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Alison Cheek and I drove home together from Ohio on May 15, 1975. For three days, we had been participants in the ecclesiastical trial of Peter Beebe, rector of Christ Church, Oberlin, charged with disobeying the “godly admonition” of Bishop John H. Burt and with violating the Constitutions and Canons of the Church by allowing two “unauthorized ministers” to preside at the Eucharist in his parish.
We, the unauthorized ministers, spent our journey reflecting on the trial and all that had led up to it, specifically the spiritual community we had experienced among the Oberlin people, and the example of discipleship manifest by Peter Beebe.
Peter is young. His is a powerful spiritual presence. He is compelling enough a figure to have been chosen a cardinal rector, or elected a bishop, at an unusually young age were he to have played his cards right. Or perhaps Peter would never have “made it.” Perhaps his charisma derives from his courage. Perhaps Peter has always been “ecclesiastically hopeless,” a step beyond the normal cleric in his compulsion to do what is right. His name is fitting for, like his apostolic ancestor, Peter Beebe seems bent upon allegiance to Christ, at whatever the cost. Hence, neither he nor we could have been too surprised when the Ecclesiastical Court of the Diocese of Ohio ordered Peter to halt his “ministry of affirmation and compassion to persons suffering outrageously inequitable and humiliating treatment by the authorities of this Church,” and instead to be obedient to these authorities. And the ecclesiastical authorities could not have been too surprised when Peter Beebe ignored this directive.
The church at Oberlin is a Good News church! It is full of the Spirit; conscious of its Christian call to spirituality, community, and justice; open to its own internal conflicts which cannot be swept under a carpet any more effectively than a cancer can be camouflaged under a Band-Aid.
Christ Church, Oberlin, has become a home for women priests —a place in which we can be who we are, lifted by its spiritual buoyancy. The church at Oberlin joined the church of St. Stephen and the Incarnation in Washington, D.C., as one of the first Episcopal parishes to open its doors to the ministry of women priests.
What motivates a congregation to step beyond the boundaries of ecclesiastical authority and issue its own call to “unauthorized ministers” ? To take the law into its own hands, as it were, and to live according to the mandates of a faith that the ecclesiastical authorities profess but do not act upon? I believe very much the same Spirit that drove hundreds of Episcopalians to Philadelphia.
***
My relationship to Oberlin began in September, 1974, two months after the ordination. Sue Hiatt had been invited to Christ Church to preach. By coincidence (if there is such a thing), I had been asked to appear on a television program in Cleveland the same weekend. Hence, both Sue and I wound up attending the Oberlin parish and leading a congregational forum on women’s ordination in general, our own ordinations in particular.
At that time Peter told us that the Philadelphia ordinations, together with the House of Bishops’ reaction to it, had awakened him not only to the plight of women in the Church, but moreover to the plight of Christians in the Church. The issue had become for him not simply that of “women’s ordination,” but also that of “authority”: When push comes to shove, to whom or what are we ultimately accountable as Christian people ?
Christ Church itself was in process of becoming a parish in which the priesthood of all believers is a functional reality rather than a doctrinal catch phrase. The two ordained ministers had been serving as functionaries (pastors, counselors, consultants) and sacramentalists. There seemed to be nothing hokey about this modus operandi. The church at Oberlin was not a parish in which a “with-it” priest could espouse shared leadership and simultaneously manipulate the congregation into believing it was making its own decisions. Nor is there a suspect “sweetness” in the Oberlin air. The parish life has had an authentic ring to it, perhaps partly because the human conflict, usually so well concealed from strangers in a parish, is so openly present, perturbing and painful to each person at Christ Church who feels anything at stake in the life of the parish.
In October, four members of the Oberlin Congregation, including Peter, had driven to New York to attend the Service in Celebration of Women in Ministry. Following the service, they had talked to some of us about the possibility of our coming to Oberlin later in the year to serve as priests on a Sunday morning and to further the pastoral relationship already begun between the parishioners and women priests. The women priests gathered in my apartment with the Oberlin folks on this occasion agreed that we as a group could support wholeheartedly such an endeavor and that at least two of us would be available to go to Oberlin on December 8, if officially invited to do so.
***
The parish was by no means unanimous in its invitation. But a significant majority among the congregation, supported by the rector and a 6-5 majority of the vestry, called us to come. Thus began an extraordinary relationship between two of us and an Episcopal parish.
We are eagerly looking foward to December 8th, and your celebrating in Oberlin. Plans are underway—Peter is wisely involving all of the parish in small discussion groups.... Thank God for such priests. It behooves all of us to work to keep men like him and women like you “eleven” in this Church so that it will be worth more than just an “organization.”
—Letter to me from laywoman, Diocese of Ohio, fall, 1974.
Soon after my official invitation to celebrate at Christ Church, Oberlin, I received a long letter from Ohio Bishop John H. Burt, imploring me not to come. He felt that the celebration of the Eucharist by women celebrants would upset many members of the parish. Bishop Burt commented that, whereas he does not like to resort to the use of canon law in his dealings with clergy, he would indeed be forced to forbid us, canonically, to come as priests into his diocese if we refused to heed voluntarily his pastoral plea.
From the beginning of our relationship with Christ Church, Oberlin, Bishop Burt, considered a strong supporter of women’s ordination in principle, has maintained that his refusal to grant Alison Cheek and me permission to minister as priests in his diocese has nothing to do with our being female, but rather concerns our lack of impeccable “credentials”—i.e., proof, beyond any doubt, that we are priests.
