Touching the Third (altar) Rail: Lessons Learned about Theological Discourse on Baptism and Eucharist in The Episcopal Church

If local circumstances present a pastoral need for a public invitation, it should not in any way be coercive, nor should it be in terms of an “open Communion” applied indiscriminately to anyone desiring to receive Communion. ¹

Yet, what figuration of longing or desire is at work in our newfound resistance to requiring baptism before reception? It is worth asking whether the rush to satisfy the longing of the unbaptized has less to do with Christian charity or good theology than with modernity’s abhorrence of longing. ²

Some men and women, indeed, there are who can live on smiles and the word “yes” forever. But for others (indeed for most), this is too tepid and relaxed a moral climate. Passive happiness is slack and insipid, and soon grows mawkish and intolerable. Some austerity and wintry negativity, some roughness, danger, stringency, and effort, some “no! no!” must be mixed in, to produce the sense of an existence with character and texture and power. ³

After “A Statement on Baptism and Eucharist in The Episcopal Church” was published by Episcopal News Service on June 1, 2022, and was then the instigating topic of a substantial ENS article on June 3, I spent several intense days engaging with reactions to it on social media. Having read and often responded directly to numerous Facebook posts and tweets, along with literally hundreds of associated comments and replies, in addition to emails and messages and various other communications, including a full critical and alternative statement issued in response just four days later, I have some thoughts on what I have learned about public theological discourse on these difficult and sensitive topics in our Church. I know that one is not supposed to “read the comments” on social media, but I found them all illuminating, in both agreement and disagreement. Let me stress immediately, however, that not everyone who defends inviting the unbaptized to receive Communion agrees with the various statements that I encountered online and engage with here, or is guilty of the motives I speculate upon. I would also like to address some misunderstandings about the original statement, and acknowledge some mistakes in communication. Although I was the organizer of the statement, it was indeed a joint enterprise, so please note that despite the inevitable “we” and “our” language below I am writing here only on my own behalf and not on behalf of the other signatories. ⁴

So, to begin with the obvious, many people were undoubtedly surprised and even offended that a group of “22 theologians” (including those who teach systematic theology, liturgy, church history, biblical studies, and pastoral theology at eight of The Episcopal Church’s nine seminaries, along with a scholar from Princeton Theological Seminary and the Custodian of The Book of Common Prayer) would speak out on the topics of baptism, the Eucharist, and their interrelation, and furthermore argue that (1) the Eucharist is properly intended for the baptized, understood collectively as “the People of God,” and (2) the canons of the Church should therefore continue to express that view. While the statement received an enormous amount of intense appreciation and enthusiastic agreement, accompanied by a wave of astonishment that such a statement had even been made given the current rather anti-theological landscape of The Episcopal Church, there were also strongly negative responses. We were criticized for speaking at all, for choosing to speak on this particular topic, and for speaking on it now. We were criticized for those who signed the statement, and for those who did not sign the statement. We were accused of playing identity politics, and of not being sufficiently representative. We were told that we were seeking to repristinate a lost age of the early Church, but yet were not sufficiently “biblical.” We were accused of being insensitive, disrespectful, disgusting, abusive, out-of-touch, heavy-handed, dogmatic, condescending, arrogant, elitist, a “cartel,” dismissive of the religious experience of lay people, anti-Semitic, and resistant to the Holy Spirit. We were told that people were losing faith in God because of our statement, that years of pastoral work had been undone in an instant, that some clergy now wondered if they had been wasting their lives, and even that we had contributed to perpetuating the greatest Christian evil in the past 2000 years (i.e., an act analogous to the medieval and modern pogroms).

The statement, in short, provoked a wide range of reactions, some of which I will return to below. But along with the many particular criticisms, it seems that this statement has also laid bare the profoundly ambivalent place of “theology” and “theologians” in The Episcopal Church. That is, the statement apparently touched a nerve not just about the sacraments but about doctrine as such, and those who (rightly or wrongly) are thought to be “authorities” on it. But what is the nature and status of theology in our Church? And where does our doctrine come from? Aside from General Convention’s legislative approach, is there a formal “teaching office” or normative source of doctrinal definition? And, if so, what is it? Does it exist in a set of documents or in a group of people? These are not irrelevant or trivial questions. According to Title IV, Canon 2,

Doctrine shall mean the basic and essential teachings of the Church and is to be found in the Canon of Holy Scripture as understood in the Apostles and Nicene Creeds and in the sacramental rites, the Ordinal and Catechism of the Book of Common Prayer.

