Sea & Islands Post 22

An Oblique Approach to the Vision

I have suggested above the danger of churches and their leaders being too heavily focussed upon a distinct vision. It is not that a vision is of no importance but that the weight placed upon its achievement can become all consuming.'

When a leader thinks about the success of church they will look to measure it numerically as the most obvious marker. As John Kay (48) suggests I think it would be healthier, and more productive, to look for a more oblique model; perhaps trying to identify some marginal gains along the way.

As highlighted above a heavy focus upon numerical growth means that it is all too easy to judge and value people against the mark of their usefulness to the vision. It is highly likely that growth in numbers, if achieved, will have an interesting subtext. A church could grow to five hundred people over a period of time. At a surface level the statistic looks good. If, however, further investigation reveals that in order to do that the church has had to attract one thousand people to become members this would mean that fifty percent of those who become attendees will have left.

Of course, people will undoubtedly leave during the lifetime of a church, however, it is important to consider whether the commoditisation of people in the process of achieving the vision has contributed to them leaving.

As a comparison, if one were to take the same church, and change the focus to be more holistic, would that produce a church that was smaller but that does not have the same fall out of people hurt by the vision?

Obliquity, or Marginal Gains, suggest that concentration upon the less obvious aspects leads to a better outcome.

If profit is a key performance indicator in industry, then numerical growth might be an equivalent in a church context. If John Kay is correct to suggest that the most successful companies are those in which 'the' main driver is not profit then perhaps numerical growth as a goal is equally dysfunctional in a church.

Kay suggests that when greed becomes the goal many companies are ruined by the very culture that is produced: essentially staff come to believe that greed is a positive attribute.

Could it be that when the church culture honours the vision of the leadership above the stories of the individual's, staff and volunteers find it easier to treat others in the group as commodities? If a company can make good profits by focusing primarily on making good quality equipment, or offering first class service, then could a church see growth as being the result of making people feel valuable within the community of faith?

However, this is only the starting point. Taking Kay's idea as a useful tool I believe that the church should always go further than the best standard. This is perhaps a good marker of what it means to be prophetic: offering a reminder of what it might look like if the God who values human beings so highly were present in the worshipping community.

Perhaps this is what 'leaving the ninety-nine' (49) might truly mean: even when we find a useful model like that of obliquity or marginal gains we are always willing to leave all in order to find the one who is lost.

Leaders are not called to build big churches; they are called to die to themselves

Sea & Islands Post 19

Openness

It seems all too easy for us to close our minds too quickly to conflicting voices. I feel this happened in response to Rob Bell (37) and his book ‘Love Wins’. I am not sure that on every point I fully agree with Rob but I do eagerly welcome his input. He has provided a vocabulary for many within the church who have struggled with certain presumptions made of scripture.

It is my assessment that all Rob really said was that it is possible to both uphold the Bible and see things in a different way to that traditionally delivered by modern evangelicalism.

He gives room for ideas often ignored by much of the evangelical church. He has often been accused of being vague on some issues but that is the point; some of the ideas we have counted as definitive are up for discussion. Why are we so frightened of such dialogue?

I would like to suggest that we develop an openness to the possibility of a bigger story. Brian Mclaren (38) suggests such when he offers the idea that God could have been communicating with the native American Indians long before Europeans brought the stories of Jesus.

What perhaps saddens me most is that many of those who offer a criticism of the likes of McLaren, Bell, and Pagitt fail to deliver a satisfying view on such things, preferring to speak against the very idea of raising questions about perceived evangelical belief. From my perspective, it appears that they are offended when someone suggests that God could be more inclusive than they had thought.

Further more, such critics often fail to address the questions raised, preferring to simply accuse others of questioning God, when they are in fact questioning theology. Whatever theological position we hold we must always agree that our beliefs will never fully explain God; otherwise our beliefs themselves would become an idol.

In this regard it is perhaps not the question or questioner who should be exposed, but our inability to conceive that others might hold valid opposing views, when seeking to find an explanation for God, life, and the universe.

Openness leaves room for an understanding of God in ways outside of both our experience and theological construct. Holding this in tension with a Rootedness in an irreducible core centred on the person of Jesus Christ brings a check to how far my openness might take me.

You may well see the above as an attempt to decry existing theological and ecclesiological labels only to replace them with alternatives. This is a constant danger in such an exercise as this.

I believe, however, that introducing the idea of a spectrum of belief held in tension between two seemingly opposite locations allows for a broader discussion than the mere acceptance of single labels. Hopefully, this understanding of spectrum might act as an antidote to much of the tribal theological turf wars we continue to see.

Following Steve Chalke's (39) much misunderstood comments about biblical inerrancy, Bible college lecturer and church leader Dr John Andrews (40) tweeted 'Steve who?' echoing the sentiments of John Piper's (41) earlier 'Farewell Rob Bell'. The church leader and social media commentator Adrian Warnock (42) continued with this train of thought by asking 'isn't it time we just accepted that Steve Chalke is no longer an Evangelical?'

