The Pioneer Gift

For the final part of my series of posts in preparation for ministry selection, looking at a film, an exhibition, a non-theological book and a theological text, I’ve decided to look at a collection of essays edited by Jonny Baker and Cathy Ross, called ‘The Pioneer Gift: Explorations in Mission’. This contains twelve contributions from a range of practitioners, lay and ordained, some of whom are publishing their first such piece. I found it an interesting and thought-provoking book as someone going through a process of selection to become a minister in what’s often referred to as ‘inherited’ church, though I cannot deny I felt a sense of frustration growing inside me as I journeyed through it, alongside much useful food for thought.

I’ve explored material on fresh expressions of church and pioneer ministry before, and I struggle with the way that, for all the talk of a genuine mixed-economy church, the reality often means people like me keeping the ‘old way’ going, while others get on with the ‘creative stuff’, like we’ve created two parallel strands that don’t connect very often. While this book is much better than much of what I’ve previously read at avoiding this trap, my burning question at the end of it was, essentially, about where people like me fit into the picture. I want to and can reach out to those for whom a transformative relationship with Jesus Christ isn’t yet there, and there’s no way I’m giving up a well-paid and enjoyable job to be a professional manager of institutional decline. Yet, given I think God’s calling me to work predominantly in ‘traditional’ church, I was left wondering how that fits with a desire to move beyond its boundaries.

I’m not going to give a blow-by-blow account of each chapter, as much as anything else because Sally’s already done this extremely well in her review. Rather, I want to draw out the aspects that most interested and grabbed me, as well as pondering the above question.

So that brings me to Jonny Baker’s opening chapter, looking at the nature of the pioneer gift, which in his words is “the gift of not fitting in”. Pioneers are those who have the vision to see new possibilities and then to work to bring them to life, which he argues is something every church needs “if it is to have a future and not get stuck … if it is to be missional and move out of its comfort zone”. The church has needed such people in every age, yet the term still retains ambiguity and complexity, allowing for diversity in both its expression and the range of people called to walk its path. Consequently, it flourishes through authentic expression of what it means for each pioneer to be thus in their context, as opposed to trying to conform to predefined expectations. At its core is mission; pioneering is about orientating to the true North of the missio dei, in traversing a rapidly changing cultural landscape while learning from the Bible and history, and developing a “mission spirituality” to sustain the journey.

Baker goes on to discuss some of the difficulties encountered by pioneers and those seeking to support, train and authorise them within existing denominational structures. He argues that it needs “imagination, courage, tenacity and resilience (and indeed velocity)” to resist being sucked back into a “business as usual” framework, and that the journey of change the church needs to go on to make this smoother will not be easy. Moreover, one of the dangers in trying to share the Gospel in new contexts is that the culture of those doing so gets unwittingly imposed on the recipients, so deep engagement with those cultural contexts and a willingness on the part of pioneers to let go of some of their own preconceptions is necessary. It’s thus a gift that takes time to grow and to flourish, and requires being what he calls “path-finding dissenters”; that is, people able to “bridge the gap between the Gospel and culture, imagining and implementing new strategies”.

A good deal of the rest of the essays flow from Baker’s, and pick up on the ideas and challenges outlined above. Cathy Ross talks about her experience as part of the Church Mission Society (CMS), and outlines various aspects of what mission means in practice: sight means reading culture and context, properly seeing and therefore respecting and valuing others, and being able to imagine a different way to be that goes against the grain. Emptiness and hiddenness mean self-emptying love (with a note of caution about ignoring our own needs) and an emphasis on the aspects of discipleship that aren’t always seen and recognised, rather than focusing on headline-grabbing quantitative (numerical) growth as the end point of everything. Hospitality means mutually enriching relationship, echoing Ann Morisy’s argument about the transformative power of meeting others on equal terms, and homelessness involves stepping out into alien theological territory, into the wilderness, and letting go of current thinking to receive new insights from God.

I found this a very helpful chapter, in that while her focus is on pioneers, much of what Ross says is more widely applicable. After all, discipleship is by its nature relational, rather than something that happens in isolation. Consequently, there’s a need in every context to learn how to see anew, to catch glimpses of the unexpected and transformative things the Holy Spirit is doing in our communities, and to properly care for the marginalised and easily overlooked people that we encounter. We follow a God who took human form, was often to be found teaching, healing, challenging and receiving at the dining table, and who became the servant of all, so it’s natural that diakonia and hospitality should be central to mission. Additionally, like it or lump it, the church will need to change drastically in the coming years due to declining resources (people and financial), so we’ll all need to risk theological (and ecclesiological) homelessness in order to discover where God’s leading us next.