***
Even though I am Catholic and not Episcopalian, I am in favor of women as priests. I now have a six-month-old daughter. I’d be very upset if 1 thought she would be prevented from doing anything she wanted simply because she were female. What you are doing is going to help her someday. Thank you.
—Letter to me from Roman Catholic laywoman, winter, 1974.
In late November, Paul Moore wrote and asked that I come to see him to talk things over. I knew that he was concerned about my going to Oberlin. I phoned and made an appointment.
I want to tell you of my support and admiration. I totally agree with you and your call and I’m proud of your courageous conviction. Do continue “fighting the good fight.” ... The time will come when the prophet’s voice will be heard.
—Letter to me from Roman Catholic woman religious, fall, 1974.
Dear Bishop Burt:
That you and other bishops of our church whom I know (personally or by reputation) to be sensitive and courageous leaders can continue to uphold your present stand on our ordinations saddens me.... Would you have requested a member of the clergy not to preach a controversial sermon on racism in 1960 or not to participate in the March on Washington in 1963 out of your “concern for the distress of many fine parishioners”? ...
Sincerely,
(The Rev.) Carter Heyward. P.S. I have enclosed a cartoon .. .
Dear Ms. Heyward:
Last Sunday, I spent six hours in Oberlin holding extended dialogue with the Rev. Peter Beebe, the Vestry and members of the Christ Church congregation assembled in public meeting.... I am sorry to report that I found parochial opinion badly divided, even polarized.... In an earlier letter to you, I pleaded pastorally that you withdraw your acceptance of the invitation to celebrate the Eucharist in Oberlin.... With deep personal regret, I must hereby formally and officially “admonish and inhibit” you from any attempt to officiate as a priest in the Diocese of Ohio until such time as I receive evidence from your diocesan [bishop] which may lead me to revoke this decision.... I express my appreciation in advance for your cooperation with this request.
Ever faithfully yours,
John H. Burt, Bishop of Ohio.
On December 4 I met with Paul Moore. The meeting was difficult. He was angry, shocked at my reply to Bishop Hurt’s first “pastoral” letter to me asking me not to come as a priest to Oberlin. My response to Bishop Burt’s letter had indeed been somewhat intemperate, by ecclesiastical standards, for not only had I written that I was saddened by the bishops’ stand and insulted by their invocation of canon law to deal with an urgent matter of ethical import; but also I had accused Bishop Burt of being an “organizational” man as to be blinded to the reality of women being dealt injustice. Furthermore, Paul Moore was extremely upset about the cartoon I had sent Bishop Burt.
Moreover, he seemed distressed that I intended to go on to Oberlin. He made several comments about the havoc I was wreaking on the Church and he seemed to feel hurt and betrayed by me. I listened and then explained as best I could what was going on within and around me, why I had decided to go to Oberlin, and why I would be going other places as well.
After I spoke, Paul said that he was glad I had come, that he again understood what I was doing and why, and that he hoped I would keep him posted. “I feel better!” he commented as I left, “I don’t know whether you do or not.” I shrugged my shoulders, laughed, and indicated that I was glad that some communication had been restored.
I pray for you often and in concern for what you are bearing on behalf of us all.
—Letter to me from diocesan bishop,
Province III (Mid-Atlantic states), winter, 1974.
Dear Bishop Burt:
In faith, I cannot cooperate with your request. As I prepare to leave momentarily for Oberlin, I find myself grateful, and joyful at the Spirit among the community of people who have invited us to join them in celebration; at the same time, sad that I join them without your approval and amid some division within the parish itself.
Sincerely,
(The Rev.) Carter Hey ward
Dear Carter:
I am glad we met.... I still find us very far apart; this does distress and concern me, not just because of our relationship, but because of the good of the Church. In spite of this, I was glad to see you and do feel it is important for us to continue this communication. The reason for the enclosed letter was a request from Bishop Burt that I go on paper in this regard even though the substance is already included in previous communications between you and me.
Sincerely,
Paul, Bishop of New York.
Enclosure: Dear Carter: Just for the record, I wanted to put on paper my admonishing you not to celebrate the Eucharist at Oberlin.
Sincerely,
Paul Moore, Jr., Bishop of New York
Alison and I arrived in Oberlin on Friday night, December 6, 1974. For the next two days, we attended potlucks, parties, and meetings during which we had the opportunity to discuss the meaning of our presence with both proponents and opponents of our ordination and our “defiance.” The associate rector told us he could not support our proposed action; elderly women in hospitals and nursing homes were elated that we were there. One vestry person said that he could not defy his bishop; another commented that he could not, in this case, obey his bishop. Young women in the parish were manifestly moved by what our presence symbolized to them about themselves. Other women assured us that their support of us was, in large part, their affirmation of who they are, as full people of God. Men talked to us about their struggles to break out of gender-defined bondage.
Pro or con, each person who met with us seemed to have some sense of what Sunday’s service might mean for the congregation in terms of ecclesiastical repercussion. People seemed to realize that the action could someday result in an actual split within the parish, for which few would wish but which most seemed willing to entertain as possibility if standing one’s ground were to lead through trial courts in such a direction.
