It's Good Friday. We've been retelling the story of the crucifixion. Yesterday - Maundy Thursday - we retold the story of the final supper and arrest of Jesus. we had a Tanebrae, a service of gathering shadows; as we told the story recorded in Matthew's gospel, we blew out candles and ended our hour together in total darkness. It was simple and sombre. It was also revelatory.
A member of my congregation said afterwards that she hadn't really heard the story before, although she's been a Christian for years. New things struck her through the evening because, in her words, 'it was so different. We've never done that before and I saw things in the story I never realised were there.'
I tell you this because John (from www.eternalpurpose.org.uk) asked about dialectic and revelation (see previous post). It set me thinking about whether dialectic as Christians experience it is only rational. I don't think so. I think it also happens as we share stories. revelation particularly occurs, it seems to me, when familiar stories come at us from fresh angles. Suddenly the familiar assumes strange shapes and forms and we see angles on it that we haven't seen before.
So to directly answer John's question, I guess revelation in the 1 Corinthians 2:10-14 sense doesn't come through reasoning so much as through hearing familiar stories in new ways, ways that enable us to make new connections, gain fresh insights.
I'm sure that's not a full answer - even an adequate one - but I hope it keeps the conversation alive!
I'm off to Skegness for week 1 of Spring Harvest. Linda (my wife) and I are on the pastoral team. Back Thursday evening.
Have a great Easter.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
emerging models
Miz's suggestion that preachers try to take their congregations on the same journey they have had as they prepared their sermons is an interesting one.
At seminary I was always told that 'no one wants to see your workings out'. In other words, we are there to proclaim a pristine finished version that will build up our congregations. But I wonder if people might respond to something more ragged, something that helps them learn how to do the workings out and maybe receive different revelations (as Miz suggests).
Having said that, I was talking to someone recently who doesn't go to home groups. When I asked him why, he said that he couldn't stand the pooling of ignorance that followed the home group leader asking what people thought the verse or passage was about. What he wanted was someone telling him what the passage meant and how it applied to him. Then he would be able to discuss it. I suspect it's a minority view, but it's a view all the same...
All this does raise an interesting question that is relevant to the sermon question. As the emerging church emerges, what does it stand for, what does it believe? we know what it doesn't like and find helpful in the existing church paradigm. But how much is this to do with structure and ways of doing things and how much with what we actually believe?
It's good to see sites like www.opensourcetheology.net and www.eternalpurpose.org.uk springing up where issues of belief can be discussed and thrashed out. It's vital that we remain true to the historic Christian faith, vital that we provide faithful witness to the saving acts of God in Jesus Christ. There are right and wrong answers to theological questions. As the emerging church emerges, there are certain shapes it cannot assume and still remain true to its Christian roots.
Is there a dialectic here between open discussion of issues and revealed truth? I think so. All our struggles to emerge - whether into new ways of learning within traditional structures or new shapes of church - need to happen in this framework.
At seminary I was always told that 'no one wants to see your workings out'. In other words, we are there to proclaim a pristine finished version that will build up our congregations. But I wonder if people might respond to something more ragged, something that helps them learn how to do the workings out and maybe receive different revelations (as Miz suggests).
Having said that, I was talking to someone recently who doesn't go to home groups. When I asked him why, he said that he couldn't stand the pooling of ignorance that followed the home group leader asking what people thought the verse or passage was about. What he wanted was someone telling him what the passage meant and how it applied to him. Then he would be able to discuss it. I suspect it's a minority view, but it's a view all the same...
All this does raise an interesting question that is relevant to the sermon question. As the emerging church emerges, what does it stand for, what does it believe? we know what it doesn't like and find helpful in the existing church paradigm. But how much is this to do with structure and ways of doing things and how much with what we actually believe?
It's good to see sites like www.opensourcetheology.net and www.eternalpurpose.org.uk springing up where issues of belief can be discussed and thrashed out. It's vital that we remain true to the historic Christian faith, vital that we provide faithful witness to the saving acts of God in Jesus Christ. There are right and wrong answers to theological questions. As the emerging church emerges, there are certain shapes it cannot assume and still remain true to its Christian roots.
Is there a dialectic here between open discussion of issues and revealed truth? I think so. All our struggles to emerge - whether into new ways of learning within traditional structures or new shapes of church - need to happen in this framework.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Monday morning blues
A few days ago I posted about how much I loved my job - the opportunity to research and deliver teaching material, the response of the congregation, etc...
On Monday mornings, however, I sometimes feel shattered and beset with self-doubt. Last night I rounded off Habakkuk and this morning feel that I floundered somewhat. The service was dull, there was not much atmosphere, no one seemed to be anticipating reaching the climax of an absorbing series and I was, frankly, laboured, over-long, struggling to master the subject and probably guilty of missing a huge opportunity.
Ah well, Monday morning recriminations...
It does raise an issue about the minister's role as a teacher or, to use the more fashionable jargon, congregational formation - how believers are shaped in and by their faith. Our teaching model is the sermon. All the research suggests sermons are appalling vehicles for conveying anything. So why do we persist?
Last week we had a church meeting at which the subject of sermons came up as an aside. Some arguing there were too many, others suggesting they were the best part of church, some saying they were too long, others that they were fine as they were.
There has always been a difference opinion over sermons. Keith Thomas in his majestic study Religion and the Decline of Magic has a wonderful passage where Tudor and Stuart churchmen and preachers lament the fact that no one listens to or appreciates sermons like they used to. Plus ca change, hey?!
I think we're at the stage now where we need to be asking fundamental questions about how we form Christian disciples in the 21st century. Put that way, this conversation is about more than sermons, about more than how I can avoid the Monday morning, post-sermon blues. It's a conversation about how people living and working in an increasingly post-Christian culture appropriate Christian discipline so as to be socialised into a Christian way of responding to the world.
We'll start small. My team will muse on it for a while this morning - and probably go on doing the same things! But I hope that we might delve deeper and think about what people need so that they hear and respond to Christian truth, how that truth creates in them genuine Christian character.
On Monday mornings, however, I sometimes feel shattered and beset with self-doubt. Last night I rounded off Habakkuk and this morning feel that I floundered somewhat. The service was dull, there was not much atmosphere, no one seemed to be anticipating reaching the climax of an absorbing series and I was, frankly, laboured, over-long, struggling to master the subject and probably guilty of missing a huge opportunity.
Ah well, Monday morning recriminations...
It does raise an issue about the minister's role as a teacher or, to use the more fashionable jargon, congregational formation - how believers are shaped in and by their faith. Our teaching model is the sermon. All the research suggests sermons are appalling vehicles for conveying anything. So why do we persist?
Last week we had a church meeting at which the subject of sermons came up as an aside. Some arguing there were too many, others suggesting they were the best part of church, some saying they were too long, others that they were fine as they were.
There has always been a difference opinion over sermons. Keith Thomas in his majestic study Religion and the Decline of Magic has a wonderful passage where Tudor and Stuart churchmen and preachers lament the fact that no one listens to or appreciates sermons like they used to. Plus ca change, hey?!
I think we're at the stage now where we need to be asking fundamental questions about how we form Christian disciples in the 21st century. Put that way, this conversation is about more than sermons, about more than how I can avoid the Monday morning, post-sermon blues. It's a conversation about how people living and working in an increasingly post-Christian culture appropriate Christian discipline so as to be socialised into a Christian way of responding to the world.
We'll start small. My team will muse on it for a while this morning - and probably go on doing the same things! But I hope that we might delve deeper and think about what people need so that they hear and respond to Christian truth, how that truth creates in them genuine Christian character.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
A secular society?
Pretty much every month I read an article in the Sunday papers containing a sheepish admission. The usually middle class, thirty-something reporter is confessing that he goes to church. He doesn't want to make a song and dance about it, rarely tells his mates what he gets up to a Sunday and doesn't want to be classified as a 'Jesus freak'.
