Sean Rowe, the newly installed presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, knows a thing or two about austerity.
As a boy, growing up in Hermitage, Pennsylvania, he saw Westinghouse Electric Corp. shutter its plant. Later, Sharon Steel went bankrupt, laying off thousands of workers, among them his uncles.
Now, at 49, Rowe’s been chosen to bring some fiscal and organizational restructuring to a denomination in decline.
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The Episcopal Church’s membership dropped just below 1.6 million in 2022, down 21% from 2013. Over the past two years the decline appears to be accelerating rather than slowing, occasioning headlines such as “ Episcopal Withering on the Vine,” and “The Death of the Episcopal Church is Near.”
When casting for a new leader to replace Michael Curry, the denomination’s first Black presiding bishop, Episcopalians nominated Rowe on the first ballot. Rowe had been serving as bishop of Northwestern Pennsylvania, and under a novel partnership, he also served as provisional bishop of the Western New York diocese, a collaborative model now being tried in other places.
At the same General Conference in which Rowe was elected, he was tasked with developing a plan to save $3.5 million on staff over three years.
Rowe, who has a Ph.D. in organizational learning and leadership, has already talked about cutting back the church’s hierarchy and moving resources down the ladder to church ministries.
His first two weeks in office have been busy. First, Donald Trump was elected president. Rowe issued a letter saying the mission of the church — striving for justice and peace, and protecting the dignity of every human being — would continue.
Then, Archbishop Justin Welby, spiritual leader of the global Anglican Communion, resigned over his handling of a child sex abuse scandal. The Episcopal Church is one of 42 autonomous churches that make up the worldwide Anglican Communion, with about 80 million members in 160 countries.
“Abuse in any form is horrific and abhorrent, and it grieves me that the church does not always live up to its ideal as a place where all of God’s children are safe,” Rowe said in a statement Tuesday. He also pledged to address any failures in safeguarding children in the Episcopal Church.
Rowe lives in Erie, Pennsylvania, with his wife, Carly, the executive director of the Cathedral of St. Paul. The couple have a 12-year-old daughter, Lauren. RNS spoke to Rowe, the youngest presiding bishop ever, about the challenges ahead. The interview was edited for length and clarity.
You’ve talked a lot about structural realignment. What does that mean and what do you envision it will look like?
We understand ourselves as Christians to be the risen body of Christ in the world. But we’re also an institution in society and in many ways we’ve atrophied. We should be about the institution not for the institution’s sake, but for the ends for which the institution advocates. We have a particular vision for the world and the people and a relationship with the people around us. A strong institution will help us live into those. What I hope to do is be able to take an institution that was built and designed for a particular time and place to help it adapt to the world in which we live now. I’m hoping to help the church renew its sense of itself in the world, rather than holding on to ways that mean it can’t be as effective. We’re not as effective as we could be.
Could you be a little bit more specific about what changes might be in store for the Episcopal Church?
Our denominational structure would begin to focus its resources and its time and energy in local ministry on the ground. The Episcopal Church has a particular view of the Kingdom of God that is at odds with predominant cultural views, which sees the Kingdom of God as over others, as judgmental, as partisan. We have a very different understanding. And I’m hoping to make that relevant to the world in new ways. It happens by creating an organization that is flat and more able to quickly adapt.
Is the church too top-heavy?
Oh, sure. It was structured for a time when we had a lot more people. In 1965 we were more than double the size we are now. It made sense in that world. It was a large corporate structure, and that’s just not necessary in that way. Also, the culture has shifted around us in ways we couldn’t have imagined then. So it’s really sort of catching up to that. We want to have a compelling relevant voice along with all of our interfaith partners.
How do you understand the decline of the denomination, and do you anticipate it will continue?
I think it gets worse before it gets better. Some of it is related to the changing culture around us. Much of it is institutional. What people sometimes call organized religion has earned its reputation as being untrustworthy or partisan or judgmental or out of touch. Our lack of ability to be authentic and to allow the brand of Christianity to be almost entirely identified with the Christian right. That’s a piece of it. Also, our own failures holding ourselves accountable and our own inability to live up to our own values has cost us deeply. People are just saying, we don’t want to be part of this at this point.
