As part of the process of offering for
ordained ministry, I have to write short reviews of theological books, so I
decided to re-read a text on mission: 'Journeying Out' by Ann Morisy. I first looked at this around five years ago, and while
I found parts of it useful, like the material on apt liturgy I’ve reflected on elsewhere,
I didn’t initially get a lot out of it. On a second reading, with more life
experience and involvement in churches under my belt, I found it much more
helpful, and indeed challenging in the present climate, with UKIP having got
their first MP in a recent by-election, through taking in a defecting Tory.
Morisy begins by discussing David Bosch’s idea of holistic mission,
which necessarily combines social action with evangelism; the Church needs to
“journey out, embrace strangers, work for social peace and justice, and partake
of God’s gracious gift of salvation” (pg. 5). This means acting authentically –
“walking the talk” – so that evangelism can have integrity in a post-modern society.
It’s about challenging the collusion with the rich and powerful that has often
characterised Christianity in the Western world, and coming alongside the poor
from a position of powerlessness. In the Beatitudes, the ‘blessed poor’ are not
the respectable (deserving) poor, the penes
who’re trying to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, but those whose
circumstances have reduced them to begging, the ptochos, the undeserving poor. As such, it means a real stepping
out of comfort zones for many Church members, setting aside the anxiety which
often means a retreat into prejudice and judgmental behaviours.
Morisy contends that this holistic
mission comes about as the “gracious outcome of other factors working
effectively and appropriately”; as such, it’s something that happens obliquely, through “looking and
journeying outward, rather than by means of a self-regarding and self-conscious
process”. Drawing on John Kay’s observation that companies making the pursuit
of profit their stated aim hinders their goal, and instead if the focus is on
providing the best possible service, say, then the profits come along
naturally, she argues that by journeying out in the way described above, “we
will find ourselves creating church
and being effective missioners” (pg. 17). This understanding permeates what
follows in the later chapters of the book.
In the last twenty years, there’s been
a boom in churches getting involved in community work, and Morisy highlights
the danger of “unexamined involvement” in such ministry, which if it’s working
well must “enhance the core functioning of the Church in the service of the
Gospel” (pg. 23). It means both avoiding seeing social action as a means to the
end of evangelism, as that falls short of what holistic mission is about, and
resisting the temptation to focus purely on meeting needs. The latter can lead
to professionalisation which catches us up in the “iron cage of bureaucracy” (pg.
30); the focus on participation “in a struggle” gets lost, along with the
potential for transformation that brings. It also risks shifting the balance of
power away from the needy, who are the ones carrying the “transformational
potential” (pg. 27).
Just as Jesus turned upside down ideas
about who’s first and last in the Kingdom of God, the challenge is to trust in
these “Gospel reversals”, so the “secure, well-meaning and well-endowed” can be
transformed (pg. 28). It means recognising what it means to be children of the
same heavenly Father, seeing others as brothers and sisters rather than
strangers, and necessitates allowing engagement in struggle and adversity by
proxy (“what discipleship is all about” – pg. 37) to unleash “cascades of
grace” that bring about unexpected gifts. This means the apparently ‘sorted’ folks
in churches can truly come alongside the poor and those in need. However, to
avoid romanticising the poor, such practice needs to be underpinned by both
careful and regular reflection, and an acknowledgement of the “pervasiveness of
sin” which infects us all (pg. 39).
Morisy goes on to talk about the
importance of ‘bridging social capital’, which “builds trust beyond one’s own
network and encourages smooth relations with strangers” (pg. 50). She contends
that this is in short supply, meaning the kind of generalised reciprocity in which people perform acts of kindness
for others without expecting anything in return, is also becoming rarer. While
the ‘bonding social capital’ found in networks can foster a deep level of care
for those in the group, it can also lead to a fear of ‘outsiders’, narrowing
horizons and reducing the “radius of social trust” in communities (pg. 51). The
involvement of voluntary organisations doesn’t always build up bridging social
capital, because the priorities and ways of working all too often end up
favouring the ‘service providers’ rather than the ‘clients’. The Church, on the
other hand, is “uniquely placed” to build up a particular type of bridging social
capital – ‘brave social capital’ – which means “a commitment to work for the
well-being of those who are not just different, but perceived as carrying a
threat or menace” (pg. 61).
Morisy writes of the power of a
“story-rich life”, which creates “an oblique route by which to influence [our]
lives, shape [our] character, and inform the priorities and decisions [we] make
in the future” (pg. 70). Here, character
is very much about values and the life lived as a result, as opposed to the
cult of personality that dominates much of public life. Thus, “generative
stories” (pg. 73) can be subversive and character-forming, transforming our
perspectives, opening us up to the power of the Gospel, and enabling the
possibility of seeing others as brothers and sisters, children of the same
heavenly Father. For me, ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ by Harper Lee is one such
influential story, which has shaped my values profoundly. However, this can
work for both good and ill, so there’s a need to make space for reflection and
perhaps gentle challenging of stories that emerge among participants in
community ministry, as “the only check on negative stories is to counter them
with other, more positive stories” (pg. 83).
