Uncle Walt keeps the gate

By Heidi Shott

My Uncle Walt died last Tuesday, just a few weeks shy of his 92nd birthday. An extremely pious Roman Catholic, he considered my father’s older sister, Alene, his wife until the day he passed on – 32 years after she left a short note and skipped out of the house like a school girl.

He was a goofy kind of guy, but I always liked him. He played the guitar and sang; he wore moccasins; he liked to play catch. He was a terrible driver. He liked to swim in the lakes in our part of central New York and appreciated my mother’s willingness to swim with him when no one else would. He used Grecian Formula on his gray hair and everybody knew it.

But his outstanding characteristic was his profound devotion to the Church. He made his daughters say the rosary every night. As a small child I remember staying overnight at their house and reading comic books while they fingered their beads and murmured the prayers over and over. It was both extremely exotic (they were the only Catholics in our extended clan) and extremely boring. It seemed to last for hours and hours as I lay flopped on their living room davenport, as Aunt Alene always called the sofa, listening to the cadence of their voices and watching my two older cousins glance at their watches and one another.

Uncle Walt was exceedingly frail when I saw him last at my father’s funeral in 2000. As we sat with our baked ham and potato salad after Dad’s informal service on the side lawn of the family farm, Uncle Walt told me how he drove each Sunday to Syracuse (at least an hour’s drive) to hear the Latin mass. The thought of an 85 year-old Uncle Walt driving on the New York State Thruway was truly terrifying.

He died on Tuesday, the day Pope Benedict XVI released his statement which contends, in part, that Protestant denominations are no more than “Christian communities.” This reiteration of the “Dominus Iesus” declaration of 2000 and the news last week about the lifting of restrictions for the Latin mass may very well have been too much of a good thing for the old guy. He must have died a happy man. Things were finally swinging his way!

No one else in our family was religious, including another uncle who was an American Baptist minister. The rest of us were Protestants merely because we weren’t Catholic or Jewish or Zen Buddhist. So it’s funny that my most enduring childhood memory of spending time with Uncle Walt and Aunt Alene is of those Sundays when they dragged me to Mass and I had to sit alone while they went up for Communion. It was my first experience of exclusion.

“You’re part of our family for everything else. You can wear hand-me-downs from your cousins. You can drink milk from the special Mary Poppins cup. You can fall asleep on our laps after you’ve run around in the backyard and we’ll stoke the damp hair off your hot forehead. But at Mass on Sundays you can’t approach, much less partake of the body of Jesus. Nope, sorry. Not allowed. Stay in your seat and be a good girl. We’ll be right back.”

It seems we Christians…of virtually every stripe…are very good at being gatekeepers of Jesus. When we humans attempt, through sophisticated theological debate or literal scriptural interpretation or the occasional lively claim of divine revelation, to have the corner on the Jesus market, it scares me. I’ve been there and can’t forget the sucky way it made me feel. Implicit in the act of keeping the gate is the notion that the keeper has access to information and power and knowledge and secret handshakes that the rest of us don’t.

I’ve always been tickled by the practice – started in Mormon youth groups, I recall – of determining one’s actions by asking the question, “What would Jesus do?”

Here’s my answer: “I don’t know! I’m not Jesus!”

As a parent of two young teenagers, I’m beginning to realize there’s a day in the not-so-distant future when they are going to shake our hands and say (I hope), “thank you, lovely parents.” Then they will walk out that door. When confronted with the inevitable choices life will bring their way, I hope to God they don’t ask, “What would my Mom do?” I want them to do the right thing because it’s what they know they should do. I want them to remember how we’ve taught them to live and to how we’ve taught them to treat the people they encounter. If they have to pause to ask the question, then I fear for the answer.

Jesus, that savvy teacher, left us such good, simple instructions. If we heed them well and faithfully, we shouldn’t have to stop and think.

There has been a lot of interesting talk about open communion in these parts and I understand (most of) the conversation and appreciate the arguments on both sides. The recent posts reminded me of my college roommate reading aloud a letter from an old boyfriend who was an agnostic and fairly cynical about Christian faith. He wrote that he was attending an Episcopal Church and that he liked the ritual. He “relished” walking up the aisle and taking Communion.

