Convention Address 2010, 171st Annual Meeting of the Diocese of Missouri
November 20, 2010, St. Charles, Missouri

Grace to you,  and peace from God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I begin with one of the great, hope-filled passages from Revelation, as John continues to unfold the vision given him, here at the twenty-first chapter:

I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”

Notice how this passage undermines a popular American imagination about the end of days, which talks about a rapture of believers into the sky, an escape from a doomed world. But that’s not what Revelation tells us. The new Jerusalem comes down, renewing the earth. The home of God is among mortals. There is no escape in this picture.

This much beloved world is the context for God’s working-out of salvation. It is the only context we have.The new Jerusalem, whose presence comes to us from above and from the future, provides a reference point for the Church, showing us where God is going.

Context. Text. Action.  This is a simplified adaptation of an interpretive method familiar to theologians the world over. Context. Text. Action. Three words I hope you will take with you. Bishop Ian Douglas of Connecticut presented this framework in a very practical way at the House of Bishops meeting last September.

Context. The world where we live provides the venue for God’s mission. There is none other.

The home of God is among mortals, says Revelation. Praise be to God for taking on flesh in Jesus of Nazareth, to live among us as one of us. The implications for us, who are heirs to the living religion of the incarnation, require us to know our context well. If we take the flesh and this world as seriously as Jesus does. To walk the neighborhoods, to know the people, to recognize the flesh-and-blood joys and sorrows, and the fears. To know the lore, which stories give shape to how we live. And to study the hard data about where we live, available to anyone with an internet connection. Demographics, population trends, occupations, economics: These tell us about context.

There are various horizons of context, both nearby and far off. We do well to interpret the context of our neighborhoods—and the global neighborhood. It is my hope that we can understand that what we do in Lui Diocese in Sudan, and what we do at the Peace Meal at St. John’s in Tower Grove in St. Louis, are of one piece. They simply lie on different horizons of our context.

A first step, then: Interpreting the context.

After context, then text. What in scripture helps make sense out of this situation? What comes to mind? Where are the links? Formal scripture studies, whether modern in shape or avant garde and post-modern, can interpret a passage of scripture to within an inch of its life. Part of the brilliance of the method which I am describing is that it allows the scriptures to do the interpreting. The scripture becomes free to make sense of us, and the situations which we face. They bring clarity into our understanding of what God is doing in our contexts.

Context. Text. Action. Once we begin to understand what God is doing in the context, then we can find the invitation to do the thing that God is doing. Remember: it is always God’s mission, not ours, and we are accountable to and servants of that mission. And as we engage more deeply in the context, the interpretive loop begins again. Context. Text. Action. An ever-changing tableau.

I asked Robert Towner, rector of Christ Church in Cape Girardeau, if I might share some of the story about missional life in that congregation, and how this interpretive template fits. It fits pretty well.

In 2001 or 2002, at a conference for revitalizing older, established churches, which Bob attended with the senior warden of the parish, he came away with one important insight: serve the neighborhood where you have been planted, or else move. That’s all about context.

Christ Church was faced with an important decision: to move to the growing edge of town, or stay put in a downtown neighborhood in decline. They ended up staying, not as a path of least resistance, but purposefully. That’s when, Bob says, they started talking to their neighbors.

That is to say, Christ Church got more serious about its context.

And some texts emerged to help make sense out of that context, to show what God was and is doing there. Mark 6, Jesus’ commissioning of the twelve, with his instructions to travel lightly and to stay put in  one house within a locale until finished, spoke to the situation. Don’t go flitting about looking for the best house with the best meals—but do the work where you are. The parable of the sower suggested that Christ is faithfully sowing the word already among neighbors, even before the missionaries show up. Jesus got there before Christ Church. Luke 14 tells about Jesus’ imperative to invite guests to a banquet precisely because of their inability to repay.  And here I use Bob’s exact works: “Of course there’s the parable of the last judgment in Matthew 25, full of ghosts of activism past (present and future), which haunts us all and offers us immense promise (Oh, that I might meet Him!!) even before the eschaton.” Well put, Bob.

As far as action in these eight or nine years, there were plenty of efforts which failed. But Christ Church did not lose its sense of purpose, in staying put. “We have got to do it here, and if we cannot see the openings, we haven’t finished exploring the context.” Again, quoting Bob Towner.

So for now: they have a life-giving food ministry: A hot meal the last Sunday every month, when paychecks run low, and a food pantry open every week, for a neighborhood with hungry people. They have the Red Door Kids club—for the neighborhood., not for the Church. They are intentional about neighborhood connections, for a safe, walkable, beautiful neighborhood. Christ Church is very much connected with our Diocese’s partnership in Sudan.

