An Open Letter to the Conservative Clergy

of the Diocese of Colorado

by The Rev. Dr. Ephraim Radner

Church of the Ascension
Pueblo, Colorado

Why I Am Writing

I am hesitant to publicize these reflections so openly and at such length. However, the integrity of our Christian lives is at stake in how we face the present challenges to our common life, and none of us, including myself, can afford to duck the responsibility of responding honestly in humble faith and prayerful reflection. If what follows seems too convoluted, I apologize. But I ask your patience in reading this, if only because we must be willing to engage our contested faith in ways that go beyond the "manifesto" and the "dispatch".

This letter is primarily addressed to those clergy who share with me a commitment to the traditional and orthodox Christian faith our church has generally upheld for centuries; but I share this letter with all my colleagues because the matter at hand is intrinsically about our life together, and we need to know where each of us stands and what we hope for from one another.

My main desire is to explain why theological conservatives like myself would not only wish to remain working within the bounds and communion of the U.S. Episcopal Church, but also why I believe it is an evangelical imperative that we do so. My role as a regional missioner has already placed me in the awkward position of furthering the order of the institutional denomination in the face of conservative questionings with which I sympathize. Although this brings pain, I would not continue in this awkward role, were I not convinced that, at root, it bears a necessary witness to a divinely inevitable vocation.

The crisis is real

I do not for a moment minimize the seriousness of the challenge, now mounted in many quarters within our denomination, to the Gospel as it has been handed down to us. I have heard the query raised by exasperated revisionists, "why is the sexuality issue one that seems to have broken the camel's back? didn't we survive civil rights, women's ordination, Prayer Book revision? Why are you conservatives so adamant on this topic?" It's a good question, but also one that is straightforwardly answered. I would start with three responses. First, the extreme novelty of recent revisionary teachings on sexual behavior is unique in our church's development, and more than anything else offers up a seemingly culturally-driven rejection of Scriptural authority that has no precedents. This strikes at the core of our Biblical faith. Secondly, the kinds of reasonings that seem to lie behind the revisionary trend in our denomination -- reasonings based on controlling definitions of "justice" and "love" and "inclusion" and so on -- are so distant from the particularistic and defined words and actions of Jesus and the Christian tradition's acknowledgment of His person, that the revealed Christ appears to have become the servant of a greater principle that stands beyond Him. This contemporary and perhaps only implicit form of the ancient Arian heresy strikes at the core of our catholic confession of Christ. Thirdly, so many other Christians around the world perceive this threat clearly, and yet a significant and powerful part of our denomination seems oblivious to and even unconcerned at their pleas and warnings. This evidences a chilling lack of charity that strikes at the core of Christian communion.

Or so it seems to me. And therefore the question that some people ask conservatives, "why would you get so upset at all this as even to think of leaving the church?" can be equally forthrightly answered: many of the habits of the Episcopal church, and not a few of the articulate teachings and examples now being promoted in our denomination are so obviously contrary to the Christian principles this church has consistently upheld until only recently that, simply put, the church to which many of us made ordination vows no longer in many important respects informs the church we serve. It is not only plausible, it is absolutely necessary under the circumstances, that we now reconsider what the nature of those vows might be.

I am puzzled by those who accuse conservative proposals to leave the diocese or to join some other "Anglican" church as somehow succumbing to a new "congregationalism". If anything smacks of congregationalism, it is the ecclesial style of so much flaunting of traditional Christian teaching and behavior over the past few years on the part of parishes disinterested in the commitments of the larger church. No, the issue at stake has nothing to do with how we think of the "connectional church". It has to do with whether the church exists as a divine body at all, and if so, where it might be and how it might survive with the integrity of witness to Christ's Gospel that is its reason for being. These are not light matters, and they are matters very much up for grabs in our denomination at this time. Any one who dismisses the necessity and profundity of this struggle that conservatives now experience within the church is merely skating on the surface of the Gospel.

Do Conservatives Have A Valid Ecclesiology?

Conservatives, however, are often lazy theologians too. We are accused of being "reactionaries" precisely because too often we allow our convictions to do the work of thinking things through and we let our evangelical passion take the place of an informed Christian conscience that ought more acutely to frame our decisions. And I am bold enough to believe that such thinking through of the current crisis ought to lead into a renewed decision to stay in this church, to witness here to the Gospel as we have been entrusted with it, and to grow in greater likeness to our Lord in the midst of this commitment. It is the very depth of the crisis we are in that unveils the evangelical profundity of our call to remain.

