learning the art of going fishing

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… or, reflections on creating spaces for missional conversations

A short time after I arrived in Cullompton I received a telephone call from the secretary of a church nearby.  They had recently refurbished their building and wanted me to go and give them some pointers on how best to use it to ‘get new people in’. 

“We have thought of doing cafe church,” she said, “But we’re not sure how.”

I didn’t know what to say.  I couldn’t even begin to unpack with her how thoroughly mistaken I thought her church’s attitude was to conceiving their future mission.  It seemed  they wanted to learn ‘the art of fishing’ without even leaving the building.

At the heart of the Christian faith is relationship: with God and each other.  This does not happen in a vacuum, nor does it always happen in a church building, and certainly not (although there are occasional exceptions) during an act of worship.

I have often heard faithful church members bemoan the fact that no-one new joins their rapidly declining congregation.  “They don’t come,” said one woman to me at a recent Sunday morning service, when I asked her whether her church had reached out to the newbuild estates down the road. “The local evangelical church knocked on every single door, and they only got a few.”

It saddened me. They were a lovely, warm, welcoming group of people, and their church building was potentially a vital community resource.  But they hadn’t yet grasped the twenty-first century reality, that people generally do not just start ‘going to church’.

If we are to be the ‘Body of Christ’ in the world, we have to be it ‘in‘ the world – not just in the church building. This requires venturing into the unfamiliar, both location-wise and context-wise.  Whether we like it or not, forming and developing relationships among those whose cultural identity and way of thinking are different to ours, is a necessary part of Christian witness.

The process of ‘fishing for people’ as Jesus called it, does not take place in the fisherman’s hut. It involves working out where the fish are and going to that location, before even considering casting a line or net. And even then, we can’t expect the fish to just ‘bite’ the line or swim into the net. They have to think there is something worth swimming that way for.

Creating a ‘bait’ – a means of engaging those who might otherwise not be interested in becoming ‘fish’ – requires creative thinking.  It is not easy to step outside of one’s own horizons to imagine what might attract a non-church person to become a follower-of-Jesus.  It requires, first, understanding oneself: what it is that fires and inspires us as Christians that might be attractive to others, but also what are the assumptions of which we need to be aware when trying to communicate our dearly held faith?

The second stage is creating the ‘line’ or ‘net’ – the hook that will attract the catch.  Is it an activity? a venture? or simply a conversation starter?  What it is will depend both on the fisher and fish – it will have to have potential to work for both, and as already established, it is unlikely that the location will be a church building.

And then there’s the vital stage – that bit where Jesus is mentioned.  And God. And faith. And what it means. And the hope that they won’t run a mile…

… in my experience they usually don’t, and all things considered, things turn out okay. What’s the worst thing that can happen? They say no. And you can try again with them another time… or not.

The thing about fishing is that a fisher can never guarantee a catch. I guess the life of an evangelist is just the same…

To read more about creating spaces for connecting with people who don’t go to church go here.

Read more about relocating mission here.

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the end of an era… or on the threshold of something new…?

… a concluding reflection on my ‘Hug Cullompton’ years.

614921_511521685528553_1599187832_o At the weekend I said my goodbyes to those I have walked this journey with. This week my family and I will move on to pastures new.

Endings are often sad, and for me this ending is made all the more poignant by the fact I am leaving during what is clearly a time of transition for Hug Cullompton. Life moves on and people’s circumstances change.  For many of the Huggers change is something to be welcomed, but for others it is difficult to envision Hug Cullompton being any different.  They weren’t there to see it being conceived and birthed, and emerging into a shape which has altered as the organisation has grown.

So what is Hug Cullompton, and what might it become?  For many years I, along with many others, have been trying to it – but really it defies description: for it really is like nothing else. Part of that is because it is utterly contextual, created from nothing in a particular time at a place with a certain group of people; but it is also because it has been so experimental. It is the result of a shared vision of a group drawn together by their vastly different spiritual backgrounds and beliefs, reflecting the religious and social complexity of our time.

Together we have explored what it means to be in relationship, both with a God beyond human imagining and with each other; whilst at the same time sensing an urgent need for transformative change in our community and the world.  As a Christian I would summarise our raison d’être in the words of Jesus:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself. (Luke 10.27)

But we’re not all professing Christians by any means (although I think we all believe in Jesus); and to describe what we are as ‘a church’ would probably be to stretch the definition too far.  My strategy group has suggested that Hug Cullompton (and my ministry as a whole) might be described as having a liminal function: that is, one which offers the space and opportunity to explore faith and spirituality without the doctrinal and practical constraints of ‘traditional church’.  And in some ways that might well be true. Liminal is an interesting word. The Oxford English Dictionary defines it as 

“Relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process” or “occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold.”

Were the purpose of my post, and declared reason for bringing Hug Cullompton into being, simply to create church, then this would be a fair enough assumption.  And I certainly see a desperate need for the church to create ‘liminal’ spaces – both physically and spiritually – where a journey of faith may be embarked upon at a far earlier stage than ‘going to church’.

But I wonder if describing Hug Cullompton as occupying a liminal space does it a disservice.  Liminality suggests standing on a threshold to something else – an intermediate stage for those who will move onto something different (better?).  Of course I will be moving on, as my post has been for a set time and I am now leaving to move back into more traditional church contexts.  But for the other members Hug Cullompton is not transitional. It is their spiritual home, a place where they are free to question, to explore, and to play their part in making the world a better place.

When I was appointed to this post ten years ago, the then Moderator who appointed me told me, “Do not be afraid to fail.” I have often pondered these words.  What does failure look like, and was I always going to be expected to achieve nothing more than that?

I suppose if ‘success’ were to be measured in terms of numbers of bums on seats on a Sunday morning, I have failed utterly and miserably. But I really don’t think, in this case, that’s what the definition of success was meant to be. The whole point of the post was to be freed from traditional limitations and expectations in order to experiment with what church might one day become.  And I’ve certainly done that.

There will be one more blog before the year is out – my suggestions for churches wishing to create ‘liminal’ spaces for people thinking of beginning a faith journey.  For a deeper reflection on my experiences go here.

The Hug Cullompton years: a concluding reflection

fullsizeoutput_15f1For the past nine years I have been tasked with exploring whether it is possible to ‘do’ church differently, in ways which are both true to the Reformed Tradition and contextually relevant in today’s world.