Christ Church would be missed if it were not there in Cape Girardeau.

By the way, the missional life I am describing does not require a lot of money. It resists programs and budgets.  It is a way for the Church to organize and live its life. And it depends on people-power. Sweat equity. Yours. Mine.

There are stories like this all around the Diocese, and I encourage you to give words to them. Think about them in terms of Context. Text.  Action. Practice telling them out loud. This is precisely the kind of work being done with the Mission Model Congregations, about whom I spoke in my address last year: Advent, Crestwood; Christ Church,  Cape Girardeau; Grace, Kirkwood; St. Matthew’s, Warson Woods; St. Paul’s, Ironton; and Trinity, St. Charles are congregations of various sizes, in various locales, and representative of the breadth of this diocese.

I have asked them to do one main thing: To make the work of mission an organizing principle for their congregation’s life. Not as an after-thought. But a main thing—if not the main thing. Their work has been an experiment of sorts: But I am confident enough now to ask all of you the same thing I have asked these congregations: To make the work of mission an organizing principle in your life together.

Here’s what I notice as I travel about this diocese: To a place, the congregations who have chosen to look outward—rather than inward—are thriving. And doing so even in this crazy economy.  The paradox is that to focus outward is to get well, in our internal goings-on. To give up our life is to save it. The way of the cross is the way of life and peace. These are not slogans to put in needle-point and hang on the wall. These are the bracing and life-giving truths at the heart of the gospel.

One hard truth about life in the eastern half of Missouri is the presence of racism. Which is simply part of our context. Urban, town, rural—racism and its structures are present, and so much a part of the landscape that they are often invisible to us, particularly those of us in the dominant culture.
The Diocese of Missouri is blessed to have at our service an exemplary Commission on Dismantling Racism. I have been in conversation with that Commission, dreaming about what our next steps might be.
Two things I ask of you, the Clergy and Delegates at this convention: First, I ask you to join me in examining context around this issue and identifying texts to make sense of it. The Commission has to take a lead in this work, but I commend it to everyone in our Diocese. Context and text have some clarity for me, but action is less than clear. Study, listen, and dream with me.

Second, I ask you to begin work in your various communities of faith to identify any legacies of slavery and racism in your midst, and ours. The General Convention last year, by resolution, has asked us to do just that. This is heavy lifting, dear friends, and I stand ready to lend a hand. The Commission on Dismantling Racism plans to provide practical resources for all of us, next spring and summer.

We who are the Church, after all, are accountable to another vision from the Book of Revelation, that image of the saints of God in the age to come, praising God and Christ the Lamb, a royal priesthood from every family, language, people and nation. We do not inhabit that vision perfectly, and we will not so inhabit it of our own doing—but we remain accountable to it. That vision alone means that we must combat racism.

That vision also has everything to do with our vitality. Some data for you: The Diocesan growth trend in average Sunday attendance remains remarkably flat. Last reporting year I put before you the data from 2008, which showed a .4% increase in Sunday attendance over the previous year. Flat.

In reporting the data from 2009, I can tell you that we showed a .5% decrease in Sunday attendance, compared to the previous year. Statistically flat. Better than all but a hand full of dioceses but not sustainable.

For the sake of vitality, our congregations will do well to reflect the diversity in the communities around them. Another reason for attention to racism in our contexts.

Now to extend the horizons of Church to the Anglican Communion: I need first to report that amid the serious tensions which continue in the Communion, the Episcopal Church still has a place at the table. The table is taking on a different look, and there may be more than one table. So be it.
I believe that we will continue to have such a place, though with discomfort and ambiguity for us—and for others at the table. I have no need prematurely to resolve this discomfort and ambiguity.

My long-stated purpose has been to work toward the full inclusion of all the baptized, including our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, while maintaining the highest degree of communion possible along the way.  That is still my purpose. Note this: the Episcopal Church remains a constituent member of the Anglican Communion.

A related matter is the proposed Anglican Covenant, about which I have two points. First, by the end of January, I will appoint a Diocesan task force to study the Covenant, to gather data from the Diocese, and to distribute their learnings to us by the end of 2011.

Second, I need to let you know my own deep ambivalence toward the idea of a Covenant. The Covenant, as proposed, presents a different style of Anglicanism from that familiar to us. For example, it looks more to the Articles of Religion, a list, and less to the voluminous writings of Richard Hooker, with all his subtleties. This Church historically has paid precious little attention to the Articles.

The Covenant looks more to the English Book of Common Prayer of 1662, as if frozen in time, and less (if at all) to the liturgical renewal of the previous 150 years. This presents an odd feel to Episcopalians, since our Church abandoned the 1662 English book for a Scots-based book, in 1784.