TO MEMBERS OF CHRIST CHURCH, OBERLIN——
Dear Friends:
We rejoice in your courage and witness as our sisters preside at your weekly Eucharists today. Another chapter has been added to Oberlin’s long history of making “no peace with oppression.” We are surprised to learn that we have been represented [by Bishop Burt] as divided in our support of you and of our sister priests. We affirm and respect each others’ judgment as to how and when our priesthood will be exercised. We thank God for you, and for our sisters, Alison and Carter. We are with you in Spirit and in prayer.
Shalom! Merrill Bittner, Alla Bozarth-Campbell, Emily Hewitt, Suzanne Hiatt, Marie Moorefield, Jeannette Piccard, Betty Schiess, Katrina Swanson, Nancy Wittig.
***
During our weekend in Oberlin, Alison and I were filled with a sense of our membership and ministry within the Christ Church community. By Sunday morning, we knew that the December 8 celebration would be more a beginning than an end. We flew back East knowing that we would return as soon as possible.
The idea of the priesthood’s being an exclusive men’s club has gone. And if, in some of us, the emotional ties of this fad linger on, it has to be extirpated, especially as the consequences of our feeling are so hurtful to others . . . God grant you and your women colleagues peace and strength.
—Letter to me from layman,
Diocese of New York, fall, 1974.
Dear Paul:
So that you will know—I will be presiding at a Eucharist at the United Nations this Sunday, December 15.
Sincerely, Carter
Just a wee word to tell you I remember you, and your cause, every day in my Mass.
—Letter to me from Roman Catholic priest and monk,
winter, 1974.
Dear Paul:
This coming weekend, Feb. 1-2, I am participating in a symposium on “Women and the Church” in Edinboro, Pa. The culmination of this event is to be a liturgy at which I have agreed to serve as celebrant. . . .
Sincerely, Carter
When you, a female, spoke the words, “You are the source of light and life. You made us in your image,” I felt taller. For the first time in my life, 1 felt included, as if I, too, am made in God’s image. . . . Thank you.
—Letter to me from a woman religious,
Diocese of New York, fall, 1974.
To: The Bishops of the Church and Alumni /ae and Friends of the Episcopal Divinity School.
From: Harvey H. Guthrie, Jr., and Edward G. Harris, Deans.
The Rev. Carter Heyward and the Rev. Suzanne Hiatt have been invited to become members of the faculty of our school with the usual rights, privileges and responsibilities that accompany faculty membership. . . .
Dear Paul:
[Regarding our earlier talk by phone], I have decided to accept the appointment to Episcopal Divinity School, beginning July 1, 1975. . . .
Sincerely, Carter
All my life I have belonged to and loved the Episcopal Church. I still do and will pray for it. Now it is being undermined by Women’s Lib (so-called). They call themselves Christians! And some, Episcopalians!
—Letter to me from laywoman,
Diocese of Nebraska, winter, 1975.
TO THE BISHOP AND STANDING COMMITTEE OF THE DIOCESE OF NEW YORK——
Dear Bishop Moore and Ladies and Gentlemen of the Standing Committee:
... St. Mary’s is the home church for Emily Hewitt and Carter Heyward, both ordained as priests at Philadelphia this past July. St. Mary’s is the only Episcopal Church in the country which had two women deacons; and both are now priests.... The time is now, not at the next national convention. Your integrity and ours, and the integrity of the Episcopal Church, requires that we respond to this issue now—and not try to contain it. You, Bishop Moore, and you, members of the Standing Committee, can now issue a resolution confirming your conclusion that the Philadelphia ordinations were valid, whether or not irregular, and that the ordained women are authorized to act as priests in this diocese. . . . You can exert leadership. You can help the Episcopal Church to be vigorous and alive, and we desire to help you in this vigorous leadership. We do not want to receive from you a letter of sympathy for the movement, or a hope that perhaps some time in the future this wrong can be righted....
Sincerely yours, the Rector, Rector Pro-Tem, Wardens and Vestry of St. Mary’s Episcopal Church in Manhattanville, on behalf of the Congregation.
When you’re through with these broads, don’t send them to me.
—Comment by a diocesan bishop, Province IV (South), to people of his diocese who were having a dicussion with several Episcopal women clergy.
Dear People of St. Mary’s:
Receiving a letter like yours is frustrating, to say the least. I have, to the best of my ability, set forward the cause of women’s ordination. I daresay that with the exception of the ordained women and candidates, I have spent more time and energy on this than anyone in this diocese. I am glad to do so.... The one thing I have not done is what I cannot do—regularize the orders on a Diocesan level.... In all sincerity, I must clearly say no. Any such action would bring more confusion and resentment and would not in fact regularize anything. If you wish to discuss the matter, I would be glad to see you. May I add that your letter brings me great anguish. I do not understand why you cannot comprehend my position.
Sincerely,
Paul Moore, Jr., Bishop of New York
Being with you puts me in touch with the priest in me.
—Comment to me by woman seminarian,
Union Theological Seminary, summer, 1975.
In February, 1975, the women priests met in Alexandria, Virginia. As we shared our experiences, we detected a common thread weaving among us: Our bishops were increasingly unable to relate to us pastorally. Somewhere along the way, the tables had turned, or so it seemed to us. We were finding ourselves in the role of being pastors to our bishops, of being asked to explain “the meaning of it all” to them every week or so. And we were not being very good pastors at that. For we were setting ourselves up before them only to get shot down, thereby making them “feel better,” and simultaneously taking onto ourselves a slow, grueling psychic punishment without benefit of trial by the ecclesiastical authorities and structures of the Church.
