Melvin Tinker, the vicar of St John Newland in the city of Hull, and the chairman of the steering committee of the Yorkshire Gospel Partnership, was kind enough to send me an article a few weeks ago that he wrote with Peter Sanlon on ecclesiology (later: I found out that this article was originally published in the Church Society's journal, Churchman 123:4 [Winter, 2009]). Coming from an evangelical Anglican perspective, the article addresses a number of concerns that those within that context of Anglicanism have to deal with, such as the accusations of having a weak or entirely lacking ecclesiology that might come from those within Anglo-Catholic churches or the disaffection of those who have left evangelical churches pursuing riches elsewhere.

With some biblical exegesis and a very helpful section on the posture we need to maintain when discussing ecclesiology, the article is both challenging and encouraging. In the coming week or so I will post some of the other pieces of the article I found interesting.

To begin with, I want to highlight Melvin and Peter's discussion of family heritage. All church traditions have a heritage, be it one that spans centuries, or one that spans a few decades, and we all owe something to that heritage. I cannot speak for the UK, but I have noticed two dominant trajectories with respect to the way North American churches deal with their heritage: to varying degrees, they either entirely ignore it, or they idolise it. Melvin and Peter's insights on this point provide a very balanced perspective. They write,

Our family heritage, like any family, is far from perfect. If the reformers' teaching can be shown to be inadequate at points; not being entirely consistent with Scripture, then we are being most true to the reformers when we depart from them and draw closer to the teaching of the Bible. This is because the reformers were animated by the same heartbeat as modern evangelicals are—Scripture.

In the final analysis, our family heritage is to form us but not control us. Nobody appreciates an overbearing parent determined to mechanistically dictate every detail of their child's life. The reformers themselves never would have wanted their latter-day descendents to look to them for that sort of instruction. Rather they would have desired us to accept them as flawed, frail and imperfect family, who lived with the same passion that ought to enliven us. They are most respected when the heritage of active reformation and revival is pursued in ways that respectfully grow and develop from their firm foundation.

...the heritage of our earlier reformation family, by their divergences and growth, should stimulate us to further reflection and self-critique. If we only listen to the teachers who are alive today, with whom we agree, then we are consigning ourselves to only learn from leaders alive at a stage of church history when Western Christianity can hardly be argued to be in anything other than a weak, sorry state. Our family heritage in the reformers is rich and varied. Their acumen, scriptural insight and desire to spread the Gospel...should act as a real stimulus to our own growth and maturity. [But] we ought not to freeze any leader or period of history and simply try to repeat that. Engaging with the reformation writings earnestly would prevent us from doing so, for...the reformers were animated by the same heartbeat of scripture, but displayed considerable growth and difference.

A perspective like this avoids the extremes on either end of the spectrum. One side holds to the idea that there must be continual innovation and change in order to maintain relevance, and in this way, declares everything old to be obsolete and no longer useful. This can involve rather creative uses of scripture which downplay its authority. The other side pays too strict of an allegiance to heritage and tradition and can neglect to continually evaluate its scriptural validity which, in a different way, also downplays the authority of Scripture. Often, this is symptomatic of the sort of 'golden age' view of history that the article speaks of. This is not to vilify either side; indeed, the perspective Melvin and Peter put forth acknowledges there is much good in both, and that together they give us a balanced middle ground.

Heritage is important, and we ought not to neglect it. But likewise must we not elevate it to a level in which it begins to encroach on the authority if Scripture. The reformers recognised this; they did not intend for us to make carbon copies of themselves, but instead set an example for us to follow. Indeed, they confessed Ecclesia semper reformanda. May their spirit continue to inspire us.

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The General Synod of the Church of England took place this past week in London. I mentioned it earlier this week, referencing particularly the debate that was to occur regarding the Church of England's relationship with the Anglican Church in North America, since that was the most interesting item on the agenda for me. Below is the video recording of Lorna Ashworth presenting her Private Member's Motion. You can also watch the debate that followed (part 1, part 2).

Also of interest was the address by the Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams. He addressed the idea of human freedom and emphasized the need to listen and learn from each other.

If you refer to my earlier post, I provided a variety of links with more reading on Synod. Those sites now have their post-Synod thoughts online, offering a variety of viewpoints on what transpired. Also, you can find the official press release from the ACNA online here.

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Somewhat to even my surprise, I have taken quite a bit of interest in the General Synod of the Church of England this year. In the last few weeks I heard that there is to be a discussion surrounding the Anglican Church in North America (ACNA) and whether or not the Church of England should enter into communion with that body. A number of students and staff here at RTS attend or are on staff with churches joined with the ACNA, and so I have had the opportunity to become more familiar with it over the past few years. I have been reading different things around the internet to try and get some perspective on the issue, but there is a lot of material to work through.

The woman who initially raised what is called a "private member's motion," Lorna Ashworth, published a document highlighting a number of what she calls injustices done by the Episcopal Church in the US against various bishops and clergy, including the deposition of men like J.I. Packer. She writes, "It is my desire to give Synod an opportunity to hear about the unfair treatment of people who have continued to maintain the Anglican faith in doctrine, practice and worship, and to express their continuing fellowship with them as loyal Anglicans." Expressed at the beginning of the motion is her desire to see the Church of England to enter into communion with the ACNA, the proposal of which will be discussed by the Synod on this coming Wednesday.

