In the name of the God who creates us,
redeems us, and gives us life. Amen.
I thought I would begin my homily with a
few questions for you—to make it a little more interactive. There are no right
or wrong answers. But you do have to think back—however far back you have to
go—to the time before you came to EDS (or before seminary if this is not your
first adventure in theological education). So, raise your hand if, before
starting seminary, you had ever heard of a man called Thomas Aquinas. Okay,
great. Now, here’s another one: raise your hand if you had ever heard of Martin
Luther. How about John Calvin? And finally, think back to your foggy pre-seminary days. Had you ever heard of Richard Hooker?
It’s interesting, isn’t it, that we know of
the main or foundational Roman Catholic, Lutheran, and Reformed
theologians—maybe not always what exactly they said, but certainly who they
were. But when it comes to the foundational Anglican theologian, not so much.
Why is that? Maybe it’s because Anglicans were late comers to the Reformation
party, or because our theologians write in a particularly opaque sort of way,
or maybe it’s simply because there isn’t anything necessarily unique about the
substance of Anglican theology, even if there is a fairly consistent method or
lens through which we look at things—a lens offered in part by Hooker, as it
happens.
If I remember back, I think that I had
heard just a little of Richard Hooker before starting at EDS in 1995, nearly 20
years ago, because I had read Carter Heyward’s book Touching our Strength
when I was in college, and I believe she briefly references Hooker in it. I
don’t know what he would think about being featured in a book on sexual
theology, but there you go—he appeals to Anglicans of all backgrounds and perspectives—those
of us here at EDS and no doubt our brothers and sisters at Trinity School for
Ministry and Nashotah House who are celebrating him today as well. But despite
that early introduction in Carter’s book, it wasn’t until I finally got here and
started studying the figures of the English Reformation that I really learned
what Richard Hooker was all about, and how significant he is—probably as much
for giving us a roadmap for the work of doing theology and living together in
church, as for the unique content of this thought.
Most often Hooker is credited with
crafting the “three-legged stool” of Anglicanism, comprised of scripture,
reason, and tradition. In the popular view, these three elements stand equal in
strength and length, as would the legs of a well-balanced stool. Here is what
Hooker actually writes: “Be it a matter of one kind or of the other, what
scripture doth plainly deliver, to that the first place of credit and obedience
is due; the next whereunto is whatsoever any man can necessarily conclude by
force of reason; after these the voice of the Church succeedeth.”
In other words, Hooker suggests a
system which privileges scripture as primary, the longest leg of the stool, as
it were, with the constant use of reason as its interpreter, and only tradition
or the voice of the church, by which he usually means the early church, as a
third and even distant source of authority. A very unstable stool, indeed, with
legs of three different lengths. But, it’s still a profound method for the doing
of theology and the ordering of the church’s life. Though, admittedly, it’s not
always easy, clean, or obvious. Certainly, Hooker’s approach can lead to a lot
of disagreement, as we each read scripture and utilize our own individual gifts
of reason and interpretations of the tradition of the church—sometimes coming
up with very different and even conflicting ideas of what’s right in any
context or situation. I guess maybe that’s why Anglicans are so good at
disagreement—we have taken to heart at least some of Hooker’s method.
Which, as it happens, reminds me of a major
disagreement—a sacramental controversy even— that arose here at EDS when I was
a student, as we struggled to sort out the right balance of scripture, reason,
and tradition for our community. I’m pretty sure it was the 1997 to 98 school
year. And at some point it was suggested, out of pastoral concern and a sense
of justice and inclusion, that we should start offering grape juice at the
Eucharist, as well as wine. That’s regular practice at EDS today, but 16 or 17
years ago it was a new.
You seriously wouldn’t believe how this
innovation divided the community. “The Great Grape Debate” some of us called
it. Things became so tense that Dean Rankin called for a community-wide forum
to discuss it. Faculty debated—some offered a strong “pro-grape juice”
position, arguing that inclusiveness and sacramental hospitality should be at
the heart of who we are as a community, while others with equal conviction
argued that the Prayer Book rubrics clearly state that the Eucharist must
be administered with unfailing use of the words and elements that Christ used
(and, of course, grape juice hadn’t been invented then). Not only that, they
argued that it would be sacramentally impossible to consecrate anything other
than regular fermented wine. In other words, it just wouldn’t work. Those
holding the more conservative position also argued, as tradition long had done,
that receiving in one kind is adequate and constitutes full sacramental
participation.
As incomprehensible as it might sound
today, the whole thing was really painful and divisive, separating dear friends
and colleagues, because it really was about the sacramental center of our life
together—who felt welcome among us, and who didn’t. Some members of the
community even started wearing little knit grape clusters to witness to their
support of adding a non-alcoholic option, while others refused to participate
in any Eucharists that included the grape juice. There were notices in the
weekly “Common Fare” newsletter alerting us as to whether grape juice would be
offered or not, so that no one be offended or feel unwelcome.
Personally, I was perplexed by the whole
thing. Several of my closest friends and a favorite faculty mentor were on the
more “traditionalist” side, but I had plenty of friends who wore the
liberationist grape clusters as well. I grew up in the Lutheran Church and we
always had a choice of wine or grape juice, so I couldn’t quite understand what
the big deal was. But being newer to the Episcopal Church I was really trying
hard to understand all the arguments, thinking maybe I was missing something.
Or maybe, I thought, this is just the way Episcopalians are. They don’t argue
much about theology, unlike Lutherans who are expert at that—look at all the
different synods—but these Episcopalians surely do care about liturgical
minutiae.
