Our holiday flat lay a few hundred yards from the ancient Greek agora and a few hundred more from the Parthenon. Both are further by foot but are still an easy walk even when you feel you’re breathing more water vapor than air. Just beyond our apartment, the western slope of the Acropolis rose sharply back up to the Pnyx, where in ancient times the demes of Athens gathered to debate public policy — hence, our word democracy. But that wasn’t my intended destination. Instead, I would follow a wide cobblestone road up the gully of the two hills toward a different place. If I timed it right, I would say my morning prayers with Athens spread out below me as the sun rose beyond Lycabettus Hill. But that wasn’t why I was going there. I wanted to say my prayers on the Areopagus where St. Paul once preached to the Athenians.

We had visited the hill in the late afternoon on the previous day as we reconnoitred the ancient sites before finding dinner. Ever since we’d planned our trip to Athens—piggybacked on the work of my wife, Sarah, as an external examiner at a local university — a visit to the Areopagus was high on my list of places to see. Up to that point, I had never stood anywhere that someone from the Bible had stood (assuming, of course, that the legends about Joseph of Arimathea visiting Glastonbury are fabrications). So, I approached the craggy hill with the excitement of a much-admired celebrity’s fan. I tried hard to feel something about the place.

The views from the top of the Areopagus are certainly stunning: one can see the ruins of the ancient Athens below, marked by a reconstructed stoa to the east and the Temple of Heracles poking out among the stone pines on the west. Modern Athens, a chaotic jumble of white flat-roofed buildings, fanned out in every direction. Behind us to the right loomed the Acropolis, swarming with crowds of visitors. I could enjoy the Areopagus as a vista, but the combination of chattering tourists, vendors selling bottles of water, and a rocky surface rubbed treacherously smooth by centuries of footfall made it impossible for me to do more. Still, I learned something from that initial visit: I’ve always pictured Paul’s sermon completely wrong.

An image search for Areopagus and will undoubtedly produce some old paintings of Paul addressing a crowd of men in a Greco-Roman forum against a backdrop of Greek columns and classical statues. In these depictions, he’s like a modern-day street preacher on High Street. That’s how I had always imagined him when reading Acts 17:16-34. But the Areopagus is nothing like that. Paul delivered his only recorded sermon to Gentiles on a rocky hill that stands high above the city. One should imagine him with the Acropolis above him to the east, the Pnyx with its outdoor assembly area to the south, Athens below, and a vista of worked fields beyond to the north. It was a dramatic setting for a sermon, much closer in parallel to Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount than any street preacher in an urban setting. It must have been a daunting pulpit for the Apostle. From his vantage, he would have been able to see the synagogue, just below the Temple of Heracles, where he had first spoken about the unknown God. I wonder if Paul stopped to consider that he was introducing his audience to the King of Peace upon a hill dedicated to Ares, the god of war, surrounded by symbols of religious, political, and commercial power.

I loved my visit but felt quietly deflated. I knew then that I needed to return the next morning. And so it was with some eagerness that I set out in the pre-dawn darkness. As I walked up the avenue, I was surrounded by the loud chorus of cicadas accompanied by feral cats prowling along the edges of the road. I passed only joggers and a few elderly men enjoying their first cigarettes of the day as I luxuriated in the scenery. Now, the feeling I’d desired finally came over me. With the Acropolis glowing bronze amid floodlights, I could not but have felt the deep history around me. I wondered if the cicadas had sung to Paul like they were now singing to me.

The boy in me swept aside the middle-aged man. Here, the Athenians had cheered at the news of the impossible victory at Marathon. Here, they had despaired at reports of Xerxes and his mighty army crossing the Bosphorous, but also later rejoiced to learn of the steadfast defence of the Spartans at Thermopylae and the victory of their navy at Salamis. Here too had the Persian armies marched to destroy the abandoned Acropolis. The history was too much for me. So, instead of going straight to the Areopagus, I detoured up the Pnyx to wander in the distilling gloom alongside the ghosts of Solon, Pericles, Socrates, and the other great men of Athens. I had the enshrouding woods almost to myself. The scent of pine was heavy in the air.

I didn’t tarry long.  Quickly returning to the avenue, I managed to reach the Areopagus as the sun was cresting Hymettos, the distant mountain range to the east of Athens. Although there were a few people there, they were spread apart, each quietly admiring the rising sun. I found a smooth outcrop of rock where I could sit and happily contemplate the scenery as the brightening sunrays gradually revealed the buildings sheltering beneath the shadows of the trees. A gentle peace settled over me and I began to pray.

I made sure not to rush. Trying to keep both God and my surroundings uppermost in my thoughts, I prayed my way through the canticles and psalms and took my time in reading the lessons. It felt only right to add Acts 17:16-34 after the Benedictus. I gave myself time to sit with the text, imagining Paul standing nearby as he addressed the skeptical Greeks. My reverie yielded naturally to prayers for friends and family, my congregation and colleagues, and of gratitude for the many blessings of this life.