To illustrate her argument, Morisy
cites the story of the action taken by churches when Derek Hatton of the BNP
became a local councillor for the Isle of Dogs. It’s an area of London with a
large Bangladeshi community, and resentments about housing allocations were
used to stir up divisions. This resonates very strongly with current times and
the rise of the obnoxious UKIP as a serious political force. The pushing of
extreme negative stories in the mass media is hard to counter using facts
alone, as those on the Left trying to rebut the lies told
about poverty and immigration have found. The lack of bridging social capital, together
with increasing segregation in housing, schooling and so on along class lines,
means many people don’t have meaningful encounters with economically
disadvantaged members of the community. There’s then no effective counterpoint
to the negativity. The coalition government have been able to take advantage of
this to push through punitive welfare ‘reforms’, and it’s a climate that allows
rhetoric like Osborne’s ‘strivers or skivers’ nonsense to get a hold on the
public imagination. Even more worrying is the cynicism with which many greet genuine
stories of hardship and the experiences of asylum seekers, for example. As
Morisy notes, Jesus’ observation about needing ‘ears to hear’ is as pertinent
today as it was back in his day (pg. 85).
Her comments on hegemony – an apparently “common-sense framework, reinforced by
routine assumptions and practices” (pg. 120), which gives rise to a hard-to-counter
narrative about how the world is – are powerful. It’s the pervasiveness of this
systematic sin that allows prejudices like those described above to assume the
status of orthodoxy. When both the working poor and the unemployed are branded as
‘feckless’ in the tabloid press, the assumption being pushed is that poverty results
from individual moral failure, rather than through systematic injustices and
sinful structures. Those of us challenging this view, drawing on resources like
the report on poverty produced by the Joint Public Issues Team, for example,
are often dismissed out of hand, because it means challenging the hegemonic
order.
The most personally challenging material
was about suburban living, and the need for the Church to challenge the
dishonesty and hiding away of vulnerability that pervades in such settings. Morisy
talks about the way in which suburban dwellers like her and me are often very
good at setting life up so as to avoid discomfort at all costs! Moreover, the
possibility of encounter with the poor and the needy is unsettling to cosy
suburban dwellers, she argues, because it makes us aware of our own sinfulness,
and lack of Omni-competence. Consequently, “the transformational potency of
being without power in an encounter is essential to holistic mission” (pg. 99).
Drawing on Jung’s concept of individuation,
she talks about the need to become one’s own person, and community ministry
acting as a way to undertake such a journey. It means being willing to accept
vulnerability as a “non-negotiable fact of life” (pg. 114), rather than distracting
ourselves with trivialities. How this process can be facilitated by the Church
is elaborated in three chapters that explore different ways in which said
Church connects with people:
· The
Explicit Domain is that which we
normally operate in, characterised by public worship and being centred on the
formularies of the Christian faith. Just as classical music has its own jargon
that can be impenetrable to someone unfamiliar with it, so Morisy contends that
many of the symbols of this explicit domain, such as sharing in bread and wine
as partaking in the body and blood of Christ, hold little meaning for those on
the outside, and can actually be repulsive. A lack of religious literacy and a
tendency among some to view the material world as all there is, means that
before people can engage with this explicit domain, foundations need to be
laid. The “possibility of God” needs to be opened up.
· The Foundational
Domain is about hospitality to “all kinds and areas of experience”,
allowing people to see pointers to a deeper ‘something’, and creating space to
introduce Jesus’ teaching and compassion into people’s consciousness. Apt liturgy can provide people with “new concepts and a new perspective”. It also “gives
an imitation of hope” (pg. 160). At its best, it enables people to articulate
their emotions and express solidarity with others. It may involve introducing a
story of Jesus’ life or teaching, space to pray and quietly reflect, putting
people’s emotions in context and enabling them to connect their situation to
wider struggles, some symbolic act that points to hope, and acknowledgement of
God’s care and concern (pg. 161). It means respecting the autonomy of others, while
hopefully building bridges that may one day allow people to cross into the
explicit domain.
· The
Vocational Domain is about creating
space for Christians and non-Christians alike to exercise vocation and
discipleship by participating in holistic mission. To take the risk of
“venturesome love” (pg. 204) enables people to discover truth “in the face of
the other” (pg. 211) and develop “moral selves”. She points to the
character-building potential of such missional work. This means opening
community ministry up to those outside the Church, as was the case with the
example of the winter night shelter programme run by churches in Hackney; this
drew in those from the wider community and enabled them to have meaningful
encounters with people they may have been fearful of in the past.
As I hope comes across, Journeying Out has given me much food
for thought. I now have a very well-annotated copy of a text that asks some hard
questions, not least that if mission is best done obliquely, then why do I
chair a mission committee?!
