Betrayals

Recently I was asked what advice I would give to someone training for ordination. I replied that I would tell them that, sooner or later, they would feel betrayed by the Church; and that I told them this not to dissuade them, nor cause them dismay, but so that when it inevitably happened it would not be utterly incomprehensible. My observation is that theological college would not prepare them for this; but the good news is that the experience contains the transformative potential to make them not only a better licensed minister but also (and more importantly) more fully human.

The painful experience of betrayal is universal.

Whether we are betrayed by a lover (infidelity, adultery, divorce, death…)

or by a family-member or friend or neighbour or work colleague or community;

or by our self-sabotaging choices or actions

or even by our own bodies (various ‘disorders’, infertility, cancer, dementia…all can feel like betrayal)

sooner or later we are all betrayed;

and sooner or later we all act (through wilfulness or weakness) in ways that leave another human being feeling betrayed.

You have most likely experienced betrayal in one form or another before, and you will most likely experience it again. And yes, if you commit to the Church (or any other relationship or community or shared purpose) you will know it there too.

This is one significant reason why I find the Bible to be the most relevant library available to us. It is, among other things and perhaps before all else, a record of the universal experience of betrayal.

Abraham and Sarah are betrayed by their union, their bodies, their inability to conceive a child. Together, they betray Sarah’s handmaid Hagar and her son Ishmael. The son they do eventually have together, Isaac, will be betrayed by his wife, Rebekah, and one of their sons. That son, Jacob, will betray his brother Esau, before himself being betrayed by his uncle Laban. Jacob’s son Joseph will be betrayed by his brothers who sell him into slavery (and then betray their father by claiming that Joseph is dead), by his master (surely Potiphar knew his wife was lying, or he would have had Joseph killed, not imprisoned?), by his fellow-prisoner who forgets Joseph to rot in prison once he has gone free.

And that is just a snap-shot.

There is a great deal of pain and bewilderment in these foundational stories of human beings encountering God. Encountering God intermittently; but encountering God nonetheless. It almost reads as if the experience of betrayal is the necessary condition or circumstances in which we are displaced enough to meet God. (Or, to put it another way, death is the precondition for new life.)

As betrayal is, apparently, inevitable and universal, this is incredibly hopeful.

One of the problems we humans have is the drive to fix problems. Which is great if the problem that needs fixing is that the village has no safe water supply, so let’s build a well. It can be a good thing when the problem is medical, though pushed to the extreme we lose sight of the people at the heart of the matter. But it is not so great when the problem is betrayal, which may not be fixable, certainly not quickly or easily. Rather than rush to fix the problem—through fight or flight, or numbing, or distraction—we would do better to find ourselves in the place where we are.

Feeling betrayed by an entire nation, Elijah runs away. That takes only a day; but God then sends him on a journey of forty days and forty nights—a highly symbolic number in the Bible, and far longer than needed for the geographical distance he travels. There, on a mountain, he experiences rock-splitting wind, earthquake, and fire, before a sound of sheer silence in which, at last, God was present. This story is best read psychologically (which is not to dismiss its historicity, but perhaps to suggest that God speaks to Elijah’s inner turmoil through corresponding outer energies). Deep emotions are acknowledged, permitted, affirmed; and in time there is stillness and renewal of vision. There is also fresh insight into the experience of other people—for we are not alone—and, with that, deepened authority to invest in the lives of others.

When we find ourselves feeling betrayed, our family history (for that is what the Bible is) leads us to conclude that God might turn up, unexpectedly, in the most unlikely of moments—even if this is not to our timescale. And that our present circumstances do not terminate God’s intention to bless us and to bless others through us. Indeed, they may well open-up whole new seams of blessing.

Christ the King

Sermon for the feast of Christ the King, 2017.

Gracious spaces

These past five days I was in Hamburg as part of a 14-strong delegation from Durham Diocese, visiting our sister-church the Nordkirche (the northern-most German Lutheran church). We spent Sunday afternoon until Tuesday lunchtime at a retreat centre, in conversations around our respective practices of Confirmation (in particular) and youth work (in general). But before that, we were hosted from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon in parishes. On the Sunday morning, we took part in church services and acts of remembrance at war memorials on the People’s Day of Mourning. It was a deeply moving privilege.

First written on 21 November on facebook:

One of the many conversations we have had over these past days has been around reconciliation. In July 1943 the RAF and USAAF launched Operation Gomorrah—named after the biblical settlement destroyed by fire from heaven—against Hamburg. In one raid alone we killed 42,600 civilians, injured 37,000 more, and all but destroyed the city.