“Eeeuuuwww,” we both said when she read that part. “That’s creepy.”

But now I’m not so sure. Maybe the mysterious act of taking communion was the start of something for that young man. Maybe, as the songwriter Bruce Cockburn sang a few years later, “spirits open to the thrust of grace.” Who am I to say?

But then again, maybe being shut off from something mysterious and holy, something I didn’t understand when I was seven or eight, maybe that fed my yearning for the things of God. Maybe I’m still pondering these things decades later because they weren’t just handed to me. Does it matter how the gift is given? Does it matter how it is received?

But not everyone is an asker of questions. God gifts some people with the different propensities. Some people are like my Uncle Walt whose passion for the Blessed Mother and the Roman Catholic Church was all consuming. His need to keep that gate in place was as clear to him as breathing.

What does the question-asker do with an Uncle Walt?

Seven years ago, at my father’s funeral, I balanced a chinet plate on my lap and listened to him tell me about the Nocturnal Adoration Society. The next day I prayed he wouldn’t kill anyone while driving to the Latin mass in Syracuse.

Then today, I sent some flowers.

Comments (17)

Heidi, I sang in a choir at Catholic masses for a while in school and also experienced not being able to receive. After noticing that I remained in the choir and did not come up for Eucharist the priest--who knew I was a Protestant--caught me at dinner after mass and invited me to come up for a blessing at the Eucharist. I was momentarily offended and told him I'd think about it. Upon reflection, I realized that he was a) obeying his ordination vows and the faith of the church that he had received and b) inviting me to participate as fully as possible.

Since then I've been to many more Roman masses where the clergy did not know me. I could easily have gone up and received had I desired--but I didn't precisely because the priest had taught me something important about the reciprocal nature of hospitality. Guests can abuse hospitality just as easily as hosts.

Uncle Walt and the church were protecting you by keeping the gate up. See 1 Cor 11:27 ("Therefore whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner, shall be guilty of the body and the blood of the Lord.") and 1 Cor 11:29 ("For he who eats and drinks, eats and drinks judgment to himself if he does not judge the body rightly.") Your fear of his crashing the car on the way to Mass was matched by the fear of the church for those who eat communion unworthily. All you needed to do to join communion would have been to convince the church that you were ready to do it safely (which is how you join the church as well).

Ralph Wagenet

Okay, Ralph, I see that. That was my response to the guy who wrote that he "relished" communion.

It scared me (I was an easily spooked child) to stay alone in the pew while they went up to the altar. I kept my eye on them every minute. The blessing Derek was invited to receive (see first post) from the priest when he was in the choir was much more humane.

What I hoped to communicate in the piece -perhaps I failed- is that our gatekeepers need to do a better job at qualifying why they feel compelled to keep the gate. Keep the gate, sure, but do it in a loving way. The graceful exit of Bill Murdoch's congregation in West Newbury from the Diocese of Massachusetts is a perfect example. (His younger sister happens to be one of our dearest friends who, with her family, visited us after spending a couple of days with Bill and Sally at their cottage over July 4. But that's another essay!)

Another friend and much respected colleague is a priest - now in the Diocese of SW Florida - who only allows those confirmed to receive. He keeps that gate in such a loving, thoughtful way. What I find on some of the blogs is often so harsh and uninformed and dogmatic that I feel like weeping. To the gatekeepers I say, "Keep the gates if you must", (let us question-asker/ADD/open-ended types just deal with it), but do it with love. That's not "What Jesus Would Do" but that, based on my reading of Scripture, is what Jesus instucted me to do.

Such a commitment to thoughtfulness and love for my brothers and sisters is something I'll gate-keep to my last breath.

To the gatekeepers I say, "Keep the gates if you must", (let us question-asker/ADD/open-ended types just deal with it), but do it with love.

This certainly resonates with me. I've gotta say--what I find incredibly *inhospitable* is that so often there is no indication of anything when it comes time for Eucharist. There may be a line hidden somewhere in the bulletin--or not. I think it's best from the priest to make an announcement that clarifies things: we welcome all the baptized to receive; if you are not baptized or you don't wish to receive we invite you up to receive a blessing. (And we'll be happy to talk about baptism or answer any questions when we greet you after the service...)

