Orthodox | Church As Ark

On Sunday I visited the Greek Orthodox Church here in Nottingham, a congregation of the Ecumenical Patriarchate Archdiocese of Thyateira and Great Britain. It was unlike any Christian worship I have experienced before; fascinating, and well worth the visit. Go yourself, but be warned: set aside time – in its entirety, I think proceedings ran between 9:30am and 2:00pm.

Four things that struck me were ‘church as ark,’ ‘fluid worship,’ ‘church as theatre,’ and ‘post-literate church.’

Church as Ark:
While we were welcome to observe what was going on, it was clear that this was church for the Greek ex-pat community. There was no sense of seeking to reach out to include ‘the other,’ to grow through conversion, to assimilate and be assimilated. Rather, the intention seemed to have to do with keeping the integrity of what it means to be Greek – and Christian – in the midst of a non-Greek and highly irreligious culture. Church as ark. It is easy for evangelicals to disapprove of church as ark, but it is worth remembering that the Russian Orthodox Church more than conquered the Communist experiment; held imagination and communal identity in the face of an atheist alternative reality. And from the ark, the earth is repopulated.

It seemed to me that there were parallels with niche-culture emerging churches, such as Goth churches, which seek to create community that is authentically Christian and authentically their own culture, unwilling to compromise on either.

Should church call us out of our culture; or seek to transform it? Should our response to Christ’s reconciling previously hostile groups be to seek to hold those groups together in any local congregation; or to build partnerships between distinct local congregations?

It seems to me that the ‘calling out of culture’ and assimilating a new heterogeneous group instead approach is built on a theology where heaven is the goal. But as Bishop Tom Wright said to us in our college lecture last week, heaven is not the goal, not the final destination: the final destination is a renewed heaven and earth, the cosmos with decay extracted. That, contra to Bono’s vision, all the colours will not bleed into one, but that something beautiful will be created from a broad palette.


Greek Orthodox , spirituality , church , church as ark

Live Autopsy

I recall hearing recently a grim news report of a man who had awoken in agony as the pathologist performing his autopsy took a scalpel to his face.

I imagine not many people have a corporeal awareness of their autopsy. But it provides a certain analogy for the experience of being at college:

Of being laid out,
and that which is normally hidden –
that which is integral to who you are,
but not necessarily healthy;
not necessarily pleasant to observe –
being exposed,
on display to others;
and you yourself painfully aware
that they are aware –
adding further hurt to
the rawness of the wound itself.


Here are two examples of what has already been exposed:

a) I know that I am almost certainly dyslexic and dyspraxic. For whatever reasons, my brain is not wired as it should be. I fall short, only able to do with great struggle what others do with ease. This is sin in my life, not in the sense of being a bad person (a very limited definition of sin, anyway), but in the sense of being held captive by the consequences of being a broken person in a broken world (the sort of sin Jesus’ disciples tried to pin down to something done wrong by an individual or their parents; but Jesus wouldn’t let them get away with that). And I have always refused to receive grace,* to accept help; but have built up compensating- and avoidance-mechanisms that have served me well (well enough to have a PhD in an Arts discipline). But it has taken college less than a fortnight to demolish those mechanisms, and leave me in no doubt that I must stop resisting grace, and acknowledge my brokenness. That hurt. So now I need to arrange professional assessments…

b) There are people I don’t like much, for all sorts of ignoble reasons, all kinds of petty prejudices. And with such people I tend not to make much effort, to love them, to serve them. That’s sin, in a more obvious (and no less real) sense. I’d rather not be hauled up over those prejudices by my neighbour, and my conscience, ganging-up on me; but that is what I need. That it should happen is grace. That it should happen in this safe environment is great grace.


Here is the key lesson of the forensic pathologist’s cold steel slab:

Only by thinking of ourselves as the greatest of sinners – and therefore as needful recipients of the greatest grace – can we avoid assuming that our sins are less horrid than those of our neighbour.

“Self-justification and judging others go together, as justification by grace and serving others go together.” D Bonhoeffer


*sometimes diagnoses and labels are not grace, but that is not the case in this instance.

vulnerability , spiritual formation , personal growth

What Is Worship?

Well, I’ve survived the first week of term. Just about…!


This first half-term, all the first years have to visit at least seven different churches, from various traditions and including Roman Catholic, Greek Orthodox, and a black majority Wesleyan. Part of the idea is to expose ourselves to different traditions, and reflect on them; and part of the idea, I suspect, is to be made uncomfortable by certain things, and to reflect on why we felt uncomfortable. Then, each week, we’ll attend a seminar, posing different questions. This week, the question was: what is worship?

Last Sunday night I went along to Trent Vineyard. As I have known many people who worship in Vineyard churches, and have worshipped in an Anglican church that has a close relationship with the Vineyard, I thought I would feel more or less at home. But as it turned out, I found it a very uncomfortable experience.

There were several things I felt uncomfortable with, which I won’t go into here. But one thing I felt uncomfortable with was the absence of a cross, or crucifix, and an altar as a focal point – or, indeed, anywhere at all in the purpose-built auditorium. (The focal point was the worship band, spread out across a stage at the front.)

Now, the absence of a fixed cross and altar would not have bothered me if we had been gathered in a café (though in such a space I would expect a portable cross and a surface appropriated as a make-shift altar), but in a space purpose-built for Christian worship, it just didn’t feel right. Why not? That comes down to how I would answer that question, what is worship?

What is worship? By which I mean to ask, what lies at the heart of formal, corporate worship? (And yes, I believe that worship goes wider than formal, corporate worship; but that is the question, in this context.) Here’s my answer:


The heart of formal, corporate worship is the Eucharist. The Eucharist is not only the point where we remember Jesus’ body broken 2,000 years ago; but the point where the Holy Spirit re-members Jesus’ broken body today. We are the Body of Christ, dispersed both by our geographical circumstances and by those things that come between us and each other and God, which we call sin. The movement of formal, corporate worship, the sequence of its elements, brings us to the point where the broken body is re-membered, in order to be sent out into the world again. It is a journey to the Eucharist; and then out from the Eucharist; with the Eurcharist being the focus, the heart, the pivotal moment. The symbols of Christ’s body and blood, on the altar, at the foot of the cross.


And because this is my answer to the question, what is worship? to be in a place of formal, corporate worship devoid of cross and altar felt profoundly disturbing.

What about you? How would you answer the question?
Would you need a cross and altar?
Or, are you equally comfortable with their presence or absence?
Or, do you find such physical symbols a distraction away from the spiritual truths they were designed to point to?


worship , the eucharist , remembering the body of Christ

Snippets

We’ve had the stabilisers taken off Susannah’s bike. I’ve been going round the Square with her. We’ll wait for a park to let her try solo.
She’s doing an after-school art club on Mondays at the moment.

Noah has got a pretty good eye in with bat, and ball. It’s been fun playing with him in the garden. Susannah’s pretty good too.
Jo scalped him with trimmers last night.
He is loving his reading books from school.

They’re both making friends at school – there are other college kids in both their classes, which is great.

Elijah is into demolition – an aspiring South Sea Islander rugby forward.

Our lawn is full of shallow holes where the local squirrel has tried to bury nuts in too-hard ground.

Our washing machine is dead. By the time it gets fixed we’ll have been washing-machine-less for a fortnight. Fortunately we have some great new friends – thanks, guys!

Scrabulous is fun.