Whilst such statements may comfort the authors and their constituents, they serve only to attempt to silence dissenting voices and thereby excuse themselves from asking the questions being raised.

In truth, I believe that behind all labels is the kind of spectrum of which I write. Evangelicalism is not one fixed point in the theological landscape as shown by Adrian Warnock's dismay at his group of churches being excluded by John MacArthur (43). It does seem odd that whilst Adrian feels comfortable vocalising his need to exclude Chalke, he is upset that his 'own tribe' has been given similar treatment by others. I asked Adrian to comment on this point at the time but he didn't seem to recognise the picture that I paint. Having said this my goal is not to be deliberately awkward, but to encourage us to develop a new conversation so that we might admit this type of contradiction exists.

If we enquire of the term 'evangelical' for example, we will soon discover that there is a possibility of a variety of spectrums behind this seemingly definitive label.

As we can see, one can be an evangelical charismatic or an evangelical calvinist for example. In actuality these may or may not be mutually exclusive, but the fact of their existence reveals the probability of a spectrum of belief.

Being open to consider new ideas is one of the first signs that fundamentalism has lost its power

Sea & Islands Post 17

Island 3

The Oblique Approach to Church Mission

The Lifeboat & the City on a Hill

The obvious is often only obvious because we have been culturally conditioned to think so

During the 2012 London Olympics, the GB Cycling team did better than expected in both the medal tables and in achieving world records.

The head coach, Dave Brailsford, was asked by a French newspaper to explain the secret of their success. Attempting to make a joke, he suggested that his team's wheels were rounder than those on the other team's cycles. The humour didn't translate and the next day the French press contained headlines expressing their dismay at such an imbalance.

The BBC followed up the story by asking Brailsford to offer the real reason for their success. He explained it by stating that they had originally identified the areas that the team complained about most of the time. These included the fact that they had to train, that cycling at such a level was painful, and that other people were trying to stop them winning. These he suggested were things that would always exist; they would still be complaining about them in the following years.

Once they had acknowledged these areas, they put them to one side so that they could look at issues that were often overlooked. He called these marginal gains. These were things that did not seem so obvious and would probably not make a great deal of difference on their own. The aggregate of all of these small areas could together turn them into a gold medal winning team. He put it like this:

'The whole principle came from the idea that if you broke down everything you could think of that goes into riding a bike, then improved it by 1%, you will get a significant increase when you put them all together'

He indicated that there were many marginal gains identified but it might help to mention two here:

First, they instructed the athletes to take their own pillow with them to every hotel they stayed in, as they travelled the world. I am sure you can imagine the cynicism that would be present as they announced this new policy to the team. It seems somewhat counter-intuitive. What they found was that as the cyclists travelled the world they consistently slept well and had fewer back problems; probably because their own pillows encouraged them to sleep in the same posture as they did at home.

Second, they brought in an expert to teach all team members how to wash their hands correctly. Again, this on its own is not enough to win a medal, but it adds to the cumulative effect of the marginal gains by limiting the risk of the transfer of infection.

Both of these meant that on average team members were more consistent in attending training sessions.

Obliquity

As mentioned earlier, Professor John Kay of Warwick University has written a book on similar principles to the idea of marginal gains. He shows how the principle of obliquity can be more effective in reaching our objectives than a more obvious or direct route.

Citing the example of the Panama Canal he shows how the obvious objective of heading in a westerly direction from the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific is longer than travelling south east along the Panama Canal.

He continues in his thesis to explain that the most successful companies, in terms of profits, are not those that make profit their main goal. He also suggests that the happiest people are not those who seek to be happy as their main objective.

In summary, the oblique route usually produces the best results.

Single Stories

Perhaps I am growing cynical in my middle age but somehow I cannot watch the television news without wondering to myself whether we are being presented with the whole story. The journalists seem to take a subject then present the most ludicrous extremes of the argument as if there are no other alternatives.

The general treatment of religion on TV is mixed at best. There are programmes that offer what seems to be depth but I often can’t help feeling that the drive to make the show work is greater than the need for accuracy.

It is probably most graphically seen when considering the Christmas story; the church has often called for the ‘Christ’ to be returned to ‘Christmas’. I am not sure, however, in this instance whether the media is entirely to blame.

It occurs to me that the same thought often came to mind when I used to watch our daughters performing as angels in the school version of the tale; this is not the whole story.

If you were to remove from the tableau the various bits of tradition that have been added over the years, plus the copious amounts of tinsel, silver paper, runny noses, and tea towels, what would we be left with? Perhaps it would be a tale of enemy occupation, corrupt government, ethnic cleansing, and asylum seekers. All too familiar stories that seem to be repeated on our news screens.

I understand that primary school teachers would be hounded out of their classrooms if they were to invest time in such subjects at what has become the season to party and enjoy the customary excesses.