We agreed that we needed to terminate this “pastoral process” —for our own sake, as well as for the sake of our bishops and the Church at large. We could no longer present ourselves irresponsibly as “whipping girls” for people in the Church, including our own bishops, whatever affection we felt for them.
Furthermore, we had become increasingly convinced that canon law is on our side—i.e., that we had been denied the due process to which every deacon, priest, and bishop of the Church is entitled. In attempting either to father us, or to protect their own professional interests, our bishops had failed to grant us the mature human dignity of even the ecclesiastical trial procedures, in which the validity of our ordinations might have been upheld, or if not that, at least our predicament acknowledged and dealt with openly and publicly.
Soon after, I met with my lawyer, Frank Patton, an Episcopal layman and member of St. Mary’s Church. He had read all correspondence between Paul Moore and me, dating from long before the ordination. He listened to me relate my feelings and my ecclesiastical objectives as I anticipated the coming months—in New York, Cambridge, Oberlin. I said that I intended to be about my priestly ministry however and wherever I could, and that I hoped to be able to see my own and my sisters’ orders “regularized” in as clean and clear a way as possible.
It was becoming clear to me that the “pastoral” relationship out of which Paul and I had been operating was, at best, inadequately pastoral and, at worst, an impediment to whatever legal proceedings might have to be undertaken someday to insure my participation in a “regularized” (i.e., normal) priesthood.
***
We say that the Holy Spirit is leading us.
They say that we should be more politically astute.
We say that this is a matter of vocational, professional, ethical and political imperative. They say that we don’t have enough faith in the Holy Spirit.
***
Dear Paul:
My attorney, Frank Patton, and I have discussed my ecclesiastical situation at some length. He and I are in agreement that my ecclesiastical standing and my priestly activities are not a matter of pastoral relations, but rather constitute a serious legal matter. Therefore, upon his counsel, I have made some decisions: (i) To request that any correspondence you would send me regarding my priesthood be sent to my attorney.... (2) To tell you that I will no longer report to you the specificities of my public ministry; but rather, that I, like any member of the clergy, will submit to you an annual report of my ministerial functions (Title I, Canon 5, Section I, “Of the Mode of Securing an Accurate View of the State of the Church”).
Sincerely, Carter
Paul responded with a question: What is going on ?
I wanted to try to tell Paul what was “going on,” to make one last attempt at communication before the entry into necessary silence between us. At last, I had to admit to myself that my relationship to my own bishop must be held at a distance—as a strictly professional and, for the time being, a legal matter.
Dear Paul:
... I cannot live in such extraordinary duplicity.... I cannot continue to affirm you as Paul Moore while I battle with you as the Bishop of New York; and I cannot believe myself affirmed by you as Carter Heyward, “a deacon of this diocese,” and at the same time rejected by you as “a priest of the Church.” My personhood, baptism, diaconate, priesthood, teaching, counseling, speaking and preaching engagements, celebrations of Eucharist, other activities, relationships, loves and hates are all bound up together in who I am. Carter Heyward the person is Carter Heyward the priest.... You will do what you believe you must and I’ll do the same. By the grace and mystery of God, a healing of wounds may happen further down the road.
Sincerely, Carter
For shame, that one who names herself a Christian should allow herself to cause such strife in Christ’s Body, The Church, Why not withdraw and let there be peace. I shall pray for you.
—Letter to me from priest,
Diocese, of Milwaukee, spring, 1975.
At the invitation of rector and vestry, Alison returned to Oberlin on Passion Sunday, 1975. Two weeks later, I joined the people of Christ Church for their Easter celebration. My friend, Eileen Jones, a body movement teacher in New York, accompanied me on this trip and was asked by a group of parishioners to lead a class in movement for them while Peter and I took Easter Communion to an infirm communicant on Saturday afternoon. Throughout the weekend, Eileen and I were hosted from feast to feast, service to service, and finally to an exceptional Easter banquet and egg hunt at the home of one of the parish families.
Offhandedly, I had mentioned to some of the children and young people that I loved Easter egg hunts and was disappointed that their hunt was to be only for those under eighteen. When we arrived for the banquet, Eileen and I were greeted by two of the girls, Mary McGill and Katie Nord, who themselves were flanked by expectant children. We were informed that a special egg hunt had been planned for us, and we were led, with care, from egg to egg on the basis of clever clues that Katie and Mary had devised. The final clue sent us scurrying into the yard with children galloping after us to watch us discover the treasures they had prepared: two Easter baskets full of white chocolate rabbits, jelly beans, and brilliantly color-swirled eggs.
***
As my Easter basket toppled through the screening device in Cleveland’s Hopkins Airport, several parishioners joined me in flying leaps for eggs. I carried my gift home to New York every bit as tenderly as I did my stole and Bible.
Thank you for becoming a priest. I don’t want to be a priest; I just want a woman who is a priest so that I may go to her.
—Letter to me from Roman Catholic laywoman, winter, 1975.
Charges had been brought against Peter for the December 8 service and his trial date set for mid-May, 1975. Alison and I had been notified by Peter’s lawyer, John Rea, that we were to testify for the defense since the court had agreed to hear the question of our ordinations’ validity. On Saturday, May 10, Eileen and I pulled into Oberlin—she, to do body work with the parishioners for fun and therapy; I, to participate in the weekly liturgy and to help prepare for trial.
As at Easter, we stayed with Cindy and Evan Nord, four of their children, and their three golden retrievers, in a spacious setting just right for meditation as well as camaraderie. On Sunday, May 11, Peter and Judy Beebe joined us for dinner in the backyard.