Jo is wonderful. But slightly mad – she’s taking NT Greek, for fun not credit…
Her parents came to visit on Saturday, which was great.
She’s making friends, and finding routines, and enjoying life on the whole.

I’ve played football every week since we’ve moved here, in goal, on the college field – or Field of Dreams, as it is also known. If goalkeeping was good enough for Pope John Paul II at seminary, it’s good enough for me!

College life is a whirl of people to get to know and timetables and routines and coursework to get to grips with – a major change in gear after working 12 hours a week…

Nottingham Castle is built on fibre-glass-enhanced rock!

Last week, someone added a comment on a post I’d written in April 2006. I’m astounded…


family news

Of Godparents

Term began today. Last week was Induction. On Friday afternoon, I was standing outside the Dean of Studies’ office, waiting to discuss my timetable. On the walls in the hallway there are several boards listing the names of those who went out from St John’s to serve as missionaries in other parts of the world. And there, on the board outside the Dean’s door, towards the bottom of the last column:

LAVILLE, J. Philippines 1972

Jo Laville was a godfather of mine. He died, training church leaders in India, not very long back. He’d lived for most of my life in Asia, but, by chance of home-leaves falling at the right time, he happened to attend our wedding in 1996; our honeymoon in Switzerland in 1997 (yes, I know that sounds a little weird: we were married in October, but wanted to go skiing, and so waited until the spring, and went on a group package. We didn’t know Jo was booked on the same group – but he was a life-long skier, who had skied in the Alps long before that became popular); and to the christening of our daughter in 2001.

Just as I hadn’t expected to see him get on our coach somewhere in Switzerland over a decade ago, so I hadn’t expected to see his name on a board in the hall.

As it happens, another of my godfathers, Revd Canon Dr Michael Green, was the first Principal of St John’s, Nottingham (1969-75 – the college goes back to 1863, but was located at various sites in London prior to moving to its current home).

And my parents share a god-daughter with the current college Principal.

And one set of my youngest child’s godparents are the brother and sister-in-law of the wife of the Dean of Studies whose study I was waiting outside on Friday.


Surreal does not begin to describe it. But there is something else: something about continuity; and inheritance; something about standing in a god-parental genealogy; something about arriving somewhere I never knew and until just under a year ago was not heading towards, and finding myself coming home. Something that brings with it anticipation…


college godparents

From Generation To Generation

Today Jo and I attended my grandad’s funeral. Dad led the service of remembrance at the crematorium, on behalf of his younger brother and sister and himself. Dad, you did grandad proud.

It was a good day. Don’t get me wrong: tears were shed, and rightly so. But it was a good day. Grandad’s coffin was brought in to Copland’s Fanfare to the Common Man, because his children thought that Jack deserved a fanfare. And the rightness of that music made me smile an honouring smile that stayed with me throughout the service.

After the service, we went back to my aunt’s who – as so often before, on happier occasions – laid on the most wonderful table, a gift to Jack and those who loved him. Thank you for all you have done, seen and unseen.


But for me today wasn’t just about granddad, much as I shall miss him; for me, perhaps alone, it was about learning my own role. As my father is, I am a firstborn son. And it struck me that one day the baton will pass to me, and I will do for my father that one last act he did for his father today; I will do for my brother and sister and our children what dad did for my uncles and aunts and cousins, and us, today. At least – if this can be said in the right way, heard in the right way – that is my hope; though, please God, may that day be many years from now.

However strange it sounds to our culture, there are other cultures that understand this task to be part of the birthright of a firstborn son (a challenging thought in our rights-obsessed society). It struck me that it is the birthright of a firstborn son to stand up to death and take a blow on behalf of the whole family: not that the pain of death is not felt, but that its force is not unmitigated. And it struck me that taking up this birthright is the very thing that Jesus, God’s begotten Son, the firstborn over all creation, has done for all God’s family; and that is why we can say, where, death, is your sting; where is your victory?

It struck me that standing up and taking the blow must be the most alone moment imaginable – though, dad, I hope we were in some small way there for you today. God knows it was alone enough having the curtain of the future drawn back for just a moment for now today. And it struck me that Jesus has been there, before dad, before I will stand there; and he stands with us, because that is (now, because of what followed) a moment – however evil – and not the final word. It strikes me that, in the most alone moment, we are not left alone.

I need role-models if I am to learn my role in life. Dad was a good role-model to me today. Jesus, you are our role-model. Thank you, both of you.


If this post is too private, too personal, to be thrown out into cyberspace; if I have caused any offence to my family; then I apologise. But why should death, which comes to us all, be taboo? If these thoughts help you, you’re welcome to them. And if not, let them fall to the ground.

The peace of the Lord be always with you.


family , funeral service

Tomato | Meditation On The Cross | 2

I sliced a tomato, and,
Revealed inside,
The cross.

You say, “The sign of the cross did not exist within the tomato prior to your cutting it; it is an arbitrary sign.”
But there was an inherent structure to the tomato, which meant that, when I sliced it in a particular cross-section, a cross was revealed. The sign of the cross was not yet actualised, true; but it already existed in potential.

In the world there is already testimony to the salvific work of God on the cross.
In the world there is already testimony to God’s kingdom advancing in our midst.
It is present before we speak of it.
It is present before we arrive in order to speak of it.
It is waiting to be revealed.

But it is not manifest until our proclamation, our demonstration, in all its inadequacy, plays its part.

I am a kitchen-knife, in God’s hand.
But God grows the tomatoes, picks the tomatoes.
God chooses which knife he will take up,
And which lay aside, on any given occasion.
The knife’s role is both small and essential.

We do not usher-in the kingdom – Jesus did that, 2000 years ago.
But if that kingdom may be revealed through me,
If what is present becomes visible through me,
Then I am satisfied.


the cross , spirituality

Tomato | Meditation On The Cross | 1

I sliced a tomato, and,
Surrounded by spilt juice,
The cross.

The cross is messy,
Physically –
Smeared in blood, yes,
But in shit, and piss,
And vomit too,
For the crucified body empties itself
In whatever ways it can.

But the cross is messy
In other ways. The cross
Is messy
Philosophically –
For there is no greater proof
Of our need for God
Than deicide.

And yet, like pips
In the juice of a tomato,
In the very midst of the mess,
The hope
Of new life;
That’s where such hope is
Found.

The cross is messy
Theologically –
We have no words,
No doctrines,
That can adequately describe
What defies attempts to be
Described, delineated,
Explained.

And yet, like
The tomato – a thing
Our intellect tells us is fruit,
Our instinct tells us is vegetable –
My failure to
Summise the cross
Denies neither its substance
Nor the fact
That I have tasted
Of it.


the cross , spirituality

A Family Story

Once, on my travels, I was introduced to a successful businessman. This man was well known not only in the business circles of his city, but across the city itself. He had served terms as president of both the Chamber of Commerce and the Country Club, and each year he hosted a fundraiser dinner at which the wealthiest families in town donated literally millions of dollars to the several charities of which he was a patron. Of these, the one closest to his heart was a fund he himself had established, to support kids from disadvantaged neighbourhoods through college. Without ever demanding respect from anyone, he commanded respect from all who met him.

This man told me that he had two sons, both of whom had followed him into the family business he had built up over the years. The extent of the older son’s ambition stretched no further than one day to step into his father’s position within the business, and the wider community. His father loved him, and believed that while his son lacked the drive that had led him to build a successful business from nothing, he had the steady character to oversee the existing business, and hand it on in turn.