I feel sure, however, that we miss some of the subtlety of the scene. The promise that we are not left alone in our helplessness. The hope that one a day a child would be born who would bring about a different way of seeing the world. The reality that those in power don’t like such grass roots ideas. Even perhaps the possibility that there is some purpose in this corner of the universe!

One thing is for certain in the tale that we have come to know as the nativity; it is not the whole story. The main characters all seem to be the wrong type of people for such a seemingly important event. They had ancestors who were murderers and prostitutes. They were from the wrong part of the country; without any connections that would make them seem powerful. Perhaps there is hope for us all.

One wonders how such a story would be covered by today’s television media. Would they interview the wise men about possible delays in travelling across borders during the holiday season? Or perhaps run a documentary series on the corruption in corridors of local government.

They would probably try to find a quirky angle from which to view the whole thing. Perhaps it would be the various uses of camel dung or the problems of finding hotel accommodation at the time of a census. One thing is for sure; it would not be the whole story.

Thank goodness we have discovered the true meaning of Christmas today; Nigella Lawson’s recipe for goose-fat roasted potatoes, the infamous cola advert, the office party, and the vast amounts of money spent on presents.

And, of course, enough alcohol to cover up any thoughts of ethnic cleansing or a supposed visit from a deity in the form of a baby. Perhaps the newscasters have understood us well; after all we don’t really like the whole story. But we do like a single story. A story that is little more than a caricature of reality.

The Nigerian author Chimamanda Adichie (34) speaks about the danger of the single story in her TED talk. Highlighting the way we limit people’s lives to the headlines, she explains why we need to take time to hear the true stories about history. For example, one could tell the story of America by beginning with the declaration of independence without any mention of the Pilgrim fathers, the early pioneers, or even the native people groups of that ancient land.

Having lived through the relatively tumultuous storm of 'Hellgate' (35) during which the Mars Hill Bible Church pastor Rob Bell asked some very awkward questions, I am mindful of the importance of starting our stories from the right place. It seemed that Rob had used his influence to open up the idea that more people might end up finding salvation than evangelicals had previously believed.

The more vocal wing of the evangelical church in the USA and the UK responded with the sort of outrage usually reserved for ‘lefty liberals’ rather than one of their own.

In what seemed to resemble a Monty Python scene, the Calvinistic big guns exclaimed ‘He’s not an evangelical; he’s a very naughty boy!’

The speed and manner with which they disowned him suggested that they were already waiting for a moment to issue divorce papers.

What saddened me most about the whole issue is that it became almost impossible to have a sensible conversation about the nature of eternal security without the feeling that you too were being both labelled and dismissed in the process. In a world that loves labels it is quite difficult to continue a dialogue without looking for suitable terms to describe the position you occupy.

Whether you use Evangelical, Calvinist, Arminian, Liberal, Emergent, or any other it must be seen that belief exists as more of a spectrum than distinct grouping.

People like Brian Mclaren, Doug Pagitt, and Rob Bell have attempted to provide a vocabulary for those who are exploring what is perceived as a more progressive theology. Other voices have worked hard to limit the effect of what appeared to be a growing movement away from the centre of a traditional evangelical position. Of course, even this is more of a spectrum than a definitive ecclesiological standpoint.

There have been others, in particular Jim Belcher (36) in his book Deep Church, who have tried to navigate a middle ground in the hope of presenting a third way.

I enjoyed Jim’s book but again felt that another title didn’t fully reflect the spectrum of belief described. I am of course in danger of a similar fate myself by using the terms Evangelical Morphodoxy and Rooted-Openness.

I understand that we do need titles and descriptions in order to locate various beliefs in a framework that allows us to address the issues concerned in a meaningful and productive way. What should be a shorthand method aimed at helping our discussion, however, becomes a label by which we expel others.

A further problem encountered when trying to navigate these waters is that the UK scene is significantly different to the US. In this regard some of the language and reference points offered need to interpreted for a different context.

Having studied this subject for some time (even before I heard the phrase emergent) I want to offer some thoughts on my own way of navigation. As I described earlier, I have chosen the two motifs of Rootedness and Openness to best describe our approach. I have long felt that the best way of finding location on the theological and ecclesiological landscape is to occupy a place of tension between two ideas. In doing so, one is free from the fear of both stagnation and excess.

Jim Belcher offers something of this but probably falls victim to an urge to affirm a prescribed tradition. I don’t mean this in a negative way but just as an observation. In saying this I recognise the potential of my own pretension and the possibility of merely relabelling what has already been written.

Nonetheless, my suggestion of rooted-openness is an attempt to offer both an acknowledgement of the need for defined reference points and the understanding that there will always be a spectrum of belief.

Perhaps the main difficulty evangelicals have when reading Rob Bell is that he refuses to go via the direct route. His obliqueness makes certain sections of the church feel uncomfortable.

I have seen the fallout and pain caused by the directness of the evangelical movement and concluded that it is not the best way of discovering or communicating truth. For me, and others in the emergent part of evangelicalism, Bell, Mclaren, Pagett and others have been a breath of fresh air in the stale confines of the modernity of our churches.