Part of our reactive temptation to do otherwise springs from the models of the church with which most of us work, especially our models of the "church in crisis". Perhaps most of us have an instinctual sense that ecclesial error is simply something that brooks no compromise and association. Perhaps we think of Athanasius "against the world". In fact, though, a careful examination of a "defender of the truth" like Athanasius displays many details that are hardly exemplary, and more importantly pertain to someone who lived in an era before the Eastern-Western Schism and the 16th-century religious breakup of Christendom. One cannot think of Anglicanism as a simple microcosm for the Catholic Church of the 4th-century. We are, quite simply, a denomination among many. And the real models of the church with which we work have been bequeathed us by the Reformation division of the Church that led to denominations. We must take this reality seriously, and try to evaluate scripturally the habits we have thereby inherited. Let me expose a little of this theological history of which we are a part.

In general, there were three possible answers to the "church in crisis" given in the 16th-century: either the church you were in was the "true" church (in which case stay); either it was a/the "false" church (in which case leave); or, finally, "church" itself was an insignificant social entity (in which case stay or leave according to what caused the least pain -- this was the [understandable] position of the disgusted humanist). To this day, people unthinkingly relate to their struggles with their churches according to these options, even while the outcome to their choices has produced a very different kind of Christian reality whose integrity may demand new attitudes.

For the past few centuries of denominational experience have undercut these 16th-century options for us. The inescapable development of a denominationally pluralistic society, as well as the vagaries of denominational development and ecumenical insight, have shown us that the Anglican church (in its integrity even) cannot simply be the "true church"; increased knowledge about and experiential exposure to other denominations have shown us that the criteria of "falsity" must logically be applied to all denominations in certain respects (though the historical data contradicting the claims of Protestant or Catholic puritanism are often conveniently ignored in times of crisis); and finally, the Christian practices associated with devaluing church structures altogether -- the developed culture of "indifference to organized religion" in our day -- have demonstrated themselves as being hopelessly incompetent to embody the full Gospel (that goes, in my opinion, for both liberal and evangelical versions of this outlook).

Beyond these options, however, what answers do conservatives have about the reasons for ever being members of the Anglican/Episcopal church in the first place, and therefore for their concern with its devolution in teaching and witness? It is not enough to speak about affections for the church "I grew up in", or about the "glories" of the Anglican tradition or about the "admiration" one has for Anglican balance between doctrine and liturgy and so on. If the church is a divine body at all, how ought we to locate that identity within this church in particular -- if only in the past -- in such a way that a threat to this church's integrity is a cause for profound Christian concern? An answer must be attempted, or any debate within our church, and any action we might take can only be attributed to the venal motives of human psychological drives.

If the 20th century development of both pluralism and ecumenism -- not to mention increased acquaintance with the wide failures in Christian witness around the world -- has had any religious payoff, it has been to begin to lift up a growing consciousness about the providential value of suffering Christian division as a means of growing in Christ. Both mainline and evangelical ecumenical struggles since the end of the 19th-century have increasingly unveiled the destructive character of Christian disunity. But a realization has been emerging that we cannot move on towards the healing of such disunity within the will of our Lord, unless we, as it were, enter more deeply into the lived consequences of our divided loyalties as they have been bequeathed us.

We cannot, for instance, continue playing out the inherited habits of disgruntled Christians from the past. And God clearly wants us to face those habits from the past, and their outcomes, as part of our own vocation to move forward in His will. What shall we do? What was missing then that we can now take up in the face of our own crises? What has God allowed us to learn? Almost 500 years after the 16th-century debates and divisions, we can no longer ask ourselves the same questions as a John Donne (where is the true church and does it matter?). In contrast, this is what I believe the Scripture teaches us for today: God has allowed us to come to faith and to practice our faith within divided Christian communities so that, forced to follow Jesus where we have been placed, we might learn repentance.

We tend to think of repentance in terms of discrete acts -- repentance for this or that misdeed or for this or that failure or betrayal. And so we should. But there is a larger kind of repentance as well. When Jesus exhorts the Pharisees to "go learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, and not sacrifice'" (Mat. 9:13), he points to the character of a life that must be grasped as whole through a larger process of "learning", of discipline. The providential character of denominational commitment, carried out in the midst of the divided community's sins and failures, and now done in the service of the larger church's healing, provides the only real vocation of such "learning", "discipline", and "repentance, in our day, as I see it, at least within the kind of robust embrace of the visible church that Anglicans have always upheld. The fact that God has placed us in this church at this time must mean that He would have us grow in the form of life that bespeaks the Church's repentant readiness to be healed.