Soon in the evening, Peter and I decided to take a walk and talk. We rambled down to a nearby reservoir and sat down on its bank. We discussed the Church, and ourselves; the ways in which our lives had been altered over recent months; the integrity each of us had found in standing where she, or he, must; the fabulous authenticity of life in community we had experienced among people in Christ Church and elsewhere. We shared sadness in the alienation we had come upon in relationship to people to whom we had once been close. We shared questions about whether or not either of us could ever really be “acceptable” priests in the Episcopal Church, and about whether or not we would want to be, if it meant making the sorts of soulful compromises we had been asked to make so often these last months.
We talked about the upcoming trial and the need we felt to celebrate Holy Communion each day of the proceedings, and to speak repeatedly, and publicly, of the Gospel rather than allowing ourselves to be dragged into debating canon law for the sake of canon law. We confessed our guilt—our having hurt some people, our incapacities to hear some people, the risks we had taken. Perhaps we had been wrong? Perhaps we were being destructive to something good? We recalled conversations he and I had participated in with Bishops John Burt and Paul Moore, respectively, and with others who “could not” support what we were doing. We expressed regrets, confidence, misgivings, feelings of peace, and feelings of despondency that would occasionally creep into our psyches and pull us down.
We pulled ourselves up and headed back to the Nords. Within and between us, there was sadness, and satisfaction. We had chosen this way. If given the chance, we would do so again, with God’s help.
***
On Monday, May 12, the night before the trial began in Akron, five women priests and five men priests concelebrated in Christ Church, Oberlin. I will long remember this service as Holy Communion. Peter’s friend, Louis Gilbert, a Congregational minister and communicant of Christ Church, preached. And there together, male and female, priests flowed in and out from altar to communicants, rotating, exchanging paten (bread plate) for chalice, stepping back and resting, taking turns deaconing, and finally feeding each other.
Some people were arguing about whether or not so much time and energy should be spent on “women priests” when we need to be concerned about feeding people. An old woman spoke up, “What the hell do you think this is all about?”
—Priest, Diocese of Washington, spring, 1975.
After the service, as I shed my vestments in the Oberlin sacristy, a young girl, Fifi, came up to me:
“Reverend Hey ward, will you do something for me? Will you wear this ring?”
I glanced at the narrow hand-crafted silver band she held out. I smiled and nodded, reached for it and slipped it on the middle finger of my right hand. “My goodness, Fifi, thank you!” “Oh, Reverend Heyward, thank you for what you and the others are doing for us!” She flung her arms around me in a tearful embrace.
For all my low church tendencies, and despite my renunciation of my Catholic traditions, being a witness to the events surrounding your ordination has been a smashing, powerful experience for me.
—Letter to me from United Church of Christ clergywoman,
Chicago, winter, 1975.
FROM THE COMMENT OF THE ECCLESIASTICAL COURT OF THE DIOCESE OF OHIO
The Standing Committee of The Diocese of Ohio
v.
The Reverend L. Peter Beebe
... The first condition of which we take note is the essentially unjust, inequitable and unfair way in which the Ordination (and therefore the licensing) canons of this Church are at present administered by Bishops and Standing Committees. We refer, of course, to the fundamentally inequitable, discriminatory and systematic exclusion of well trained, well qualified and godly persons from the Order of Priests in this Church solely, exclusively and specifically because such persons are women. We have heard, through testimony and evidence, that the principals in the service of December 8th at Christ Church, Oberlin, Ohio, were in all respects qualified to serve as priests of the Church, the sole reason for their rejection by their Bishops and Standing Committees being that they are women. We believe that this notorious inequity gravely affects and taints the entire system of canon law as pertaining to ordination and licensing. Having been denied, through this inequitable system, their legitimate aspirations and vocations, the two women involved sought and received Ordination to the Priesthood by irregular means. That persons should seek justice through irregular means when the regular means are corrupted by inequitable and discriminatory elements is both reasonable and fundamentally fair. That they should be required to do so by a Christian Church is a scandal not only to the faithful but also to all reasonable and fair people everywhere.
Mr. Beebe, in response to these women and their predicament, took upon himself the responsibility of affording them an opportunity to exercise a ministry elsewhere denied them. In so doing, he broke the law, a law which under normal and usual circumstances is both fair and necessary for the good ordering of the Church. We have found him guilty as charged on that count, but we must take notice, with deepest regret, that in the circumstances of his disobedience we find a sincere endeavor to extend a ministry of affirmation and compassion to persons suffering outrageously inequitable and humiliating treatment by the authorities of this Church....
RECOMMENDATIONS
We unanimously recommend to the Bishop of Ohio,... that he admonish The Reverend L. Peter Beebe to refrain from any further violation of Title 111.24 of the Canon Law of the Episcopal Church until the last day of the General Convention of this Church to be assembled in 1976. On that day such admonition shall be lifted in the event that the General Convention shall have failed to amend the ordination and licensing canons of this Church in such a way as to remove the inequitable, discriminatory and unfair practices which now abide in this Church. Furthermore, we unanimously and regretfully recommend, that if The Rev. L. Peter Beebe fails to comply with this further admonition he be suspended from the exercise of his ordained ministry until such time as he shall certify in writing to the Bishop, his willingness to comply.
Signed this Twentieth day of June in the year of our Lord, Nineteen Hundred Seventy-Five at Cleveland, Ohio.