His younger son was cut from a very different cloth – the same cloth as his father. He was full of ambition. He loved his father, and respected him as both father and a businessman; but he had enough about him to realise that, in this town, he would never be anything other than his father’s son. And that was not enough for him: he needed the opportunity to make something of himself, or fail trying.

And so the younger son had gone to his father, and asked for the 50% share in the family business that would come to him anyway in the future, to have it now when he could make the most of it. And the father agreed. Indeed, he went further: he gave both his sons the 50% share that was coming to them, although the older son had not made any such request. And then he went further still. Because he knew that his son was not interested in running the business but was looking to liquidate his assets; and so, in order to keep the business within the family, he bought back off his son the shares he had just given him.

For this decision, he was for a time derided by the business community that had held him in such respect. To pay the market value for what was already yours was madness. And it certainly impacted his personal fortune. But he was wise enough to know that, in the long term, it was more important to keep the business. And anyway, he understood grace.

His son had gone up the coast, ending up in a city with a reputation that anyone with a little money and a lot of imagination could make a lot of money – enough to slake their imagination’s thirst. And for a while, things went well. Very well. But he had arrived just as the start-up opportunities had reached capacity. Those who had made their money were already relocating their businesses even further up the coast, and the local bubble was about to burst.

A risk-taker at heart – like his father – he’d made a bad call, then another, and then one thing led to another, and rapidly. He tried calling in favours; but ‘friends’ who’d been all too happy to be seen with him when he was on the up, made their excuses now he was on the way down. He went from sleeping in penthouse suites – if he came home at all – to progressively smaller apartments in progressively seedier neighbourhoods; to sleeping on friends’ floors; and then the floors of strangers; and, finally, in doorsteps and back alleys.

It was at that point that he admitted to himself that things had not worked out as he had hoped. But he was still a risk-taker, and there was still one last roll of the dice. He’d return home, and ask his father to hire him, right back at the bottom of the business he’d once – briefly – co-owned.

And in a way, this risk didn’t pay off either; because his father wasn’t having any of this business proposition. Didn’t even let him lay it out on the table. Not interested, no sir. All he was interested in was that his son was back home. First up, he got him sorted with a bath and a shave and a change of clothes. And while that was going on, he was on the phone, giving orders, organising a party, booking the caterers – the best.

The stage was set for a family reunion of – like everything else about the man – legendary proportions. But his older son poured cold water on the plan. He was seriously upset, to put it mildly. He hadn’t spoken to his brother since their father had divided the business between them. Instead, he’d set out to show his father that he was worth so much more, dutifully putting in long hours at work, stepping up to the increased responsibility of being a major player on the board. And now his father was throwing a party for his waster of a kid brother.

Why, he’d asked? Why him? Why not me? Why have you never set aside anything from the wealth of the business to celebrate me? After all I’ve so diligently done for you. He’s always been your favourite. He spat in your face; he pissed away half of what you’d built up; and you let him walk back in as if nothing had happened.

I believe that at the time his father was too gracious to point out the obvious. I suspect he might have got there for himself, in the end. Since his brother left town, he’d been so focused on proving himself to his father, he’d failed to realise that he was not working for his father but for himself. That half the business was his. That he had all the resources he needed to celebrate whatever and whoever he chose. But he hadn’t registered it. He had failed to receive what his father had given him; and so had been unable to give to anyone else.

But he wasn’t going to take that comment about letting his son walk back in to the family as if none of what had gone before had happened. No, sir. Because the truth of the matter was precisely the opposite. It was precisely because of all that had happened that he wanted to celebrate. Because his son had been lost – as good as dead – and now he was home.

Were the sons reconciled to each other; to their father? I never found out – we had to leave before he finished his tale. Or perhaps he chose not to; I no longer recall. But I suspect that, if they were all reconciled, it was the grace he held out so resolutely that won it.


graceless society , faith and society , grace , thelogy

Respect | Tolerance | Grace

This post follows on from recent posts on what I have called the graceless society.

The two most prominent words at play in the public debate on social ills in the UK are ‘respect’ and ‘tolerance’:
young people need to be shown respect by the generation who currently hold public office, and need, in turn, to show respect towards their elders;
while tolerance of beliefs – and actions arising from beliefs – other than our own is held out as the key to harmony in a culturally diverse context.
But both ideas are compromised by fatal flaws.

The problem with respect is that it can be given grudgingly. To give grudging respect does not in any way undermine the integrity of the respect given; but it does undermine the usefulness of respect as a virtue for building society. Grudging respect ultimately fosters resentment, not only towards the one respected but also for all that is identified with them, all they are seen to stand for.

In contrast, it is impossible to extend grace grudgingly.

The problem with tolerance is that it does not allow us to make value judgements, whether pragmatic (this option is better than that option) or ultimate (this option is morally wrong). Tolerance insists that every view has equal validity – with the unique exception of being intolerant of any suggestion otherwise. Identifying tolerance as a virtue – indeed, as the primary virtue – acts to deny intolerance of any positive value, such as it rightly ought to have in, for example, intolerance of social injustice. The resulting internal conflict for a society that wants to be tolerant of lifestyle choices but intolerant of the catastrophic impact of free trade (which supports particular lifestyle choices) on the developing world, for example, deconstructs the usefulness of tolerance as a virtue for building society.

Grace is not dependent on tolerance. Millions of Anglicans worldwide, and Christians of many other traditions, part with the words of ‘the grace’: “May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit, be with you…” The original context of these words – perhaps far less familiar – is the very end of the New Testament letter 2 Corinthians, and come at the close of several chapters where the writer, Paul, displays quite spectacular intolerance for certain attitudes prevalent within the community he is addressing, and for those who have propagated those attitudes. Grace allows us to challenge beliefs, even vigorously oppose individuals, without devaluing the individuals in question.

Ultimately deriving from God’s free self-giving to us, grace is an expression of the gift economy. It works on the basis of receiving what I have not earned – what I am not legally entitled to – and giving away to another that which they have not legally earned from me. Rather than attempting to impose my views on others, through intellectual or physical aggression, grace seeks to serve them for their good, regardless of how they will choose to respond. Willingness to serve someone who does not ‘look like’ me or my community – along with willingness to be served by someone who does not ‘look like’ me, not because I have enslaved them, but because they have freely offered – are the acid tests of whether or not I have understood grace. Such a choice, replicated out across individuals and communities, has a potential to transform society that respect and tolerance cannot imagine…


graceless society , faith and society , grace , thelogy

Farewell, Grandad

My grandad, Jack Dowsett, died today. He was 90.

Grandad was a real gentleman, full of dignity, an understated class act. I’m not sure they make them like him anymore.

Just yesterday, as we waited for the end, I went in search of some record of his having lived and found this, a first-hand account of his experiences during WWII.


We grew up hundreds of miles away from my grandparents, and so my memories are relatively few. But they are happy ones.

Of being allowed to dip my finger in his beer, at family get-togethers when we were small…

Of practicing cricket in a park with grandad, my dad, and my younger brother…

Of being picked up from the railway station in his Jaguar…

Of ‘Dowsett Olympics’ – an annual event, in my grandparents garden when they lived in Whitstable and we were very young; featuring obstacle races between the cousins, the Dowsett boys and the Carter girls; and all recorded by grandad on cinecamera…

Of how, when he was older and his hearing was not what it had been, he would acknowledge things you had said that you knew he hadn’t fully heard, just because he understood how important it was for people to know they had been listened to…


And, much more recently, of him reading to Susannah, sat on his lap, and Noah, and holding Elijah in his arms…

Farewell, grandad. We love you.