I was telling two of our hosts that I think that my Grandfather may have taken part in the bombing of Hamburg [and if he did not, other men like him did]. They were so gracious. By gracious, I do not mean merely polite. I mean that they created around me a space so filled with love that I could face our shared past with all its complex emotions—shame at what the British had done, for in war there is no-one without sin; sorrow for the German losses; compassion for my Grandfather and other men like him who faced impossible choices; gratitude for the peace we have shared, for good that came out of what was not good—and held that space safe for as long as I needed.

Of course, we have also spoken of Brexit. In the UK at present, there is no public discourse on any subject to which Brexit is not the backdrop. The referendum has been deeply divisive both among ourselves and between us and our European neighbours, with hurt caused and felt on all sides. New wounds have been inflicted; and old animosity has been stirred up. And so the issue of reconciliation does not only pertain to the past but to the present and future.

The ministry of reconciliation is always a central vocation of the Church. We in the Church of England have much to learn from our German sisters and brothers about creating and holding gracious spaces in which this can happen.

Great questions to ask local teachers

What are you learning at present?

Can you show me how to…?

Who could you teach this to? (this might lead on to, Who do you need to connect with to make that possible?)

What might be the next step in taking this learning further?

Teachers at the local level

Not all teachers-by-vocation are teachers by profession*. But of all the five gifts of apostle, prophet, evangelist, shepherd, and teacher, the teacher is the one we have most fully identified with professionalisation. Consider the audience for cookery tv programmes and the sales figures of cookbooks by celebrity chefs, and contrast that with locally-held knowledge and handed-on experience (beyond childhood). For all that there are more pastors and teachers than apostles, prophets and evangelists—just as there is more flour and butter than salt, yeast and oil in breadmaking—the local teacher may be an endangered species…

On the other hand, the plethora of community activity groups such as adult art classes, or Pilates or yoga instruction, might suggest that the local teacher is alive and well, albeit evolving from neighbourliness to a more transactional relationship. If this is so, church-owned premises are the primary hubs—and may be well-placed to enable neighbourliness to flourish, alongside enabling some teachers to earn a living.

I am thinking of a member of our congregation who creates intricate bead-work. She makes and sells items of jewellery with the profit going to support the Minster or other charities. In fact, she can hardly keep up with demand. As her skill became known, she was asked to come and speak to our Friendship group, and gave a fascinating talk on the history of indigenous North American beading. What was striking was how many of those present talked about her talk afterwards, to people who were not there. She had brought a niche subject-matter to life, weaving culture and history and faith together; and is already planning another talk, on one of Africa’s many beading traditions. And now she has organised a class, starting in the new year, for people who have expressed an interest in making bead jewellery themselves. Her gifting as a teacher gets to find expression in both presentation-style and in workshop-style.

Another member of our congregation teaches flower-arranging. Another, bell-ringing. Others are involved in teaching and learning singing and music. All these things are expressions of creativity in a society that slavishly emphasises economic utility, and opportunity for social contact in a society that experiences a crisis of isolation. All these things can be taught to the glory of God—the act of teaching being understood as an act of worship, and of loving-service to our neighbour.

Asset-Based Community Development starts by asking, ‘What skills do we have in our community?’ and goes on to explore how we can put those skills to work, enabling the community to flourish. It is not surprising that there are so many teachers in the community; but their presence alone does not guarantee that they are received (from God) and given (to the community) as the gift that they are. The temptation, especially in times when resources are cut-back, is to see only what we lack—the skills-base that is missing, including those who can teach x or y or z. We need to look with fresh eyes.

*And not all teachers by profession are teachers in the primary-vocation sense: schools are communities, and need all the people-gift types reflected on their staff team.

Further thoughts on All Saints & All Souls

All Christians have hope in the promise of the resurrection of those who have died in—or known by—Christ. But we hold a range of views concerning the time-line of eternity, so-to-speak. As I understand it, the Roman Church remembers those who have reached the joy of heaven on All Saints; and those who are in the intermediary state of purgatory, or purification, on All Souls. Anglicans don’t subscribe to the doctrine of purgatory, but are open to an intermediary state (indeed, heaven itself is temporary, awaiting the new heaven and new earth).

Nonetheless, the idea of purgatory is a helpful analogy for the process and purpose of remembering.

