The risk of consensus

It's a strange thing to complain about, because it's certainly hard to achieve. But I'm a bit wary of a neat consensus. After all, even when it appears to have been achieved - as in certain kinds of church meetings - the appearance is often quite superficial ... it's amazing what people agree to, or acquiesce to, for a quiet life. I'm much more interested in solidarity than consensus, because while consensus presumes agreement, a nice and tidy point of completion, solidarity allows for differences - we can be in solidarity with people we disagree with. So with the recent terror stories. Thankfully, most people resist the simplistic consensus which places "us" against "the Muslim other", because most people seem to recognise that extremists are quite different from moderate majorities. But there is the danger of another consensus, which could form if we allow ourselves to be pressurised into believing there is only one way of defeating terrorism, and which relies on a certain kind of confident assumption: that the suspects are evil, while our ground is unmovable. Hopefully, most can understand that this anxiety is not about justifying or even explaining terrorism - there must be a consensus against it - but how it is tackled must remain subject to criticism. How we handle these delicate balances certainly isn't easy, which is perhaps why I remain worried about any hasty consensus. Having said that, it is helpful to think of such destructive ideologies as 'fascistic', because it points to the human contexts out of which such deformed world-views emerge - angry young men who see simply in black and white - and yet there is always more to it ... and many people suffer under such threats all of the time, reminding us to be in solidarity with sisters and brothers of many creeds in all parts of the world. So, no easy solutions, which may itself be part of the method for addressing the conflict.

We're told to be humble - but what is it?

If we were always humble in the way often taught by the churches, however implicitly, would we ever say anything or offer to do anything? There seems to be something real within church traditions which urges people never to push their own gifts forward. Of course, churches want us to offer our willingness to fulfil the kinds of roles that need to be fulfilled (being secretary, doing the cleaning, helping with the flowers, doing the rotas, etc.), and all of those things give people a sense of purpose (at one level). But I'm talking about something else: after all, to fulfil those roles we are expected to do so humbly, never thinking of our gifts as being too important but contributing to a bigger picture ... but does this mean that genuine creativity, something that might actually destabilise the status quo, is broadly suppressed? Is "Christian Humility" an ideology which basically keeps people in their place, keeps the structures and systems of the church AND of the world largely undisturbed? And within a particular model of Humility, are some roles fulfilled in a way that actually allows the exercise of manipulative power? (Think of the martyrs who cannot be criticised, because they are so committed to the roles.) So what, instead, is a more authentic kind of humility, which still avoids arrogance, but which enables everyone's giftedness to be celebrated in a way that could potentially change the system/s?

A Solidarity of Others?

I am fascinated by the ideas in a book by Anselm Min, a Korean American, called "The Solidarity of Others in a Divided World: A Postmodern Theology after Postmodernism". He argues that the church as 'the Body of Christ' is called to be a solidarity of 'others', in the sense that we are all 'other' to one another, we are all 'different' from each other. It is a great vision of the church, but more than that, a great model which is offered - in humility - to the world. For we set out this vision, admittedly imperfectly, trusting that the world may witness it as good news: that very different people can nevertheless live together peaceably and justly. But it doesn't seem to work quite as we would hope! We need to be better at promoting a couple of things: first, the diversity of people already in the church, which is often overlooked or directly suppressed (because diversity is messy); and second, the idea of solidarity, a mature way of handling differences, which ain't easy! If we don't work at those things, it'll be difficult to offer it as a model for (other) others ...

What does it mean to say God gives gifts?

Sometimes, we all need to shout out and complain against God. In the Book of Exodus, chapter 16, it says the people of Israel complained against God, because their leaders had helped them escape from slavery, but now they had nothing to eat. Their freedom felt like a death sentence. How this can be true! First, that we take the amazing things of our lives for granted. But secondly, that our faith can put us into new and frightening situations - good news is always double-edged. But what about the idea that follows? God "hears" their complaining, and gives them "manna from heaven" to feed them in their hunger, so they'll believe God is with them. This begs several questions (let alone the historical issues!) First, what does it mean for God to "hear" us? Not only 'hear' in the sense of catching the sounds we make, but in the deeper sense of "I hear you", or 'I get it'. In some sense, presumably God does 'hear' this way, but it's a bit of a mystery, isn't it! But secondly, how does God give us gifts? What does that mean? We might well never enjoy "manna from heaven" in the sense of a miraculous intervention, but still there is 'giftedness' at the heart of the world's life, in which God enables us to participate. What is it?