Problem students? No problem!

Picture at left currently making me laugh - probably very inappropriately.
However, I am most fortunate to have had very affable students in my tutorial group both this semester and last.  They will not be going in the 'pot'!  Delighted that my lot all passed last semester, and willing them to do well this time around.

In between tutoring, palaeography, and blood feud I am kept very busy, however I have now booked my flights for Geneva.  I'll be spending April there and getting to know the current Church of Scotland congregation.  Worshipping in what was the english speaking exiles church where Knox and Goodman were ministers - an odd, spiritual/ historical pilgrimmage - v. exciting.  Am curious to see how the dynamics work - a CofS congregation outwith Scotland: how it works, why folk come, how it differs/is similar to CofS in Scotland, as well as the ecumenical context.  I think I am ridiculously fortunate that the minister and session have agreed to this, as well as 121.  Now just pondering how to make the most of this amazing opportunity :)
Meanwhile... time to get back to the bloodfeud!

Journeying Out - reflections on the book

Recently, as part of ministry training, I had to read Journeying Out: a new approach to Christian mission by Ann Morisy and write some thoughts on it.  Certainly the book has provided much food for thought, although it was not the most enjoyable of experiences, and indeed it was a rather frustrating read overall.  Here's a snippet of my journey with Journeying Out....
-------------------------------------------------

According to the description of Journeying Out provided on the back jacket, the book ‘demonstrates just how much society needs the churches.’ It is an odd coincidence that, as I write this, a recent BBC news report has flagged up the toleration of the Church in Cuba, and that churches in Cuba are becoming much-needed places of care in the face of a collapsing governmental social care system. The report observes that ‘authorities are increasingly turning to the Church for help on social and other issues in recognition of the size and influence of organised religion in the country.’  In her book, Ann Morisy focuses on this influence, and on how the Church has the potential to be an instrument for the transformation of local communities: both an agent for change and an agent of mission. The title, Journeying Out, neatly summarises the philosophy of Morisy, namely, that God’s people are called to be risk-takers who journey out from the comfort and security of the walls of the Church/church and engage in meaningful, relation-oriented encounters with the people in their community/ies. Despite her assertions to the contrary, however, the problem that I continue to wrestle with, even after reading this book, is her seeming reduction of the Church to a type of social work agency.

In order to examine Morisy’s ‘new’ approach to mission this reflection is broken into three areas. The first section will focus upon those being approached: the target audience. Here, the post-Christian context will be discussed focusing on spirituality and society. The following section will explore Morisy’s understanding of how to approach mission and will focus upon obliquity versus overt mission. In the last section, the nature of discipleship will be considered, by examining Morisy’s 8-step process.

Section One/ Who is being approached? The target audience.
Morisy describes the society that we in Britain now live in as 'complex, multifaith, multicultural, fragmented.’ [14] She further notes the post-Christian context of our society and its implications for mission, stating that ‘in a materialist earthbound culture we have to do prior work before people can contemplate the presence of God, let alone worship.’ [146] First, I question her theological understanding of the nature of revelation, particularly the suggestion that revelation is caused through, or by, ‘our prior work’. The ‘prior work’ is not ‘ours’ but God’s: God reveals Godself; revelation comes through the divine initiative.

Second, although I agree that we live a post-Christian culture I disagree with Morisy with regard to contemplating the presence of God. Although Morisy draws on the work of Polanyi who posited that as humans we know more than we can say, it is a little surprising that she appears to dismiss the possibility of ‘contemplation of God’ by those out with the Church; it jars with Polanyi’s thesis. Further, she cites Levinas and his understanding of the ‘other’ with regard to human relational contexts, and so it is somewhat puzzling that she seems to ignore his work when it comes to matters spiritual. For Levinas, the ‘other’ can never be fully known – or can only be known through what they choose to reveal. This works within both the human to human relationship, as well as a God to human relationship. [see n. 1] With both Levinas and Polanyi, the logical conclusion to draw would rather be that a sense of mystery and spirituality within those outside of the Church should not come as a surprise, nor be so readily dismissed.

Morisy rejects too easily what I believe is an innate capacity for humans to have moments of otherness and the deep need to make ritual gestures at key life moments. While these expressions – such as the leaving of cards, toys, football strips, flowers by the place where a child may have been killed – may be described as a kind of ‘folk religion’ or ‘neo-paganism’, they are nevertheless possible useful entry points into meaningful spiritual encounter; I suspect if we dismiss them, we are foolish. What turns over in my mind as I observe such subconscious ritual gestures is the fascinating intersecting of a post-Christian, science, technology and ‘truth’ equals ‘fact’ society – its ‘earthboundness’ – with that spark of spirituality within the soul. Is there a point of connection that can be usefully made within the context of mission?