This week's Sunday Times contains a affectingly written piece by such a reporter informing us that he started going because he wanted his children christened.
Now he realises how the Christian faith and being British - or English as he prefers - are bound up with each other, the latter being largely incomprehensible without the former. Furthermore, he suggests that English faith is a muddle of believing and scepticism and so he doesn't want to spell out in too much detail what he actually believes.
I found his piece thought-provoking and moving. In particular, I found his references to churches where the liturgy and music are familiar - that is to say, traditional or even old fashioned - truly challenging.
As we think about how we do church services to attract the broadest range of people, the assumption is that the elderly want traditional and the young - especially the educated and professional young - want the informal, exploratory and unfamiliar.
Perhaps it's only the slightly disaffected church goer - the stalwart of twenty years who's been involved in running things - who wants significant change in the way we do things because they are bored.
The trouble is, of course, none of this answers the question why 1500 people are leaving our churches every week and not coming back. Is it the rapid pace of change in our liturgy that's driving them away or the fact that we appear rooted to the spot, still singing the songs we were a generation ago? Is it that we've overly defined the faith or left people wondering who God is and where he can be found?
Answers on a postcard....
This week's Sunday Times contains a affectingly written piece by such a reporter informing us that he started going because he wanted his children christened.
Now he realises how the Christian faith and being British - or English as he prefers - are bound up with each other, the latter being largely incomprehensible without the former. Furthermore, he suggests that English faith is a muddle of believing and scepticism and so he doesn't want to spell out in too much detail what he actually believes.
I found his piece thought-provoking and moving. In particular, I found his references to churches where the liturgy and music are familiar - that is to say, traditional or even old fashioned - truly challenging.
As we think about how we do church services to attract the broadest range of people, the assumption is that the elderly want traditional and the young - especially the educated and professional young - want the informal, exploratory and unfamiliar.
Perhaps it's only the slightly disaffected church goer - the stalwart of twenty years who's been involved in running things - who wants significant change in the way we do things because they are bored.
The trouble is, of course, none of this answers the question why 1500 people are leaving our churches every week and not coming back. Is it the rapid pace of change in our liturgy that's driving them away or the fact that we appear rooted to the spot, still singing the songs we were a generation ago? Is it that we've overly defined the faith or left people wondering who God is and where he can be found?
Answers on a postcard....
Friday, March 11, 2005
Mr Wright?
Tom wright is brilliant on Living Faith. But he is the English filling in a rather American sandwich - clearly the pack was made for the US market.
Those of you familiar with the wonderful White Stripes Elephant album will know that the track Little Acorns opens with a narration about a woman inspired to face her problems by watching a squirrel in winter. Sadly the narrator on Tom's DVD sounds just like this guy...
However, get past that and Tom is homely, wise, amusing and full of insights about the how to approach the Bible. The series appears to be aimed at Christians who don't know that much about their faith. And that's no bad thing.
I'll road test it on some of my people and see how it goes down.
Those of you familiar with the wonderful White Stripes Elephant album will know that the track Little Acorns opens with a narration about a woman inspired to face her problems by watching a squirrel in winter. Sadly the narrator on Tom's DVD sounds just like this guy...
However, get past that and Tom is homely, wise, amusing and full of insights about the how to approach the Bible. The series appears to be aimed at Christians who don't know that much about their faith. And that's no bad thing.
I'll road test it on some of my people and see how it goes down.
Living faith
I took delivery yesterday of Living Faith a ten session DVD-based introduction to the Chrisian faith by Tom Wright. I haven't watched any of it yet but I'm sure it'll be brilliant. Tom has one of those amazingly listenable voices - like Morgan Freeman. I'd happily listen to him reading the phone book! Fortunately, he is also the most wonderful theologian and biblical scholar and hence what he has to say is always worth hearing.
But I do wonder about the proliferation of courses exploring the essence of Christianity - Alpha, Christianity Explored, Essence, etc
I've just finished a Tyndale Bulletin article by J R Harrison (pity they don't go in for Christian names!) on Paul's use of Roman imperial language in Romans to describe what Jesus has achieved. This is Christianity explained. Yet it is explained in very political terms, a true alternative to the imperial ideology that dominated the world of Paul's day.
Tom Wright would say a hearty amen to this emphasis (he has written a lot about Paul and Caesar). But I wonder if his course will pick this theme up.
It seems to me that we are still offering the Christian faith as a religious option in a supermarket of faiths. We do this, we say, because that's what the early Christians did. In a world of Judaism, paganism and mystery cults, Christianity was another (albeit better) spirituality.
But this is to assume the separation of politics and religion in the ancient world. And that was not the case. Wright and others have shown that the world of the early Christians was dominated by the cult of the emperor, a religious and spiritual movement that underpinned Roman imperial power.
So Harrison demonstrates the extravagent language used to praise the age of Augustus, the Caesar who brought an end to Rome's civil strife and ushered in an age of peace, prosperity and hope. He then shows that Paul uses the same words in Romans to describe what God had done in Christ.
So, is Paul making a religious or a political point. It strikes me that the obvious answer - both - is a bit of a cop-out, because it enables us to pay lip service to the political import of Paul's statements but to stress that the spiritual meaning takes precedence over the political. What matters is that I sort out my relationship with God. My relation with the political power structures of the world I live in can be sorted out later. I wonder if Paul would be happy with that.
I'd love to see a course introducing Christianity that stresses Jesus as the leader of a movement of radical social and political change based on the ethic peace and reconciliation and founded on his defeat on the cross of all the forces that undermine peace and keep people fighting.
Perhaps Tom's done that on Living faith. You tell me. I'll keep you posted.
But I do wonder about the proliferation of courses exploring the essence of Christianity - Alpha, Christianity Explored, Essence, etc
I've just finished a Tyndale Bulletin article by J R Harrison (pity they don't go in for Christian names!) on Paul's use of Roman imperial language in Romans to describe what Jesus has achieved. This is Christianity explained. Yet it is explained in very political terms, a true alternative to the imperial ideology that dominated the world of Paul's day.
Tom Wright would say a hearty amen to this emphasis (he has written a lot about Paul and Caesar). But I wonder if his course will pick this theme up.
It seems to me that we are still offering the Christian faith as a religious option in a supermarket of faiths. We do this, we say, because that's what the early Christians did. In a world of Judaism, paganism and mystery cults, Christianity was another (albeit better) spirituality.
But this is to assume the separation of politics and religion in the ancient world. And that was not the case. Wright and others have shown that the world of the early Christians was dominated by the cult of the emperor, a religious and spiritual movement that underpinned Roman imperial power.
So Harrison demonstrates the extravagent language used to praise the age of Augustus, the Caesar who brought an end to Rome's civil strife and ushered in an age of peace, prosperity and hope. He then shows that Paul uses the same words in Romans to describe what God had done in Christ.
So, is Paul making a religious or a political point. It strikes me that the obvious answer - both - is a bit of a cop-out, because it enables us to pay lip service to the political import of Paul's statements but to stress that the spiritual meaning takes precedence over the political. What matters is that I sort out my relationship with God. My relation with the political power structures of the world I live in can be sorted out later. I wonder if Paul would be happy with that.
I'd love to see a course introducing Christianity that stresses Jesus as the leader of a movement of radical social and political change based on the ethic peace and reconciliation and founded on his defeat on the cross of all the forces that undermine peace and keep people fighting.
Perhaps Tom's done that on Living faith. You tell me. I'll keep you posted.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Are we there yet?
All parents have been on car journeys constantly interrupted by a tiny voice in the back of the car asking 'are we there yet?'
It's one of the ultimate faith questions. The tiny voice, belonging to a being that trusts its parents implicitly and absolutely, believes that 'there' is worth seeing; but more than that, 'there' has to be better than the interminable boredom of getting there.
