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Whenever a priest or a deacon in the Episcopal Church is removed from ministry, the cleric's diocese sends official notification to every active bishop. In the years since the church's controversial General Convention of 2003—a convention that, among other things, consented to the ordination of a partnered gay bishop—most notices contain a disclaimer: "This action was taken for causes that do not affect moral character." This is code language. It usually means that the priest or deacon has left for reasons of conscience.

The departures are painful to me. Many of these clergy are beloved friends, not names on a form but fellow disciples, conscientious followers of Jesus. Why do I not join them?

This question is also pondered by all theologically conservative Christians who remain in liberal denominations. I know I'm not alone, though I ask the question from a unique situation.

I am a bishop of the Episcopal Church, ordained to the priesthood in 1971 and to the episcopate in 2000. On the theological spectrum of the church, I fall clearly on the conservative side—with a catholic love for historic faith and order, an evangelical zeal for the gospel, and a commitment to the authority of Scripture.

The Episcopal Church, my spiritual home since Christian conversion as a college sophomore, has (I believe) seriously erred. We have rejected clear biblical teaching, refused to listen to the pleas of Anglicans around the world, and shattered dialogue with many of our ecumenical partners.

A recent Christianity Today editorial—"Intelligent Church Redesign"—argues that it is "a sad but necessary reality that some denominational splits are justified," and uses the Episcopal Church's crisis as the chief cautionary tale.

Yet I stay, not simply by default, nor as a matter of blind institutional loyalty. I have decided to stay and to throw my lot in with people with whom I am often in profound disagreement.

The editorial dismisses John 17 as a basis for such a decision and says, in effect, that it does not pertain to our present situation. But Jesus' prayer at the Last Supper does not simply provide a rationale for unity: It also includes an implied warning. Jesus prays "that they may all be one … that the world may believe that thou hast sent me" (v. 21; KJV). In other words, Jesus invites the world outside the Christian community to make a decision about him on the basis of our unity. The world is watching us, Jesus says. How we deal with one another in the midst of crisis has eternal implications—not simply for ourselves, but also for those who do not yet know him.

Nor are our divisions as clear-cut as they may seem. It is not the case, in the Episcopal Church or in any other, that you've got believers on one side and heretics (or apostates) on the other. I know many in my church who love Jesus, confess him as Lord and Savior, believe the articles of the Christian faith as summarized in the Apostles' and Nicene Creeds, and seek to follow Jesus in costly ways—and who affirm the decisions of the 2003 General Convention. As a matter of principle, when people claim to be disciples of Jesus, I will treat them as brothers and sisters in Christ, Bishop Gene Robinson among them. He is not only a colleague; I count him as a friend and fellow pilgrim. I will commit myself to him and to them, even when I am convinced that they are wrong. I will seek to manifest a godly forbearance and ask that they do the same toward me.

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March 2006, Vol. 50, No. 3