Looking for a middle way is often just another way of sitting on the fence

Sea & Islands Post 16b

Mystery

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

Sea & Islands Post 14

In the Incarnation God Changes his Vantage Point

I think it is fair to suggest that we often fail to see the breadth of God’s design for the church. We must at times stand back from the work and take stock. Another mark of the incarnation is the change of perspective taken by the Word.

As we have seen, in the kenosis of Christ we see the willingness of the Word to become vulnerable to the pain of the human story. There is little given to us about the nature and form of this emptying but we see glimpses of its effects in the journey of Jesus. It is my belief that his willingness to comply had to be complete in order for it to be fully effective. Perhaps the greatest test was for the Word, who created all things, to no longer have the vantage point of heaven from which to view all things. We see in the gospels how Jesus learned and grew as he came to the place of complete obedience to the Father.

He had to journey from a heavenly perspective, through his human birth and on towards the cross and resurrection, then ultimately back to heaven. As a human Jesus had to see past the immediacy of local needs, further than the pain of personal anguish, beyond the confines of the ignorance of the people. He had to see the bigger picture.

What we see here is that God forgives from both a position of advantage and of disadvantage. Before the incarnation God is forgiving by nature. This position is not based upon experience but is a benevolent act by the Almighty. On the cross, however, Christ proclaims forgiveness over those who are crucifying him. There is something powerful about a victim offering forgiveness to their persecutors.

Pentecostal history gives us stories of women and men of vision who could see past the confinements of their own circumstances and towards a church that could make a difference.

This vision, however, often seems to be associated with distance rather than scope. I have been in situations where leaders have had great vision about where they would like to be and yet have managed to filter out anything that others might see as important. I have likened it to a tank driver. The tank seems a good analogy in two ways: first, it is a very powerful vehicle, as is leadership; second, it has a very limited vision area. It is easy for a leader to have a great deal of power in going forward and yet have very little time for anything that is out of their immediate view. This can affect the leader's value of church members. People are counted as valuable if they serve the vision to take the group, or the leader, towards the stated goal. Anyone, or any idea that is outside this narrow field of view is expendable.

Sea & Islands Post 11

The Marks of Incarnation

If the incarnation story continues in the church then surely it follows that there will be indicators that can be seen within the life of the church.

Snyder (19) proposes ‘While the Incarnation is a mystery, it provides the essential model for the believer and especially for the church’s corporate life and mission in the world.’

I have never particularly enjoyed looking at my own reflection in the mirror. I like it even less now because the passage of time brings me greater distress. The recurring thought that springs to my mind is that I look like my father more than my father’s son. I am not saying there is anything wrong with this, should he read these words; it continually reminds me that I am connected to my parents. I recall one day waking up from one of those mid-day naps that seem to be the comfort of middle age, looking down at my hand in that half asleep half-awake state and thinking that my dad was in the room.

In a similar way, if we care to look, the whole of creation bears the impression of the thumbprint of God: every galaxy, star, planet, flower, animal and sunset, every human being reflecting God. Both in terms of physiology and history all created matter and therefore human life images our creator.

In the incarnation the logos or the Word, the second person of the Trinity, embraced the physicality and emotionality of this ‘creative’ fingerprint personally and thus reflected the creative act in both physique and purpose.

As we look at the life of Christ we can see the mind of a purposeful God. Every aspect of the life of Christ has the thumbprint of God upon it: from conception, through death, to resurrection. At conception we see the will of God unfold in a manner that although spoken of by the ‘prophets of old’ was, in many ways, unimaginable to the human mind.

His birth, so ordained to fulfil the prophetic utterances of the people of Israel, brought together divinity and humanity. His growth as a child: expressing his willingness to be self-confined within the human condition. His ministry: breaking into the mundane of human frailty, yet always with a mind upon the ultimate goal of the cross. The passion of the self-sacrifice of the creator God as a seed falling to the ground in order to produce much fruit. The stunning glory of the resurrection: with all its mystery and wonder. These are things that surely no human mind could have conceived. God, the author and finisher, has been at work.

As I have already stated, what can be said of Christ, the Head, should be said of his body, the church. The incarnation continues and thus, the marks of incarnation, the very thumbprint of God, should be visible in the church. Locally we should touch our communities with these marks. Globally, we should shape and guide our world towards the creator.

Having said this, I do believe that we have so misrepresented our mission by the use of symbols of notoriety that we are in danger of misunderstanding the role of the incarnation in shaping the church.

It seems to me that the context of the incarnation has significance. In Hebrews chapter 13, verse 8 we see Jesus describe as being the same ‘yesterday, today and forever’. At first glance it seems that change is out of the question. Yet we also know that change took place. The Word ‘became’ flesh.

The unchanging nature of Jesus is to be seen in his essential character. His goodness, his truth and his faithfulness are all undiminished by the passage of time. In fact, he is completely unaffected by the constraints of time other than in his own choice to be self-limited. The kenosis, or emptying of himself, is the expression of this absolute commitment to his mission. The act of ‘becoming’ is the important factor for us here. We are being shown in graphic and eternal terms how we, the church, are to ‘become’. The eternal, creative Word has become flesh in order to fulfil the will of God. We, the church, are to follow a similar path.

Compare this with the picture we often find of a church fixed in its position fighting against the tide of change. Churches with a more conservative history, and I would include my own group here, have a tendency towards becoming entrenched in positions that they believe are essential parts of the gospel or mission, only to reassess these in later years to find that some of the things that they considered fundamental are culturally invested rather than theologically absolute.

It is easy to see how groups become revisionist in their view of history; often creating fantasies of a former time when people where more holy, more aware of God, and perhaps more Christian. Of course this doesn't just happen in church. An older generation's mythological idea that 'when I was a lad you could leave your doors open and no one would steal from you' falls apart when you consider the size of the black market in England during World War Two and the fact that very few people owned things that were worth stealing.

These over sentimentalised views very rarely stand up to scrutiny. It might be true that fewer people attend church today than in previous generations, but there has not been a golden era when full communities were church goers. Even where you find pockets of almost full attendance you don't always find behaviour that is fully in keeping with the basic tenets of Christianity (20).

Still, groups that feel under siege tend to demonise the other and create safe enclaves, metaphorically if not physically, for the practice of their religion. Even the more dynamic movements that have a headline narrative declaring that they will 'take this land for Jesus' still have a subtext that suggest taking the land is somehow the same as Christianising parts of culture that have seemed off limits to previous generations. This, of course, has all the appearance of development; it looks to all intents and purposes like the church is changing. Yet the creating of enclaves is still happening. The demonising of the other still takes place; in fact it is far easier to keep people attending church if you paint the other in a more negative light. Statements like 'not in church, not in the will of God. Simple!' by the Pentecostal church leader Derek Smith (21) add to the idea that the church, and your place in it, are synonymous with being in the will of God.

In light of this what does change mean for the church if it is to use the incarnation as a model? I really don't have all the answers to that question: I just know that we need to be willing to change.

In the gospels Jesus is shown to learn, grow, hunger, cry and feel fatigue: it seems he was acquainted with the full range of human experience. This means that the incarnation was not merely some singular event but a pilgrimage.

Evangelicals in general tend towards a gospel that calls for people to move from being 'lost' to becoming 'found'. I do recognise that this is the experience of many within evangelicalism. I have often explained my own journey in similar terms.

This over statement about there being definitive states that one might move 'from' and 'to', however, continues to suggest that the main role of the church is to offer a safe alternative place to the 'other' but only when the 'other' becomes like 'us'.

I will cover more of this later but I want to point out that I am not suggesting that regeneration is not important or that people are unable to know that they have been 'saved' in the way that we suggest in our churches. Here I am suggesting that the model of church that makes such moments the primary goal, is not reflecting the fuller sense of what the incarnation brings to us.

At this point I simply want to affirm that, in the incarnational model, pilgrimage is essential. We expect it of our natural children when we encourage them to explore ideas and learn about themselves and the world around them. Parents and teachers consider the appropriate lessons that need to be considered at each stage of the growing process. So it is with those of us who come to faith and begin a journey within the community of the church.

Richter and Francis (22) speak of the importance of journey in their writings dealing with those who leave the church. ‘The church that is best at retaining its members is one that presupposes that individuals grow in faith, in their own time and in their own way.’ This is often a difficulty for evangelically minded churches. As with other revival movements a great deal of emphasis is laid upon the crisis of conversion. Even where there is talk and consideration given to discipleship it is often done in very narrow terms with the emphasis placed heavily upon conformity of belief. People find acceptance when they jump through a series of evangelical hoops and so even where doubt exists, there is a pressure to conform.

Pilgrimage, however, is a life giving experience. It is possible to both hold to the idea of a cross encounter whilst encouraging an Emmaus road journey.

Our pilgrimage is mainly set on the Emmaus road with occasional moments on the road to Damascus

Sea & Islands Post 10

The Marks of Incarnation

If the incarnation story continues in the church then surely it follows that there will be indicators that can be seen within the life of the church.

Snyder (19) proposes ‘While the Incarnation is a mystery, it provides the essential model for the believer and especially for the church’s corporate life and mission in the world.’

I have never particularly enjoyed looking at my own reflection in the mirror. I like it even less now because the passage of time brings me greater distress. The recurring thought that springs to my mind is that I look like my father more than my father’s son. I am not saying there is anything wrong with this, should he read these words; it continually reminds me that I am connected to my parents. I recall one day waking up from one of those mid-day naps that seem to be the comfort of middle age, looking down at my hand in that half asleep half-awake state and thinking that my dad was in the room.

In a similar way, if we care to look, the whole of creation bears the impression of the thumbprint of God: every galaxy, star, planet, flower, animal and sunset, every human being reflecting God. Both in terms of physiology and history all created matter and therefore human life images our creator.

