Fluvialia ≈≈ Mia's blog
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The Anglican Communion worldwide is currently dealing with the latest, and perhaps last, draft of an Anglican Covenant, this one called ‘the Ridley Cambridge Draft’ (for the college at which the meeting of the design group took place). If I am stating the obvious it is because, going into French, and speaking here in this province (in the national sense, not the Anglican sense), what is obvious elsewhere might not be all that obvious here. But is worth knowing about. I’m trying to get a French translation of the Covenant, and I’ll post it here when. I’ll describe what the covenant process is too. The ‘Ridley Draft’ (for short) uses the word ‘interdependence’, and recently I read a response (I think it was to a blog) which went at this word ‘interdependence’ as at a red matador’s cape.
An offensive word? What’s wrong with it? Doesn’t the latest news about the imminent pandemic H1N1 simply show us how interdependent we are? Let alone what we acknowledge we are, or don’t. There’s Mexico busting its butt to try to do the right thing for the rest of the world (and its own); there’s the rest of the world, trying to do the right thing in concerted epidemiological action. Back up a bit. There’s the G20, trying to do the right thing in concerted action over another crisis. Back up a bit. There’s Al Gore and countless others circling the globe trying to get us all on side to the fact that we are interdependent – not just among other dioceses or provinces, not just with other banks, not just with other nation states, not just with the blinking whole human race, but with nictitating frogs and glaciers, canaries and deserts and bees and all the other blinking signs, signals which are what they are and at the same time metaphors for how we are. The metaphor and the thing itself, as I keep saying.
And I keep on saying, being Anglican is like a test tube of all this. And that’s a good thing. But gently, gently. We’re a mine field. We need each other if we’re not to blow up. Funny that that expression comes from our adolescent days; ‘Don’t blow up at me!’ Blowing up at. There was – is there still? – a period when the new-found joys of psycho-analysis taught us we should not bottle up our anger; it gave us diseases – cancer, ulcers, neurosis. We learned to blow up at – and be made well.
Something’s slipped, here. Have you noticed how fashionable it is for Christians to justify anger, because Jesus was angry, right? – in the temple? Righteous anger, that’s good, right? How many sermons have you heard about that? You might just check out the text, though. It never does say Jesus was ‘angry’ in the temple scene in any of [...] Next
Without [Cranmer’s] contribution, the unending dialogue of Protestantism and Catholicism which forms Anglican identity would not have been possible.