Last summer, the Rev. John Heidt asked the question, "Where have all the catholics gone?" [TLC, July 1]. In response, Mary Therese Scott-Hamblen replied with an insightful answer: "we are alive and well, sitting in the trenches with our tin helmets on, desperately trying not to draw enemy fire" [TLC, Oct. 21]. She went on to articulate a vision of the Episcopal Church in which true inclusiveness-rather than a rigid liberalism, intolerant of traditional Anglican attitudes, practices and opinions-would be possible and indeed healthy.

If I can add my voice as another "young fogey" to Mrs. Scott-Hamblen's, I'd like to suggest something of a diagnosis (and a self-implicating one) of the Anglo-Catholic response to perceived threats from the ecclesiastical establishment: We complain. And herein lies the root of our problems, real and imagined, parochial and diocesan, personal and communal. A moratorium on complaining ought to be at the heart of the "adjustment on both sides" Mrs. Scott-Hamblen recommends as necessary "for the Episcopal Church to regain her catholic identity."

Just imagine the differences such a fundamental change would make in the life of the Episcopal Church. Anglo-Catholics couldn't (at least with plain justification) be known as the stodgy, old, complaining wing of the church. Visitors would find joy in our parishes, and be drawn to join, rather than affiliate with the trendy parish down the street. It's up to us to make sure that Cranmer's English (and theology) don't go hand in hand with cranky people in the pews.

Anglo-Catholicism can expect a drawn-out, steady decline in the next several decades if its adherents continue, "in splendid isolation, veiled from the rest of the church by an impenetrable cloud of incense" to use Mrs. Scott-Hamblen's memorable phrase. But the fault will not be that of a hierarchy indifferent to traditional religion, or even a secular society with little patience for hard work in prayer, and growth in Christ. The fault will be the fault of Anglo-Catholics themselves for having allowed so much of their energy and mission to be sapped by infighting, complaints and whatever else can reasonably pass as "re-arranging deck-chairs on the Titanic."

After all, what reason have members of other schools of the Episcopal Church to believe or trust Anglo-Catholics when they see a movement of people who don't, frankly, often practice what they preach? In how many parishes are there lines of penitents before Easter or Christmas? How many of us lament the ambiguity of the national church on the role and ministry of women in Christianity, but wouldn't dream of praying the Rosary on the subway or the bus to work? How many of us complain vociferously about the national church's acquiescence to abortion, but wouldn't imagine fasting one day a week at lunch, and donating the money we would have spent to a shelter for single mothers? We groan about the supposed lack of distinctively Anglican theological study in seminaries, but how many self-identifying Anglo-Catholics can claim that they have read a single work of Richard Hooker, John Mason Neale, James DeKoven or Lancelot Andrewes, let alone Michael Ramsey, Austin Farrer or A.M. Allchin?

There is no need to give answers to these questions because every one knows the answers. In the face of a staggering lack of authenticity and dedication in Anglo-Catholicism today, perhaps a renewal of the church can begin with personal rededication to lives of penance and fasting, prayer and service, joy and Christian love. And perhaps this can happen as it has always happened: in small groups-like the men who wrote the tracts at Oxford, or the women who banded together to become the Community of St. Mary in New York City in the 1860s. In small groups with singleness of mind, with eyes focused on the cross, and hearts gathered at the empty tomb, a revolution can begin.

And then, when our knees have become worn out by prayer (I don't say too much prayer) and our church buildings worn out in worship and service to the poor-when our lives have been rooted through the sacraments in the life of the Trinity, then we can begin to complain . . . but only because we don't know what to do with all the people whom God has sent us to care for and minister to.

No bishops can keep us from this; no canons can distract us from this. Inhospitable canons and diocesans were the bane of the Oxford Movement, but it flourished, moved beyond its academic origins into the slums of London, across oceans, into orphanages, parishes, homes and monasteries. The Oxford Fathers, and their successors as Anglo-Catholics, could carry the fullness of their faith in Christ to the ends of the earth because a moratorium on complaint was ingrained in their souls.

And until we make one ourselves, Anglo-Catholic gatherings will continue to be plagued by petty disagreements about the filioque and birettas, bickering about bishops, and complaints about "how bad it is in St. X's parish." As long as the Episcopal Church, and Anglo-Catholics in particular, continue to allow themselves to be absorbed with "issues" and controversies, we will continue to allow ourselves to be ineffectual in communicating the gospel of Jesus Christ to a world hungry for blessing and love.

Richard M. Mammana, Jr. is a student at Columbia University and a member of the Church of the Resurrection, New York City.