Section Two/ How are they being approached? Oblique versus overt approaches.
A key concept used by Morisy is the ‘principle of obliquity’, which she defines as ‘the notion that in complex situations pursuing an objective head-on may work against the achievement of that object, instead an indirect or “oblique” approach is required.’ [240] She wonders if the best approach for doing mission in our society is:
'by way of an oblique route? And by way of this obliquity, which begins with solidarity with the poor, we might discover the means by which we are both being church and doing mission.' [14]
However both oblique and overt methods of approach have, throughout the history of the Church, been used; it is not a ‘new’ approach. Further, Morisy appears to present both approaches almost as polar opposites; either/or, as against both/and. Both approaches are part of a process, and both connected: to use one without the other would ultimately fail to pursue the holistic approach Morisy advocates.

The danger of focusing solely on the overt is, as Morisy herself observes, to miss the whole human being; talking of living bread is pointless if the person one is talking to is physically starving. Likewise, the danger of keeping one’s approach oblique may lead to physical nutrition but spiritual starvation. In addition, the oblique without the balance of the overt risks tipping into the very professionalised/ detached provision of social care with ‘service users’ and ‘clients’ that Morisy cautions against in her introduction. This raises a thorny question and cause of my rumbling disquiet expressed in the introduction to this paper: how do we as Church love our neighbour without getting caught up in a process leading to professionalization? In his blog, Duncan Macleod asks the other thorny question that follows from this:
'Do we therefore stop producing resources that help people with sharing faith? Do we just encourage people to spend time with their friends and hope that they’ll unconsciously make the connections? Do we tell people to forget the mission statements and priorities and get people to just ‘get out there’?'

Rather than falling into the trap, or cycle, of creating more social care agencies and structures, as followers of a God who is passionate about justice and who cries out against injustice, perhaps our role is to be advocates who cry out against injustice: who speak out, speak up on behalf of those who have been crushed and silenced by systemic structures of power? [see n. 2] This does not mean we cease to actively help those in need, but that help must not be in place of what wider society/the government should be providing; it is a stop-gap not an end in itself.

Section Three/ Who is doing the approaching?  The nature of Discipleship.
Morisy, in language not dissimilar to Church reformers down through the ages, observes that:
the Church, like the chronic alcoholic, has to go through a period of detox, clearing out from the system the toxins that would otherwise bring death. Power has been the poison that has prevented the institutional Church from understanding the Gospel.[233]
Using the motif of AA she observes that ‘the Church has to face up to the fact that its life is unmanageable and take steps to reorder every aspect of its life.’[234] Noting that real power is found in being vulnerable, she states that ‘it is when we are stripped or our power that we discover a deep spirituality.’ [234] This is a good reminder about God’s kindom values overturning worldly definitions of power, and that God’s people should seek to foster both vertical and horizontal relationships, not seek status. [see n. 3] That said, I am left wondering about where Morisy is placing the faith focus, particularly with regard to the 8-step process she models on the AA programme. Perhaps I am bandying semantics but the emphasis appears to sideline God as we focus on, and have faith in, the process: it appears less about God’s power and more about self-empowerment. She states ‘if we put our faith in the process... we rehearse...we practise... then grace.’ [235] In Chapter Two of the book, she notes that:
our missionary endeavours, therefore, have to harness the enigmatic ability of the most unlikely and vulnerable to generate a force that moves us closer to the kingdom of God – and to God Himself.[38] First, God is the ground of our being out of which our practice should emerge, it is not our endeavours that move us to God – God has already moved towards us in the incarnation. This comes back to the revelatory context discussed earlier: God acts and we respond. Second, the person of Christ and the practice are bound together, otherwise the focus becomes the practice, not Christ, and subsequently, what we do is therefore a work. Morisy’s 8-step formula of ‘we do x then grace follows’ becomes a theology of work and utterly loses the point of grace. Or perhaps I’ve been reading too much Calvin lately.

Morisy repeatedly berates the structure of the church, and highlights – rightly – its historical obsession with worldly power, calling Christ’s followers to dismantle the structure and demonstrate vulnerability as real power. The paradox, however, is that Morisy herself seems too institutionalised, too much in the system, seemingly in a love-hate relationship with systemic structures to fully journey out. In order to be truly vulnerable, we must be able to let go of protective structures that we can sometimes hold close like a security blanket. God is our security, not an 8-step process.

Further, the nature of discipleship appears to be boiled down to following a programme. She notes that:
Jesus has demonstrated and urged us to follow distinctive processes or steps that will enable our life to be different, and to be a life with fullness beyond anything we can contemplate. However, I suspect discipleship is both simpler and more difficult than this: Jesus says, ‘follow me and I will make you fish for people.' [Matt. 4:19ff] It is not necessarily an efficient way to approach mission – there is no blue-print and God uses imperfect human beings to carry out the task. We stumble on as flawed followers, empowered by the Spirit and grace cascades, because God is gracious, not because we are following a system. This does not mean disciples are called to be disorganised, but we must always be wary of falling into following a system and placing our faith in it, and not in God. Mission is done best is when it is relational, not mechanical – when God’s people understand that they are loved beyond their wildest imaginings and, empowered by that love, learn to love themselves and love their neighbour. Love is the starting point for mission.