“In him we live and move and have our being,” Paul preached from the Areopagus almost 2,000 years earlier. Held by God in prayer in the exquisite delight of my experience, I could not even begin to doubt his words. In that space and within a brief span of time, his words were as real and solid as the rock on which I sat or the heat of the sun that was now basking me with its rays. The God in heaven to whom I addressed my prayers was also in the elderly smoking men, the joggers, the cats and the cicada, the heat of the sun, the beauty of the landscape, and even the eagerness that had drawn me to the hilltop. I knew he would be in my memory too. Is it any wonder that Athens produces mystics?

Only a deep quiet of the mind can follow moments like this. I stood up, stretched my lower back, and ambled down past an old monastery, the remains of the Roman forum, and into the old city. I hardly noticed the shopkeepers setting out their wares and sweeping the pavement or the other early risers emerging from cafés with their coffee and pastries. I had the rest of the day to be a tourist. For now, I would remain in the presence of the unknown God who once again had made himself known to me.

Of course, he does so every day. But most days I hardly notice. Thankfully for one as blind as I, he occasionally grants me an Areopagus where I can just about see him face to face. It’s at such moments that I realize that God is not unknown like an undiscovered territory or a terrible secret. He’s unknown like something so familiar we never stop to notice it. “So obvious, it was staring me in the face,” we say when the scales fall from our eyes.

On that morning, God stared me in the face. And I had almost mistaken him for the heat of the sun or the beauty of the landscape. Until I had said my prayers.

While we should be ever mindful of the historic and contemporary sin of antisemitism in the church, we should also agree on a shared theological language in discussing these issues. There are ways that we can be sensitive to other religions and ethnicities, while still engaging in the unique theological language and tools of the Christian church. As a Jewish Christian, I hope that my voice on this issue can be heard as it is meant: with charity and love to my blood kin, with no hate or enmity, but all with welcome and grace.

If you go into a room of zealous Christians and ask them if we should evangelize Muslims, the answer will be a rousing “yes!” If you ask the same group if we should evangelize Jews, you’ll see a lot of shoe-gazing and looking around the room nervously. I get it; this is a post-Holocaust world with post-Holocaust Christians. There is understandable anxiety about the discussion. I will give some concession to those schools of thought on this matter that hold to the idea of covenant irrevocability and the possibility of a Jewish Sonderweg. Though, by my very being a Jewish Christian, thoroughly convinced of the saving gospel of Jesus Christ, and my giving my whole life and work to this gospel as a priest, it should be plain that I remain unconvinced of the efficacy of the law for any person, both in light of the person of Jesus and as revealed to us by the corporate and consistent failure to abide by the law as revealed to us in the Old Testament.

First, I’d like to give a definition of terms, and trace some of this history of thinking on the issue. I’ll do this through encyclicals and pastoral letters of the Roman Catholic Church. This is not to say that Vatican thinking is definitive on this issue, but rather that Protestant thinking is far more scattered and harder to nail down.

There are degrees of supersessionism. One type says that Christians have replaced Jews as God’s covenant people. We’ll call this hard supersessionism, to use the term coined by David Novak, a scholar of antisemitism in the Catholic Church. There is another, one adopted more widely post-Vatican II, and more importantly, post-Holocaust, which we’ll call “soft” supersessionism.

Hard supersessionism is what we probably find most familiar. It’s the kind that makes our skin crawl. This would be the stereotypical Chrystostomian understanding of the place of Israel — a sort of husk from which the newer rite of the Christian religion emerged more fully fledged, grown, and developed. This is the “replacement” idea of supersessionism, more in line with the literal etymology of the word rooted in the term supercede, or “to take the seat of.”

This idea held on for a very long time, especially in Roman Catholicism. As recently as 1943 Pope Pius XII promulgated his encyclical Mystici corporis Christi, which fleshes out the classic proof text of supersessionist theology in Hebrews 8:13: “In speaking of a new covenant he treats the first as obsolete. And what is becoming obsolete and growing old is ready to vanish away” (RSV). Pope Pius expounds on this passage:

By the death of our Redeemer, the New Testament took the place of the Old Law which had been abolished; then the Law of Christ together with its mysteries, enactments, institutions, and sacred rites was ratified for the whole world in the blood of Jesus Christ … on the gibbet of His death Jesus made void the Law with its decrees and fastened the handwriting of the Old Testament to the Cross, establishing the New Testament in His blood shed for the whole human race.

The timing for the promulgation of that encyclical was unfortunate, with 1943 being the height of the horrors of the Holocaust and World War II. The language is difficult to swallow.

