Why the ACNA

Here is why I am joining the traditional Anglicans.

I announced last week that I am seeking to be confirmed in early September in the Anglican Church in North America. I have begun attending St. Augustine’s Anglican Church in Westerville, Ohio, which worships according to the 2019 Book of Common Prayer. I sang old hymns, heard excellent Bible-based sermons, and received the Lord’s Supper. Later, I had wonderful conversations with both the rector, Rev. Jeff Hunt, and Bishop Julian Dobbs. The church is in the Anglican Diocese of the Living Word, which is one of those ACNA dioceses that does not ordain women to the priesthood.

This, then, is a layman’s explanation of his decision. Some of these arguments may be idiosyncratic to me and non-standard for many Anglicans. As I will explain (briefly), I was not drawn to sacramentalism, paedobaptism, or Anglo-Catholicism, but instead to the positive aspects of liturgy, tradition, and an intellectual seriousness about Christian doctrine. So I doubt that this is typical as a case for Anglicanism—but then, perhaps there is no such thing as a typical case. Anyway, this is not an apologia for Anglicanism as such. I aim only to explain my choice.

1. My homework

First, let me list the written and reflective work that led to this decision. I do not really expect anyone to read all these essays. They were written over the last couple of years, and they make the theological basis of my decision clear enough.

• “How a Skeptical Philosopher Becomes a Christian” (14K words) My conversion story, which went viral last February. While it appeared this year, my conversion itself occurred in 2020.
• “A Response to My New Brothers and Sisters” (5K words) Follow-up, about church matters and my study program.
• “The Denominational Distinctives I: Catholic, Orthodox, Protestant” (16K words) Covers sola scriptura, the filioque, sola fide, prayer to saints, Mariology, and icon veneration. Very Protestant, but attempts to be respectful.
• “The Denominational Distinctives II: The High Church Distinctives” (32K words) Three longer essays, on apostolic succession, sacramentalism (especially in Baptism), and the real presence vs. symbolism.
• “The Denominational Distinctives III: Further High Church Distinctives” (31K words) Covers paedobaptism vs. credobaptism, church governance, liturgy, tradition, and the meta-question: How should I choose a denomination? The last section contains the denominational debate.

Other, shorter writings of relevance:

• “A Defense of Sola Scriptura.” The content of Question I in “Denominational Distinctives I.”
• “Five Reductios of Mariolatry.” Critical of Marian excess, in a philosophical mode.
• “Brief Notes on the Gospel.” A kingdom-oriented explanation of the Gospel, very Anglican.
• “On freedom and divine sovereignty (summary).” Philosophical theology, a defense of a non-Calvinistic compatibilism.

2. Why not the other “High Church” denominations

I will not summarize my arguments but only certain conclusions and general principles that explain why I ruled out various other denominations. This is not an exhaustive examination—for that, see the documents linked in Section 1 above.

I was able to rule out Catholicism fairly quickly and Orthodoxy a little more slowly. I believe that we are to adopt only those doctrines that can be adequately supported by Scripture (sola scriptura). But the Roman Catholic Church and, to a lesser extent, Orthodoxy have added many doctrines and practices after the Apostolic Age. To support such accretions, they cite the authority of Sacred Tradition, which in their mouths includes doctrines and doctrine-laden practices articulated by various later Church thinkers which were, later still, declared to be traditional. They also cite the authority of ecumenical councils and, in the case of the Catholics, the Magisterium (Rome’s teaching authority). Citing such authorities, they generally say that they are primarily helping Christians to understand the full import of Scripture. Yet, the content of the doctrines cannot be supported by Scripture in any straightforward way. About this, I take the standard line of sola scriptura Protestantism. In short, the Catholic and Orthodox additions to doctrine and practice cannot be justified by Sacred Tradition, Ecumenical Councils, and the Magisterium. Rather, the authority to hand down doctrine is reserved to God alone, through his prophets and Apostles who spoke for him, i.e., through Scripture.

While I respect and love Catholics as my Christian brothers and sisters, I disagree with them on many other points, and sola scriptura is the fundamental one that ultimately explains the rest. I find much about Orthodoxy to be quite attractive. The Orthodox are dogmatic about less, i.e., they leave more doctrine up to its autocephalous branches or the conscience of individuals. Moreover, they foster a winning humility lacking in many other denominations. They do take theosis (the process of partaking in the divine nature more and more), which is similar to what Protestants call sanctification, very seriously. And I can understand why some are attracted to its high and mysterious liturgy. But, ultimately, I felt forced to set Orthodoxy aside because, like Catholicism, it is committed to elements of worship that are not found in Scripture.

Catholicism and Orthodoxy are called “High Church” denominations mainly because they have a complex liturgy (a relatively ornate, pre-planned order of worship) and a strongly sacramentalist approach to worship (i.e., they believe the Eucharist and Baptism by themselves are means of grace, not “merely” symbolic).¹ But Lutheranism may also be called High Church, with a similar liturgy and a sacramentalist and paedobaptist doctrine. Anglicanism is also generally High Church in its liturgy, but when it comes to sacramentalism and paedobaptism, their defining confession, the Thirty-Nine Articles, was written to be deliberately consistent with a variety of views. I will discuss the latter caveats more below.

So, where I part company with my childhood Lutheran faith is precisely on the point that they have in common with Catholicism and generally against much of Protestantism. I mean the ideas that Baptism and Communion are means of grace and that Communion involves the real presence as ordinarily understood (but, again, see below). As I argued in Part II of the “Denominational Distinctives,” I take a metaphysically symbolic and spiritual, but still high, view of these ordinances.² I cannot reconcile myself to either of these Lutheran positions, but Lutherans insist that one subscribe to them in order to join their church. So, as much as I sincerely like traditional Lutheranism in almost every other respect, the LCMS and WELS wouldn’t let me in—nor should they, by their own lights.

Before I explain how I ruled out other Protestant denominations, let me share a few relevant notes about Christian denominations.

3. An aside about denominations

I believe in the branch theory, insofar as I understand it: the denominations are branches of the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church.³ Even newly-minted Protestant denominations are all four. They are part of the one visible Church (with many branches); they are holy, insofar as they serve the living and holy God; they are catholic, because they are part (again, a branch) of the universal visible Church; and, arguably, they are apostolic, insofar as their pastors were trained by other ministers, going back to the Apostles, and they teach the doctrines of the Apostles.⁴

Catholics, Orthodox believers, and some very traditional Anglicans⁵ think very differently about the Church—namely, whether or not you are in it depends on whether you have been received into it by a particular continuous, ancient institution that goes back to Christ himself. As I argued in “Denominational Distinctives,” Part II, Question I, there is no good reason to think Christ intended to make such a thing a condition of being a local church.

