Advent 2011 : Day 6

But then again, you have done nothing wrong.  It was not you that disappointed.  You are, you suppose, no longer waiting; though by now you have been here so long you have become part of the furniture, along with the cafe tables, bronze statue, and the man pushing his bucket and mop who cleans the public toilets.  This is your railway station, and there really isn’t anywhere else you might as well be, now...Do you ever recall the hopefulness of anticipation?  Do you feel guilty to have lost it, by degrees?  Do you feel for those arriving at the station, as you once did?  Envy?  Pity?  Contempt?  Do you notice them at all?

Imagine.  Savour the bitterness of waiting.

Advent 2011 : Day 5

No, if something had happened, they would have texted to let you know.  And if there had been some accident, news would have filtered through to you somehow.  Perhaps they have not come, not because they have been prevented, but – of course – because they did not want to.  Here you are, waiting for someone who will not come; who is not, in turn, actively waiting to be with you, carried on a train, the miles between you falling away into the past...How foolish, to have thought otherwise.  How blind love – familial, friendly, or romantic – is, to whether it is requited or not.  How foolish you must look, to those walking by, standing there on your own, with no reason to be here at all.  An imposter, among those being met.

Imagine.  Savour the insecurity of waiting.

Advent 2011 : Day 4

You stand alone.  Around you, others have met, been met, moved on.  Disappointment flushes through you, and drains out again through the soles of your shoes.  Rational thought steps up: they missed their connection; they’ll be on the next train.  You’ll wait, get another coffee, make the most of an unwanted situation.  Time passes.  A train pulls in.  Again, they are not on it.  Another emotion floods your lungs, stealing your breath: has something happened to them, something bad?  How will you know?  What can you do?  Rational thought is overwhelmed; lurid scenarios flicker across the screen of your mind...

Imagine.  Savour the anxiety of waiting.

Advent 2011 : Day 3

From where you are sat, you can also see the Departures and Arrivals Boards, turning over and over: a thousand passenger stories told in a form that makes 140 characters look superfluous.  At last – does it seem like an age? – the train you have been waiting for pulls in.  You fold your paper; tip the paper cup and peer through the mouth-hole to check, again, that you drank all your coffee.  A human swarm builds up behind the gate; their footsteps raise a droning noise; stretches into single-file, bursts through and fans out again.  You look, attentive for one form among the crowd.  They are not there.  Perhaps they are somewhere in the middle of the press of others also pushing through?  But no, the tail-end has passed on now.  Perhaps they were held-up, getting off the train: a bag to pull down from the overhead rack; they’ll appear any moment, slightly flustered, apologising profusely for having kept you?  The moments pass.  They are not there.

Imagine.  Savour the prolonging of waiting.

Advent 2011 : Day 2

You’re in plenty of time, so you purchase a coffee and a paper, and settle yourself in a seat across the concourse from the barrier between you and the platforms.  From here, you can keep half an eye on comings and goings: those arriving off trains, stepping through the gates, pausing to find their bearings before plunging on towards their final destination.  Some are met, by those who came here for the same reason you did: you smile to note this but, ultimately, you care as little about their meeting as they have any awareness of yours.  You unfold the paper, turn to the sports pages, wonder at the rise and fall of fortunes, glance at your watch, search your pockets for a pen and tackle the crossword or Sudoku.

Imagine.  Savour the distraction of waiting...

Advent 2011 : Day 1

Imagine that you are at a railway station, waiting for someone who is important to you: your mum or dad, perhaps; or your best friend; or your husband or wife.  Their train isn’t due in for a while – you have got there in good time, so as not to miss them, not to keep them waiting.  Your heart is filled with anticipation – you’ve been looking-forward to this moment for, well, it feels like a long time.  You imagine the moment, when you will see them for the first time: how will the meeting go?  Who will speak first, or will you both speak at the same moment, stop mid-sentence, laugh...and plunge back in at the same moment?

Imagine.  Savour the sweetness of waiting...

Advent : Absent

Advent begins this weekend.  Advent, Christmas and Epiphany make up my favourite time of the liturgical calendar, and each year for the past several I have posted a daily Advent calendar.  I intend to do so again this year, though it might not turn out to be daily.