What makes this interesting is that, technically speaking, the ACNA is a schismatic body. Ashworth states that a number of bishops and clergy had been deposed from the Anglican Communion, but many others have voluntarily withdrawn and together formed the new organization. What would be the implications of the Church of England were to enter into communion with the ACNA? What does such a move convey?

It is no secret that the Anglican Communion worldwide is in trouble; it has been in such a state for quite some time now, as the GAFCON conference in 2008 brought to the forefront in a very visible way. Many conservative bodies around the world (such as the ACNA) demonstrated their difficulties with the pervasive liberalism in the Anglican Communion and its departure from general biblical teaching. So if the Church of England were to enter into communion with one of these conservative bodies, is that an indication of perhaps a new direction in the Anglican Communion? I know it is very premature to be talking about something like that, but it must be on a few people's minds, right? Then again, I may be totally off the mark.

For more information, be sure to visit the General Synod Blog. You can also check out Thinking Anglicans, who are regularly posting other documents and links to discussions on the matter, as well as the Church Mouse Blog. Additionally, many clergy and bishops can be found on Twitter via the lists compiled on the Twurch of England account, and they are using the hashtag #synod to keep track of what's going this week.

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In my spare time—well, actually when I should doing schoolwork—I have been reading some on the history of Anglicanism. Having known very little about the tradition, I wanted to get a better picture of its roots. It was only recently that I learned of the great influence some of the continental Reformers had on Anglicanism during its most formative time, like Peter Martyr Vermigli and Martin Bucer, who both spent many years there, and John Calvin, whose influence spread through his writings.

The most notable Reformer in the English tradition is Thomas Cranmer. Church history classes I have taken in the past have touched on his life and work, but my knowledge of him was rather limited. One of the books I have been reading is Stephen Neill's 1958 study, simply called Anglicanism. Early on, discussing Cranmer's influence in the English Reformation, he writes the following:

It is to be noted that Cranmer, like the other Reformers, had fallen in love with the Bible. But his love took a particular form. He believed that the Bible was the living word of God to every man, and that it comes with the greatest power when unaccompanied by any human gloss, comment, or exposition. He was convinced that, if his fellow countrymen could be induced to read the word of God, or, if illiterate, to hear it read, it would in course of time make its way into their hearts and consciences.

Neill writes that the composition of the Book of Common Prayer was, without measure, the most significant contribution Cranmer made to the Church in the Reformation era. Whereas the genius of men like Calvin lay in their theological contributions, for Cranmer it was formulating a liturgy saturated with Scripture. Neill continues:

It was only in the next reign [of Edward VI] that Cranmer was able to provide his Church with a lectionary; when he was able to do so, he made the Church of England in a day the greatest Bible-reading Church in the world. In no other Church anywhere is the Bible read in public worship so regularly, with such order, and at such length, as in the Anglican fellowship of Churches. In making such provision, Cranmer was laying heavy demands on his Englishmen, and reposing great confidence in them. But in that too he was the typical Anglican—Anglicanism is a form of the Christian faith that demands and expects a great deal from ordinary people.

In those churches which still use the Book of Common Prayer, Cranmer's influence lives on. It is quite something to worship with an Anglican congregation and see how Scripture saturates the liturgy, and to know that this was the work of Cranmer himself. I find it quite significant that Neill sees the Anglican tradition defined by its worship, as opposed to a tradition like my own, which is characterized much more by its theology.

And so Neill writes, "We have no English Luther or Calvin...[instead] we have as our chief reformer the man who had a greater genius for liturgical worship than any other of whom we have record in the whole history of the Church."

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I grew up (and largely remain in, as this is characteristic of large swathes of evangelicalism) a tradition that placed a high value on a person's ability to pray on the spot. A sign of spiritual maturity was that you could say something unique and profound every time you prayed, even if the prayers often became tediously verbose.

Honestly, I still feel a tinge of guilt when I am fumbling for words as I pray. So the other day when I picked up N. T. Wright's recent book, Simply Christian, I felt a great deal of comfort in reading these words.

There's nothing wrong with having a form of words composed by somebody else. Indeed, there's probably something wrong with not using such a form. Some Christians, some of the time, can sustain a life of prayer entirely out of their own internal resources, just as there are hardy mountaineers (I've met one) who can walk the Scottish highlands in their bare feet. Most of us need boots; not because we don't want to do the walking ourselves, but because we do...

There is nothing wrong, nothing sub-Christian...about using words, set forms, prayers, and sequences of prayers written by other people in other centuries. Indeed, the idea that I must always find my own words, that I must generate my own devotion from scratch every morning, that unless I think of new words I must be spiritually lazy or deficient—that has the all-to-familiar sign of human pride, of 'doing it my way': of, yes, works-righteousness. Good liturgy—other people's prayers, whether for corporate or individual use—can be, should be, a sign and means of grace, an occasion of humility (accepting that someone else has said, better than I can, what I deeply want to express) and gratitude. How many times have I been grateful, faced with nightfalls both metaphorical and literal, for the old Anglican prayer which runs,

Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord;
and by thy great mercy
defend us from all perils and dangers of this night;
for the love of thy only Son,
our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Using formed prayers is relatively new to me, and at times I feel awkward trying to pray the words. The more I do it, though, the more I am learning to understand what Wright is saying here. More significantly, I'm learning to cherish the resultant intimate connection with the body of Christ that transcends space and time, and to mine the treasures of wisdom and devotion which they left us.

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