By Todd Donatelli
The occasion was the ordination of four Episcopal transitional deacons. I had been asked to preach. What to say that could describe the times, the terrain of their ministry over the next 30 years? To whom might I steer them? Who understands and has something pragmatic to say about what they will encounter?
Should I direct them to William Countryman or Eugene Peterson? Phyllis Tickle, Brian McLaren and Diana Butler-Bass? Perhaps Thomas Merton and Dorothy Day? Julian of Norwich? Paul Tillich? If I were to offer one book (other than their Bibles), what would it be?
I settled on a book none of them had read at Seminary. You will likely not find it in any seminary bookstores, and that is a shame. Its content is not overtly theological, yet it may have the best theology of any book they will read.
The book is Undaunted Courage by Stephen Ambrose. It is the story of explorers Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, “Lewis and Clark.” If there is any one book that describes our time and how we are called to live, this may be it. Room must certainly be made for the context of their times. When reading about past generations, I allow generosity, for I often wonder how we will be judged by those living 200 years from now. What they faced at their particular time in history, and what it required them to learn continue to be exactly right for us in 2010.
Some context: The year is 1803. President Thomas Jefferson had just transacted the Louisiana Purchase and no one knew the exact boundaries of the area or what all it contained. Lewis was commissioned by Jefferson to find out. He was to report on the topography, the animal and horticultural life, as well as who all resided there.
Lewis was not formally trained in any disciplines that would help him know what they would be encountering. He was not a botanist, geologist, veterinarian, sociologist, anthropologist, or scientist of any kind. You could say he lacked all the qualities needed save one: he had an undauntedly adventurous spirit.
He did receive training in several of the above disciplines that were taught in order to recognize intricacies of leaf patterns, animal structure, rock appearance, and the like. While not possessing these gifts himself, he was supported by those who did. His job was to allow them to impart their gifts, then to observe and report what he saw.
Of the twelve soldiers made available for their journey, only two met their desired qualifications. They knew their supplies would run out before the halfway point of the journey. They understood their well-being was dependent upon the land and the people encountered along the way.
They spent much time and many resources constructing a boat deemed substantial enough for the journey. In time it proved an encumbrance, something they had to carry over dry land as much as it carried them over water. It finally was abandoned.
They were consistently threatened: by the elements, by wildlife, and by those who did not wish them well.
Lewis and Clark lacked critical qualifications and resources, yet were surrounded by those who possessed them. They learned to trust that what was needed to make this pilgrimage awaited them “out there.” They learned to trust that within themselves was the capacity to recognize what was needed and what was not. At times they would have to let go of the very things that had served them well in the past. The journey held periods of intense heat and intense cold. There were moments of rich banquet and days upon days of deep hunger. At times they were forced to split up in the service of seeking the best passage for them all. It was their engagement and participation with those they encountered that saved them.
Theirs is a story of risk-taking, many mistakes and missteps, and hard-won learned self-regulation. It is about relationships gained and lost. They made incredible discoveries about the land, the people, and about themselves. It is the rich story of what they discovered along the way that I believe makes it a vital read not only for deacons, but for us all. They sought to see, understand, and report what they were observing as faithfully as they knew how.
Today many are trying to describe what is before us as a community of faith. Yet, who can say they know fully this terrain?
We do know that of the 20,000-plus Christian denominations in American, only a handful have grown over the past decade. It may be possible to say that in terms of “sales,” General Motors has had a better decade than the Episcopal Church.
We do know many of the issues the church is “struggling with” are not major issues for persons 20-30 years of age. We do know that—on one hand—the Anglican Communion is formally embroiled in determining what makes one a faithful member, while—on the other hand—dioceses around the globe are engaged in creating vibrant relationships of mutual mission that defy that embroilment.
We are in a time Paul Tillich would call, “The Shaking of the Foundations.” There is free-flowing anxiety in the culture and in our denomination. Some wonder if and how the church will survive. I hear younger clergy wondering if they will have jobs in the not-too-distant future. There is much anxiety around funding for the church.
Yet, there is something else we also know. Historically, every period of great human imagination was birthed out of tumult, disorder, and chaos. The roots of The Renaissance plow deep into centuries of wars and plague. Catherine of Siena emerged from a city that had lost over half its population to plague. Julian of Norwich emerged from the same context.
We should not be surprised by the times. We start every liturgical year with the same message: “There will be signs in the sun and moon, days when no stone will be left upon another, distress among nations; people melting from fear, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken … Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
It is time to stand up and raise our heads. This is a great time to be a part of the church. For we are having to ask what really feeds. We are having to ask what stands when all around us is being shaken. This is a time of tectonic plate shifts and, as the church, we either can do the work of plate-shifting, or we can simply grab some caulk, paste over the gaping cracks, and pretend they have been fixed. Like Lewis and Clark we can let go of encumbrances and discover what we need is all around us, what will feed will emerge as we go forth. There will be significant loss and immense discovery.
This is a great time to be the church. Lewis and Clark would tell us so. Catherine and Julian would tell us so. For this is a time of adventure; it is a time of discovery. Bring on the tumults.
The Very Rev. Todd Donatelli is dean of the Cathedral of All Souls in Asheville, N. C.