Becoming Anglican

In 2009, I wrote an article that was published in Anglican Life and entitled "Becoming Anglican."  A copy of that article is below:

Becoming Anglican

By Debbie Kaba

Rev. Joe Burton, retired United Church pastor, has observed my transition from non-denominational, charismatic holy roller to Anglican wannabe and suggested I use the writing skills God has blessed me with to reflect on this. He reminded me that during the 70s, many people migrated from mainline denominations to non-denominational churches; during this current decade God is calling many people back. This article depicts a small part of my personal journey. My prayer is that my words may build bridges of understanding and acceptance within the Christian community.

I didn’t push open the heavy, glass door because Father Westcott was already opening it as he offered me a big smile, a handshake, a hug and what seemed like sincere joy that I was there.  After talking to me a few minutes, he asked one of the women to show me around.  Having arrived early, I sat quietly in the beautiful oratory experiencing the solitude yet feeling a bit of discomfort at the strange surroundings.  A couple moved into the pew behind me and after prayer, introduced themselves.  When I told them this was my first time in an Anglican church; they moved beside me and offered to help me find my place in the printed liturgy hand-out. The first several weeks, Ruth and Bill Wells, took this charge seriously and greeted me, sat by me, helped me find my place in the liturgy hand-out, encouraged me and answered question after question. The gift of their time and attention may have felt like a minor thing to them; but it was major for me. The liturgy is now on multimedia presentation so newcomers don’t need so much hands-on training. After each liturgy, people came up, shook my hand, looked me in the face and showed a sincere interest in me. From the very first day, I felt valued as a person and at home in the parish. I felt loved, accepted and not recruited. I wanted more of that acceptance and love; not only because it made me feel good; but I wanted to learn by example how to give God’s love to others.

When I first felt God leading me from a charismatic church to Parish of the Resurrection, I wondered how I’d ever adapt to the rituals of the liturgy. Would I always feel lost and needing others to help me find my place on the hand-out? Would the liturgy move from the hand-out to heart-felt? Would I become bored?  How long would I sense God after the weekly routine became familiar?  Would my spirituality dry up and die? Would I feel I had a niche in the liturgical church community or would I feel like a round peg in a square hole? Could they accept some of my “weirdness” and awkwardness as I adapted? Could they accept any “weirdness” if there were areas where I couldn’t adapt? Could I accept their opinions, rituals and beliefs? Would my change to Anglican cause me to lose my friends from the charismatic church? After two years of being active in the parish, I can only say God is doing a miracle. God feels more alive in my heart and I believe He’s growing my faith to new heights through the Anglican Church and the liturgy.

At times I felt like a preschooler because most of my conversations started with “Why?” But each patiently supplied answer deepened my understanding of the Anglican experience. As I grasped the elementary elements of the liturgy, I had the choice to observe by rote or discover ways to participate with intentionality.  Below are several of the answers to my questions that enriched my experience of the liturgy:

One of my first questions was “Why do people touch the baptismal water?” I was told it was a way to renew and recommit to our baptismal vows.  Of course, I needed to ask what vows.  I’d heard of the Apostle’s Creed so I looked it up on the Internet and printed it out. I loved the words and read them several times a week so when I’d touch the water, I realized my act of recommitment when I would pray for a greater faith to believe the creed and to have it actively growing and working in my life.  This is now one way I intentionally prepare my heart to receive the graces of the liturgy. As I touch the water and cross my forehead with it, I am also declaring myself God’s own as is done during baptism. Touching the water when leaving the oratory reminds me that my “service” does not end when the liturgy is complete but through the liturgy, my service to God and to others is refreshed, renewed and ready to begin again with new vigor. I have attended liturgy in Anglican parishes that do not have an open font; however, when I see the font, it is my signal to mentally recommit and renew my baptismal vows and to choose to intentionally participate in my spiritual journey.

Why do people cross themselves? It reminds me that God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit live within me. Seeing others cross themselves reminds me God lives in them. Together, we are recognizing and declaring that marvelous, life-changing truth of God in us. This helps me remember that even when I do not agree with others, that the same God who lives in me lives in them. It is an opportunity for me to forgive others and to repent if I’ve held wrong attitudes or uncomely behavior towards others.