This idea of theological homelessness is further developed in three chapters that illustrate the need for existing doctrinal ideas to be challenged and reformed. Anna Ruddick talks about her work with the Eden Network in troubled communities, with the language of transformation being far more natural for the young people she encountered than traditional terms like salvation and redemption. Andrea Campanale works in South West London, and talks about her experience of shame being at the root of the difficulty many have trusting that God loves them, rather than a sense of sinfulness. This pushed her to explore the stories and thinking in our tradition that can speak to this and bring about healing, to help people integrate their actual and ideal selves (her ‘Screen Eucharist’ liturgy is a very powerful example of this in practice).

On a related theme, Emma Nash talks about her research on the language of sin, arguing that “we need to present sin as a profoundly relational dysfunction” that causes us to be estranged from others and God, and not simply about “guilty thoughts, words and deeds”. This also means acknowledging systematic injustices far more prominently than is often the case. Moreover, she wonders if we need to find words that don’t “require people to acknowledge wrong in their lives in the first instance” but instead “invite them to spend time with a person and experience a friendship like no other”. All this stems from findings that suggest that sin and atonement formed very little part in becoming a Christian among many of her interviewees. Additionally, the conception of sin as relating to ‘naughty thoughts’, particularly of the sexual variety, didn’t connect with people in a society where there’s more freedom than ever to construct one’s own moral code and understanding.

I found these three chapters fascinating; the question of finding language to express Christian faith that connects with people outside the church is crucial for all Christians. As a local preacher working in secular employment, predominantly with people around my own age (late 20s and early 30s), my experience has been that much of the language we take for granted simply doesn’t resonate beyond the church walls, or indeed the concepts we think are most important aren’t always those occupying others. 1 Peter talks about being able to give an account one’s faith, in that case to a bunch of Christians derided for being different and not fitting in with the world around them. If we’re going to carry on that fine tradition of not fitting in as a gift, pointing to an exciting and life-giving different way to be, as a core part of discipleship, we need to take this challenge seriously.

As an example, shame is something that experience tells me resonates with a lot of people who believe themselves unlovable for a whole variety of reasons, often connecting with deep hurts and or a sense of not living up to social expectations in some way. Lecturing people about sin in these circumstances can be not just unhelpful, but actively harmful, as Nash recognises. I once took part in research looking at the impact on transgender people of shame, in a society that is more open than many but where negative and hostile attitudes to gender nonconformity can lead to people struggling with self-hatred or profound embarrassment. In that situation, being able to speak of God’s loving acceptance and always having known and delighted in us exactly as we really are, has the potential to bring about healing and help people towards wholeness. Placing too much emphasis on sin, on the other hand, risks further alienating a group generally wary of Christianity, for good reason.

Moving from some of the gifts pioneers can offer the wider church to some of the difficulties they experience living with it, Doug Gay and Gerald Arbuckle talk about some of the frustrations of dealing with existing institutions, and obstacles to bringing about change, respectively. Gay (who I met on Iona once upon a time…) is a lecturer in practical theology at the University of Glasgow. He discusses not being able to get permission to start up a new project from the local incumbent, and the issues caused by not having ‘permission-givers’ enabled to make things happen in his denomination, the Church of Scotland. Arbuckle, an anthropologist now working in Australia, explores the nature of myth. He reflects on the hope for reform present at the time of Vatican II, and what went wrong as cultures and structures did not change enough to prevent conservatism regaining the upper hand.

These two chapters point to one of the challenges I guess pioneers face: how to carve out the space to enable them to take risks and start something new. Feeling threatened by new people rocking up, or worrying about Christianity being dumbed down in some sense, are probably common reasons for hostility towards pioneers arising. It also takes time and concerted effort to bring about cultural change. However, I do wonder if this is a two-way problem, and that actually pioneers may not notice some of the gifts and resources that inherited church has to offer. Perhaps they sometimes fail to recognise that although starting from a different base, there are those of us looking to straddle the two worlds, to connect with the surrounding culture and context in ways that engage those on the edges of or outside the church, alongside refusing to give up on what’s there already. There’s also an issue that pervades church life generally, of cliques forming and those on the outside not being taken seriously, on both ‘sides’.

With that backdrop, Karlie Allaway’s contribution was a breath of fresh air. It gave me hope that the false dichotomy between inherited church and fresh expressions/pioneer ministry is gradually being broken down, at least in some contexts. Allaway is a Roman Catholic, and she reflects on the challenges and joys of living together in community and the central role for her of sacramentality. Coming from that tradition myself (I’m a recovering Anglo-Catholic!), it makes a great deal of sense that a sacramental worldview “does something profound to your imagination. When you can see how beautiful everything is meant to be, or rather actually is, this makes you look differently”. Making the connection with Walter Brueggemann’s ‘The Prophetic Imagination’, she argues that sacramental communities could be surprisingly prophetic through the experience of being marginalised, and thus learning to see things differently. From this base, her community engaged meaningfully in mission and made a difference to others. I also appreciated her vulnerability, and her prayer of becoming is beautiful.