God, have mercy on the soul of the departed,
for the sake of the living.
God, have mercy on those left behind,
who grieve this parting.
Lord, grant a clean release
To the dead, and those who survive them.
God, have mercy.


family , Jack Dowsett

82 Not Out

The other day, Jo bought the kids a first cricket set – yellow plastic bat, purple stumps and bail, and two orange balls. It didn’t take long for one of the balls to end up on the garage roof, where it sat for a couple of days before it was blown off onto the wrong side of the hedge. Such is the way of children’s balls and neighbours gardens…

This morning I mentioned the ball to our neighbour, and he said he’d keep an eye out for it.

We’d had lunch, and I was stood at the sink when there was a knock on the door. Noah – who’s been on half-days at school this week, and goes to full days on Monday – ran to answer it. He opened the door to our 82-year-old neighbour, who held out a small orange ball, shifted it in his hand, and said with a twinkle in his eye, “I feel like an Australian fast bowler.”


I fancifully wish Australian fast bowlers had the physical prowess of an 82-year-old man. But I sincerely hope that when I am 82 I’ll have the presence of imagination of my neighbour…


dreaming dreams , good neighbours

Honeysuckle

The honeysuckle grows right outside our french window, and is a magnet for garden birds. So far, they have proved too camera-shy for me; but I have at least captured a bee...

This is one of the first photos I took after we moved in, and, for the bee, I really like it.

To Affinity And Beyond, 3

Unlike law, grace cannot be taught. It can only be received and passed on.

The other day I was sitting in the doctors’ surgery waiting room, there to register with the local GP Practice. As I waited to have my blood pressure taken, be weighed and measured, and quizzed about my family health history, I noted a display on sexual health information. There were a couple of posters highlighting the pyramid effect of unprotected sex in relation to risk of sexually transmitted disease: you may only have had sex with one person, but if that person has previously had sex with three other people, and between them those three people have had sex with twelve other people, for the purposes of exposure to STDs, you have in effect had sex with sixteen people…

Grace can work in a similar way. If a person is exposed to someone who has been exposed to grace from a few other people, it increases their chance of being infected with grace. If that same person is exposed to several people who have been exposed to grace, the chances are greatly increased. And the presence of a few particularly promiscuous individuals skews the pyramidal possibilities wider. Especially if they don’t use the equivalent of condoms; don’t take precautions to protect themselves from being infected by grace or transmitting it to others. Such ‘condoms’ might include pride, or fear.

Once infected by grace, a person is a carrier. It might not develop into the full-blown version for years, but they can still pass it on. Once identified, it can be controlled – through regular doses of legal rights – but to my knowledge there is no cure, as yet.

As an individual, the little grace I might have to pass on can go a long way…

Dear God,
Make me promiscuous in relation to grace.
Don’t let me take precautions.
May I infect someone else today;
And may they pass grace on in turn.

May the grace that courses through my veins spread, develop, consume me.
Amen.


teenage killers , graceless society , theology

To Affinity And Beyond, 2

For an individual or loose group of individuals to kill another individual may be unlawful, but it is at the same time law-full: a taking the law into one’s own hands and applying it to its full extent – “Your very existence offends me, and so I shall take your life.”

In contrast, grace says, “Your very existence delights me, and so I shall affirm your life.”

When Adam is presented with Eve, who is both the same and yet different, he declares, “You are bone of my bone, and flesh of my flesh.” Indeed, Adam does not exist as a discreet entity prior to, or without, Eve.

When I am presented with someone who is of a different socio-economic background to me, they are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.

That is, we are made of the same ‘stuff,’ and, indeed, without ‘the other’ I am myself less complete (I do not mean that economic inequality is a positive thing, but am referring to our attitude towards those who have more or less than we do).

When I am presented with someone whose skin is a different colour from my own, they are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.

When I am presented with someone who is of a different generation to me, they are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.

When I am presented with someone who is of a different gender to me, they are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.

When I am presented with someone who is of a different religion to me, they are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.

When I am presented with someone who is of a different sexuality to me, they are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.

When I am presented with someone who is less able to enjoy the educational or relational opportunities I enjoy, as a result of disability, they are bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.

We live in a legal society that legislates against discrimination in all of these cases and more. But a legal society can never change the attitude of the fractured human heart towards ‘the other.’ Neither legislation, nor consciousness-raising, can adequately address the issue. They can only highlight the need for the issue to be addressed, and our inadequacy to address it.

What is it that causes me to fear the other, to strive to exalt myself above the other? It is the fear that the image of God reflected in them exposes the ways in which that image is marred in me. If I can get in there first, pointing out the ways in which God’s image is marred in another – or calling that which is not marred ‘marred’ – perhaps others won’t notice…


teenage killers , graceless society , theology

To Affinity And Beyond, 1

It is ironic that the very point where being online would be especially helpful – for accessing all kinds of information; for keeping in touch with family and friends – is the very time when we have lived in the Sheol of existence without the substance of the virtual world…

It has also been interesting, to me at least, to observe how helpful blogging is to the process of theological reflection, and indeed of simply keeping the brain ticking over. Over the summer, I’ve been trying to reflect on one of the major news stories, the apparently dramatic rise in murders – both premeditated and opportunistic; by knife and gun and savage kicks to the head; by individuals and groups – by teenagers. I say apparently dramatic because the rapidity with which trends move is inversely proportional to the numbers involved, so that when we are dealing with a very small number of incidents (e.g. murders) as a percentage of the possible agents (e.g. British teenagers), the trend inevitably appears to grow or be reversed rapidly (if such killings were commonplace, a small increase or decrease would not be felt). On the other hand, it is a growing concern – and concern about the situation may well reach a tipping-point that provides the opportunity to address the problem, before the problem itself reaches its own tipping-point and explodes exponentially.

We have seen an outpouring of column inches in the press, as columnists and politicians alike react to the events of the summer, attempting to identify the causes and the best responses. The difficulty is that, while we don’t have the luxury of ignoring the problem, the wrong responses will only further add to the problem we face. We need to be careful and thorough in our diagnoses; and careful and thorough in the choice and ongoing monitoring of our prescribed course of action.

The apparent problem – the one most readily identified by columnists and politicians, and on the grounds of which many of the suggested responses have been made – is one of lawlessness. That is, within a law-abiding majority living in a society built on legal principles, there are rogue elements, law-breaking individuals. And it is a matter of concern that an increasing number of children are being raised without reference to, or respect for, the legal code; a trend that left unaddressed would ultimately undermine the legal society.

As I have reflected on these unlawful killings, I believe this to be a fundamental misdiagnosis. The problem, as I see it, is not that we live in an increasingly lawless society, but that we live in a graceless one.

And therefore, far from being rogue elements, teenage murderers – and those who sell them weapons – are entirely consistent graceless members of a graceless majority, living within a law-based society. I shall explore this further in the following post.


teenage killers , graceless society , theology

Nottingham

We moved to Nottingham on 22 August, and are settling in. Susannah started school last Wednesday. Noah started school – for the first time – on Monday; he’s on half days this week, and goes to full days from Monday. I’m not sure what Elijah will make of it!

We are renting a lovely house. Until now, we’ve always lived in terraces, so a three-bedroom semi, with front and back gardens, driveway, carport and garage seems very grown-up! The garden is full of birds: robins, blackbirds, thrushes, various sparrows, blue tits, great tits, a flock of green(?) finches, wood pigeons, white doves…The house is light and airy, and while we lose space upstairs we gain space downstairs.