The experiment, I am afraid to say, has proved inconclusive.  What has emerged from my ministry might be described as ‘church’ but equally it might not.  There are those who would say that, because Hug Cullompton is a community of faith, who all believe in Jesus in one way or another and have a sense of call to discipleship, we must be ‘church’.  Others would suggest that, because we are non-credal and have no expectation of adherence to particular doctrines, we cannot be.  The most appealing response is: ‘it is what it is – do we have to define it?’ but, attractive as it sounds, that doesn’t really answer the question either.

I have always liked Calvin’s definition of ‘church’. It is about activity rather than place:

Wherever we find the Word of God surely preached and heard, and the sacraments administered according to the institution of Christ, there, it is not to be doubted, is a church of God.

Unfortunately in this instance the quote does not particularly help. For in the 21st century, with its technological advances and changes in learning styles, preaching need no longer be the main vehicle by which the Word of God is proclaimed.  Certainly Hug Cullompton has celebrated both sacraments to which Calvin refers (Baptism and Communion), and we are no strangers to picking up a Bible and exploring what God might be saying to us through the words on the page, but does that make us ‘church’ in the Reformed Tradition?

My intention in this article is not so much to give a firm answer to the central question, but rather to share some reflections that might help ministers, congregations and others reflect on their own sense of calling to walk alongside others who do not yet know Christ, or whose understanding of God varies from the norms expounded within our church walls.

I have been encouraged by my strategy group to ‘wonder’ rather than to ‘offer solutions’. So here it is. Just one thing, a sort of health warning: this is not a paper with all the answers to the problems of the church. Nor does it suggest how the United Reformed Church might alter its course in the light of my research post.  I would never be arrogant enough to suggest that might be possible, even if it were desirable.  The reader is fully entitled to disagree with part or all of what I write. I am simply recording observations borne out of real life experience – with quite a bit of theologising thrown in.

Introduction

The first time I met the woman whose vision for a support group became Hug Cullompton, we sat and had tea in her treatment room. She explained her ethos, borne of a belief that all the energetic power we harness and use in our daily lives is of God.

“We are all connected by the same power or energy,” she said, “What you might call the Holy Spirit.  It is the energy I use to help people heal themselves. At the end of the day it isn’t me who does the healing – it is the divine power working within someone that enables them to heal – to become whole.”

I had heard this sort of theorising many years before, but it wasn’t a concept I had particularly engaged with. I thought about the Holy Spirit, moving as a wind over the unformed earth before creation (Gen.1.1), as the force necessary to maintain human life (Gen. 6.3) and inspiration that fills an individual with “skill, intelligence and knowledge in every kind of craft.” (Ex. 35.31).  I considered the feminine Spirit of Wisdom recorded in Proverbs 8, the Holy Spirit that impregnated Mary (Luke 1.35), that came upon Jesus during his Baptism (Mark 1.10), went out of him as he healed the woman who grasped at his cloak (Luke 8.46) and touched the apostles with tongues of fire on the day of Pentecost (Acts 2.3).  Why shouldn’t this also be the energy of which Sue spoke?

The sort of religiosity articulated and demonstrated by my colleague in her healing ministry is what Chapman, Naguib and Woodhead call Holistic Spirituality, one of three titles under which they categorise ‘Alternative Spiritualities’ (2012, 183).  Unlike Paganism, which is distinctively British and polytheistic, Chapman et al distinguish, but also make comparisons between, Holistic and New Age spiritualities. They suggest that common threads exist between the two:

  1. Their approach to religiosity is more to do with personal experience than knowledge. They tend to understand God in “practical, immediate, embodied and emotional” ways rather than gaining theological knowledge through texts.
  2. Their perception is of an immanent, caring God, in whom the feminine aspects of care, healing and nourishment are recognised. This contrasts with the remote, judgemental, male God found in the pages of the Bible and doctrines of the church.
  3. They often have a deep connection with nature, perceiving an inter-connectedness between the creator and created. This sort of spirituality is often outworked through activity or social activism.

I would like to suggest that these connecting threads provide a good springboard for my reflections on my experience of Hug Cullompton. I have reordered and refined them slightly in order to provide an appropriate framework for my reflections, and added a fourth:

  1. Reconsidering how we understand and experience God;
  2. Shaping faith communities in the image of a Trinitarian God;
  3. Taking our faith out onto the streets; and
  4. Reconsidering how we engage with those ‘outside’ the church

Experience and ‘Knowledge’ of God

John Calvin, the theologian who is probably most famously associated with Reformed Theology, epitomised both his time and theological approach by writing a treatise more than 1500 pages long. In it he outlined everything he felt needed to be known by Christian congregations to enable them to become ‘true’ church – modelled, as he saw it, on the basis of the Biblical text.

Calvin’s first chapter is entitled ‘Knowledge of God’, and it forms the framework of the rest of his book. In it he argues that the individual Christian is responsible for developing their own relationship with the divine. This isn’t just through book learning – although Calvin did maintain that knowing the contents of the Bible was vital to knowing true faith. For Calvin knowing God is about both head and heart. And it is through that deep, expressive relationship with God that one grows as an individual and becomes what God has created them to be.

Unfortunately the ‘heart’ bit of Reformed Theology can be somewhat under-represented, lurking underneath reams of bookish learning, so that one might end up with an incredible knowledge of the Biblical text, but less idea of how to absorb its teaching in a way that deepens one’s spiritual life.  By contrast those who practise alternative spiritualities might be accused of doing exactly the opposite: developing such an experiential approach to understanding God that the accompanying teachings and disciplines, key to living a spiritually mature life, can be neglected.

My view is that a balance of the two is vital if one is to develop a lasting faith. To gain spiritual maturity requires a deep, fulfilled relationship with the Divine; being able to dwell in their presence, but also learning to walk the way of Jesus in the day to day. It is this outward facing aspect of faith that enables individuals and groups to become missional, seeing their role as faithful accompaniers, walking life’s path alongside, and hand in hand with, others.

Being a member of a community, for whom this inward/outward attitude to belief is an imperative, has been both a delight and a challenge: a delight because there is no need to push the organisation to think missionally; but also a challenge, because the way we order the organisation, frame our language and open ourselves up to listening to the beliefs and ideas of all those we encounter can be difficult to get used to, particularly for any new person coming in.

