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"Daring to be disciples of Jesus" - Bishop Beckwith's address at the 140th Annual Convention

Bishop Mark Beckwith
By: 
The Rt. Rev. Mark M. Beckwith, Bishop of Newark

Here am I. Send me.

So there I was, a week before my ordination to the diaconate – in June, 1979. I was 27 years old. The Rector of the church where I had just started serving as an Assistant, sent me to go and get my picture taken professionally so my ordination and position could be announced in the local paper. His was a reasonable, and expected, request. I had my new clergy shirts, and buttons and clerical collars – but I had never put them on before. You would think that after all the preparation and formation – and final approvals, with a process that had some bumps along the way, I would be excited about assuming my new identify; but all I could feel was ambivalence. I did have a deep sense of what God was doing in me – but I wasn’t sure what I was doing – or what would happen to me once I put the collar on. Or what was expected of me once I had Reverend in front of my name. All of this roiled in me as I got dressed And even though it was a hot and muggy day, I put on my overcoat – and turned the coat collar up so that my impending ecclesiastical identity could not be seen.

I figured that I could deal with wearing a clerical collar in church. It was the time-honored uniform. But out and about in the world – well, that was another story. My fear – and it was indeed fear, was that I would be seen – on the one end of my rather bizarre spectrum of projection, either as a raging fundamentalist; or on the other end as someone who peppered conversations with quatrains from English sonnets. In a British accent, no less. A religious fanatic or a cultural snob. There was little ground in between.

I am grateful for my diaconate experience, because – among other things, I was able to work through much of my ambivalence and discover that God simply wanted – and wants, to use me as me – warts and all; not as some projection I cooked up or that someone else laid on me. And while I think I have long since figured out the role, choreography and uniform of deacon, priest and now bishop – while in the confines of the church; it still kicks in at times when I am out in the world.

Here I am. Send me.

One of the unintended mistakes the church has made over the centuries is to convey that the only ones who are sent are those who are ordained. Which would mean that the rest of us are off the hook. Not so. Moses gathered 70 and sent them. Jesus gathered 70 and sent them. Paul gathered legions of people and sent them. On the first Pentecost, the Holy Spirit gave people utterance – and sent them out. Not one of them was ordained. God wants to use us – as we are. Every one of us.

Oh, but I am only a youth, Jeremiah said when God called him. Most of us can’t say that anymore – as our youth is receding further in the rearview mirror. Isaiah figured that a judgment from the moral police will be an effective excuse: “I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips.” We can all say that. We all have an inventory of hurts and losses, and resentments from those losses that often get expressed in cruel ways – making our lips unclean. And then we have egos that kick in from time to time – that sully and soil our lips, to the degree that everything we say ends up being about us; and God gets shut out of the conversation.

Now I can’t imagine that any of us have had seraphs put live coals on our lips – or few, if any of us, would admit to it if they had – but since the beginning of creation the wings of the Spirit have been fluttering about our heads and hearts – calling us, claiming us – and sending us out into the world. Sending us out into the world – to see what God is up to, and where God is working. How God is working – now – in the present, in our lives.

Here we are. Send us – who are daring to be disciples of Jesus.

And it needs to be said that our daring to be disciples requires us to work through our own ambivalence about this whole discipleship business, which may cause us to put on the overcoat of a secular world and button it tight so that secular world won’t see that we have a heart for Jesus.

It helps to name the ambivalence. It can sometimes trick us into thinking that we are called to be disciples of the past. We do indeed have a story and a practice that are grounded in the past – a past which needs to be honored; but a past needs to be lived out in the present. It is often the case that our journey into the world is wrapped in nostalgia. Nostalgia can be a pernicious sentiment, because it keeps us blind to the present; and hearkening back to the golden days buys into the lie that our best days are behind us. God is at work – now, in the present; and the promise which both gathers and guides us is that God is making all things new. Creation is still going on, and we are called to be co-creators with the living God. As disciples who dare to follow Jesus.