But that definition, while providing an essential starting point, does not provide guidance on who has the authority to interpret those various texts nor on how they should be interpreted. Further contributing to our difficulty is a lack of a shared commitment to this definition of doctrine, as well as the lack of an agreed set of secondary theological texts to provide a common point of reference. Hence our doctrinal confusion. And so, despite the fact that literally everything we do in church is, in fact, theologically grounded (either well or poorly), and despite the thoroughly doctrinal character of baptism, Eucharist, and ordained ministry, and despite centuries of sustained, subtle, and sophisticated Anglican scholarship on these matters, for some reason it seems that the contemporary Episcopal Church is largely trying to “do” or “be” church while not engaging with these doctrinal issues in any consistent or decisive way.

Or, put more contentiously, despite our frequent boast about “not having to check your brain at the door,” there is in fact a strong current of overt anti-intellectualism in The Episcopal Church, which often manifests itself as a prejudice against theology or doctrine as such. ⁵ This anti-intellectual/anti-theological prejudice is often expressed by the dubious sentiment that “as a member of The Episcopal Church you don’t have to believe anything,” which may be true individually but is certainly not the case for the Church itself, which does indeed have very specific doctrinal commitments without which it would not even exist as a distinct religious tradition among others. And, to the extent that it has affirmed them, The Episcopal Church tends toward a high Christology, a high ecclesiology, and a high sacramentology—that is to say, as a church we are formally committed to the divinity of Jesus Christ, the supernatural character of the Church, and the objective presence and power of God in baptism, Eucharist, and the other sacramental rites, including ordination. Some of the responses to our statement listed above seem to fall into the anti-intellectual/anti-theological category, but given that Episcopal theologians are normally ignored both individually and collectively, it is somewhat surprising that an unexpected and unasked for statement from some seminary professors on sacramental theology set off panic attacks and conniptions across the Church. That it did is worth reflecting on further—but so is the lack of any legislative Doctrine Committee. ⁶

Second, while I have no idea about the actual ratios, it is evident that The Episcopal Church is indeed now deeply divided on these very basic sacramental issues. There is the formal position of the Church, which is celebrated in our Prayer Book and codified in our canons and communicated in official statements and ecumenical documents, and then there is what happens and is taught and believed in dioceses, cathedrals, congregations, and schools. This situation is of course nothing remotely new or even surprising: in all religious traditions, there is a gap between dogma and practice, between what “authority” (however defined, whether ecclesial or academic) says and what “the people” (here including both clergy and laity) actually believe and do. So far, so normal. And of course there are many faithful and conscientious clergy who know the canons and understand the theology but still make quiet personal ad hoc pastoral decisions that technically transgress them: this is also normal and inevitable. However, the rather unusual problem we face in this specific dispute is two-fold: (1) for some reason, in many circles our formal position on baptismal ecclesiology and sacramental theology, officially held ever since the publication of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer and supposedly embraced by all bishops, clergy, and laity, taught in seminaries and confirmation classes and adult forums, and so on, is now either (a) consciously rejected or (b) completely unknown, and thus totally absent; and so (2) what is therefore developing are (at least) two disconnected ecclesiologies and sacramental theologies running side-by-side in the same Church.

Specifically in regard to ecclesiology, we have a baptismal ecclesiology which sees baptism as the foundation of our Christian identity and common life, not just with fellow Episcopalians but with all other Christians throughout the world, and then we have what we might call a commensal or eucharistic ecclesiology which apparently sees inclusive eating and fellowship practices as that foundation. Or, as James Farwell puts it:

What has emerged instead [of the 1979 Prayer Book’s intention in regard to the new Holy Week liturgies] may be less a paschal ecclesiology and perhaps not even a baptismal ecclesiology, except with respect to the welcome rise of lay ministry. What has developed is a eucharistic ecclesiology in which the life and identity of the church is centered, not around the full symbolism of Easter, but around the Sunday gathering whose sense of being a “little Easter” is eclipsed. ⁷

This new “Sunday gathering” ecclesiology has led to or accelerated a surprisingly congregationalist mentality among some Episcopalians, with the idea of church-wide norms of belief and practice increasingly fading away. This is a serious concern, regardless of the specific issue at hand. The result is that for some (and perhaps still most) Episcopalians, inviting the unbaptized to receive Holy Communion is incoherent, because the Eucharist signifies Christian commitment and belonging, while for others not inviting the unbaptized is incomprehensible, because the Eucharist signifies Christian hospitality and welcome. Please note that this debate is not just about the sequence of these two sacraments, but their meanings: as I will explain further below, different understandings of both baptism and Eucharist are often in play here, which contributes to the impasse. We do not just disagree on which one should come first, we now disagree on what these sacraments are meant to signify and accomplish.