James D. Reasner, Judge and President of the Court;
Ora A. Calhoun, Judge;
Richard M. Morris, Judge;
George E. Ross, Judge;
George H. Van Doren, Judge.
The ecclesiastical trial was as peculiar, and terrifying, as the contradiction between the court’s opinion and its recommendation. Picture the sanctuary and the long windows protecting the nave from all unholiness that lurks without. There is a narrow, white-draped table at the top of the chancel stairs and, behind it, five male judges robed in black and framed by pulpit, lectern, and the cross of Jesus. There is a thickness in the air, a sensation in the stomach, a feel about the place that there is here present some organic malevolence. You have entered a place in which the gavel and the Lord’s Prayer will run concurrently along the same track—and where, if the spirit of one must get bumped off, it will be the latter. The Ecclesiastical Trial 1975, in which human integrity and Christian conscience will be put to the test; in which a bishop of the Church will be exempt from swearing to tell the truth and will state his conviction that a priest must obey his bishop even if the bishop is wrong; in which the judges will imply that the defendant acted according to the will of God and in which the same judges will hold that Peter Beebe must be restrained from such behavior. If you did not know better, you would think you had been spun back through a time zone and were observing the procedures of a Spanish Inquisition.
But you know better, and you do the only things you can. You worship with your community of friends and strangers. You sing. You hold on. You consult with William Stringfellow and plan with John Rea, defense lawyer. From time to time you wink at Peter and Judy Beebe. And sooner or later, you cry, because it hurts.
Alison wept in Akron. She is a person whose feelings are so keenly integral to her being that she will not for long deny herself this reality. A day and a half later, upon our return from the trial, Alison and I sank into my living room chairs and attempted to assure each other that we were, in fact, still alive and in some touch with the real world.
I found myself speechless. I began to cry, and Alison conforted me, encouraging me to go ahead and empty myself of the emotional poison I had been fed in Akron.
I want to assure you of my prayers during what must be a difficult and frustrating time.
—Letter to me from priest,
Diocese of East Carolina, fall, 1974.
Yes, trembling and laughing, vulnerable and strong, poisoned and made well, we go on, believing that our ordination was not an anomalous confrontation which, like an unusual craft, can be displayed on an ecclesiastical shelf as a curiosity piece; a trophy from battle; a token of experience; or an object of study, admiration, or regret. The ordination was not simply an “event” in the life of the Church. It was part of a process, which neither began nor ended in Philadelphia. A process in which kairos bursts— intrudes—into the order of things. A process in which the Spirit moves, renewing the church. In it, and with it, and by its holy power, we are graced to move with this God to court, celebration, and peace.(14)
And, I must say as we go, that I cannot fully understand the nature or the power of the symbol we embody as we go. Something extraordinary is happening. God is happening.
I did not expect to be so personally affected by your presence here. I was unaware of the ways that I have felt excluded from God’s inner circle of love until I experienced being included—both by the obvious fact of your inclusion and by you, as God’s representative, including me. Somehow I feel I’ve spent my life trying to be God’s son, only to realize at last that I am God’s daughter.
—Letter to me from laywoman,
Diocese of Atlanta, winter, 1975.
An Easter Sermon(15)
Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many things they testify against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge; so that the governor wondered greatly.
Matthew 27:13-14
Pilate was a good man. A conscientious person. A leader of the people: responsible to the people, accountable to the people, protector of the people, open to the wishes and persuasions of the people, not one to force his will upon the people at the expense of their own.
It is often easy to identify with the protagonists of the stories we read, or see on TV or at the movies. It is much more difficult, I find, to enter into the characters of the antagonists of these stories.
We Christians not only take some comfort in seeing ourselves as the twentieth-century “Jesuses” of the Passion Story, but we are encouraged moreover to identify ourselves with Christ. If not to imitate him, then at least to so closely follow him that we do indeed grow more and more into a perception of ourselves— individually and collectively—as miniature models, however imperfect, of One who loved God and neighbor, who died for this love, and who rose again to perpetuate the power of this love.
Whether or not we know exactly what we mean, we call ourselves “disciples,” those who have invested something in “being like the Master.” We see ourselves as the contemporary manifestation of the Master, “the Body of Christ.” We are Christians. We are the Church. And all around us, indeed within us (if we are psychologically astute), we locate and encounter, with chagrin, the “Pilates” and the “Judases” in our lives.
We disdain Pilate’s weakness, his inability to say “no” to the roaring crowds and the duplicity with which he washed his hands of Christ’s blood. We are mortified by the insidious and hideous betrayal done to Jesus by his self-seeking, sinister friend, Judas Iscariot. We, who are Christ, we who are the Church, find ourselves spending a significant part of our lives fending off Judas and Pilate—whether through therapy, protests and marches, self-discipline, boycotts, prayer, letter-writing campaigns, punishment, law-making, law-breaking, or perhaps most commonly, by simply sealing ourselves off in one way or another from those things or ideas or people whom we believe to be “bad,” or destructive to what is “good.”
And so, most of us live our lives in closets: warm and holy places, self-protected from evil and selfish impulses (hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil, do no evil). Self-defended from the wrong kinds of people (Don’t fall in with the wrong crowd. Don’t follow the crowd). And self-closed to wrong thinking, wrong behavior, wrong worldview, wrong religion, bad faith. The Ten Commandments, Baptismal vows, Confirmation vows, Marriage vows, Ordination vows. Vows. Promises. Pledges. And prizes for right thinking and good behavior.