Overall, this is an interesting book that made me think, has influenced my preaching and worship leading, and challenged my understanding of mission. It has a good range of material, and while full of thoughtful reflection on experience, isn’t light on theological exploration. However, I did also feel somewhat irritated that, although better than most at not succumbing to the temptation to pit inherited church and pioneer ministry against one another, this was still there, implicitly if not explicitly, in many of the essays. I can’t help but wonder where someone like me fits into the picture. I’m attracted to the Methodist Diaconal Order because I like the idea of working on the margins and with those outside church, though the importance for me of the sacraments means presbyteral ministry makes more sense. I also feel a desire to step out, take risks and try new things, but to do so from a base in inherited church, rather than as a pioneer minister. So where do I fit in? Or is the real value in not fitting in anywhere?

Pondering the Turner Prize 2014

As part of the candidating process for ordained ministry, I have to reflect theologically on a theological book, a non-theological book, a film and a cultural event. For the latter, I have chosen to look at the 2014 Turner Prize, with the exhibition having been held at the Tate Britain in London. I managed to get along a couple of times to see the four artists’ work; the nominees were James Richards, Clara Phillips, Tris Vonna-Michell and the eventual winner, Duncan Campbell.

Richards was nominated for his video Rosebud, which manipulates and weaves together photographs taken from, among other sources, images found in a Tokyo public library censored to remove anything that might be considered erotic or arousing, VHS videos rescued from charity shops and original close-up footage shot by Richards himself. The result is a thirteen-minute collage overlaid with a soundtrack made up of amplified incidental noises in response to the visuals, which according to the exhibition guide results in “a restricted set of image sensations” that explores the joy of the act of looking. Some of shots are quite shocking, such as a close-up of a boot pressing hard on a man’s head; others retain a clear eroticism despite the censor’s best efforts, and many explore the boundaries between interior and exterior, public and private. The images quickly shift from one to another with the key action often taking place out of shot, more implied than spelt out, and the guide argues that the close-ups and high definition presentation makes even the mundane sensual.

Vonna-Michell’s work, Postscript, consists of two short films and a collection of images of such disconnected objects as fragments of old letters and a half-eaten Creme Egg, some of which feature in said films. These are both performance pieces in which the artist tells stories of searching for clues to help him make sense of his identity as a German-born man raised in Southend. They’re delivered at a breathless pace in brief snippets, sometimes repeated and often disjointed and anxiously delivered, a bit like the verbal equivalent of a random walk, while we watch a collection of slides that bear varying degrees of relationship to the narratives, but which in places provide something of a springboard for them. The first involves a search for the French sound artist, Henri Chopin, who lived close to where the artist grew up and whom his father says can illuminate why Vonna-Michell ended up in Essex, and the second an attempt to make sense of his parents’ stories about Berlin at the beginning of the Cold War. There is a vulnerability in this work, as childhood experiences and longing for meaning are interspersed with fictional twists, resulting in ultimately frustrated journeying.

Phillips is, unlike the other three, a print artist and her exhibition for the Prize involved the bringing together of various previous works. Her style is predominantly collaborative, and this was reflected in the spoken alphabet booth, the words having come from conversations during some printing work with women’s groups in 2010. The walls were adorned with recurring prints, most abstract-appearing (Phillips utilises mistakes and quirks in the printing process) and others various poses by a female model, and there was a large ‘OK’ on one of the walls. Finally, a large sculptured letter ‘K’ was used to present various prints from previous collaborations.

Campbell’s winning contribution was a film called It for Others, which I have to confess I didn’t see in its entirety, but which offers a profound and compelling discussion of the impact of commoditisation of art. It was inspired by a 1953 film by Chris Marker and Alan Resnais called Statues Also Die, about the “objectification and fetishisation” of African art in the face of western consumer demand, focusing on the Benin sculptures in the British Museum. As Campbell’s anxious female narrator points out, when discussing them, the Museum’s director conveniently overlooked uncomfortable aspects of and questions around colonialism when interviewed, and robbed of their original purpose and meaning, these everyday items become dead. Campbell takes this further, and as we’re shown various African masks, we’re also invited to ponder how art is ascribed its monetary value. A later part of the piece uses anthropomorphic food advertising using various scenarios around a dining table. Another section features a striking original piece of choreography by the Michael Clark company, spelling out ideas from Marx’s Das Kapital. Perhaps the most powerful bit of the film, though, is an exploration of how images of IRA martyrs came to be used for commercial and political aims during the Troubles – the famous image of Joe McCann by a fire ended up on Christmas cards!

