More on the romanticism of faith

Reactions to this Christmas carol by the Iona Community (1987) are always illuminating:

Once in Judah's least known city
stood a boarding-house with back-door shed,
where an almost single-parent mother
tried to find her newborn son a bed.
Mary's mum and dad went wild
when they heard their daughter had a child.

Giving a fruity twist to the Once in royal original, invariably churchy people are a bit unsure about it, whereas people who attend Christmas services but who would not usually come to church are much more impressed by it. While it's always a bit risky generalising from anecdotal experiences, I believe the contrast is indicative of something: people outside of churches are wary of romanticism, whereas church-regulars have definitely been shaped by it. This doesn't mean - at all - that churchy people are heads-in-the-clouds while other people are feet-on-the-ground, because I believe churches address more gritty topics than we give ourselves credit for (it is, after all, churches who risk talking about asylum-seekers, poverty, racism, etc.) But when it comes to the things of faith, spirituality and religion, we tend to like ours served with a fair dollop of romanticism, something to make the pill taste better, whereas the public at large is ready for a bit more realism. After all, this faith-stuff has to measure up and we need to know what we're talking about - especially in a world of conspiracy theories, scientific fundamentalism, anxiety about absolute claims and religious extremism, and a fairly healthy degree of scepticism about institutions, if not an unhealthy cynicism about everything! Victorian carols may serve a cultural function, galvanising a sense of history, continuity, safety; but they do little to nourish the spiritual hunger for something more real. The contrast is telling.

Another world, another language

It's interesting: like many other Christians, I believe that words like 'Lord', 'king', even 'Messiah' and 'saviour', are still relevant; that they can be attached to Jesus; but that it's always important to point out how disruptively those words are redefined in relation to Jesus. So to call Jesus our 'Lord' is to make a seditious point about worldly 'lordship' being all the wrong way up, with its implication of top-down authority, domination, feudalism, a gulf between the ruler and the ruled; because Jesus instead shows us servant lordship, one who suffers in solidarity with the masses, the disgraced, the powerless. Even 'Messiah' is transformed, despite its Greek version being used as Jesus' "second name" (Christ) - because he did not rule or restore things in the military way generally anticipated. I might add that even 'saviour' is shaken by the way that Jesus subverts so much of our Christian dogma imposing on him our desire for one who sorts it all out. For, like it or not, his method has left us with a lot of work to do ourselves! ... So this is the point: with so much subversion generated by Jesus regarding the words used of him, isn't it better not to use them at all? Or, in the case of "the kingdom", doesn't it make more sense to use the Greek "basileia", simply because it prevents easy translation: something new is required; something new is effected by him; something new is possible ...

Telling a progressive story confidently

It's a challenge. Something about the liberal disposition makes it very difficult to escape from reticence. Even though in some respects there can be an air of arrogance and presumptuousness around the religious liberal (like me), nevertheless the greater feeling is one of reticence - I/we get so caught up in the provisionality of things, that sometimes I/we fail to make definite claims; we become embarrassed about the evangelical certainty which sometimes looks like idolatry, as though a human being can pinpoint "the truth" with as much clarity as is apparently claimed. So the challenge is to offer 'a big story', a meta-narrative if you will, which speaks in progressive terms - about peace, social justice, equality, the provisionality of knowledge, the plurality of reality, the quest for reconciliation - but without degenerating into a debilitating relativism. The point is to say, 'Yes, we do have good news, we do believe that our faith can make a difference, we do believe that a faith community has a real and radical contribution to make to the compassionate transformation of the world, yet we do not make our claims imperialistically ...' Where this will differ, perhaps quite fundamentally, from the meta-narratives of religious conservatives, is in terms of the historical debates: what are the foundations of belief? what do we believe were 'the big events' of our faith, which foster our ideological commitments today? Of course, though, from a progressive viewpoint, it is not about asserting that I know what was historical, but that does not mean we can avoid the debates - and we can dare to say that we are not so sure that particular readings of history are coherent or appropriate. This need not make us arrogant; it suggests we want genuine dialogue between faith, history, science, etc. And here I stand, confidently.

Knowledge Inequality

It's another area of injustice, which can feel as deep and problematic and oppressive as the inequality between the economically rich and the economically poor. If it is true, as I believe it is, that the economic inequality is at the root of so much of the world's conflicts and dilemmas - ranging from the conflicts over finite natural resources, corruption in governments, and the life-chances of people growing up in so-called "sink estates" - then it is possible that there is truth in this claim: that the 'knowledge inequality' between those who have benefited from education to a further extent than many others, may equally be a cause of real conflict and strain. But just as the economic inequality is a problem for the rich as well as for the poor, so the knowledge inequality is a problem for the so-called knowledgable - there is a sense in which it can operate like a burden. Let me explain - thinking especially about a church context. I've only been in church ministry for 4 years, but from very early on, it was evident that there was a real gap between the 'theological knowledge' of the academy, scholarship which had been around for decades, and the knowledge of most people in churches. And it is the responsibility of a church's leaders. But still after 4 years it remains the case. So have I failed to pass on what I have been taught? Even things as basic as the authorship of the 4 biblical Gospels, or some general level of appreciation of church history ... it's often just not there. But let me be clear - I'm not attacking people for their ignorance, but the 'system' of churchy-ness and ministry which fosters this inequality. And it does matter, because it gets in the way of honesty between leaders and members; it gets in the way of honest discussion about mission priorities; it gets in the way of personal and corporate spiritual development, as well as engagement with a thoughtful world. (Incidentally, I'm aware that such 'knowledge' is by no means the be-all, and that people have other kinds of knowledge which matters at least as much; but in terms of getting to grips with our story, who we are, what our purpose is, these issues are essential.) So what are we to do about it? A small discussion group, which gets scared by certain things, doesn't seem to be enough ... so how do we address the knowledge inequality?