To that work, I now add: Why did Jesus permit those who were not following him (that is, who were not on hand among his disciples) to continue “casting out devils in thy name”? His answer: “Forbid him not: for there is no man which shall do a miracle in my name, that can lightly speak evil of me. For he that is not against us is on our part.” (Mk 9:38–40) I maintain that Jesus’ earthly ministry was decidedly “Low Church.” He accepted and still accepts many kinds of worship, if they truly are in his name, and not directed toward “another Christ.”

According to the principle of sola fide, which is found articulated clearly in many places in Scripture,⁶ we are saved by the grace of God through faith in Christ alone. It must be an active faith, not dead; but it is by this faith, not by good deeds, sacraments, or the approval of a human institution, by which we are saved. This has a direct application to the question of one’s proper denominational home: we may be saved in any branch of the Church, properly so called. The central question is whether our lives have been devoted to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Here, I do not mean to imply a test, in terms of how hard we worked for Christ; the devotion I mean is indeed one of good faith, of loyalty or allegiance. Again, I take comfort in the fact that people in many denominations do have such faith in their Savior, and they will be approved in the last judgment.

So, unlike traditional Catholicism and Orthodoxy, I reject the idea that salvation can only be found within one particular human institution. For this reason, I believe we each may choose a denomination according to how well it fits the doctrine contained in Scripture—which, I think, is a necessary but not sufficient condition for such a choice.

4. Three more denominational families ruled out

The other Protestant denominations may be divided into broad and often overlapping categories. I will take them in turn; but recall that this is not an exhaustive exploration, but only a brief summary of my positions.

Calvinist vs. non-Calvinist. Many of my friends and favorite interlocutors online are Calvinists, and I have learned much from Reformed theology. The Calvinists explain the Gospel in terms of TULIP, which I will not bother to spell out: in short, they believe that God determines (or “predestinates”) our salvation, and we cannot contribute anything at all to it. While our belief is indeed ours, they say, we are not responsible for it. The Calvinist denominations prefer the word Reformed, but as a cradle Lutheran, I found this word confusing for a long time: who stands for the Reformation more than Lutherans? And those who disagree with TULIP and predestination are often characterized by Calvinists as “Arminians,” but the fact is that very few non-Calvinists know the slightest bit about Jacobus Arminius, nor would they necessarily subscribe to his particular views.

In any event, for reasons I will not rehearse, I am not persuaded that TULIP is correct. I must agree that God “predestinates” us: that much is Scripture and our doctrine must take it into account. I am even a compatibilist. I simply stress the deep theological importance of our free will and responsibility.⁷ While I may be permitted to join a Presbyterian church despite this skepticism, I understand that much of Reformed theology is focused on their doctrines of grace, which is (along with presbyterian polity) their most important distinctive. I prefer to focus elsewhere theologically. So that explains why I rejected the Presbyterian Church of America (PCA) and Orthodox Presbyterian Church (OPC), which some people on X/Twitter hoped or expected me to join. I did consider them fairly carefully.

This left Anglicanism and a large group of denominational families, any one of which might be a reasonably decent fit for me and my doctrinal commitments. These include, especially, the various Baptist denominations; Calvary Chapel and the Evangelical Free Church, which are loosely (though not historically) allied to the Baptists, i.e., they share much common doctrinal ground, and people often migrate among these; the Brethren and Mennonites; Methodism, an offshoot of Anglicanism that thrived in the United States; the Holiness denominations (Wesleyan, Church of the Nazarene); the Restorationists (here, only Churches of Christ are remotely possible for an orthodox Christian); and Pentecostals.

As I learned about each, I generally found something to like and admire. Still, some of these turned out to be relatively straightforward to rule out, although I considered some for quite a while.

Churches of Christ I looked at carefully, and at one point would have put them in the top three; but I ultimately ruled them out on grounds that they reject sola fide, although they argue that they do not. I understand that they believe that salvation has five components, including Baptism.⁸

The Pentecostal family I ruled out on grounds that I can find no good reason to give as much emphasis to their primary distinctive, i.e., miraculous “gifts of the Spirit,” particularly speaking in tongues, healing, and prophecy. I do not doubt the fact that Pentecostals are indeed filled with the Holy Spirit and are quite sincere. My concern is the typical one of non-Pentecostals. I do not claim that such miracles are impossible today, but my concern is miracles are encouraged so much that they are considered to be practically routine by Pentecostals. Thus, their expectation of the miraculous may undermine their faith if—as often happens—the real thing does not seem to appear, or if what is only dubiously regarded as miraculous comes under critical scrutiny.⁹

But with that, I have come to the end of the denominational families that I can rule out because of their particular distinctives. The remaining denominations, of which there are many, may be broadly described as “Evangelical.”¹⁰ As I will explain, I rule them out for overlapping reasons, not for doctrinal commitments unique to particular denominations.

5. How Evangelical denominations are drifting

I can tell you that, after writing the three-part “Denominational Distinctives” (linked above), it had become abundantly clear that, if we include only those denominations that have many specific doctrinal commitments and a “narrow tent” theology, then, doctrinally, I might be closest to the so-called “Free Will Baptists” or the “Regular Baptists.” But this does not provide an apples-to-apples comparison with the “big tent” denominations of Anglicanism and the Evangelical Free Church of America. Besides, precise doctrinal fit is not the only desideratum.

In fact, there are other relevant church trends, which cut across the denominations.

Trend 1: liberal drift. A broad, interdenominational drift toward what is called “liberal Christianity”—which has touched Catholicism and even Orthodoxy—has been going on for over a century. Although I have not defended it at length, I have often said that this drift represents a change far more consequential than the Reformation itself; someday I will make the case. “Liberal Christianity” may be defined in various ways. We might say it refers to the tendency of some modern preachers to lose faith in the Bible’s inerrancy (or more broadly, infallibility) and in its doctrines; yet the same preachers continue to preach to congregations called “Christian.”

One thing that I have learned through direct contact with a number of such people, however, is that they are capable of sincerely loving God and humbling themselves before their sovereign Lord Jesus. So I cannot agree that some of these people are simply not my Christian brothers and sisters. It really depends on how far down this road they have traveled. Some such preachers are so distant from the fundamentals of the faith that one really cannot call them Christian at all: after all, some openly admit to being unbelievers, though they continue to pastor congregations. This is appallingly wrong.