Thinking Scripturally About The Church In Error

Of course, there is nothing "conservative" about this understanding of our ecclesial vocation. Except that it is thoroughly Scriptural, and therefore thoroughly committed to a witness to the revealed Christ. The providential value of suffering division as a means of repentance is, in fact, the only theological model of ecclesial division that the Bible offers us. I refer explicitly to the history of divided Israel, a reality that is both the consequence of sin, and the means of that sin's experiential redemption. No Jew, within Scriptural testimony, is ever asked by God to "choose" between Israel and Judah, despite the fluctuating fortunes of their respective faithfulness; no Jew is asked by God to discern the future of that faithfulness in this or that community. Rather, God asks each Israelite to suffer these fluctuations themselves in faith, and to allow that faithful patience to be molded into the shape of a repentant people by God's own acts upon them. This is the overall burden of prophetic discourse within the Old Testament, and it is carried through, albeit in a transformed shape, within the New Testament as well.

It is crucial for conservatives (as for any Christian) to identify this Scriptural history as the interpretive center for their discernment regarding faithful responses to apparent falsehood within the Body of Christ. For too long we have allowed our actions to be governed by a superficial hermeneutic, that has simply gravitated to fragmented verses regarding repudiation of error. The fact is that there is no explicit discussion in the New Testament of Christian division, only ad hoc references to individual responses to false teaching that together offer no unified outlook. We see disagreements dealt with in various ways in Acts, within Paul's Letters (and Paul himself adopts varying attitudes towards teachers with whom he disagrees), and in the Johannine literature. This could be spelled out at length, but the point is that such material does not offer an over-arching pattern of example. Rather, Scripture points us elsewhere for such a governing historical image: it is Israel, and Israel alone, that embodies the divine shape according to which the Christian Church's experience is to be evaluated historically.

And this is so for a very singular reason: Israel's life is "fulfilled" in ("typifies") Jesus' physical existence; and church is the "body of Christ" -- that is, she in turn mirrors Israel in its own typifying shape. In the matter of division and error, the Christian Church must look to Israel, so that it might see Christ; and in seeing Christ, we must move back, as it were, through the shape of His life, in order that we might faithfully adopt the form of God's chosen people.

It is therefore facile and ultimately misleading for orthodox Christians to identify, face, and respond to their churches' errors simply by saying "repudiate and separate"; it is ultimately misleading even if such a response is made only after long agonies of discernment. It is misleading for the single reason that this is not shape of Israel's history -- which must ultimately be our own -- because it is not the shape of Jesus' own life. There is no other standard.

Scriptural Figures of Christ at the Center of the Divided Church

Such scriptural reasoning here is richly textured. If we pursue it, perhaps you and I will come to differing conclusions. But we must make that effort, if we are not to succumb to a reactionary faith. In this abbreviated context, let me only offer some examples of where this pursuit has led me.

I think we can identify a number of shaping forms within Jesus' own life that "fulfill" a broader Scriptural history with regard to division and error. For instance, there is the whole image of Jesus' relation to the Temple. How would we characterize its shape? Challenge and correction, certainly. But also unswerving commitment and participation. The governing image, or type, of this combined attitude, as we all know, is the Cross. Correction and commitment to the Temple are given divine flesh in Jesus' crucifixion. (Hence, Jesus fulfills the sacrificial purpose of the Temple itself.) And the crucifixion, after all, is expressed historically in Israel by Israel's fate, in destruction, exile, and repentance ( cf. Lamentations). In ecclesial terms, in terms of the Body of Christ, that can only mean that the divinely willed response of faith before error within the Church is the integrity of truthful patience that is willing to die in place, as Jesus died.

Or take another "master image" (Austin Farrer's term) that displays the relationship of Christ to the Church in particular -- and this image or type is rather pertinent to our present dissension. This is the image worked out in Ephesians 5. "Husbands love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her ..." (5:25f.). This "profound mystery, that refers to Christ and the church" (5:32), is of course the image of marriage, and it also refers to the shape of the Cross. In this case, this shape is given experientially in the suffering indissolubility of fleshly union (cf. v. 31), the temporal outcome of which is the "sanctification" of the Church itself.