Lots of Christians want to be 'there' - however they define that - because the getting there is sometimes hard, painful, sorrowful, often dull and only rarely, it seems, any fun at all.
We ought to read Habakkuk more often. This startlingly contemporary OT prophet about whom we know next to nothing, wrote soon after 605BC and yet could be speaking about our world. His portrait of the arrogance of Babylon is as compelling a portrait of the 21st century western world as you could hope to find. It certainly provides more prescient analysis of our condition than the broadsheets manage.
But while his social critique is salutary, his portrait of the life of faith is stunning. In many ways it contains the high watermarks of OT faith - 2:14, 3:17-19 (go on look them up at www.biblegateway.com) - and a startling throw-away line about the just living by faith (2:4) that is picked up three times in the New testament (Romans 1:17, Galatians 3:11 and Hebrews 10:37-38).
In fact the apparently throw-away line is a picture of the person of faith embedded in a world of cynicism and unbelief and not just clinging on by her finger nails, but living a radiant, god-reflective life, buoyed up by her trust in God's eternal faithfulness. What a picture!
So, whatever you're going through at the moment, read Habakkuk - it's hard going in places, shockingly violent in others, but ultimately faith-affirming in the complex and troubling world in which we live. And if you want more details check out the sermon download section of my church website (www.bromleybaptist.com) - the fourth in the series will be there on 13 March
It's one of the ultimate faith questions. The tiny voice, belonging to a being that trusts its parents implicitly and absolutely, believes that 'there' is worth seeing; but more than that, 'there' has to be better than the interminable boredom of getting there.
Lots of Christians want to be 'there' - however they define that - because the getting there is sometimes hard, painful, sorrowful, often dull and only rarely, it seems, any fun at all.
We ought to read Habakkuk more often. This startlingly contemporary OT prophet about whom we know next to nothing, wrote soon after 605BC and yet could be speaking about our world. His portrait of the arrogance of Babylon is as compelling a portrait of the 21st century western world as you could hope to find. It certainly provides more prescient analysis of our condition than the broadsheets manage.
But while his social critique is salutary, his portrait of the life of faith is stunning. In many ways it contains the high watermarks of OT faith - 2:14, 3:17-19 (go on look them up at www.biblegateway.com) - and a startling throw-away line about the just living by faith (2:4) that is picked up three times in the New testament (Romans 1:17, Galatians 3:11 and Hebrews 10:37-38).
In fact the apparently throw-away line is a picture of the person of faith embedded in a world of cynicism and unbelief and not just clinging on by her finger nails, but living a radiant, god-reflective life, buoyed up by her trust in God's eternal faithfulness. What a picture!
So, whatever you're going through at the moment, read Habakkuk - it's hard going in places, shockingly violent in others, but ultimately faith-affirming in the complex and troubling world in which we live. And if you want more details check out the sermon download section of my church website (www.bromleybaptist.com) - the fourth in the series will be there on 13 March
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Broadening our horizons
One of the great things about good biblical scholarship is that it creates new possibilities for the ordinary preacher. As I have prepared this week to preach on the all-too familiar parable of the prodigal son, I have had my thinking changed and horizons broadened by reading Kenneth Bailey's Jacob and the Prodigal (yes, I know I'm reading McLaren and Chester, but sometimes the needs of weekly preparation necessitate not just reading commentaries but whole books - it's one of the reasons why I love my job).
Bailey argues - as does Tom Wright - that Jesus' most famous parable is a retelling of Israel's story, especially the story of the nation's exile and return. Bailey makes a case for Jesus basing his story on the story of Jacob's deceit of his father and brother in the later chapters of Genesis. There two sons vie for position within a family, a father is deceived into giving inheritance early, the younger son goes off into a far country and then engineers a return and possible reconciliation.
Bailey shows that this story, formative for the nation of Israel (Jacob's name was changed to Israel by God as he confirmed the continuation of the promise to Abraham through him), was a topic of lively debate in Jesus' day. The book of Jubilees (dated a hundred years or so before Jesus' time) and the Antiquities by Josephus both contain a retelling of the story with application to their contemporaries. Philo retold it for a gentile mind with a philosophical bent.
So when challenged on his policy of including 'sinners' in his group, it is not surprising that Jesus too would use this foundational story to create a narrative that explained what he was doing and what God was doing through him.
Bailey shows that Jesus universalised the story, thereby paving the way for all kinds of people to come into God's family by being found (see previous post on how this works). So, while retelling Israel's story and showing how all its people were welcome in God's Kingdom which was arriving in Jesus' ministry, Jesus was also hinting at what as to come as his followers pushed out from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth. The promise to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that the world would be blessed through them was coming true.
The thing that really struck me in all this is the seriousness with which Bailey takes Jesus as a theologian. This shouldn't surprise a Christian, really. But in the world of scholarship there seems to be a reluctance to credit Jesus with much original thought. commentaries still talk about the gospel writers being the creative minds, weaving their account according to a particular theological slant. Tom Wright's Jesus and the Victory of God is a notable exception to this.
Bailey makes the case for Jesus the theologian in his book. He argues that Luke found the material that comprises chapter 15 of his gospel as a single unit, passed down from the original disciples, probably when he was in Jerusalem at the time when Paul's group (of which Luke was a part) arrived with the offering from the gentile churches and Paul was arrested. During the two years that Paul was imprisoned in Caesarea, Luke researched his gospel, speaking to eye witnesses and those who preserved and told the stories of Jesus (Luke 1:1-4).
If this is the case, then it tells us something vital about Jesus. It tells us that he took his opponents very seriously. Sometimes preachers are wont to make jokes about the pharisees being narrow-minded bigots who were always being made to look foolish by Jesus. If Bailey is right, then Jesus took the time to craft a story that took Pharisaic concerns very seriously and engaged them in debate about the nature of the people of God and proposed an alternative theology of God's action in the world. Indeed the parable in Luke 15 is nothing short of an exposition of the nature of God and a claim by Jesus to be embodiment of that nature as demonstrated through the way he lived and taught.
What this tells me as a minister is that I have to take seriously the questions and stories of those who do not share my view of the world. And I have to find ways of telling the story of what's happening in today's world in a way that reveals God's nature and love. And a way of telling the Christian story that resonates with those who live by different stories today. Jesus, of course, subverted the pharisees' story as he told his and invited his hearers to see the world his way. It is a subtle, compelling form of evangelism that we would do well to recover in the 21st century.
Bailey argues - as does Tom Wright - that Jesus' most famous parable is a retelling of Israel's story, especially the story of the nation's exile and return. Bailey makes a case for Jesus basing his story on the story of Jacob's deceit of his father and brother in the later chapters of Genesis. There two sons vie for position within a family, a father is deceived into giving inheritance early, the younger son goes off into a far country and then engineers a return and possible reconciliation.
Bailey shows that this story, formative for the nation of Israel (Jacob's name was changed to Israel by God as he confirmed the continuation of the promise to Abraham through him), was a topic of lively debate in Jesus' day. The book of Jubilees (dated a hundred years or so before Jesus' time) and the Antiquities by Josephus both contain a retelling of the story with application to their contemporaries. Philo retold it for a gentile mind with a philosophical bent.
So when challenged on his policy of including 'sinners' in his group, it is not surprising that Jesus too would use this foundational story to create a narrative that explained what he was doing and what God was doing through him.
Bailey shows that Jesus universalised the story, thereby paving the way for all kinds of people to come into God's family by being found (see previous post on how this works). So, while retelling Israel's story and showing how all its people were welcome in God's Kingdom which was arriving in Jesus' ministry, Jesus was also hinting at what as to come as his followers pushed out from Jerusalem to the ends of the earth. The promise to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob that the world would be blessed through them was coming true.