Renewal / New wineskins

There's a lot of it about. Renewal is in the air. The Government is talking about it - though different people mean different things by it ... does it mean Gordon Brown, does it mean revising policy, does it mean speaking to the anxieties of the day, does it mean generating solutions tio the big questions of the world, does it mean 'anything but Tony'??? Renewal is a great idea, but very slippery. And so it is with the churches, too. Presumably the many people who have been leaving the churches in recent years mean a whole range of things by their voting-with-their-feet - they may mean that renewal should involve 'becoming less wishy-washy', or others (hopefully!) mean that churchy-ness should start to re-engage them in a way that relates to real lives in the real world. When I say 'hopefully', I don't mean "I hope that has been the churches' failure"! I mean, "I hope that is people's analysis, because it happens to fit with mine!" We all have our agendas, don't we! So how should we renew? It can't be avoided that many growing churches, in the 'west' and in the 'south'/developing world, are 'conservative' - i.e. their 'new wine' message is very traditional, and in many ways quite old! (though the wineskins are changing). So for those of us who find ourselves drinking a different wine, we must revitalise this commitment to new wine as that which brings about "genuine" renewal - but what is it? Isn't it very much to do with "where peace is taking root", "where the hungry are fed", "where equality and dignity are upheld", "where justice is done"? But what do they mean? Social democracy? Or something distinct again?

I'm reading "1984" self-righteously! Help me!

George Orwell's book is exciting me - and I'm finding myself inhabiting its world, where a totalitarian regime, "Big Brother", does not merely host a few housemates for 13 weeks, but governs and monitors the lives of the whole nation. As Winston sees it, in the story, the only privacy he has is limited to the few centimetres squared inside his head! And even that is under threat, as the newly constructed language 'Newspeak' sets out to squeeze the number of words, so that Thought itself will be increasingly limited and confined. But I'm all too aware that this sharp political satire is giving me tools for criticising things outside of myself - the 'orthodoxies' to which other people are attached unconsciously; the way other people exercise "doublethink", simultaneously believing 'two contradictory opinions which cancel each other out'; the way the world outside of me directs its discontentment towards petty grievances rather than focusing on the larger evils of genuine poverty, prejudice and oppression. But might it be possible that I too am in the thralls of an orthodoxy which obscures me from particular oppressive realities? Might I too be complicit in doublethink, aware of my privileges but not quite committed to risking their end? Could it be true ...?

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?

Spreading the word? (liberally)

It's a strange tension: the prospect of this "Jesus-movement" changing the world, of it being something truly radical and revolutionary for the sake of the oppressed and marginalised, can be genuinely exciting ... but I am hopeless when it comes to speaking to people who do not know much about it. In fact, my liberal sensibilities are such that I am very reticent, tending to be very wary of what people will make of it - after all, passion is a bit embarrassing, isn't it?! - and there are so many problems with the Church at large, that it is difficult to invite people to be a part of it ... and on the one hand, I don't lose any sleep about this, because I focus on working with the people already committed to the church, and kind of expect them to invite others! So how, if at all, should I set about becoming more able to say "this story is worth it", "this movement really can make a difference - trust me"? And how especially should I do this without being heard as saying "this movement is the best", because I know only too well that other agencies are making invaluable contributions, and other faiths must always be part of the conversations?

Kairos vs. Kyriarchy! (power to the people!)

The theologian Elizabeth Schussler Fiorenza gives us the really helpful term "kyriarchy", literally meaning 'rule by lords'. But she means by it the very many ways in which some people 'lord it' over others - whether it is men over women, rich over poor, the West over the South, the bourgeois over the underclass, or whoever. What is shocking is the way in which Christians have so often allowed "Jesus as Lord" to be co-opted by the world's kyriarchical structures, even though the very point of Jesus' Lordship appears actually to have been the denunciation and subversion of kyriarchy. To put it another way, we read the Bible and exercise our faith as though all power-arrows ought to point towards Jesus, because he is exalted as our "ultimate Lord", whereas what he was about was dispersing the power-arrows, pointing them towards the relatively powerless. Power to the People! What is so shocking about this for Christians in churches is simply how radical it is: because it urges people to throw off dependency, to overcome our sense that changes are incremental, believing instead in the kairos - that the time for anti-kyriarchical discipleship is right now! Ouch! The New Community is at hand!