Final thoughts.
Ultimately, I found Morisy presented what I would term ‘macramé’ theology: an approach full of holes, desperately trying to tick ‘right on’ politically correct boxes, being more ornament than substance, and not really a new thing at all. Further, her arguments were a contradictory mass of sociological knots couched in the kind of pseudo-academese one employs when not entirely clear of one’s arguments. [*grins*: it takes one to know one!] Whilst the author advocated a more accessible/ vulnerable approach, it did seem rather ironic that she appeared to hide behind a wall of academic jargon, written in a ponderously inaccessible style. On the other hand, that she chose to do so, whilst slightly infuriating, was strangely encouraging: it reminded me that no matter how much we know, whatever systems we might devise, that in the end there is an inherent mystery and simplicity when it comes to mission.

Mystery inasmuch as we do not journey out alone, but rather in relationship with God and the people of God; and mystery also in the way success is measured. Is the fruit of successful mission a church the size of five football stadiums and a tithing membership with an average age under fifty? Is it to be found in smaller ways: people noticing an increase of homelessness and responding to that localised need? Is it the result of a quiet conversation with someone over coffee in a shopping mall that many years later may lead to someone acknowledging the God-shaped hole inside? Mission is multi-layered: it is best approached contextually as opposed to a ‘one size fits all’ or 8-step, or ‘4 spiritual laws’ process. The approach will also be as diverse as the vastly diverse group of people that comprise the body of Christ and to the diversity of people to whom they are called to tell the old, old story. Simplicity in that, we are invited to respond to God’s mission initiative and, as part of that response, to share with others the story of a God who reveals Godself to humanity and who wants to be in relationship with us. We are to share that story honestly and vulnerably, admitting our own frailties and faults, and like one who has travelled the desert and finally come to the oasis, we journey out of the oasis, back into the desert, trusting in God that we find and help others to quench their thirst with living water. [c.f. John 4: 5-15; John 7: 37-38]



NOTES:
n.1/ Within the context of divine revelation, of course, there’s a paradox: God reveals Godself in Jesus and in this manner is fully known, and yet, can we as finite creatures fully know the infinite God? I think it becomes an ongoing knowing and learning, learning and knowing that takes us all our lives and moves into eternity. So, an inaugurated eschatology perhaps: yes, we know God and continue to get to know God for all eternity.

n.2/ Biblical passages that come to mind concerning God’s passion for justice: Jer. 7: 5-7 ‘For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly one with another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors for ever and ever.’ Deut. 24: 14-15; Ps. 41: 1-3; Is. 58: 1-9; Jer. 7: 5-7; Amos 5:24; Mic. 6: 6-8; Christ as stranger – Mat. 25: 31-46; on who is my neighbour – Luke 10: 25-37.

n.3/ ‘Kindom’ here is deliberate: it emphasises the relational context and moves away from a hierarchical power dynamic that ‘kingdom’ can have.

blood feud and fornication...

Stool of repentance, St Andrews.

busy... busy... busy:
up to my oxters in bloodfeud and fornication.
Well, immersed in transcribing records from Burntisland Kirk Session records late 16th-early-17th c.  Finally the palaeography is beginning to pay off.
The laird of Orrok's son was a bit of a naughty boy, and Orrok senior wasn't that much better....
Normal blogging service will resume soon.
Aaaand back to it.

Foxy Knoxy's word to the wise #5: the tragic tale of Mr H. Dumpty, Esq.

[well it has been a wee while since the last installment of Brother Knox's wise words.  What better way to kick off a new year?]

Brethren and sistren, as we dip our toes into the promise and potential of this New Year, some words of caution. 
Today let us reflect upon that most abhominable of sins, pride.
Harken now to the tale of one Mr H. Dumpty.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king's horses

and all the king's men,

Couldn't put Humpty together again.

As we reflect on this sorry story, we see the seeds of the eventual demise of Mr D. sown in the very first line:
Humpty D. sat on a wall...
Humpty, you see, chose to place himself above others; to put himself above his station.  He did not take the moderate middling course by merely leaning against the wall.  Nor did he follow the pathway to humilty by sitting in a lowly position at the foot of the wall.
No, my friends: he chose vainglory and pride. 
He placed himself upon the wall.
He wanted to see and to be seen.
Curiousity and pride: a combination which could only result in consequences too dire to mention.  Yet mention the consequences I shall, as a lesson and a warning.

Not only did he place himself above others,
when Mr D. raised himself to the heights of self-glory did he make himself useful, my friends?
Did he walk along the wall checking for defects and faults in order to alert the owner of needed repairs?
Did he stand tall on the wall as a watchman, looking for incoming foes, signs of fire, or friendly traders?
No. He did not.
He sat.

