Formerly the Church of Presidents, Now the Church of Protests

I am a cradle Episcopalian. I grew up hearing familiar cadences from the pulpit – not political talking points, but rather scripture; sacred words sharing ancient encouragements. The Book of Common Prayer not only formed the foundation of our worship, but it was also an ever-present lighthouse in our daily lives doctrinally – showing the way home through salvation won by Christ himself. The creeds reminded us of what the Church believed and invited us to hold on as tightly as possible to the same: the belief in one holy, catholic, and apostolic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the Body, and of life everlasting. And our pews were filled with not just teachers, construction workers, bakers, merchants, and their families, but also with leaders – senators, justices, and presidents – who could all kneel together before the same altar, and join their voices in common prayer, and sing the same hymns to the glory of God.

That was the Episcopal Church of my youth although you wouldn’t believe it when you look at the current state of the Episcopal Church. The church of my youth was proud, not performative; faithful, not fashionable. It honored tradition because it believed tradition connected us to truth and truth was the way to salvation.

The Episcopal Church of today is nothing like that. What once stood as the Church of Presidents and Senators – the spiritual home of American leadership – has become a theological sideshow and (at times) a political mascot for the radical Left. It is fair to say that the Episcopal Church has squandered its birthright, traded away its moral clarity, and embraced cultural fads as though they were commandments.

Quite simply, the Episcopal Church not only lost sight of the lighthouse . . . they forgot they were the keeper responsible for ensuring the light never extinguished.

Historically, the Episcopal Church was woven into the very fabric of the American experiment. It wasn’t just respected . . . it was revered. Its roots trace back to the Church of England in the colonies. By the eve of the Revolution, it boasted around 400 congregations, appealing to leaders like vestrymen George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Like many other things, the Revolution divided the church – many clergy were Loyalists, leading to disestablishment and decline – but it reinvented itself after 1783. Thanks to many key figures, like Reverend William White, a rector of Christ Church in Philadelphia and chaplain to the Continental Congress, proposed a democratic structure which mirrored the emerging U.S. Constitution. The church’s 1789 General Convention in Philadelphia ratified its own constitution and the Book of Common Prayer, establish a federated system with lay involvement and bishops – just two years after the Constitutional Convention did similarly in the same city. This birthright of moral and civic leadership made it the ideal spiritual home for the nation’s founders and builders.

President George Washington was a devout Episcopalian. So was James Madison, James Monroe, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler, Zachary Taylor, Franklin Pierce, Chester A. Arthur, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Gerald Ford, and George H.W. Bush making Episcopalians the most represented denomination among U.S. Presidents.

John Jay, the first Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, worshipped from an Episcopal pew as did other justices, including John Marshall, Bushrod Washington, Sandra Day O’Connor and David Souter . . . to name just a few. In all, thirty-three Episcopalians have sat as justices on the highest court in the land.

Notable senators included Henry Clay, Daniel Webster, John Danforth (an ordained Episcopalian priest who served Missouri from 1976 until 1995), and more recently Sheldon Whitehouse of Rhode Island.

The Episcopal Church attracted great men because it was dignified, its clergy were learned – often theologically trained in classical Anglican orthodoxy – it balanced reason with revelation, and ceremony with sincerity. The church didn’t pander to the passions of the day; it called its parishioners – especially the powerful – to moral sobriety. Its clergy offered correction when the nation veered off course and they preached with authority, not apology. They believed the Bible meant what it said – and they governed their churches accordingly.

But that legacy has been cast aside for activist jargon.

Today’s Episcopal Church isn’t leading the nation’s moral imagination – it’s just following its progressive impulses. Step into many Episcopal parishes and the liturgy (or parts of it) is still there, but the theology is not. The language is religious, but the message is secular.

Instead of preaching the Gospel, clergy preach about “equity.” Instead of calling for repentance, they host panel discussions on “Decolonizing Christianity.” Instead of affirming God’s creation of man and woman and the concept of biblical marriage, they champion gender fluidity and queer theology.

Unfortunately, in some parishes, drag queen story hours are becoming more common than baptism or confirmation classes. And gay pride flags and Black Lives Matter banners find ways to fly higher than the cross. Some bishops now refer to Jesus’ death not as substitutionary atonement, but as an example of “state-sanctioned violence,” hijacking the central event of Christianity to make yet another progressive political point.

This pivot isn’t new, but it has accelerated.

In 1976, the Episcopal Church ordained women priests – a break from centuries of tradition. By 2003, it consecrated Gene Robinson as the first openly gay bishop, sparking global Anglican schisms and the formation of conservative breakaway groups. In 2015 and 2018, the Episcopal Church authorized same-sex marriage rites, fully embracing LGBTQ theology despite biblical tensions. On abortion, since 1967, the church has opposed restrictions, affirming “reproductive justice” without limits, even as it claims to oppose abortions for convenience – yet resolutions in 2022 and beyond emphasize unrestricted access. Recent calls for police reform, including condemning “state-sanctioned violence” and advocating community investments over punitive measures, echo secular activism more than scriptural mandates on justice and order.

At the end of the day, this is not prophetic . . . it is pandering. And the results speak for themselves.

Despite the Episcopal Church’s broader shift toward progressive theology, there are a few conservative Episcopal dioceses in America upholding the Word and Anglican orthodoxy – holding “to that which has been believed everywhere, always, and by all,” maintaining the doctrine, discipline, and worship as handed down to us from the faithful who have gone before.

Dioceses like Dallas and Central Florida as well as clusters inside Albany, NY stick with the old way of teaching that points to authority in scripture, classical Anglican formularies, and even offer continually the historic rites found within the Prayer Book in some parishes.

