Under the Fig Tree

By Craig D. Goodwin-Ortiz de León

I recently came across a comment on Facebook that struck me. A man wrote that the Episcopal Church is dying because of its progressive views. He claimed it had become too political and now promotes sin and evil. He described struggling to find a parking spot at his busy nondenominational church, while he said Episcopal churches were filled with empty pews. He concluded that once the Boomers pass away, our church will die with them. The comment reflected a familiar type of rhetoric—one that equates cultural influence and full sanctuaries with spiritual truth. It troubled me because I know many faithful Episcopalians are doing the hard, beautiful work of living out the Gospel in quieter but just as meaningful ways. I also understand the price of being part of a church that chooses to welcome, even when misunderstood.

I was sad. I felt attacked. I love my church. Yet, as much as I wanted to dismiss his words, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that there was some truth behind them. People have left the Episcopal Church. Sometimes they go quietly, other times with harsh words about how the Church has changed. Many say it’s because the Church has become too political. That phrase often hides resistance to LGBTQ+ inclusion, racial justice, or the ordination of women. For people like me, these changes reflect a deeper return to the core of the Gospel. They confirm that every person is made in the image of God and deserving of love, dignity, and belonging. When the Church embraces that truth, it becomes a spiritual home where faith can flourish.

While preparing for a Vestry meeting this morning, our priest shared the obituary of someone I had never heard of: Walter Brueggemann. I learned he was a prominent figure in Old Testament scholarship and a prophetic theologian. One idea of his caught my eye and stayed with me: the journey of Scripture from orientation to disorientation, to reorientation. In Brueggemann’s view, the prophets and Psalms don’t just comfort us; they disrupt, challenge, and provoke. They call us to imagine God’s deeper dream for humanity.

This framework helped me reimagine what the Episcopal Church is experiencing. It might not be dying; it could be going through a necessary disorientation. We are shedding cultural baggage and inherited expectations. We are creating space for lament. We are wandering in the wilderness, which has always been a sacred space in Scripture. It is where Israel found its identity and where Jesus began his ministry. Disorientation is painful, but it often leads to transformation.

Signs of reorientation are already emerging in my parish, where authentic fellowship spans across generations. Our diocesan services include diverse cultures and languages. We have women and LGBTQ+ clergy serving the community. I’ve seen gay people embrace the Gospel and undergo transformation through it. Their faith, service, and humility show God’s grace in action. It hasn’t always been easy or widely celebrated, but I’ve seen the positive impact on those who were once turned away. These moments indicate a church being reshaped with compassion and courage.

Brueggemann wrote about the kind of imagination that envisions God’s future even when decline seems inevitable. I believe that vision is alive in the Episcopal Church. We are not clinging to what once was. We are striving to be faithful to the teachings of Jesus: love, justice, mercy, and grace. That pursuit may not always look like institutional strength or social relevance. It might appear as a small, steadfast witness to a greater truth.

Still, I worry about the future. Will the Church find the unity that Christ wanted for it in our lifetime? I don’t know. There is a risk that unity will come from resisting change rather than embracing transformation. Even so, I believe God continues to work through a faithful remnant. Quietly and steadily, that remnant lives into the new creation.

To those who feel discouraged about the state of the Church, I say this: there is room for you here. There is space in our pews and in our hearts. Come to rest, pray, and find new life. God’s grace will carry us through. And if we seek wisdom and extend grace to those who disagree with us, we will help guide the Church into whatever comes next.

I don’t know much about Walter Brueggemann, but I’m thankful to have heard his voice when I did. It reminded me that decline isn’t death, and faithfulness is never failure.