican evangelicals discovering liturgy for the first time to a venerable and time-tested expression of Christian worship, a solid, stately liturgy with a Reformation edge. 

Keane and Bray’s book accomplishes this task admirably, beginning with the reasons for liturgy, how it might be both more biblical and evangelical than modern prejudices might imply, moving to a quick history underscoring the Reformation heritage of the Book of Common Prayer, then exploring the central liturgies with an eye to both page-flipping mechanics (keyed to the page numbers of the International Edition) and the spirituality underpinning these interconnected rites. 

While the histories of the various services are touched upon as needed, the focus is consistently on how the praying person can appreciate and internalize the theology and spirituality encoded within the prayer book’s system of devotion. The language is clear and engaging, attentive to the kinds of questions and concerns a loosely Calvinist nondenominational believer might ask upon encountering these liturgies, i.e., how rigid liturgies can also be “prayer of the heart,” and what to make of infant baptism. 

As they proceed through Mattins and Evensong, Baptism, and Eucharist, Bray and Keane demonstrate how these 1662 liturgies broadly follow a consistent four-step pattern: keeping liturgies passed down through the ages, simplifying them, pruning away medieval additions and elaborations, and bringing a Reformation emphasis on faith through hearing God’s Word. As they explain the contents and spiritual movements of the liturgies, they continually engage five themes they see as the keys to the Book of Common Prayer: “the gospel, thoroughly catholic and thoroughly reformed doctrine, simplicity, and beauty.” If ever one of these principles is suppressed or soft-pedaled it is, not surprisingly, the “thoroughly catholic” one. 

Of course, living into a prayer book requires more than just understanding the text on the page; liturgies are inhabited by communities, and patterns of practice shape how the words are lived. The authors are well aware of this fact, and discuss how the liturgies were used in context. The context they offer is specifically that of the Lutheran-Calvinist blend that marked the early English Reformation, and especially the heritage of the 1552 Protestant revision of the Book of Common Prayer that the 1662 book continues. Accordingly, the authors place an emphasis not only on Mattins and Evensong as the daily prayers of the church, but also central services for the Sunday worship of the community; full Communion services (as opposed to the more common truncated Ante-Communion) are recommended monthly or quarterly, which they correctly note “remained the usual practice of most Anglican churches until the second half of the twentieth century.” 

Thus, Bray and Keane have produced a fantastic resource to be studied alongside their International Edition of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. They introduce its rites and logics to Christians unfamiliar with liturgical practices, who might bring lingering suspicions of fixed rites, explaining how this Scripture-centered worship connects both to the experience of the first Christians and to the Reformation faith informed by Luther and Calvin, Jewell, and Hooker. The focus is never on history for its own sake, but on the gospel-centered theology and spirituality that flow from the long-term immersion within these rites, forming Christians who live their faith in both word and deed. 

What is the utility of this book to someone like me, though — a Catholic-leaning Episcopalian committed to the use of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer? As a scholar with an academic interest in the topic and an aficionado of the spectrum of prayer book liturgies, I appreciate this work especially because it challenges my assumptions and presuppositions. As one who learned about the 1662 prayer book at the feet of decidedly Catholic Tractarian and Ritualist luminaries like Blunt, Proctor, Wordsworth, and Frere, the relentlessly Reformation perspective of this guide made me question and re-examine what I thought of these rites, causing me several times to dive into not just the 1662 prayer book, but several of its predecessors as well, to clarify what was being expressed. 

I do think the work downplays the rich Catholic heritage of the prayer book tradition, and makes occasional missteps and obfuscations that conceal it. Nods to the early Church and Church Fathers inevitably become citations of Augustine in his Reformation-approved dress. This is perfectly understandable, given the direction of the work and the lingering anti-Catholic sentiment I’m familiar with from many non-denominational believers, but I think opportunities were missed to connect the deep history of the prayer book with the work of the Holy Spirit through the centuries. Ironically, one of the few times this deep history comes up is when it is leveraged against alternate prayer books: the discussion of the eucharistic lectionary of 1662 touts its continuity with the church of the sixth century in order to assert its superiority over the late 20th-century Revised Common Lectionary. 

Indeed, it’s inevitable that a work of this kind will draw contrasts between the 1662 book under discussion and the books used by modern Anglican and Episcopal Churches. While comparisons of this kind do occasionally crop up, their purpose is rarely to vilify the current liturgies (apart from a crack at a figurative recent remodeling of the stately Anglican dwelling covering rich wood floors with “linoleum and orange shag carpet”) and they are kept to a minimum; the goal is primarily to promote the 1662 rather than to tear down later editions. 