In general, “liberal” preachers, and the congregations that they attract, too often place the approval of the world—on social and political issues—ahead of biblical authority.¹¹ They frequently look askance at what is called a “biblical worldview,” being comfortable with, for example, naturalistic interpretations of Scripture and moral relativism. When socio-political issues conflict with Christian doctrine, they are either enthusiastically opposed to Christian doctrine, or at least they want to “go along to get along.” So, if women wish to preach, same-sex couples want to marry, or church is to be used as a platform for socialist political action, they do not want to get in the way. When a church or a denomination gets the reputation for this attitude, it is flooded by progressives who expect the church to teach not the Gospel and the word of God but the pieties of socialism and progressivism. In short, “liberal Christianity” is generally what happens when political progressives attempt to reconcile their politics and their religion.

This pattern afflicts most if not all denominations to some extent, but it has most famously damaged the so-called “mainline” denominations as well as state churches in Western Europe.

I will not dwell on why I cannot tolerate this approach. In short, those who—as I would put it—place their political and naturalistic convictions ahead of scriptural ones are abandoning something quite essential to Christian doctrine, whether they admit it or not.¹²

This, then, ruled out all of the remaining mainline denominations, and others as well. The denominations that remain are often those specifically established as conservative reactions to the mainline, such as the PCA’s response to Presbyterian Church-USA and, more recently, the Global Methodist Church (GMC) to the United Methodist Church (UMC).

One denomination that seems like a fairly good fit for me is the Evangelical Free Church of America (EFCA). I have encountered at least four different complaints of liberal or “woke” drift by members of the EFCA, including three pastors. That, then, was one consideration against it—but not really fatal, because the denomination remains mostly orthodox.

Though it represents a more conservative reaction to liberal excess, I finally decided to rule out the GMC because they permit female pastors: in their attempt to reform the UMC, simply did not travel back far enough to orthodoxy. I fear that their stance suggests an unwillingness to press issues against the remaining liberals in their ranks. To be fair, the ACNA also has some dioceses that permit women, but this remains an actively disputed issue, not a settled one, and most dioceses do not permit them. It is fairly important to me that the one I have joined does not.¹³

The next three trends are greatly overlapping. Churches that feature one often feature one or both of the others.

Trend 2: The “praise-and-worship” approach to church. In my exhaustive (or at least exhausting) research into denominations over the last five years, one growing trend became clear to me. Traditionally, services featured a mixture of prayer, hymn singing, sermon, and Communion, perhaps among other elements. The conductor was the pastor himself. But in many of the bigger “contemporary worship” churches, this is no longer the case. In what are called “praise-and-worship” services, the lead musician is now given the title “Worship Director”—a startling innovation, really. At its worst, the words of the pastor can become a supplement to the main event, namely, slickly-produced, modern, emotionally charged, repetitive music, which sets the tone and leads the way. Of course, not all contemporary worship is like this; but some is. And my point is not to accuse the people who lead or participate in such services of being less devout or theologically correct. I am sure that many will be saved in the final judgment.

Again, at its worst, such “worship-tainment” is driven by questionable purposes, being emotionally manipulative, deliberately engineered to pull in an “audience” of spectators—not participants. The result resembles a rock concert more than corporate worship. True worship, to my mind, is not “feel-good entertainment” but a sacrifice of praise and contrition. It pricks our conscience and sharpens our judgment. It does not make us passive consumers as entertainment does; it focuses us on God and what we owe him, and we serve him deliberately as members of the body of Christ, hearing and uttering words of praise. Worship-tainment packs “seekers” into services by making Sunday morning as fun as Saturday night.

My understanding is that churches at many denominations feature this sort of service. It is not a criticism of any one denomination or denominational family. But it is a problem when a denomination becomes a safe home for such worship. It is a decided problem that such “worship” is creeping into many of the denominations remaining on my list—but much less frequently the ACNA, which is “by the book,” both the 2019 Book of Common Prayer and (I would argue) the Good Book.

Trend 3: The corporate church. There is a certain kind of younger pastor—a stereotype, anyway—who has ambitions of great success in the form of megachurches. Just a few generations of such pastors has led to a worldly “church startup” culture, in which the main aim is to pack people into church and keep them there. “And what’s wrong with that?” they might ask. “We are saving souls, are we not? Isn’t it better to reach people where they are? Jesus did that!” This is true, and one can only thank such churches if they do bring people to Christ. But such an approach succeeds as well as it does because it emphasizes what appeals to the average person—and it drops what is not. And that is a problem.

Some megachurches do preach the Gospel in a godly way, and they often are filled with my devout Christian brothers and sisters. My complaint is that the “sermons” of many megachurches are more like self-help seminars or TED talks, showing and inculcating little to no actual Bible knowledge. The messages keep people in their seats by inspiring them to “be their best selves,” rarely speaking of sin as an everyday, constant challenge, or of Jesus as he who died for our sins. Many such churches feature the aforementioned “worship-tainment” as part of their schtick; regardless, the problem is that the goal is to pack people in.

Often, they are not structured for church discipline, especially discipline of those at the top. Many megachurches and church networks are “corporatist” in their legal and institutional structure. The pastor is basically the CEO, the worship leader is the COO of the service, while the associate and assistant pastors are assigned particular executive roles. To change the analogy, such churches, often loosely joined with congregationalist “associations,” create their own quasi-episcopal hierarchies patterned after corporate structures—with founders as de facto “popes” and senior pastors as “bishops”—but these hierarchies frequently answer to no one other than the founder himself. This is a recipe for many abuses.

Traditional denominations with presbyterian and episcopal polity are less susceptible to these sorts of problems. They can have governance problems of their own, of course.¹⁴

Trend 4: The dumbed-down church. Sermons that cater to the lowest common denominator are an old problem. Perhaps it is getting worse. As society grows fewer and fewer serious readers, and as the free time of many is occupied by inane entertainment culture, pastors end up delivering sermons (or “talks”) bereft of much theological meat. Sermons need not be like graduate lectures—I’d rather they were not—but they should be substantive, as Scripture itself is, concerning what the Lord wants of us. I would like the focus to be on the text, rather than on the funny story that happened to the preacher the other day, which takes ten minutes to tell. I want the pastor to say things that require explanation, and that are worth explaining.