And the fruits of this endeavour?
As we know, beloved ones, pride goeth before a fall.
Humpty Dumpty, in his arrogance having forsaken any safety harness, and having vainly forsworn any advice from Health and Safety officers... fell.
Yes, brothers and sisters he fell from that lofty place where pride, in its treacherous way, had taken him.
He fell.
But let us be mindful:
this was no ordinary fall.
Oh no!
As great as the manner of his sinning was
so great was the manner of his falling.
At any given time, he could have chosen to repent of his decision.
To humble himself.
To leave the lofty perch of pride and walk once more amongst the faithful in more humble aspect - and altitude.
But no.
His was a dire and dreadful destiny.
Destruction.
Death.
And possibly a serendipitous dinner for the King's horses and King's men.

And so, as we begin this New Year, brethren and sistren, what can we learn from this sad and sorry tale?
That it is wise to avoid places that have walls.
That if one cannot avoid places with walls, that one ensures that the place one is in is devoid of horses and King's men.
But, if one cannot avoid places with walls which have both horses and King's men in the vicinity - to keep away from the wall.
Or, if one, due to a combination of unusual circumstances,
such as plagues, or wars, or flood of custard,
is forced to mount the wall for safety... do not merely sit. 
Rather, make yourself useful.
Repair the wall should it need mending.
Grow fruit and vegetables to share with the community.
And wear a safety harness - a visible sign of one's acceptance of needing support.
Let the harness of humilty be your key to survival.
And remember: to walk the way of humilty is to avoid cracking up.
May the Lord have mercy on your souls.

light into darkness into light

Rembrandt's 'the stoning of St Stephen', 1625

The way in which Christmas has fallen this year means that straight after the festivities and joyful celebrations of yesterday, we move immediately into the much less jolly suggested lectionary readings for today.  One track takes us to the stoning of Stephen - first Christian martyr.

The alternative track moves us from the celebration of the baby in the manger to the slaughter of the innocents by Herod.

Slaughter of the Innocents - Duccio Di Buoninsegna

It is odd timing.
Discomforting,
disquieting,
and definitely discombobulating. 

Through Advent the build up of hope, the sense of expectation, of light in the darkness - of light defeating the darkness - led us to that blazing star hovering over a stable in Bethlehem.  Choruses of angels proclaimed the birth of the Messiah; shepherds and sages looked upon the baby with wonder.
For a brief moment in time, the light shone and fearful hearts were cheered. 
And then, in a fingersnap of time, the darkness seemed to descend again.


Is that it?
It feels a little like the police officer who tells onlookers:
'move along now, nothing here to see.'
Perhaps this is where faith comes into play?
We move from darkness to light to darkness.
Perhaps the glimpses of light are like stepping stones of hope along the way, that keep the fires of faith burning: sometimes a flicker, sometimes a steadier, brighter flame.
We move from darkness to light to darkness... but we do come back to light, and therein is the hope, the faith, that this is not all there is:
the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.

a digital nativity?

This vid. has been doing the rounds on Facebook.  V. cute.  I think my favourite bit was the travel planning option 'avoid Romans'.  Enjoy!!

The welcoming church 3: Welcome - a simple and elementary matter...

I do love my research sometimes, especially when I come across such gems as the following entry from Kirkwall U.P. Church, 1894, re. elders and church welcome:

'they are not there for the mere purpose of standing at the plate, but for the purpose of giving a kindly welcome to the worshippers as they pass - were it but a pleasant smile or nod of recognition.  A shake of the hand would not be out of place....This would show the kind of interest which...elders are expected to take in the membership of the congregation....All of us should do what we can to promote each other's comfort, to encourage each other in well-doing, and to foster the spirit of brotherly love.  These are simple and elementary matters, but we require to be reminded of them.'

Seems the difficulties involved with regard to the 'simple and elementary matter' of welcome is no new thing!  Perhaps it's the raging extrovert in me, but I really don't see how difficult it is to welcome folks when they dare to cross the threshold... but it does remind me of a story.

I remember visiting a church [that shall be nameless] for a particular service held annually.  Dragged a pal along and we walked in and sat in the back pew [so we would know when to sit, stand, etc].  An older woman wandered in, stopped at the pew we were sitting in, fixed us with a baleful glare, made a loud choking noise of displeasure and then rather unhappily plonked herself into the pew in front of us, shaking her head.  Friend and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows, a bare glimmer of a smile, and together had the unspoken thought that we were, perhaps not this woman's flavour of the month.  Several minutes later, another woman, similar age, also wandered in, stopped at the end of the pew momentarily, and then spotted her friend - woman in front of us.  She waved and then sat next to friend, who muttered rather loudly 'we're having to slum it in this pew - ours is taken.'  Cue eyebrows in pew behind being raised even higher.
For sheer devillment, I tapped the woman on the shoulder and said in incredibly apologetic tones, and with the most sincerity that I could muster: 'Goodness, I'm terribly sorry, I couldn't help but overhear what you said.  We're visitors here and really don't know the drill.  We didn't realise this was your pew - would you like us to move?'
Said woman was about to open her mouth with what I think would have been a 'yes, get out of my pew' comment, when her friend turned around, gave us a huge smile, welcomed us to the church, made sure we had orders of service, invited us for the post-church cheese and wine, and said 'my dear, no, not at all.  There's no such thing as 'my pew' - we do normally sit there, but it will be good for us to sit somewhere else.  We hope you enjoy the service.'  Utter graciousness.  Although her friend was simultaneously giving her a death glare....