A little less than 20 years after this encyclical, Vatican II was convened, and we see a monumental shift in the Roman Church’s understanding of Jews and Judaism. With the promulgation in 1965 of Nostra aetate, Rome took a step away from hard supersessionism, shifting toward the soft approach. Here is a portion of a letter written by Pope John XXIII just before his death and only a few months before the promulgation of Nostra aetate:

We are conscious today that many centuries of blindness have cloaked our eyes so that we can no longer either see the beauty of Thy Chosen People nor recognize in their faces the features of our privileged brethren. We realize that the mark of Cain stands upon our foreheads. Across the centuries our brother Abel has lain in the blood which we drew or shed the tears we caused by forgetting Thy Love. Forgive us for the curse we falsely attached to their name as Jews. Forgive us for crucifying Thee a second time in their flesh. For we knew not what we did.

Nostra Aetate acknowledges a “certain perception of that hidden power which hovers over the course of things and over the events of human history,“ referencing a sort of general revelation received in other world religions, but later asserts plainly:

This She [the church] regards with sincere reverence those ways of conduct and of life, those precepts and teachings which, though differing in many aspects from the ones she holds and sets forth, nonetheless often reflect a ray of that Truth which enlightens all men. Indeed, she proclaims, and ever must proclaim Christ “the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6), in whom men may find the fullness of religious life, in whom God has reconciled all things to Himself. (Emphasis added.)

This soft supersessionism as promulgated by Rome has ebbed and flowed. Pope St. John Paul II heartily affirmed the statements of his predecessors. Pope Benedict XVI seemed to reaffirm the hard supersessionism of his pre-conciliar predecessors stating that ““the Mosaic Covenant is indeed superseded”, and the current Catechism of the Roman Church still includes a section referring to a future repentance of the Jews for their unbelief in the risen Lord.

In the Protestant tradition, the approach is a little more scattershot, with a less clear throughline pointing us to some of our modern thinking on the issue. We see contrasting ideas: the covenantal theology of the continental reformed traditions, more often attached with supersessionist theology, as well as dispensationalism, typically opposed to supersessionism. Your average liberal Protestant thinker opposes the very idea of supersessionism, typically on the grounds that it is racist or anti-semitic.

Some supersessionist theologies are racist and anti-semitic. Yet depending on what we mean by the term, the core affirmation is not necessarily racist or anti-semitic. When thought of rightly, guided by Scripture and eschewing racial hatred, it is just Christianity. Can one be saved outside of the work of Jesus Christ? Surely not. Can one ever be justified under the law? Paul seems to not think so. Do our Scriptures leave another door, another advocate, another way to the Godhead, other than through the person of Jesus Christ? No. Does that minimize or abrogate the Jewish flesh of Jesus Christ? No. Do the sons of Gentiles need to receive circumcision to share in the promises of God? No. Does this mean the Jews are no longer a chosen people of God? No. For the gifts and call of God are irrevocable (Rom. 11:29).

It is possible to hold that the Jewish people remain a covenant people with God, but we also must accept that the Gentile Christian is also included in the chosen covenant people with God by engrafting, “contrary to nature” into the olive tree of Israel. God has not abrogated his word to Abraham, but has fulfilled his plan for salvation in the person of Jesus that through Israel all nations will be brought to the knowledge, love, and fear of the Lord of Sinai. The Jewish people remain “beloved for the sake of their forefathers” (Rom. 11:28b).

It is only through Israel that the promises of Israel are opened to the nations. The sons and daughters of Abraham are the roots, the Gentiles have been grafted in (Rom. 11:17-24), and can make the same claim on those Abrahamic promises as a Hebrew born of Hebrews, albeit by adoption. In the aftermath of the Holocaust and the historical Christian role in anti-semitism, supersessionism understandably makes us uncomfortable, but it doesn’t mean that it is wrong — not properly understood.

There are degrees of supersessionism, some of which are incompatible with Christianity. The blood libel’s accusation of a Jewish deicide that brought upon their nation a curse and severed their covenant with God is bad theology and is antisemitic. This medieval antisemitism still rears its ugly head in our modern world.

However, we cannot affirm, even in our discomfort with the idea, that there is a way other than Jesus. The temple of Solomon is torn down, her altar rubble, so where can a person now make propitiation and satisfaction to God for sins? Only upon the altars of the church Catholic, still offering that fragrant incense of offering and praise to the God of Israel, the all-consuming fire of Moses, the wrathful God of the waters of Meribah, the God of the cross, and God incarnate.