Unfortunately, a lot of preaching that goes under the name “Evangelical” is, frankly speaking, dumbed down. This was not true of all, of course. One can find Baptist and EFCA preachers who routinely deliver sermons that are substantive, serious, and edifying. And even dumbed-down sermons can contain godly and effective teaching; it has its place. But generally, the run of the mill is unable to give substantive spiritual nourishment to people who are very serious about Bible study.

While I hardly require that all the people in the pews have graduate degrees—or at least a reasonably sophisticated understanding of Scripture—it would be nice if some did. According to one 2017 study, only 20% of Americans had read the Bible all the way through at least once; now, the number is 61% for Evangelicals, which is comparatively high, but that means that 39% have not, and that is a number that most Baptist and EFCA preachers must work with. And that is the percentage that claim to have read it all the way through. Albert Mohler, president of the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, bemoaned a “scandal of biblical illiteracy” about Americans in general. I remember one Bible church preacher, who himself was comfortable reading the NT in Greek, sharing with me that not a few pastors themselves had never made it all the way through the Bible. For shame.

By contrast, Anglicanism has a distinguished reputation as one of the most theologically serious denominations. This is the denomination of Richard Hooker, John Donne, Joseph Butler, Samuel Johnson, Charlotte Brontë, Christina Rossetti, T.S. Eliot, Dorothy L. Sayers, C.S. Lewis, John Stott, J.I. Packer, N.T. Wright, and Alister McGrath. Reflecting this heritage, ACNA churches often attract the local intellectuals, who take their Bible study seriously and can be found reading tomes of theology.

I am not saying it is impossible to find a Baptist or EFCA church that is firmly orthodox in doctrine, traditional in worship style, small enough to permit effective Church discipline, and high-minded. Of course it is—many check these boxes. The problem I see is one of long term trends, and what I want to be associated with. Can I be confident that any Baptist church I join will not drift in these directions—or that the denomination as a whole will not become dominated by such practices?

6. Why the ACNA?

As I indicated above, most of the above “drift” issues overlap, and they are not unique to any one denomination. It might be better, in fact, to identify types of churches that are poor fits for me. The big box corporatist type features corporate-model governance and dumbed-down praise-and-worship services. Much the same can be said of many urban startup-style church plants. The old-fashioned low-church Evangelical (often Baptist) type might have none of the problems except for being, a little too often, dumbed down.

But, as I said, there are some Baptist churches, EFCA churches, and independent Bible churches (which frequently feature verse-by-verse Bible teaching) that do not fit any of these types, and have none of these problems (or, at least, not on the immediate horizon). I admit that I could probably be very happy in quite a lot of such churches. They are not the majority, but they exist.

It was not until I came to the last questions of Part III of “Denominational Distinctives” that the ACNA became more obvious. See Questions III and IV, which the following paragraphs summarize.

One of these questions concerned the liturgy. While I once thought liturgy meant only the call-and-response exchange between pastor and congregation, the word is more broadly applied to any regular ordering of worship. Though there is no clear liturgy in Acts or the Epistles, we can reconstruct the elements of worship that have scriptural warrant: teaching or preaching, reading Scripture, prayer, singing, Communion, Baptism, giving or collections, discipline and restoration, and benediction. I have absolutely nothing against formal liturgies per se—in fact, I prefer them, as a formalized liturgy helps ensure that worship will contain the elements that Scripture says it ought to contain. While not every element needs to be done every week, most “Low Church” services simply systematically omit or minimize many elements that are frequently included in a liturgical “High Church” service.

As I wrote the section about liturgy, I realized something I had never understood before: Omitting the prescribed elements of worship is a serious problem. The purpose of the primary meetings of the local church is, precisely, worship, and the content of the church service is expressed by the order of worship; thus, few things are more essential than the liturgy or order of service, because it describes how we worship. I might find myself in a pew among many other worshipers, and I might agree with them about all important theological issues; but if we are not worshiping God in the way he ought to be worshiped, this really is not the place where I should worship him.

This, then, made the ACNA shine in comparison with the other Evangelical denominations. Anglicans take their liturgy seriously. Defined by the classic Book of Common Prayer, it is—as I have discovered for myself—quite beautiful and inspiring. It ought to be so for any Christian, I think.

The second question is one that I had not thought of until I was well into the project. But it turns out to be fairly important, particularly for Anglicanism: Should we be awed by Catholic and Orthodox tradition, or other ancient traditions? This requires examining both the origins and development of these traditions. While Catholics and Orthodox believers defend the antiquity and continuity of their traditions at great length, many of their distinctive practices—including hierarchical Church structures, ritualized sacraments, veneration of Mary and saints, the system of councils, tradition as a doctrinal source, and the concentration of power in Rome—have clear parallels in pagan and imperial Roman practices, and unclear origins in the Bible.

The treatment of Mary exemplifies this problem: Catholic dogmas proclaim her as perpetually virgin, immaculately conceived, assumed into Heaven, and Queen of Heaven, yet there is little explicit scriptural evidence for any of these claims. Indeed, there is a much more obvious explanation in the syncretistic adoption of mother goddess cult practices from converts who formerly venerated Isis, Cybele, and other pagan deities, as many historians have argued.

Furthermore, the claimed unity and continuity of these traditions is undermined by manifest disunity: consider the political schisms (Oriental Orthodox in 451, the Great Schism of 1054, the Reformation), and early doctrinal disagreements among the Church Fathers, as well as radical historical changes in practices like baptism, communion theology, church governance, clerical celibacy, and the role of icons.

Having said all of this, I still maintain that respect for ancient Church traditions is warranted. The question is when. The answer: When unbroken traditions genuinely preserve what was handed down by the Apostles, particularly those rooted in Scripture. In addition, however, there are some traditions worth respecting that extend beyond explicit biblical text—Sunday worship, the Trinity as a conceptual framework, church buildings, ecumenical creeds, and liturgical orders that ensure scriptural elements are included in worship. These traditions are not new doctrine but instead represent universal or time-tested practices and summaries of scriptural statements. Such traditions are rightly valued.

The value of good traditions lies not in their mere antiquity or institutional backing, but in whether they represent something imbued with the holiness that God, the prophets, and the Apostles gave it. Other, later innovations, even if guided by sincere believers, cannot claim the same authority as the original, uncontested deposit of faith. What gives Christian tradition its ultimate unity is the unity of its source in God and his Word, and these genuine traditions deserve respect whether found among Catholics, Orthodox, Lutherans, Anglicans, or other Protestant denominations.