The Covenant looks confessional in shape, despite denials to the contrary. It looks more juridical and less relational in its constructs. It suggests a centralizing authority in place of the more familiar dispersed authority.

With reservations, I could be convinced to support the Covenant, at least in its first three sections, if it could be shown to strengthen the bonds of affection. The fourth section, where the juridical aspects are focused, remains very problematic.

I say all this, not to shut down your own considerations about the Covenant, but simply to let you know where I stand.

I have written already to convey my gratitude to the Diocese and its bodies for making March and April of this years available as sabbatical time for me. I need to say my thanks in person to all of you who form the core deliberative body in the Diocese of Missouri. Sabbatical gave me much-needed rest and a time for reflection. About the only tangible outcome was that hymn-text we sang last night, and which I penned mostly on the beach in South Texas. The intangibles, though, have been plenty.

I do want to re-state some of the learnings which solidified during my sabbatical, since I think they are pertinent.

First: The ordained life is full of blessing—and stress. This is hardly a new learning, but I took in through my body what I have known for a long time. I was not prepared for the degree of tiredness I discovered in myself, once I got to the beach and camped there for two weeks.I am grateful for the rest I found, and also for the time and space to uncover my own weariness. I say these words, not for the sake of self-pity, or eliciting pity from anyone else. I write them instead for purposes of consciousness-raising, and for the sake of the clergy of this Diocese. As recently as the 1960s, pastoral ministry was a high-status, low-stress vocation. A couple of generations later, those qualifiers have flipped, and most of the ordained now experience their vocation as high-stress, low-status. With the gradual demise of Christendom in recent decades, and the lower regard for religious institutions and even distrust of them, the culture no longer by default will see to the “care and feeding” of clergy.  It is instead up to the people of our parishes to take up this task—and to do so intentionally, and with understanding. Deal compassionately and gently with your clergy.
And clergy: pay attention to your own well-being.

Second : We may be living through an epochal shift. Phyllis Tickle and Diana Butler Bass, both scholars of some note, addressed the March House of Bishops meeting on the matter of “the great emergence.” As Tickle writes to make this claim, “Every 500 years or so, the church—and the world—experience huge social, political, economic, and cultural shifts.” And both she and Butler Bass argue that we are just at the tipping point of such a shift.

Now, they may over-state the matter, but I do think that they are onto something nonetheless. Be very sure about this: We cannot recreate the Church or the world of the 1950s. That Church and world are gone. Over and done with. More to the point, we cannot even recreate the Church and world of the 1990s.

A more tangible and verifiable shift lies in the fact of global climate change. The beautiful fragility of Padre Island, one of the low-lying barrier islands of the Gulf Coast, provided the backdrop for my reading and reflection on this matter. The closing line in the first verse of my hymn-text we sang comes directly from this experience of being on a threatened beach: The prayer to God, the Holy Spirit: Brood o’er the earth, renew its life, and cleanse it from our sin.

Moreover, the research and consultation I have done as part of the House of Bishops Theology Committee’s work around climate change suggest that the Church has been largely silent on a crucial matter of the Christian moral life. This must change. If all the data are truth, how then shall we live?

The vision of the new Jerusalem is to the point. For God loves this world and works toward its renewal and salvation. There is not another world for refuge, but this one, holy and blessed but wounded. There is no escape.

Over the past months, I have delighted to see a ministry calling itself Sustain a Faith emerge in our Diocese. This is a group of people devoted to making our Church buildings greener, and encouraging all of us believers to live more sustainable lives. It is an organization built grass-roots up, rather than top down. Much to like about it!

Finally, and by no means least, I came to know more deeply how much I treasure the ministry entrusted to me. Toward the end of this brief sabbatical, when I found myself turning toward my return to my work and ministry, I found a sort of unexpected anticipation. The work of Bishop of Missouri is endlessly fascinating. I find it both satisfying—and often indescribably difficult. They qualities are not mutually exclusive and, in fact, encompass the sort of language which many theologians use to describe vocation.

I realize that there is no other work about which I pine away. And it is not being a bishop in the abstract which makes this ministry such a sweet spot in my life. It is the specifics inherent in being Bishop of Missouri: this geography, these congregations, these people, these challenges and opportunities.

I realize that I do not crave some theoretically perfect diocese, as if such a thing were possible. I am deeply, deeply content with the diocese where I am blessed to live and serve.
It is my joy to have all of you as partners as we seek to engage the mission of God in our neighborhoods. Making Disciples. Building Congregations. For the Life of the World.

The Rigth Reverend Wayne Smith
Tenth Bishop of Missouri