So why are we divided on these very basic issues? As many have observed, in the immediate wake of the canonical changes that produced the 1979 BCP we (1) made the Eucharist the principal act of Christian worship on Sundays, (2) removed Confirmation as the rite of admission to receive Communion, while also, (3) for the very first time allowed any baptized person to receive Communion, including infants and small children, without (4) apparently providing adequate instruction or formation for the Church to navigate these massive changes to our sacramental theology and liturgical practice. Some people seem unaware of how recent this situation is and how far out of step The Episcopal Church is with most other provinces of the Anglican Communion on these matters of Eucharistic reception, even leaving aside the present debate about the unbaptized. This confluence of factors largely explains our current confusion, but it also means that we eventually do need to address it somehow. ⁸ However, more generally, as noted above, many Episcopalians also do not seem to know where the theology of the Church “comes from” (or even that there is such a thing), perhaps because the Church itself either does not quite know itself or has not explained it properly. For example, the commonly raised question if those present at the Last Supper were “baptized” is as anachronistic as asking if Jesus used The Book of Common Prayer when he instituted the Eucharist, as they were certainly not baptized in the name of the Trinity and in the power of the Holy Spirit, and that is the only form of baptism we are talking about. Moreover, as a result of our statement many Episcopalians apparently discovered for the very first time, and to their considerable shock and horror, that “No unbaptized person shall be eligible to receive Holy Communion in this Church” (Canon I.17.7). But this means both that we have not done a very good job of catechizing and that something very different is often being taught. As Charles Hefling wrote in appreciative agreement with this aspect of our statement, “It is not just that our theology has ‘gone amiss.’ It has gone away.” ⁹

Although it is obviously a necessary question to engage with at some point, I do not here want to argue whether the theology of our statement is “good” or “bad,” “right” or “wrong,” as that takes us into normative doctrinal issues which cannot possibly be settled now. But against those who have argued to the contrary, I do want to affirm that statement does in fact articulate (admittedly perhaps too concisely) the official baptismal ecclesiology and sacramental theology of The Episcopal Church, as minimal as they may be, as expressed whether explicitly or implicitly, or even entirely consistently, in Prayer Book rubrics, liturgies, and the Catechism; the canons; the Handbook of Ecumenism; and many ecumenical joint statements, especially those with our Roman Catholic and Orthodox partners. And by “implicitly” I mean things like the simple yet significant fact that our baptismal liturgy concludes rather than begins with the Eucharist, and so the very structure (ordo) expresses a font-to-table movement rather than a table-to-font movement. ¹⁰ As far as I am aware, there are no formal church-level documents that even nod in the direction of what is now often called “Communion Without Baptism” (CWOB). If so, then the real issue again becomes why the formal theology of the Church, which its seminary professors almost universally endorse and teach and which the Church affirms publicly in its ecumenical dialogues, is not just rejected here but is either unknown or incomprehensible to a substantial percentage of clergy and people.

Third, I am not sure what most Episcopalians think about baptism, but in social media both leading up to and after the statement’s publication I have noted to my dismay a surprisingly strong and overt anti-baptismal sentiment emerging among some priests and laypeople. Despite the fact that we have claimed for decades that The Episcopal Church has now rediscovered the significance of baptism and made it the center of our common life, baptism is now being explicitly described in negative terms as a “barrier,” as “exclusive,” as a “ticket,” a “membership card,” as “barbed wire” around the table, merely “theoretical,” and even as harmful and abusive. Such comments are certainly not consonant with an understanding of baptism as “the sacrament by which God adopts us as [God’s] children and makes us members of Christ’s Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God” (BCP 858), and through which we are “born again and made [God’s] children by adoption and grace” (BCP 213). Indeed, it is this very claim that some apparently now find so problematic, as if such gracious adoption and membership is really necessary in the first place; and some regard even promulgating this claim as a form of manipulative grooming for ecclesial control, abuse, and enforced conformity. Such comments also suggest that nothing objective (good or otherwise) actually happens in baptism, but that it is a “mere ritual.” The underlying idea seems to be that all human beings are already by nature “God’s children” in the very specific sense of being members of Christ’s Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God (e.g., “all people are God’s people,” which taken in one sense is a truism and in another is arguably religious imperialism, which I address below).

I thus note, without further analysis, among some contemporary Episcopalians an operating assumption of automatic universalism or redemption, with no human agency or choice involved, or even the mediating work of Christ. Rather than the proper hope (or even confident expectation) that all will be “saved,” this view says that all are “saved” whether they want to be or not, no matter what they do. While perhaps defensible theologically, such default universalism is certainly not the Christological sacramental soteriology affirmed by The Episcopal Church. By contrast, our view is that those who are baptized are made “living members” of the Body of Christ (BCP 365 and 366), thus share in the divine life of the Holy and Blessed Trinity, and in so doing are initiated into a supernatural existence that is not the natural birthright of human beings but something only available as a gift of divine action. The primary purpose of the Church is to witness to God’s reconciling and redeeming love by incorporating human beings into this supernatural society, for “flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God” (1 Corinthians 15: 50).