One of the beauties of Anglicanism—in a way unusual among Protestant denominations, to my mind—is how it manages to preserve truly ancient traditions in continuous succession from the earliest Church, but only those that are clearly licensed by Scripture alone, or by nearly universal Christian practice.

But, you might ask, do you not admit that the ACNA has issues? Yes, I admit it. It is currently struggling with a trial regarding how one of its bishops handled instances of child abuse by a lay catechist; to make matters worse, it has taken the bishops several years to deal with the case, which has been subject to some serious procedural problems. This seems like a heavy lift for a new institution, but, in light of my research and conversations, I am cautiously optimistic that the bishops will settle things well in the long run. Suffice it to say that I have made my own views of child abuse known:¹⁵ it is one of the most horrific crimes, and it must meet with very stern justice. Naturally, I will be watching the outcome of the trial closely. Another issue is the failure of the bishops to set a consistent policy against women’s ordination. They admit that the current policy, which allows the decision to be made at the diocese level, is ultimately unsatisfactory; they seem to admit that they must take a stand. But they have not yet done so.

There are no perfect denominations.

Yet I have concluded, not reluctantly but enthusiastically and after years of deliberation, that the ACNA is the best place for me.

7. Excursus on sacramentalism, the real presence, paedobaptism, and episcopal polity

If you are not a theology wonk, you might want to skip this long section, straight to the last section (a summary).

There is one last detail I want to clarify, as much for myself as for anyone: how it is that I can be an Anglican if I am at least somewhat skeptical of positions often described as “Anglican” on (a) sacramentalism, (b) the real presence, (c) paedobaptism, and (d) episcopal polity. These are the topics I covered in “The Denominational Distinctives,” Part II, Questions II–III, and Part III, Questions I–II. My purpose now is simply to explain why Anglicanism can accommodate these views, and maybe more importantly, how I can present such views as Anglican. If I could not, I would not want to become Anglican.

It is often said that Anglicanism is a “big-tent” denomination, although in its basic confessions—the Thirty-Nine Articles, the ecumenical creeds, and others—it takes definite positions that certainly exclude many heresies. But let me test this claim by seeing whether the particular positions marked out (tentatively) in my “Denominational Distinctives” are consistent with the Thirty-Nine Articles. I will take the four above-listed issues in turn.

a. Sacramentalism

In Part II, Question II, I sum up my view on sacramentalism this way:

God acts upon us—Scripture says so, after all—when we undertake these rites [of Baptism and the Eucharist]. It is a holy and social relationship between God and man, a communion indeed. That relationship, and his work, is not merely symbolic. That work, even if it is only to seal what was already done, is something done upon the occasion of the rites.

So, while I explicitly reject ex opere operato (i.e., that the graces are in some sense “automatically” conferred by the doing of the rite), I affirm that the Holy Spirit is on hand to give us his benefits on the occasion of our obedience to his commands. Therefore, I do fully agree with Article XXV:

Sacraments ordained of Christ be not only badges or tokens of Christian men’s profession, but rather they be certain sure witnesses, and effectual signs of grace, and God’s good will towards us, by the which he doth work invisibly in us, and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen and confirm our Faith in him.

Article XXIX states (following 1 Cor 11:27) that those who “be void of a lively faith” are “in no wise … partakers of Christ,” wording which also may be taken as a rejection of ex opere operato.

Where I differ from traditional sacramentalism is that I deny that the sacraments are “efficient causes” of grace. I say instead that they are “divinely-appointed occasions” of grace. Anglicans do not require the language of causality, however. For example, I deny both the necessity and the exclusivity of Baptism for the grace of regeneration; here, the Articles are silent. I say that the sign (or symbol) of Baptism may act as a “public exhibition” and as a Spirit-given “seal” of spiritual realities, which might have existed prior to Baptism; again, on such particulars, the Articles are silent.

b. The real presence

This is one of the most hotly-debated theological issues of all, and the debate exercises Anglicans. My view, from Part II, Questions II and especially III, is again fairly nuanced:

The meaning of our act of taking the Communion is, most essentially, to show that we thank him for his sacrifice, and to show that we know we have been given eternal life. …

This is achieved not through some metaphysical, physical, or magical properties of the wafers and wine. Christ alone saves, if we repent of our sins and embrace him as our Lord; in this act, we accept that he is the Lamb of God, who made a painful sacrifice on our behalf. So, by consuming the Eucharist, we demonstrate our faith. …

Moreover, by doing this together, socially, the Holy Spirit is among us and in us, and so we are more greatly and publicly unified as the “body of Christ.”

In the earlier essay, I wrote, and I repeat because of its importance in this connection, “God acts upon us—Scripture says so, after all—when we undertake these rites [of Baptism and the Eucharist].” Let us see, then, how well this comports with the relevant Articles of Religion.

I agree fully, of course, with Article XXVIII when it says,

Transubstantiation (or the change of the substance of Bread and Wine) in the Supper of the Lord, cannot be proved by Holy Writ; but is repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, overthroweth the nature of a Sacrament, and hath given occasion to many superstitions.

But that is only a negative statement. I may also agree with the positive statement:

The Supper of the Lord is not only a sign of the love that Christians ought to have among themselves one to another, but rather it is a Sacrament of our Redemption by Christ’s death: insomuch that to such as rightly, worthily, and with faith, receive the same, the Bread which we break is a partaking of the Body of Christ; and likewise the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ.

I agree that it is not merely a sign or symbol; and I do affirm that the bread is the body of Christ, and that the cup is the blood of Christ. This is what Christ said, and I affirm it; I only say that, ontologically speaking, what he meant was that the bread and wine represented his coming bloody sacrifice on the cross. The formulations in Article XXVIII wisely do not insist (or clarify) that “is” must be rendered in some “literal” sense; so, I seriously reject the notion that my interpretation is at any variance at all with Christ’s words. Rather, I am saying what I sincerely take him to have meant. He was speaking symbolically, as he often did, especially in the Gospel of John, with food symbols.

Yet I may fully and enthusiastically affirm, also from XXVIII, “The Body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten, in the Supper, only after an heavenly and spiritual manner.” If we are eating “worthily,” then our manner in the Lord’s Supper is certainly spiritual, and not only our manner, but the Spirit is on hand to approve and bless our obedience in the act. I strongly doubt that Anglican divines would require that I believe in “spiritual flesh”—something that too many hard-headed Englishmen would never have countenanced—as part of their confession. But even against this, my objection is mainly semantic.