Those of us who hold Jesus to be King over all creation are able to speak of the experience of relationship with him, through the presence of the Holy Spirit with us.  But we must also speak of the experience of Jesus’ absence, for he is not here: he is seated at the right hand of the Father in glory, from where he will one day return.  Having chosen to take on our humanity, even though his humanity has been brought out of death by the Holy Spirit, Jesus is not omnipresent.  Instead, he sent the Holy Spirit, to be our comforter and our counsellor in his absence.

The purpose of Advent is to help us to live with the absence of the One in whose presence we long to be.  We live immersed in a culture of instant gratification, and must train ourselves in order to be counter-cultural.  Advent is given as a gift, by which we must first own our experience of absence – the sweet tension of anticipation, of hope; or the insecurity that whispers, will he come back for you?; or the abandoning of dreams; or...Only once we have owned our experience of absence can we occupy ourselves rightly while we wait.

And so this year I will start out exploring Absence, and we shall see where we go from there...

Children In Need Day

The Goal Of Remembering Is Re-Membering

Bonfire Night

Does God Have A Bias To The Poor?

One of the cherished mantras of Liverpool Diocese is former Bishop David Sheppard’s contention that God has a bias to the poor.  But this is too incomplete a claim.

God has a bias to his creation, and a bias to the place of humanity within his creation.  God has a bias to justice, not simply because God has a bias to the poor but because God knows what injustice does to both the rich and the poor, the powerful and the powerless.

Consider Jesus’ encounter with a young man of privilege and influence, traditionally known as the rich young ruler.  Here is a man who loves God, who desires to live for God; who is aware of his need for God.  And Jesus, we are told, looks into this man, and loves him.  Not loves what his released resources could do for others: loves him.  Jesus does not have a particular bias to the poor.  But the thing Jesus knows is holding this man back from fully living the life God hopes for him is his attachment to his wealth and his own control of how it is deployed.  As it turns out, this is a sacrifice too great, and Jesus and the young man part, both saddened by the encounter.

Consider also the woman who pours expensive perfume over Jesus’ feet, scandalising those who watch, who protest that the perfume could have been sold and the money used to minister to the needs of the poor.  While ulterior motive plays it part, we would be harsh to judge that there was no concern for the poor.  Indeed, Jesus takes for granted that there should be, in responding that the poor will always be with us, for us to draw-into a more inclusive society.  But, just as it is possible to use concern for the poor as cover for embezzlement – or indeed to set out with genuine concern for the poor and succumb to temptation – so it is possible to have genuine concern for the poor without concern for God’s concerns: such a position might be expressed through genuine hatred of the rich(er than me).

God has a bias to the men and women of privilege and influence working in the London Stock Exchange, and a bias to the men and women camping outside St Paul’s Cathedral.  It is both a bias of invitation and a bias of challenge: of inclusion and of judgement.  Jesus compels us to look at each one with love, seeing great potential: extending the invitation to be embraced by love; and the challenge to be transformed by love.

All Saints' Day

Jesus And The London Stock Exchange

Jesus told a parable about three men who were each entrusted with an enormous amount of someone else’s money: two-hundred times the average annual wage, one-hundred times the average annual wage, and twenty times the average annual wage.  The man entrusted with two-hundred times the annual average wage speculated, doubling the amount, and for this he was richly rewarded.  The man entrusted with one-hundred times the annual average wage also speculated, also doubling the amount, and for this he also was richly rewarded.  The man entrusted with twenty times the annual average wage buried the treasure in the ground, where it would be safe: and on presenting his master with his original capital investment, was punished for not having even placed the money with the bank, to earn a small amount of interest.

Would Jesus protest the London Stock Exchange, and, if so, what exactly would he protest about?

Firstly, he would not protest against the activity of the Stock Exchange, the high-risk high-reward approach to putting other people’s money to work and taking a significant share of the potential reward.

Rather, his protest would be on the grounds that the speculators and those whose money they invest fail to acknowledge that all that they have to speculate with comes from God, and that we will be held accountable by God for what we have done with his investment.

As a nation, we are among the wealthiest people on earth: if your annual salary is £25,000 you are in the top 1% richest people in the world.  And yet we have chosen to live beyond our means, running up an unbearable debt burden while failing to address global inequality, beyond the level of engagement necessary to salve our conscience.