Many are called.
Few are chosen.
Some get seats.
Others get death-glares.

Welcome to the church... you're in my pew.

Feasting on the Word - review

Feasting on the Word - preaching the revised common lectionary [Yr A, vol. 1]; edited by Don Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, Westminster John Knox Press, 2010. £26.99

This is yet another excellent edition in what is an absloutely superb series.  The overall series aims to cover the three years of the Revised Common Lectionary, splitting each year into several books. With an eye on the price, I wondered if collecting the whole series might be just that bit too pricey, but realise that I'd be short-changing myself not to buy into this brilliant resource; it is far too good an investment to miss.

 

What I've really enjoyed as I've prepared worship has been the layout. Sunday by Sunday, each of the four key lectionary passages are explored, examined and discussed - each of the passages considered by dividing them into four columns and using four different angles: a theological perspective, a pastoral perspective, exegetical and homiletical perspectives. This ensures that Feasting on the Word is indeed just that: a veritable feast of a resource. 

 

Truly, a must for the bookshelves of all those who lead worship - but also a great resource for lay-folk who want to dig deeper into the word. Perhaps a useful parallel function might be to employ Feasting on the Word not only as a worship leader's resource, but as a regular group study focus. Just a thought. Why should ministers get all the good stuff, after all!?  ;)

The entire series will be available to buy as a set from May/June 2011 @ c.£299.  Individually, or as a set, you can pick it up in via the UK distributor Alban Books or give Cornerstone Bookshop a wee call...

Great Expectations? A sermon for 3 Advent...Yr A

It's a little rough... but here goes:

'Great Expectations'

Isaiah 35: 1-10; Matt 11: 2-19

If Charles Dickens hadn't pinched it first, I think I'd have titled this sermon 'Great Expectations'...

Great Expectations -
the hope that something quite extraordinary is going to happen.
That sums up Advent.
It's the waiting time.
The time when we identify with Mary all those years ago in her time of waiting.
We wait with expectation to celebrate the mind-boggling idea of God coming to us,
to be with us,
to be one of us:
God coming to us on our own, very human terms.
Expectations that are great?
Expectations of greateness?
What is greatness?
And what happens when the expected...
is completely
unexpected?

The Third Sunday of Advent traditionally focuses on John the Baptist -
a man we heard a bit about last week...
a man who knew a lot about waiting and expectaion:
His entire life had been spent waiting for the fulfillment of God's word,
and his ministry was one of preparing the people of God for this event.

In our Gospel passage for today, we see John coming near to the end of his life and ministry -
imprisoned for speaking out against Herod's lack of moral character:
prisoners of conscience are no new thing.
But there he is,
languishing in jail at Herod's mercy.
John had spent the greater part of his life living out of doors in the wilderness - we'd say in Australia that he'd 'gone bush'.
William Barclay, commenting on this passage, describes John's situation like this:
'he was a child of the desert; all his life he had lived in the wide open spaces, with the clean wind on his face and the spacious vault of the sky for his roof.  and now he was confined in an underground dungeon.  For a man like John, who had perhaps never lived in a house, this must have been agony.'
Quite poetic for a commentary!  Barclay tries to enter into the mind of John, and, if John wore shoes, to walk in his shoes.

What was in John's mind when he sent his disciples to Jesus to ask the question:
'Are you the one, or should we expect someone else?'
What was John's expectation of who the Messiah should be?
Of what Messiahship should be about?
Were his great expectations of a warrior-hero, coming to liberate Israel from the Romans?
Or, since his role was that of a prophet,
a forth-teller of God's truth,
did he expect the messiah to be a mighty judge,
who would bring the divine fire of purifying judgement on the nation -
and we saw a little of that last week....
Did John ask because he was impatient
and wondered if Jesus was ever going to get on with the job?

Sometimes, because we know the story
because we've heard it so many times,
are so familiar,
we flick through the pages of the Gospels seeking for theological truths
but in doing so,
the people on the pages become like mere characters in a book:
we lose sight of the dirt-under-their-nails very human people -
everyday, ordinary, people caught up in extraordinary circumstances.
In asking the question of Jesus, was John, this wild-man of the wilderness,
who didn't know if his next day would be his last,
was he wanting to know that he hadn't got it wrong?
That his expectations
his hope in Jesus
hadn't been in vain?
Did he need to know that at this end-point of his life
that it hadn't all been a useless waste of time?
I wonder...
if the question was about his own faith and hope
and a need to seek confirmation of this hope
confirmation of his life's mission in his last days?
What were his expectations?