Fourth, as for the Eucharist, the prevalent understanding seems to be almost entirely a table/meal view. Over and over again I have read, “But Jesus invites everyone to the table . . . We must not put up any barriers to the table . . . All are welcome at the table . . .” But, as our statement notes, the traditional Episcopal/Anglican theology of the Eucharist certainly includes but is about much more than a memorialist meal served from a table, for it is also “the way by which the sacrifice of Christ is made present, and in which he unites us to his one offering of himself” (BCP 859). Or, as we pray in Eucharistic Prayer B: “Unite us to your Son in his sacrifice, that we may be acceptable through him, being sanctified by the Holy Spirit” (BCP 369). This is precisely what we mean by the common term “paschal mystery,” which sees the Eucharist not just as table fellowship but as participation in Christ’s sacrifice on the cross, not least because in the Synoptic Gospels the Eucharist is instituted in the context of a Passover meal (Matthew 26:17–29; Mark 14:12–25; Luke 22: 7–23). Hence, after the consecrated bread is broken, we proclaim: “Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us; Therefore let us keep the feast” (BCP 337, 364). Invitations to participate in the Eucharistic feast which do not acknowledge that the table is also an altar (BCP 333), or that fail to make this sacrificial and unitive “paschal” understanding clear are incomplete at best and misleading at worst. Also note that the sacrificial understanding of the Eucharist is the whole reason why we rather controversially call our Anglican/Episcopal clergy “priests.” As Eugene F. Rogers Jr. explains helpfully in a broader context than this debate:

The basic difference between the Protestant “minister” and the Catholic or Orthodox “priest” is that a minister is to serve something (at Communion in the sense of a meal), whereas a priest is to offer (at Communion in the sense of an offering, often a sacrifice). ¹¹

The Anglican via media of course accepts both understandings, but if we are going to give up the sacrificial view of the Eucharist then to be consistent we also need to give up the title “priest” for the more Protestant “minister.”

Again, however, I suspect that many who adopt the table/meal view simply reject the altar/sacrifice view altogether, either consciously or unconsciously, and thus also reject the connection between the Eucharist and the paschal mystery. Incarnation, cross, resurrection, ascension, and incorporation in the Body of Christ are apparently not what they find most salvific about Jesus, but rather his radically inclusive acceptance of and table-fellowship with all and sundry. This is probably because they follow a line of biblical scholarship (apparently first proposed or at least popularized by Norman Perrin) and understand the Eucharist primarily as an extension of Jesus’ general table fellowship rather than as determined by the more exclusive context of the Last Supper. ¹² But, again, these two options do not need to be presented as an either/or: as Anglicans we can and should hold both of them together, the Eucharist as union with the sacrifice of Christ on the cross and the Eucharist as table fellowship with Jesus. As James Farwell rightly notes, “While one or another eucharistic meaning may come to the fore, the eucharist is never reduced simply to one of these meanings.” And indeed the Eucharist cannot be reduced to a single meaning, but I am afraid that this is precisely what many of those who opt for the table/meal option are doing. ¹³

Fifth, either due to a lack of familiarity with the Gospels or to the acceptance of various popular scholarly reconstructions, the operative view of Jesus in many of these comments is a rather vague figure of inclusivity, hospitality, acceptance, and non-directive non-judgmentalism (the perfect Rogerian therapist). This portrait bears little resemblance to the whole picture of the sharp, difficult, strange, and complex personality we encounter in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. The Jesus of the Gospels is not just “gentle, meek, and mild” but also severe, demanding, and even frightening. And indeed, many of those who might argue for an “open table” would argue strongly against a “meek and mild” Jesus when it comes to matters of social justice. The Jesus of the New Testament most emphatically did not proclaim a message of indiscriminate divine affirmation, but urgently and even imperiously called people to transformative repentance, and a radically new life and relationship to God centered exclusively on him. His gospel was not an endorsement of who we are, but about how to become a completely different person; not a gospel of acceptance but of salvation. And while he certainly ate with sinners and tax collectors, he also called people to repent, leave everything, deny themselves, and follow him. He thus made almost everyone he met extremely uncomfortable—it is reported that he even said that he came to “bring division” (Luke 12:51)—and he placed many obstacles between himself and potential disciples, such as his deliberately obscure parabolic teaching which was designed to exclude most listeners.

