The Consecration of Robert Duncan - Part Three, Episode 1

A Hot June Evening. A Moment. And a Moving Processional

From David Roseberry:

My intention has been to write The Stories of Christ Church until I run out of stories. I will wrap up this series on June 8, Pentecost. I had asked my successor to contribute a few essays about the Donison years, but he recently told me he was swamped. So I will finish the last six stories.

I am humbled and glad to report an uptick in traffic, subscribers, free subscribers, and overall interest in The Anglican.

I will publish an update about The Anglican on May 27th, my 70th birthday. I need to spend some time this weekend praying about where we go from here. Watch your Inbox at 6:12 AM for an update where I will tell all, reveal most, and dream big.

This is the 22nd story of The Christ Church Stories.

Grace and Peace,

PS: So many have come alongside The Anglican and been supportive in remarkable ways. Your comments, restacks, and subscriptions have helped me keep every single post FREE.

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(For those new here, I have written 22 episodes of The Christ Church Stories, going back to the summer of 1985. I am doing this to celebrate the 40th Anniversary of its founding, to give thanks to God for the fantastic people who shared our journey, and to praise my Father God, His Son, my Lord, and the power of the Holy Spirit guiding this church over the past 40 years. If you want to get caught up on all the stories, go here to see them in order.)

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The Installation of the First Archbishop of the ACNA

It felt like everything I had ever learned in ministry was brought together in one extraordinary evening. On June 24, 2009, Robert William Duncan was consecrated the first Archbishop of the Anglican Church in North America, and it all happened at Christ Church.

I had known Bob for years, but I never imagined he would become the lightning rod for an entire movement. I don’t think he did either. Events in the church have a way of pushing people forward—upward—into places they never sought.

Bob had the makings of an archbishop in every sense: whip-smart, courageous as anyone, and disarmingly humble. He has a wide range of knowledge in history, liturgy, and the worldwide Anglican Communion. He’s relatively small in stature, but he has thick Scottish eyebrows—like the grass of the Highlands themselves, long and waving in the winds.

And yes—if you ask him, he’ll slip into a brogue or raise a dram with ease. His roots go deep.

So, when Bishop Martyn Minns, a leader and planner on the Provincial Startup team, emailed me asking if Christ Church would host Bob’s installation, something clicked. I could see the whole thing unfold—like a vision. Much like when the Plano Conference erupted in 2006, I knew we had to do it. The space, the music, the people, the moment—it was all here.

But I had one condition.

“I’ll want to visit with Bob and ask him to design the service, but I need to emcee the liturgy. He paused. “David,” he said, “I’ve got some ideas, too.”

“Of course,” I said. “We’ll work together. I want to hear directly from Bob, too. I’ll submit everything ahead of time for approvals, etc. But I am the Rector here, and I know the team. I will need to lead the service as an emcee.”

I needed to be present at the edges of the service.

This was important to me. Quite honestly, the big liturgical moments I planned at the Plano Conference had been overtaken by special interest concerns. We needed to have a this kind of person here, and a different group represented here, and a gender appropriate priest here, etc. I couldn’t do liturgy by committee.

The truth is, I knew the church, the facilities, and our team, and I wanted to have a stress-free night. He understood. He had been the rector of Truro Church in Fairfax, Virginia. He knew.

Before I switched off the phone, I had the entire liturgy in my head. I saw a service that was prophetic—a commissioning for a future still being born.

Years earlier, at the Plano Conference, A Place to Stand, my son Jed had an inspired idea: a solemn procession of the 700+ clergy into the opening Eucharist at the Anatole Hotel. It was brilliant, and the long march of clergy, four abreast, into the Convention Hall was one of those searing, lasting moments in many people’s minds.

But we were six years later, a lifetime in the drama of the Episcopal Church, and the reason for gathering to install a new Archbishop was celebratory. It was not a lament, as it had been at the early convention. A new future was trying to be born.