And there is the ambivalence about the future. Indeed, our whole tradition points to the future – of abundance and hope and blessing and freedom, but it is often the case that we can’t approach the future with anything other than anxiety. What will it look like? What will it be like? Will we have enough money, or enough people? Those questions – and they are real questions – can launch a surge of free-floating anxiety that can tie us up in spiritual knots, and carry us away from the God working in the present.

And the present – well, it’s a tough world out there. We can  inventory how God is not working – and lament about how we see the world going to hell in a hand basket. There can be a self-protective urge to stay inside, where it feels familiar and safe. I felt this to a degree while on sabbatical this summer. I spent a week in New Delhi, India. And – at first, it was too hot, too crowded, too chaotic, too dirty, too many homeless and orphaned kids without any kind of supervision, to want to venture out at all. All I wanted to do was stay in. In relative coolness and safety. But I was staying in an Anglican monastic community, which had been around for over a hundred years – and in all that time they kept going out to meet God as disciples of Jesus. Going out to build schools, youth shelters, leper colonies, create hotlines for at risk kids – and on and on. I ventured out with them – and I saw God working in ways that I never had seen before; and in situations that I had previously been blind to. You cannot predict what the Holy Spirit is doing.

It can be a tough world out there; but it can also be a tough world in here as well. Inside our church communities, where we are called to be disciples of Jesus. Institutional issues abound, and they are more and more daunting. There are times in our congregations when the vision of the Gospel gets truncated by the killer B’s – buildings, budgets, boilers and burnout. The combination of outside and inside challenges puts a strain on people’s ability to live into a covenant of civility and mutual respect. Email correspondence has become the mode of communication in most of our congregations. Mostly it is effective, efficient and encouraging. But in the past couple of years I have been privy to more and more emails between people in congregations that are nasty and hurtful. Messages that offend what it means to be the body of Christ.

That incivility mirrors the growing nastiness in our culture. And it is exacerbated by our inward focus and the seeping intrusions of nostalgia, anxiety and fear. We all sense in our bones that it is time to change. We know that something needs to happen. We need to take off the overcoat of ambivalence and anxiety, nostalgia and fear – and expose our hearts and souls directly to God working in the world.

Here I am. Send me. Coatless.

The change I am talking about is a cultural change. It will take time. We will give it time. At our clergy conference last fall, the Rev. Dr. Maggi Dawn, who is the director of the chapel at Yale Divinity School (and who will be a very part-time artist in residence for our Cathedral and the diocese this next year), introduced us to a study done in England as to why women were not inclined to go into pubs, which often are the community centers in cities and villages. One might assume all sorts of reasons for their reluctance, but the research showed that it was because the women couldn’t see through the windows to determine what was going inside, and weren’t sure if it was safe. On the basis of this data, many pubs widened their windows or made them more transparent – the result of which was more women venturing inside for a pint or two. If we extrapolate that study to the church, we have windows – often spectacular windows, that we can see out, but that no one can see in. With the increasing number of NONES in our communities, (people who claim not religious affiliation), they have no idea of what is going on inside. We are not – or I hope we are not, going to widen these stained glass windows or make them more transparent. But what we can do – is to take what we are doing inside and bring it out into the world, so the world can see what we are up to.

And we are doing that. More than two thirds of our congregations have offered “ashes to go” on Ash Wednesday. Many congregations offer the blessing of animals – outside, on St. Francis Day. People from St. David’s in Kinnelon had a procession to the local animal shelter for the blessing. I am encouraging congregations to hand out Palm crosses before or after Palm Sunday, a practice that the House of Prayer, Newark congregation has been engaged in for the past several years. On Good Friday, I will join with St. Paul’s, Jersey City – and then with Christ Church, Bloomfield/Glen Ridge – as we engage in the Stations of the Cross in the neighborhood. Several congregations had outdoor commemoration services on the one-year anniversary of the Newtown, Ct. shootings; and St. Peter’s Clifton organized an interfaith procession to commemorate the occasion. The three Episcopal churches in Jersey City – Incarnation, Grace and St. Paul’s – joined for an outdoor Eucharist this past July in Liberty State Park. St. Luke’s Montclair had several Eucharists to go, which they call “worship without walls,” on several summer Sunday afternoons on the streets of Montclair.

These are just some of the examples of congregations bringing the Gospel into the world. And as we go out more, people become more confident in their discipleship, develop more clarity of what it means to be engaged in mission – and more people dwell in the urgency and liberating challenge of the Gospel. And are less susceptible to nostalgia and anxiety, which are manifested in so many life-denying ways.

Here we are. Send us.

We have been at this in the diocese for a while. We are becoming missional people. God’s mission has been a thread that weaves through each one of my now seven addresses to this Convention. Two years ago, at this Convention, we launched a mission strategy initiative. A Mission Strategy Committee was created to be the shepherds of the process. This fall Alan Roxburgh led a day-long workshop entitled “moving into the neighborhood.” We are in the final stages of entering into an agreement with Alan and his team – which will involve direct coaching with congregations and with the diocese, the first American diocese to do so. They have been working in Canada for several years. We will invest time, talent and treasure in the Missional Network – and the outlay will result in trained leaders and coaches in discipleship and mission. And more steps to a changed culture. And more exposure of our hearts to Jesus.

We have been graced at this Convention by the enormous wisdom of Dwight Zscheile. Many of us are reading his book, People of the Way, during this season of Epiphany. I am offering twice-weekly reflections on my blog; and some of you are responding with your own insights. It turns out that Dwight and Alan Roxburgh spend a lot of time talking with each other – and with Tom Brackett, who was our main speaker at our Convention two years ago. They each are passionate about the call of the Gospel to engage in God’s mission. Theirs is a shared imagination. And we are reaping the benefits of their passion and insight.

We are learning as we go. Most of our congregations are willing to dare to be disciples of Jesus. Not because it is in our vision statement, but because it is foundational to the call of the Gospel. Many people and congregations are much drawn to this commitment to being a missional church. Some are awakening to it. Some people and congregations are drawn to the overall idea of it, but missional still seems like a foreign word to them. I get that. I am growing in my understanding of what missional means, and how to live it out. What I am learning is that missional involves listening – to God’s invitation as it comes through scripture and from the neighborhood (however that is defined) – and then offering a response to that invitation. After a concrete response is discerned, it is then lived out. This is not a strategic plan, but an exploration. And after each exploration comes a careful and prayerful reflection – drawing on the wisdom of scripture and one another; so that the community can discern the next response. The only failed response is one that does not engage in a careful and prayerful reflection and discernment. We can’t do mission without daring to be disciples.

Our 20th century mindset in the church is to frame ministry as a program. That has its benefits – but missional church is about deepening relationships. Relationship with God – as God is working in the familiar confines of our parishes; but also as God is at work in our neighborhoods and communities. And relationship with Jesus. Not so much about what we know about Jesus, or believe about Jesus – or what someone else thinks about Jesus. The missional question is – who is Jesus? What is your relationship with Jesus?

Consider the logo for this convention. The programmatic model of mission that most of us have inherited is that we focus only on the net – and design a strategy for bringing people into the net – and after some orientation and education we expect them to become like us. But in the missional and relational model we are going out – and leaving footprints – and through the grace of God the net of the Holy Spirit gathers us all together – and everyone is changed. I am much taken with a quote attributed to Lilla Watson, an indigenous Australian artist and writer: “If you have come here to help me, you are wasting our time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” Mutual liberation and transformation – that is the goal of missional work.

The programmatic model of evangelism is going out with bait – which is usually framed as some sort of program, and then expecting people to take it. And some will, and that’s great. But in the missional model of evangelism God is the bait – and we are sent to find how plentiful that bait is – and rejoice in its discovery. Which is easy to do – because God’s presence is everywhere. And then to say – at least to ourselves; and this is critically important – not how wonderful or cool this is; but this is a sign of God’s grace. That we are experiencing the presence of the living Christ. To name it. God at work. Jesus alive.

This is the cultural change we seek.

I am learning about the abundance of God from all sorts of places; but recently and most especially from the men who gather in the lunch line outside every day at the church next door to our diocesan office. I go over there regularly. I am building relationships. The courage of the men I talk with is humbling to me. Their wisdom is inspiring. And their faith – which is deep and real, is transforming. You never know who your teachers are going to be.

We have a growing Hispanic/Latino ministry in the diocese. You will hear from members of the Commission later. A programmatic orientation would be to create Spanish language ministries in Hispanic neighborhoods. And we need to do that. But a missional development of Hispanic ministry is much more relational and comprehensive. It involves non-Hispanic communities being open to learn from the wisdom and heart of their Hispanic and Latino brothers and sisters. Will it work? We’re going to explore it – and keep evaluating how God is working.

The Open Table Task Force report explores the historical, theological and liturgical background of the Holy Eucharist. And they have done that clearly and comprehensively. I commend their report to you. But they have also – perhaps unintentionally, issued a profoundly missional statement – in that the Eucharist is first and foremost a relational experience with the living Christ.

Historically, the bishop is seen as pontifex, which is Latin for bridge. Most of us, myself included, see the bishop as the bridge between the diocese and the wider church. But I also see myself as the bridge between the church and the community; by building relationships. For the past year, I have been going with church leaders to meet with community leaders – to listen, to build relationships – and then reflect with each other on what we have heard and how God might be calling us to respond. This summer I will offer to come to churches in the early evenings, to walk the neighborhood together, begin to build relationships, and then over supper to talk through what we have seen and heard.

I want to continue to build that bridge. Last year, we invited half of our wardens to come to the diocesan offices in Newark to see where we are and hear how the diocesan staff is organized to serve their congregations. This next year we are going to invite ourselves to meet with all of the wardens – sometimes in Newark, but more often in conveniently located congregations.

Since becoming bishop seven years ago, I have continued the practice begun by my predecessor, Jack Croneberger, of having regularly scheduled clergy conversations in each of the ten districts. We study scripture, check in with one another – and reflect on current issues in the church. This spring I want to develop lay conversations – initially inviting laypeople from a couple of districts – studying scripture, and then reflecting with one another on discipleship and mission. I will schedule a couple of these lay conversations, evaluate them – and determine what the next exploration in deepening discipleship and commitment to mission might be.

As the bishop is historically seen as pontifex, or bridge, so too is the bishop seen as a symbol of unity. The unity we have with each other in the church is in the risen Christ. Yet in that unity is incredible diversity – which is one of the extraordinary gifts of our Anglican tradition. We do not all identify Jesus or the Christ in the same way. We haven’t all been transformed in the same way by the Resurrection. We learn from each other. We grow together. There is unity in that.

A couple of weeks ago we learned about a leader in the Millington community who disappeared into the local woods. The whole town went out looking for him. Someone in the community, a non-church member, called All Saints' in Millington and asked if the church would hold a prayer vigil – because most of the people in town saw the parish as the community center. I am seeing more and more congregations daring to claim themselves as community centers, grounded in Christ – and intentionally in relationship with the rest of the community. This is the logical extension of daring to be disciples.

As I somewhat surprisingly discovered this summer while on sabbatical, we live in an increasingly secular world. That said, God is working as actively and passionately as ever in this very diverse world. We are called to join with God in that work – work that has the capacity to transform our churches, inspire our souls – and bring into being a unity of diversity that is more than we can ask for or imagine.

Here I am. Send me.