Having canceled the bond which stood against us with its legal demands; this he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the principalities and powers and made a public example of them, triumphing over them in him. (Col. 2:14-15)

In speaking of a new covenant he treats the first as obsolete. And what is becoming obsolete and growing old is ready to vanish away. (Heb. 8:13)

If we believe the Bible to be true (and I pray that we do, and that we will repent daily and return to God’s word to renew, refresh, and reform our lives, both private and corporate), then we will be left with a difficult conclusion: the new covenant has superseded the old. Not only that, but this supersession was necessary to our perfection. For “If perfection had been attainable through the Levitical priesthood (for under it the people received the law), what further need would there have been for another priest to arise after the order of Melchizedek, rather than one named after the order of Aaron?” (Heb. 7:11).

The Gentile has been grafted into the tree. This means the limb that is grafted is part of the tree, taking nutrients from the same roots, from the same soil and water. This means the Gentiles can take their claim on the promises of Israel, for those promises are theirs too, and were always meant to be theirs. The Gentile is called son and daughter, as much as the Jew is called son and daughter. And so we seek our Lord in the Old Testament, searching for him where he is hidden among the types and shadows, whispering to us between the lines of our psalters, prefigured for us in Adam, Abraham, Moses, and David.

The difficult and uncomfortable conclusion that the new covenant has superseded the old, that we are people under grace, no longer under the law, through which no one can be made perfect, means that evangelism to all people is our obligation. This means, for the Gentile Christian, taking a full share in God’s kingdom and in the ceremonies and sacraments of God, there is no shame in a full-throated amen to the evangelism of all peoples. Further, I would urge gentile Christian thinkers to lay aside their discomfort and lay a solid claim on the promises of Israel, whether you are grafted in or have grown from the root. There is not a unique claim on the God of Israel for a specific people anymore. The God of Israel is in Jewish flesh, but has done this so that he can fulfill his promises in Isaiah 2:2 that all nations will draw near before him.

^[1]  John XXIII, “Our Eyes Have Been Cloaked,” Catholic Herald, May 14, 1965.

^[2] Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd ed. (Washington, DC: United States Catholic Conference, 2000), 674.

In this second part of my reflections on the Prayer of Humble Access, I want to consider the phrase that was left out of the current American prayer book, namely, the following portion of the conclusion: that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood. Let’s call it the “petition for cleansing.” It makes a distinction between the effects of the Body of Christ and the Blood of Christ, connecting the first with the cleansing of the body and the second with the cleansing of the soul.

The liturgical scholar Marion Hatchett dismissed this distinction as “a medieval concept,” but its roots extend down through early Christian teaching, down into the deep soil of Scripture. The fourth-century Latin writer known as the Ambrosiaster, in a passage that influenced medieval theologians, expressed the teaching thus:

… the mystical cup is for the protection of our bodies and souls, because the blood of the Lord has redeemed our blood, that is to say, it has saved the whole human being. The flesh of the Savior is given for the health of our body, but his blood was shed for our soul, as Moses symbolized. For Moses had said: Flesh is offered for the body, but blood is for the soul …” (comment on 1 Corinthians 11:26)

The allusion here appears to be the overall shape of the sacrificial system — in which generally the flesh of sacrificial animals is offered to deal with bodily impurities and their blood is offered to make atonement for sin — rather than to a specific text of Scripture. Yet in the background there is a text of Holy Scripture that specifically relates blood to the soul: “The life [Latin Vulgate: anima, “air, breath, life, soul”] of every creature is its blood” (Lev. 17:14).

With the weight of biblical authority explicitly relating blood to the soul, it was only natural for the Latin tradition to apply this to thinking about the effect of the sacrament of the body and blood of Christ. The obvious correspondence of our bodies to the body of Christ was complemented by relating his blood to our souls. And while it’s easy to lose the forest for the trees, notice how the overall thrust of the argument is to show the reasonableness of claiming that the sacrament is for “the protection of our bodies and souls,” for the salvation of “the whole human being.”

What I love about the petition for cleansing is the way in which, taken as a whole, it acknowledges the redemption of my whole self: the Lord Jesus gave himself to redeem not only my soul, but also my body. To quote William Durand of Mende (c. 1230–96), the great liturgical commentator: “Christ assumed the totality of human nature — namely, a body and soul — so that he could redeem it in its entirety” (Rationale 4.42.1, trans. Thibodeau).

The prayer acknowledges that our whole nature must be cleansed and healed if we are, for evermore, to dwell in Christ, and he in us. It asks that eating the flesh of Jesus and drinking his blood will not leave us as we are. It desires the body and blood of Christ to be the means of our healing, the source of new life. It emphasizes, as it were, the therapeutic nature of the Sacrament, that it is, as Ignatius of Antioch put it, “the medicine of immortality, the antidote we take in order not to die but to live forever in Jesus Christ” (Eph. 20:2). Holy Communion is a foretaste of the resurrection of the dead. As our Lord himself promises, “Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever” (John 6:51), and again, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day” (John 6:54).

