Pastor leads church in secession struggle

Deepa Bharath

When Praveen Bunyan speaks, the words ring loud and clear.

They still bear a trace of an East Indian accent, as the

42-year-old pastor of St. James Church on Via Lido was born and

raised in India and lived there most of his life.

But it’s easy to understand what he says, because he seems to

stand by and believe in every word that comes out of his mouth.

Bunyan spearheaded his church’s recent struggle against the

Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles. St. James, All Saints’ Church in

Long Beach and most recently St. David’s in North Hollywood, seceded

from the diocese last week announcing that they are now under the

Diocese of Luwero in Uganda, Africa.

In a way, Bunyan believes he was destined to come to Newport

Beach.

“I didn’t want to be in the middle of all this,” he said. “But it

just happened that way.”

The issue was one of “self-identity” and was crucial to him and

his church members, Bunyan said.

“We don’t want to be part of a church that questions the divinity

of Jesus Christ and is not so sure about the validity of the

scriptures,” he said. “If we deny the basic tenets of Christianity,

why do we even call ourselves a church?”

Bunyan has maintained that his church did not break away from the

Episcopal Church because of the issue of homosexuality, but he said

he is personally opposed to the ordination of Gene Robinson, an

openly gay man, as the bishop of New Hampshire.

“I’m not saying leaders should be perfect,” he said. “I’m no saint

myself. But a bishop or a minister should be someone who is above all

reprove.”

Bunyan’s church, however, welcomes everyone, he said --

heterosexual or homosexual.

“But we don’t marry gay couples in our church because it’s against

the scripture,” he said. “A Christian marriage is between a man and a

woman.”

All other individuals must live a life of celibacy or “holy

singleness” according to the Bible, but Bunyan says he is aware of

how practical or impractical that may be in society today.

“There are people who veer off the path,” he said. “In our church,

we have gay people who go off that path and succumb to temptation,

just as we have heterosexual people who do that. But do we throw them

out of church for that? No. We pray together.”

The church also has special ministries for gay and lesbian people

and for those infected with HIV, Bunyan said.

“The gay issue is not why we disassociated ourselves from the

Episcopal Church,” he said. “It may appear that way because of our

beliefs, but it’s not the real reason.”

St. James is still part of the Anglican Communion comprising 77

million people. The 2.5-million strong Episcopal Church of the United

States is also part of the Anglican Communion. St. James has seceded

from a small part of the Anglican Communion, Bunyan said.

“The Episcopal Church has been receiving stern warnings from the

Anglican Communion about the path they have been taking,” he said.

The Episcopal Church, in an attempt to adapt to a changing

culture, has lost its identity, Bunyan said.

“This obsession with fitting in has led them down a different

path,” he said. “All we can do is pray for that church and its

leaders.”

Bunyan’s journey into the life he now leads was tumultuous. Born

into a family of Christian ministers, he told himself as a young man

that he would never take that path. Bunyan’s resolutions were usually

set in stone.

“But this one, God overruled,” he said.

Bunyan’s great-grandfather was the first convert in the family who

later in life became a minister in the South Indian state of Andhra

Pradesh. His grandfather was ordained the first bishop of the

Anglican Church of South India. His parents taught theology at the

Hindustan Bible Institute in Chennai, a city in the southeastern

coast of India.

That’s where Bunyan went to school and college. Although he grew

up with his parents teaching at a seminary, Bunyan had very little

regard for the church, he said.

“I was more into being popular in school and college,” Bunyan

said.

He played sports, but he also developed a drinking habit and

became addicted to drugs.

“I was going astray and wanted to be popular,” he said. “I was

throwing muck on the face of the church and ridiculing God.”

But Bunyan had his turning point when he was about 20. He was

looking for something in his dresser drawer when a needle he used for

shooting drugs pricked his finger.

“A drop of blood fell from my finger to a Bible that I kept in my

drawer,” he said. “I dusted the old, brown Bible and opened it.”

His hands took him straight to the Book of Phillipians, Chapter 2.

“I asked myself, why?” Bunyan said. “Why did Jesus die on the

cross?”

And just then, he said, he felt the presence of Jesus Christ in

his room.

“I heard Him tell me: “Praveen, I died for you,’” Bunyan said.

“And that’s when I said, ‘If you died for me, I want to live for

you.’”

To this day, the pastor believes that moment turned his life

around. He threw his drugs and needles out the window and into the

Cooum river that traversed his neighborhood. He pursued a master’s

degree in public administration and political science.

But even then, he was fighting his destiny. The turning point came

when his parents went to do missionary work in a village in interior

Andhra Pradesh.

“They successfully converted one family,” Bunyan said. “But I

wondered who would continue the work and teach them more. My parents

said they didn’t know, but God would send someone.”

Bunyan took it upon himself to be that someone. For 15 months, he

lived under a tree in that village breathing its dry air, with only a

backpack and no tent or shelter over his head.

“I’d eat berries or fruits,” he said. “Sometimes, people would

bring me food.”

As he learned to plow the soil with the farmers, he talked to them

about Jesus. While he was there, Bunyan had helped set up 12 churches

in that village and neighboring villages.

His parents encouraged him to attend a seminary in Pune, India,

where he met and married Grace Veena Samson. Together, they worked in

India as ministers and then moved to the United States in 1993 to

pursue higher studies in theology. Bunyan spent most of his years in

this country as a minister for a church in Colorado.

“As a pastor, he was very engaging,” said Bob Williams, a

parishioner and a Denver real estate agent who helped the pastor find

a home in the area and who later became one of his best friends.

“People were instantly attracted by his warmth, spontaneity and

clarity.”

Bunyan was not one to try to please everyone, Williams said.

“I suspect the decision he made with his church was agonizing for

him,” Williams said. “But it’s important for people to do what they

believe they have to do. The core of Praveen’s being is in his faith,

his family and his church.”

St. James Church offered Bunyan the job in January 2003.

The decision to appoint Bunyan was unanimous, said Jim Dale,

president of the church’s board of directors.

“We found him to have a heart for scripture,” he said. “He’s a

great leader, with strong pastoral skills, and above all, we felt we

were in the presence of an incredibly godly man.”

Bunyan is also a people person, Dale said.

“He loves to be around people,” he said. “His family serves as a

role model to show people what a family is about.”

The church definitely did not call Bunyan in to lead them out of

the Episcopal Church, Dale said.

“But he has handled the situation wonderfully,” he said. “He has a

pastor’s heart and understands that there may be people hurting. He

communicates openly with all our members.”

Bunyan understands that this could end up being a legal battle,

with the Bishop of Los Angeles refusing to release the churches to

the African diocese. An African archbishop responded to the bishop

saying that the clergy and churches now came under the Diocese of

Luwero.

“We were happy to receive that support from the archbishop,”

Bunyan said. “This church belongs to us. It’s our home, and this is

where we intend to be.”

* DEEPA BHARATH is the enterprise and general assignment reporter.

She may be reached at (949) 574-4226 or by e-mail at

deepa.bharath@latimes.com.