Why is the same prayer offered for each person? Examples are the same prayer spoken for healing, for baptism, for catechism, Holy Spirit weekend of Alpha or during laying on of hands at a Cursillo weekend. I find the reason of uniform prayers most comforting: God doesn’t have favorites – He loves all His children the same. Receiving the same prayer is a deep reminder of God’s uniform love and acceptance. It surprised me when I felt an extravagant and personal blessing when being a recipient of a uniform prayer. I have discovered that even though uniform, the prayers work and the people receive from the Father.

Can the gifts of the Spirit (1 Corinthians 12) operate in a structured format? I have found the gifts do operate in manifold but low-key ways. I have to pay attention to notice; which is a good thing as it helps me intentionally seek to be mentally and spiritually present during liturgy, in my walk with God and in my walk with others. Through the homily (sermon), through prayers offered, and mostly during fellowship when a friend will say something and I realize their words are a gift of the Spirit sent from the heart of God to me personally. It’s low key, no hype, no drama, no pressure, freely offered and freely received. No glory to the giver; no glory to the receiver; but all glory to the Holy One from whom all blessings flow. For me, these low-key spiritual gifts are a love-filled and an awesome testimony of God’s power to move on His children’s behalf.

Why do many people make the sign of the cross on their forehead, lips and heart during the prayer before the reading of the gospel? Psalms 19:14 says, “Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord.” As I make this age-old sign, I ask God to help me be intentional in my listening and throughout the coming week to grant the gospel read will be in my mind, in my mouth and in my heart. It not only helps me prepare to receive God’s holy Word, it reminds me to be intentional in my listening – to put other thoughts aside and, like Mary of Bethany, listen raptly to the Words of the Saviour.

Why do we stand a long time during the liturgy? The comfortable chairs in our parish are certainly an incentive to come to church, to sit and enjoy God’s feast. When I want to sit, I remind myself it is permissible to sit; however, if I’m a bit uncomfortable for a few minutes, I can use that time to recognize the tiny bit of discomfort I go through is naught when compared with what my Lord willingly suffered on our behalf. Identifying with His passion and compassion helps me to grow in empathy and understanding of the Lord and of others, especially the persecuted church or those who live with chronic pain.

Why do priests and deacons wear collars?  It is based on 1 Timothy 6:1, “All who are slaves under a yoke should show full respect to their masters so no one will speak against God's name and our teaching.”  The priest or deacon says a prayer as he/she dons the collar (symbol of a yoke) as a recommitment of their ordination vows and faithfulness to God and to their parish.  When I see the collar, I sometimes say an intentional short thank-you to God for giving leaders who are willing to submit to God’s authority and to be an example of Christian love and service; I also pray to help the leaders grow in their love of God, submission to God and to have the grace to fulfill their ordination charge.  I would imagine the physical collar is somewhat uncomfortable; and maybe that is part of the way priests are reminded their calling is not for comfort but for service to the point of personal discomfort; just as Christ served to a point of not only extreme pain but death.

Why do we call my priest father?  He gave me a textbook definition including how it helps remind him of his responsibility to his parishioners. The day he called me into his office to gently discuss an immature behavior I could replace with a more holy and mature behavior – the term father made sense. As the church’s rector and my pastor, he was showing not only Christ’s love and acceptance for me, but also, like a father, he was willing to step out of his comfort zone to encourage me to maturity and not to be a disruptive brat but a productive member of our local church family. I am deeply grateful for the “father” role of discipline my priest has shown to me. Without his feedback, I could have continued being a brat for months or years before natural consequences showed me it was time to grow in that area.

As I walk to receive the Eucharist, I view the beautiful and artistic stained glass window of Christ on the cross. This visual reminder shows part of what my Lord went through during His passion. I love when the line seems long and I have more time to think on Christ’s mystery and Trinitarian love (Great Commandment).  I am often teary-eyed as I hear the priest say, “The body of Christ” and he places the Bread of Life in my upraised hands. 

Out of respect for others, I seldom participate in the common cup since I have a chronic communicable disease.  But when I participate, the bitterness of the wine reminds me of the bitterness of the Saviour’s life and His overcoming power. The bitter wine contrasts to the sweet bread – just as our lives have times of sweet joy and peace but also times of bitter inner strife and pain. Yet, through each season of life, bitter or sweet, Christ is intimately involved waiting for us to turn to Him.   

