My Protestant Reformation Part II

One night, I was sitting in a movie theater, watching Jan Troell’s The New Land starring Liv Ullmann and Max von Sydow. The new Swedish community was gathered in a barn for a church service. This consisted mainly of an angry preacher berating his flock for actual and potential transgressions. Kristina (Ullman) had to slip out to deal with one of her children who’d had a potty accident. She ducked back in clearly hoping not to have been caught in this irreverent task. Surprisingly, all I could feel during this scene was envy. I envied these people for having a church. Never mind that I would never have stood for this sort of church. It was just church that I needed.

But a Protestant church? Even though my fear of hell had faded away, I still had gnawing doubts that I could find God in that setting, much less that I could ever be "right" with God after years of nothing. Twenty plus years of teaching don't vanish in an instant. Nevertheless, this urge for church was too strong to ignore. 

After many years, I have realized that I am not happy unless I am going to church regularly. There are people who can take church or leave it. There are even some who feel that church actually stifles their relationship with God. I am not one of those people.

A few weeks later, in the middle of February, I took myself to a Thursday night service at St Mary’s Episcopal Church. Eucharist was held in the Lady Chapel (a new concept for me). The service was so beautiful that I think I was numb for most of it. Raised Catholic, I could, of course, follow the prayers without even looking at the book, but the reverence with which the worship was conducted was entirely new to me.

I’d say it was the priest, but it was the people, too. Their devotion was so natural. I went home with my head in the clouds. I returned Sunday after Sunday, Thursday after Thursday.

Deeply in love as I was with the Episcopal Church, I had to come to grips with this matter of Protestantism. I had prejudices, stumbling blocks left over from my upbringing. Familiar as it was, there were some features of my new religion that tripped me up. Here are some of them:

Married Clergy The first time Father Atlee, rector at St Mary’s, referred to his wife, I think I blushed to the roots of my hair. I knew Protestant clergy could marry; I’d read the 39 Articles after all. Still it took a while to get used to. Soon, however, I became very close with the rector’s wife and his daughters, the youngest of whom was our baby sitter.

Words - like Sunday School, fellowship, acolyte (as opposed to altar boy) Scripture. Not unfamiliar words, but not ones I’d ever heard in the Catholic Church.

“Scripture” was the Epistle and the Gospel read aloud on Sundays, period. Compared with the magisterium of the church, the Bible has limited authority for Catholics. We did not use Biblical references.  “Bible Study” was a code term for heresy, maybe even anarchy.

“Fellowship” sounded a bit touchy feely for me, but as it has found its way into the Baptismal Covenant in the 1978 Prayer Book, I have made my peace with it.

 “Sunday School” was, of course, the most Protestant term of all. A friend at St Mary’s advised me to simply call it “church school.”  It had worked for him.

Psalms played little or no part in Catholic worship. I was naturally suspicions of them, as if they might contain some heretical nuance. Characters reciting the 23^rd Psalm on television shows were always Protestants. It’s taken me quite a while to hold the psalms close. I love them now.

The Vestry I could not believe how much power lay people had in the Episcopal Church. How could the unordained decide matters for the ordained? How could the holiness of the rector, by virtue of his (no female clergy yet) celebrating the Eucharist, not trump the lesser holiness of the lay persons? And how could regular parishioners elect Vestry members? It was all so topsy turvy.

Greeting the rector on the way out of church.  Often parishioners even comment on the sermon. This still feels strange to me, to be honest. Catholic clergy did not expose themselves to the congregation with such reckless abandon. I never know what to say. I refuse to compliment a priest on her (plenty of female clergy now) or his sermon. For me a teaching is to be received, not evaluated. When shaking hands, the most I can muster is “thank you, Father.”

*******

I have found real joy in the Episcopal Church. My first parish, St Mary’s in Wayne, Pennsylvania*, was my own beautiful home for not enough years. All the things I thought I’d lost along the way, I found there. But more than that, I grew in grace. I learned to pray, at last. I found out a little bit about life and death and salvation. Father Atlee, patiently guided me through instructions and I was received into the Episcopal Church.

Twenty or so years ago when we moved from Pennsylvania to Minnesota, I was in search of a new Episcopal Church. Churches here are much “lower” (less solemn, less formal) than those back home. I realized that I would have to become even more Protestant than I already was.

Could I do it? Quite honestly, it took some adjustment. I did some grumbling. But realizing that I am that same person who envied Liv Ullmann and company for standing around in a freezing barn being yelled at, making peace with fewer candles, less incense, a guitar or two on odd occasions seemed, in the end, surprisingly easy. I say “Sunday School” now with ease.

I can now attend services in any sort of church without discomfort. I view the Protestant Reformation of the 16^th Century with awe and gratitude. I see its heroes as great saints and its revolutionary teachings as a massive step forward for humankind. I am proud to wear the badge of Protestant.

God did not use a cookie cutter when he created us. We are unique. The many ways we come to God are unique, beautiful and always successful. In one of the first meetings I had with Father Atlee, he suggested that perhaps God would win out for each of us in the end, that we would all be glorified. Such a shocking thing to say to a Catholic girl! But I wasn't shocked. I was converted. Father Atlee is gone now. I know I'm not the only one whose heart he opened to Christ. His obituary is here.

God was working in my life when I wandered into St Mary’s on that cold night in February. God was also working in my life when I spent those years with no faith, no church, no religion. Far from seeing those years as “sinful” as I‘d been taught, I know they were years of deprivation and of preparation. They led me to receive God’s grace and to know the love of Jesus. 

* The Atlees gave me this print on my last Sunday at St Mary's. Yes, we really were as happy as we look in the picture.