I think that the reason people don't explain why the gates need to be kept is that we've stopped teaching doctrine. Doctrine provides the reasons for the gates, and since "doctrine divides," and we don't want to be divided, we stop teaching it. Unfortunately our gates don't necessarily go away when the doctrine does, but they are now upheld by tradition, habit and other lesser motives when they should be held up by grace and love and a knowledge of the truth.

Ralph Wagenet

Thanks Ralph for the reminder that what we think about things eternal, while not effecting our salvation, actually does matter in terms of the way we live our lives. I too think the level of theological education and discourse in the Episcopal Church has fallen to more than alarming levels.

The one quibble I have with what you said is that it presupposes that there is agreement within Anglicanism on all - or perhaps just most - of the major doctrinal teachings. But that's not been our tradition, and it has led to a certain laziness in the expression of the presbyteral teaching office. The very fact that the host is presented to each communicant with the paradoxical words "the BODY of Christ, the BREAD of salvation" is a wonderful example of that point. We don't agree across the board on the doctrine of the Eucharist. So which doctrine do I as a priest teach? My answer has been to teach both, and that both are recognized. (But I probably have an overly-scrupulous conscience... Grin.)

The one quibble I have with what you said is that it presupposes that there is agreement within Anglicanism on all - or perhaps just most - of the major doctrinal teachings. But that's not been our tradition, and it has led to a certain laziness in the expression of the presbyteral teaching office.

I think you're overstating the case a bit here, Fr. Knisely. The major doctrines as far as I reckon them would be the those contained in the Nicene Creed as read in accordance with the first four Ecumenical Councils. (I'd push for the first seven, of course, but Anglican tradition counts four as sufficient...)

If we could just start with clergy teaching these clearly and consistently I'd be a happy man...

Well Derek, that's why I used the word "quibble" and not the word "problem".

I agree with Ralph that we do a pretty poor job of teaching doctrine. My concern is that we need to be honest that there are doctrinal points on which Anglicans can and do disagree. Ralph was careful to make the point that we are saved not by adherence to right doctrine, but by grace - a point that needs to be underscored in all of this.

As to what constitutes a "major" doctrine versus an everyday garden variety sort of doctrine... now that's an interesting question. The Creeds are an obvious one. But what about "real presence" or something more contemporary like "sanctity of life"? I wonder how we decide?

Fr. Knisley, I think this question as to which doctrines are "major" may well be one of the key issues of the day but it's rarely been articulated as such by either side.

As a sacramental catholic-leaning Anglican I'd really want "real presence" to be included as a major doctrine. However, as you note, classical Anglicanism makes no comprehensive statement on the matter (the [protestant] 39 Articles stop just shy of it in Article XVIII, then cast it into question in the following article by my reading).

How would you go about reckoning the major doctrines?

"How would you go about reckoning the major doctrines?"

That's the big question isn't it? I suppose, thinking off the top of my head, that we'd be wanting some sort of non-culture dependent source for making the decision if possible. (Since the question of what is a major doctrine today is probably different than what was one 500 years or a 1000 or even 1500 years ago - when schisms occurred over the date of Easter.)

I think your earlier point of looking to the ecumenical councils is probably a good starting point. The problem with it is that by limiting us to that moment, we end up blessing a certain time and/or world-view as being the norm for all history. (Which is one of the issues people have taken with Orthodox theologians and their overly reverential treatment of the "fathers".)

I suppose the key first question would be to ask ourselves whether or not it is even possible for us to be able to declare some doctrines major and others minor in a manner that isn't intrinsically colored by our present world-view. (And as a corollary, whether that is automatically or even necessarily a bad thing.)

Hmm.

If I recall correctly, Augustine wrestled with the question of the culturally boundedness of Scripture in On Christian Doctrine--that is, some agreed or disagreed with Scripture and the doctrine found therein on the basis of what their culture taught. I forget exactly how he deals with this but it doesn't derail his interpretive project.