Shaping faith communities in the image of a Trinitarian God

An example of this how theory works in practice is last year’s AGM.  Until recently Hug Cullompton has attracted predominantly women. For the first time last year we had two male Huggers participating.  We operated in our usual way, with a few minutes of silent reflection, followed by the official reports and sharing out of offices for the year.  We then had a vision session to consider ideas for a new community project.  There was no formal presentation, and each person spoke in turn, with the pictures, words and phrases that came to mind drawn on a flip chart.

The meeting was as formal as we ever get – which, to our new Huggers, was far more informal that they were accustomed to.  During the silence one read papers and played with notebooks.  When we reported absolutely no activity on our bank account they were both extremely surprised. That our major plan for the year consisted of a collection of meanderings on a piece of A2 paper appeared to them extremely haphazard.  And yet, a year later, when we returned to that piece of flip-chart paper, we could see on it the shaping of our main project for the year – starting Culm Valley Men in Sheds.  It was all there, the culmination of months of prayer, preparation and activity marked out in glorious technicolor.

Members of my strategy group have been fascinated by the way Hug Cullompton orders itself and shapes its common life.  There is no hierarchy. Instead each equal member brings what they have to offer and, through a sense of true mutuality, receives what they need in return.  We have always invited participants to come and go as they desire, accepting that sometimes the stresses and strains of everyday life prevent people from having the capacity to do more than simply cope. At such times Huggers are invited to step back and let others take charge.  As a consequence our officers are only ever appointed for a year, more or less on a revolving basis, and our activities are limited to those we can successfully manage using the resources which come our way.  Yes I am ‘a minister’, but I am regarded first and foremost as a Hugger, an equal, with a particular set of  giftings which go with that calling.

I would like to suggest that the way Hug Cullompton works is both counter-cultural and incredibly healthy.  One Hugger describes it as ‘right-brained’, a creative and intuitive process, often associated with the feminine.  It seems to me that this modus operandum might be considered perichoretic – a theological term which describes how the persons of the Trinity (God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit) relate. There is a mutuality and unity within our organisation which enables different personalities to thrive, each with their own identity and skill set which comes to the fore at different times.  Our expectations of what can be achieved are based on an assessment of need, availability of talent, and trust in a God who will provide what is required (in that order). Yes, we meet all the legal requirements of a charity, but the ways we structure ourselves and carry out our business are exceptionally fluid.  Those who are  comfortable functioning in a traditional business, academic or public service setting can find it quite unsettling to start with, but usually they do get used to it.

Taking faith onto the streets

Hug Cullompton’s ‘Mission Statement’, the Hug Prayer, is an active and considered response to the Lord’s Prayer. It demonstrates very clearly that the motivation behind the organisation is more than simply a commitment to good works. The result of lengthy negotiations regarding language and understandings of God, the process itself, which I have already detailed in a former article, was a way formalising that which we already knew: that a faith community was only truly active if it was acting in the world.

For me this sentiment goes to the heart of what the Christian faith is all about.  We are called by God to walk the way of Jesus, utilising every aspect of our lives and harnessing our skills in order to become more faithful, more loving, and more Jesus-shaped.  This understanding of what it means to be Christians in the world is termed Incarnational Theology, and I have already written about it at length.  My experience is that this is achieved, not by sitting in a church listening to sermons and singing songs with fellow Christians, but by following the example of Jesus: getting out there, sharing giftings, skills, enthusiasm, love – and in Hug Cullompton’s case – hugs.

My challenge has been how to interpret this theology outside the parameters of the institution of the church; and it has been one of the most enlightening aspects of my ministry.  I have learned three very important things:

  1. ‘Being Christ’ in the world means being alongside people in the world, regardless of their faith, background or views about Jesus.
  2. Being ‘church’ in the world isn’t about growing huge congregations, creating rotas or building empires – in fact I would like to suggest that the Kingdom of Heaven is the opposite.  Bringing hope, transforming communities and demonstrating Christ’s love can be achieved by exceptionally small groups of people. All they need is a willingness to share what God has given them partnered with a huge amount of faith that God will provide the rest.
  3. I have discovered that people with no active Christian faith actually find the subject fascinating.  Unless we grow the confidence to be able to speak from the heart about what being a Christian adds to our life, we will never be able to persuade others to join us.

Evidence suggests that, in Britain today, people are most likely to be attracted to Christianity by knowing someone who is already involved, whose life is exemplary, and who holds a key to happiness that the searcher would love to try for themselves.

Reconsidering how we engage with those ‘outside’ the church

An important factor in engaging with those outside the church is learning to communicate in their language. I tend to say that it took me four years to ‘unlearn church-speak.’ Christians speak a language that seems foreign to those outside it, so much so that often we can confuse and turn off people who might otherwise be quite interested in engaging with us.

A key factor in learning to communicate with the now-members of Hug Cullompton has been revising the language I use to speak of God.  In the church we are so used to speaking about God who is ‘Father’, we forget how excluding such language can be to those who simply don’t see God in that way.  Chapman et al. suggest that, in the past century, some feminists have “viewed the male God and saviour of Christianity, mediated by a male priesthood, as central to the ‘patriarchy’ they were trying to overthrow” (2012, p.181).

However I would like to go further than simply recommending that we speak of God using ‘inclusive’ language.  I would like to suggest that we are moving beyond a binary age in which God is experienced or spoken of as female/male.  As we begin to hear the voices of those whose gender and sexuality is fluid, there must surely be a voice to say that they, too are created in the image of a God whose identity is recorded in the Biblical creation story (in the original Hebrew) as plural rather than male or female. (Gen. 1.27)

I have found Church language to be the defining factor in the decision by a huge number of women with whom I relate to leave the Christian faith behind.  Not only have they found the structure, imagery and language of the church disempowering, they have found other spiritual paths which have been positively more affirming.  Steve Hollinghurst and Paul Cudby both draw parallels between Christianity and neo-Paganism with regard to traditions and rituals, but contrast the Christian and Pagan ways of understanding and speaking of God, as well as the empowerment and leadership opportunities for women within these movements.