College doesn’t get going until the last week of September, so life is all about finding our feet, getting to know people and the area. There are several other newly arrived families who had to move in time for their children to start school, and there are several college kids in both Susannah and Noah’s classes. The school is just around the corner, as is the church (our garden backs onto the churchyard) and the pub, but not much by way of local shops.

Three days after we moved in, we spent the August bank holiday weekend celebrating Jo’s sister Laura’s wedding, to Steve. Jo’s parents laid on the most wonderful reception in a marquee in the field next to their home. It seems a long time ago – so much has been going on this summer – but now we’re back online I’ll hopefully get some photos up on flickr over the next few days…





Nottingham

One

What a difference a year makes.

Today is Elijah’s first birthday. He is fast leaving the baby stage behind.

In four days time we will be leaving the house he was born in.

And Grandma and Grandad have taken Susannah and Noah away overnight in their motor-home.

Revisit

I love shooting wildlife – with my camera.

Earlier this year, we holidayed in the North West of Scotland. We saw a lot of red deer, our largest native animal. We saw them in ones or twos on hillsides during the day; and in larger herds on lower ground, where the grazing was sweet, in the evenings. And I hoped to get some decent photos.

To be honest, I was disappointed with the images I came home with, including this one. But today, for whatever reason, I revisited this photo and cropped it, and I’m much happier with the resulting image (which is worth clicking on, to view larger).


Sometimes we try something, and have to say, that didn’t work out as we’d hoped. And that is good, because we learn from reflecting on what didn’t work out, as well as on what did.

But sometimes we try something and too quickly decide that it didn’t work out as we’d hoped. Which is why it is worth revisiting past experience, with the question: what was there all along that I failed to see at the time?


spirituality , photography , revisiting , church , mission

Connect | Play

The other day I had two coffees with two friends, one in the afternoon the other in the evening.

My afternoon coffee companion raised the subject of Facebook. His view was that this self-named ‘social utility’ would, in the long run, actually work against social connections, being part of a trend that trapped people in a virtual world. He cited anecdotal evidence of a growing number of people who were self-confined to the safety of their own homes, sat in front of their computer, never having to go out and come across, for example, home-less people without access to the virtual world. And he cited first-hand observed evidence of three people he knew who worked in the same building as each other and communicated through the day on Facebook: get off your chair and walk over to each other!!!

The same subject came up with my evening coffee companion. He told me the story of how he ended up with a Facebook account. He had been asked to talk to a group of young adults on engaging in mission within their culture, and he talked about needing to go to the places where people gathered – which, in our world are both physical and virtual – and spend time getting to know them, to understand how they viewed the world, engaging with them. And he cited MySpace as an example.
At the end of his talk, they informed him that they had all moved on from MySpace to Facebook. So he went home and signed up.

Both my friends made valid points. And both made points that are mitigated by other factors we might take into account.


Here are two reasons why Facebook might be A Good Thing: multiple connection, and play.

Another friend of mine has been doing some serious thinking on the subject of friendship recently – how we make friends, and invest in friendships. And one of the things sociologists identify that strengthens our relationships is multiple places of contact. In a ‘traditional’ community, neighbours not only live/d alongside each other, they worked alongside each other, shopped alongside each other, worshipped alongside each other, their children were educated alongside each other…In a transient community, the multiple nature of connections are broken down – and the quality of our relationships suffers as a result.

(I am a transient: my family is about to move to another city for two years, while I am at theological college; we will then move again, to my curacy; and then again…)

This is why teenagers who see each other all day at school (though largely in classrooms where social contact is tightly channelled) get on the phone to each other the moment they get home – having txtd each other on the journey. It might drive their parents insane, but they instinctively recognise that the more the expressions of or contexts for contact, the greater the reinforcement of the relationship. The mobile phone and the Net do not replace physical contact in physical settings; but reinforce – and, indeed, mediate – such contact. And for some of the talk to be serious – the eternal Big Questions of life – there is need for a lot of mindless chatter, or fun. If we represent serious talk by oxygen carried in the bloodstream, fun is both the arteries along which it passes and the red blood cells that carry it along.

Fun is a means of building the trust accounts that allow us to talk about serious things; and a convention that allows us to talk about things that expose ourselves, making us vulnerable, by allowing us to be slightly less vulnerable. And Facebook was created for teenagers – even if ‘us oldies’ are gate-crashing the party…Sending your friend a virtual fish for their virtual fish tank might not change the world in a big way. But who knows what it might lead to?

And frankly, those of us who grew up evangelical could all do with a little more fun in our lives. Andrew – lighten up a little, why don’t you?


If you want to look me up on Facebook, I’m listed as Andrew C. Dowsett.


facebook , social connections , friendship reinforcement , fun

Atheism, And Everything After

I am reading Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion, and, alongside it, The Dawkins Delusion: Atheist fundamentalism and the denial of the divine, by Alister McGrath with Joanna Collicutt McGrath.

I have a problem with Dawkins’ book. My problem is, it is presented in such a way that no-one can question it. If a theist questions it, their points are ‘self-evidently’ invalid, on account of their being a theist. If an atheist questions it, their points are less self-evidently invalid, and so it is just as well that Dawkins is at hand in the preface to the paperback edition to point out the error of their ways. If a theist who informs us that he used to be an atheist (such as Alister McGrath) questions it, then “That is one of the oldest tricks in the book, much favoured by religious apologists from C.S. Lewis to the present day. It serves to establish some sort of street cred up front, and it is amazing how often it works. Look out for it.” [p.13].

Dawkins is unquestionably to be respected as a serious scholar, but this is not the scholarly-but-accessible piece of work that its endorsers claim. Which is a shame, because there is substantive circumstantial evidence to suggest that atheism has intellectual integrity as a worldview, and I would suggest that atheist and theist alike would benefit from a scholarly-but-accessible atheist apologetic.


For what they are worth, here are some of my initial thoughts:

I suspect that one of the reasons why atheists tend to be less vocal about their atheism than ‘faith heads’ (Dawkins’ term) are about their faith is that ‘atheist’ is a negative description – a statement of what we do not believe – and who defines themselves in negative, rather than positive, terms? The current President of the United States of America is not a not-a-Democrat; he is a Republican. When presented with an ethnic monitoring form, I am expected to mark the box saying that I am white (though in truth I have never seen a white man in my life – and I grew up in Scotland, where you would find one if one was to be found), not a box indicating that I am not black (never seen a black man, either). Defining myself in terms of what I am not generally goes without saying.
Is ‘humanist’ the ‘positive’ alternative to the ‘negative’ label atheist?

I suspect that, while there are ‘pure’ polytheists, monotheists, agnostics, and atheists living in the UK today, there is a sizeable percentage of the population who hold a poly-mono-a-theist-agnostic worldview in paradoxical tension; with any given dimension taking front-of-stage at any given time or circumstance. And while such a view is likely to be highly unsatisfactory to both Dawkins and McGrath, it only lacks intellectual integrity if we consider paradox itself to do so. (Which leaves the light-is-both-a-particle-and-a-wave hypothesis in a spot of bother…)


The God Delusion , The Dawkins Delusion

Cutting A Long Story Short

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was a postgraduate in a Department of Biblical Studies. Each week, we had to attend a staff-postgraduate seminar, at which we would listen to someone present a paper, followed by a question-and-answer session, before heading off for lunch in the pub.