The test of being a disciple was thus precisely managing to overcome these intentional challenges. For one example of many, consider Luke 14:25–27:

Now large crowds were travelling with him; and he turned and said to them, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”

This is not a welcoming message, nor an affirming one, nor one designed to attract adherents. Over and over again, according to these texts Jesus actively discouraged people from being his disciples who were not willing and able to make the total commitment that he required, and yet he also raised the eschatological stakes of rejecting him as high as possible. I am certainly not saying that these hyperbolic and apocalyptic dominical sayings are unproblematic, or that they are themselves the whole picture, or that they can be asserted without appropriate context and criticism, or that the only access we have to the living Christ is through these historical and canonical texts, but I am saying that any view of Jesus which leaves them out entirely is—as I said above about a reductive memorialist theology of the Eucharist—incomplete at best and misleading at worst.

So, just who is the Jesus that we in The Episcopal Church profess to worship, follow, and obey? Who is the Jesus that we read about in Scripture, confess in the creeds, encounter in prayer, serve in “the least of these,” are united to in baptism, and consume at the Eucharist? Is there a living reality here that challenges everything about us or are we just making it up? These necessary questions raise significant hermeneutical, historical, and doctrinal difficulties, but unless it is all just projection (Feuerbach) or invention (antirealists and some postmodernists) there must be some actual independent reality that we are engaging with and not just what we happen to want Christ to be. Or, put differently, and with apologies to Depeche Mode, we all have our “own personal Jesus” based on a multitude of factors, but this personal understanding must still hold up to corporate critical and ecclesial scrutiny (and Jesus as ultimate Rogerian therapist is not that promising).

Sixth, some of the most vehemently negative reactions to the statement responded specifically to this sentence: “Unlike Baptism, Holy Eucharist is therefore not intended for ‘all people’ without exception, but is rather for ‘God’s people’ understood above as a common body united by a common faith.” The point of this sentence, which is itself based on and refers to the official commentary on The Episcopal Church’s “Standards of Eucharistic Sharing,” was to clarify that the Eucharistic invitation, “The Gifts of God for the People of God” (BCP 338 and 364), refers specifically to the baptized. This claim, however—or rather a partially quoted version of it—was regarded by some as striking “a narrow, tribal tone that does not serve our church well. Moreover, [the] assertion, perhaps unintentionally, creates a barrier to interfaith relations.” ¹⁴ These are serious concerns that cannot be dealt with fully here, although I will return to them further below, so at present I will only make this observation: anyone who is familiar with the Prayer Book will know that it uses the term “people” in two distinct ways, namely a more restricted sense and a more general sense. Consider, for example, these two collects for mission from Morning Prayer II, both of which are on BCP 100:

Almighty and everlasting God, by whose Spirit the whole body of your faithful people is governed and sanctified: Receive our supplications and prayers which we offer before you for all members of your holy Church, that in their vocation and ministry they may truly and devoutly serve you; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

O God, you have made of one blood all the peoples of the earth, and sent your blessed Son to preach peace to those who are far off and to those who are near: Grant that people everywhere may seek after you and find you; bring the nations into your fold; pour out your Spirit upon all flesh; and hasten the coming of your kingdom; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

In the first collect God’s “faithful people” are identified with “all members of your holy Church,” and in the second collect “the peoples of the earth” are identified with “people everywhere.” The very fact that these collects are printed on the same page indicates that we are meant to endorse both meanings of “people” in their proper context. It likewise seems clear that the Eucharistic invitation, “The Gifts of God for the People of God,” refers to the first rather than the second sense of the term.

So those are six sets of observations related to various negative public reactions the statement received on social media. Returning now to the opening list of objections to the statement, I regret to say that there were many misunderstandings or misrepresentations in what I have read. Contrary to multiple comments:

The statement did not say that the altar rail should be policed and baptismal certificates produced.

The statement did not say that the unbaptized should never receive Holy Communion under any circumstances whatsoever.

The statement did not say that the contested canon I.17.7 should remain in place unchanged. Indeed, the conclusion of the statement deliberately leaves open the possibility of revision.