The thing that really struck me in all this is the seriousness with which Bailey takes Jesus as a theologian. This shouldn't surprise a Christian, really. But in the world of scholarship there seems to be a reluctance to credit Jesus with much original thought. commentaries still talk about the gospel writers being the creative minds, weaving their account according to a particular theological slant. Tom Wright's Jesus and the Victory of God is a notable exception to this.
Bailey makes the case for Jesus the theologian in his book. He argues that Luke found the material that comprises chapter 15 of his gospel as a single unit, passed down from the original disciples, probably when he was in Jerusalem at the time when Paul's group (of which Luke was a part) arrived with the offering from the gentile churches and Paul was arrested. During the two years that Paul was imprisoned in Caesarea, Luke researched his gospel, speaking to eye witnesses and those who preserved and told the stories of Jesus (Luke 1:1-4).
If this is the case, then it tells us something vital about Jesus. It tells us that he took his opponents very seriously. Sometimes preachers are wont to make jokes about the pharisees being narrow-minded bigots who were always being made to look foolish by Jesus. If Bailey is right, then Jesus took the time to craft a story that took Pharisaic concerns very seriously and engaged them in debate about the nature of the people of God and proposed an alternative theology of God's action in the world. Indeed the parable in Luke 15 is nothing short of an exposition of the nature of God and a claim by Jesus to be embodiment of that nature as demonstrated through the way he lived and taught.
What this tells me as a minister is that I have to take seriously the questions and stories of those who do not share my view of the world. And I have to find ways of telling the story of what's happening in today's world in a way that reveals God's nature and love. And a way of telling the Christian story that resonates with those who live by different stories today. Jesus, of course, subverted the pharisees' story as he told his and invited his hearers to see the world his way. It is a subtle, compelling form of evangelism that we would do well to recover in the 21st century.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Don't we all want to be found?
'The Father does not interrupt his younger son. Instead the prodigal changes his mind and in a moment of genuine repentance surrenders his plan to save himself and lets his father find him. He comes finally to acceptance of being found.' So writes Kenneth Bailey in his wonderful study of the prodigal son story.
We often see the younger son's repentance happening while he was far away from home. Jesus says 'he came to himself' and we have understood this to mean that he recognized that he'd screwed up and needed help to sort himself out. So, he'd go home, confess his mistakes and seek mercy.
This is not what's happening, However. Rather the son has calculated that he could work his way back into his family's affections and acceptance in the wider community by going home, working for his father, learning a trade and earning the wherewithal to repay his debt. And so off he goes.
But the father's response derails the younger son's plan. His idea of working his passage back to acceptance through hard graft is derailed by his father gracious welcome, his kiss and embrace. So in Luke 15:21 the son changes his speech and drops the idea of working for his dad.
Why? Because he realises that 'repentance' is not a work we do, it is an acceptance that we cannot do anything but accept God's offer of being found.
If you think about it, the father didn't 'find' the younger son in the story. Rather the younger son finds his own way home. Yet his father keeps talking about finding him. He was still lost until the second before his father embraced him. At that moment he was found. The issue he had to face was 'am I prepared to be found?' It's a vital issue because his pride was at stake.
Good Christians believe in salvation by grace through faith. But we like to cling on to our repentance story, the story that says we had the good sense to get it together with God, the story that narrates how we worked out that Christian faith was true and worthy of our allegiance. And in that story is the salvaging of our pride. We can't contribute to our salvation, so we talk about how we worked our way to faith. Repentance becomes the work that puts us in a position of being accepted by God.
This was the view of Jesus' audience - especially the pharisees for whom he composed the three linked stories that comprise a single parable in Luke 15 - as Bailey shows. It was not Jesus' view. For him repentance means accepting that we've been found by the God who comes looking for us - symbolised in the story by the shepherd, the woman and the father (all pictures of God drawn from the OT and all pictures of the ministry Jesus is doing - see Luke 19:10).
So everyone in his audience - women, sinners, pharisees, scribes, poor, rich, whatever - can be found because Jesus, who is looking for them, is there with them. The question is, do they want to be found? Will they accept being found?
This is why the story doesn't end as we expect it to. The older son is also found in the parable, but will he accept it? We don't know because the story ends before it reaches its conclusion. And the reason or this is simple: every hearer of the story is like the older brother; every hearer has to decide 'do I want to be found? Am I going to accept being found by Jesus?'
We often see the younger son's repentance happening while he was far away from home. Jesus says 'he came to himself' and we have understood this to mean that he recognized that he'd screwed up and needed help to sort himself out. So, he'd go home, confess his mistakes and seek mercy.
This is not what's happening, However. Rather the son has calculated that he could work his way back into his family's affections and acceptance in the wider community by going home, working for his father, learning a trade and earning the wherewithal to repay his debt. And so off he goes.
But the father's response derails the younger son's plan. His idea of working his passage back to acceptance through hard graft is derailed by his father gracious welcome, his kiss and embrace. So in Luke 15:21 the son changes his speech and drops the idea of working for his dad.
Why? Because he realises that 'repentance' is not a work we do, it is an acceptance that we cannot do anything but accept God's offer of being found.
If you think about it, the father didn't 'find' the younger son in the story. Rather the younger son finds his own way home. Yet his father keeps talking about finding him. He was still lost until the second before his father embraced him. At that moment he was found. The issue he had to face was 'am I prepared to be found?' It's a vital issue because his pride was at stake.
Good Christians believe in salvation by grace through faith. But we like to cling on to our repentance story, the story that says we had the good sense to get it together with God, the story that narrates how we worked out that Christian faith was true and worthy of our allegiance. And in that story is the salvaging of our pride. We can't contribute to our salvation, so we talk about how we worked our way to faith. Repentance becomes the work that puts us in a position of being accepted by God.
This was the view of Jesus' audience - especially the pharisees for whom he composed the three linked stories that comprise a single parable in Luke 15 - as Bailey shows. It was not Jesus' view. For him repentance means accepting that we've been found by the God who comes looking for us - symbolised in the story by the shepherd, the woman and the father (all pictures of God drawn from the OT and all pictures of the ministry Jesus is doing - see Luke 19:10).
So everyone in his audience - women, sinners, pharisees, scribes, poor, rich, whatever - can be found because Jesus, who is looking for them, is there with them. The question is, do they want to be found? Will they accept being found?
This is why the story doesn't end as we expect it to. The older son is also found in the parable, but will he accept it? We don't know because the story ends before it reaches its conclusion. And the reason or this is simple: every hearer of the story is like the older brother; every hearer has to decide 'do I want to be found? Am I going to accept being found by Jesus?'
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
I love my job
One of the things I love about being a teaching pastor in a large church is that every week I get to grapple with a fresh text and unpack its meaning to an intelligent and thoughtful audience.
In the evenings we're working our way through Habakkuk, a seventh century prophet whose critique of his culture resonates closely with ours. His taunt song against Babylon (2:6-19), focused around 5 'woes' exposes a culture driven by materialism, militarism, a cult of power and an almost childlike faith in technology. Ring any bells?
In the mornings we're dropping in on encounters that Jesus had as he made his way from Galilee to Jerusalem as recorded by Luke.
This coming Sunday I'm dealing with the encounter he had with the pharisees that resulted in the three great parable of Luke 15 - including the prodigal son.
You'd have thought there was little new to discover and say about this well-known story. But you'd be wrong. Tom Wright and Kenneth Bailey have both published work recently that floods these familiar stories with startling new insights.
Among them was this simple one. The parable of the prodigal son is a retelling a story of Israel. In particular the story of exile and restoration. For Bailey it's rooted in the Jacob story in Genesis. For Wright it's focused on the exodus and exile. Because of this, the story is about how both sons - not just the younger one - are offered the chance to be part of the family of God.