The human being is a storied creature. The act of remembering is not so much about living in the past as about curating the stories which have shaped us in regularly-refreshed arrangements to inform the continually changing present. Just as the best museums and art galleries do.

All Souls creates room to remember those we have known personally, and lost. These memories are in a state of purification: alongside thankfulness, we also experience numbness, sorrow, regret, anger, a need to extend forgiveness either/or both/and to the deceased and to ourselves—a whole range of memories with emotional attachments that need to be worked through, over an indeterminate but lengthy period of time.

All Saints creates room to remember those who have passed beyond that initial stage, for whom we are able to lay to rest the hurt and pain human lives inevitably cause, and gladly give thanks for the good that endures. This is not to pretend that our ancestors were saints in the popular sense of ‘did no wrong’ but rather to receive the gift of forgiveness of sins and the redeeming work of God to bring good even out of evil.

Of course, how we curate those stories can still help us address the ongoing challenges of our own time.

So, for example, there is much in the history of Europe (a history that has shaped me), inseparable from Church history, that is lamentable; but there comes a time to focus on the good, the amazing riches of that cultural inheritance.

That we observe All Saints first, and only then All Souls, reminds us of the end goal of memory: the ongoing passing from death into life.

All Saints & All Souls

We are about to enter a Season of Remembrance. Today is All Saints’ Day, when we remember all those who have gone before us, and whose deposit of faith we have inherited. In our locality, the congregation stretches back to 930AD, so that is a lot of saints, or saints-who-were-also-sinners. Tomorrow is All Souls’ Day, when we remember those who we ourselves have known and loved, who have passed through death to life ahead of us. Soon after, we come to Armistice Day, when we remember the cessation of hostility of the First World War; and Remembrance Sunday, when we remember those who have died in conflict in that and all subsequent wars.

The First World War changed the way we think about death and the dead. For many families, there was no possibility of a funeral, or a grave. Mass monuments for the whole parish in a sense took us back to the mass ‘parish grave’—for a long time, people, other than the very rich, were buried together, with marker stones indicating that they were buried ‘nearby’ rather than actually marking their grave. The Service of Remembrance in a sense took the place of a funeral service. And often, both the monument and the act of remembering took place in the market square, rather than the church building.

The Service of Remembrance has become a ‘holy cow’ that cannot be questioned. But I wonder, at what point do we need to let ghosts lie, and allow people to pass from this form of Remembrance to the remembrance of All Souls’ Day and then All Saints’ Day?

I wonder, for example, whether after next year, after 100 years has passed, we need to stop marking Armistice Day, the end of WWI; and allow Remembrance Sunday to mark those wars that have been fought since that War? And if 100 years is not enough—we don't mark any wars that pre-date WWI in this way—then when might be? 150? 200? Never?

It is not that remembrance is not important; but that it comes in more than one form.

I still remember my grandfathers, who fought in the Second World War (so, an All Souls’ connection) but know no-one who fought in the First World War (they have become to me an All Saints’ connection).

Remembrance involves a letting go—not a perpetual holding on—an entrusting to God, and a move from grief at loss to thankfulness for all that was good. It is a process, as much for communities as for individuals.

Perhaps we need to remember what remembrance is truly for?

Resiliance

First written on 24 October on facebook:

It has been wonderful to talk with a friend about the losses of aging (as opposed to old age). As we age, we all suffer neuro degeneration. I am often asked how, as someone who is dyslexic and dyspraxic, I was able to write a PhD thesis. I usually lie, and say it is just an essay you have three years to write. The truth is, my brain was twenty years younger. At 45, I increasingly experience more symptoms of Aspergers (my daugher is an Aspie). This is not because I am becoming more autistic, but because I have become less able to compensate as my brain ages. The effect of neuro degeneration, which everyone experiences, is greater where there are underlying conditions we have been fighting. (I wonder whether this in part accounts for ‘late’ diagnoses of Aspergers, such as that of Chris Packham in his mid-forties.) But it is part of aging for all of us. For me, it is a greater loss than physical fitness, and a genuine grieving. Acceptance and self-compassion are key in this season of life—mindfulness has much to offer here. But this is also a useful insight as one who serves a community of people who are aging, including many middle-aged men. I wonder whether there are others as disoriented by such grief—very real, even if no-one has died—and whether we might go on this journey together?

Great questions to ask local shepherds

Who are you concerned about at the moment, and why?

Is there anything we could do for them or—better still—with them, that would address the issue(s) of concern?