Having spoken to some Anglicans about this after finishing my essays, I want to add a few things here. The first is that in saying the bread symbolizes the body, I am not saying the bread merely symbolizes the body; the significance of the Lord’s Supper is not exhausted by this symbolism. With talk of a “symbol,” the point being made is primarily metaphysical: in no way is the physical substance of the bread also the body of Christ. To say it is poses serious problems, as my essay explains at length, both philosophical and theological.

But I may agree with those who point to 1 Corinthians 11:27 that eating the bread “unworthily” incurs heavy spiritual consequences—and that this entails that eating the bread is a deeply spiritual act. The spirituality of the act is only partly explained by the bread’s being a sign of the body of Christ. The Holy Spirit is on hand, observing the proceedings, approving when it is done well and condemning when it is not. This is not merely symbolic nor merely memorial. Here I am not contradicting myself—though I admit I could have been clearer in my essay—because my essay was primarily concerned with the question of the ontology of the bread and wine (i.e., what it is in itself, and whether and in what sense it is the body and blood of Christ).

One respondent pointed my attention to some distinguished old Anglican theological views that are not mentioned in my essay. These characterize the Holy Mystery of the Eucharist.¹⁶ What such theologians attempt to do is to show how there can be something worth calling the “real presence” of the body and blood of Christ—or perhaps only of Christ himself, if that were different?—without any creative theories of transubstantiation. Thomas Cranmer spoke of the consecrated bread as “mystical bread” insofar as Christ is “truly and spiritually present.” If that were what is meant by the “real presence,” and if “real presence” as a phrase were made into a special term of art that means precisely that, then I too could say that I believe in the real presence.

But I would resist appropriating the phrase “real presence” in this way. The dispute appears to be semantic and, like many philosophers, I was never one to shrink from a good semantic dispute. I just am too much of a hard-headed philosophical realist to abuse the good English word “real” in that way. If we are speaking of the bread as the body and blood of Christ, and if we insist on the word “real” applied to that characterization, then I maintain that we cannot apply the word “real” if we affirm only that Christ is present spiritually. After all, we draw a distinction between spirit and flesh, and a historically crucial aspect of the Lord’s Supper (as against Gnostics, for example) is to insist that the bread and wine point to the very real body and blood of the suffering servant on the cross. Perhaps the most important reason the words “spiritual flesh” bother me is that they could be misunderstood as courting docetism.

But now we really are in the weeds, so I will leave this topic there.

c. Paedobaptism

One major source of the controversy over paedobaptism is what it says (or not) about infant guilt and Original Sin. On these topics, in Part III, Question I, I wrote:

We may affirm the concept of Original Sin without positing the idea of infant guilt, i.e., that helpless little babies are, by imputation, guilty of Adam’s sin. …

[T]he idea that little children are actually guilty of any sin is obviously incompatible with Jesus’ praise of children: “of such is the kingdom of God.” (Mk 10:14) …

What we inherit from Adam is not culpability for his specific sin, but rather (1) a sinful, prideful, self-willed nature, (2) separation from God, and (3) various traditions of corruption. Therefore, we all inevitably, though freely, do sin.

I also make the typical credobaptist observations that there is no clear evidence of infant baptism in Scripture, nor that there is such a thing as baptism of persons who do not actively accept Christ as their Lord.

Yet I am not so much of a credobaptist that I think we must not baptize babies:

I admit that there is something both winning and profound about the baptism of infants, in my opinion, when taken as an official announcement by parents and pastor to the congregation that a new child has arrived and is considered to be, as it were, a junior member of the Church. Why not encourage that?

As to the notion that the sins of infants are washed by the rite of Baptism performed upon them, it seems to me that this is a fairly harmless doctrine, particularly when—as is generally the case with paedobaptists—it is combined with the practice of confirmation of young people, after which time they are considered full members of the Church, as if they had been baptized as adults.

In other words, when infant baptism is combined with confirmation—which is linked to it as executing the real requirements of the rite—then I can accept that a person (such as I was) has actually been baptized.

Here again, I find myself quite consistent with the relevant articles. We have Article IX:

Original sin standeth not in the following of Adam … but it is the fault and corruption of the Nature of every man, that naturally is engendered of the offspring of Adam; whereby man is very far gone from original righteousness, and is of his own nature inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the Spirit; …

In other words, Original Sin does not attach to us merely because we followed Adam (and so inherited culpability for his first sin) but because our nature was corrupted and “inclined to evil.” I said as much.

Yet the next sentence poses a puzzle: “and therefore in every person born into this world, it deserveth God’s wrath and damnation.” Infants are persons born into this world: do they deserve God’s wrath and damnation? We may say yes, perhaps, insofar as they will grow up and sin. But qua infants, I cannot see that they presently deserve God’s wrath. One might respond to me by saying the text states, “every person born into this world…deserveth God’s wrath,” and that nothing could be more explicit. Does not the text use the present tense in the phrase, “deserveth God’s wrath”? It does, but this still leaves open the question as to when a person deserves God’s wrath. I believe that, in a general and broad confession—as opposed to a long theological tome—the text may be read as elliptical. One reasonable reading, and sheer common sense, suggests that infants do not presently deserve God’s wrath for having a sinful nature; nevertheless, they will all sin when they reach the age of accountability, and then they will all deserve God’s wrath at that time. The authors of the text were well aware of this issue, and they could have ruled it out; they did not. That is why it is worded ambiguously enough to permit my interpretation.

Moreover, we must construe the range of acceptable interpretations in light of the entire confession. If the authors did mean to imply that infants are guilty of Adam’s sin and deserve God’s wrathful judgment, they were astute enough to have included such a statement. Yet, wisely, they did not. They might have included such a statement at the end of Article XXVII, which says:

The Baptism of young Children is in any wise to be retained in the Church, as most agreeable with the institution of Christ.

The phrase “in any wise” is doing work here: it means “for any reason,” i.e., on any grounds. Yet the confession could have insisted on some specific (Augustinian, Lutheran, or Calvinist) grounds. That is, if the grounds for justifying infant baptism that the Anglican Church specifically insisted upon were the washing away of infant guilt and regeneration, then they could have said so. Yet they were quite deliberately silent.

So, we must understand Article XXVII to imply that infant Baptism for the purpose of introduction to the Church (as I have it), or as a covenant sign (for which I also see a plausible scriptural support), is quite acceptable. Thus, to return to the puzzle, by saying, “in every person born into this world, it deserveth God’s wrath and damnation,” we may interpret the words as meaning only that we all, universally, deserve God’s wrath insofar as none of us can escape the consequences of our “sinful nature” under our own power. But infants are too young to sin. Although their nature is sinful, as my nature from birth was to be prematurely bald, it does not follow that these little babies have, in fact, sinned—just as I does not follow that I was bald at age 18. And therefore, they do not yet deserve God’s wrath, but they certainly will, if they live that long.