The marriage type as an expression of Christ's self-giving for the Church turns out to be a governing -- not a transient -- interpretive key for Scripture as a whole, and it also turns out that its applicability to the question of faithfulness and error within the People of God is crucial. How else ought one to read and fundamentally apply the embodied symbol of Hosea 1-3, except as a prophetic figure of how the Body of Christ takes form within a realm of intrinsic sinfulness? "Go, take for yourself a wife of harlotry and have children of harlotry..." (Hosea 1:2), becomes a promised command for the history by which God "pities" His chosen, and creates "His" people (cf. 2:23). It is a command to Hosea, to be enacted prophetically, because the "marriage of harlotry" will become the means of salvation by which Christ subsumes the sin of humanity, and establishes the very character of the Christian Church. This master image or type is reiterated elsewhere in the Old Testament, and lies behind the very meaning of Ephesians 5.

It is not so much ironic as it is theologically inevitable that one of the central issues in dispute within our denomination -- the character of "marriage" -- provides also the very shape by which faithful Christians are called to enter into this dispute: the cruciform union of love that suffers its rejection indissolubly. What is ironic is that some of us who would protect that human embodiment of marriage within the church should be tempted to contradict its ecclesial expression. We must not give into this temptation. For if the web of Scripture is properly intact, then it must be the case that the greatest service to human marriage that we can offer will be given in the ecclesial acts of "not hating one's own flesh" (Eph. 5:29), that is one's church, even in its betrayals.

It is not simply problematic that betrayal exists among the commonly baptized. Such acts -- capable of lengthy enumeration within the history of the Church -- unveil the very reality by which Christ saves us: "giving up" Himself "for" those He loves (cf. Eph. 5:25). The fact that we are made brothers and sisters by baptism within this particular denomination, where we have been providentially placed, has, as it were, "married" us to each other in Christ. And the consequences of that marriage must be suffered if we are not to contradict the Gospel itself, including its witness to the healing of our larger divisions. Our baptisms are "deaths" with Christ; we cannot escape the breadth of this reality, most especially in times of crisis and turmoil over the integrity of our church's common life and teaching. One might go so far as to call one's "spouse" -- that is, baptized brother or sister -- within this church a "Gomer". Some would see such judgments as presumptuous, to be sure. But even such presumption can be overcome if the bond is also presumed to be unbreakable.

This, in fact, is what I presume. And while I sympathize with many who lament and despair over the integrity of the Episcopal Church's current condition, and in many cases, of its leadership, I must judge the willingness to leave -- for another denomination, for parallel dioceses, for alternative bishops -- I must judge such willingness as a succumbing to temptation. "I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered" (Zech. 13:7; Matt. 26:31) is a word of judgment, not a divine hope. The shepherd may well be struck again (and by his friends no less! -- Zech. 13:6). But in the light of the crucified Lord, we are no longer obliged to run away. Even Jesus shared his Last Supper with Judas (cf. Luke 22:21; Jn. 13:21ff.)

Why stay within this church, within this denomination in particular, even within this or that diocese where the burdens often seem intolerable? Because it is the most evangelical thing one might do, witnessing not to weakness, not to compromise, not to disingenuity, but witnessing to the reality of the power of the Cross of Jesus Christ in history.

The benefits of staying

And the witness is not empty. It brings with it promised and empowered benefits that must inevitably build up the Kingdom of Christ from within. It is well worth detailing some of these, because the losses inherent to leaving are not merely theological; they will surely give rise to a progressive weakening of our lived faith.

Growth in Christ-likeness -- First, let us take the area of Christian character. If we were to ask what character aspects would be embodied by remaining with integrity within our church, a number of elements would come to mind: patience, courage, perseverance, honesty, long-suffering, mourning, peaceableness, meekness, and so on. The point is, that the form of Jesus' own life rises up into view through these embedded practices of such faithful staying put. And the range of behavioral attitudes the New Testament variously outlines as virtues or spiritual gifts or even the "beatitudes" all constellate around this posture of ecclesial remaining-in-faith. Is there a comparable means of growing in Christ's image made possible by separation? I cannot see it.

Manifesting the Truth -- Second, we may trust that the truth itself is more clearly manifested and more divinely potent through its suffering contradiction within a wayward people than otherwise. After all, to be "lifted up" to view in the light is the act by which Jesus "draws the world" to himself; yet this lifting up and "glorification" turns out to be a "dying" that alone "bears fruit" (Jn. 12:20-36). The truth shows itself in the peculiar form of Jesus' passion. Why then would we be anxious that staying put, in the form of Jesus, could ever obscure the clarity of the Gospel? Just the opposite will be the case. And in this direction will the Great Commission move most decisively towards its fulfillment (something Jesus intimates in e.g. John 17:20ff.).