What is going on within the community (the church congregation, or the wider community of the parish) that is having a de-humanising impact?

How are you? No, really: how are you, really? And who is extending the care you need?

Shepherds at the local level

Shepherds, or pastors, care deeply about people’s well-being.

I am not a pastor. That doesn’t mean that I don’t care about people, or that I don’t need to do so. As a Christian, I am seeking to cooperate with the Holy Spirit in being transformed into the likeness of Jesus, and Jesus perfectly expressed the human vocations being apostle, prophet, evangelist, shepherd, and teacher. As one called to serve the church with over-sight, I have learned pastoral skills. But, being just one part of the Body of Christ, my ‘specialism’ is for something else. My love for my neighbour is expressed more naturally through the prophetic question of What is the potential deep within this person waiting to be discovered, and drawn out, and refined? (like a precious stone from the earth) than through the pastoral questions, How can this person’s needs be met? and, Of what hurts do they need healed? The call of the church upon my life (to be a deacon, and priest) requires of me that I seek to guarantee that apostolic intelligence, and prophetic intelligence (the call of Jesus on my life), and evangelistic intelligence, and shepherding or pastoral intelligence (the questions asked immediately above), and teaching intelligence are all contributing to the holistic life and work of the church—and beyond.

When I think of shepherds at the local level, or within the local community, I might think of Elaine. Elaine owned a bistro in the village we lived in before we moved to Sunderland. She had a thankful awareness of God’s benevolence, but, as far as I am aware, was not a church-goer.

The village, on the edge of a town and joined to it by suburban sprawl, had kept its identity through the commitment of its independent shop-owners to a high standard of customer care. Not only did the villagers shop locally, but people travelled from the wider suburban area to the village for its shops and cafes. But Elaine went beyond good customer care: she was a pastor to her regulars, and to her staff. They were like family to her. She would call a taxi to get elderly gentlemen home after their breakfast, and assist them out to the car. When one regular died, they closed the bistro for a couple of hours so that they could attend the funeral.

We ate lunch there on a Friday reasonably often. At some point, Elaine would come out from the kitchen to enquire how we were; perhaps also sharing her concern for other customers or mutual acquaintances—though never in a gossipy way: some of her customers were minor celebrities who knew they could rely on her discretion to provide a safe place to eat in private. She was, quite simply, made to care; and she had created an environment in which to do just that, holistically, and well.

Able to do so, she was a great asset to the community.

Rain-dark

Rain-dark morning.

The melancholy reflection of street lamps

on slick wet pavement.

Light, weighed down; too world-weary to dance,

to sing.

Nonetheless, light—

enough for now.

Thursday

The man who slipped into the building early doors to light a candle and sit for a few moments before slipping back out again; and the couple who came and sat in the same space a little later on.

The older couple, come with their daughter and brand new granddaughter, to discuss their upcoming renewal of wedding vows.

The couple who came in to look around at the architecture. The smattering of people who came in to catch the art exhibition; and the artists here to begin to take it out again.

The two ladies arranging flowers as a last act of loving service to the member of our congregation whose funeral will be held on Monday.

The workmen tearing out a wall and old toilet to make way for a new servery in the vestry.

The crowd of women of all shapes and sizes here to attend Weight Watchers; and the crowd of men and women of all shapes and sizes having lunch in the café.

Another man, sitting in the pews towards the back of the nave while three women attended the lunchtime Communion in the chapel.

Thursday.

Do not follow your heart; train it

From the Lectionary readings set for Morning Prayer today:

‘Trust in the LORD, and do good;

so you will live in the land, and enjoy security.

Take delight in the LORD,

and he will give you the desires of your heart.’

Psalm 37:3, 4

The heart is the seat of the will, or our capacity to make choices, to choose right from wrong, good or evil. According to Psalm 37, the deepest desires of the heart are for the security that comes through justice. However, the psalm also recognises the human propensity to seek short-cuts to security through other means—wealth, power, possessions—which lead us to exploit our neighbour, and so undermine the very thing we desire. The antidote is to take delight in the LORD.

Do not follow your heart; train it.

Great questions to ask local evangelists

What is saving your life right now?

Or, what is exciting you at present? Or, what gives you joy?

Where / with whom are you sharing this?

Who has expressed an interest, and how have you encouraged them, or, who else have you introduced them to?

What good do you see in us, as a community?