I realize that this is an argument for one particular interpretation of the text of Article IX. It is not the only interpretation or the most obvious one. But my remarks raise respectable and not original points about the consequences of the notion that we merely have a sinful nature, as opposed to being burdened with Adam’s sin, which is imputed to us. It is the latter view that is historically associated with the notions of infant guilt and regeneration in paedobaptism. But since we see no mention of Adam’s sin imputed to us nor of regeneration in paedobaptism, I maintain that, on an argument such as mine, I may conclude that my position is consistent with Articles IX and XXVII.

Again, my views might not pass muster with the Calvinist Anglicans and Anglo-Catholics, but they pass muster with the Thirty-Nine Articles.

d. Episcopal polity

The final area in which I find my views in some tension with Anglicanism is my views on Church governance. I wrote about this in Part III, Question II:

I submit that it [the episcopal system] manifestly violates the notion of servant leadership. How is a well-paid bishop, comfortably ensconced, a servant in any way at all? …

Jesus discouraged placing even one Apostle over another. He was not just emphatic but positively strident in his criticism of those who deliberately sought to exalt themselves. …

No system is perfect. …

We cannot seek to be set up over God’s shepherds and remain humble. A fortiori the Church cannot, in this life, be constituted in such a way as to encourage such ambitions. …

In large part, my argument reduces to this: We do not want the visible Church to be led by men ambitious for worldly power. …

I would not rule out a denomination because it was presbyterian in polity. But, if forced to choose at present, I would be inclined to congregationalism, like so many of my American forebears. …

I would not necessarily rule out a denomination even if it was episcopal in polity. While I might not be able to defend the episcopal form of Church polity, this strikes me as being a secondary matter.

These continue to be my views, but I will add something important shortly. Are they consistent with the Thirty-Nine Articles? Well, the Articles affirm episcopal polity and hierarchical authority. The most forthright assertion is found in Article XXXVI:

The Book of Consecration of Archbishops and Bishops, and Ordering of Priests and Deacons … doth contain all things necessary to such Consecration and Ordering: neither hath it any thing, that of itself is superstitious and ungodly. … [W]e decree all such [persons] to be rightly, orderly, and lawfully consecrated and ordered.

Now, this is not a thing I deny. And, though I did not say it before, I fully admit that it is certainly the case that Archbishops, Bishops, Priests, and Deacons of the ACNA are all rightly consecrated and ordered, regardless of my views on church polity. Indeed, I do not believe I am required to opine that episcopal polity is the superior form of Church governance.

In fact, in this case, the question is not so much complex and theological as simple and practical: Can I submit to the authority of an episcopal hierarchy? Here the answer is, “Yes, I can, I do, and I will (if asked, at my confirmation).” This has already had some practical consequences, as I have already consulted, as confirmand and new member, both my priest and my bishop, who both serve in an episcopal system.

As I said, I think Church governance is a secondary matter qua theology. This is a point on which a congregationalist might push back: If Christ was “positively strident in his criticism of those who deliberately sought to exalt themselves,” as I wrote, then is it really secondary? The reason I think so is that I have more than usual skepticism about my own argument. It is not actually obvious to me what practical implications Jesus’ words had. Besides this, if we look at the history of the Church as a whole, we see both great successes and great failures in systems of polity. It can hardly be said that the pastors of congregational churches are, somehow, more Christlike in their humility than are rank-and-file Anglican priests, say. The main reason I call the issue secondary is that it is less clear to me than other theological issues are.

But I must add now that, when I wrote about this question in Part III, I had not quite addressed a natural objection to make against congregationalism, which I worked out in Section 5 above (“How Evangelical denominations are drifting”). To wit: There have been problematic developments in the Church in the last 100 years, particularly (but not only) in congregational denominations. Without firmer institutional anchors, they have tended to drift toward a “praise-and-worship” style of service; governance based on business empires; and increasingly dumbed-down messaging. This is true even in those denominations with which I have much in common theologically.

In my earlier essay, I mentioned such points, but I did not develop them. I see now that these criticisms can be plausibly associated with congregational polity as such. But the argument stands to be made clearer.

Liberal drift and worship-tainment could be reined in by a church hierarchy, if it chose to do so. But, sadly, the Episcopal Church itself is one of the most extreme examples of liberal drift we have. Still, in the case of the ACNA, we have some institutional assurance that the denomination will stick to traditional doctrine. Assurance, I say, but not a guarantee: again, see the case of the Episcopal Church from which the ACNA broke away. Moreover, the Book of Common Prayer and liturgy place definite limits on the extent of “worship-tainment” in Anglican services, and this aspect, at least, would be enforced by a hierarchy. Similarly, Anglican tradition and the BCP, with episcopal direction, provide some assurance that homilies will be rooted in the Bible (i.e., in the weekly readings, called the lectionary) and be elevated thereby. Finally, independent management is explicitly ruled out by the political structure, as the management of each new church plant comes under the authority of a bishop. But episcopal polity shares with the corporate-style megachurches a kind of worldliness, when hierarchical power is operated by fallible human beings (so my earlier essay argued).

A longer examination of Church polity would have to consider practical principles, derived from recent and historical cases, to weigh pros and cons of the main systems of polity. For now, in any case, I am happy to join a system of a kind different from the one I might have preferred. For all I know, I might even come to prefer this kind. In any case, it does not matter very much compared to other issues, and I am quite willing to place myself under the authority of my rector, bishop, and the rest of the episcopate.

e. Conclusion of the excursus

I find I can call myself Anglican in good conscience—and I hope my rector and bishop agree with me—even as I hold these views on sacramentalism, the real presence, paedobaptism, and episcopal polity. To call my views “untraditional” within the Anglican Communion unfairly elevates the High Church stream above the Low Church stream, which is old, respectable, and widespread. Some distinguished Anglican theologians who have held positions akin to mine include Thomas Cranmer (who rejected corporeal presence in the Eucharist), Charles Simeon (who was uncomfortable with baptismal regeneration), and J.I. Packer (who viewed the sacraments as signs and seals, and the episcopacy as inessential).¹⁷ In short, then, Anglicanism has enough room to include me in its big tent.