Teachability -- Third, one of the gifts of remaining will be an openness to God's own teaching. While it is hard for me to believe that there is some "new truth" yet to be revealed about, say, sexual behavior that will overturn the basic traditions of the Church's doctrine, nonetheless we must acknowledge the possibility of still learning something we did not know before on the matter. And where else shall we learn this than with those who challenge us about our exhausted outlooks?

A pertinent analogy is the experience and understanding of something like witchcraft, the debate around which in the 17th-century led not only to a critical reassessment of the parameters of its practice and meaning, but also, interestingly enough, contributed to a fertile burst of exploration and insight into the physical sciences. (Anglicans, in particular, had a positive role in this episode.) The basic teaching of the Church concerning the existence of the Evil One and so on did not change. But because of these debates, Christians now approach the question of witchcraft very differently and much more circumspectly than in the 16th-century. That is surely a blessing. Similarly, there is every reason to hope that God might lead us into some greater light around the issue of sexuality even in our era, a hope that properly demands an embodiment in patient listening and discussion, none of which need constitute an abandonment of our basic teaching.

Instruments of reconciliation -- Finally, and more comprehensively, the larger Christian Church and this broken world of ours cries out, if often quietly, for the witness of some power that can overcome the ravages of hostility. We believe that only one voice answers this cry. It is the voice of the One who remained in place, even in the place He had been consigned by unjust and misguided authorities. It is irresponsible to think that the habits by which we conduct our church's life in the midst of real division has no effect on the habits of the fallen world. As if by God's providence, we have, as an Anglican church in crisis, the choice and profound privilege, of showing, not only other churches, but thereby the world as whole a better way: Solo Christo -- only by Christ. There is no other place to stand than His, by which the world can be redeemed. We must not be frightened, in our church, of this place and of this remaining.

How To Stay

In conclusion let me outline the practical form of our vocation, as I see it.

Vow to stay -- let us make a renewed vow of commitment to this actual church, and put aside the drawn-out and unspoken threats of further division we carry about with us. They have bred nothing but prolonged suspicion, anxiety, and fear on the part of the larger Body, always mistrustful of what we might end up deciding. Can we not see how we have become manipulators of charity through our lack of guilelessness, allowing our uncertain commitments to be felt as a constant threat, and thereby holding affection hostage? Let our Yes for this church be Yes. And then let us go on to witness to the Gospel's truth in that freedom.

Struggle for the truth -- let us fearlessly maintain the integrity of our teaching, and witness, and let us steadfastly refuse to participate in its open contradiction. This is a perfectly reasonable hope, and, quite frankly, the fears afoot that somehow we shall be forced to sacrifice our principles unless we separate from a fallen denomination are overblown. No one can "force" me, as a priest, to perform any rite, preach any sermon, or pray any liturgy that contradicts the Gospel. From the medieval Franciscans, to 18th-century Anglican Evangelicals, to 19th-century Tractarians, successful methods of faithfully navigating a hostile church while remaining in communion with it have been developed and promoted. They did this through organization, teaching, and missionary fervor and sacrifice especially, even while maintaining a certain discretion and meekiness, in their relations. Our despair over such a possibility is simply contradicted by historical experience.

Accept suffering -- let us be prepared to suffer in patience the effects of the Gospel's contradiction in our midst. I have already tied this imperative to the central ecclesial vocation of the Christ-like disciple. What needs to be stressed is that the imperative is inescapable.

Presume charitably -- let us hold charitable presumptions towards all persons and all actions within the church. God will not condemn us for overstating the goodness of others, and counting them always "better than ourselves" (cf. Phil. 2:3). And this goes not only in individual relations, but in our attitude towards institutional actions. It is a matter of charity to construe decisions and documents in as orthodox a manner as possible, for it is our duty to construct a sound basis for peace even with malformed stones. We edify by hearing God's voice within the constricted tones of our brethren.

Maintain communion -- let us maintain communion with our sisters and brothers in Christ, despite our rejection of aspects of their witness and perhaps even character. Again, recall the form of Jesus in feast and supper, and let us settle ourselves into his patience in staying put, and take as our goal the form of His own "communion", that is, the Cross of sacrificial love, the "cup" he drank and shares. As persons baptized in His death, our call is to represent, as fully as possible, the perfect joining of sacrament and life together that Jesus offered at the Last Supper, shared even with His betrayer and deniers.

