One thing that came painfully and dramatically clear to me while I was in Colombia was how little our churches really reflect the one they purport to worship. I am not speaking here about the Roman Catholics in Latin America, rather my experience with the Colombian people, of this incredible presence of Christ in his humanity and vulnerability, and how there is never anything like this in my milquetoast Anglican parish church.
Except, for those who are already frail or sick or vulnerable in my parish church, often through the problems of age. Those ones I find particularly sweet and approachable, very unlike the robust, affluent and middle class folk who enjoy good health and really like to try to keep Jesus in his place, which is to say, in the church and they only have to see him once a week, rather like visiting a relative who lives in a nursing home.
This presence of Jesus is in all of us. But there is something about middle class privilege, of which the Anglican Church is woven throughout, that completely stultifies and extinguishes the life of the Holy Spirit. For me, Jesus isn't there. Sometimes in the eucharist, but otherwise...
I think it's only when the love of Jesus really comes into us and breaks through us and breaks us open that we actually begin to change. I have little indication that there are a lot of parishioners who are interested and willing for this to happen to them. It means that Jesus would have to be promoted from merely being the Holy One to being their Lord, and that word of patriarchy has been mostly expunged from the Anglican liturgies, and I think because Anglicans for the most part, would rather be the lord of their own lives, and expect Jesus to be there at their bidding, placing on them no demands.
When I see evidence to the contrary, I will retract this. So far, I have seen nothing. Till then my darling little piggies, you are going to have to accept this little cultured, seed or fresh water pearl
Why do I even bother to attend? Very good question. I think there is still the sense of obligation to attend and publicly witness to my lord. Not the Holy One. The Lord! Would I have rather stayed in Colombia and continued to interact with and make myself brother to the poor and to the other people who live there? I think I would love to, if it were possible, and if God opens that door to me, then why not? My Spanish is fluent and I have a couple of close friends there.
Or maybe God wants me to stick around to go on being a pain in the ass to my beloved Anglican hypocrites. Even if their shallowness and their smug middle class privilege I find so infuriating, even though they chronically lie to me when I try to call them on their duplicity: for example the parish warden who expects me to believe that there are a lot of other people at St. Faith's who are struggling financially. Uh-huh. Two cans of paté from the food bank! Almost all of you own your own homes, have lots of lovely equity, and generally do not have a clue how people outside of your little bubble of privilege have to live.
Even when I called this warden out on the lack of support that was offered me when I had to go into quarantine upon returning from my trip, she chirped that she actually did ask me if I needed anything. Yeah, four days later, when, had I not gone out to do my own grocery shopping (not permitted under quarantine and otherwise would have gone hungry had I waited for them to come around and help.)
Uh-huh. Such Christian love. Such utter hypocritical rot.
And still no pastoral support. Oh, that's right, I have to pay for it. User fees for spiritual directors. Simony!
No comments:
Post a Comment