I wanted a musical expression that reflected both our roots and our reach. I called Mark and Danny, the music geniuses at Christ Church. We also called John Wasson, an arranger we had worked with a few times.

I wanted to commission a special processional hymn. It had to be long; we were going to process a few hundred clergy into the Sanctuary of Christ Church. But in my head, it had to be more than long. It had to do another job.

“John,” I said, “I need an opening processional hymn that combines the heritage of Anglicanism from the British Isles with the drumbeat, the heartbeat of the African church. Something ancient and something urgent.” He delivered. What we offered that night wasn’t entertainment. It was a declaration—a sonic compilation of where we came from and where we were going.

It was stunning. Absolutely amazing.

Do yourself a favor: Take a break and listen to the ten-minute processional, get a box of Kleenex, close your eyes, and imagine:

Imagine this Scene

A beautiful sanctuary, now a cathedral. Bishops from all over the world. Clergy, priests and deacons, and laypeople from congregations in the middle of lawsuits, fighting for their property, deposed, defrocked, and suspended by their diocesan bishops for upholding a faith that had been delivered to the saints and held as a common belief in churches all over the world since the time of Christ.

The Scenes from the Installation of the First Archbishop

Hundreds of clergy processed in, men and women who had lost their livings and pulpits. Some had been evicted from their rectories. All of their pensions had been frozen.

They came by the hundreds, dressed in cassocks, surplus, and stoles, still clinging to the Anglican heritage that formed them.

In one way, we were all the walking wounded who had been summarily shown the door by the powers that be of the Episcopal Church. We were the bishops, priests, and deacons who had made our appeal to the Archbishop of Canterbury years before, only to be told to go fight it out alone.

Millions of dollars had been spent and would be spent by the Episcopal Church and by diocese after diocese in lawsuits which were an attempt to keep the remnants of ministry—buildings, properties, chalices, stained glass windows, vestments, cash balances, pews, books, bibles and prayer books, coffee urns and hymnals—all which had been paid for by church members, both the living and the dead.

I had been blessed. Christ Church kept its property and everything any member had ever given. I never missed a paycheck. Our staff and clergy were provided for. And for some strange reason, I had a leadership position where others might think I was something.

But compared to the clergy who walked in that night and the thousands like them across the North American landscape, I could barely stand. I was humbled and moved. They were the heroes of the story.

And the people sang. They raised their hands. They felt the Holy Spirit of God. And I felt that all of my life had been in preparation for that evening and the years that would follow.

In the next few episodes, I will discuss Archbishop Duncan’s sermon and the following chapters in the story of Christ Church. But I’ll leave you with the live recording of the opening procession of Archbishop Duncan’s Installation as the First Archbishop of the Province of the Anglican Church in North America.

Remember. Kleenex. Earphones, if you have them. You can even sing along with the text below.

Praise My Soul the King of Heaven

1. Praise, my soul, the King of heaven;
   to his feet thy tribute bring.
   Ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
   evermore his praises sing.
   Alleluia, alleluia!
   Praise the everlasting King!

2. Praise him for his grace and favor
   to his people in distress.
   Praise him, still the same as ever,
   slow to chide, and swift to bless.
   Alleluia, alleluia!
   Glorious in his faithfulness!

3. Fatherlike he tends and spares us;
   well our feeble frame he knows.
   In his hand he gently bears us,
   rescues us from all our foes.
   Alleluia, alleluia!
   Widely yet his mercy flows!

4. Angels, help us to adore him;
   you behold him face to face.
   Sun and moon, bow down before him,
   dwellers all in time and space.
   Alleluia, alleluia!
   Praise with us the God of grace!

Grace and Peace,

David Roseberry
The Anglican

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The Anglican is the Substack newsletter for LeaderWorks, where I share insights, encouragement, and practical tools for clergy and lay Christians. I’m also an author of over a dozen books available on Amazon.

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To watch a compilation of that great night at Christ Church, Plano, watch this: