Apology? Yes, and No

A Sermon for the congregation of St. Saviour, Penticton — The Very Rev. Ken Gray — Sunday, January 26th, 2025 — The Third Sunday after the Epiphany

The Sunday following the Tuesday, the day after the inauguration on Monday of this past week of President Donald Trump, when the Episcopal Bishop of Washington, the Rt. Rev. Bishop Mariann Edgar Budde asked the new president to “have mercy” on undocumented refugees, transgender persons, and other vulnerable persons.

It was quite a sermon, carefully prepared ahead of time with modifications incorporated just moments before the service began. Within the architectural beauty and imposing majesty of Washington National Cathedral, the seat of the Episcopal bishop, in the context of an ecumenical prayer service, Bishop Budde spoke directly and personally to the new president. Her tone was calm, measured, respectful, and plaintive. And I would add, necessary.

“I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away, and that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here,” Budde said. “Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land.”

As we have seen watching from north of our shared border, response was swift. For many she is a hero; for others she is a foolish Trump-hater. President Trump sharply disapproved, and on his media site demanded an apology from the bishop and from her church. A few days later, Bishop Budde refused to apologize. Almost without exception, Anglicans worldwide continue to laud her bravery. Many have now purchased her  book: How we Learn to be Brave. At least one BC cleric disagrees however:

“I can’t help but feel that the context of an ecumenical prayer service was not the appropriate setting for such a pointed and personal appeal. A prayer service like this is a sacred moment—a space meant for collective reflection, unity, and invoking God’s guidance for all leaders and the nation as a whole. It’s not a venue for calling out an individual by name, regardless of their political position” writes the Dean of New Westminster. He has provoked a lively and thoughtful conversation.

In a different voice, Richard Geoffrey Legget, professor emeritus of liturgy at Vancouver School of Theology responded in broader terms: “I believe that we in what I might call the liberal catholic tradition have now been placed in the position of speaking the truth to power, the truth in love and faithful, non-violent resistance to the Christian nationalism and US exceptionalism which have such wide-ranging consequences for us all.”

Personally I thought Bishop Budde did a good and great thing. When in South Africa some years ago, I heard stories of the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu facing the water cannon from the front steps of St. George’s Cathedral in Cape Town, calling out to police “why don’t you come over and join the winning side.” (His aquamated remains are interred at the foot of the altar in that very cathedral.) I recall scenes from the movie Romero — a biography of the late Archbishop St. Oscar Romero of El Salvador, when the bishop stood before death squads as he did in 1981 where he was murdered during Mass standing behind a hospital chaplaincy altar. Admittedly, violence in the US has not reached this point — and I pray it will never reach this point — though I remain concerned and anxious. The Clan is already recruiting in Kentucky and Texas. Never say never.

Let’s travel back in time, to a different place, to a synagogue in Galilee, where Jesus has joined others in prayer. He is somewhere around thirty years old. He is “Joe and Mary’s son” come home to work, and live, and to practice a righteous life. (Anglicans call such observance a “devout, religious, and Holy life — Funeral Liturgy, Book of Common Prayer.) By this time he was well known and respected in the region. From the working class, with no academic training to our knowledge, he moves towards the place where the scrolls are stored. The scroll of the prophet Isaiah is presented to him; he takes his rightful place as a proclaimer of the Word. He reads aloud:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.”

“And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” (LUKE 4:14-21)

The gall; the impudence! To suggest that Joe and Mary’s boy is somehow directly connected with God’s favour, with God’s ambition, with our future. (Sounds like someone else, doesn’t it.) As for Jesus, the mood of the room dramatically and quickly changed. They forced him out to a high place and tried to throw him off a cliff. It’s a prophetic look forward to Holy Week;  support waned quickly, almost completely. In this episode however, Jesus vanished.

Today is an ideal day for us as Christians to revisit our core mandate, our position description if you will, our role and responsibility as persons of faith. We have our baptismal rite; we have our creeds; here we find our marching orders.

Mr. President, you have your mandate in Project 2025, a programme supported by a clear majority of those who voted for you in the last election. (This does not however represent a majority of Americans.) Since your inauguration you have done nothing less than what you promised.

Our mandate, as Christians is found in Jesus’ words, proclaimed in this church a few moments ago. We seek to embody and demonstrate what liberation theologians including the late Gustavo Guitierrez have encouraged us to do — to practice a “preferential option for the poor.”

I may have things wrong, but you seem to be doing exactly the opposite — you reward wealth and ambition; might I suggest your read Mary’s song, the Canticle Magnificat. (LUKE 1:46-55) You exert power over everyone, even those closest to you. You identify as a person of faith, of Christian faith. You present yourself as a saviour for a nation if not for the world. I caution: Be careful what you ask for. With such a claim comes tremendous responsibility and in the end, accountability.

You asked both Bishop Budde and her (Episcopal/Anglican) Church for an apology for her words last Tuesday. She has rightly refused to regret her words. As an ordained Canadian Anglican I offer no apology for what was said last Tuesday. But in the spirit of Christian apologists through the ages — Paul of Tarsus, Augustine of Hippo, Thomas Acquinas, and C S Lewis — my feeble words represent an apology, an explanation, of what I believe to be true, the principles upon which I base my thoughts, prayers, actions, concerns, hopes, and dreams. These can be summed up in one word: Mercy.

I join many others in numerous denominations and faith communities who will continue to pray for you, for your administration, for the privileged, for the poor and disenfranchised, and for those now forced into a life of fear.

May my prayer becomes yours . . . Creator, from the depth and breadth of creation, we thank you. Amen.

A prayer

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, Trusting in our own righteousness, But in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy So much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the Flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his Blood, That our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, And he in us. Amen.

—Book of Common Prayer, Prayer of humble access, service of Holy Communion

Bishop Budde’s sermon can be accessed here.