Perhaps this is the hardest test for Evangelicalism. We have been birthed through the reasonable argument of Biblical certainty in the midst of an environment of Liberalism. We have revelation in which we place our utmost confidence. We claim to be able to know the truth. We are comforted by such certainties.
There is much in this heritage for which we should be thankful. Yet perhaps we have been so focussed on certainty that we have given little room for mystery. Our communion services depict symbolism rather than sacraments. Our gospel sermons declare decision rather than pilgrimage. Yet we continue to be faced with the fact that there is more that we don’t understand than what we do.
It seems to me that the gospel is more an anchor for the soul than certainty for the mind. In many ways the story is unreasonable. In fact, it has to be said that it is outrageous. Some groups suggest that the scandal is that we have been offered salvation at all, but I would suggest that this places more emphasis upon sin, than it does upon the fullness of the grace of God. Perhaps we experience a prodigal (wasteful) God in the representation of the father in the story. I wonder whether it could be said that God's love is so great that he outweighs our wastefulness with his own willingness to waste, or lavish, his grace upon us.
Our ability to reason might help us when the circumstances of our lives seem fair and palatable. Our emotional response of happiness to the idea of forgiveness might help us in worship when everything is calm. But as we journey through the life that we have been given we are faced with some offensive images. The death of a loved one cannot be easily covered over by a smile and a Bible verse. Persecution cannot be earned by adopting a cheery disposition and discussing abstract theology.
Ultimately both our minds and our emotions are ravaged and we hold on to the still small voice that reminds us that whatever else happens, it will be ‘well with my soul’.
At those times it is only the mysterious movement of the Holy Spirit as he breathes on the words of Scripture and into the hearts of women and men (who come to our aid). This wind, who blows wherever he pleases, and who cannot be contained nor understood, comes to comfort and reassure.
I am persuaded that there is truth that can be relied upon. Yet without our willingness to both embrace the truth and celebrate the mystery we will never fully rely upon the work of the Holy Spirit.
The incarnation is a mystery. Those who wish to reason with it will enjoy a long discussion. Those who choose to add to that discussion a recognition of the mystery will perhaps find an anchor for the soul.
So how do we express this in a way that will become useful to us in a practice?
Amiel Osmaston (27) offers to us three images of church models: 'fuzzy', 'centred', and 'bounded'. Each of these models reflects something of the way in which local churches operate. She draws our attention to the relationship of the church to communities, showing us that gathered churches tend to have clearly defined walls between themselves and those outside. Parish churches tend to have less clearly defined boundaries.
From her work I have produced two clear examples that compare the usual evangelical model (Single Access) with a more incarnational model (Open Access). (Fig 1. Single, Open)
The 'Single Access' model shows how evangelical churches see the route towards belonging as having only a single access point; essentially a definite acknowledgement of faith in Christ, as understood by the group. In actuality each group is likely to describe this in different ways by attaching to this single theme a number of other components, including service, giving, baptism, personal devotion, theology, moral choices.
Even when churches adopt a more missional approach the presence of different access points in terms of church programmes, will still be ultimately secondary to the main goal of a confession of faith, as described above.
The 'Open Access' model shows that the routes to belonging are allowed to develop in a more organic way. Emphasis is placed upon the individual journey and room is given for people to find engagement with the group in a variety of ways. Pressure is taken off the need to 'seal the deal' as if we are selling salvation. The reliance is upon the work of the Holy Spirit to guide people, even if others do not always see this happen.
The Grubb Institute’s report ‘The Parish Church’ (28), in its discussion about the nature of the church highlights the strengths and weaknesses of the 'associational' and 'communal' forms of church. In doing so, it seems to indicate that neither model will suffice in meeting the needs of the calling of the church.
The problem seems to be that we find it too easy to look for choices between various models of ecclesiology. These models reflect the theology and hope of the movement from which they were born.
It is my belief, however, that we need to place each church, willingly, into the position of tension that we see in the New Testament. As we do this, although, or more accurately because, the New Testament does not give us an exact model we will recognise that no single model will bring us the required framework for our operation. The church, mystical as it is, is far too complex for that to be the case. No model, or group of models will ever be enough; for without the life of the presence of God and the underpinning of love that is detailed in 1 Corinthians 13, we will never offer relevant meaning to a watching world. We need to develop models that are organically based, rather than structurally ordered.
David Clark (29) indicates this when he says: ‘unless the church can end its own captivity to closed structures, and demonstrate in practice the reality of Christian community, the Good News will fall on deaf ears’.