Notice, too, how the petition for cleansing recalls the Collect for Purity, in which we pray: “cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love thee, and worthily magnify thy holy Name.” There, at the beginning of the liturgy, we asked for cleansing; here, just as we approach its consummation in Communion, we ask again to be made clean, to be cleansed and sanctified through and through (cf. 1 Thess. 5:23). We pray that our whole selves — our souls and bodies — might be made fit for union with the Lord of all.

The mercy of the Lord extends beyond mere acceptance; it involves our transformation into the likeness of the Lord Jesus. Our merciful Lord, “in his manifold and great mercies,” makes us fit to become “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet. 1:4), to be made like God. This is the great theme of patristic theology, which the formula of St. Athanasius expresses so cogently: “For [the Word of God] was incarnate that we might be made god” (On the Incarnation, 54, trans. Behr). And it seems to me that this theme echoes in our prayer: 

Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood, that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

The Prayer of Humble Access: The Case of a Missing Phrase

Editorial

The 2024 General Convention will consider a second reading of a revision to Article X of the Constitution, which governs the establishment and revision of the Book of Common Prayer in Resolution 2024-A072.

This article picks up where my series on this topic back in 2022 left off:

• Part 1: The Book of Common Prayer in TEC’s Constitution,
• Part 2: A Summary of the Authorization of Liturgical Texts, and
• Part 3: An Explanation and an Exploration of 2022-A059

For the reasons I outline below, I am convinced that it would be very unwise for the General Convention to pass this revision to Article X and I urge the General Convention to reject it.

And it turns out I’m not alone. One friend, the inimitable Scott Gunn over at Forward Movement, in his long-standing series of blogging through all the resolutions at General Convention, also urges defeat of this revision in quite strong language: “We have a mess now with the current Title X of the constitution. I agree it needs to be amended. But this is not it. It will sow confusion.” The Liturgical Commission of the Diocese of Georgia has also published a memo urging its deputies to vote against this canonical revision.

Below, I lay out

• Where this proposal came from,
• What is in the proposal,
• Why this proposal should be rejected, and
• What we should do instead.

This article isn’t short, I know. But this is about the Book of Common Prayer and the worship of the Episcopal Church. If this is not part of what is central to our common life, I don’t know what is. And so I ask you: please, read carefully.

Background

Most of us probably don’t keep the history of specific resolutions close to hand, so I encourage you to go back and read An Explanation and an Exploration of 2022-A059 to understand the history that led to this first reading. But in case you’re pressed for time, here’s the condensed version:

It originated with a resolution proposed by the Task Force on Liturgical and Prayer Book Revision on which I served and created by Resolution 2018-A068. At the end of our work the Task Force proposed Resolution 2022-A059 to the 2022 General Convention in Baltimore. Before that resolution was debated, however, a substitute resolution (2022-B011) was proposed by Bishop Lawrence Provenzano of Long Island along and other bishops and it was that resolution that was passed by the House of Bishop by a margin of just two votes. Immediately after the vote, the Presiding Bishop Michael Curry addressed the House and indicated that, in his opinion, the discussion had revealed just how significant a matter it is to consider changing how the Episcopal Church thinks about the Book of Common Prayer. He suggested that a working group be formed to craft an alternative resolution that might be able to garner much wider support amongst the bishops.

An alternative was crafted overnight, led by Bishop Andy Doyle, and it too was discussed extensively the following day by the bishops, after which it was passed almost unanimously.

This history is important to keep in mind, in part because I’ve heard folks say that this was the result of three or six years of work by the SCLM or the Task Force on Liturgical and Prayer Book Revision and that we should not to scuttle years of work by group of experts.

It is important to separate completely the revision of Article X from the question about adding the new same-sex marriage rites to the Prayer Book (this change is being proposed here at the 2024 convention in Resolution 2024-A116). Some argued back in 2022 (and have continued to argue) that this revision to Article X is necessary in order for the new marriage rites to the BCP. But this is clearly not true. A revision to Article X is not necessary to add the new marriage rites to the prayer book. The current version of Article X clearly outlines the process for revising the BCP. These marriage rites were authorized for Trial Use in 2018 and they now will be considered for inclusion in the BCP by passing a First Reading of this change. This is all in accord with the Constitution. Thus, the revision to Article X must be considered on its own merits without Convention being misled that such an act is necessary to authorize the new marriage rites.  

One of the guardrails created in the Constitution and Canons is that any revision to either the Constitution or the Book of Common Prayer requires a First Reading at one General Convention and then a Second Reading at the next regularly scheduled Convention. Given how fundamental the prayer book is to the life of this Church and the ways in which the Constitution sets the parameters and key principles from which flow the canons, this guardrail guarantees that the changes to either cannot be made quickly or unadvisedly, but deliberately and soberly.

