The Canterbury Trail
Resonating with the echoes of Church tradition
Photo credit: Cynthia Liang
If you read my previous post, you will remember that my history with churches was a jumble of theologies, none of which were deep enough for roots to grow and flourish. The parable of the sower leaps to the forefront of my mind, even as I write this. If you were keeping count, no less than nine different denominations and one para-church organization is represented through my youth and early twenties.
Now we come to church #10.
I honestly can’t remember specifically what drew me to attend an Episcopal church, except that my bestie was a long-time member and was at the time employed by her church in an administrative capacity. We were both at transitional points in our lives—she had graduated from college and was exploring what was next for her, and I was returning from time overseas and preparing to go to graduate school. Once again, I found myself driven by circumstances into a new theological arena, but this one would prove to be different, and for that I am most grateful.
In this transitional season of my life, I began my professional studies at Wheaton College Graduate School. I had made the decision to return overseas to work with a sending agency, teaching English as a foreign language. Meanwhile, a relationship was budding that would derail those plans and instead invite me into my happy life as a wife and mother. Looking back on that part of my life brings a smile of joy every time. It was in this season that I established abiding friendships, met my husband, and discovered a rich Christian heritage that I wanted to invest in for the long term. Past hurts and wounds were beginning to heal, and my life was beginning to take shape without those hurts constantly at the forefront.
It was at Wheaton that I first recognized my deep need for the roots of Christianity and especially for the Church that had been established by the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. It was in a New Testament Church History class taught by Dr. Robert Webber that this desire was awakened and fueled. His classes were over-filled, and students sat on the floor between the desks and stood lining the walls to have the opportunity to attend. I listened to every class with rapt attention as he talked about the apostles, the establishment of the church, Pentecost, and the early years of the church, while simultaneously exposing the incongruities of American Evangelicalism. At times the things he said sounded scandalous, and we wondered how he got away with his positions at Wheaton. He never failed to get a laugh from the students when he referred to Bob Jones and the university that was his namesake as “Jaw Bones.”
It was Robert Webber who, in his classes and his book Evangelicals on the Canterbury Trail, first gave voice to my hunger and desire for a soil that was deep enough to grow a faith that would last. In the very introduction of the book, he articulates his own experience which resonated with me on a deep level. He says,
At times I also felt like an ecclesiastical orphan looking for spiritual parents and a spiritual identity. I am now discovering my spiritual identity with all God’s people throughout history by embracing the church universal and a holistic perspective on spirituality. These three needs—historic identity, an ecclesiastical home, and a holistic spirituality—are also closely related [emphasis mine]. 1
At Wheaton I sought out an Anglican church that had a good reputation among the students on campus. Church of the Resurrection, or “Rez” as it was called on campus was on fire. They met in a high school auditorium, but as far as I was concerned it was a cathedral. When they said the liturgy, they said it with all their hearts. They were invested in the tradition, the meaning within the words, the connection to each other and to Christ through the eucharist. It was all they could do to not say “Alleluia” during Lent—there were always a few strays said every lenten service because they just couldn’t bear it.2 If you desired it, there were always people present to pray for you after communion for healing, for concerns, for peace. I began to experience healing from my church past and other heart wounds. It was at Church of the Resurrection, in their annual Easter service held in Wheaton’s Edman Chapel that I first experienced the Resurrection as the church through the millennia has celebrated—with a vigil, the reading of the Scriptures, with baptisms, white robes, singing, bells, and shouts of “Christ is Risen!” —all the drama that the commemoration of Christ’s Resurrection should hold.
At Wheaton we had the legacy of such cultural giants as evangelist Billy Graham, missionary martyr Jim Eliot, and megachurch pastor John Piper. We admired their legacy and witness and felt the weight of responsibility to carry out the vision of this institution. I also felt free to explore the broader church through the Anglican tradition, and begin finding an identity that was connected to something historical and traditional, but didn’t have the baggage that comes with Catholicism, the Pope, and all the no-no’s that protestants proclaim against Rome: prayer to Mary, the immaculate conception, prayer to saints, the infallibility of the Pope, confession to priests, prohibition of marriage for clergy, and purgatory. Crucifixes and images and icons are also suspect and verboten, but interesting.
In Anglicanism I encountered the episcopate, the liturgy, the sacraments, history, tradition, and a global faith. It resembled the ancient church, but I was still free to move about, explore doctrines, test doctrinal boundaries. There was an inclusivity—a big tent under which all denominational Christians could find a place, regardless of their doctrinal background. In the Anglican church we were there to “major on the majors” and enjoy a seat at the Eucharistic table.
In my next posts I will look at why Anglicanism was such an important stepping-stone towards the Ancient Orthodox Faith and what I am learning in retrospect.
Robert Webber and Lester Ruth, Evangelicals on the Canterbury Trail (New York: Morehouse Publishing, 1985, 2012), xix.
During the Anglican lenten season, the “Alleluias” typically said during the normal church calendar are omitted.