But what of the non-scholar? Will average users of the 1979 or even the 1928 Book of Common Prayer find here inspiration for their spiritual journey? As much as I hate to say it, I suspect the answer is no. First, this work is a guidebook to the International Edition of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. Without that edition at hand, the book’s purpose as a guide is diminished. Having written a similar guidebook for the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, I know from experience how tightly tied such a guide must be to the text it seeks to explain. 

Second, there is, in fact, a gulf between the 1662 edition and the American 1928 and 1979 revisions. The structure and content of the Communion service in the 1662 book directly follows that of the 1552, with reception of the elements directly after the Words of Institution and before the Oblation and praying of the Lord’s Prayer — right in the middle of the Eucharistic prayer from the perspective of the American books. This is because American prayer books have followed the Scottish pattern that hearkens back to the 1549 prayer book, which lacks some of the Reformed elements that characterize both the 1552 and 1662 revisions. As the structure and content differ, so too do the theology and spirituality that flow from it. 

Undoubtedly there are nuggets of wisdom and truths about Anglican liturgy generally any believer can find in this guidebook. However, apart from the comparative study of a near relative on the prayer book family tree, I don’t see this work finding much utility in a 1979 or even a 1928 BCP parish. 

Dr. Derek Olsen is a biblical scholar and engaged layman in the Episcopal Church. 

The churchwide meeting of the Task Force for Reimagining the Episcopal Church, promoted for several weeks as a night for prayer, presentations, Q&A, and engagement, concentrated on presentations. The meeting drew 140 church leaders to Washington National Cathedral on October 2. Online observers dwarfed that audience: more than 4,000 watched through a live webcast. A lively conversation on Twitter, ranging from the serious to the snarky, boosted the hashtag #TRECLive into the Top Ten range in the course of the evening.

After opening with prayer, four of the 24-member TREC team presented ten-minute addresses. After the first three speakers’ presentations, observers had 15 minutes for questions. After the fourth speaker, the floor opened for another 40 minutes before a brief summary and prayer closed the meeting.

The Rt. Rev. Michael Curry, Bishop of North Carolina, led off with a rousing message that was equal parts homily and revival. Speaking on the biblical dimensions of TREC’s work, Bishop Curry took a cue from Mark 1 and Jesus’ calling of the disciples: “Jesus didn’t come to start a church or found a religion. He inaugurated a movement heading in the direction of God’s dream and reign.” Dubbing Harriet Tubman the patron saint of TREC’s work, he borrowed her wisdom and exhorted Episcopalians to “just keep moving,” no matter what. The bishop noted that movements evaporate if they are not organized. Through organizing, Jesus and the disciples were able to turn the world upside down. “We’re trying to do that in this mission moment,” he said, “following Jesus in our weird Anglican way.”

The Rev. Dwight Zscheile gave a historical and theological perspective on TREC’s work. Offering a lecture rather than a homily, Zscheile gave a solid account of where the Episcopal Church has come from organizationally. The church’s incarnational life involves rooting its identity in God’s mission, organization, and structure, he said. A quick survey of historic Episcopal structures, including the increasing participation of laity in the church’s life and governance, led into a description of the Church’s life today and the increasing failure of the corporate, CEO-driven model. “The denominational franchise model is no longer tenable in many places,” Zscheile said. Rather, effective mission is occurring — and must occur — at the grassroots: “the local church must be a missionary outpost in its own neighborhood.” A PowerPoint slide identified Four Cs that capture the role of the church as it moves into a new paradigm: Catalyst, Connector, Convener, and Capacity builder.

After further questions, Katy George spoke from the perspective of organizational development. She opened with a widespread question when churches feel an identity crisis: “What are we doing on the organizational side — are we just rearranging the deck chairs [on a sinking Titanic]?” Her response was swift and illuminating: “Structural reform is neither necessary nor sufficient to solve our problems — but, boy would it be helpful!” Naming the church’s challenges from this perspective offered the night’s clearest glimpse into how TREC understands structure: it should be both clear and accountable, and should support effective action and mission already occurring within the church. She noted that individual and local effort is not enough without broader support, and that the pension system does not encourage change. Episcopal Church Center employees need to focus on the toughest issues and make their work relevant to local needs, rather than serving in roles that require constant explanation and justification to diocesan leadership.