Whatever his psychological state of mind,
whatever the reason for the question,
I hope he found the answer he needed in Jesus' response.
At other times when such questions were asked of him Jesus was likely to say:
'happy are they who believe without seeing'
but here, Jesus shows great compassion in his reply:
'tell John what you hear and see -
the blind receive sight,
the lame walk,
the deaf hear,
and the good news is preached to the poor.'
Jesus is quoting the prophet Isaiah to John -
the last and greatest of the prophets.
And in doing this,
gives John what he needs to know:
Jesus is the one expected -
and the proof in the (Christmas?) pudding,
is the fulfillment of the prophecy.
What Isaiah never saw in his own lifetime,
John has seen in his -
though perhaps not quite in the way he'd envisaged or expected.

If John had to slightly revise his idea of the Messiah -
if even John the Baptist felt the need to ask if Jesus was the one -
how did the people of Israel imagine the Messiah?
What were their expectations?
Under the yoke of the Roman Empire,
longing for independence,
did they dream dreams of Messiah as a great freedom fighter?
I wonder if the people of Israel would have coped better with Jesus if he'd just done 'the decent thing'...
had conformed to the stereotype of what great deliverers should be like?
But then, from their very own history,
they should have known not to try and force God into a box,
because sometimes, God is a little like the jack-in-the-box
that you know is there,
that you know will appear,
and yet who still manages to surprise and startle when the lid finally springs open.
The expected
and yet the unexpected.

Can we really blame the people of Israel for maybe having these expectations of a mighty super-hero Messiah?
Don't we ourselves often define greatness as who the strongest is?
Now, if we were God, we'd probably plan this whole coming into the world business quite differently.
We'd arrive on the world stage as the big strong warrior-hero type
overpower those pesky Romans
make a real name for ourselves,
possibly even set ourselves up as Caesar -
be at the top of the hierarchical power pile -
that'd convince everyone we weren't to be trifled with...
But our God...
is the God of surprises.
The one who turns our value systems
our expectations
upside-down.
Who completely makes a nonsense of what we think of as great and powerful.
God defies our definitions.
Perhaps even laughs at our definitions
and challenges us to redefine them again and again and again.

Matthew goes to great pains in the Gospel to point out exactly where Jesus came from:
his lineage certainly contains a few surprises,
and who would think that a virgin would or could conceive?
And that the Messiah would, like us,
have to undergo the whole messy, undignified birthing process?
Yet, the prophets foretold it.
Who would think that the Messiah would be found in a stack of hay in a stable...
and not a grand palace?
Who would think that the 'little baby Jesus' could possibly be 'Immanuel' -
God with us?

I remember a conversation with a friend a long time ago.
Said friend was saying with some feeling that she was sick to the back teeth with the idea of the cute 'n cuddly 'little baby Jesus' -
helpless, sweet, inoffensive.
An anaemic, watered-down religious symbol for people not quite comfortable with the grown-up Jesus.
In many ways, she had a point... but...
let's not sneer at the idea of 'little baby Jesus' too readily:
without 'little baby Jesus' there can't be a Christ crucified.
Without 'little baby Jesus', we lose Jesus' humanity.
Without Jesus' humanity we lose the idea of the God who feels our pain
who knows us utterly,
identifies with us completely...
and who, in turn, we can identify with.
Without 'little baby Jesus' we lose the wonder of God who turns the meaning of greatness on its head
by coming to us as a helpless, gurgling baby
dependant on the hospitality of the human heart to take him in...
God needing us...
as much as we need God...
a mutual bond of relationship forged in fleshly incarnation.
The expected, yet unexpected coming of God-all-powerful
who comes as God-all-vulnerable
in that tiny scrap of human flesh:
'little baby Jesus'
and who, by doing so, puts hope in the heart of humanity.

We come full circle at Advent:
back to the waiting time
to the having of great expectations...
Great expectations:
the hope that something quite extraordinary is going to happen...
when the expected is completely unexpected.
And what could be more unexpected than the idea that a helpless dependent baby could be the God who created the universe?
The God who comes to deliver us
by becoming one of us in our frail humanity?
No wonder John felt the need to ask the question of Jesus:
'are you the one?'

May the God of surprises teach us to expect the unexpected,
and fill us all with joy this season.
Amen.

'persecution'?

The recent launch of the Not Ashamed campaign backed by Lord Carey leaves me a tad baffled.  I'm baffled by the use of such words as 'victimised' and 'persecuted'.  I'm further disturbed by the faint sounds of Christian jingoistic sentiments in the background that seem to run along the old, tired theme of 'our nation was great and we can be again.'

Times have surely changed since God and Empire were so tightly entwined, and, I think, this is for the betterment of Christianity itself.
Power and prestige are the antithesis of what I believe to be the message of the Gospel and the followers of God have always seemed to have done better when as the 'faithful remnant', not the dominant power group oppressing others.  And why is it that this particular campaign smacks of toys being thrown out of a pram?

But back to this victim mentality thing: what leaves a very sour taste in the mouth is using the language of persecution when Christians in other places on this planet are actually awaiting execution for just being Christian, as per the case in Pakistan with Asia BiBi.

I'm not ashamed to be a Christian, but sometimes I'm a little ashamed of the behaviour of other Christians.