Those things Jesus would protest the London Stock Exchange over, he would protest the Occupy London protesters over too.  We are all in this together.

Everyone wants to co-opt Jesus for their cause; Jesus wants to co-opt everyone for his cause.

Jesus Does Not Take Sides

Jesus doesn’t take sides, he takes over.  Contrary to popular belief, Jesus does not take the side of the poor against the rich: he invites both to respond to him, and challenges each that to do so will require a change of perspective and way of living.  In the last week there has been much public discussion in the UK as to what Jesus would say about the Occupy the London Stock Exchange campaign, and the decision of the Chapter at St Paul’s Cathedral to close their doors and then to initiate legal action against the campers, and off the Canon Chancellor to resign his post.

Jesus would not take the side of the protesters.  Not because he would take the side of the Cathedral, or of the Stock Exchange, but because he does not take sides.

In defence of the protesters, it has been noted that Jesus violently overturned the camp of the money-changers and sellers – the ultimate anti-capitalist act.  But that is poor exegesis.  Those who came to the temple had to present a sacrifice.  As it was not practical for pilgrims to bring animals with them, they could buy animals at the temple.  But pilgrims would have Roman coins, and those were considered defiling, and so they must first change them for temple coins.  It is often said that pilgrims were ripped-off, both in the exchange rate and in the price of animals.  But we have no evidence of this taking place.  We do have written and archaeological evidence of the system running, perfectly acceptably, immediately outside of the temple, up to the time of the destruction of the temple in AD70.  So why was Jesus so angry?  According to the Gospel accounts, he found this mechanism operating inside the temple, in the Court of the Gentiles, the provision for those of any and every nation to come into God’s house.  The ‘robbers’ were not financial robbers, but were robbing people of the opportunity to come into God’s house to worship, by occupying the space.  So Jesus evicts them, with violence.

For anyone who asks the question, What Would Jesus Do?, in relation to the protesters surrounding St Paul’s Cathedral in such a way that, while they are not doing anything wrong in-and-of itself, people cannot come in, I think that track-record suggests Jesus would evict them with violence.

That is not to say that Jesus would endorse the Cathedral Chapter, or the Stock Exchange.  Jesus does not take sides.  He would confront them, too, but in different ways.  In the case of the stock exchange he might tell a parable that exposes their greed and folly, and reminds us that God will bring all to account.  In the case of the Cathedral he might point out its grandeur, the very stones that tourists flock to see, observing that one day they will fall, and if they do not receive him that day might come sooner than they think.  Because Jesus does not come to take sides, but to take over.

Approved

I get to listen to a lot of people, and the thing they most often want from me is reassurance of God’s approval.

Regularly, when I meet with a family to plan the funeral of a loved one, they want to know that God approves of the deceased, even though – they are clear – the deceased wasn’t one for church or religion, and neither are they.  Regularly, when I meet with a family requesting the baptism of their baby, the parents and god-parents speak openly in terms of hedging bets, which is another way of saying, if God exists I want his approval for my child.  And regularly, when I listen to regular church goers, they express their disapproval of those who come only on occasions, of long-standing members who don’t measure up to their standards, and even of those who have recently come to faith, on the grounds that their own long-term commitment must count for greater approval on God’s part...

Why would you want the approval of someone you have so little to do with?  Or why would you want approval over and against someone else?

The primary image of God that comes out in what people volunteer to me in conversation is that God is judge.  The particular approval sought is not the approval of a loved one, but an impersonal legal vindication, on the basis of having lived a good life or having secured the right paperwork or having served time.  The primary image of life beyond death is not one of spending eternity with God, but one in which God merely decides the destination: ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’ are equally devoid of God’s presence, as indeed is this life.  God is Death, not Life.

In the beginning we see God creating humanity, to share in his reign as King of the Universe.  In the beginning, we see God walk in the garden, seeking-out his friends.  We see humanity abdicate rule, and hide from God, and we see God looking for us...In the fullness of time, we see Jesus: God and humanity walking together in harmony; King and king, who restores us as kings and queens and calls us friends once more; who sends his Spirit to walk with us, to counsel us, as we exercise rule within his kingdom.  We see adventure, and battle, and sacrifice, in the service of Christ.  We see present darkness, but know that the dawn is coming, that the rising of the sun and the return of the King are inevitable.  And yes: Christ will come again to judge the living and the dead – but it goes on: and his kingdom shall have no end.