8. Summary

After years of theological study and reflection, I have decided to join the Anglican Church in North America. This essay is my explanation.

I quickly ruled out Catholicism and Orthodoxy for their elevation of Sacred Tradition and the Magisterium to an authority reserved to God alone, and Lutheranism for its insistence on sacramentalist positions I cannot reconcile. I found myself doctrinally closest to Free Will or Regular Baptists, but doctrinal fit alone was not decisive. I considered trends cutting across Evangelical denominations: liberal drift that places worldly approval ahead of biblical authority; “worship-tainment” that transforms services into emotionally manipulative spectacles; corporate church structures that resist accountability and discipline; and dumbed-down preaching that avoids theological substance.

Taking such points into consideration, the ACNA was already one of my top choices. The liturgy and high-minded tradition pushed it to the top.

The ACNA is committed to liturgical worship including all scripturally warranted elements—teaching, Scripture reading, prayer, singing, Communion, Baptism, giving, discipline, and benediction—rather than the selective omissions common in Low Church services. The purpose of the primary meetings of the local church is precisely worship, and few things are more essential than how we worship God. The Anglican liturgy, as defined by the Book of Common Prayer, answers this purpose well, with both beauty and theological substance.

Moreover, Anglicanism manages to preserve truly ancient traditions in continuous succession from the earliest Church, but only those clearly licensed by Scripture alone or by nearly universal Christian practice, avoiding both the later syncretistic accretions of Catholicism and Orthodoxy and the historical amnesia of many Protestant denominations. And it matters to me that this is a denomination of theological weight—from Richard Hooker through C.S. Lewis to N.T. Wright—whose churches often attract local intellectuals who take their Bible study seriously and can be found reading tomes of theology.

While I differ from High Church Anglicanism on matters such as sacramental causality, the real presence, paedobaptism, and episcopal polity, my views are fully consistent with the Thirty-Nine Articles, which were written to permit a range of Protestant positions. Anglicanism has always had a Low Church doctrinal stream—old, distinguished, and widely represented—which includes views like mine. The Articles are deliberately silent on many controversial particulars, and I find myself in good company with Anglican Reformed theologians. I can, therefore, in good conscience, call myself an Anglican.

I conclude not reluctantly but enthusiastically that the Anglican Church in North America is the best place for me. Yes, like all denominations, the ACNA has issues. Yet it is a distinguished branch of God’s Holy Church that embraces legitimate theological diversity within the bounds of orthodox faith, preserves genuine apostolic traditions, ensures a form of worship that God commanded, and cultivates the kind of reflection that Scripture deserves.

Footnotes

1. For in-depth discussion, see Question II of this post.[↩]
2. See Questions II and III.[↩]
3. This is a quote from the Nicene Creed: “We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church.”[↩]
4. I am aware that the latter term is being used in a loose or non-standard way here. The ordinary notion of apostolic succession is a succession of bishops, so that all properly ordained priests or pastors are ordained by some bishop or other who was himself ordained by another bishop, etc., going back to one of the Apostles. Yet if this sort of “pedagogical lineage” passes from pastor to pastor, then essentially all denominations are apostolic, as long as they actually teach the doctrines of the Apostles.[↩]
5. The “High Church” stream of Anglo-Catholics, in particular.[↩]
6. I defend it in “Denominational Distinctives,” Part I, Question IV.[↩]
7. My approach to compatibilism is summarized here.[↩]
8. Strictly speaking, hearing the Gospel, believing in Christ, repenting of sins, and confessing faith in Christ are very plausibly characterized as components of faith in Christ; but Baptism is not. I have also heard, but will relegate to this footnote, the claim that the denomination appears legalistic. I am not sure how fair this claim is—I don’t want to defend it—but I have encountered many ex-Church of Christ members online complaining about it. That the Churches of Christ do essentially reject sola fide, however, seems clear.[↩]
9. I am avoiding the terms continuationism and cessationism here. I refuse to be pinned down on this. I think the more unusual or miraculous gifts of the early Church may still be found today, but I think they are far less common than they were when the Holy Spirit was using signs and wonders to establish the Church.[↩]
10. Although this term applies, broadly, to the ones just ruled out as well.[↩]
11. Many liberal theologians would argue their positions are rooted in theological and hermeneutical convictions rather than political accommodation. With all due respect, I do not think this passes the chuckle test.[↩]
12. Again, liberal theologians will push back on this; but I find their arguments, whenever I encounter them, dishonest, irritating, and deeply wrong. They are frequently heretical, as well; but then, they generally laugh at the very idea of heresy, a point that speaks volumes. While I have tried to be charitable in most of this essay, I cannot be too charitable to people who continue to call themselves Christian yet—for example—reject the divinity of Christ, claim that the Bible was entirely uninspired by God, and even mock the God of the Old Testament. “Who is a liar but he that denieth that Jesus is the Christ? He is antichrist, that denieth the Father and the Son. Whosoever denieth the Son, the same hath not the Father.” (1 Jn 2:22–23) “For there are certain men crept in unawares, who were before of old ordained to this condemnation, ungodly men, turning the grace of our God into lasciviousness, and denying the only Lord God, and our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Jude 4) [↩]
13. On this point, the following will have to suffice. In short, I propose to obey the clear dictates of Scripture and respect ancient traditions that are rooted in it, and I reject what I believe to be transparent rationalizations for jettisoning those traditions, which in some cases would undermine the authority of Scripture altogether.[↩]
14. On which, see Denominational Distinctives, Part III, Question II. This syndrome of issues—associated with the contemporary, corporate, dumbed-down church—really represents a problem for modern congregationalism, which I did not really take into account in that section. I might have to update it in a new draft.[↩]
15. I reported Wikipedia to the FBI over explicit depictions of child sexual abuse in 2010, and I did my part in spreading awareness of child sex rings in 2019 and 2020 through a number of Twitter threads.[↩]
16. Here I have Rev. Jeff Hunt to thank for pointing me to Charles F. Camlin, Charles D. Erlandson, and Joshua L. Harper, eds., Re-formed Catholic Anglicanism (Anglican Way Institute, 2024), pp. 64-68.[↩]
17. See Cranmer, A Defence of the True and Catholic Doctrine of the Sacrament (1550), passim on spiritual bread. Simeon, Horae Homileticae on 1 Pet 3:21 is clearly opposed to ex opere operato, coming close to credobaptism. Packer, The Thirty-Nine Articles (1961) on Article XXV; and in A Kind of Noah’s Ark? (1981) he critiques the essentiality of episcopacy.[↩]