Confirmation, cont.

This is Jen writing, Brent's wife, for those of you who don't know me. I am guest-posting, because we thought it might be nice if I could sort of narrate Brent's confirmation for all of you, and give you an idea of what it was like to be there. So I'm just going to give you a little stream-of-consciousness bit, about the little things and the big things, just as if you were the one sitting there watching, getting distracted, and then paying attention again.

First of all, Brent sat with the other confirmands (those who were being confirmed) in a separate, roped off seating area. Rick and I sat in the seating area to the right side of the altar, in the south transept. We had good seats over there, and I could see Brent from where we were. So we winked at each other a couple times and smiled goofy I-love-you smiles. At least, Brent and I did. I'm pretty sure Brent and Rick didn't do any exchanging of any goofy I-love-you smiles.

The service started with the hymn "All things bright and beautiful." That was the processional, the song that the chorus and the acolytes and the confirmands and the priests walked in to. May 22 was Trinity Sunday, and I noticed that one of the banners (they were all tie-dye, by the way, which I thought was cool and Brent and Rick thought was lame) had a circle with a triangle over it. I wondered about that until I realized it was a symbol for the Trinity: three in one.

The retired Bishop of New Jersey, who lives in Princeton and attends Trinity, presided over the service. He's pretty old, and he wore enormous glasses, kind of like Chairman Mao glasses, while he was leading. When I met him later I didn't realize it was him at first, because he wasn't wearing them any longer. I suppose that's better for him socially and all, but it threw me.

One of the things we did, which I really love and it doesn't happen every time, was chant a psalm. It was a different melody than I've heard before, and very pretty. This time it had harmony written with it too, which I think is unusual. I stuck with the melody though, because chanting is a little tricky. So we chanted Psalm 150. Then there was the gospel reading, from Matthew, and then the (retired) Bishop preached a sermon.

It wasn't a terrible sermon. It was very informal and he used a sermon illustration about his climbing hydrangea that produced some chuckles. I guess if you're a Bishop and you want to come off warm and fuzzy in your sermon, you have to work pretty hard at it.

Then we sang a song out of the hymnal that's always in the back of the pews but I have never seen used before, Lift Every Voice and Sing II (it's the African American Episcopal hymnal, Brent tells me). While we sang "Sweet, sweet Spirit," which was very catchy and upbeat and happy (not really my sort of song, but I found the celebratory mood appropriate) the confirmands moved to the altar rail and the Bishop was seated in his chair in front of the altar. Rick and I stood with Brent at the altar rail. When his name was called, he went and knelt in front of the Bishop and Rick and I stood behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder. The Bishop placed his hands on Brent's head and said, "Strengthen, O Lord, your servant James Brent with your Holy Spirit; empower him for your service; and sustain him all the days of his life. Amen." He added a God bless you, very softly, as Brent stood and we returned to the altar rail.

When everyone was confirmed, there was the passing of the peace. This is one of my favorite elements of the service. I love being able to make eye contact with people without feeling awkward, saying "peace be with you" or just "peace," meaning it, and knowing that this moment of sincere contact is sufficient. No standing around trying to make small talk with someone you just met while it seems like other people all around you are having hilarious and loud conversations with their new best friends. This passing of the peace was especially celebratory as people rushed to greet the confirmees (those who had just been confirmed). It was nice to be able to kiss Brent and say, "peace." During the peace, the assistant rector came over to Rick and me to thank us for being there to sponsor Brent. I thought that was especially nice, and it makes me feel good to see that she really cares about Brent.

After the peace, we began Communion. The Bishop put on his hat to preside over the table. I hadn't seen a bishop's hat before; it really does look like the little chess pieces! Anyway, Communion began, like it always begins, with a thanksgiving, a reiteration of our thanks to God for what God has done throughout history, and a retelling of the story of the Last Supper. I like that every week there's a way to remind each other of what it is that we're doing when we take the bread and wine built into the service. And it's nice that the Eucharist happened after the baptism and confirmation. I remember when I was baptized, Bill Alsup took me aside to give me Communion in the church kitchen. I remember feeling a little awkward taking it alone, and I think it's much nicer to do it all together.

After the service, there was a lovely reception for everyone in the parish hall (which in a Church of Christ would be the Fellowship Building or Room or something). There was all manner of dainty finger food, like cucumber sandwiches and stuff, but there was also, and this was very exciting, baked sausage-cheese-balls like you find at real potlucks down south! Rick and I scarfed them like the southern-cookin'-starved waifs we are. No one else seemed to know what they were! We also met the retired Bishop, as I mentioned earlier, and the head rector came by to say hello and thank us for coming. Again, it was really nice to see that the priests at Trinity really care about Brent.

So, that was it: your observer's recount of Brent's confirmation. It was good. I wish everyone could've been there.

Confirmation

This Sunday is my confirmation. I've had several people ask about the meaning of confirmation, so I thought I would write a few words about it before it happens.

A few historical words: Confirmation has its origin in the reception of the Holy Spirit by the laying on of hands. In the earliest times it happened simultaneously with baptism. However, as the church early on began to baptize infants, the act of laying on of hands gradually became separated out from baptism, and happened later in a person's life. (I'll post later on the issue of infant baptism since that would make this post twice as long, so feel free to ask any questions you may have on this in the comments.) This separated rite of confirmation functioned as a person's own acceptance of the Christian faith that had been passed down to them.