On one occasion, a professor gave a paper on the story of Samson (which sprawls over four chapters, Judges 13-16), in which she proposed a particular reading: that this was a story written by men for men, ostensibly as a warning not to allow oneself to show any vulnerability to women, who are inherently not to be trusted; but that the account betrayed that thing which all men fear, castration (Samson’s cut ‘hair’ subconsciously representing cut testicles).

The paper presented, and questions invited, I raised my hand. I had a problem with this particular reading. The problem was, it was presented in such a way that I could not question it. If I dismissed it out of hand, that was ‘evidence’ of my fear of castration. If I wanted to call into question any part of her methodology, it would simply be a ‘disingenuous attempt’ at hiding my fear of castration. If I claimed not to harbour a fear of castration, in that my sense of identity was not primarily located in my ability to father children (massive disappointment though that would have been), that would have been ‘denial’ on my part of my fear of castration. If a female colleague called the reading into question, then she was ‘a fool’ for allowing us men to get off the hook (do they use hooks?)…in short, whatever the paper was, it was not a scholarly paper; because such work must, by definition, be open to questioning. The only thing that had been castrated, I concluded, was the academic process itself.

All eyes in the room were on me: who did this impudent boy think he was, to suggest that the Empress wasn’t wearing any clothes?

Lord Of The Harvest | Crown Of Thorns

In the past I have posted series of images for Advent and Lent, and today I found some that look forward to the harvest festival.

We were walking through the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. There is a path that runs right down the hill, along the edge of a wheat field. The sight brought to my mind this story from John’s Gospel:

Just then his disciples returned and were surprised to find [Jesus] talking with a woman. But no one asked, “What do you want?” or “Why are you talking with her?”
Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the Christ?” They came out of the town and made their way toward him.
Meanwhile his disciples urged him, “Rabbi, eat something.”
But he said to them, “I have food to eat that you know nothing about.”
Then his disciples said to each other, “Could someone have brought him food?”

“My food,” said Jesus, “is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work. Do you not say, ‘Four months more and then the harvest’? I tell you, open your eyes and look at the fields! They are ripe for harvest. Even now the reaper draws his wages, even now he harvests the crop for eternal life, so that the sower and the reaper may be glad together. Thus the saying ‘One sows and another reaps’ is true. I sent you to reap what you have not worked for. Others have done the hard work, and you have reaped the benefits of their labour.”

Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, “He told me everything I ever did.” So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. And because of his words many more became believers.
They said to the woman, “We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Saviour of the world.”
(John 4:27-42)

And then I happened to come across a twist of barbed wire around a fence post. It looked just like a crown of thorns. Against the backdrop of the field waiting to be harvested, it made a particularly striking image.


spirituality , church year , harvest festival , crown of thorns

Green Light

I heard this morning that I have been recommended for training in preparation for ordination.

This is the decision we have been waiting for – and the outcome we have been hoping for while we waited.


Waiting can be hard, especially when you are led to expect a wait of a certain time, and then find that time stretched out longer. But God has been working, while we have been waiting.

For example: yesterday we drove down to Nottingham, where I will be studying at St John’s College. It is a one-hour journey, down the motorway. But following a serious accident, the M1 was closed, and we were forced off into gridlock along alternative routes. The journey took 3 hours and 40 minutes. In a metal and glass box on a hot day.

We’d gone to look at a couple of houses belonging to former students for whom the college acts as a letting agent, and had arranged to meet someone there at 10:30 am. We were very late. And just before we arrived, a former student had come in to college. He had a property to let, one not administered by the college, and was wondering whether they had any new students in need of a house? It is close to the college; and close to the school our children had already been offered places at. It is a great house, in the perfect location.

And if we had arrived when we expected to arrive, we would not have seen the house.

God redeems even the journey from hell.


Next comes more paperwork than I care to think about, at least until after the weekend. Practical details. Thank God for my wife! But right now, the details can wait. We have God’s goodness to enjoy. And celebrate with our friends.


I guess that makes me an ordinand then , church , spirituality , I waited patiently for the Lord

Listening To...

The Cinematic Orchestra’s latest album, Ma Fleur (Ben’s recommendation).

It’s very different to the kind of music I listen to most often. Far fewer words. More piano, less guitar. Electronica. Ambient.

Music that evokes images through music, rather than telling a story through lyrics. That allows the listener to be some kind of co-creator; not just appreciate, or not, the work itself as a completed thing.

I’ve been letting it roll around in my head. Playing it in album order – not on shuffle, mixed up with other things. Giving it time.

I’m enjoying it.

Though I haven’t listened to their earlier albums yet, I like the idea of musicians writing a new score for a pre-existing film.

It seems to me to be a bit like the communal interpretation of the Bible. There’s this pre-existing work, but it comes to us with the invitation to create a new soundtrack; to allow the work to live and speak to a new generation. Not any soundtrack will do: many conceivable soundtracks would be totally out of sync with the images, unsympathetic, jarring. But, on the other hand, more than one sympathetic soundtrack could be imagined. And, indeed, a skilful soundtrack will leave room for further sympathetic interpretation. Because a window needs a frame, but is more about the glass; needs a carpenter, and a glazier, but exists to be looked through.


The Cinematic Orchestra , Ma Fleur

Warm | Cold

Our local high street is so aligned that throughout the day one side is predominantly in the sun, and the other in the shade. And so, because we live in a cool climate, most people by choice walk along the sunny side of the street; only crossing to the noticeably colder side when they have to (and in a hot climate, people will choose to walk along the shady side).

The kinds of shop found on each side of the road reflect this.

On the warm side we find the gift shops and the cafés – businesses that rely on an inviting atmosphere.

On the cold side we find the supermarket, and the takeaways – businesses that rely on the fact that people have to go to them to get what they supply (out of either necessity or convenience).


Gifts shops invite us to give gifts.
That might sound like stating the obvious, but this is a profound invitation, to choose tokens of thanks or appreciation or love; to celebrate birthdays or anniversaries or occasions, or, life.
Gift shops are, themselves, an extravagant gift.

Cafés invite us to make relational time in our day. To press the pause button, and savour the moment, savour company.
The smell of fresh coffee.
The taste of almond croissant.
The tickle of a flake of pastry from your pain au chocolat, left behind on your lip.*
The muted sound of conversations going on around you.
The sight of the world going by as you sit passing time; perhaps another friend to acknowledge with a wave.

Supermarkets dominate provision of a perceived ‘universal need.’
Though there is a growing disquiet over the monopoly that the big chains exert, the ethics involved…a growing rejection, a growing (re)turning to local alternatives.

Takeaways perform a service – in this case, preparing food, and indeed washing up the cooking utensils – on our behalf, so that we don’t have to do it ourselves.


Once upon a time, churches could afford to ‘locate themselves’ on the cold side of the street. Funeral on Friday, wedding on Saturday, 10:30 on Sunday. Today, we need to ‘relocate’ to the warm side.**


*I’m not advocating having two pastries on one visit!
**As it happens, both the local Anglican and the local Methodist church buildings are on the sunny side of the street, in a literal sense. Which is not insignificant, though my point is not primarily literal, and could perhaps be better made use of?


spirituality , cold church , warm church

Just Read...

…Rob Bell’s Sex God: exploring the endless connections between sexuality and spirituality [Zondervan, 2007]. It is very, very, very good.

Bell has three things (at least) going for him (and they are closely related)

He really understands people:
I’m guessing there are various things that feed into this, including a community around him to learn with, and God-given insight. But the stand-out is his overwhelming compassion for people: a total absence of judgmental attitudes, combined with a deep desire that men and women should know the truth that sets you free.

