On June 1, I was formally confirmed as a member of the Episcopal Church, the US branch of the Anglican Communion, at Grace Church, New York, Bishop Mary Glasspool officiating. This was not the result of any road-to-Damascus moment — the skies did not open and I did not drop to my knees (a good thing, given the condition of my knees at my age) — but a decision that I’ve been circling around for quite some time. In large part it was the result of reading and considering the Christian gospels for years, and that can have this kind of effect on some people. That effect was not unlike that experienced by E.V. Rieu, who translated the Gospels for the Penguin Classics series some years back (and I do wish they’d reprint that translation). In 1953 he spoke on the BBC with J.B. Phillips, who had just completed a translation of Paul’s letters himself:
Phillips: Did you get the effect (I think I mentioned it in the Preface to Letters to Young Churches) that the whole material is extraordinarily alive? I think I used there the illustration that it was like trying to rewire an ancient house without being able to switch off the mains, which was quite a vivid and modern metaphor, I hope. I got that feeling, the whole thing was alive, even while I was translating. Even though one did a dozen versions of a particular passage, it was still living. Did you get that feeling?
Rieu: I won’t say I got a deeper feeling …
Phillips: Yes?
Rieu: … But I got the deepest that I possibly could have expected.
Phillips: Yes?
Rieu: It — changed me. My work changed me. And I came to the conclusion, as I said, I think, in my Introduction, that these works bear the seal of the Son of Man and God. And they are the Magna Carta of the human spirit.
If I wanted to be glib, I could say that any church willing to include Jonathan Swift and T.S. Eliot as members is good enough for me. To be less glib, I subscribe to the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds, and find in the church itself the profoundly radical inclusion that I recognize in these creeds and the Gospels. And this spirit holds in the art, literature, and music that I find most profound, and in which I find comfort and the most important intellectual, emotional, and psychic challenges and significance.
I am especially moved to do so by what I see in the world in which we are now living: there is, too, a political element in my decision, since our culture also includes our politics, and if I am to be honest with myself my spiritual life determines how I live in this culture. The Episcopal Church, as part of that radical inclusion I mention above, is a haven for the rights and dignity of immigrants, LGBTQ+ people, the underprivileged, individuals of every race, creed, and color, and the victims of war and conflict, among so many others. According to the Book of Common Prayer, confirmation is a sacramental rite in which the candidates “express a mature commitment to Christ, and receive strength from the Holy Spirit through prayer and the laying on of hands by a bishop.” And to me it is important that it is a public commitment. It is a statement of where I stand.
I should express my gratitude to everyone who, knowingly or not, contributed to my decision and confirmation. In terms of art and music, I have to offer thanks to radio klassik Stephansdom, which provided the soundtrack for the thoughts that led me to the decision (a tip of my hat especially to Ursula Magnes and her “Bach & Co.” program, in which she introduced me to the Lukas-Passion by Heinrich Schütz and Buxtehude’s Membra Jesu nostri back in March, which made a difference; “Musica Sacra,” which follows “Bach & Co.,” is terrific too); in terms of literature, Swift’s A Tale of a Tub and Eliot’s Four Quartets; Reverend Don Waring and everyone at Grace Church, especially Associate Rector Reverend Julia Macy Offinger, who cheerfully saw me and the rest of the fine folks in our confirmation class through the process; and my family, who watched as their friend, dad, and husband took the hands.