A Second Reading is also an opportunity to assess a significant action that this church is contemplating but has not yet taken. Second Readings are sometimes treated as a rubber stand, a fait accompli. But this is not only irresponsible but an abdication of the General Convention’s responsibility. Every Second Reading is the opportunity to ask: Is this proposed action what we really want to do? Are we clear what this change will accomplish? Do we still think that this action is a good idea?

What is this revision?

Consider this table with the current canons and the proposed revision in parallel:

This resolution would make four changes to Article X:

1. It introduces section divisions, making the Article easier to read and to cite.
2. It adds two sentences at the beginning:

The Book of Common Prayer is understood to be those liturgical forms and other texts authorized by the General Convention in accordance with this article and the Canons of this Church.

The Book of Common Prayer in this Church is intended to be communal and devotional prayer enriched by our church’s cultural, geographical, and linguistic contexts. The Book of Common Prayer shall contain both public worship and private devotion.

3. It adds another sentence later in the Article, proposed Sec. 3 about Trial Use:

No alteration thereof or addition thereto shall be made unless it has previously been authorized for Trial Use in accordance with this Article and the Canons of this Church.

The rest of the changes are not substantive and simply smooth out language.

The Strengths of A072

First, the division of this article into sub-sections is very helpful and makes it much easier to use and to cite. Changes such as this to the Constitution and Canons come to every Convention.

Second, the intention to further strengthen the guardrails against quick or unconsidered revision of the Book of Common Prayer by requiring a period of Trial Use before the General Convention votes on a first and second reading of a revision or addition to the BCP is welcomed and incredibly wise.

Weaknesses of A072

There are three substantive weaknesses of this approach plus two important, related issues.

First, the opening sentence is extremely vague and open to a range of contradictory interpretations.

The Book of Common Prayer is understood to be those liturgical forms and other texts authorized by the General Convention in accordance with this article and the Canons of this Church.

My first question was, “Did anyone ever wonder if this was in question? Of course Article X governs the Book of Common Prayer!”

Others have concluded that this revision would mean that any liturgical texts that have received two authorizations by the General Convention would be included in the Book of Common Prayer. But I think the latter part of the sentence — “in accordance with this article and the Canons of this Church” — means that the Convention must intentionally add rites to the BCP if they are to be included.

So then the question is this: What is the substantive change brought about by this sentence? The Task Force on Liturgical and Prayer Book Revision used the term The Book of Common Prayer to refer to a physical book (as it does now) AND to a collection of texts that includes the rites in the physical book but also additional rites which the General Convention gives “Prayer Book status.” When Scott Gunn said that this change would “sow confusion,” he points to this change as “the straight-up Orwellian strangeness of calling something a book when it is, in fact, not a book.”

If this change were to pass, we would be in a situation where, when someone referred to the Book of Common Prayer, we would need to ask, “The Book or the one beyond the Book?” Scott Gunn adds, “Clergy are held accountable for teaching the doctrine of the BCP and for obeying its rubrics. How can we hold clergy accountable if it becomes murky what, exactly, is the “Book of Common Prayer”?

In sum, the first sentence is problematic because

• It’s open to at least three quite different interpretations, and
• Its intended meaning is to introduce the idea of “Prayer Book Status” where “The Book of Common Prayer” can refer to a book or a collection in the clouds, which is both misguided and deeply confusing.

Second, the language that intends to require Trial Use before a First Reading to add to or amend the prayer book could actually mean two quite different things. This is the new sentence:

No alteration thereof or addition thereto shall be made unless it has previously been authorized for Trial Use in accordance with this Article and the Canons of this Church.

Does it mean that a text needs to be authorized for Trial Use first, and only later at some subsequent General Convention be approved for a First and then a Second Reading? Or is the authorization of something for Trial Use the same thing as the First Reading?

Trial use + First Reading + Second Reading

or

Trial Use as First Reading + Second Reading?

Since the adoption of the 1979 BCP, when revising the calendar to add new saints, the General Convention has often passed the revision as a Trial Use and it functioned as First Reading. I assume that because this is a new sentence added to Article X, the intention is to introduction a change to the current practice. But the problem it: it’s not clear either way. I think it is wise to require Trial Use of any rite before we consider a First and Second reading to add it to the BCP. This can be clarified quite easily by amending the language to say:

No first reading of any alteration thereof or addition thereto shall be made unless it has been authorized for Trial Use by a prior General Convention.

Third, the first reading of this revision (2022-A059) ends with this final resolve clause:

A working group of nine members to include the Custodian of The Book of Common Prayer, some members of Committee 12 of the 80th General Convention, some members of a Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music, and others as needed to review the Canons relevant to the implementation of this Article and propose revisions to the 81st General Convention.