He is a gifted communicator:
A natural story-teller. Random encounters become anecdotes; anecdotes become diagnoses. Words engage at several levels, inviting you to go deeper, further, beyond what made it into the book.
And the stories are accessible, whether you would consider yourself familiar with the Bible/culture/metaphysical questions, or totally unfamiliar: the tone is engaging, not patronising.

He knows the Bible:
Not just the lines on the page, but the spaces between the lines. Not just what is written, but the cultural contexts that inform how what is written was written – why God uses this picture image, rather than another; what that picture unlocks.
It is obvious that Sex God is under-girded by serious scholarship. And yet it is refreshingly readable.


Sexuality is the biggest issue in the life of anyone living in our culture toady.* Rob Bell’s handling of the subject – which is, in effect, a (pastoral and prophetic) handling of peoples lives – is a must read, for anyone with a pulse.

Buy it. Read it. Pass it on. Get it back. Read it again.


*Sure, we live under the shadow of the War on Terror, and global warming, and international trade injustice, but all these things – though they impact our lives, and our lives impact them – are external to us. Sexuality is us, and from the legal system (the UK’s new SOR’s, civil partnerships, proposed developments in embryo research…) to popular culture (glossy magazines, soaps, Hollywood, the music industry, advertising…), and back again, sex is quite simply bigger than anything else.


sexuality , spirituality , Rob Bell , Sex God

Do-Be-Doh!

Last night as I was going to bed, it struck me that there was nothing I had to do tomorrow (that is, today).

I didn’t have to take my daughter to school. I didn’t have to take my son to nursery. I didn’t have to go to work. There was nothing I had to do. And I couldn’t remember the last day I had like that. Days off, and holidays, don’t count: there are always things that have to be done on days off, or on holiday.

Such days are rare, but vitally important. Such days remind us – confront us with the reality – that being is more fundamental than doing.

Because when what we do flows out of knowing, really knowing, who we truly are – dearly loved children of God – then how we do what we do contributes to God’s life-affirming order becoming established where it was not before.

But when our understanding of who we are, our identity, derives from what we do – and how that compares with what other people do – then how we be who we be contributes to the meaning-less chaos becoming established where it was not before.


spirituality , being , doing

TARDIS Tents

Back home again, after a week away at New Wine North, punctuated by three days at my Bishops' Advisory Panel.

Newark Showground was partially flooded, so the carefully planned-out allocation of sites for churches from across the north was somewhat revised, in order to fit all the tents on less than all the space...the result was that our (relatively dry) zone looked like a refugee camp (as opposed to some zones, that looked like paddy fields). With space at a premium, it's as well we had TARDIS tents. Check out the outside and inside shots, above.

Ritual Cleansing?

I came across this today. Someone on our street is obviously having a new bathroom suite installed, and the old one had been ripped out and temporarily left out the front of the house. I particularly like that they left the soap in the basin...

Colour | Style

While I was out at blah, Jo was out at the launch party for two friends of ours who have established a colour and style consultancy. Here are some thoughts expressing why I think this is a wonderful example of incarnational Christian living; and not ‘too incarnational,’ in the sense of ‘indistinguishable from those around us who do not know God; no longer salt and light.’

When God created us, he paid attention to detail, choosing skin tone and eye and hair colour and body shape for each one of us, generating unique combinations from a set number of variables. When, in how we clothe our bodies, we make use of colours and styles that complement our God-given physical nature, a created being gives honour to its Creator. (And, conversely, when we fail to recognise our physical created-ness, we dishonour our Creator.)

When Jesus tells his disciples not to worry about what they will wear, as those who do not know God do, his point is not that what we wear is not important, but that God knows that it is important and he will provide for us.

When Paul writes concerning what women should or should not wear, it seems to me, his points are that Christian women should not dress in ways that would suggest, within the indicators of their culture, that they were prostitutes; or locate their sense of beauty in externals; and not that they should pay no attention to how they dress. (The same principles apply to men.)

What we wear speaks volumes about how we feel about ourselves. When we dress in such a way as to indicate that we do not believe that we are worthy to be anything other than slaves in our Father’s household, I believe this grieves the prodigal Father, who runs out to meet us coming to him with that attitude, and – disregarding it – places a fine robe around our shoulders.

Hudson Taylor encouraged his missionaries to dress as the Chinese, rather than in western clothes, so that how they presented themselves should not be a stumbling block to the gospel. Such an attitude was revolutionary within overseas mission in his day; and waits to be revolutionary in mission on our own doorstep today. When we present ourselves well, we are, quite simply, more approachable.

Specifically concerning our friends’ business, even in the setting-up of it, it has opened doors to lots of relationships, spiralling out from the school playground; and given rise to conversations about self-image, with opportunity to speak of how God sees us, as his beloved children.

This is not ‘Prosperity Gospel’: it is perfectly possible to dress well on a budget, even a tight budget, and with a limited wardrobe (and perfectly possible to run up massive credit card debt on ill-informed choices and look terrible as a result).

This is not ‘buying into’ worldly constructs concerning image, which hold people in bondage to the almighty Market. Rather, it is prophetically speaking freedom to those held captive by such concerns; and restoring the Creator’s rightful place, usurped by the Market.

It is true that at the point where you are first learning which colours/styles complement how God has created you the process can seem to take up a disproportionate and even inappropriate amount of time and focus. But that is true of learning anything. We don’t think that the time and focus needed to learn to drive is inappropriate, taking our thoughts away from God, or witnessing to others (indeed, we may even think in terms of the opportunities for the gospel that might open up through being able to drive, if we are so inclined). Once we are confident, we become unconsciously competent.


I pray that my friends’ venture will flourish, as a tree of healing whose roots go down to a spring of life.


colour , style , incarnational Christianity , spirituality, mission , missional church

Incarnational Peregrini

It was good to have Mark Berry over in Sheffield again yesterday evening. He was at the Sheffield blah, talking about pilgrimage. Thanks for taking the time to come over!

It seems to me that the idea of pilgrimage has fallen out of favour among evangelicals: that it is frowned upon for being either too Catholic or ‘baptised paganism’ [= syncretism = sub-Christian; as opposed to = ‘redeemed, or transformed, culture’…]. Instead, in very recent times, we’ve embraced ‘going on retreat,’ though even that sits uneasily with evangelical activism. One could also argue that pilgrimage was re-invented, at an earlier point, as attending annual Christian conferences. But I say ‘fallen out of favour’ because when I were a lad – which is not too very long ago – one of the Approved Books of evangelicalism was John Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, so the idea of pilgrimage, at least as metaphor for spiritual life as journey, is not entirely alien. Within pilgrimage, both literal and metaphorical (and in contrast to retreats, or conferences), the journey is at least as important as the arrival, if not more so.

Anyway, Mark shared some thoughts on pilgrimage, as historical activity (both within and far wider than Christianity), in contemporary form, and as metaphor for life. And it was good.

The thing that struck me most was that he talked both about peregrini and about incarnational Christianity. Whereas there is the expression of pilgrimage which is to make a journey to a particular site (e.g. Stonehenge; Mecca; Lourdes; Walsingham) or along a particular route (e.g. the way to Santiago de Compostella; Canterbury), there is also that tradition where pilgrims set out from home, not knowing where they would end up, or if they would ever see their home again (e.g. the Celtic monks who set sail across the Atlantic, those who survived reaching, among other places, Newfoundland). These ‘peregrini’ literally belonged no-where. In contrast, the idea of incarnational Christianity as it is frequently discussed at present tends to focus on being grounded in a particular culture: focuses more on the fact that Jesus was embedded as a first-century Jew, than on his having no-where to lay his head.