Finally, the statement did not say that all individual human beings without exception are not loved and made in the image of God and are thus “God’s people” in that universal or generic sense. Of course they are. But, in addition to my comments about the two collects quoted above, there is an obvious and essential distinction between using the English word “people” to mean human beings as such and “people” as a particular community (e.g., “a people”). It is the latter sense that is relevant when we discuss the Church (the ekklesia/assembly), hence our specific definition in the statement of “God’s people” in this specific liturgical/sacramental context as “a common body united by a common faith.” As I have put it elsewhere, individuals are invited to the baptismal font but the Church is invited to the Eucharist. The invitation is to a corporate body, not to individual persons. Put differently, the Eucharistic invitation, “The Gifts of God for the People of God,” is derived from the much earlier “holy things for holy people.” And holiness here is understood to be a corporate reality based on a covenant relationship to God through baptism, not as an individual achievement or personal sanctification. ¹⁵

Speaking more generally, the presenting issue in this debate is not that unbaptized people are being turned away at the altar rail, but that some clergy are directly inviting and even sometimes strongly urging them to come forward, even though this is in opposition to our sacramental theology, canons, and ecumenical policy. As it is a form of proselytism, it is also contrary to current standards of interfaith hospitality. Indeed, on my view CWOB is more problematic for interfaith relations than the specific liturgical/sacramental understanding of the term, “People of God.” Even more worrisome, some ushers are reported as pressuring people out of their pews to receive whether they want to or not. I have thus read with concern about what has been described as a new spirit of “forced inclusion” in The Episcopal Church that is distressing to Jews and many others who may wish to attend one of our liturgies for some reason or other as our guests but not receive Communion, or even feel that they are expected to do so. People should always be free to attend but not receive, for multiple good reasons—even including baptized Christians. Indeed, knowing when you should occasionally not receive Communion is an important discernment and discipline that is easily lost when such abstinence, or even intentional preparation, is not specifically taught and practiced (cf. the Exhortation, BCP 316–17, as well as once common devotional practices such as Eucharistic fasting, recollection, and prayers before and after receiving Communion as provided in devotional manuals such as St. Augustine’s Prayer Book). ¹⁶

It is also problematic for this issue to be presented as a conflict between “gatekeeping” clergy and theologians desperate for “control” over laypeople being led inexorably by the Holy Spirit to break down all barriers, when in fact CWOB is arguably a top-down proposal from other theologians and scholars who have influenced certain church leaders with this arguably revisionist understanding of Jesus, baptism, and Eucharist. Indeed, in my view CWOB is strongly clericalist in character, as it lifts up ordination over baptism as the decisive sacrament required for Holy Communion to take place, as I will explain in more detail below.

But some of the genuine anger that the statement produced was not just in regard to the content but its perceived tone, and here I am certainly willing to admit some missteps for which I will take full responsibility as the statement’s organizer. It is a truism in communication theory that it does not matter what you say, it matters what people hear, although it is an additional truism that you can only control what your auditors hear to a certain extent. However, I grant that perhaps we should have hedged the statement with all the conventional qualifications: “This is just our opinion . . . In our view, we think that . . . We thus suggest . . .” This may have quelled some valid concerns. However, such qualifications belong in some rhetorical or conversational contexts and not in others, and rightly or wrongly we thought that the moment called for a short, sharp, clear and direct intervention. In our defense, this approach certainly succeeded in getting widespread attention and responses where many more subtle and nuanced treatments which said exactly the same thing have been mostly ignored and only remained topics of academic discussion. However, some readers understandably felt that their genuine theological and pastoral concerns were not fairly represented, or that they were being scolded or talked down to, or that the statement was insufficiently open to alternative possibilities. I thus acknowledge that a more conciliatory and conversational approach would have been appreciated.

More substantially, the statement has been criticized for being unpastoral, in three distinct senses. For some, it was unpastoral in presentation, for others it was unpastoral in theological method or style, and for yet others it was unpastoral in essential doctrinal content. The legitimacy of the first concern was acknowledged above. The second concern says that we wrote from an “academic” or “establishment” perspective rather than a “pastoral” or “practical” one, in the sense that the statement’s language and sources were drawn from official documents written “from above” rather than personal experiences of those dealing with trauma or exclusion “from below.” For example, we did not address those ways in which denying (or enforcing) access to the sacraments has indeed tragically been used as a form of ecclesial control and abuse, or as either rote admission to or withholding of social status; or the ways in which the Church itself often presents a severe difficulty to potential members; or the very real missional challenges many faithful clergy and congregations are grappling with as best they can. This is an important critique and needs to be taken seriously. I thus fully grant that nothing in our statement explicitly addresses these vital pastoral and missional matters but is entirely preoccupied with the relation between formal doctrine (as defined above) and canons, and that such an omission is a serious lacuna that hindered its reception. ¹⁷

However, the third concern says, rather more radically, that it is an act of abuse and harm even to maintain the view that baptism is the normal entry point to the Church and participation in other sacraments such as the Eucharist. Such a view, I have read, is not simply irrelevant to the current realities of congregational life in The Episcopal Church, but is inherently damaging and oppressive because it imposes a manipulative “rite of exclusion” and so therefore perpetuates yet more trauma rather than healing for those who have already suffered from the Church. While this will undoubtedly be seen as question-begging by some, I must here confess that I am not entirely sure how to respond to this third claim, for its dismissive and even negative understanding of baptism is certainly not “the doctrine, discipline, and worship of Christ as this Church has received them” (BCP 526, 538, cf. 513). ¹⁸ Nevertheless, I will observe again that the statement does not deny pastoral exceptions to the norm. Moreover, I also admit that this third claim also strikes me as somewhat paternalistic—assuming as it does that some people are so fragile that they need to be protected not just from trauma but from the truth—and as stated above I simply do not see how any pastoral theology that avoids the complex, difficult, and demanding reality of Jesus Christ can claim to be Christian in nature.

