Sunday, June 07, 2020

The Episcopal Church Unmasked

In the days after 9/11 no one in the general public knew much about why or how it happened. There was more FUD (fear, uncertainty, and doubt) than at any time since the Cuban missile crisis.

The twin towers were still a smoking ruin, and hope of finding survivors was fading. We were afraid to ride a train or airplane or attend a ball game or concert or go back to work in our high-rises.

Who were the terrorists who had slaughtered thousands of innocents? Where would they strike next? The anger was starting, and it was unfocused because we only had a general idea of where the terrorists came from.

I went to a crowded evening service that week to pray for wisdom and guidance and the souls of those who died.

The church did mention those subjects but had a different emphasis. The message from the pulpit was about forgiveness. Priests were already worried that we would lash out in anger at those who looked like the terrorists or those who came from the same countries.

That was one of the reasons I like going to church--to remind us how we can be better, to appeal to the better angels of our nature.

Over the years I've become alarmed at the changes in my church. In the name of social justice priests ask us to forgive some people but I've seen them become angry at those with different political views.

I still remember, while attending a convention before the 2016 election, how a lay delegate spoke against electing someone who would create a "vile" Supreme Court. (It was a middle-aged white woman from Marin County--see how stereotypes are created?)

Variants of this sign are in front of every Episcopal Church.
In the past week I've seen how Episcopal bishops, priests, and lay people have become extraordinarily upset by President Trump holding a Bible in front of St. John's Church.

Whether his photo-op was "appropriate" is controversial, but his right to do so on a public sidewalk cannot be in dispute.

The Episcopal Church in the 21st century: its leaders preach peace, love, and forgiveness when 3,000 are murdered in New York but fulminate against a President whom they loathe--yes, they should admit it!--taking a picture in front of a church.

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