The tendency of many in churches in Cullompton has been to label all spiritualities which do not fit within the normal church parameters “the Occult”. The term itself, from the Latin root meaning ‘secret, hidden or covered over’, is equated with certain supernatural practices, powers and phenomena. While I agree that all of this exists – and is something to be wary of and avoided – it in no way reflects anything I have encountered during my journey with the members of Hug Cullompton.  Interestingly, a fellow Hugger described recently how her experience of Wiccan ritualistic practices, which she ‘sampled’ at a festival, frightened her. “There was so much power in it, and I didn’t like it.” she said, “It felt as though God’s energy was being harnessed and mis-directed. I won’t have anything more to do with it.”

The question is, how do we relate to those who have already achieved spiritual maturity without feeling the need to join ‘the church’, those whose path is acknowledged as being heavily influenced by Jesus and Spirit-led, but whose experience of Christianity has, in direct opposition to the ministry Jesus modelled (Luke 8.1-3), been disempowering, disengaging, and totally unaffirming. Do they need to be ‘saved’ or ‘converted’; or is it just possible that God might have God’s way in the world, through them and alongside them, despite their rejection of church in the past?

Conclusion

I am nearing the end of a very long journey. It has been at times one of utter delight, but also at times one of misery.  I  have been at the same time loved, accepted, criticised and rejected because of this post. I have encountered beliefs that I never thought I would, and I have opened my mind to some, whilst closing the door firmly but gently on others.

Of all my experiences, the two most important things I have learned?

  1. That Jesus loves me.  I can understand why Karl Barth, one of the most prolific and longwinded theologians of the twentieth century, said it.  In the midst of all the confusion and challenge that pioneering brings, a sense of being loved and accepted, just as I am,  both by God and those with whom I journeyed, has sustained me in my faith and carried me through some very dark times.
  2. The Christendom era, and the church as we know it, might be coming to an end; but the God we know, who cannot be contained within the pages of a book – even one as holy as the Bible – will always be alongside us.  The challenge for us is work out how best to do it, then fall into step.

 

References

Chapman, M, Naguib, S and Woodhead, L., “God-Change” in Woodhead, Linda and Cato, Rebecca, 2012, Religion and Change in Modern Britain (Abingdon, Routledge)

Cudby, Paul, 2017, The Shaken Path: A Christian Priest’s Exploration of Modern Pagan Belief and Practice (Brighton, Christian Alternative)

Hollinghurst, Steve, 2003, New Age, Paganism and Christian Mission (Grove Booklet)

 

The thorny issue of pastoral visiting

fullsizeoutput_1587… or, understanding why pastoral visiting is an issue of such contention.

In the letters section of the past two issues of Reform (the United Reformed Church’s national magazine), pastoral visiting by ministers (or lack thereof) has once again become the subject of attention.  Ever since I was at ‘Minister School’ it was an issue: what pattern of pastoral ministry should one adopt? How should we decide who to visit? And what if we’re called to the Ministry of Word and Sacraments, but have no gifting in, or flair for it?

The weight given to pastoral visiting of congregations by ministers seems peculiar to our tradition/denomination.  I am a member of several forums for clergy/church leaders, and very rarely do I ever see posts from participants of other denominations concerning pastoral visiting.  I do not wish to downgrade its importance  – it is one of our particular treasures – but I do think there is a distinction to be made between pastoral care (which is the responsibility of the congregation as a whole) and spiritual development (which requires more expertise).  I would like to suggest that understanding their subtle differences requires exploring their rootedness, both in Reformed Theology and the age of modernity.

A Biblical perspective on the issue might involve turning to 1 Corinthians 12 (Paul’s description of the Body of Christ).  The Reformed understanding of Church locates the fully formed Body within the local congregation, requiring it to take on the care and wellbeing of every member: a commendable thing.  But as Paul also reminds us in Ephesians 4, not everyone is called to be a pastor; and as members of the priesthood of all believers, caring should be a communal effort, not the sole preserve of an individual whose job title is actually to proclaim the Word and celebrate the Sacraments.

However, it must also be understood that Reformed Theology has emerged within Modernity, an age during which religion was considered a private pastime and spiritual development an intensely personal activity. I therefore have some sympathy with those reluctant to invite anyone other than a Minister, trained in theology and with the weight of perceived authority resting on his or her shoulders, into their personal space.

As the age of modernity passes, the concept of spiritual development founded in conversation between an individual and perceived expert is also passing. Universal education, international travel and technological developments have given individuals easy access to a plethora of materials aiding personal growth.  How this is impacting on society is an issue for another day; but suffice to say it has a huge effect on how younger people view spirituality.

For most people home remains a personal domain, a place where one might explore spirituality, but certainly not engage in conversation about it.  I am far more likely to explore such ideas over coffee or within the context of a toddler group.  I would like to suggest that the pattern of pastoral visiting  appropriate when I first trained for ministry twenty years ago is no longer so.  Instead I suggest we heed the wise words of a minister who wrote in a letter to Reform magazine (Dec/Jan 2019):

Once again, it appears favourable to re-advocate old and currently impossible models [of pastoral visiting]. But those models have sadly put us where we are today. We must share the care of our existing fellowships whilst seeking varied ways to engage with our changing society to ensure an effective witness of God’s love for the future.

what’s really going on when sacred and secular collide?

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Last week a Remembrance sermon preached in Hinckley, Leicestershire, went viral.  Some have condemned it as a tirade, entirely inappropriate for such an occasion, while others see it as a faithful representation of what Jesus taught.  The social media response has ranged from outright disgust to full agreement.

Such a variety of responses demonstrates the nation’s lack of common agreement on what is appropriate when secular meets sacred in the public realm.  I would suggest this is representative of a far bigger issue facing, not just those of us engaged in Christian mission and ministry, but every aspect of society.

There can be no denying that the political and social influence of the institutional church in Great Britain is waining.  The modern age and its quest for certainty and scientific truth has given way to a new era, as yet unnamed and undefined. This post-postmodern paradigm, characterised by constant technological, social, political and economic change, has created a milieu of ideas that render old certainties null and void, not least in the field of religion.  Churches in the inherited model faithfully maintain a set of traditions, doctrines and practices shaped for a modern age,  while generations of spiritual seekers explore ideas of faith and belief almost entirely outside these parameters.