My reaction to the four pieces, which I’ve outlined in the order one was directed around them in the gallery, was varied. Richards’ film got me thinking a little about quantum mechanics, in which the act of looking determines the state of an object (think Schrödinger’s Cat); seeing things very close-up and/or from the edges lends a different perspective to the act of looking, in which meanings aren’t always clear, yet to be fully formed by seeing clearly. I wonder how much of our perception of God is like that… I found Vonna-Michell’s films fascinating as well as frustrating; they invite us to ask ourselves what forms our sense of identity: how far is it to do with our parents and origins, especially in an age where many are keen to trace family trees, the things of our past and inner sense of who we are, or something found by looking beyond this to the bigger picture of the story of God?

I must confess that Phillips’ prints didn’t particularly grab me in any meaningful way, but I did find Campbell’s film compelling. The questions raised around the value we place on objects and indeed people are highly pertinent, especially in this neo-liberal and consumerist age with its Black Fridays and appropriation of seemingly anything for monetary gain, and they link in with some of the themes in my non-theological book by Owen Jones, which I’ll explore in a later post. Moreover, it got me thinking about how things might be different if we viewed the world not in these terms, but through a lens which tries to reflect the value God puts on people and things.

Five Stones and a Burnt Stick

"We have been created for intimacy: intimacy with God and intimacy with others", says God in the opening chapter of 'Five Stones and a Burnt Stick' by Ernesto Lozada-Uzuriaga Steele. This short book is an exploration of what it means to experience an intimate relationship with God and with other people, intermingling Moses' encounter with God in the burning bush with preparations for his return to his people, ready to lead them out of oppression and slavery in Egypt. While it makes connections with the Biblical narrative in Exodus, the book is an imaginative exploration which aims to open up Moses' character and familial relationships in a deeper way.

 

In the burning bush sections, God reveals some of the secrets of intimacy to Moses, which include Demarcation, Difference, Dwelling, Disclosure, Discovery and the Sacred Fire. Demarcation is about needing to maintain boundaries for our own protection and in order to respect the integrity of others, while Difference unsurprisingly means recognising and affirming that which makes us all unique, seeing our differences as a gift and not a threat. In this, Steele picks up on similar ideas to those expressed by Rowan Williams in an essay on loneliness in 'Open to Judgement', in which the former Archbishop of Canterbury explores what it means to be human and to uniquely reflect God's image.

 

In a church environment often packed with words, Dwelling invites us to let our bodies go and simply to dance with God, as a way of expressing the language of our hearts. I love the image of the Trinity as being about the dance at the heart of the community of God, and here I feel Steele is inviting us to join in that risky but passionate movement. Disclosure offers an interesting take on original sin, with the fear that so often separates us from God and one another depicted as the mighty Leviathan, a beast that dwells in human hearts which must be disclosed, confronted, named and overcome, though as Steele indicates implicitly, the latter is ultimately God's work through Christ, rather than ours. Finally, Discovery acknowledges that intimacy is a lifelong journey, rather than something we acquire in a one-off event, and the Sacred Fire is much like the Quakers' idea of the light within, the indwelling of the Spirit which leads human beings into intimacy.

 

The narrative sections of the book explore Moses' relationships with God, his wife Zipporah, his son Gerson, his brother Aaron, and ultimately himself, prior to the exodus (the handing on of the tradition to Moses' daughter Miriam, who comes along after the exodus, bookends the main story). I found the reunion with Aaron and their discussion the most powerful of these, which shows something of Steele's passion for liberation theology and resonates with the depiction of the plight of the Israelites in the recent film 'Exodus: Gods and Kings'. The importance of Moses' artwork to the story also surely reflects Steele's own vocation as an artist, and I liked how the sharing of this with Zipporah and Gerson formed two of the most intimate and powerful sections of the story. However, I have to confess that I found the sexual scenes to be somewhat embarrassing to read; I hope I'm not prudish, but can't help feel there's such a thing as too much information!

 

This poetic and interesting book has much to recommend it, and I'm grateful for the gifts of a copy of the text and the invitation to write this review. Overall, I found the narrative less helpful than the burning bush sections of the book in exploring the nature of intimacy in a meaningful way, but there are useful ideas contained in both parts of the text which are worth exploring. Perhaps its biggest weakness is the dialogue, which at times felt unnatural and more like formal theological language lifted from an essay than anything one can imagine people actually saying in conversation. However, it's worth bearing with this to get to the gems therein, some of which this review has highlighted.

 

 

 

Five Stones & a Burnt Stick

 

Ernesto Lozada-Uzuriaga Steele

 

2014

 

Whispering Tree Original Books

 

ISBN: 978-0-9927363-1-6



Magic in the Moonlight

As part of the candidating process, I have to be ready to discuss and reflect theologically upon a theological book, a non-theological book, a film and an exhibition of some sort. For my film, I've chosen 'Magic in the Moonlight', a sweet romantic comedy written and directed by Woody Allen and starring Colin Firth and Emma Stone.