In order to play Christ, we must be careful. In order to be Christian, we must be good, or at least try to be good. In order to be at all, we must beware, lest we be either the bearer or the recipient of some hurt or cruel distress to someone, perhaps even ourselves.
But I have a thesis and it is this: That until we not only see ourselves, but strongly and gently embrace ourselves, as the Judas and the Pilate of the Passion Story, we cannot be the Christ of this story. We cannot be who we are called to be as Christian people. We can pretend, and we can do all manner and means of things that are good and helpful to many. We can worship. We can work hard. We can teach. We can pray. We can visit the sick and minister to the poor and the dying. We can care for children. We can respect parents. We can send money and food to the hungry until all the hungry are fed. We can obey bishops. We can disobey bishops. We can discipline priests. We can be priests—whether we are women or men. But, until we are able to look at ourselves as in a mirror and see reflected there not only Jesus of Nazareth hanging on a cross, but also Judas Iscariot kissing his cheek, and Pontius Pilate turning his back and washing his hands, until we can know ourselves—and celebrate ourselves—as Judas and Pilate, we cannot be the Body of Jesus Christ. We cannot be the Church.
And so I ask you to enter with me, imaginatively, into the character of Pilate; and to see me, if you can, and yourselves, if you choose, as Pontius Pilate:
“My name is Pilate. Writing this book. Standing in a pulpit, sitting in my office, my kitchen, the classroom, I am wondering what it’s all about. I have for some time now realized the awesomeness of my responsibilities.
“I, Pilate, am a priest of the church, and not just any priest, mind you: I am a woman priest. Responsible to the people of the church who, like myself, are deeply concerned about the state of affairs in the church, and in the world. People who, like myself, are in deep ways alienated from the church. I am responsible to these people. That’s inherent in my ordination vows: called forth by God from within the community, to be a priest among the people. I cannot go it alone. I cannot do it alone. I am one of the people, responsible first and foremost to these people—in Oberlin, Reading, New York, Cambridge, North Carolina, Texas, Georgia, California. I feel the weight of the people. I feel your weight. And I carry it, just as I am carried and supported by the people. By you.
“I, Pilate, am also a teacher: responsible to my students and my other colleagues at the seminary. I, Pilate, am also a friend, and a sister, and a daughter: responsible to friends, sisters and brothers, parents and family. You and I may be other things as well, if not in fact, in possibility: a spouse, a mother, a father, a businessperson, a school child, student, a person accountable to other people. Living not simply according to our own wills, but according to the needs, requests, dictates, sometimes even demands, of those to whom we are responsible.
“My name is Pilate: Leader. Teacher. Priest. Parent. Child. Adult. Businessperson. Bishop. I try to do what is best for all concerned. I try to do it honestly, wisely, with compassion and integrity. I am a responsible person.
“And so it was that on that strange day, they brought to me Jesus, who they said claimed to be ‘King of the Jews,’ or to put it another way, they brought to me this person who, they said, posed a serious threat to my authority, my well-being, my lifestyle, a threat to everything that mattered to me, including the welfare of my family and friends, and including my own vocation.
“They asked me to do something with this person, to put him away, to screw him to the wall, nail him to the cross, crucify him. They were afraid, and so was I, I must confess, partly because they were, and they were my people, to whom I was responsible. I had never seen them so badly agitated. And although I could not understand just why this particular person scared them so—for he had done nothing particularly frightful that I could see—I began to feel afraid myself. Fear is contagious.
“Fearfully, I reflected: Ah yes! Barabbas. I offered them Barabbas, clearly a criminal so frightful as to be unthinkable for them. I could release one prisoner this feast day, and I knew they’d rather have this strange Jesus back among them than Barabbas.
“I was wrong.
“ ‘Give us Barabbas!’ they cried.
“This further frightened me. I could not imagine what Jesus had said or done, or could do, that would be so fearful to the people, anymore than I can imagine a baby dachshund posing a threat to a great dane or a VW to a Mack Truck. But the fear was apparent. And I felt myself break into a cold sweat.
“I had pleaded with Jesus to say something, to explain himself, to tell his side of this extraordinary situation. But he had only stood there silently, looking at me as if he had nothing to say. Only silence to contribute to the chaos. And that made me mad. But not being a person who wants her feelings to get the best of her, I swallowed my anger and continued to reflect.
“Getting no help from Jesus, I turned again to the people:
“ ‘What has he done?’ I pled again with them. But this seemed only to exacerbate an already unbearable dilemma.
“Getting no help from the people, I turned back to Jesus. I looked at him. I flinched. I squinted. And I closed my eyes. To my great wonder, faces began to appear before me. I saw each and then went on to the next, or rather perhaps, each next one seemed to come on to me: my parents, my brother and sister, my playmates, my friends, my lovers, my students, my teachers, my bishops, my parishioners, my colleagues, indeed myself: Each one victimized at some point in time or space by my fear of losing my own authority. Each, wounded by my insecurity.
“No angrier at Jesus Christ than at the Bishop of New York; no angrier at this One Jesus, than at each of these people I have perceived as a threat to my own being; no angrier at any of these, than at myself, I opened my eyes and glared at Jesus.
“A silent moment passed, and I asked for some water. I washed my hands, and I spat out my judgment. ‘I am innocent. You are guilty,’ I nodded to the people. Abdicating all authority for this death, forgetting that it was precisely in order to protect my authority that I was doing this, I chose to blame Jesus’ death on mass psychology, the corporate psychosis of the world, the church, our social institutions.