Evangelists at the local level

An aside: I was recently with a group of around forty or so fellow clergy, and we were asked to engage in an exercise. Having all completed an APEST profile (which weights your natural preference as primary, secondary, and three tertiaries) we were to set aside our ST scores, and get into groups according to our highest A, P or E score. 70-75% identified as evangelists (15-20% as apostles, and 10% as prophets—though the majority of those identifying as apostles or prophets were facilitators of our gathering). Bear in mind that this group included evangelists as primary, secondary, or strongest tertiary gifting. The weighting is not as surprising as might be imagined: shepherds and evangelists are the two most people-oriented gifts, and this carries considerable weight in our selection criteria for clergy. The good news for church leaders is that we are better story-tellers of good news in our communities than we realise. The potential pitfalls are that we can become isolated (the recruiter tends not to invest in relationship with those already convinced) and that, when discouraged, we can become potent harmful (self-harming the Body of Christ) gossips.

Evangelists are infectious tellers of whatever they consider to be good news.

I’m thinking of two friends of mine. I know that one is an evangelist from how he talks about bees. He is a bee-keeper, and a most winsome story-teller, and his passion flows out of him like honey from a comb. I know that the other is an evangelist from how he talks about science-fiction, from Dr Who to the classic novels of the sci-fi genre. He is irrepressible on this topic that he loves, always searching for others who might already share or be persuaded of the merits of his interest—to the point of being embarrassing sometimes.

As it happens, both these friends are vicars. But they are not evangelists because they are vicars, or even because they are Christians. They are evangelists because they are made that way. And they are evangelists, whether they have social confidence, which can rise and fall within each of us, let alone vary from person to person, or not.

There are a great many good things going on in our churches—support with childcare, social engagement for the elderly, the gathering and distribution of food to those in very real financial hardship, support to get out of debt, advocacy for asylum seekers, to name but a few—and in our wider communities. But we are not very good at telling the stories, at getting the word out that it is good to be alive in this place at this time, and perhaps even that Jesus might be at the heart of it. The gift of evangelists is not only as people who can naturally tell these stories for us, but even more so, as people who can help us all learn to tell our stories better.

Great questions to ask local prophets

What are we missing? / blind to in the present?

What is coming at us from just beyond the horizon, and what changes do we need to make now in order to be ready?

What information is backing up / informing your gut intuition?

In what ways have we forgotten our story / core values?

How are you modelling an alternative lifestyle, and to whom?

Prophets at the local level

An aside: I was recently with a group of around forty or so fellow clergy, and we were asked to engage in an exercise. Having all completed an APEST profile (which weights your natural preference as primary, secondary, and three tertiaries) we were to set aside our ST scores, and get into groups according to our highest A, P or E score. Among us, only two (clergy, and another two facilitators) identified as prophet (note that this may be as primary, secondary, or even strongest tertiary gifting). This is not especially surprising: as a generalisation, prophets make poor ‘senior church leaders’ (I say that as a prophet). Nonetheless, there are more within the Body, and even more outside of the church, as artists, musicians, activists, eco-warriors, mystics…

I’m thinking of a friend of mine who is a prophet (if I were to hazard a guess, with evangelist secondary preference) married to a teacher (a lover of learning new things—if I were to hazard a guess, with apostle as secondary preference—and passing that learning on to others). They work well together. Her intelligence is prophetic, and this informs how she sees the world and makes decisions, in a wide range of interests or concerns. One such area would be environmental issues, eschewing ‘essential items’ such as private car ownership, a conventional refrigerator, and the use of plastic containers, and adapting life to embrace such inconvenience. This might easily be mistaken for middle-class eccentricity, but there is no affectation to it, nor short-term faddy-ness. I could easily continue to cite other areas of their lives.

Although it is possible for prophetic voices to be amplified until change reaches a tipping-point, it may be that the prophet simply inhabits the future as an advance guard, until the rest of us arrive there not by choice and need to learn how to live in this post-apocalypse (whatever the apocalypse in question might be).

That said, the church is a community within the community, and perfectly formed to allow the amplification of the prophetic voice (if we are prepared to listen), resulting in not only individuals but communities inhabiting the future, getting ready to invite others in.

Who is your prophet?

Great questions to ask local apostles

Where are you heading? / Where have you been today?

Who did you meet today?

What changes are you noticing in the neighbourhood? [These may be small; may be changes for the better, or for the worse; may be seasonal: what is the new thing hiding-in-plain-view in the familiar place?]

I’m/we’re thinking about doing x: do you know anyone with relevant skills or experience who might be able to help us out?

What is interesting you right now?