Jesus is at the heart of the story - the one who is the embodiment of Israel (a key resonance with the Jacob story) - welcoming all kinds of people to his table. The story is told because the pharisees criticise his eating with 'sinners'. But his tale makes the point that he invites both sinners - like Levi (Luke 5) - and pharisees - like Simon (Luke 7) - to dine with him, to be part of the new thing God is doing through him. He is the one around whom a new 'Israel' is coalescing in fulfilment of the promises made by the prophets about the return from exile.
I'm really going to enjoy preaching this on Sunday!
In the evenings we're working our way through Habakkuk, a seventh century prophet whose critique of his culture resonates closely with ours. His taunt song against Babylon (2:6-19), focused around 5 'woes' exposes a culture driven by materialism, militarism, a cult of power and an almost childlike faith in technology. Ring any bells?
In the mornings we're dropping in on encounters that Jesus had as he made his way from Galilee to Jerusalem as recorded by Luke.
This coming Sunday I'm dealing with the encounter he had with the pharisees that resulted in the three great parable of Luke 15 - including the prodigal son.
You'd have thought there was little new to discover and say about this well-known story. But you'd be wrong. Tom Wright and Kenneth Bailey have both published work recently that floods these familiar stories with startling new insights.
Among them was this simple one. The parable of the prodigal son is a retelling a story of Israel. In particular the story of exile and restoration. For Bailey it's rooted in the Jacob story in Genesis. For Wright it's focused on the exodus and exile. Because of this, the story is about how both sons - not just the younger one - are offered the chance to be part of the family of God.
Jesus is at the heart of the story - the one who is the embodiment of Israel (a key resonance with the Jacob story) - welcoming all kinds of people to his table. The story is told because the pharisees criticise his eating with 'sinners'. But his tale makes the point that he invites both sinners - like Levi (Luke 5) - and pharisees - like Simon (Luke 7) - to dine with him, to be part of the new thing God is doing through him. He is the one around whom a new 'Israel' is coalescing in fulfilment of the promises made by the prophets about the return from exile.
I'm really going to enjoy preaching this on Sunday!
Saturday, February 19, 2005
changing direction
As well as sorting out my fitness regime, I've been reading Andrew Chester's Conversion at Corinth (yes, I know I'm reading Brian McLaren's latest - I'm halfway through that - and contrary to what the Daily mail says women aren't the only gender able to do more than one thing at a time!)
Chester's book is his PhD thesis, so it's pretty demanding. But it is also brilliant. He uses Anthony Giddens' structuration theory as a tool to examine what Paul and his converts understood had happened to them. As I am embarking on doctoral studies hoping to apply Giddens' theory to contemporary conversion, I am very interested to see what Chester makes of this.
So far, so riveting. In the course of his adventure, Chester touches on the New Perspective on Paul, particularly as it affects our understanding of Pauline soteriology before looking at the greek words for call/calling - the terms Paul uses of what happened to him when he met Jesus.
He determines to answer 7 key questions - among them, what's revealed about the God who does the calling, what's the human response and is God's calling for individuals or groups? But the most interesting one is 'if through calling people God changes who they are, how is this change expressed?' (he then goes on to ask about call and task).
It's that question that seems to me to get the hub of what conversion is about: when God calls, do we change? At what level do we change? Perhaps all that changes is that we go to church on Sunday mornings rather than the shopping mall. Or maybe our whole approach to life changes and it results in us treating our families and friends better, changing our jobs to work in areas more compatible with having a relationship with God or consciously bringing our lives into line with how the Bible tells us God wants us to live.
And at the heart of this is the idea of God's power affecting our lives in tangible even measurable ways - all that stuf the New Testament attributes to the work of the Holy Spirit in the life of a believer. Indeed the very thing Paul talks about in galatians 5 and 6 where he tries to answer the question that if the Christian faith is not about doing the works of Law, how can we live lives that are pleasing to God? The answer Paul gives is by keeping in step with the Holy Spirit - but is this an individual or a corporate thing, or both?
I'm really hoping that Chester throws light on these areas in the course of his discussion. I'll keep you posted.
Chester's book is his PhD thesis, so it's pretty demanding. But it is also brilliant. He uses Anthony Giddens' structuration theory as a tool to examine what Paul and his converts understood had happened to them. As I am embarking on doctoral studies hoping to apply Giddens' theory to contemporary conversion, I am very interested to see what Chester makes of this.
So far, so riveting. In the course of his adventure, Chester touches on the New Perspective on Paul, particularly as it affects our understanding of Pauline soteriology before looking at the greek words for call/calling - the terms Paul uses of what happened to him when he met Jesus.
He determines to answer 7 key questions - among them, what's revealed about the God who does the calling, what's the human response and is God's calling for individuals or groups? But the most interesting one is 'if through calling people God changes who they are, how is this change expressed?' (he then goes on to ask about call and task).
It's that question that seems to me to get the hub of what conversion is about: when God calls, do we change? At what level do we change? Perhaps all that changes is that we go to church on Sunday mornings rather than the shopping mall. Or maybe our whole approach to life changes and it results in us treating our families and friends better, changing our jobs to work in areas more compatible with having a relationship with God or consciously bringing our lives into line with how the Bible tells us God wants us to live.
And at the heart of this is the idea of God's power affecting our lives in tangible even measurable ways - all that stuf the New Testament attributes to the work of the Holy Spirit in the life of a believer. Indeed the very thing Paul talks about in galatians 5 and 6 where he tries to answer the question that if the Christian faith is not about doing the works of Law, how can we live lives that are pleasing to God? The answer Paul gives is by keeping in step with the Holy Spirit - but is this an individual or a corporate thing, or both?
I'm really hoping that Chester throws light on these areas in the course of his discussion. I'll keep you posted.
Friday, February 18, 2005
a bit of hush at the back
Well I did my weght lifting course. you certainly do use muscles you don't when using a computer all day...
since then, I've been wrestling with Habakkuk - the prophet as opposed to the guy next door.
Habakkuk is about prayer - talking to God. As I've been reading it today I've been thinking how little I know about prayer and how scant is my knowledge of the God we're praying to.
In true nationalist style, Habakkuk can't bear the thought that God might use Babylon to judge Judah. He's complained that his peole are sinful and that the society he lives in is going to the dogs. But he cannot stomach the fact that God might use a nation far more sinful than little Judah to teach God's people a lesson in holiness.
All of this is very difficult for a white, western liberal at the start of the 21 century. Even harder when you start to make connections between Habakkuk's world and ours.
Does God still work in judgement in the world? If so, who's dishing it out and who's getting it in the neck?
I guess the neo-cons in the States will be arguing that Saddam got what was coming to him and that the USA was the hand of God. But would they be comfortable with 9/11 as a message from theb almighty, a wake-up call to an arrogant and proud nation?
And how about us - Christians I mean? Is collapsing church attendances in the UK a message from God about how we've lived? Is the darkness closing because the light is refusing to shine?
At the start of chapter 2 Habakkuk is silent. He's waiting to see how God will answer. That's a good lesson for all of us...
since then, I've been wrestling with Habakkuk - the prophet as opposed to the guy next door.
Habakkuk is about prayer - talking to God. As I've been reading it today I've been thinking how little I know about prayer and how scant is my knowledge of the God we're praying to.
In true nationalist style, Habakkuk can't bear the thought that God might use Babylon to judge Judah. He's complained that his peole are sinful and that the society he lives in is going to the dogs. But he cannot stomach the fact that God might use a nation far more sinful than little Judah to teach God's people a lesson in holiness.
All of this is very difficult for a white, western liberal at the start of the 21 century. Even harder when you start to make connections between Habakkuk's world and ours.
Does God still work in judgement in the world? If so, who's dishing it out and who's getting it in the neck?
I guess the neo-cons in the States will be arguing that Saddam got what was coming to him and that the USA was the hand of God. But would they be comfortable with 9/11 as a message from theb almighty, a wake-up call to an arrogant and proud nation?