“And so, Jesus was beaten and mocked and led away to be crucified.
“My name is Pilate. I am a priest of the Church. I am a seminary teacher. I am a person, very much like any other person. I am afraid of my irresponsibility. I fear that my inadequacies will wind up crucifying people against whom I have nothing really. I am afraid that I will be a bad priest. A selfish friend. A poor mother or father. A destructive lover. A weak student. An irrelevant teacher. A basically weak-kneed woman who only pretends to be calm, cool, collected, courageous. I am afraid that I may turn my back on others at any moment. I cannot bear the guilt and the burden of responsibility, for I now see myself as irresponsible. My name is Pilate, and I am ashamed of what I did to Jesus three days ago.
“Lying in my bed, I begin to wake restlessly. It’s early. I’m depressed—and still tired. Sleeping it off has made me only sleepier. But being the governor of the province, being a priest of the Church, being a person with work to do, classes to meet, meetings to hold, I pull myself up by my own bootstraps (as I have been taught), and I rise.
“Into the kitchen. Put on the coffee. Into the bathroom. Start the tub. Into the hall. Pick up the newspaper. Into the world. Sigh.
“It is early on the third day. Jesus is dead and buried. And I am alive and buried. And hurried. And hassled. I wish it hadn’t happened. But it did. I wish I could forget. But I can’t. Guilt put me to sleep. Perhaps guilt will allow me to continue sleeping as I move through this day.
“I take my bath and eat my breakfast. I read the New York Times, only to see of course that burial services have been held for Jesus Jones and Jesus Rodriguez and Jesus Smith, and that Jesus so-and-so was bombed in Cambodia and Ireland, and that Jesus is starving to death in Bangladesh and Appalachia, and that Jesus Gose has been admonished by Jesus Gressle and Jesus Beebe is being tried by Jesus Burt. I wash my hands, and I go into the bedroom to get dressed.
“Reaching into the top drawer for my clerical collar, I glance forward a little into the mirror. It’s the first time in a long time I’ve looked at myself. I move a little closer, and engage myself with my eyes:
“I am full of wonder! For there in front of me I do not see a hardened destructive governor. I do not see a hard, tough woman priest. I do not see the perfect mother, father, or child. I do not see a shrewd businessperson. I do not see a brilliant student or teacher. I do not see an invulnerable lover. I do not see a tough-minded, unbending bishop.
“I see a human being, with soft sad eyes. I see tears. I see tiredness and pain and guilt. Looking even more deeply into those eyes, I see what is invisible to the eye: I see hope, and dreams, and longing, and intentions, and caring, and talent, and deep deep depth. I feel my hands. They are warm and moist, and maybe even bloody. I sense my breathing. It is full and heavy and rich, broken only by a gasp for deeper breath. I widen my eyes, and a few tears drop from my well, and through them I see glistening in the water and in the eyes themselves. I see light. I am becoming awakened to something good. I am beginning to feel alive!
“Breathing deeply, I close my eyes. And again, a stream of faces rolls before me: parents, sisters, brothers, friends and lovers, bishops, other colleagues, students and teachers, indeed myself again. Each of us, and all of us, alone and together alone, partners and soulmates in community with humankind. Each of us, and all of us, perhaps stretched with open arms onto a cross. Letting myself sink and rise in realization of our terrible oneness as sisters and brothers, letting myself drift and soar in acknowledgment of our simple and shared humanness, I open my eyes to see.
“I see the daylight breaking in the mirror. I am beginning to feel like myself again, no less the weak and wobbly person who sent Jesus to the cross, and no less a caring, human, person myself. No less guilty, I am beginning to experience grace. No less Pilate, the governor, I am beginning to wonder if perhaps my being is rooted in all human beings, including each person I have sent to death. No less an accuser, I am beginning to see myself as accused, screwed to the wall, nailed to the cross. No less a sinner, I am beginning to feel peace within myself.
“Extending myself forward, I look and I think that I see his own silent eyes in that mirror. His own scarred and bloody head as my own. I reach out for this reflection, to touch it, drawn by it. I reach out to touch myself. To shake hands with myself. To embrace myself. And in the distance, a voice—maybe it’s the centurion, or maybe it’s one of the women—seems to be shouting:
“‘HE IS RISEN!’”
Amen!
SHE IS
RISEN!
Alleluia!
Notes
14. As of this writing, there has been no disciplinary action taken against any of the bishops who ordained us. A mild suspension (three months) was given to one of the eleven women, Katrina Swanson, for her participation in the ordination. None of the others of us have received any official punishment at all. The only Episcopalians who have been taken to church court are Bill Wendt of Washington and Peter Beebe, two of the male priests who have allowed us to celebrate Communion in their parishes. In civil terms, the “accomplices” are being prosecuted and disciplined while the “criminals”-such as we are—sit in the courtrooms, observe the proceedings, and go free.
At this writing, plans for another ordination are underway. On September 7, 1975, God willing, several more women deacons will be ordained to the priesthood.
15. Adaptation of sermon preached at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Reading, Pa., on Palm Sunday, March 23, 1975; at Christ Episcopal Church, Oberlin, Ohio, on Easter Day, March 30, 1975; and published, in part, as “To Pilate’s Great Astonishment,” The Witness 58, no. 11 (April 27, 1975), p. 2.
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