The New Testament has no theology of eucharistic excommunication or even of personal separation from communion. Where concerns with communion are addressed, as in 1 Corinthians 11, it is with an "unworthy" participation whose fault lies in a failure to achieve such joining of sacrament and life within the church's personal relations. Although unworthy communion in this context is therefore something to be avoided, it is only when we ourselves prove that we cannot love as Christ loved. Any subsequent historical development of the practices of excommunication and separation -- practices hotly disputed and inconsistent in the church's history -- should be evaluated in this light: their purpose is fundamentally penitential, not protective of the church's order. Jesus -- and His church -- are not injured by the unrepentant sinner who shares His Body and Blood. If we cannot share communion in the church, it is to our own, not another's, repentance that we are being led.

Submit to the church's order -- Let us tie ourselves to the order of the church, precisely because this order and institution provide a divine opportunity and context in which to exercise the virtues of Christ. It does this both by positive and shared encouragements, and by offering structures that stubbornly insist that our decisions to love as Christ loves always be intentional and self-conscious. Submitting to bishops and canonical rules and so on, even in their patent injustices, cannot harm us if we do so with the deliberation thereby to offer humble witness. And where open dissent seems necessary, even this must take place with a willingness to suffer the ordered consequences of our disobedience, without complaint or resistance. All of this is consistent with the Scripture's outline of the Lord's own path that must be ours. And only in this path can religious institutions find their "fulfillment", like the Temple's, in the form of Christ.

Openness to correction -- let us always be willing to listen to our colleagues' admonishment and corrective counsel. This is why, in part, institutional communion is so important: we cannot hear God's prodding and correction unless we are physically bound to those who would speak hard things to us. This, after all, is how we would positively see our own role in the church. But we cannot do that, unless we are open to receiving such communication from others. "Teach and admonish one another in all wisdom" (Col. 3:16). We dare not restrict our presence in this command.

What Shall We Say About The Diocese of Colorado?

All the elements outlined above should be brought to bear in any situation, in any diocese. For the sake of realism, however, I think we must acknowledge that the Diocese of Colorado is not particularly oppressive nor heretical as a whole. Rather, we are a divided diocese, with contradictory teaching taking place in parishes and being promoted at diocesan gatherings. But no one, as far as I know, has been forced to accept or promote a teaching contrary to their own conscience; and no teaching contrary to the Gospel has been officially promulgated here. And even if it had, it would make no difference to the necessary posture of our witness.

It is true that our recent diocesan convention chose not to affirm, openly and explicitly, certain Lambeth resolutions some of us believed deserved such affirmation. And no doubt this choice can be construed in many and negative ways. But the only way we are actually called by God to construe it, as I have said above, is in the most charitable and orthodox fashion possible. In such a light, our convention's actions do not constitute any grievous error. And even if they did, it would make no difference to the necessary posture of our witness.

Furthermore, within the context of our divided diocese, our own bishop has exhibited virtues of patience, temperance, openness, steadfastness, and faithfulness that surpass the character of many of his more partisan colleagues, of whatever viewpoints. Without question, I do not agree with all his positions and decisions (who does?). But I support and give myself over to his pastoral leadership not only out of a sense of duty -- reason enough! -- but out of a conviction that I can grow as a Christian under his direction. And even if one could not, it would make no difference to the necessary posture of our witness.

The fact is that every clergyperson and member of this diocese is my brother and sister in Christ. Along with their manifold virtues and gifts which I admire, are also various commitments I must reject. And in the days to come, as in the past, I shall surely "oppose them to their face" from time to time , as Paul did Peter (cf. Gal. 2:11). But I am bound to every one of them -- that is, to you -- with a love in the Lord as indissoluble as that which binds me to my own wife. Were I to question this bond, I would be questioning the very promises of God fulfilled in Christ Jesus.

A Final Request

For all these reasons, partial and imperfect though they may be, I urge you to join with me in setting aside once and for all the temptation to depart this diocese and this church, the temptation to "let this cup pass" which we are called by God to drink. I urge you to join me in renewing a commitment to this Body, broken though it may be; and thereby to setting about the business of serving our Lord with renewed humility and with renewed clarity of truth. For I can think of no better colleagues in this task than you. I send this to all of you with my prayers and my affection in the Lord.

Ephraim 

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