And how about us - Christians I mean? Is collapsing church attendances in the UK a message from God about how we've lived? Is the darkness closing because the light is refusing to shine?
At the start of chapter 2 Habakkuk is silent. He's waiting to see how God will answer. That's a good lesson for all of us...
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
fit to...
I've just come back from the gym (stop laughing at the back....). I've been promising myself that I'll sign up for months and finally I have.
And it was quite good fun. I ache a bit but feel good. I've started a prgramme that will reduce my waist size by 2-4 inches (which can't be bad). And I've found that all those strange-looking machines that we see being put through their paces by the lithe and the beautiful are pretty easy to use.
And it was quite good fun. I ache a bit but feel good. I've started a prgramme that will reduce my waist size by 2-4 inches (which can't be bad). And I've found that all those strange-looking machines that we see being put through their paces by the lithe and the beautiful are pretty easy to use.
I'm going back on Friday to learn how to lift weights.
I didn't think wearing a track suit could be such fun....
Monday, February 14, 2005
More on Christians in rock
Tim is right - comments Music on the move - to point out that the Christian tag is seriously off-putting for a rock band. His example of delirious? proves it. I have alays argued that they would be taken more seriously if they weren't so willfully obscure and churchy in their subject matter.
Delirious write great tunes. But their lyrics betray the fact that all they can write only worship songs - good ones (though lots of churches find them hard to use) - and no one outside the church has any interest in them.
Rock and roll is at heart about boys and girls and teenage angst, about forging an identity against the world - it's why Nirvana were so huge. Bands must demonstrate they can sing about that, before any protest music about the state of the world they write is taken seriously.
The trouble is that the first rock and roll generation is now retiring and it's receptive to music about all kinds of things - witness the critical aclaim to Dylan's Time out of mind which Emmylou Harris says contains the best songs about growing old she's ever heard!
But you can only do that when you've got a reputation, struck a chord (so to speak), shown you speak people's language.
U2 have done this, so they can sing about anything they like and get a hearing. Maybe Athlete are following suit.
In this these kinds of Christian bands might be pathfinders for the rest of us in the church. How are we going to get a hearing for the Gospel unless people are convinced we live in the world they live in, face their struggles, deal with the issues they have to of love and loss, forging an identity, making sense of things? Maybe if they see we share their struggles, they'll give our thoughts a better reception.
Delirious write great tunes. But their lyrics betray the fact that all they can write only worship songs - good ones (though lots of churches find them hard to use) - and no one outside the church has any interest in them.
Rock and roll is at heart about boys and girls and teenage angst, about forging an identity against the world - it's why Nirvana were so huge. Bands must demonstrate they can sing about that, before any protest music about the state of the world they write is taken seriously.
The trouble is that the first rock and roll generation is now retiring and it's receptive to music about all kinds of things - witness the critical aclaim to Dylan's Time out of mind which Emmylou Harris says contains the best songs about growing old she's ever heard!
But you can only do that when you've got a reputation, struck a chord (so to speak), shown you speak people's language.
U2 have done this, so they can sing about anything they like and get a hearing. Maybe Athlete are following suit.
In this these kinds of Christian bands might be pathfinders for the rest of us in the church. How are we going to get a hearing for the Gospel unless people are convinced we live in the world they live in, face their struggles, deal with the issues they have to of love and loss, forging an identity, making sense of things? Maybe if they see we share their struggles, they'll give our thoughts a better reception.
Friday, February 04, 2005
music on the move
Check out the new Athlete album - Tourist - it's a real step up from Vehicles and Animals. They're shaping up to be a tidy outfit, full of good tunes and intriguing lyrics.
They were given a bit of hard time in the Guardian last week. The journalist was wondering why they are not more overtly Christian. he asked the same about the Beddingfields. You could ask about U2 (though their recent album is pretty overt if you're paying attention).
The trouble is that if bands are overtly Christian, they get panned for being holier than thou. Religion isn't very rock and roll.
Still I'm enjoying it. Wires is the best song I've heard so far this year. Chances and Modern Mafia come close.
While you're in the record shop, pay attention to Mercury rev's The Secret Migration. It's lovely...
They were given a bit of hard time in the Guardian last week. The journalist was wondering why they are not more overtly Christian. he asked the same about the Beddingfields. You could ask about U2 (though their recent album is pretty overt if you're paying attention).
The trouble is that if bands are overtly Christian, they get panned for being holier than thou. Religion isn't very rock and roll.
Still I'm enjoying it. Wires is the best song I've heard so far this year. Chances and Modern Mafia come close.
While you're in the record shop, pay attention to Mercury rev's The Secret Migration. It's lovely...
Monday, January 31, 2005
church and kingdom
this struck me the other day - maybe coz I'm slow, bear with me... Jesus never told us to create churches. He said we should preach the good news of his Kingdom.
He says 'I will build my church' (Matthew 16:18). He says it in the context of Peter's confession of who Jesus is - the messiah, that is the coming king of God's Kingdom. And he says it in the context of Peter declaring this truth publicly - albeit to the Twelve.
It is interesting that the other synoptics - both of which report this conversation - don't have the bit about Jesus building his church. Commentators suggest this is because Matthew is particularly concerned with the church. That might be the case. But Matthew doesn't seem to be saying that the 12 will build the church. Rather he says they will confess the king and the king will build his church.
So what? I hear you cry.
Just this. There's lots of talk at the moment of how we get the church right to communicate the good news in a changed culture. Ministers bemoan the fall-off in volunteering over the past generation - how hard it is to get people to fill vacancies in church organisations. We talk about launching new ministries to attract new communities of people, of having more services and needing to get more members involved in running those services. All good stuff. But...
In all this, I wonder if we've lost the plot a bit. Christians are called to proclaim the message of the Kingdom of God, the story of his reconciling justice, his new world order embodied in Jesus and his people. And they are called to do as they go into the world (Mt 28:19), something we do as leave our homes everyday.
What happens as we do this is that people respond, express interest, find faith, commit themselves to Jesus and naturally gather into groups to explore together what that means - this appears to be what's happening in the early chapters of Acts (if we read them forwards rather than backwards in the light of all our historical understanding of what the church became (I'm fed up of commentators 'discovering' proto-catholicism or whatever in these texts. Let's just read them for what they are.)
What lessons are there for our debate about emerging church here?
He says 'I will build my church' (Matthew 16:18). He says it in the context of Peter's confession of who Jesus is - the messiah, that is the coming king of God's Kingdom. And he says it in the context of Peter declaring this truth publicly - albeit to the Twelve.
It is interesting that the other synoptics - both of which report this conversation - don't have the bit about Jesus building his church. Commentators suggest this is because Matthew is particularly concerned with the church. That might be the case. But Matthew doesn't seem to be saying that the 12 will build the church. Rather he says they will confess the king and the king will build his church.
So what? I hear you cry.
Just this. There's lots of talk at the moment of how we get the church right to communicate the good news in a changed culture. Ministers bemoan the fall-off in volunteering over the past generation - how hard it is to get people to fill vacancies in church organisations. We talk about launching new ministries to attract new communities of people, of having more services and needing to get more members involved in running those services. All good stuff. But...
In all this, I wonder if we've lost the plot a bit. Christians are called to proclaim the message of the Kingdom of God, the story of his reconciling justice, his new world order embodied in Jesus and his people. And they are called to do as they go into the world (Mt 28:19), something we do as leave our homes everyday.
What happens as we do this is that people respond, express interest, find faith, commit themselves to Jesus and naturally gather into groups to explore together what that means - this appears to be what's happening in the early chapters of Acts (if we read them forwards rather than backwards in the light of all our historical understanding of what the church became (I'm fed up of commentators 'discovering' proto-catholicism or whatever in these texts. Let's just read them for what they are.)
What lessons are there for our debate about emerging church here?