In the incarnation the logos or the Word, the second person of the Trinity, embraced the physicality and emotionality of this ‘creative’ fingerprint personally and thus reflected the creative act in both physique and purpose.

As we look at the life of Christ we can see the mind of a purposeful God. Every aspect of the life of Christ has the thumbprint of God upon it: from conception, through death, to resurrection. At conception we see the will of God unfold in a manner that although spoken of by the ‘prophets of old’ was, in many ways, unimaginable to the human mind.

His birth, so ordained to fulfil the prophetic utterances of the people of Israel, brought together divinity and humanity. His growth as a child: expressing his willingness to be self-confined within the human condition. His ministry: breaking into the mundane of human frailty, yet always with a mind upon the ultimate goal of the cross. The passion of the self-sacrifice of the creator God as a seed falling to the ground in order to produce much fruit. The stunning glory of the resurrection: with all its mystery and wonder. These are things that surely no human mind could have conceived. God, the author and finisher, has been at work.

As I have already stated, what can be said of Christ, the Head, should be said of his body, the church. The incarnation continues and thus, the marks of incarnation, the very thumbprint of God, should be visible in the church. Locally we should touch our communities with these marks. Globally, we should shape and guide our world towards the creator.

Having said this, I do believe that we have so misrepresented our mission by the use of symbols of notoriety that we are in danger of misunderstanding the role of the incarnation in shaping the church.

It seems to me that the context of the incarnation has significance. In Hebrews chapter 13, verse 8 we see Jesus describe as being the same ‘yesterday, today and forever’. At first glance it seems that change is out of the question. Yet we also know that change took place. The Word ‘became’ flesh.

The unchanging nature of Jesus is to be seen in his essential character. His goodness, his truth and his faithfulness are all undiminished by the passage of time. In fact, he is completely unaffected by the constraints of time other than in his own choice to be self-limited. The kenosis, or emptying of himself, is the expression of this absolute commitment to his mission. The act of ‘becoming’ is the important factor for us here. We are being shown in graphic and eternal terms how we, the church, are to ‘become’. The eternal, creative Word has become flesh in order to fulfil the will of God. We, the church, are to follow a similar path.

Compare this with the picture we often find of a church fixed in its position fighting against the tide of change. Churches with a more conservative history, and I would include my own group here, have a tendency towards becoming entrenched in positions that they believe are essential parts of the gospel or mission, only to reassess these in later years to find that some of the things that they considered fundamental are culturally invested rather than theologically absolute.

It is easy to see how groups become revisionist in their view of history; often creating fantasies of a former time when people where more holy, more aware of God, and perhaps more Christian. Of course this doesn't just happen in church. An older generation's mythological idea that 'when I was a lad you could leave your doors open and no one would steal from you' falls apart when you consider the size of the black market in England during World War Two and the fact that very few people owned things that were worth stealing.

These over sentimentalised views very rarely stand up to scrutiny. It might be true that fewer people attend church today than in previous generations, but there has not been a golden era when full communities were church goers. Even where you find pockets of almost full attendance you don't always find behaviour that is fully in keeping with the basic tenets of Christianity (20).

Still, groups that feel under siege tend to demonise the other and create safe enclaves, metaphorically if not physically, for the practice of their religion. Even the more dynamic movements that have a headline narrative declaring that they will 'take this land for Jesus' still have a subtext that suggest taking the land is somehow the same as Christianising parts of culture that have seemed off limits to previous generations. This, of course, has all the appearance of development; it looks to all intents and purposes like the church is changing. Yet the creating of enclaves is still happening. The demonising of the other still takes place; in fact it is far easier to keep people attending church if you paint the other in a more negative light. Statements like 'not in church, not in the will of God. Simple!' by the Pentecostal church leader Derek Smith (21) add to the idea that the church, and your place in it, are synonymous with being in the will of God.

In light of this what does change mean for the church if it is to use the incarnation as a model? I really don't have all the answers to that question: I just know that we need to be willing to change.

In the gospels Jesus is shown to learn, grow, hunger, cry and feel fatigue: it seems he was acquainted with the full range of human experience. This means that the incarnation was not merely some singular event but a pilgrimage.

Evangelicals in general tend towards a gospel that calls for people to move from being 'lost' to becoming 'found'. I do recognise that this is the experience of many within evangelicalism. I have often explained my own journey in similar terms.

This over statement about there being definitive states that one might move 'from' and 'to', however, continues to suggest that the main role of the church is to offer a safe alternative place to the 'other' but only when the 'other' becomes like 'us'.

I will cover more of this later but I want to point out that I am not suggesting that regeneration is not important or that people are unable to know that they have been 'saved' in the way that we suggest in our churches. Here I am suggesting that the model of church that makes such moments the primary goal, is not reflecting the fuller sense of what the incarnation brings to us.