Stanley Crawford (Firth) is a magician who uses the stage name Wei Ling Soo; he specialises in vanishing elephants, sawing women in half and unexpected reappearances. His oriental illusionism is highly successful, and we first find him in Berlin, in the middle of a 1928 tour of Europe. In addition to his stage show, Stanley is a renowned skeptic when it comes to all things spiritual and religious. He has a reputation for unmasking fake mediums and utter contempt for the idea of there being anything beyond the material world, complete with an arrogance that would make Mr Darcy cringe! The story begins with him encountering an old friend and fellow magician, Howard, who asks for help in trying to rumble a young American medium called Sophie Baker (Stone), who is currently in the French Riviera with a rich American family, the Catledges. Never one to resist a challenge, Stanley agrees to go there and reveal another fraudster. However, things don't go quite as he anticipates...

Upon arrival, Stanley manages to get on the wrong side of Caroline Catledge and her husband George by implying that anyone taken in by a medium must be somewhat dim. He next succeeds in confusing Caroline's brother Brice, who is thoroughly smitten with Sophie and practicing serenading her, with his sarcasm and ridiculing tone. When he finally meets Sophie, who is chaperoned by her mother, she gets a 'mental impression' of him as being connected in some way with the Orient and having had recent business in Germany. This doesn't particularly impress him, but at a later séance, a candle that Howard confirms wasn't being manipulated in some way seemingly floats in mid air of its own accord. This does make him stop and think! Later, Sophie reveals his true identity as Wei Ling Soo, and in a subsequent visit to Stanley's beloved aunt Vanessa, appears to discern details of a secret love affair by handling a set of pearls. The latter is enough to convince Stanley that Sophie is not just another charlatan, but the real deal.

As the two talk, it becomes clear that Stanley sees himself as an ardent rationalist. For him, the notion of there being any meaning or purpose to life is just childish thinking, a crutch that people need to drop even if hanging onto such beliefs gives them hope or helps them cope with life's ups and downs. He sees spiritualists as preying on vulnerable people, and religion as a kind of comfort blanket; moreover, he states that the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche has dealt with the 'God matter'. Even his relationship with his fiancé Olivia has more to do with logic than love. Yet, meeting Sophie has begun to open his eyes to new possibilities. There's one scene where their car breaks down and they take shelter in an observatory Stanley once visited as a child; he talks about being freaked out by the vastness of the universe as a boy, but next to Sophie it doesn't feel intimidating. Instead, he agrees when she calls it romantic. They later spend a week together while Brice, who is keen to propose to Sophie and is planning an elaborate honeymoon, is away on business. It's clear that Sophie's growing increasingly close to him, and that she's enriched and brightened up his dull, pessimistic life. However, while Stanley is prepared to stand up in front of the press to affirm Sophie's gifts and tell the world he's been wrong all these years, he doesn't reciprocate her feelings.

Matters come to a head when, having just finished his press conference, Stanley is told that Vanessa has been in a car crash and is seriously injured. George drives him to the hospital, and he begins to pray for her safety. However, after rambling about having no right to ask anything of God, he snaps out of it and realises he's being played for a fool. He returns to the Catledges' house to confront Sophie - if she is what she says she is, why didn't she predict the accident? After he supposedly goes for a lie down, Howard and Sophie talk about the former's joy about finally having got one over on his old friend with the latter's help, getting a shock when Stanley unexpectedly reappears in a nearby chair. He initially refuses to forgive them, but a later conversation with a now recovered Vanessa helps him see that, irrational as it appears to be, he loves Sophie more than he admires Olivia. There's a wonderfully funny scene in which he tries to propose by telling Sophie how lucky she'd be to have someone like him (a genius, apparently!), as opposed to Brice and his money. Although initially unmoved, the film ends with the two kissing, having finally got there!

I love this film, partly because it's simply a very sweet, gentle comedy with a happy ending and much humour along the way, and partly because it raises some interesting questions. Sally and I saw it together and realised that many of the arguments we've had throughout our relationship about the place of science and rationality over against what I would regard as superstition and nonsense were being played out on the screen. Coming from a scientific background (I have a physics PhD), I'm deeply sceptical about things like stories of paranormal activity and claims to communicate with the dead, whereas I guess she's more open to those things as possibilities. However, I am a deeply committed Christian, which is something that I appreciate requires a leap of faith, a trust in something that cannot be verified using the scientific method.

In the film, Stanley is portrayed as a kind of cross between Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens, with a splash of Mr Darcy at his worst, who by his own admission towards the end of the film needed bringing down a peg or two. I'm ashamed to say it reminds me somewhat of my teenage self! He comes to realise that there is more to life than can simply be arrived at using cold logic, and that if nothing else, love certainly is a kind of magic. My own journey of coming to faith involved has been fundamentally shaped by a couple of encounters with God that don't make any sense if I try to explain them any other way. In later posts, I want to explore the relationship between the physical sciences and Christian faith in more depth, as the film asks the question of how a scientist can also believe in Gog, but for today, I want to finish by sharing one of my most powerful experiences of God at work in my life, confounding logic.