Perhaps the best positive argument I encountered in favor of CWOB is the missional one, namely that due to many harms the church has committed, the unchurched now approach very cautiously (if at all), with the firm expectation and even insistence that they will be allowed to participate without any expectations imposed upon them in advance. We must therefore adapt accordingly. Rather than the traditional understanding in both intimate relationships and religious belonging that commitment precedes consummation, we must now recognize that consummation precedes commitment. The explicit analogy is thus made with cohabiting couples moving toward marriage and communicating people moving toward baptism. ¹⁹ In our current cultural/historical moment, it is said, this table-to-font approach is simply how such belonging occurs. Some clergy have thus spoken rather movingly about how they are deliberately reinterpreting baptism and the Eucharist along these lines, with the Eucharist now understood as welcome and baptism as commitment, rather than the other way around.

This pragmatic proposal needs to be taken very seriously, and I note that unlike some mentioned above it does seek to move people toward baptism as a positive goal rather than just removing it as a prerequisite for receiving Communion. However, I have at least four concerns. First, I am not sure that this description of our missional moment is indeed empirically/sociologically true, and establishing this would require additional study and field work, such as comparing how parishes that adopt this model fare in relation to those that take a more traditional catechumenate approach in regard to incorporating new members, adult baptisms, and so on. Second, it seems that this approach can only proceed coherently by reducing the Eucharist to the table/meal understanding that I have argued above is seriously incomplete: that is, can the unbaptized really be invited to come forward and unite themselves to Christ’s sacrifice by receiving his Body and Blood and ingesting it, without this at least implying both commitment and some theological agreement? And, back to my earlier observation that this debate is not just about the sequence of the sacraments but their meaning, can individual Episcopal clergy really just reinterpret the sacraments to fit what they regard to be new pastoral realties? Are sacred symbols really that labile? And is The Episcopal Church really that congregationalist? Third, and likewise, does this approach mean shielding the unbaptized from the difficult and demanding canonical character of Jesus described above, and if not then how is Jesus presented to them? Fourth and finally, it raises the interesting question of how we postmoderns relate to desire/longing and its often inevitable or necessary deferral, which James Farwell explores with subtlety and sophistication in his already-cited essay, “Baptism, Eucharist, and the Hospitality of Jesus,” specifically on pages 233–35. This section—“The pastoral significance of longing”—needs to be read in full in order to appreciate fully, but it concludes:

the desire by unbaptized persons to receive communion may not be well served by the rush to immediate gratification. The practice of doing so may well be more indebted to our social-economic values than by good pastoral sense. A better alternative, with all the grace, hospitality, and encouragement one can muster, is to invite the unbaptized into the catechumenal process recently recovered as a practical resource for formation. In the hands of a good pastor and teacher, the longing of catechumens is fertile ground for rich growth and development. The catechumenate is a time to help inquirers deepen their longing in ways that shape their action and commitment. It is my experience that those who travel this way experience their first communion as far more powerful and effective than those who participate without preparation. More than that of the unprepared participant, is not the longing of the catechumen, when baptized and fed, more fully satisfied and yet more prepared for the long journey of continuing desire that is the Christian life? ²⁰

Finally, let me conclude by listing some tentative speculations about what forces might be motivating what Farwell calls (in the second epigraph of this current essay) “our newfound resistance to requiring baptism before reception.” ²¹ And here, please note, I am genuinely not concerned by clergy who occasionally err on the side of hospitality when they make the Eucharistic invitation to visitors, or who make ad hoc pastoral exceptions, but rather those who are convinced that the received theology is wrong and must be replaced, and for whom inviting the unbaptized has thus become not an ad hoc exception but an intentional evangelical/missional policy.