However, it is a powerful tradition that we’re a part of. If we can reclaim that piece of our heritage, and open people up to the wideness and the richness of faith, that is compelling. But it’s not gonna look like it did. The truth of the matter is we don’t know what it will look like. We don’t know what structures we need. We have to experiment. I think this is a season of experimentation. It’s an exciting time, frankly, but it’s going to require us to be honest with ourselves in ways we haven’t been.
Is there a willingness to reexamine the structures and the institutions and pare down where needed?
I think part of the reason I was elected was to help lead some of this particular change. So I think there’s some willingness, but like any other kind of change initiative, it’s about the distribution of loss in many ways. So what happens when it’s going to cost us personally? That’ll be the challenge ultimately. But I think we’re up to it.
You grew up in the Rust Belt as all these factories closed. How did that affect you?
I actually experienced what it is to have things you love and value almost evaporate overnight. For what felt like a period of five or six years in the region where I was, things just evaporated — the major steel employer and the ancillary shops and all the things that support an industry — they just went away. Sharon Steel was a corporate raider who bankrupted it and just siphoned all the money out of it and thousands of people were unemployed. A couple of generations of my family were steelworkers. You could graduate from high school, go to the mill, get a job. My uncles were millwrights. In the hierarchy of the steel world, it’s a skilled worker, somebody who can, who fixes the machines. So you could make a living. You weren’t wealthy but you could raise a family. Then it disappeared. There’s all the reactions to change — the grief, the anger, the vain hope that it’s gonna come back — but ultimately a kind of practicality and resilience says, ‘OK, this is the reality. This is the hand we’ve been dealt. Now we have to do something different with this.’ That has always stuck with me. These men and women figured it out. I think it taught me about resilience and it taught me about the need for change and how when it comes your way, you’ve got choices. That’s why I’m not panicked about where the church is at all. We have a compelling mission and vision and it’s an alternative to the prevailing one.
How do you see the church in the next four years vis-à-vis the Trump administration?
I’m gonna continue to call the church to stand with the least of these. We have for many years had a significant ministry with refugees. We’re one of 13 federal agencies that resettles refugees. We will continue that work. We want to stand with those who are seeking refuge in this country and stand on our record of success, resettling asylum-seekers and refugees. We’re Christians who support the dignity, safety and equality of women and LGBTQ people. We understand that not as a political statement but as an expression of our faith. We may disagree about immigration policy in the pews. We’re largely united about our support of people who are seeking refuge and asylum and inclusion of all people.
Has the church taken a stand on Christian nationalism?
Our House of Bishops has at least a theological report on Christian nationalism, which I think is well done. We’re after creating an inclusive, welcoming church that helps to transform the world. Christian nationalism really has no place. We will bring forth an understanding of the kingdom of God that is entirely in opposition to those ways of thinking and the values of Christian nationalism.
You yourself were once an evangelical. You went to Grove City College, a conservative evangelical school. What happened?
I attended Grove City College but I did not learn Christian nationalism there. I learned about the rule of law as a core fundamental and that’s what I don’t see in a lot of the thinking that is there now. I always struggled with a lack of an expansive or inclusive worldview that did not account for the complexity of human nature and the world around me. It felt limiting and narrow to me. I had friends who came out as LGBTQ, I traveled to see how other cultures lived and thought. As my world expanded, I came back to new understandings. I’ve gone from being an evangelical Christian, as the term is understood today, to someone who understands God as much broader and the world as much more complex than I once thought.
And then you went straight to Virginia Theological Seminary and became a priest at age 25. What was that like?
Yes, at St. John’s in Franklin, Pennsylvania, between Erie and Pittsburgh. I loved the people there. I loved the parish. I was able to connect with that community in really important ways. I ran for the school board and served four years. I had great teachers growing up and I loved school and I really wanted to give back to that and I had a great opportunity to do it. I chaired the housing authority in town. I had a good ministry there. It was only seven years, and then I was elected bishop.
Your predecessor, Michael Curry, is a huge Buffalo Bills fan. What about you?
Carly, my wife, she’s a Steelers fan. That’s not so much my thing. I do enjoy the phenomena of football and sports, but I was never a player myself and not much of an aficionado. My daughter and I like to scuba dive and we’ve taken that up. I also downhill ski. I enjoy that.