Faithful deacons, priests and bishops guide those communities, but it is the congregations – yearning for a renewed traditional Episcopal Church and more importantly a biblical church – that fuel this faithfulness. In these chapels, parishes, and dioceses, the faithful are also encouraged by worship that reflects the historic Anglican balance of scripture, tradition, and reason – a haven for those yearning to find that sacred inheritance.

Sixty years ago, the Episcopal Church boasted over 3.4 million members throughout the United States of America. Today, baptized membership stands a little below 1.5 million, down over 500,000 from a decade ago even though weekly attendance saw a slight rebound post-pandemic.

Episcopal seminaries are shrinking; its dioceses are merging; some parishes are only sustaining thanks to trust funds and legacy endowments . . . not actual disciples. Many of the Episcopal Church’s pews are empty and the ones that are full of congregants have an average age that is dangerously close to irrelevance.

Even more alarming is the institutional response to this decline.

Rather than asking whether straying from Scripture has led to the fall, Episcopal Church leadership has doubled down and decided that the solution is more progressive activism.

Fly more flags. Add more pronouns. Hold more workshops. Less bible and more Marx.

It is the death spiral of institutional decadence – and the church’s leadership is too spiritually blind to see it.

In the Book of Genesis, Esau traded his birthright for a bowl of pottage – a temporary meal that cost him permanent inheritance.

That metaphor couldn’t be more appropriate for the Episcopal Church, which once held an unmatched position of spiritual authority in American life. It was the default Church of Presidents, Senators, Ambassadors, Generals, and civic leaders. It offered moral clarity in times of war, cultural confidence in times of chaos, and spiritual refuge in moments of national mourning.

But it traded that sacred inheritance for applause from a group of individuals who will never darken the doors of an Episcopal Church – not because they aren’t thirsty for salvation, but because they already have taken what they need from the church. By chasing cultural relevance, the Episcopal Church has made itself irrelevant.

What is so disappointing is that the tragedy that has become the Episcopal Church isn’t just institutional . . . it is theological.

You cannot remove repentance from Christianity and still call it the Gospel. You cannot bless sin and claim moral authority in the same breath. You cannot deny scripture and then wear vestments as if that covers the betrayal.

The Episcopal Church no longer teaches biblical anthropology. It no longer affirms the exclusivity of Christ. In fact, the Episcopal Church barely references sin – unless it’s collective or systemic. And when it talks about salvation, it usually refers to environmental justice or racial equity, not the forgiveness of sins or the resurrection of the Body.

This is not just heresy, it’s malpractice. And the damage that has been done is generational. Young people hungry for meaning see through the charade. They know when a church is just parroting MSNBC in stained glass. And rather than attract the next generation of churchgoers, church-builders, priests, deacons, and bishops, the Episcopal Church repels them. Ultimately, young Americans have figured out that they do not need to show up at 10 a.m. on a Sunday to get a TED Talk about climate change, or defunding the police, or embracing Palestine over Israel . . . they can get that on TikTok.

The consequences of a compromised church do not stop at the sanctuary door. When spiritual institutions collapse, so do political ones. The same leaders who once bowed before the cross now bow before polls. Their convictions are as fragile as the next media cycle. If you wonder why our nation’s political class lacks courage, look at the pulpits that once taught them virtue.

When the Church no longer teaches submission to a higher law, the state becomes its own god. A republic without righteousness cannot long endure.

This is not just a problem for Episcopalians. It’s a problem for the country. The collapse of moral authority in our churches affects every part of American life – from the courts to the classroom to the Capitol. When elites are no longer formed by Scripture, they are formed by ideology. And ideology without God always leads to tyranny.

So, what do we do?

First, speak plainly. Do not pretend that “progressive Christianity” is just another flavor of faith. It is a counterfeit gospel. It must be exposed as such.

Second, support the faithful. Invest in churches that preach the Word, affirm life, uphold marriage, and teach biblical truth without apology.

Third, call leaders – political and spiritual – to account. Ask where they worship. Ask what their pastors believe. Ask what their churches teach. Because if a senator kneels before Baal on Sunday, don’t expect him to defend liberty on Monday.

Fourth, reclaim the high ground of cultural formation. Build schools, seminaries, publishing houses, and artistic guilds that disciple leaders who fear God more than man. If the elite institutions have rotted, then the answer is not withdrawal – it’s construction. Build parallel institutions rooted in truth, not trend.

Fifth – and this is essential – stop giving cover to compromised churches. Too often, conservative families remain in apostate congregations out of habit, nostalgia, or convenience. But our presence legitimizes their decay. If your pastor won’t preach the Gospel, leave. If your bishop denies the Bible, denounce him. The remnant must be willing to walk away from dead institutions and plant new ones with life.

History shows us that decline can be reversed. In the 16th century, a corrupted church sparked the Protestant Reformation. In the 18th century, the First Great Awakening shook the colonies and prepared them for independence. In the 20th century, revivals swept through war-torn cities and brought millions back to Christ.

It can happen again. But only if the truth is preached – not avoided. Only if repentance is demanded – not diluted. Only if the Church once again sees itself not as a reflection of the world, but as a beacon above it.

The Episcopal Church was once the conscience of a rising nation. Today, it is the echo chamber of a fading elite.

It doesn’t have to stay that way. But the road back is narrow. It begins with repentance, continues through clarity, and ends – if we’re faithful – in revival.

America doesn’t need more church-themed social justice nonprofits.

It needs bold pulpits, faithful shepherds, and congregations who aren’t afraid to offend the world to obey the Word.

It needs a Church with a spine.

It needs a lighthouse to show us the way home once again.