The focus of God as judge is not us, but the person of Jesus; and the role of Christ as judge takes its place within a bigger vision of Jesus, a vision that fills everything with wholeness.

It is not God’s approval of us that is at stake – he has already spoken that out into the world – but our approval of God-with-us in Christ Jesus.

Can I reassure you of God’s approval?  Yes, I can.  But unless you approve of his choice to make Jesus King; unless you are willing to offer everything you are and have to him, in exchange for everything he is and has, shared with you; then what is his approval worth, and why would you want it?

Reading Romans

Paul’s letter to the church in Rome has long been read as a work of abstract theology, which of course skews how we understand it.  In fact, like all Paul’s letters, it is written in and to a particular context, addressing particular issues of concern.  In the case of Romans, the key matter Paul addresses is this:

Given that the Jewish nation has rejected Jesus as their Messiah, or one sent by God to deliver them from their enemies;

and given that God has made Jesus not only the (rejected) Messiah but also the Gentile Christ, or one who delivers them;

and given the imminent destruction facing the Jewish nation (which has rejected Jesus as Messiah) at the hands of the armies of Rome (the city where the Christians to whom Paul is writing happen to live, in case you hadn’t noticed);

has God given up on his ancient people, and replaced them?

Paul’s answer is, no, God has not given up on his ancient people.  God’s intention was always bigger; God has been at work through the history of his ancient people to bless all peoples; the Gentiles are included in God’s plan – but just as the arrogance of the Jews has resulted in judgement, so the Gentile believers ought not to boast and thus incur God’s judgement on themselves; and though for now God’s ancient people are under judgement they will be brought back into the fullness of God’s plans for them.

Why does this matter?  It matters because today the Church is asking the same question:

Given that the Christendom nations have rejected Jesus as Christ;

and given that God has made Jesus not only the (rejected) Christ but also the King of all;

and given the present judgement inflicted on the inherited churches of the Western nations, whereby their ongoing existence is under real threat from a wider society which is indifferent and hostile by turns;

has God given up on the inherited Churches, and replaced them?

This question is asked both by church leaders of inherited church traditions in other parts of the world (for example, some of the Anglican bishops of the Global South), and by pioneer missionaries and church planters in the post-modern West (for example, some exponents of emerging or missional church).

The answer is, read Romans: no, God has not given up on, has not written off, is not seeking to replace, the inherited Church.  Yes, God is doing several new things – that is what God does, in extending and extending the scope of his Kingdom – but he has not given up on the older things.  So beware of gloating over the demise of some part of the Church you don’t like, or boasting of how much better your part in the Story is.  Be who you are called to be, where you are called to be, but have a vision that is bigger, and pray that God will bring all things – the whole Church yes, but that is just the start – together.

Simon : Peter

Names are important.  Our names are a key element in our identity.  We may be called other things – respect titles, or terms of abusive – perhaps even on a regular basis.  But our name is spoken day after day.  Our name, and the other words that get attached to it, shape us.  In the competing claims of the thief who comes to kill and steal and destroy, and the Good Shepherd who comes that we might know life in its fullness, will we grow-into our God-given identity, or have it stunted or stolen from us?  Because our name is such a key part of that identity, its meaning is, I believe, one of the key battle-grounds for our identity.

It struck me afresh today that Jesus chose to ‘build his church’ on a disciple who had two names – Simon Peter – and that this being so, it might have something significant to say about the identity of the Church he planned to build.

‘Simon’ has to do with hearing and listening.  We see this being contested in Simon’s identity: will he be the one who insists on being heard, or the one who will listen – truly listen – to God’s voice, and so have something to say worth hearing, proclaiming Jesus’ story with authority?

‘Peter’ has to do with a rock.  We see this being contested in Peter’s identity: will he stand firm, or crumble under pressure?  Will he try to resist the wind of the Spirit, which smooths a rock over time, or embrace the patterns that wind may carve, turning weaker seams into beautiful features?