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
permeable boundaries
I've been thinking about boundaries.
On Sunday I was preaching on the Good Samaritan. For all its being a parable about doing good to everyone, it's a story about boundaries, told in answer to a lawyer's question about who's in and who's out of the people of God (context is all...!)
Now I'm preparing some thoughts for Sunday evening, continuing our series on work. Paul in 1 Thessalonians wants his readers to live in a way that's distinct from their pagan neighbours. He particularly focuses on sexual ethics and cultic practices. There are boundaries to be observed.
This means the Christian community is not an indistinct, shapeless thing. You can look at it from outside and see definite boundaries, set by behaviours that are accepable and those that aren't. It was why the Thessalonian Christians were being given a hard time by their neighbours.
But unlike virtually every other group in the ancient world, the Christian community's boundaries are permeable. They are not set by birth, ethnicity, social class, status, job, postcode, whatever. The boundary is faith in Jesus. On one side there's no faith; on the other there is faith.
The trouble is that the Christian community has established all kinds of supplementary boundaries - dress code, alcohol and cigarettes, language, theological nit-picking, liturgical tastes, you name it, we use to divide ourselves from others.
We need to get back to the simple things, don't we?
On Sunday I was preaching on the Good Samaritan. For all its being a parable about doing good to everyone, it's a story about boundaries, told in answer to a lawyer's question about who's in and who's out of the people of God (context is all...!)
Now I'm preparing some thoughts for Sunday evening, continuing our series on work. Paul in 1 Thessalonians wants his readers to live in a way that's distinct from their pagan neighbours. He particularly focuses on sexual ethics and cultic practices. There are boundaries to be observed.
This means the Christian community is not an indistinct, shapeless thing. You can look at it from outside and see definite boundaries, set by behaviours that are accepable and those that aren't. It was why the Thessalonian Christians were being given a hard time by their neighbours.
But unlike virtually every other group in the ancient world, the Christian community's boundaries are permeable. They are not set by birth, ethnicity, social class, status, job, postcode, whatever. The boundary is faith in Jesus. On one side there's no faith; on the other there is faith.
The trouble is that the Christian community has established all kinds of supplementary boundaries - dress code, alcohol and cigarettes, language, theological nit-picking, liturgical tastes, you name it, we use to divide ourselves from others.
We need to get back to the simple things, don't we?
Monday, January 24, 2005
Church from the margins
One of my meetings last week was with a group from a church who are having a weekend away at which I'm speaking.
One or two of them are very excited about Stuart Murray-Williams' Post-Christendom - an excellent examination of why we've ended up where we have. They would like me to explore what it means to be and do church from the margins.
So I've started thinking and will post random thoughts from time to time - if anyone wants to challenge or add to my thinking, I'd be grateful.
One thing that has struck me is a paradox of marginality that means the church now is in a similar position to the position it was in when it first started. Let me explain (if I can).
Although church going in Britain has become a minority activity and the Christian story has become one among many stories vying for our attention (and one that doesn't get taken seriously by the media), the church as an institution still has a central role in British life and culture. For example, 70% of brits describe themselves as Christian. For example, bishops sit in the house of Lords, the Christian view on moral issues is still heard if not listened to and the media still reports on what's happening within the church.
Furthermore, churches - by virtue of their history and recognisable buildings (see previous post!) - have a place in most communities around Britain. Many are centres of excellence in the provision of childcare, welfare work, educational activities and youth work. Many people who do not share our faith, regard the presence of the church locally as a key generator of social capital.
So although Christian faith is an activity increasingly pushed to the margins of our culture, church and Christian teaching still has a place at the centre of public life.
This paradox (if that's what it is) is mirrored in the early history of Christianity as recorded in Acts. The first Christians were a sect within second temple Judaism. So they shared a heritage, common values and traditions and especially common scriptures with the dominant culture around them. They were thus able to get a hearing for their new take on this history because they spoke the language of those around them - I don't mean aramaic and greek but shared perceptions of the world.
How much is this true of us? I came across a group of Americans last week who were over studying Shakespeare as part of a drama course. What they were finding interesting and challenging was the fact that in order to appreciate the bard, they needed to draw from the well of Christian faith and teaching that had nourished him. I wonder how many brits have made a similar discovery. Much of our culture and tradition is incomprehensible without an understanding of Christianity.
Indeed as John Gray - professor of European Thought at LSE and not a Christian - points out, the dominant secular humanist culture of the west is a pale, misguided and therefore dangerous dilution of the Christian faith. Everything good in it - human rights, protection of individual freedom, community values, etc - comes from Christianity; everything bad in it - a belief in ethical progress and the ultimate triumph of our values in the world and thus universal human happiness - is derived from Christian eschatology stripped of the controls and faith in God that kept purveyors of such beliefs slightly more humble in previous generations.
What might all this mean for a church that is increasingly marginalised but which still has the key to the origin of many of the values we hold dear in Western culture? Answers on a postcard, please...
One or two of them are very excited about Stuart Murray-Williams' Post-Christendom - an excellent examination of why we've ended up where we have. They would like me to explore what it means to be and do church from the margins.
So I've started thinking and will post random thoughts from time to time - if anyone wants to challenge or add to my thinking, I'd be grateful.
One thing that has struck me is a paradox of marginality that means the church now is in a similar position to the position it was in when it first started. Let me explain (if I can).
Although church going in Britain has become a minority activity and the Christian story has become one among many stories vying for our attention (and one that doesn't get taken seriously by the media), the church as an institution still has a central role in British life and culture. For example, 70% of brits describe themselves as Christian. For example, bishops sit in the house of Lords, the Christian view on moral issues is still heard if not listened to and the media still reports on what's happening within the church.
Furthermore, churches - by virtue of their history and recognisable buildings (see previous post!) - have a place in most communities around Britain. Many are centres of excellence in the provision of childcare, welfare work, educational activities and youth work. Many people who do not share our faith, regard the presence of the church locally as a key generator of social capital.
So although Christian faith is an activity increasingly pushed to the margins of our culture, church and Christian teaching still has a place at the centre of public life.
This paradox (if that's what it is) is mirrored in the early history of Christianity as recorded in Acts. The first Christians were a sect within second temple Judaism. So they shared a heritage, common values and traditions and especially common scriptures with the dominant culture around them. They were thus able to get a hearing for their new take on this history because they spoke the language of those around them - I don't mean aramaic and greek but shared perceptions of the world.
How much is this true of us? I came across a group of Americans last week who were over studying Shakespeare as part of a drama course. What they were finding interesting and challenging was the fact that in order to appreciate the bard, they needed to draw from the well of Christian faith and teaching that had nourished him. I wonder how many brits have made a similar discovery. Much of our culture and tradition is incomprehensible without an understanding of Christianity.
Indeed as John Gray - professor of European Thought at LSE and not a Christian - points out, the dominant secular humanist culture of the west is a pale, misguided and therefore dangerous dilution of the Christian faith. Everything good in it - human rights, protection of individual freedom, community values, etc - comes from Christianity; everything bad in it - a belief in ethical progress and the ultimate triumph of our values in the world and thus universal human happiness - is derived from Christian eschatology stripped of the controls and faith in God that kept purveyors of such beliefs slightly more humble in previous generations.
What might all this mean for a church that is increasingly marginalised but which still has the key to the origin of many of the values we hold dear in Western culture? Answers on a postcard, please...
bringing the church home
Thanks to Ben for reminding me that I've not posted for a week. I've been travelling - well I've been up and down the M1 more times than anyone with a brain should.
Hours in the car mean that I've had concentrated periods listening to great music. Over the past week I've been especially into James Grant's Holy Love. He's a Scottish singer- songwriter with a catholic heritage and nice line in laconic love songs dripping with Christian imagery. He has a wonderful voice too.