But here’s the problem: This working group was never created and the corresponding canons were never drafted. I think that the 81st General Convention deserves to consider this Constitutional amendment alongside canonical revisions that further clarify any revision to Article X and, just as important, clearly define the process for authorizing rites beyond the Book of Common Prayer and also to clarify what sort of authority those rites have.

In the last few days, a resolution has been submitted by Bishop Andy Doyle of Texas that seeks to address these needed canonical revisions in Resolution 2024-B008. There is much in this proposal to commend and I am grateful for the substantive work and collaboration that went into this. But this does not change the fact that a direction of General Convention that directly concerns the First Reading of this revision of Article X was not followed and thus a group of liturgical and canonical experts were not able to carefully and deliberately consider all the factors involved and propose canonical changes for us to consider in Louisville.

There remain two more significant, related issues.

Memorialization of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer

Resolution 2018-A068 memorialized the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, in large part because of the impending addition of the new marriage rites to the BCP and thus to assure the minority that it will continue to have access to the 1979 BCP as it now stands. But there are two sources of confusion here:

• First, memorialization remains an undefined term. The first meeting of the Task Force on Liturgical and Prayer Book Revision spent the entire first day of our meeting debating this and we never came to an agreement.
• Second, once the new marriage rites are added, the revised book will still be called the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, which will then raise the question, Which version of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer is memorialized?

There is a simple solution to this.

First, add the following sentence to Article X, after the sentence that establishes the use of the Book of Common Prayer through the church:

Any Book of Common Prayer memorialized by the General Convention is authorized for regular use at any service in all dioceses of this Church.

Second, add this sentence to the canons:

The content of any Book of Common Prayer memorialized by the General Convention is understood to be version in use at the time of the memorialization.

Liturgical Texts Beyond the Book of Common Prayer

Clarity about the level of authority of texts that General Convention has authorized beyond the BCP was precisely what motivated Bishop Provenzano’s substitute resolution at the last General Convention (2022-B011). Article X speaks of Alternative and Additional liturgies. It seems quite clear that Alternative means alternatives to rites in the BCP (such as Enriching our Worship 1 for the Office and the Eucharist) and Additional are rites that supplement the Book of Common Prayer (such as The Book of Occasional Services).

I would suggest the following friendly amendments to Bishop Doyle’s resolution:

• Replace the section about Supplemental Liturgical texts and divide it out into two sections: Alternative Liturgies and Additional Liturgies. Thus, the canons would clearly delineate four clear categories that are straightforward and self-evident:
  1. The Book of Common Prayer
  2. Trial Use Rites
  3. Alternatives to the BCP
  4. Additional texts to supplement the BCP
• Use the same language as used in Canon II for Trial Use to describe the process of authorization for both the categories of Alternative and Additional texts.
• Clarify that all alternatives to the BCP are subject to the bishop ordinary.
• Clarify that the enabling resolution for Additional liturgies must clarify if the text in question is subject to the bishop ordinary, and specially state that the General Convention has the authority to authorize a Book of Occasional Services as well as a volume of propers for the celebration of lesser feasts and fasts.
• Clarify that the content of any Book of Common Prayer memorialized by the General Convention is understood to be version in use at the time of the memorialization.

Conclusion

As the General Convention considers this question, we must remember several points:

• We have an obligation to carefully consider every second reading and make sure we are clear: Is this proposed action what we really want to do? Are we clear what this change will accomplish? Do we still think that this action is a good idea?
• A revision to Article X is not a necessary precondition to add the new marriage rites to the Book of Common Prayer. The current version of Article X clearly outlines the process by which alterations may be made or things added to the BCP. These marriage rites were authorized for Trial Use in 2018 and they now will be considered for inclusion in the BCP by passing a First Reading of this change. This is all in accord with the Constitution.
• The key new sentence in the proposed revision to Article X has two serious flaws:
  • It’s open to at least three quite different interpretations, and
  • Its intended meaning is to introduce the idea of “Prayer Book Status” in which “The Book of Common Prayer” can refer to a book or a collection in the clouds, which is both misguided and deeply confusing.
• The language that intends to require Trial Use before a First Reading to add to or amend the BCP could mean two quite different things. This must be clarified.
• The working group of experts required in the first reading of this revision (2022-A059) was never created. This means that the 81st General Convention is not able consider this Constitutional amendment alongside canonical revisions that further clarify any revision to Article X that was crafted by experts as the 80th General Convention intended.
• “Memorialization” remains an undefined term and is best clarified in Article X of the Constitution.

