Blessings and bruises
As my friend David pointed out a couple of weeks ago, a lot of the emotional attachments and the logistical challenges around prayer book revision have to do with the book itself — as a codex, a physical object with pages bound between covers. Although I’m strongly pro-revision, I’m not immune to that attachment.
At my church we use seasonal booklets for our liturgy, but we have copies of the BCP under the chairs throughout the nave as well. We pull them out for birthday prayers or the occasional special collect. Some of my favorite bits of the BCP are buried deep in Prayers and Thanksgivings or the Historical Documents. So I’ve always liked the idea that people can leaf through the book and discover its blessings.
I’m embarrassed that it only occurred to me a few days ago that people might also discover things in the prayer book that bruise them rather than bless them. I’d been browsing a Facebook forum on prayer book revision, and was pleased to see that even among folks who are hesitant about revision, fixing our marriage rite so that it can be used for any kind of couple tops the list of needed changes.
And then it dawned on me for the first time that in my statement-of-welcome-adopting, rainbow-sticker-sporting, pride-marching, queer-folk-on-the-vestry-having parish, the Book of Common Prayer under our seats carries a different message. The marriage rite in our prayer book clearly and emphatically expects that marriage is between a man and a woman.
Sure, you say, but anybody who’s been around for a while or anybody who bothers to ask you will find out that that’s not the official position of our church. That The Episcopal Church, your diocese, and you personally, Rev. Miranda, support a more expansive theology and practice of the sacrament of marriage.
Sure, I say. That’s true. Do you want your church to consist only of people who’ve been around for a while or who bother to ask? People often come to the Episcopal Church already bruised by the teachings of other churches, wondering if we’re a safe harbor, dangerously close to bailing out on the whole Christianity project entirely. I’m not exaggerating; I’ve had a lot of these conversations.
People exploring the Episcopal Church from other kinds of churches, or no church, don’t know our official policies. Children growing up in our churches don’t know our official policies. Suddenly, I don’t want those people idly paging though the prayer book, after all. And the idea of our BCP marriage rite catching the eye of child or teen who is starting to realize that their sexual orientation or gender identity doesn’t fit the cisgender and heterosexual norms codified therein is pretty upsetting. I do not want anything in my church to add to the struggle of a young person coming to terms with who they are and who they love. Not even the Book of Common Prayer.
Yes, changing the actual books in our actual churches is a big deal — expensive and cumbersome. But if we think what we says matters — if we believe that praying shapes believing — it should be important enough to find a way.