The first term of my PhD study in Durham was really tough, as I was moving into physics from pure mathematics and finding the graduate courses I had to do overwhelming, as well as home being a scary place for various reasons. At the end of that term, I went back to Bath for a few days to escape, and got cajoled into going to the CU carol service. The talk was basically about how babies are cute, so I tuned out and spent time admiring the Abbey ceiling. Something he said at the end of the talk (can’t remember what) must’ve touched something deep in me, though, as I burst into tears and couldn’t stop crying. A couple of days later, I found myself praying that if God really loved me, I needed to know for sure. Through a combination of circumstances, I found myself reading ‘The Growing Pains of Adrian Plass’ a few days later. In this book, there’s a passage where he imagines Jesus welcoming adopted children; even the kid who’s scared and hiding at the back gets a glimpse of Jesus’ smile and knows they’re loved. That touched something deep down inside; it was like the scared child within me getting a huge hug. That night, God’s love became a reality, rather than an intellectual construct.

Advent and Taking Stock

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, and the beginning of a new liturgical year. Having read this post by Miranda Threlfall-Holmes about taking stock of things at the end of the year, and realising both how much has happened in the past year and what is to come in the next few days, I've decided to do my own bit of reflection.

 

This time a year ago, I'd finally started the correct dose of testosterone after a cock-up by the gender clinic meant I was only taking one seventh of the right amount for three months! In that time, my body has changed enormously, which has done a great deal to relieve my gender dysphoria. It's even been worth going through a mini-menopause as well as second puberty! Perhaps the most significant changes have been that my voice has broken and my facial features have changed, meaning it's now fairly rare to get mis-gendered or hassled in public. I feel a whole lot happier and more comfortable in my own skin as a result, and I hope this is reflected in how I come across to others. I've also been working hard to prepare for my chest surgery; after seeing the surgeon in February (one day after my 30th birthday), I've lost over two stone and improved my fitness beyond all recognition in preparation for the operation, which will be on 4th December, all being well. I cannot deny being scared, but also cannot wait to be de-boobed, if I can put it like that!

 

Reckon I now scrub up pretty well!

 

I suppose the other big thing is that in September, I began the process of offering for Methodist presbyteral ministry. I started out going to the local (circuit) gathering and having my sense of calling unanimously affirmed by those who've got to know me over the past four years as something worth exploring further. That was pretty overwhelming; I don't know what I expected to happen, but it certainly wasn't such a resounding vote of confidence - I still get a tad choked-up about it, to be honest. Prior to that vote, I completed an eight-day placement in Leicester, back in June, which was really inspiring. The minister I shadowed, Dave, struck me as really living out what I think I'm called to do - to help people recognise that they matter and can make a difference in their community. Reflecting on that formed just one part of the work for my eight-thousand word portfolio which got submitted at the beginning of November, and I've also completed two assessed services, survived a psychotherapist appointment and filled in a thousand-and-one forms!

 

Having started out the process wondering what all the fuss was about, I now reckon that it's impossible to take it seriously and not end up being heavily emotionally invested in the whole business. I've found the journey thus far to be very affirming, and it's made me realise that whatever its outcome, I've got something to offer and I'm not wasting others' time by candidating! That isn't something I find easy, because while my self-esteem has improved beyond all recognition and my barriers don't immediately slam up these days, I still struggle with praise even more than criticism, and honesty forces me to admit that I don't always handle the latter very well. However, I've got my head around the idea that God has given me gifts with which to serve him, join her in building up the Kingdom, and play an active role in the life of the Church. If nothing else, the process has made that penny drop! The next step is regional (district) selection at the end of January.

 

This year has also been massive in that Sally and I have celebrated our first wedding anniversary. I feel very blessed to have someone as wonderful and zany as her in my life, who's willing to put up with me, even though I sing Beatles songs loudly and out of tune in the shower in the mornings, on the days when I've not just being grumpy! It's just one of a number of firsts for this year: I visited somewhere I've wanted to go for years (Canterbury Cathedral) at Easter, visited Madrid on multiple occasions with work while validating operational risk capital models, went to my first Glyndebourne, shaved my face for the first time, spoke at Greenbelt as part of a panel discussion, became an LGBT Champion at work and managed to run over ten kilometres without collapsing like an asthmatic wheezing wreck! I've enjoyed documenting the year with a picture for each day on Facebook, even though some days the evening's TV was the most exciting thing that happened...

 

As you can see, it's been a busy year. As a final thought for this post, I was at a Two23 meeting yesterday and we sang this song at the end, which with all the emotions around candidating and my upcoming surgery and how kind and encouraging and loving so many people have been to me individually and Sally and me as a couple, made me burst into tears. It's about God's love surrounding us, which is very much how it feels at the moment:

 

 

 

 

Journeying Out

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?!