The result is an ever increasing gap between what the church offers and public perception of what the church is there for.  A good example of this is how Great Britain as a nation deals with grief.

Public displays of grief as a signifier of a change in religious perspectives

It is now more than twenty years since public grief over Princess Diana’s death spilled out onto the square in front of Kensington Palace in the form of flowers, candles and soft toys.  What might be remembered as mass hysteria highlighted an issue that the church had already slowly been coming to terms with: that the spiritual thirst of a huge swathe of the British population is not being quenched in any way by organised religion.

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Differences in perceptions of how people can appropriately grieve are huge. In the past decade there have been many news stories of arguments between families and cemetery authorities over what constitutes a dignified symbol of mourning. I would like to suggest that the reason for this is a lack of joint understanding about what is sacred and what is profane. Where once families would have placed crosses and angels on headstones – symbols of their confidence in the departed’s passing to a better place – it is now not uncommon to see symbols of their life here on earth: teddies, windmills, and even football shirts.

In the case of Princess Diana, informal outpourings of grief over her death gave way to a formal act of mourning.  A televised state funeral took place, with all the pomp and ceremony the Palace and Church of England could muster. But Elton John sang at the service and Diana’s brother took the opportunity to pillory the Royal Family. In the meantime books of condolence were set up around in town halls around the country so that the population in its entirety – religious or not – could pay tribute.

Since then a curious practice of combining the sacred and profane at moments of public grief has become normalised in England.  Across the country roadside shrines have been springing up where fatalities have occurred – a noticeable one being over the M5 after a terrible accident near Taunton in 2011. There is currently one just north of Cullompton which has as its centrepiece a huge cross.

Increasingly human rites of passage are celebrated outside the context of  the church, and placed either in the hands of the state or the mourners themselves.   Civil celebrants now regularly take funerals, and weddings in hotels now outnumber church weddings.  During a recent preschool visit to my local parish church, one parent said of the font: “Well I don’t suppose it’s really needed anymore.”

From religion to spirituality: what is really going on?

For many decades sociologists have described the process of decline of the institutional church as ‘secularisation’, claiming that the decline in church attendance is evidence of a waining interest in faith and religion.  However, in recent years this assumption has been challenged.  It has been suggested that, while traditional church practice is declining, new ways of exploring faith and expressing spirituality are on the rise.

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In 2012 Religion and Change in Modern Britain, the culmination of the government funded Religion and Society Programme, was published.  In its introduction, Linda Woodhead, the co-editor of the book, questions the validity of the secularisation debate. She suggests that assumptions made by scholars about the faith of the British population, and the questions they have been trying to answer regarding religion, have been the wrong ones. Rather than counting people who are engaged with organised religion, Woodhead suggests that sociologists should be seeking to understand  how political, social and economic developments impact on religious thought and vice versa, examining how changes in religious practice reflect and relate to other aspects of life and exploring the extent to which belief underpins or holds back social change.

Woodhead uses the example of healthcare to demonstrate the changing role of the British church, both formally and informally.  During the pre-modern and early modern period there was a clear link between faith and healing.  Public health and social care was provided by practitioners such a midwives and deacons on behalf of the church.  Throughout the modern period the influence of science increased, reducing the perceived value of faith-based care provision and casting doubt on its efficacy.

The ultimate expression of this was the formation of the National Health Service in the United Kingdom in 1948, and those who worked outside the parameters of scientific endeavour were increasingly ostracised, with their knowledge and expertise called into question.  Woodhead argues that, while the Labour government was furnishing the British population with hopes of a socialist utopia, religiosity, perceived as being in decline due to the loss of power in the traditional church, was transforming.  From the 1960s onwards, within Christianity, a new form of evangelicalism took hold, with the likes of Billy Graham playing to stadia of tens of thousands.  Seemingly by contrast, but also symbolic of the privatisation of religion, interest in New Age and neo-Pagan spiritualities was on the rise.

Often connected with both evangelicalism and alternative spiritualities is a focus on personal healing, salvation and human growth.  Since around 1990 there has been a huge increase in the influence of holistic approaches to healing, many of which are founded in Eastern religious belief rather than Western science.  In Cullompton, for example, as well as the Natural Health Care Centre which exists totally apart from the National Health Service, is the Culm Valley Integrated Health Centre.  The vision of a local GP who also happens to be a practising Christian, it combines both NHS services and complimentary therapies on one site.

Woodhead argues that:

religion returns to healthcare under the market regime – but in a new form… It is not simply a case of religion taking up where it left off before the NHS, because it is significantly changed under the new conditions under which it arises… This is no ‘folk religion’. It is a form of religion which is as inseparable from advanced consumer capitalism, popular culture and the media as the Church of England is from the nation state. (pp21-22)

So where is God in all this?

Woodhead’s observations and call for her peers to question their own underlying assumptions holds merit.  Analysis which moves from simply counting patterns of human activity to considering the impact on religiosity of myriad social, political and economic influences and trends, and its impact on them, has to be a good thing.

However, I do find the perspectives of Woodhead et al lacking in one thing: a focus on God – or should I say, revelation?  When Woodhead suggests that belief in the NHS has replaced belief in God I think she is mistaken.  The NHS might be one thing to believe in. But if her initial premise is correct, and there is much more to faith and belief than attendance at church, should she not consider that there might be a revelatory force driving it?

I started going to church as a young adult in the days when Peter Mandelson said, “We don’t do God.”  I have trained and ministered against a backdrop which I always assumed was hostile to faith, and was afraid to bring it up in conversation (“Never talk about sex, politics of religion”).  I believed the white (predominantly male) middle class minority who controlled the media when they said that people had no time for, or interest in, religion anymore.

But my experience of people, both in Manchester where I previously worked and now in Devon is very different.  Whether it be in prisons, toddler groups, art exhibitions or Mind, Body Spirit fairs, I find there is a yearning for conversation about God, faith, belief and the universe (although they might well not have the language to articulate it); a conversation between two equals, where we can explore together what it means to have faith.  Unfortunately it is very rarely assumed by those I encounter that such a conversation would ever take place in a church.

I would like to suggest that the secularisation of certain spheres in the public realm has given a false picture of the levels of faith in this nation.  It has assumed that a population which no longer attends church no longer believes.  And while it might be that what people believe falls outside the realms of traditional doctrine, that does not necessarily make it untrue.