The Rev. Miguelina Howell presented a fourth perspective. Noting the grand worship space around her, she invited listeners to imagine a Starbucks store planted in its midst, bringing area travelers into its hallowed halls, if only in search of caffeine. “Would that horrify you? Would it make you look at the space differently?” Then she added: “Would you be willing to consider it if God asks — even if it takes you outside of your comfort zone?” There is a lack of clarity in the structures of the church. A better structure would be one with greater clarity and connection to purpose. This includes greater clarity about the role of the Presiding Bishop and Executive Council, with a continued focus on shared governance. TREC’s proposals, she said, are but a very small piece of the larger puzzle. The church should not look upon the proposals and resolutions from TREC as an answer, but rather an initial step of adaptive change and listening. The church currently lacks the spaces to share best practices from the local and regional level to build toward a cohesive process of transformation — yet this is the direction in which it must move.

Then TREC welcomed questions. Alternating between questions from those in the cathedral and those on the web, TREC responded to questions, concerns, and comments regarding young Episcopalians, money, and the size, scope, and role of General Convention. Sarah Miller, a student at the University of the South’s School of Theology, offered concluding remarks and prayer.

There were no straightforward answers about the shape or scope of TREC’s resolutions to come before General Convention; there was no detailed discussions of church structure. What did become clear was that TREC contains deep resources of intelligence, wisdom, and faith — and that its members are still bringing these virtues to bear on the issues facing the Episcopal Church. A subtle refrain throughout the night emphasized that the work accomplished this triennium would be a beginning, a start, an initial movement, and by no means a finished work.

Because of the initial character of the work, the balance between listening to the questions and concerns brought to the meeting and the time that TREC members spent explaining positions seemed a bit off. The Rev. Scott Gunn, executive director of Forward Movement, captured this statistically in a tweet: “The final score at the TREC Bowl, brought to you by @scottagunn and @crustyoldean [the Very Rev. Tom Ferguson, dean of Bexley Hall]. TREC speaks 2:00:37 vs. Public speaks 17:31.” Questions and comments revealed an audience eager to be heard; that so few questions after the presentations directly engaged the content just spoken further confirmed that no additional prompts were needed — a host of concerns had already been brought to the table. If participants hoped this would be a time to offer comments and to be heard by the committee, the opportunity was not captured in the evening’s conversation; TREC did far more speaking than listening.

Throughout the presentations and the questions, it became clear that TREC was approaching its work from a very particular perspective, and not others; its members’ attention is and has been focused on clarity of roles at the highest level of the church, not on monetary or theological questions. The greatest energy centered on the roles of the Presiding Bishop, the Executive Council, and General Convention. Both the size of General Convention and which bodies continue the work of convention between its triennial meetings were present in the discussion. Other issues of structure seem not to have been discussed.

There were two notable questions met by a period of silence before a TREC respondent made a response; the first touched on this area. An online participant asked what TREC was prepared to do to help parishes in the theological minority. The period of silence after this question spoke volumes. The response offered the usual appeal to inclusivity and the need to engage with those different from ourselves, but what became clear was that the question concerned a level of structure and governance that TREC discussions had not touched upon. Relations between parishes, or between parishes and their dioceses, were not in the scope of TREC’s vision. Instead, TREC’s vision focused consistently at the top of the organizational structure.

Some pointed questions about money from members of Executive Council’s group on budget and finance likewise confirmed that the TREC’s discussions did not begin from a budgetary perspective. In particular, a pointed reminder that the money available — or not — for ministry at the local level was a bellwether of organizational health and efficiency encouraged TREC to take this aspect more seriously.

The second question met by initial silence highlighted the theological underpinnings of the group’s work: How were Christ and the Holy Spirit fundamental to the group’s work? Several individuals on the panel answered the question well and ably after the pause, but it was clear that there was no theological consensus informing the work. The term incarnation was heard several times throughout the evening, but there was no body around it. Yes, a discussion about the structure of the church necessarily involves an invocation of incarnation. But what about the rest of our theological vocabulary? Is there room, space, or weight given to redemption? It is necessary but not sufficient for a sacramental church to invoke incarnation. How do baptism and the Eucharist inform our understanding of the Body of Christ in its mystical, sacramental, social, and institutional forms?

Two other events in the life of the church cast an interesting light on the meeting. On one hand, the recent conflict between faculty and the dean at the General Theological Seminary provided a sobering warning. It is one thing to ask for and concentrate power in the hands of a few in the name of bold and decisive leadership. Working through the consequences of that leadership and the role of consensus-building and collaboration is another. On the other hand, the period for receiving nominations for the next Presiding Bishop had just closed. A number of tweets mentioned the Office of Presiding Bishop as Bishop Curry exhorted his listeners to keep moving forward, and again later as the Rt. Rev. Sean Rowe fielded questions, including an eminently quotable response that the church is “overled and undermanaged; somebody has to get the work done.”