Acts and Omissions

Sally was asked to review a new book, which was previously published as a set of weekly instalments on the author’s blog, called ‘Acts and Omissions’ by Catherine Fox. I’ve been off to Spain again recently for work, which means lots of time sat around with nothing to do. I’d had a brief look at the book before I left and found myself laughing out loud. Consequently, I figured it would pass the time on the plane and stuck in the hotel very nicely, so I decided to pinch Sally’s proof copy and take it with me. Having now finished the said novel, I’m getting in there first and posting my review.

The story’s set in the fictional Anglican diocese of Lindchester, and follows a year (specifically, 2013) in the life of various of its inhabitants, including the bishop and cathedral staff, some of the local clergy, and others they come into contact with along the way. Fictional events are interwoven with actual happenings, such as the passing of the Equal Marriage bill and attempt to resurrect the measure to allow women to become bishops. It’s clear that Fox has spent a good deal of time around both cathedrals and universities; she studied in both Durham and London to gain her theology PhD, and she’s married to the dean of Liverpool Cathedral, hence the depictions of cathedral life in particular are deliciously naughty. It does have the downside that there’s a lot of ‘insider’ jokes there, but having spent far too long loitering in Durham Cathedral as a PhD student, I couldn’t help but think of real people I know and smile…

The novel primarily focuses around the adventures of the decent but conflicted bishop of Lindchester, Paul Henderson. He has a reputation for taking in waifs and strays, and his latest is a young blonde gay walking disaster area called Freddie May. No-one, not even his wife Suzanna, who deals with life’s ups and downs in typical Christian fashion – by baking – quite understands why Paul’s so taken with Freddie, whose capacity to mess things up is quite remarkable. Our first introduction to him (Freddie) sees him rolling off the bishop’s palace roof after getting stoned on New Year’s Eve, so hardly an auspicious beginning! The young Mr May continues to cause trouble for the Hendersons, the bishop’s chaplain and secretary, the archdeacon and many others, yet it’s hard not to like Freddie, who’s immensely talented as a singer but also very hurt by things that have happened in his past.

Fox’s sympathetic portrayal of May is typical of her narrative as a whole, from Father Wendy who carries her grief over her daughter’s death as a daily burden as she walks her elderly dog Lulu along the river paths, to Dr Jane Rossiter, a hard-nosed feminist historian with a propensity to develop migraines at the mere mention of university administration, who’s dealing with empty-nest syndrome after her son takes off to do a gap year in New Zealand with his dad, via the love-struck archdeacon, Matt, whose ethics and desire for his new partner come into conflict when sex appears on the cards. I particularly like Father Dominic, a gay Anglo-Catholic who is an excellent parish priest, simply because he really deeply loves the people he’s been given to lead and to care for, yet who finds being single (not through choice) difficult at times. He reminds me of various people I know, and in that captures one of the strengths of the book; Fox’s depictions are very real and honest.

While thoroughly taking apart the way church life can be utterly disconnected from the rest of the world, and frequently ribbing certain parts of said church (evangelicals don’t come off too well – Liverpool experience shining through, perhaps?), Fox nonetheless avoids painting one-dimensional pictures or merely wheeling out stereotypes. Her characters’ vulnerability and humanity comes through, and I found myself both laughing out loud on the metro in Madrid (which it appears is just as frowned upon as laughing on the Tube!), particularly following the antics of the Dean’s camp and hilariously rude husband, Gene, and then crying buckets, as life takes its toll on the characters and they get themselves into interesting situations.

The book doesn’t shy away from dealing with difficult subject matter, not least the way the Anglican Church’s muddle when it comes to sexual ethics, in particular homosexuality and sexual identity, impact its clergy. It’s hard to say more without giving away the plot, sufficed to say that the fallout from the messiness that engulfs some of the main characters is written in such a way that it’s possible to feel deep sympathy for the participants, while being angry about the way the church (and wider society) forces people to tie themselves up in knots as they navigate their way through the muddle.

I wholeheartedly recommend this book to my churchy friends everywhere, though while Fox attempts to translate the oddities of the Church of England into something readily comprehensible outside of its mysterious little world, I do fear a certain amount would be lost on someone unacquainted with its peculiar little ways… Looking forward to the upcoming sequel!

 

Title: Acts and Omissions

Author: Catherine Fox

Publisher: SPCK Publishing (17 July 2014)
ISBN: 0281072345

Book Launch 1 - Three Men on a Pilgrimage

Today, I’m going to be helping with a book launch at my church: a member of one of the Sunday morning congregations has written a novel, and a friend of one of the ministers has penned an apologetics text. As the Chair of the Fundraising Group, I’ve been asked to interview the two authors and have conversations with them about their books. Having never done anything like this before, I’m rather nervous, but decided that as preparation is no doubt the key, reviewing the books would help me focus my thoughts and formulate some interesting questions. Here goes, then!

