But the Episcopal Church isn't about to implode, Smith says. What's more likely is fragmentation.
It is entirely possible that the Anglican Communion could split right down the middle on the issue of openly gay men and women in the priesthood, with England, Canada and the United States going one way, while the "global south," as Roseberry puts it, goes another way. "There could come a time when the only place we find gospel solidarity is with our brothers in the global south," he says, referring primarily to Africa and Central and South America.
Reverend David Roseberry
Gene Robinson was the first openly gay man elected as a bishop in the Episcopal Church.
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Under such a scenario, Episcopalians and Anglicans would struggle with the loss of members and dollars, Smith says, but the minority movement may find it hard to identify with one another.
"There's a problem in handling differences through schism," he says. "Regardless of how deeply held your convictions are about the rightness or the error in a particular decision, the fact of the matter is that once parishes separate from dioceses and dioceses separate from the larger church, it then becomes hard to explain to any Episcopal lay person why they should give their loyalty to their church beyond the boundaries of their own convictions and their own needs."
In the meantime, the mundane work of the church must go on: counseling troubled marriages, helping those who've lost their faith, uplifting the poor, the needy and the afflicted.
It's Sunday morning at Christ Church in Plano. As the parishioners file into the large sanctuary, their children gather around the boulder at its entrance, watching the water spout from its center.
For the most part, the parishioners are dressed casually. Men wear polo shirts and tasseled loafers, women wear summer dresses. Some of their children are dressed in shorts; others wear tank tops. They have come, in Roseberry's words, to hear the good word of God on a Sunday morning.
He is at the front of the sanctuary, dressed in a white robe that comes down to his ankles. Beneath it, his khaki pants and simple black dress shoes are plainly visible. As everyone takes their seats, he takes his beside the choir, also dressed in white robes.
Today's sermon is given by the Reverend Greg Methvin, one of the younger members of the Christ Church clergy. He stands behind a lectern. His topic is sex. Sex, God's way.
"The Bible says sex is God's gift," he says. "As long as it is in context of marriage, it is a blessing beyond compare."
His message is simple and straightforward, delivered in plain language buttressed with statistics and stories culled from sources as diverse as the Miami Herald and a professor at the University of Texas at Austin. He tells the story of a man addicted to pornography and strip clubs who somehow found his way back to God. He ends with a scripture from the Book of John.
All the while, the Reverend Roseberry, who is seated high on the stage behind him, is smiling, his bald dome clean and shiny. He has much to be grateful for. His church is growing. He has a son in the priesthood. He has a daughter about to give birth. But above all he is grateful that he has the truth. What he and his parish call the truth.