He sings songs that capture the struggle of faith in the modern world. Particularly good is the closer The Soft Option. Well worth checking out.
Looking forward to new offerings from mercury Rev and Low - hopefully out this week - and Athlete (Wires is my favourite single of 2005 so far!)
I've started reading House Church and Mission - the published and translated form of Roger Gehring's PhD. It's something I've been waiting for (sad boy that I am!) as it reviews the latest scholarly discussion on how Christian groups were organised in the first century.
In all the talk about emerging church and the desire to recapture something of the dynamic of early church life, the issue of structure and especially the use of homes is rarely prominent. Often indeed the talk is of hi-tech wizzardry and lavish production values that only large groups in well equipped spaces can mount. Not that there's anything wrong with this per se, of course.
We're just starting looking at the possibility of doing new outreach work on an estate near our church and I am keen to explore the use of homes not just for initial work but as the essential long term structure of any 'church' that we establish.
Clearly 21st century south east London is not the same as first century Thessalonica or Corinth; houses (oikos/oikia in the orginal) do not fulfill the same function as they did. But meeting in homes does offer the flexibility to do things in a way that you can't do them in a meeting place such as a church or community hall.
For instance, there's a limit on the size of group that can meet which means that all gatherings have to be interactive. Then, there's the informality of homes, the relaxed atmosphere and the fact that it's easier to centre any activity round the meal table (something the early Christians seemed to do). Finally there's agreater equality between 'ministers' and 'others' at the gathering.
Baptists have always believed in the priesthood of all believers - a strong New Testament theme - but we have always fallen into the trap of having a clerical class (in the form of ministers and latterly worship leaders) who dominate proceedings.
I want to see if centring activities on homes will lead to greater equality between all particpants and offer those with questions about faith a greater freedom to explore what Jesus might mean to them.
I'll keep you posted. I'd love to hear from people who are trying this. I realise that there are lots of you out there much further down this road than me. In particular I know of groups that are doing 'table life' church - if any of those would like to comment, I'd be grateful.
Hours in the car mean that I've had concentrated periods listening to great music. Over the past week I've been especially into James Grant's Holy Love. He's a Scottish singer- songwriter with a catholic heritage and nice line in laconic love songs dripping with Christian imagery. He has a wonderful voice too.
He sings songs that capture the struggle of faith in the modern world. Particularly good is the closer The Soft Option. Well worth checking out.
Looking forward to new offerings from mercury Rev and Low - hopefully out this week - and Athlete (Wires is my favourite single of 2005 so far!)
I've started reading House Church and Mission - the published and translated form of Roger Gehring's PhD. It's something I've been waiting for (sad boy that I am!) as it reviews the latest scholarly discussion on how Christian groups were organised in the first century.
In all the talk about emerging church and the desire to recapture something of the dynamic of early church life, the issue of structure and especially the use of homes is rarely prominent. Often indeed the talk is of hi-tech wizzardry and lavish production values that only large groups in well equipped spaces can mount. Not that there's anything wrong with this per se, of course.
We're just starting looking at the possibility of doing new outreach work on an estate near our church and I am keen to explore the use of homes not just for initial work but as the essential long term structure of any 'church' that we establish.
Clearly 21st century south east London is not the same as first century Thessalonica or Corinth; houses (oikos/oikia in the orginal) do not fulfill the same function as they did. But meeting in homes does offer the flexibility to do things in a way that you can't do them in a meeting place such as a church or community hall.
For instance, there's a limit on the size of group that can meet which means that all gatherings have to be interactive. Then, there's the informality of homes, the relaxed atmosphere and the fact that it's easier to centre any activity round the meal table (something the early Christians seemed to do). Finally there's agreater equality between 'ministers' and 'others' at the gathering.
Baptists have always believed in the priesthood of all believers - a strong New Testament theme - but we have always fallen into the trap of having a clerical class (in the form of ministers and latterly worship leaders) who dominate proceedings.
I want to see if centring activities on homes will lead to greater equality between all particpants and offer those with questions about faith a greater freedom to explore what Jesus might mean to them.
I'll keep you posted. I'd love to hear from people who are trying this. I realise that there are lots of you out there much further down this road than me. In particular I know of groups that are doing 'table life' church - if any of those would like to comment, I'd be grateful.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Full marks
Mark Steel in this morning's Independent takes Christians to task for things they've said about the tsunami. And for the most part, he's right. We sound a pretty dopey bunch trying to explain why God allows, causes, turns a blind eye to, uses or otherwise interacts with natural disasters.
The proper response, I reckon, is silence. Gobsmacked silence. Awed, tearful silence. Then it's 'what can we do to help?' and get on with our lives. I have friends in Sri Lanka working tirelessly to bring relief, help and hope to their neighbours. I'm praying for them. Our church is sending cash and praying for them. What else can we do?
Mark Steel suggests that God's monopoly should be ended, the running of the universe broken up like British rail and sold off after a process of competitive tendering.
The trouble is, of course, God doesn't really have a monopoly. Any Christian making sense of the tsunami has to include the fact that when God created (however he did that), he made people his partner. We are stewards of the creation and responsible to provide sensible management of it under God.
What on earth does that mean? I'm not sure. But I did read one post-tsunami piece pointing out that had it happened in the Pacific the death toll would have been tens or hundreds. And that if seismologists had got on the phone once the quake happened on Boxing day, the casualties in Sri Lanka, India and even Thailand could have been cut ten-fold.
But there's no early warning system in the Indian Ocean. That's hardly God's fault. The one in the pacific was put in place by the nations bordering that ocean - America, Australia and Japan among them. No one so rich or influential borders the Indian Ocean. So the poor were left to face the movement of tectonic plates and ocean waters on their own. Not surprisingly, it wasn't much of a contest.
Perhaps one of the things that Christians can do at this time is to remind all of us that the human capacity to act in everyone's interests seems severely limited. Asked what the problem with the world was, G K Chesterton said 'I am'. It's a start. It's not an answer. But it is a pointer to the right sort of questions to be asking.
One of the amzing things about the tsunami's aftermath has been the response of people all over the world. What if such a movement of generosity could be harnessed by the Make Poverty History campaign - could the world be different at the start of 2006?
The proper response, I reckon, is silence. Gobsmacked silence. Awed, tearful silence. Then it's 'what can we do to help?' and get on with our lives. I have friends in Sri Lanka working tirelessly to bring relief, help and hope to their neighbours. I'm praying for them. Our church is sending cash and praying for them. What else can we do?
Mark Steel suggests that God's monopoly should be ended, the running of the universe broken up like British rail and sold off after a process of competitive tendering.
The trouble is, of course, God doesn't really have a monopoly. Any Christian making sense of the tsunami has to include the fact that when God created (however he did that), he made people his partner. We are stewards of the creation and responsible to provide sensible management of it under God.
What on earth does that mean? I'm not sure. But I did read one post-tsunami piece pointing out that had it happened in the Pacific the death toll would have been tens or hundreds. And that if seismologists had got on the phone once the quake happened on Boxing day, the casualties in Sri Lanka, India and even Thailand could have been cut ten-fold.
But there's no early warning system in the Indian Ocean. That's hardly God's fault. The one in the pacific was put in place by the nations bordering that ocean - America, Australia and Japan among them. No one so rich or influential borders the Indian Ocean. So the poor were left to face the movement of tectonic plates and ocean waters on their own. Not surprisingly, it wasn't much of a contest.
Perhaps one of the things that Christians can do at this time is to remind all of us that the human capacity to act in everyone's interests seems severely limited. Asked what the problem with the world was, G K Chesterton said 'I am'. It's a start. It's not an answer. But it is a pointer to the right sort of questions to be asking.
One of the amzing things about the tsunami's aftermath has been the response of people all over the world. What if such a movement of generosity could be harnessed by the Make Poverty History campaign - could the world be different at the start of 2006?
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