These may be valid questions to ask of the Church, too: perhaps too often we insist on being heard, to bolster our own ego, but crumble when it comes to standing-up for justice.  But there is something more.  In redeeming Simon’s name, and in adding to it the name Peter, Jesus extends a share in two particular attributes of God’s identity: the One who is unchanging in his faithfulness (the Rock); and the One who hears the cry of his people, and whose unfolding response changes.

As the Church, we are invited and challenged to be unchanging in faithfulness, and attentive and responsive to the cry of the oppressed.  And, from time to time and on a regular basis, our remaining faithful will depend on our outwardly-changing attitude.  Like Peter – like Jesus – we will need to turn away from things our tribe has held essential to faithfulness, in order to be faithful.  We can only discern what is unchanging and what must unfold as we attend to the difficult, sometimes slow and gradual, sometimes sudden and unexpected - and for both these reasons often painful – process of listening to one another and listening together to the Holy Spirit.  We cannot do that on our own, or within our own particular tribe alone; for ‘Simon’ and ‘Peter’ are massively contested identities.  We cannot rush; we cannot presume an end to this process – for that would be the end of our inhabiting our identity.  We must not hold our own views as non-negotiable – to do so is to close ourselves to God and neighbour, and deeper self-knowledge and acceptance – and we must truly hear and be moved to respond to the cry of those whose views differ from our own.

Our hope must lie in the knowledge that Jesus, who has given us this foundation, is still at work to redeem our identity.  However much it is contested, however far we are pushed to twist the ear and to turn the stone, Jesus is committed to leading us into the fullness of life he intends for us.

Christ In All

If the Gospel is not Christ-centric – drawing us to participate in the identity and mission of Jesus – then it is not the Gospel at all.

This is true not only for humanity, but for all creation.  When “the heavens declare the glory of God,” it is the glory of the Son they participate in.  Thus the Son is described as the Sun of Righteousness, the Bright Morning Star, the Rose of Sharon, the Lion of Judah, the Lamb of God, the Rock of Ages (and within Anglican tradition relating to the use of the Lord’s Prayer, as our Saviour tortoise...).  The Son can be described in such ways because creation participates in his identity and mission, and thus reveals him, as it finds its reconciliation in and through and for him.

So the wider creation, as well as humanity, reflects Jesus as apostle, as the sun and moon journey across the sky, and in so doing secure days and seasons from one generation to another; as prophet, in global warming; as evangelist, in water in a dry land; as pastor, in food and medicine hidden in plants; and as teacher, in the antelope, the ostrich, the ant, the hyrax, the gecko, the birds of the air and the lilies of the field...

Christ-centric Identity And Mission

Why is it that when Christians read a list uniquely described as the fruit of the Spirit – love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22, 23) – they tend not to argue that this is a representative sample, or that some of the fruit no longer apply today...but that when they read a list uniquely described as the gifts of Christ – apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers (Ephesians 4:7-16) – they so often argue both these things?

A Christ-centric gospel of reconciliation frames us as sharing in Christ’s identity and mission, both personally and corporately.

To each person God has created, a facet of, a share in, Jesus’ identity has been given.  He is the one who is sent, carrying, protecting and extending the kingdom; he is the one who confronts false kings; he is the one who embodies good news of reconciliation; he is the one who stands between his people and their predators, and who, having defeated the predators, binds up the wounded and nurtures them to health; he is the one who seeks out and passes on the wisdom that leads to life.  As communities of faith, as the Body of Christ, we are called to make manifest each dimension.  As the warrior-bride of Christ, we are called to partner with him.  As persons given to one another for the fulfilling of this purpose, we each have a particular part to play, connected to the others.

For a more extended exploration of our Christ-centric identity and mission, see my dissertation.

Gospel Truth

The Gospel:

“If you believe in God (or, specifically, in Jesus), you will go to heaven; if you don’t, you will go to hell: God wants the former for you, but it is your choice.  (If you never heard this message, God’s mercy will accept you / God’s judgement will reject you. [delete as doctrinally appropriate])”

Or:

“The Creator of the universe has appointed Jesus as King over all creation; and is reconciling all things in Christ and through Christ and for Christ.  Will you enter-into and continue in that Christ-centric reconciliation, living within his life-affirming kingdom rule, participating in his identity and his mission?”

Different emphases of the same account?  Or incompatible stories – one with ‘me’ at the centre, the other with Jesus at the centre – with divergent out-workings?