There is no doubt that TREC has been given a daunting task. TREC’s members should be commended for their work — and the courage to engage a restive church. However, there remain far more questions than answers. TRECLive was a good attempt for the group to speak to the church and to hear how the church responded. TREC has certainly spoken, but the larger question is the degree to which it has listened.

Filling the room with his presence and rich Welsh baritone, Williams spoke foremost as poet and pastor, weaving stories from his parish experience with theological rumination into an hour-long meditation infused with full homely divinity. Explaining his title, “Theology as a Way of Life,” Williams explored theology as the study of practices and habits of faith within embodied lives. Theology begins with the study of lives to whom God makes sense; theology as a way of life is a communal activity, a practice of looking at the self in light of God.

In practical terms, Williams identified three fundamental habits that ground theology as a way of life: self-scrutiny, patience, and a willingness for conversational engagement. Self-scrutiny is the habit of looking honestly at the self, at the community. This scrutiny is a question we ask of ourselves on behalf of the God who loves us. We must look honestly from a place of love and take the risk to ask ourselves the awkward questions: How do people work? How do I work?

This habit of questioning flows naturally into patience as a practice. This patience is a willingness to sit with what is neither easily nor quickly said. A theological way of life is not afraid of things that take time. This includes being patient with the inarticulate, recognizing that life moves faster than the words we attempt to wrap around it, realize that it takes time to find the words. Too, it includes patience with the over-articulacy of the rich, chaotic words we use in worship. Metaphor piles on metaphor, creating a clotted richness of expression that demands patience to comprehend.

Finally, what we find in the scrutiny and the patience must be shared in a willingness for conversation. Other believers are a gift to us, from whom we must learn and challenge ourselves.

Moving these habits towards the corporate practices of the faith, Williams spoke of those moments of encounter that spring us free from the traps of self. We know that we have encountered God with integrity when we experience the world shifting and opening up new vistas we had never before imagined, making possible what was not possible before.

He cited the ferment of activity around the English abolition of the slave trade in 1807 as a time when the nation was swept into a new current of possibilities and brought liberation to birth corporately. Not only is this encounter about physical and social liberation; it is also about a step into a new positive identity in prayer. It is the moment when we learn we can address God in new ways that we could not before.

Williams identified this as the heart of the New Testament’s approach to theology: grappling with a new kind of prayer, both uttered and experienced where we use the word Father to relate to the creator of the universe.

The lecture concluded with a turn to the contemplative. First, the language that comes out of this theological way of life must always hold on to an awareness of its own incompleteness. Following the tradition of apophatic theology, we must always recognize that even our best language about God is incapable of accuracy. We must be aware of the riskiness of our language about God.

Second, our language must always gesture towards contemplation. No language can be truly theological that does not gesture into the stillness of the person of Jesus. Contemplation, in turn, is no less than a movement where the self becomes a place where Jesus happens. Theologically genuine prayer, praying truthfully, praying with integrity, is prayer in which the self becomes the place where Jesus becomes alive. The final word is joy: theology as a way of life is about exploring who we are in light of God, given as a gift of joy to a world that needs it.

Williams took questions after his lecture, including a challenge from Bishop Sutton, who asked what theology as a way of life had to say to the conditions of life on the verge of collapse, the experience of many people in Baltimore who suffer from fear, economic collapse, violence and environmental degradation.

Williams emphasized the inherently countercultural patterns of theology as a way of life. In a culture that demands quick and easy answers that regards people and the world around it as disposable, the theological habits of scrutiny, patience, and conversation cut against the grain. They call us to a way of being that rejects and subverts a culture of degradation, and provide a pattern for a more excellent way.

As the overflow audience dispersed into the wet spring night, the archbishop’s answer lingered, a challenge to embrace the contemplative habits of theology as a way of life, and to sow fertile seeds within our own communities.

Image by Catholic News Service

This triennium has been marked with tensions at the highest levels of the church, and those tensions have grown early this year. Challenges centered on communications and budgeting have led to high-profile exchanges between the presiding officers. While personality plays a role, the conflict between these two leaders is symptomatic of wider disagreements among church leaders.