And so we return to the Remembrance Sunday sermon preached in Hinckley, Leicestershire. The comments made in response to the publication of the full text are pretty much polarised.  This may not be convenient for those researching levels of religiosity in Great Britain, but they certainly do demonstrate one thing: people care enough to respond – meaning they have some sense of the spiritual significance of Remembrance Sunday.

Whether genuine levels of interest in faith and God in the complicated milieu that is twenty-first century British life will ever be truly fathomed remains to be seen. It is certainly my hope that they will.

a vision and a challenge for the future

.. or, the call to break open the jars containing our Christian treasures and share them with others.

Treasure in clay jars image

When I was exploring a possible move to Cullompton I visited a number of local groups and individuals to test whether it was the right decision.  One meeting I had was with two female clergy members who ministered in the area.

After a time of conversation we prayed together. One of the clergywomen shared with me a vision she had seen about a piece of clay.  The clay began shaped as a jar, but gradually the person moulding it pressed it outwards and outwards until it became a very different shape.

“I think it means your ministry is going to challenge the shape of the church,” she told me, “And challenge the churches in this area. But it is being shaped by God and will be an answer to prayer.”

I have never forgotten what that clergywoman said, and have reflected on it often.

The image of treasure in clay jars is one used by the Apostle Paul in a letter to church members in Corinth (2 Corinthians 4.1-12).  He is explaining how difficult it is to be the church in a world that does not understand  it or its message.

For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake. For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness’, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.

From what Paul writes it is clear that the Corinthians are struggling.  They are being threatened and persecuted, and their way of life is at risk.  The gift of their faith is like treasure in clay jars, safe and contained, a precious commodity to sustain them during these very difficult times.

But in my colleague’s modern day vision the clay was very different, reshaped so that any treasure contained in it would be on show for all to see and spilling out for anyone to take.  For me it was, and is, a powerful image and a very real challenge.  It says to me that the time has come to break the mould and allow the treasure of our faith to glisten and gleam for all to see, on offer for anyone who wants to take it.

The Reformed Tradition has many treasures. Some are fundamentals for any church faithful in its call to love God and walk with Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit.  But there are things which make us unique, the particular treasures which shine: our relationship to scripture; our commitment to unity, justice, equality and inclusivity; our belief in living out the call to be one body of equal parts in a particular way, centred in the community where we live.

Perhaps now is the time to break the jars containing our particular treasures, or at least to make a radical remould of them. It’s a scary thought, relinquishing that which has kept us feeling safe and secure for so many generations. But Jesus challenged the rich to give away everything they owned in order to follow him.  Maybe the time has come for us to do that too.

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This is the first in a series of blogs and articles related to how we might share our treasures. The first article is ‘What’s really going on when sacred and secular collide?’

Is God a man? No, of course HE’s not!

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… or, the art of choosing words carefully when we speak of God.

One of the most fascinating conversations I have had in recent years was about what to call God. We were writing our prayer, which is a response to the Lord’s Prayer. Although it is the term Jesus himself used, we really didn’t feel comfortable with using the term translated into English as ‘Our Father.’

I suspect that, when we hear the word ‘God’, each of us conjures up a different image. It might be negative or positive, one that either we have had since childhood or which has developed over the years, and it might be visual or otherwise, depending on how our mind works.

For those familiar with Christian language there is an ocean of imagery to draw on. For a start we describe God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit (or Trinity).  We hear the prologue of John’s Gospel which tells us that, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God.”  Jesus called God “Abba”, meaning Father, and in the letters of John at the end of the Bible we read that “God is love.”

But strip away all that Biblical foreknowledge and what do we have? I would like to suggest that the most famous image of God is Michelangelo’s in the Sistene Chapel at the Vatican.  In his ‘Creation of Adam’ painting, God is a depicted as a white haired, bearded man, loosely robed in a Romanesque toga, frowning as he reaches out from his heavenly cocoon to not-quite-touch Adam. Such an image hardly correlates to a creative, loving God who, through the Word, gives shape and meaning to life.

The members of Hug Cullompton who participated in the six week process of creating the Hug Prayer agonised for many hours, days and weeks over how we would address the divine creative power who is entirely beyond us and yet in our midst.  In the end we settled for ‘Divine Embrace’, because no noun seemed adequate. The only option left was to use a term that summed up our collective experience of him/her/it.

It might seem this post is about language, but actually it is an attempt to raise a far deeper and more profound issue we in the church face: not only how we articulate the shared concepts which have shaped our understanding of the world and the one whom we believe created it, but the very concepts themselves.

I know very few Christians who, when shown the picture of Michelangelo’s picture of God, think it’s an accurate depiction of what God is like.  And yet, the way in which many Christians name, address and speak of God gives the impression to the outsider that the God we believe in is imperialistic, judgemental and very, very male.

So what are we to do? Should we abandon all those terms we have grown up using, and which roll off our tongues comfortably? Should those who pray addressing God as “heavenly Father,” be told they can no longer do so?

Of course not.  I would not dream of robbing anyone of the essential elements of their faith and the way in which they name it.

But we do have to realise that such terminology could be alienating to others who have already considered and rejected the image of God as a white haired, bearded man, loosely robed in a Romanesque toga, frowning as he reaches out from his heavenly cocoon to not-quite-touch humanity.  Using terms such as ‘Lord’, ‘Master’ and ‘heavenly Father’ with them could be positively unhelpful.

Language is a powerful thing. Terminology comes with a lifetime’s back-story, rendering the phrase “sticks and stones might break my bones but names will never hurt me” null and void.  Let us choose it carefully, lest we unwittingly turn away those who most need to experience God’s ‘Divine Embrace’ for themselves.

making our mission and ministry Jesus-shaped

anonymous-blur-boy-572463… or, learning, through reading the Bible, how to serve others as Jesus did.