Some might argue that the Constitution is by nature general and vague and that it is the job of the Canons to clarify what might be unclear in the Constitution. But we must remember that the function of a constitution is to provide “a concise statement of the most basic and important of the Church’s laws,” to embody “the organic law or principle of government of an organized society,” and to articulate “those laws which are ‘constitutive’ of the nature and function of a community.”  “It lays down broad powers; details are left to the Canons.” It is important to remember that, “[l]egally, the Prayer Book and its rubrics stand on the same level of authority as does the Constitution,” and both require two successive Conventions to amend or revise (see Article X and Article XII). Both are “amendable” but “not easily amendable” (see Daniel B. Stevick, Canon Law: A Handbook [New York: The Seabury Press, 1956], pp. 97, 98, 119, 98).

It is one thing to revise the Constitution in such a way that makes possible a number of different paths in the Canons. But it is quite another thing to revise the Constitution in ways that are vague and open to conflicting interpretations at the very point that it revises the original version of the Article. We must remember that while it may seem this “slows down the process of liturgical and Prayer Book revision,” here’s the truth: there is nothing that is prevented or curtailed in the next triennium if we do not pass this revision to Article X in 2024. If we made carefull revisions and passed a new First Reading of a revision to Article X, it would mean that in 2027, the General Convention could pass a second reading of a new Article X and add the new marriage rites to the BCP.

There is no rush. Let’s make sure to get it right.

Disclosure: I am a member of Legislative Committee #2, Constitution and Canons, which considered this resolution. This editorial reflects only my opinion.

This is only one example of hundreds of instances in early modern Britain in which the set forms of prayer in the Book of Common Prayer were adapted to meet pastoral needs. Yet we can make three observations. First, the crafting was done to redress gaps in available forms, not to supplant what was there. Second, they were usually set within or drew on the existing material. And finally, and most important, they were crafted with the grain of the prayer book, that is, along the prayer book’s internal theological ethos.

Recently in my work as a pastor, I experienced the need for two different liturgies that are not neatly provided in the Book of Common Prayer (1979). While I could have turned to a flurry of resources both approved and unapproved, or even cooked something up myself, I found there was material in the book that could be used to meet the pastoral need if I could provide or borrow some fittings or structures, so to speak. This allowed me to pray and minister with theological and liturgical consistency. But I also want to highlight the enormous material between the covers of the 1979 prayer book that I suspect many clergy and parishes neither know about nor use.

Several months ago, a woman contacted the church office because her father, well into his 90s, had died. He was tangentially connected to our parish, and she was exploring funeral possibilities. The catch was there were five grown children (who had children and grandchildren) and, having no clear burial plan left by their late father, there was significant disagreement. Eventually — and blessedly before I made any plans — I was informed that the funeral was indefinitely postponed. They simply could not agree.

But I got another phone call. The woman who had initially called me shared with me that her wing of the family (numbering close to 30) had already made plans to come to the area from all over the country on the original date we had discussed. She was hoping that I could offer some sort of service, even though this was clearly not the funeral. She hoped for something to acknowledge his death and make prayers. In other words, she wanted a “not-funeral funeral.”

Probably one of the most unused forms of prayer sits between the Ministration at Time of Death and the Burial rites. There are, indeed, Vigil prayers on pp. 465-66. In 13 years of ordained ministry, I have never used them, nor even known many instances of their use. With the ashes on a pedestal in the crossing, I sat in a chair nearby, not my usual seat in the chancel. To the Vigil prayers I added a time for short informal remembrances, a lesson (1 Cor. 15:51-57), a short homily, the Lord’s Prayer, and a collect for mourners. In other words, I drew on existing materials in the prayer book and what I added was consistent with it. I prayed and ministered with the grain.

Another call was quite different, but wonderfully welcome. A young woman had recently been healed of sickle cell anemia. I had believed this was a lifelong condition, but recent gene therapies have proven nearly miraculous. Family members wanted to give thanks to God for this and asked for not merely prayer, but a full service of thanksgiving. I was delighted to join with them and craft something.

Most services of thanksgiving that I found resembled the Daily Office, but with some subtle changes. What I crafted used Psalm 95, the First Song of Isaiah, and some obvious hymn choices and Scripture lessons about healing and restoration. Following the Lord’s Prayer, we used the Thanksgiving Collect for the Restoration of Health on p. 841. During the prayer I laid on hands and invited the family to do likewise. Then we shifted into the Litany of Thanksgiving on p. 837 with some suitable personal additions.

Here is yet another form of prayer in the 1979 prayer book likely unused by most clergy, or perhaps only used on Thanksgiving Day. The family, being from Ghana originally, came forward to make offerings during a hymn — an act of thanksgiving — rather than passing the alms basins. This, I have learned, is a custom in parts of Africa. The point, however, is that I used what is in the 1979 prayer book and prayed and ministered along its internal logic and ethos.

These services could have easily come from the existing prayer book. When she printed the leaflets, our parish administrator remarked that she hadn’t worked with these services before. She had not realized that I was crafting something. But in truth, I wasn’t really creating anything novel. I was leading worship with the grammar of the Book of Common Prayer (1979).