Today, baptism is considered the full rite of initiation into the church. Confirmation is an act of "confirming" that moves both ways between a person and God. The person confirms their faith in God; the church asks God to strengthen (or confirm) that person in their faith. A child who grows up in the Episcopal Church is baptized as an infant and then confirmed when they are ready (typically as an adolescent).

For me confirmation will be a renewal of my own faith in God. The following questions are asked of me: "Do you reaffirm your renunciation of evil?" and "Do you renew your commitment to Jesus Christ?" My response will be: "I do, and with God's grace I will follow him as my Savior and Lord." A question is also asked of the church, that they will support me in my vows. Then I will make a renewal of baptismal vows in an interrogative form of the ancient Apostle's Creed.

For me confirmation will also be God's strengthening by the work of the Spirit. The bishop leads a prayer with some of the following lines: "Renew in this your servant the covenant you made with him at his Baptism. Send him forth in the power of that Spirit to perform the service you set before him...." Finally, the bishop will lay his hands on my head and say "Strengthen, O Lord, your servant James Brent with your Holy Spirit; empower him for your service; and sustain him all the days of his life. Amen."

The closest thing in the Church of Christ to the rite of confirmation would be something like "coming forward" at the invitation in the Church of Christ to recommit my life to Jesus.

In addition to these meanings, the rite also has something to do with church membership. I will be a confirmed Episcopalian, meaning that I consider myself a part of this particular part of the body of Christ. I am aligning myself with a particular historical and traditional understanding of Christianity. I am acknowledging the authority of wisdom and tradition that has been passed down from the apostles through the bishops for centuries. In this way I am embracing the historicity of the church. All of these aspects are important to me as I begin this leg of my spiritual journey.

A Theology of Space

God incarnated Godself in time and space, sanctifying the dimensions within which we move and live and have our being. I've talked about a Christian view of time in a previous post. But I'd like to explore the idea of holy space.

Primarily, a church is a holy space because the church gathers within it. I've come to believe that spatial arrangement can tell you alot about a church's view of itself. This includes, but isn't reduced to, church architecture. What do we communicate to ourselves and the world around us by the type of church we build? Does it stand out with its nose in the air, or, at the other extreme, say that we're cheap when it comes to our God and God's children? Do we proclaim that beauty comes from God by a sensitivity to the aesthetic? Are we in a building that will be gone tomorrow or does is display a connection to past Christian experience?

These are important questions, but I think more important, are questions of internal spatial arrangement. When I enter an Episcopal Church, the first thing I notice is the central altar. This is the place that symbolizes the presence of Christ within the community. This is the place that the community literally gathers around to become community. (St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco enacts its belief of Christ's presence in the community by its centralized floorplan.) In my estimation, there is nothing more important that the church does, than gather at table. The entire life of the church propels outward from this central space. All of its outreach and in-reach ministry begins here. This is the place of spiritual sustenance.

At Trinity the altar is also the place that the gospel text for the week is read by the deacon. This creates a connection between word and sacrament. The reading of the gospel is the full and complete proclamation of the gospel. But what is striking for someone from a revivalist background is that this central place is not the place of the sermon. While word and sacrament take central position, the sermon is secondary, flowing from the power of the first two. The preacher, marked as the one chosen by the community to interpret the texts, humbly takes her place in a pulpit that is offset from the center, trying to draw together the life-world of the text and the issues of today. (Take a look at Barbara Brown Taylor's sermons and books for a taste of some of the best current preaching in the Episcopal Church.)

Yet, the sermons are not long and cumbersome. They are not marked primarily by the personality and skill of the preacher. He is covered in ancient garments, creating a certain anonymity. This anonymity says that the sermon is not about the preacher, but Christ and the community of faith. And the sermon does not take priority of place in the service, since it leads to the Eucharistic climax.

It might seem counterintuitive to many, but I have found that the Episcopal Church is not a priestly centered denomination, but a Christ and community centered one. I believe this can even be seen in the very construction of its spaces of worship.

Why not the [fill in your favorite denomination]?

Why not the Greek Orthodox Church? Why not the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)? Those were certainly two groups I considered, despite their very distinct theologies.

I have great respect for the Orthodox churches, since they are quite in tune with the tradition of the church, and especially the significance of the liturgy. But I couldn't leave one church that restricts women religiously for another. Generally, I think that the Orthodox church is too uncritical of tradition. Sometimes doctrine must be reconsidered and revised in light of ethical demands. I appreciate the Episcopal Church's willingness to struggle with demanding ethical issues, and move forward, even when they may not be popular among many Christians. I believe the church should be on the cutting edge of standing up for what is right and good. Why does the church so often drag its feet?

I also have great respect for my Stone-Campbell background, which made me seriously consider the Disciples of Christ. There are many in this denomination that are rethinking the centrality of worship. They are also willing to discuss questions of justice. And certainly the shift in church culture would have been less drastic. But I fear that even the Disciples are too stuck in their American individualistic way of doing church. There is still too much rejection of church tradition for me. There is nothing necessarily wrong with tradition being less important for them, but I feel pulled to a group that places it near the center. Ever since I began reading church history, I have longed for a church that doesn't ignore (literally or practically) the ways of being Christian that have gone before us.

Does that help clarify my direction a little bit? I don't want to set out a list of reasons in one post. My intent is to reflect over time on the different aspects that have led me on this journey.