Since handing in my notice last week (I am about to move to pastures new), I have been reflecting, not only on what has been achieved through my ministry, but why and how.  To do so I have returned to a Bible passage I used for a piece of Ministerial Theological Reflection several years ago. It is the story of an encounter between Jesus and a man called Legion, and can be found at Mark 5.1-20. Below is a summary of four main features  of Jesus-shaped mission and ministry I have drawn from the passage:

Stepping out into the unfamiliar

  • Jesus and his disciples have crossed Lake Galilee to  “the country of the Gerasenes”. Not only is this unfamiliar geographical territory, it is Gentile, so the religious and cultural background of the people is very different to that of the Jesus and his disciples, who are Jewish.
  • Location and cultural identity is important. If we are to be the ‘Body of Christ’ in the world, it is not just for those to whom we comfortably relate to in our familiar day to day lives.  Venturing into the unfamiliar, among those who cultural identity and way of thinking are different to ours, is a necessary part of Christian witness.

Seeing Christ in everyone, and expecting to learn from our encounters with them

  • Legion, whom Jesus encounters when he first arrives, has significant mental health issues, such that he has been forced to live in the graveyard outside the village for the safety of himself and others.  There is not a less likely candidate for the accolade of ‘first person to identify the true identity of Jesus of Nazareth.’ Although there is no reason why he should know who Jesus is, Legion approaches and bows down before him, addressing him both by name and title: “Jesus, Son of the most High God.”
  • Sometimes we need to be challenged to see the world from  a different spiritual perspective. To be open to learning from, and being surprised by, such encounters are evidence of the Holy Spirit at work, and can be symbiotic – a process resulting in positive change on both sides.

Facilitating transformation with a commitment to the long term

  • As Jesus sets about healing Legion’s afflictions, Legion suddenly becomes afraid. He is unsure of his future identity without the accursed mental afflictions which have tortured him for so long.  And yet, when his fellow villagers arrive at the scene, they find him “clothed and in his right mind.”  Jesus entrusts him into the care of those who know him best and can support him longterm.
  • This is a process I have seen many times in my chaplaincy ministry. Change can be a slow business. Presented with the possibility of change, people who are so used to things the way things they are, face an unknown reality stretching into the future. It can be terrifying. Genuine transformative change is a lengthy process, and requires more than a single quick-fix solution. Ongoing support needs to be facilitated, not always under the auspices of the church community.

Trusting that God works beyond the bounds of church congregations

  • The villagers ask Jesus and his disciples to leave. We are not told whether it is because they are afraid of his healing power or annoyed because he has chased a perfectly good heard of pigs to their death in the lake.  One thing we do know is that, when Legion asks Jesus to take him with him, Jesus says, “No,” asking him instead to go and tell the people in his own village what Jesus has done.
  • Our ministry in the world doesn’t always result in new church members.  We cannot see into the future of those we serve, nor can we guarantee that those who cross our paths will continue along them with us.  All we can do is bless them as they go, asking that they tell their story of transformation as they do so.

What I call ‘Jesus-shaped mission and ministry’ is also known as ‘incarnational theology’. To read more about the scriptural background for my incarnational theology click here.

 

Incarnation and divine experience: finding inspiration in the pages of the Bible

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… or, why a load of words written thousands of year ago inspire me today.

One of the currently in-vogue words among mission-type people is ‘incarnational’. Whenever it is used there is always lots of nodding.  For the first several years I heard it bandied around, the term troubled me. I wasn’t sure I truly understood what it meant. I knew God became ‘incarnate’ in Christ – so it obviously had something to do with God taking on bodily form. But what did that have to do with me? And how could my ministry be described as ‘incarnational’?

In the past months I have reflected on the term at length. This is the first in a short series of articles, through which I intend to tease out what I understand by the term ‘incarnational’. I will explain why I consider it so important in the context of twenty-first church mission and ministry, and how it has been outworked in my particular context.  As is my habit (partly because it reflects the theological tradition from which I come) I will begin exploration in the pages of scripture.

Incarnation and Identity in the Hebrew Scriptures / Old Testament

Essentially the Bible is a book about relationship: between human beings and a God who loves them. Described in the first book of the Bible as the pinnacle of God’s creation, human beings, from the earliest times, let God down, both in their obedience to God and love for one another.  The story known as The Fall, in which Adam and Eve are tempted by a serpent to take a bite from the forbidden fruit, is symbolic of the breakdown in relationship between creator and created.  When God searches for them in the garden,  Adam (the name means human being) and Eve (whose name means alive) hide, ashamed and exposed. This is their last physical encounter with God. The result of their disobedience is expulsion from the Garden of Eden and a recalibration of their relationship with a now-distant God.  The journey towards redemption and reconciliation with their creator, who still loves them, will be an timeless one, with many twists and turns along the way.

The Hebrew scriptures – the Jewish Bible and Old Testament of the Christian one – tell the story of that journey. There are swashbuckling heroes and and nasty villains;  paupers, prophets, priests and kings; all searching for the redemption that will bring them back into full relationship with an elusive and at times seemingly fickle God.

These people, whose stories are recorded in scripture, are the Jewish ancestors of Jesus and his first disciples, a people whose self-identity was as a holy nation. Despite their propensity to sin, they understood themselves to be chosen by this God, who communicated with them through a variety of means.  Although generally a distant deity, God could, and did, respond to the people when called upon.  Over the generations a cycle of rites of passage, worship practices and feasts and festivals developed, during which the stories of their ancestors were retold in a way that gave shape to people’s lives and helped build both their corporate and individual identity as people of God.

An important element of that corporate worship life was the burnt offering or sacrifice of animals.  In burning all or part of an animal or plant, the smoke emitted was believed to create an odour ‘pleasing to the Lord’, transforming it into a heavenly substance, and providing a link between heaven and earth (Lev.1.14-17).  When they are burned, God responds.  An example of this is in the incredibly moving interaction between Jacob (also called Israel) and God when he is on his way to Egypt in search of his lost son Joseph (the one with the ‘amazing technicolour dreamcoat’):

When Israel set out on his journey with all that he had and came to Beer-sheba, he offered sacrifices to the God of his father Isaac. God spoke to Israel in visions of the night, and said, ‘Jacob, Jacob.’ And he said, ‘Here I am.’
Then he said, ‘I am God, the God of your father; do not be afraid to go down to Egypt, for I will make of you a great nation there. I myself will go down with you to Egypt, and I will also bring you up again; and Joseph’s own hand shall close your eyes.’ (Gen. 44.1-4)

Through Jacob’s sacrificial activity, God breaks ineffably into his human consciousness, assuring both his identity and legacy, in just the same way God did with his Grandfather, Abraham.