I'll agree that there are some grey areas in trying to determine what doctrines are major, minor, or adiaphora (non-essential)--but because there is grey doesn't mean there's no black or white.

but because there is grey doesn't mean there's no black or white

Point freely admitted. (And agreed to.)

The problem is that if we use doctrine as a way of gate-keeping, at what point along the spectrum does the grey become black? Or white at the other end?

Eventually, if we want to be consistent, we'll have to define a boundary. Which I'm okay with. I'm just being a physicist here and thinking about how what we decide is axiomatic, and how that decision influences the outcome.

I'm unclear on how precisely you're bringing gate-keeping in. If you are referring back to the original post (rather than straying off topic like me... :-D), then holding specific doctrines is only tangentially part of gate-keeping at the altar rail. Our practice (as I understand it) is to invite all baptized Christians to the altar. That means that at some point in the past they have been baptized and therefore have formally ascribed to the teachings of the Apostles' Creed (whether personally or through the person of their sponsors). There's the doctrinal requirement. Through this invitation I believe that the priest has fulfilled that "gatekeeping" requirement and responsibility passes from the priest to the prospective communicant. The prospective communicants must then search their own souls to decide their own state of preparedness (remembering that in the 1 Cor passage cited above Paul puts the burden for worthy eating & drinking on the eaters & drinkers).

Actually--I'll be expanding on these comments in my final posting on CWOB.

As far as what doctrines should be taught--which is more the direction I was heading in--patristic practice suggests that we offer up possibilities, then adjudicate between them with a council. ;-)

Derek, my point isn't actually really germaine to the question of CWOB, it's to a larger trend I'm observing in parts of the Anglican Communion - that we should only extend the right hand of fellowship (to borrow a term from the Moravians) to those who believe rightly. I'm particularly thinking of the comments that Steve Noll has recently published on the Anglican Covenant.

Ultimately, speaking pragmatically, the boundaries of our faith community are determined by which doctrines we decide are non-negotiable. So to dismiss the folks in the Communion by saying that they are simply wrong in applying a doctrinal test to fellowship matters is to not be honest about what is common between us.

As one who is involved in ecumenism at the denominational level, I try to keep in mind that the Quadrilateral is the minimum requirement that we in the Episcopal Church have for relationships with other denominations - it doesn't not really represent the atomic expression of who we are. That expression might be the Prayer Book for us, and a Confessional document or "Deposit of the Faith" for anonther denomination. I guess what I'm thinking about here is how we decide which doctrines to choose as normative.

I just posted my latest thinking on this. I agree that the Prayerbook might be an expression of "who we are" without which we wouldn't recognize ourselves, but determining that which is normative from this source becomes problematic when it doesn't seem we do any liturgical theology from that source (rather use it as a source for our theologizing). It seems part of our normative would be that we hold teachings about certain matters in tension.

The LC Quadrilateral to my mind keeps us talking across distinct differences among us Episcopalians as well as with other Christian traditions. We have as much diversity if not more within our own bounds as outside of these.

Christopher, I'd probably want to say that the Anglican "holding certain teachings in tension" is more a characteristic of our church (theological charity) more than it is a norm.

I'm not sure I understand your point about using the Prayer Book as a source for liturgical theology. Could you expand on that a bit?

Fr. Nick,

A liturgical theology would do what you did with the words given at reception, begin with the liturgy itself, noting the tensions in "Body of Christ, Bread of Heaven" and come to what our doctrine is from this, that in our teaching on Eucharist we're holding together several strands of thought on Christ's Presence.

A theology of liturgy would begin with one's theological perspective and pick from the liturgy that which supports that pov. One can argue strongly and well for a more Reformed or more Roman understanding, but not noting both are present is to make the liturgy a proof rather than the source we often claim it is in our tradition. Other traditions do this differently because liturgy is not understood as their doctrine/confession in quite the same way we do.

In some things, it seems to me, to contravene that charity, such as in our teaching on Eucharist is to give up what is distinctive to our tradition, maddening though it is who want it this way or that and cannot live with the disagreement.

You've noted before much of our liturgy carries such tensions, and that's why those prayers are in the prayerbook and more one-sided versions are not. Hence, my want to use the prayerbook and not some other prayers.

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