So, as Tobias Haller among others has noted, in the past fifty years The Episcopal Church has moved from saying that to receive Holy Communion in this Church you must be (1) baptized, confirmed, a member in good standing, and duly prepared; to (2) you must be baptized; to (3) some arguing that there should be no requirements or even any expectations at all. ²² I have no doubt that many who endorse (3) in this strong sense do so for what they believe to be good pastoral and missional reasons, as acknowledged above. But some have also observed what seems to be an atmosphere of insecurity and anxiety that is at least partly driving this movement in our Church. It can seem rather desperate in its desire to compensate for what was undoubtedly a scrupulous exclusivity and establishment mentality in the past, or to distance ourselves as far as possible from other forms of Christianity that we find problematic or distasteful. American Episcopalians so often define ourselves against other denominations rather than being confident in our own identity.

It thus needs to be asked if CWOB is at least in part an over-reaction that pushes inclusivity into some surprisingly ironic directions. I have already noted that the overt invitation for all present to receive Communion can be both inhospitable to visitors and insensitive to those of other faiths, despite its explicit desire to be the opposite. Indeed, completely contrary to the common argument for CWOB, I seriously wonder if more unbaptized people have left an Episcopalian Eucharist never to return because they felt pressured to participate rather than because they felt excluded. In our evangelical eagerness to get people to meet Jesus at the table we may be turning away more than we are attracting.

It is also ironic that many who endorse CWOB would gladly respect (and indeed insist firmly on others respecting) the appropriate boundaries of another religious tradition if invited to attend one of their liturgies, while yet strangely finding Christianity’s own boundaries inherently oppressive. Even more striking, priests may be doing the very proselytizing they claim to abhor. Those who would never dream of inviting unbaptized people to come forward to “accept Jesus as their personal Lord and Savior” have no problem in inviting them to come forward to receive Communion—but properly understood there is no difference in these two invitations. They are both “altar calls.”

Furthermore, in its intention to be “inclusive” (which literally means to bring people within our circle) CWOB can in fact seem Constantinian, imperialist, and colonialist, as by saying that there are no requirements to receive in our church it is effectively planting the Christian (and more specifically Episcopal) flag over the whole world, making everyone a member of “God’s people” by fiat whether they want to be or not. Indeed, what could be more implicitly Constantinian than assuming that no initiation to or preparation for an intimate sacred ritual is necessary because everyone is in effect already a member?

And, as noted above, despite the claims to be lay-initiated, CWOB also has a curiously clerical character, as while it makes baptism optional you still need a priest to celebrate the Eucharist (at least for now). Instead of “CWOB” perhaps we should call this development “PWOL”—“Priests Without Laity.” Many clergy who regard the Church’s formal position here as rigid and exclusionary would still insist that their ordained status is required for the Eucharist to occur, but why? If you do not need to be baptized to receive the Eucharist, then why do you need to be ordained to celebrate it? (And why do you need to be baptized to be ordained, and why do you need to be ordained by a bishop?) It thus seems that by lifting up the Eucharist and denigrating baptism, CWOB empowers clergy at the expense of the laity.

Last but not least, it is extremely ironic for some clergy to say that requiring baptism is about “gatekeeping” when CWOB actually makes the individual priest rather than either the sacrament itself or the corporate Church the gatekeeper, which again heightens the clericalism. Those who say confidently, “This is the Lord’s table and all are welcome,” seem to be oddly unaware that they are the ones making this unrestricted invitation on Christ’s behalf, but what authorizes them to do so? Certainly not the Church, which actually forbids it, and as argued above this move depends on (1) a questionable understanding of Christ’s own ministry and (2) seeing the Eucharist as primarily about fellowship at the table rather than about sacrificial union at the altar.

One does not have to embrace the full classic Tractarian “doctrine of reserve” to sense that something has gone awry here, and that the car has perhaps swerved into the ditch on the other side of the road. Maybe we all need to relax about this. Maybe we need to be more confident that, yes, we do indeed have something essential and precious to offer the world in Christ’s name, but to also remind and reassure ourselves that by its very nature this gift requires some degree of preparation in order to receive properly, and that people will not necessarily run away if we honestly tell them, “Good things come to those who wait.” Believe it or not, some people outside the Church actually understand boundaries in a positive rather than a negative sense and are happy to observe them. Maybe we need to be less paternalistic and codependent and give people more rather than less responsibility for themselves, instead of being afraid that they will be repelled by the slightest expectation placed upon them. Maybe we need to respect their boundaries as well as our own. Maybe instead of saying, “All are invited!” we ought to say, “Not everyone has to come forward!” Maybe we need be reminded that the point of the oft-maligned rubric that the “ministers receive the Sacrament in both kinds” before delivering it to the people (BCP 338, 365) is that nobody else present is required to receive. (Isn’t that a great relief?) But, most of all, maybe we need to ask ourselves what we think these two great sacraments of water, bread, and wine really, truly, actually mean, and then let those answers tell us in what order, if any, the living, loving, challenging, and redemptive Christ should be encountered in them. ²³