As I turn towards my seat, I see a statue of the resurrected Christ. My heart fills with joy at the reminder that the Master’s resurrection from the dead gives me hope of my own future resurrection.  A mini-Easter celebration consumes my heart as I think on this mystery.

As I return to my seat, I once again turn towards the Eucharistic table and give a small nod or bow to Christ. I find this small act of huge spiritual significance. Just as I’d respectfully curtsy to the Queen of England, I show honor to my soon-coming King of Kings. 

Although I turned my back on Him to return to my seat, I have security that we live in full relationship. I am reminded when my behavior and sins look like I have turned my back on Him – that He will always welcome me, His sometimes prodigal daughter, back into full relationship with Him. By the time I sit in my seat, my heart is usually overflowing in gratitude and thanksgiving for our Lord. Those three titles: Saviour, Master, King of Kings, are usually my meditations preparing for the group contemplation on Trinitarian love after communion.  

In the after-Eucharist silence, I often sit in the position I use during Lectio Divina with my palms up as a reminder to myself that all I am and have belongs to and comes from God, and my hand is open to receive all He desires to give to me.

Sometimes during The Great Feast, I meditate on the scripture, “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” I pray that the taste of the Eucharist will open a deeper hunger for more of the spiritual life, for more of Christ, for more of the Word, to be more Christ-like.  Sometimes I pray that for me personally and, at times, for the gathered or worldwide church community.

Why do we have a special posture for our hands when receiving the Eucharist?  We hold our hands in a cross position (right hand on top) as a reminder that Christ died on a cross for us. It’s a reminder to me that we are told to pick up our cross daily to follow Him. (Luke 9:23) The right hand on top is a reminder to me that Christ now sits at the Father’s right hand. (Mark 14:62)

Why do some people raise their crossed hands slightly as they receive the Body of Christ? To me, it is a reminder of our role in personal evangelism: “if I be lifted up from the earth, I will draw all men unto me.” (John 12:32) Sometimes this leads me to meditate on how I can intentionally put aside my human selfishness and love others with Trinitarian love to draw them to the Saviour.

Why are the remains of the consecrated bread covered while the common cup is being passed during mid-week Eucharist? I was told it depicts the holiness and honor of having Christ among us: another small gesture with a rich potential to see more of Christ in the liturgy.  A time I can reflect on how I can better exhibit Christ in me and see Christ in others – Christ covered with human flesh – the bread covered with the purificator.

Why is the oratory seating in the round? Because the early church met in homes so chances are they didn’t set in rows looking at the back of each other’s heads. The oratory space in Parish of the Resurrection has profound meaning for me, especially during participation of the liturgy. I love making eye contact with others and often pray for them as God draws my eyes their way. As I observe others participate in the liturgy, it has a synergistic effect of augmenting my participation and making it feel even more alive and real. I’ve discovered I’m not the only one who may have tears in their eyes after the communion feast; and even without words spoken, tear-sharing is a bonding experience.  

Except during liturgy, why does the wooden cross lay on the floor in the center of the oratory during ordinary time? This reminds us of Christ among us. God Most High came to earth in a human form to walk among us and lead us to our Father.  When I see the cross lying there, I not only feel heartfelt gratitude, but I want to lie on the floor beside it, look up at imaginary clouds or stars on the ceiling and chat with my Lord about everything and anything. Although I’m not bold enough to plop myself on the carpet, it does encourage me to share more and more of my life, especially my inner life, with my Saviour and to trust Him to guide me on the journey home to Him.

The first time I walked into the oratory my preconceived prejudices were intact. I presumed the liturgy would be a routine presentation, a performance by the clergy that might give a little inspiration and encouragement to the laity. I was genuinely amazed that was not what happened during liturgy and my prejudices fell away. With a little education the liturgy became extremely personal, participatory and not only connects me closer to God, to other participants but to the universal church. I’m finding most of the rhythms of the liturgical year build upon growth from the previous year causing intentional participation to become deeper and sweeter. I can’t imagine the spiritual richness of liturgical worship experienced by people who have celebrated the liturgy with intentionality for decades. I feel gratitude for my new, liturgical journey. Through the liturgy, I have tasted new and succulent flavors of Christ and continue to see Him in fresh and deeper ways.

My next step of the journey:  I hope to become a member of the Anglican Church when Bishop Cy visits the parish. NOTE: I became Anglican the following spring.