Rather than seeing the disagreements between the two presiding officers as representing tensions between their legislative houses, let us consider their organizational positioning. The presiding bishop finds a home at the church headquarters at 815 Second Avenue with a paid staff, particularly the executive team. The president finds a home within Executive Council, the elected body which guides the church between each General Convention. This is important: the conflict is between leadership connected to paid staff and leadership connected to elected volunteers. It highlights a tension both systemic and endemic to all levels of our church — between diocesan staff and standing committees, between parish staff and vestries.

Paid staff members have the expertise and the responsibility to do a good job. They may not take kindly to external advice. On the other hand are the elected representatives of Executive Council, who volunteer multiple hours because of their passion for the church, and to whom paid staff members are ultimately accountable.

How then should we consider the roles and responsibilities of the presiding bishop and the president — historically, theologically, and canonically?

The presiding bishop certainly receives more attention in the church’s canons and liturgies. Considering our most central pieces of evidence to be the liturgy for the Ordination of Bishops and Canon I.2.4a, the presiding bishop must serve in three fundamental capacities: administrative, sacramental, and pastoral. The documents are incomplete, however, without a longer view of how the office has changed in the few short centuries of the Episcopal Church.

The Role of the Presiding Bishop, which Walter Roland Foster wrote at the behest of the Standing Commission on Structure in 1981, sketched the development of the office from its origins to Foster’s own day. Foster parses the historical evidence into a set of central images that communicate the heart of the office as it changed over time. Originally the presiding bishop was simply the oldest member of the House of Bishops. This was not an elected position, and the responsibilities were largely sacramental: he was the chief consecrator of bishops. The presiding bishop remained a diocesan bishop, in addition to other duties. The dominant image that Foster offers for these first years is the venerable patriarch. Around the turn of the 20th century, it became clear that this role would not survive much longer.

Foster shapes his continuing narrative with a particular perspective in mind, driving toward his vision of the office’s full scope. At the 1919 General Convention the age of the venerable patriarch ended: the presiding bishop became a chief executive officer, more than a traveling consecrator, who led the Episcopal Church’s consolidated structure. The presiding bishop took on another role in the ’20s and ’30s: the chief pastor who exemplifies the unity of the Church. It was not until 1943 that the first presiding bishop gave up his diocese upon being elected and the office became a full-time job. This narrative reached its apex with Presiding Bishop John E. Hines, who embodied what Foster considers the final essential role: prophetic witness. Thus, Foster offers a vision of the office that balances CEO with chief pastor and prophetic witness.

If Foster is correct, then perhaps what we need now is a tuning of the balance. Rather than a chief program officer, we need a CEO willing to offer a fractured church a vision of unity and a clarity of purpose centered in Jesus Christ and the proclamation of his Gospel. While I do not doubt that the presiding bishop firmly believes that the programs directed from 815 contribute to Gospel proclamation, she is not backed by the full imagination of a united church. We need more than a nebulous appreciation of the word mission; instead, we need a concrete picture of what mission means and how it relates directly to the proclamation of Jesus that can kindle the hearts of the whole church, not just elites.

Furthermore, as senior bishops around the world vie for a greater role for the primatial leaders of the Anglican Communion, as a church we need heartfelt discussion about what we mean by primate. A sliding scale exists from primus (a titular or ceremonial first among equals, as in our earlier model) to pope (a prince of the Church with supreme authority). Certainly ours belongs on the primus side but exactly where is up for discussion.

Where does this leave the president of the deputies? Unlike the presiding bishop, this role is much less defined. The Constitution and Canons do not give the attention to this office that they do the other; no books have been written about its history and scope. My limited research suggests that the president of the House of Deputies did not become a full-time position (albeit unpaid) until the tenure of Pamela Chinnis (1991-99). While the presiding bishop must balance administrative, sacramental, and pastoral roles, the president has an overwhelmingly administrative role that must balance, complement, and — when necessary — challenge the administrative role of the presiding bishop.

The president operates in a different order, either clerical or lay, from the presiding bishop, and experiences the church on a different level. The president is the Episcopal Church’s senior warden, charged with ensuring that voices from the pews resound in the halls of power. Constitutionally, the president is both a partner and a foil designed to assist and temper the presiding bishop’s vision, ideally representing the corporate voice of the people. Isolating the president from that collective voice would compromise the president’s ability to speak from the pews.

As we discuss further organizational restructuring, my prayer for the church is that whatever structures arise will help nurture a vibrant representational Anglican voice prepared to proclaim the sacramental presence of Christ in his world.

Checks and Balances