Again and again throughout the Hebrew scriptures, at times when all appears lost, God breaks ineffably into the human consciousness of the people of Israel, acting to assure their salvation.  And in first century Palestine, when the punishing rule of Roman occupation seemed an inevitable future, God broke ineffably into human consciousness once again. Only this time the form God took was human.

Incarnated identity in the New Testament

God, taking on bodily form in the person of Jesus, signifies the beginning of the fundamental restoration of the relationship between God and humanity.  The God who walks in the garden of Eden, searching for the shamed Adam and Eve, is the same God who befriends, heals, serves and commands in the everyday ordinariness of first century Palestine.  No longer is there a need for burnt offerings to thin the divide between heaven and earth. It has been permanently breached in the most glorious way; for in Jesus the ability to see God is opened to all.

This concept of bodily redemption is then modelled in the earliest Jesus-believing communities, who describe themselves as the ‘Body of Christ’ (1 Cor. 12).  This corporate embodiment is outworked, both through their tangible attachment to each other, and the way they reach out together to the world around them.  Rather than making sacrifices of animals, the followers of Jesus reaffirm their identity as God’s chosen through the sharing of bread and wine together; and it is not long before this possibility is opened far beyond the reaches of those born into the Jewish bloodline.

The way of life lived by the Jesus-believing communities, recorded in the Book of Acts, demonstrates how this body of otherwise unremarkable fishermen, zealots, wives and mothers become exemplars of what it is to live as people with God ineffably present among them:

 Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (Acts 2.42-47)

Through a combination of Biblical, literary and archeological evidence, it is possible to piece together a picture of how the earliest Christians lived.  The image is of small communities popping up throughout the Near East and Mediterranean Europe. They gathered to share food and friendship, to learn more about Jesus, and to commit themselves to modelling a way of life which was gracious, generous, egalitarian and compelling. For more on communal eating and worship practices in the earliest Christian communities click here.

Relevance for Today

Of course all the events referred to above were said or spoken between two and four thousand years ago, and canonised (selected and ordered) almost 2,000 years ago. There are those who say it is out of date, that it has no relevance to, or bearing on, our lives today.  But regardless of how literally the words in the Bible are taken (and in ancient times many words were meant figuratively rather than literally), there are universal truths to find amongst the pages.

Without doubt, the human race is fatally and fundamentally flawed. What we have done to each other and to our planet in recent history is enough to testify to that. And if, as a species, we were able to obey the Ten Commandments given to Moses in the Pentateuch , strive to learn from the ancient teachings in the wisdom literature (books such as Proverbs and Ecclesiastes), and follow Jesus’ example and teachings from the New Testament, the world might look very different.

As it is we can only make a difference where we are, in our own realm.  At the end of the Bible is a future vision of a new heaven and new earth.  In that new world the nations, identifiable in their uniqueness, live in harmony. There is food enough for everyone, and love reigns.  And we do live on a planet where that is humanly possible.  It is also our ‘humanness’, flawed as it is, which prevents that happening.

But…

The Bible teaches me that it is not all hopeless. The picture of goodness, painted in the words and deeds of Jesus and his followers, is inspiration enough to make me want to try and model it, both in my personal life and in my professional dealings. So therein lies the basis for my incarnational theology.  I am called to ’embody’ the person and teachings of Jesus, to see others through the eyes of God incarnated, and to love my planet and its inhabitants, however hard they sometimes make it.

More next time…

The reality of growing up English

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or, reflections on how we construct our understanding of the world (and our churches)

The Secret Scripture, a novel by Sebastian Barry (made into a 2015 film), tells the story of Roseanne McNulty, an old woman who has been in an Irish psychiatric institution for more than sixty years.

Through her diary entries, existent scraps of hospital records, reports from the parish priest and conversations between Roseanne and her psychiatrist, the reader is invited to piece together the story of Roseanne’s life. On several occasions Roseanne and the parish priest give very different accounts of the same event.

One might assume someone is lying; but who? The protagonist – an old woman who has been labelled mentally ill – or a respected man of God? In reality both parties are telling the truth as they remember it. It is simply that their memories – and perspectives – are so different.

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Everyone has their own story and lens through which they view the world. Our personal narrative is constructed from myriad events and experiences, things we have been taught and assumptions we have made; and it is no different when it comes to our sacred beliefs. The way we worship, pray, interpret the Bible and understand our spirituality are all flavoured by who we are, where we come from and the life we’ve lived.

I am a product of a culture still affected by Colonial Imperialism. Although we no longer promulgate the values reflected in the song Rule Britannia, there does still seem to be a subliminal assumption in the English psyche that our way is the ‘right’ way, even if that is not actually the same ‘way’ as our (English) neighbours.

Whether it is an aspect of our particular psyche, or simply human nature, I would like to suggest that this assumption, manifested most obviously in our political system, is just as prevalent in our churches, particularly in attitudes towards other church traditions. Throughout history these attitudes have caused division, even schism. Today we are left with a legacy of dualisms which might seem insurmountable: liberal/evangelical, Catholic/Protestant, Biblical fundamentalism/relativism, ‘high up the candle’/’so low down the candle I’ve fallen off’ (to do with worship traditions). The last one might sound ridiculous to someone not versed in Anglican phraseology – but I have heard it used often.

In whichever unnamed age we currently live (post-postmodernism?) such dualisms seem both dated and increasingly irrelevant. It is no longer necessary to adhere to all the views of one side or the other. We can accept that we construct our own narrative,  and as we do so we can affirm those whose way of worshipping, praying, interpreting the Bible and understanding spirituality don’t relate to our own.

The readers of The Secret Scripture never will find out the whole truth about what happened to Roseanne McNulty, because she is a fictional character. But people in churches of very different traditions (and none) are not. Perhaps there is a need to listen a bit harder to different narratives, trying to understand where they have come from. By doing this, those holding what might appear to be opposing views might find enough common ground to begin to appreciate difference rather than fearing it, and actually live out Paul’s words to the earliest Christians in Rome:

If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us, will he not with him also give us everything else? Who will bring any charge against God’s elect? It is God who justifies. Who is to condemn?…
I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

An example of Living creatively with difference can be found in a previous blog.