Although our search should continue, I have taken two distinct models to explore how we can live in the tension between them. The two main themes that concern me about our existence are holiness and mission. As previously stated they need to be held in tension. Jesus met both requirements as he walked in holiness yet met with the marginalized. He showed us the possibility of being connected yet distinct at the same time. We need to find that place for our churches to exist. The 'gathered' model, often adopted by congregational style churches (Pentecostal, Baptist etc), offers to us an environment for expressing aspects of our separatedness. It offers what Martyn Percy (30) calls a ‘sacred canopy’ under which people can gather.
It draws people towards certain distinctives and calls them to make a definitive choice to cross over into the purposes of God. As Jesus called his followers he presented them with clear choices and the New Testament shows us that we have moved from one kingdom to another. The idea of pilgrimage shows us that we have a clear destination and that steps need to be taken in order to progress in our journey. Yet the gathered church is faced with a problem: what does it do with its contact with the world in terms of mission.
Newbigin (31) speaks of a ‘hermeneutical circle’ as a model for church communities where ‘Scripture and tradition, tradition and Scripture are in a constantly developing reciprocal relationship.’ In charismatic and pentecostal terms this could be more appropriately stated as Scripture and experience, experience and Scripture: even though, as stated earlier, experience is perhaps another word for tradition. Either way, Newbigin rightly goes on to point out that it is not completely possible to use this model: ‘what happens at the boundary between this community of faith and the world that lives without this faith?’.
So we, who have tended to embrace the gathered idea of church, need to look for another expression towards our communities.
The parish model presents to us with more of an idea of connectedness. Whereas association churches, by nature of the model, give clear parameters in which connections are found to be acceptable, the communal model speaks of connections without walls. Here is our model for mission. Living with the people sharing their tears and laughter. Being so close to the boundaries of people's lives that when crisis comes, they might move their thoughts to include the church and its message.
Perhaps it is the parish model’s ability to be salt and the gathered model's ability to be light that makes these two models useful to each other. Perhaps only when we have the two in tension can we reach something of our full potential. Again, I would want to transfer these meanings to the twin motifs of rootedness and openness.
We see our communities as being in a parish in which everyone has the same value and to whom we bring the salt of the gospel; binding wounds, fighting injustice, sharing life.
We see our churches as having something distinct to offer as we gather around the cross; shining a light of holiness and truth.
Perhaps a good starting point in this discussion is to see the two models as a fusion of the passion to ‘be’ and the power to ‘do’.
Berkouwer (32) notes that it is possible to find an ideal place between these two themes ‘if the church is truly the church, the problem of two kinds of ecclesiology, in which stress is laid either on the church’s being or her functionality in the world, dissolves.’
Although it is somewhat idealistic to hope for a time when there is no tension between being and doing, it does show that both factors are of equal importance. Only when equal weight is given to both models will we be pulled into the most effective place and then perhaps Berkouwer is right in suggesting that the sight of two models ‘dissolves’ and one model becomes apparent.
In a sense I am suggesting that the acceptance of several available models of church creates the necessary tension that drives us to asking question that would not be apparent if we simply embraced a single model. We will. of course, be drawn in a particular direct but we are opening ourselves up to a broader influence.
Either way the models chosen are potentially ineffective for differing reasons.
The Parish has the potential of losing its definition and the Gathered tends to move further towards exclusivity. Yet both have massive potential. The parish removes the fear of contamination so that we can actually touch the mess of the world, whilst the gathered draws people towards an eschatological vision of the hope of Jesus. Perhaps the parish model also allows us to become more open about our own mess.
Moltmann (33) notes ‘The Church is ‘at the same time’ the object of faith and the object of empiricism…………..for the Church eschatology and history come together.’
Whether Moltmann is correct or not, the idea of the church being two things, or occupying two spaces, is important because it challenges us not to settle.
Pentecostal certainty, and the evangelical foundation it is built on, leaves little room for the idea of conflicting thoughts drawing us toward a correct footing. Yet the Bible is full of ideas that challenge us in such a way. Only when we experience both models in tension can we hope to fulfil what Newbigin calls ‘the congregation as hermeneutic for the gospel’
There is probably no more powerful communication of the Gospel than people living in community expressing the love of Christ.
So we see two competing themes at play: the idea of a definitive landing place in our theology and experience and the picture of a pilgrimage as an expression of our journey with God.
An incarnational motif frees us from the need to find a level of certainty expressed as the goal of evangelicalism and releases us to explore the mystery contained in the story of salvation that comes through a God who would become man.
Ecclesiological effectiveness is not the result of certainty; it is the fruit of faithfulness
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