Sunday song: 2nd Advent

Matthew 3: 1-6

In those days 

John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, 

proclaiming, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’^* 

This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said,
‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord,
   make his paths straight.” ’
Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair 

with a leather belt around his waist, 

and his food was locusts and wild honey. 

Then the people of Jerusalem 

and all Judea were going out to him, 

and all the region along the Jordan, 

and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, 

confessing their sins. 

Advent: prepare - people, get ready...

²³⁴⁵⁶

light in the darkness, and how...

I know it's the season of light... I'd just hate to pay the electric bill on this!!
You'll need your sound on to fully appreciate the display...  :)

Friday Five: December Survival Guide Edition

Gosh, haven't played this game for a wee while.  Over at RevGals the theme has turned to surviving the December busy time... Kathrynzj asks:

Whether a RevGal or a Pal most of us in this cyber community have enhanced responsibilities during this time of year. We also have traditions - religious and secular - that mark the season for us in a more personal way.

For this Friday Five please let us know five of the things that mark the season for you.

And the bonus? Tell us one thing that does absolutely nothing for you

The strange thing for me this December is that for the first time since I can remember, I have no extra duties at all... no placement and, subsequently, am a fairly free spirit, a luxury which I'm going to very much enjoy while I can!!  However, my five things:

1/ watching that first Advent candle lit and then the weekly progression until all are finally flickering
2/ the first singing of 'O Come O Come Emmanuel' - its bare-boned, simple, pared-back beauty: a plaintive yet hope-filled cry in the darkness
3/ lighting the fireplace for the first time
4/ when the eggnog and gingerbread latte arrives in a certain large chain of coffee shops that shall be nameless
5/ reading John's Prologue and the words that never fail to stir and move and thrill me: 

In the beginning was the Word, 

and the Word was with God, 

and the Word was God. 

He was in the beginning with God. 

All things came into being through him, 

and without him not one thing came into being. 

What has come into being in him was life,^* 

and the life was the light of all people. 

The light shines in the darkness, 

and the darkness did not overcome it. 

Ahh, and the one thing that really doesn't do it for me... I almost forgot:

Seeing Christmas dec's up and hearing carols in September - people, please, no!

 ²³⁴⁵

the more it snows...

The more it snows
(Tiddly Pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddly Pom)
The more it goes
(Tiddly Pom)
On snowing.

And nobody knows
(Tiddly Pom)
How gold my toes
(Tiddly Pom)
How cold my toes
(Tiddly Pom)
Are growing.

                                                   A. A. Milne

The most amazing dumping of snow in 40 years, according to that vital arm of journalism The Metro [a boon for the weary traveller].  Having been relatively snowed in, I pulled on the sheepskin boots and trudged into uni. on Tuesday.  Oh, it's hard to be shut in when you're an extrovert and I was going a little stir-crazy; plus, I'd run out of chocolate and useful work books.  Mr Knox looked resplendant in his fluffy white bunnet.... and as I looked out at the New College garden I would not have been at all surprised to see Mr Tumnus rushing by with his brolly and packages. 

So many people complaining about the Council: how ineffective, how inefficient.  Grumbling that the pattern of life has had to s l o w down, and what a terribel nuisance it all is, mutter, mutter - and I grumbled at first too.  And then I began to think how amazing it's been, given the unexpected freak conditions that the Council's managed to keep some buses going, have main roads gritted, etc.  I think the bus drivers have done an heroic job.  And - good grief - I've still been receiving mail.  Astonishing.  Pity about the local shop running out of milk, but I can drink herbal tea!  It's also been fun seeing just what stuff is hidden at the back of food cupboards; various friends are counting how many tins of tuna seem to have gathered.  For what it's worth, I discovered amongst other odd things four tins of tuna, plus several jars of black olives and a bottle of cocktail gherkins... I'm sure I can make some kind of fascinating concoction out of that lot and team it up with all the various pastas and rice I've also got.

These are the times when I realise that we humans can't control absolutely everything, and perhaps it's good to be reminded every now and then.  It's been freezing, and yet there's been a glorious, quiet beauty as the snow has softened the corners of the landscape.  Perhaps time to give thanks for enforced slow pace, and possibly even a surfeit of tuna. 

Sunday song: time to light the advent candle

1st Sunday of Advent...

Today is the start of the Church year; the beginning of the season of Advent.

In the darkness we light a candle...
small, fragile, flickering
sign of hope.
Light amidst the shadows
in the doorway of our hearts -
hearts that watch, and wait and yearn.
O come, o come, Emmanuel...

worship as a part of the hustle of daily life?

A wee while ago, over at journalling, Liz was reflecting on the hustle and bustle and lack of space that can often be found within worship as it is hurries along to the finish line.  She noted that she was 'sure God roars with laughter at the notion that worship can be packaged and condensed.'  And further, asked the question 'what elements are to be sacrificed in order to create space -
the space that we need in worship as a counter to the hustle of daily life?'