At this point I simply want to affirm that, in the incarnational model, pilgrimage is essential. We expect it of our natural children when we encourage them to explore ideas and learn about themselves and the world around them. Parents and teachers consider the appropriate lessons that need to be considered at each stage of the growing process. So it is with those of us who come to faith and begin a journey within the community of the church.

Richter and Francis (22) speak of the importance of journey in their writings dealing with those who leave the church. ‘The church that is best at retaining its members is one that presupposes that individuals grow in faith, in their own time and in their own way.’ This is often a difficulty for evangelically minded churches. As with other revival movements a great deal of emphasis is laid upon the crisis of conversion. Even where there is talk and consideration given to discipleship it is often done in very narrow terms with the emphasis placed heavily upon conformity of belief. People find acceptance when they jump through a series of evangelical hoops and so even where doubt exists, there is a pressure to conform.

Pilgrimage, however, is a life giving experience. It is possible to both hold to the idea of a cross encounter whilst encouraging an Emmaus road journey.

Our pilgrimage is mainly set on the Emmaus road with occasional moments on the road to Damascus

Sea & Islands Post 9

The Uniqueness of the Incarnation

There should be little doubt in the mind of the Christian as to the uniqueness of Jesus Christ. To the church, the whole of history and eternity are held together in this unique act of incarnation. Jesus: fully human and fully divine.

McFarlane observes that ‘never before had such an event required expression. Something hitherto unspoken broke through the established markers concerning God’s being.’ (13)

In essence, this unique event has no parallels from which comparisons might be drawn. No precedents to which it can be referred. It is the most important component of the Christian gospel in its unique quality.

Yet, as Bosch (14) asserts, protestant churches have ‘by and large had an underdeveloped theology of the incarnation.’ Within evangelicalism there has been a great stress placed upon the eternal work of Christ, often to the detriment of teaching regarding and compassion for those in need in this life (15).

Before I made a decision to become a Christian as a fourteen year-old youth I, strangely enough, gave out leaflets on behalf of a local church at the Whit Walks (16) in my home village. Here I was, someone who knew very little about Christianity, someone who wasn’t even sure if he wanted anything to do with it, giving out leaflets to others. During this unregenerate evangelistic début I realised that it would be a good idea to read the words for myself. The tract was called 'The Incomparable Christ'. For the first time I had been made aware of enormity of the person of Jesus.

His uniqueness is a challenge to us all and we in the church should never allow such revelation to fade with familiarity.

The uniqueness of Christ, the head, is reflected by the uniqueness of the Church, his body. None of us can claim to be perfect or, indeed, to be part of a church without faults. But ontologically the church is unique. Although not to be confused with the Kingdom of God, the church, as the body of Christ, is unique in its calling and in its relationship to God. It is my understanding that whatever can be said of the character and ministry of Christ, should be said of his body.

No individual can rightly compare with the Incarnate One yet we are all designed to image God. In terms of design and purpose the church, is to continue all that Christ has begun and finished. When we look at his life we must be moved to respond in kind. When we look at his character we must be charged to walk in his footsteps.

The New Testament gives us a good deal of help in trying to navigate this journey. Jesus is described as our great High Priest (17) and in this he is depicted as unique. No one else was found good enough to break through the veil into the Holy of Holies and thereby blaze a trail for us to follow. The church on the other hand is to be a priestly nation and in that role we follow Christ in making intercession for a world that does not understand. Great High Priest and priestly nation: an incredible relationship.

Jesus again is described as our Apostle being sent as a messenger on behalf of the Father to this prodigal world: unique in his place of departure and also in his arrival on this earth. We, his body, are also sent and therefore apostolic by design and purpose. We are called to continue this message of grace and hope (18).

The first chapter of the book of Hebrews tells us that God spoke to humanity in many different ways through the Prophets of old, but now he has spoken to us by his Son. Ephesians chapter three tells us that it is God’s intention that now, through the church, the manifold wisdom of God should be made known. This tells us that the story continues and that the manifold things that God has in store for his creation are to be shown through the church. They resonate through the words of the Prophets; we have seen them and have access to them, in the finishing work of Christ. Now the world should be able to touch them through his body, the church. In this there is something of a tension. How can we communicate such a unique event? What symbols, motifs and analogies can we utilise in order that such a unique story can be embraced?

It is interesting to see the uniqueness spoken of here in the context of the relative hiddenness of his earthly life and ministry.

It is hard to resist the sense in which the church tends to see itself as the 'A' team in God's plan and purpose. In fact as you read the words above, you may think that I am suggesting this. In truth I am deeply worried by how the church has seen itself and its mission towards the world.

I will cover this in more detail in a later chapter, but for now I want to suggest that there are several things about the incarnation that have been generally overlooked in my own context and that should shock us to the very heart of our ecclesiology.

Our search for fame is likely to see us in conflict with the principles of the kingdom of God

Sea & Islands Post 8

Creatively Uncreative

During the lifetime of Jesus, the majority of people on the planet were unaware of either his existence or his teaching. Even within his own culture the significance of his presence was not fully understood.