The first of the two books is Three Men on a Pilgrimage: A Comical Progress by Thomas Jones, and is the story of three men, simply known as J., G., and B., who decide to go on a short pilgrimage-come-walking-holiday to Canterbury, after the former becomes convinced of his own sinfulness. After reading a pamphlet given to him by two suited-and-booted door-knocking Christians, J. decides he’s guilty of avarice (it’s a vey good job his parents didn’t buy him that toy castle!), as well as gluttony, lust (since the age of thirteen), jealously and wrath (especially when low on sleep). Hence, he suggests to G. and B. that they need to do something good for their souls, and so they decide to walk to Canterbury Cathedral via numerous pubs and accompanied by G.’s dog, Monty. What follows is a series of comical encounters with an assortment of weird and wonderful characters that raise various questions about Christian faith.

As such, the author addresses, through the use of these short tales, a range of issues from the necessity of suffering and the nature of hell, to the problems with atheism born of ignorance and the irrationality of the universe. Jones is the son of a Methodist minister who studied creative writing at the University of Wales in Lampeter, and in the Acknowledgements section, he suggests that a lot of the ideas for the topics covered, and indeed the arguments offered, came about through engaging in philosophical and theological debates down the pub as a student. This comes through in the book, which has a chatty and relaxed style while making some serious points along the way. I therefore found myself being made both to think and laugh as I worked my way through the book, as well as being pulled up short a couple of times.

To give you a flavour of the story, along the way the three men and their dog encounter what looks like evidence of a dinosaur on the loose in a quiet village (is there something in people’s varied experiences of God?), a man who claims to love chicken stew but always removes all the contents before drinking the residue (there’s only so much content you can remove from Christianity before you’re left with nothing), a crowd who are furiously angry about people who sleep with their feet touching the headboards (a parody of some attitudes towards homosexuality in the church), a surprisingly theological young supermarket worker who gets besieged by old people looking for discounts (and who recognises that begging for more blessings and being a fair-weather friend is what he does to God), and a manic on a mobility scooter (on how science may have removed the need for hell), which brought back some fond memories of my own exploits on such machines…

Some memorable recurring characters also appear from time to time, such as a mysterious millionaire who gives out large sums of free money to people. One of them is an elderly woman called Elsa who in return takes part in a weekly ‘reverse lottery’, trying to guess the numbers that led to her ‘winning’ fifty million pounds (as a way of exploring the relationship between justification and sanctification). Another is a homeless chap who uses the money to buy himself an ever-increasingly large house, and who gets defensive when asked why he doesn’t give some of the money to the struggling homeless shelter he once depended upon. We’re told the man, that nobody’s ever seen properly, has a big house in Canterbury … and it seems God crops up in various guises throughout the book.

Without wanting to spoil the end of the story, when the three finally make it to Canterbury Cathedral, they find they’ve no money to get into the building (don’t get me started on having to pay to go into a church!) or even to get the train home, and find themselves needing to accept charity from a Big Issue seller they’d refused to give change to only a short while earlier. It’s then they realise that there’s something familiar about all these people they keep encountering, and how much they still have to learn about the grace of God.

The new atheists Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens are very effectively parodied along the way as well, respectively as Dick Dorkins, who doesn’t believe in atoms yet is blissfully ignorant of what he’s dismissing, and Kit Kitchens, a blind man who doesn’t believe in clouds as he’s never seen them. I think these will make good sermon illustrations, and I may well pinch them at some point!

There are forty chapters altogether and so plenty of material to get stuck into, but two particular episodes in the book that stuck in my mind for very different reasons are that of J. finding three hundred pounds in a pub toilet, and the three men encountering a woman who’s been beaten by her husband but refuses to leave him. In the first story, J. finds the cash and having not spotted anyone else in the pub, determines immediately to hand it over to the landlord. When the owner of the cash returns to the toilets, he instead hands him the money back to them, again without hesitation. So far, so good; however, when he finds himself boasting to G. and B. about what a good person he is, J. realises he may need to add pride to his list of sins after all! It’s a very good illustration of how morality is a complicated business, and how muddled our motivations can be.

By contrast, the story of the woman who decides to go back to her violent husband and love him until he changes made me angry. While I can see that God’s love is such that he does stick with us even though he reject him, often violently, time and again, we should no more encourage someone to stay in an abusive relationship in the hope the violent partner will change than assume, as J., G. and B. do, that women (or indeed men) in that situation aren’t capable of exercising agency. It’s rare I find myself wanting to say ‘check your privilege’, but this story brought out the need to be very careful in how far we seek to push analogies, and to think through the pastoral implications of what we’re saying. It was the one really problematic passage in an otherwise very well-written and thought-provoking novel.

Overall, I very much enjoyed and recommend Three Men on a Pilgrimage, and am looking forward to reading it again at a more leisurely pace.