So the question that Mark’s thoughts provoked for me was, how can we be – paradoxically – incarnational peregrini? What does it mean to be grounded within early C21st western culture, while at the same time not having a place to settle? How does being incarnational peregrini help us to be ‘in the world, but not of the world’?

The answer that came to me as I walked home, and talking with Jo when I got there, was that being incarnational peregrini means choosing to embrace the culture in which God has placed us, while choosing to reject the trappings of security that culture places its hope in (those things that put distance between us and poverty, or disease – that make us ‘of the world, but not in it’). For us personally as a family, that is the life we have lived since we sold our house and I left a secure job back in 2005, and we flew to Australia for three months, not knowing what lay beyond, but knowing who lay beyond, and coming to know that that was enough for us. (I’m not saying that home ownership or stable jobs are wrong per se; but while all Christians are called to be incarnational, perhaps we’re not all called to be peregrini.)

Anyway, thanks again to Mark for provoking our thinking, and to the blah crew for hosting the event – it was great to catch up with so many of you.


Mark Berry , Sheffield blah , pilgrimage , spirituality, perigrini , incarnational Christianity

Too Christ-like?

It is great to have Andrew Hamilton back blogging. You’ve been missed, mate. This post, borrowing from Matt Stone [a really helpful little diagram], is worth a look. Hamo’s reflections certainly resonate with my own.


Hamo returns , incarnational Christianity , mission , spirituality, church

Things To Satisfy Curiosity

Today, in the park, after school with my children, I received a complaint – frightfully polite, and very good-natured; but a complaint nonetheless – that it had been over a week since I had posted on my blog. Heaven forbid that I should fail to entertain my (numerically small but demanding) readership!

Elijah took his first steps on Saturday. Woo-hoo! And today, he had his first haircut – the Mohican has been scalped…for now.

I finished working as a disability support worker last Thursday evening; came home, ate my tea, and went out again to meet up with some other members of The Order of Mission – by which time it had completely escaped my mind that I’d just left my job of sixteen months. I don’t think it was a Senior Moment; or that I didn’t care about those I had been supporting; but that it was so very definitely time to move on. Job done. I’m sure that I will take with me transferable experience, but you can only do a role you are doing for meaningful experience, rather than out of your heart’s desire, for so long. I feel like Joseph, released from prison and being made respectable to appear before Pharaoh, his future held in the balance…

I have four more lunchtimes left at school, and then I will be done there too. And that has been a team that I will miss working with: it has been a lot of fun. I know that my working for the school has made a positive difference – not least because there is only one male member of staff, the estates manager – and been appreciated by the people I have been working with. That counts for a lot. The extent of interest in our plans, by staff and by parents in the playground alike, has been touching.

Over the past year-and-a-half I have done low-paid, low-skilled, jobs; almost entirely alongside women; including work with and for people with little education, (seemingly) limited prospects, few aspirations, near horizons. It has been a cross-cultural learning experience. If they do allow this highly-educated middle-class boy to serve as a priest here in South Yorkshire, it will prove invaluable; though I may not always have realised that at the time.

A week today I will be at my Bishops’ Advisory Panel. On the basis of how I fare in a range of exercises over two-and-a-half days; alongside a raft of paperwork submitted by myself, my referees, and the Diocese in advance; a panel of four men and women will decide whether or not to recommend me for ordination. And by early August, we will finally have a decision…

We’d hoped to be at this stage some months ago – while I passionately believe this is God’s call on my life, I can’t presume that the panel will agree; and we’d hoped to have time to find something longer-term by September if they say ‘no’ – but it didn’t work out that way in the end. In the end, it worked out that I’d be at selection conference while the rest of the family were at New Wine North (indeed, I’ll be there each side of my panel), with Jo surrounded by friends (including, it would seem, the parents of half the children I’ve looked after at school this year). So we’ll take that.

Hard though the process has been, we’ve been able to see God’s hand in it; had glimpses of him working behind the scenes in ways we wouldn’t have expected. One of those ways has been in the provision of school places for Susannah (going into Y2) and Noah (going into Reception) in a school in Nottingham – I hope to be studying at St John’s, Nottingham; we hope to move there in August – as well as in the Sheffield school where Susannah is currently in Y1.

Noah has three more days left at nursery, and then, after the summer, he’ll be a schoolboy. He is so ready; really looking forward to that…Susannah is preparing to leave her school behind. I think that will be hard, but at the same time, she’s really looking forward to the new school. Perhaps this is the hardest thing: that we can’t say it is definitely This or it is definitely That – and so we need to be saying goodbye without quite having the freedom to say a Proper goodbye…


the curious journey of a would be ordinand

As Requested...

...by his god-mother, a photo of Noah. I hope it will do - it is a typical pose! More, of Susannah, Noah and Elijah (now free-standing), on my flickr page.

Cry Mercy

Further thoughts on God’s judgement:

The cross:
The crucifixion is a moment of judgement [HT to David Bole]. It is an ironic moment: humanity, represented by the Jewish religious and Roman civic authorities, passes judgement on God, represented by Jesus; while God, represented by Jesus, passes judgement on humanity, also represented by Jesus.
God’s judgement is that all humanity has fallen short, and the required consequence is the death penalty. That’s a stark, and all-encompassing, judgement. But God chooses to take on our penalty in our place. [Now, penal substitution may be problematic for some, implying some sort of monstrous cosmic child-abuse in a Father who allows his Son – even sends his Son – to suffer and die. But it seems to me that such an argument is only possible if we view Jesus as some kind of junior God, or God Jr. From a fully Trinitarian perspective, if Jesus is God, then the cross is God’s sacrificial self-choice – a choice not only made in the safety of heaven, but re-made in the horror of Gethsemane – to which God is entitled.]

Jesus’ return:
Jesus will return, to judge the living and the dead. The crucial question will be, How do we respond to God’s judgement that we fall short, and that he pay the penalty? The choice is to seek to save our own life, and die in the attempt, so losing it; or to die to self, through accepting God’s ruling, and so to live. We find ourselves in our own Gethsemane, wrestling with whether or not we will say, “Not my will, but your will” – which is that none should be lost; which was to die in our place – “be done.” In this sense, we pass judgement on ourselves, and God ratifies our decision. His judgement has already been passed, at the cross.

Mercy triumphs over judgement:
I must confess to being uncomfortable at the idea of God passing or imposing judgement between the two events of Jesus’ crucifixion and his return. At least, I am uncomfortable with the idea of his judgement, as it is usually expressed by people: in terms of loss of [quality of] life – flood, famine, HIV/AIDS…
I think that I am uncomfortable with such an idea because the cross proclaims that God’s judgement on humanity comes to us expressed as mercy. And if his judgement comes to humanity as mercy, how much greater is the coming of his mercy to us!

Mission:
Where, then, does the idea of mercy triumphing over judgement leave the mission of the Church? Not in trying to convert people – for that is, and always has been, the work of the Holy Spirit. Nor in trying to save people from hell – for that is, and always will be, the work of Jesus Christ. But – as has always been the case – in making disciples: people who can live out a life, in this life, that follows after God; through whom judgement might be expressed through mercy, and mercy might be expressed through…love.


divine judgement , divine mercy , church and society , mission