Finally, in a debate on the subject in a
class on the Prayer Book, I had enough and blurted out: “Look, if we can
convince ourselves that wafers are really bread, then it seems to me that grape
juice is close enough to wine.” I don’t think the professor, who was on the
traditionalist side was too impressed, but I stood by it. These little
details—wanting to be sure that we do things properly or that we believe all
the right things—can become so all consuming that we miss the forest for the
trees. I’m as guilty of that as anyone—just ask my altar guild or any of my
former seminarians. But how much better would it have been if, rather than
twisting ourselves into knots over whether the grapes were fermented or not, we
had all understood that by making a small accommodation—one that didn’t hurt or
take away anything from anyone—we would enable our fellow community members to
draw closer to God. That, it seems to me, is the Hookerian way.
Like Jesus, Richard Hooker had no concept
of grape juice. It wasn’t invented until 1869, by a Mr. Welch. But in his time
Hooker was well acquainted with Eucharistic controversies. He was born in 1554 during the reign
of the Catholic Mary Tudor, and grew to maturity under Elizabeth I. He died on
Nov. 3 in 1600, just three years before Elizabeth. Even if he didn’t witness
firsthand any burnings at the stake over eucharistic theology, he was certainly
aware of them after the fact. And he was equally aware that many in his own
time felt that the established church was leading people to their own damnation
for teaching “Popery.” Hooker’s solution to these conflicts was to suggest that
whatever theories we might have about what’s happening in the sacrament are far
less important than God fulfilling God’s promises. For Hooker the emphasis was
always on God’s action through grace, and then our faithful response to that
action, rather than our theories.
So for example, for Hooker, the bread
and wine are signs or symbols of God’s presence, a presence that is really
enacted in the blessing, breaking, sharing, and eating. But, Christ’s true
presence is to be found in the heart of the recipient, more than in the
elements themselves. He writes rather famously: “The real presence of Christ’s
most blessed body and blood is not therefore to be sought in the sacrament, but
in the worthy receiver of the sacrament.” However, although this is his
personal view, he has no interest in excluding or excommunicating those who
hold other beliefs. Roman Catholics, Lutherans, Puritans—he thought they were
all wrong—but still they were really and truly are members of the Body of
Christ, and thus they also receive the full grace and power of the sacrament.
It was quite the astounding, comprehensive, even liberal position for a
Reformation theologian.
He came to that view, because
ultimately, for Hooker, the underlying purpose of the sacrament, in fact the
underlying purpose of the whole of human life, is always participation in Christ—that
Christ may dwell in us and we in him. Everything else is extra—and our theories
for how that happens are just that, theories. He explains:
“It is on all sides plainly
confessed, first that this sacrament is a true and a real participation in Christ,
who thereby imparteth himself even his whole entire person as a mystical
Head unto every soul that receiveth him, and that every such receiver doth
thereby incorporate or unite himself unto Christ as a mystical member of him,
yea of them also whom he acknowledgeth to be his own; secondly, that to whom the
person of Christ is thus communicated, to them he giveth by the same
sacrament his Holy Spirit to sanctify them as it sanctifieth him which is their
head; thirdly that what merit, force, or virtue soever there is in his
sacrificed body and blood, we freely fully and wholly have it by this
sacrament; fourthly that the effect thereof in us is a real transmutation of
our souls and bodies from sin to righteousness, from death and corruption
to immortality and life; fifthly that because the sacrament being of itself but
a corruptible and earthly creature must needs be thought an unlikely instrument
to work so admirable effects in man, we are therefore to rest ourselves
altogether upon the strength of his glorious power who is able and will
bring to pass that the bread and cup which he giveth us shall be truly the
thing he promiseth.”
With that, Hooker suggests a roadmap
to end heated philosophical and theological arguments. Rather than debate, he
urges us all to take comfort and even assurance in the knowledge that God will
fulfill God’s promise, which is to bring us into participation in the divine
life—that Christ may dwell in us and we in him—and most especially into the
salvation that such participation makes possible.
You know, as much as Anglicans like
to appeal to Richard Hooker in a casual sort of way, I believe we need to set
aside what we think he says, like the wobbly three-legged stool, and really
read him, and reflect on his deep insights into the church community as the
Body of Christ, not only for the 16th century, but for today, the
blessed company of all faithful people, in which God lives, and in which God
reconciles and transforms, in which God gives life—new, abundant, eternal life.
Because when we do that, I think we’ll realize that our divisions are just our
divisions, not God’s—whether of theology or liturgy or whatever may divide us.
As Hooker reminds us, God desires nothing more than that we would be united—if
not always in thought, then in spirit, in God’s Holy Spirit—so that we all may
live in God and God may live in us.
I’ll close with one final reflection
by Hooker on the Eucharist, which I think is especially beautiful and reminds
us that our goal and purpose is always to simply receive the blessings that God
so richly and freely offers us all, whoever we are, whatever we believe,
whatever our divisions or disagreements. He writes:
“Let it therefore be sufficient for
me presenting myself at my Lord’s table to know what there I receive from him,
without searching or inquiring of the manner how Christ performeth his promise;
let disputes and questions, enemies to piety, abatements of true devotion, and
hitherto in this cause but overly patiently heard, let them take their rest…. what
these elements are in themselves it skilleth not, it is enough that to me which
take them they are the body and blood of Christ, his promise in witness hereof
sufficeth, his word knoweth which way to accomplish; why should any
congregation possess the mind of a faithful communicant but this, O my God thou
art true, O my soul, thou art happy!”
Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell, PhD