A good question.
Which, as I wrote on Liz's blog, sent me back to the basics and further questions:
*What 'is' worship?
*who is it we worship?
*why do we worship - purpose?
*'who' are 'we' anyway?
*how do we try in some measure to achieve whatever 'it' is?

And as ever, those words of Annie Dillard's ring loud and clear in my ears about life preservers and crash helmets, and that worship is an awesomely terrifying business...potentially.

Why is it we seem content to settle for less?
Opt for 59 packed minutes on Sunday at 11...? 
On the other hand, planning worship is risky:
one person's idea of fabulous worship is another's horrible nightmare. 
Are we guilty of worshipping worship, and forgetting to worship the One who brings us together? 
Hmmm, 'worshipolatry'? 
What is 'true' worship?
And how do we know - when it can sometimes be measured only by a sense of our non-objective, utterly subjective selves? 
I don't know.
What I do know is that even as we bumble clumsily along the road to authentic worship,
when in that set apart time of the community of the faithful we fill it to overflowing with words and noise and invoke God's name whilst simultaneously attempting to prevent hearing God speak...
even in the midst -
despite ourselves
and despite the noise -
God...
with
us...
in the hustle
of our daily lives.
I wonder... if we were to turn the question  
should worship be a counter to the hustle of daily life? on its head:
Rather, should worship be a part of / reflect the hustle of daily life?
Is the way we worship -
that bizarre thing we do when we gather together -
somehow strangely symbolic of the paradox of incarnation
when God broke through the hustle and bustle of our noisy, chattering humanity,
and, in the sound of a new-born's cries, the Word was made flesh?
A moment of gobsmacking awe
even in the noise...

Worshipping with Children...

and fresh out of inspiration? 
Or sifting through a 'spirituality/ theology of the child'?
Mary Hawes - a CofE pal of mine - has just flagged up a most excellent resource in the shape of a blog, appropriately entitled 'Worshipping With Children: including children in the congregation's worship, using the Revised Common Lectionary'
Do yourselves a favour and check it out.

This should be absloutely cracking!

Here's the blurb:

 

Ever wanted to see four New College lecturers go head to head in a debate on the Virgin Birth?!

Well it's happening!

Theology Network in association with the Edinburgh Centre for the Study of Christian Origins present a special Christmas debate not to be missed...
...
On Monday 29th November at 4pm in the Martin Hall, Dr. Helen Bond (Biblical Studies), Prof. David Fergusson (Theology), Prof. Michael Northcott (Ethics) and Dr. Sara Parvis (Ecclesiastical History) are going to go head to head in the Virgin Birth Debate.

It's set to be very entertaining, at least a little bit controversial and just awesome!

So whatever your view come along, bring your popcorn, sit back and watch it all happen (or heckle if you want)!

Dulce et Decorum est

Dulce et Decorum est 

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep.  Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod.  All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas!  GAS!  Quick, boys! --  An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

 Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

 And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

 His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin, 

 If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

 Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs

Bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, 

 My friend, you would not tell with such high zest 

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie:  Dulce et decorum est

 Pro patria mori.

                                                                  Wilfrid Owen.

To Tarshish, or Ninevah?

When I was sifting through the whole 'minister, me?' question [hat tip to Mrs Gerbil *grin*] I was offered up a whole range of books as suggested reading fodder.  And oh, my goodness, did you know that there are multitudinous numbers of books on the subject of vocational calling?  I'm not sure whether this is alarming, affirming, or quite what it says about attitudes within various Christian commmunities about models of working/ ministry.  But I digress. I read many of these and yet, somehow, they never quite seemed to fit or ring a little bell inside my head.
Don't get me wrong, there was some very useful reflecting on some very helpful bits 'n pieces... and yet.  I was frustrated by a lot of them and I really couldn't work out why until I was handed Peterson's Under the Unpredictable Plant.
Bells rang a-plenty. 
The thoughts wrapped around me snugly like a warm, woolly fleece on a cold winter's day.
It spoke my language- and felt as if it could have been written just for me.
Happy day.

After long reflection, I realise that while the other books where fine, they were written within an Anglican theological understanding of priesthood.  It is a very different theological kettle of fish to a Reformed understanding of ministry.  Not saying one is better than the other, they are just quite different theologically and because of this, a different praxis emerges.  Of course, I began to wonder just why there were so very many Anglican 'discerning your call' books as per Reformed viewpoints on this topic and why they were all on the list of Ministries Council - but that for another day!

I love the way Peterson challenges the system, especially what he would perceive to be the creeping idolatry of 'careerism' within the church: very hard-hitting stuff and which he likens to Jonah buying a ticket to Tarshish, rather than doing the thankless, possibly less glory-filled job over in Ninevah.
The book cautions against pride, abuse of power, and hiding behind the detachment of a 'professional pastor' veneer.  It urges authenticity at nearly every sentence.  And it works for me.

I keep coming back to this book - indeed - I'm just about to re-read it to see where I may have moved, or what continues to feel affirmed, or where I'm still uncomfortable/ challenged.  No doubt, I'll blog about that at a later point.