In stark contrast to this are the usual markers of church success in a charismatic and Pentecostal context. The goal seems to be distinction, size, excellence, and popular fashion. Churches are counted as successful if they are growing numerically and produce presentational excellence; with large screens, P.A. systems, and lights. Added to this is the regular challenge for individuals to be distinct from the world around them.
S
This may not be true of all, or even most of the charismatic and Pentecostal churches in the UK, but when one considers the influence that the larger churches have upon the rest, we would do well to recognise the aspirational nature of this context. The language, markers, models, processes, and visions of the larger churches are presented as the gold standard in many quarters. One might conclude that mega churches tend to be a kind of 'anti-Antioch church' in the sense that they are receivers of gifted people rather than senders of them. In terms of a business model it is not one that can be reproduced by smaller local churches. The through-put of talent in some larger churches is generated by conferences, internships, and academies. Smaller churches do not have this talent pool available to them.

The pressure on many church leaders is to produce an alternative to the culture within which they work; rather than an antidote to it. Church youth clubs are funded rather than supporting existing local community ventures. Departments and programmes become feeder routes leading toward the centre; the church congregation.

In contrast to this, I would like to suggest that the incarnation is more about immersion within the community rather than separation from it. Perhaps building bridges rather than walls represents the way of Christ.

The gospel message in the usual context sounds like an invitation for those ‘outside’ to come ‘inside’ and become like us. An incarnational message is more about a journey taken by the church towards the community.

There are other models that leaders might prefer by which to run and measure their churches: army, family, tribe, nation, city. All of them have their place, but I would suggest that we would do well to see our starting point as being the incarnation.

If our model of church relies upon the gifts and talents of people from other congregations it cannot be seen as easily replicable

Sea & Islands Post 5

Forest Gardens and the Unexpected Church

Some time ago, I was driving home in our new car after leading a training session in the North East of England. Hoping to listen to some music on the radio I switched on the stereo system.

Having only collected the vehicle that morning, I hadn’t worked out how to change radio channels and was reluctant to be distracted from driving, by trying to read the microscopic letters that my middle-aged eyes refuse to acknowledge these days.

I had to settle for listening to whatever show happened to come on during my two-hour journey home. Towards the middle of my journey I was treated to an episode of the BBC radio programme Gardeners’ Question Time, during which all manner of aphid related advice seemed to be on offer.

Now I am not a gardener and I have to confess that I zoned out much of what they said as my mind wandered to other things. Then, in the middle of the show, my attention was grabbed by a contributor speaking about what she called ‘Forest Gardens’.

She explained that these were areas of garden that had been encouraged to grow in a free and more natural way. To be honest, if I hadn’t been forced to listen by my inability, to use a new radio and drive at the same time, I would have changed channels a long time before. Yet here was a moment when I realised this truth about gardening could be used to help me understand the church in a fresh way.

British gardening habits are still highly influenced by Victorian sensibilities and the need for order. Mirroring the new ordered approach to life, gardens (at least for the wealthy) became expressions of control and dominion with the Lord of the manor being congratulated for the work done by his underpaid workforce. In years to come slum terraces would be demolished to be replaced by modern houses with small amounts of land in which inhabitants could mirror this need for order; with close cut lawns and well stocked flower beds.

During this period you would be forgiven for thinking that such landscaping was the definitive standard for all gardens everywhere. Indeed there are examples of this view all around the former British Empire. The benefits of this style of gardening are obvious in that it allows for clarity with well-defined borders between flowers and lawn.

Forest Gardens, however, offer the possibility of seeing new flowers and wildlife that would not be welcomed in the ordered world of Victoriana. The radio expert was asked whether it was easier to cultivate this freer expression of horticulture and she, somewhat counter-intuitively, responded ‘No!’. Going on to explain her views she said:

‘….you need a different eye to even want to begin the journey. '

Setting up a contrast with the more traditional approach she continued

‘You are less hands on, but you have to notice different things.’

In an instant I saw a comparison between the conservative evangelicalism that I had been brought into and our newly found emergent expression of church. The old offers the comfort of clear lines and a definition that allows us to believe that we are immune from the world outside of our fences.

The new, however, looks messy and doesn’t seem to provide the clarity that we think should be an integral part of the church and the gospel. There are many terms used to describe this ecclesiological expression but I have chosen to use Evangelical Morphodoxy. It is a way of describing the tension felt between being rooted in an ancient faith but being open to find new ways to shape it in every new context. The incarnational idea of morphing into the most appropriate expression of the good news seems to best show how God was revealed in Jesus Christ.

I am sure that some will equate our messiness in doing church with a lack of vision: but they would be mistaken in this view. We do have a vision but the signifiers are different from the ones that Christians have often been taught to expect.

The reward for producing a Forest Garden is that you get to see different plants and wildlife that are not always welcome in the perfectly ordered Victorian influenced garden. The reward of having an Evangelical Morphodoxy approach is that we get to see new fruit and new life that at times is unexpected.

To start this we need to accept that we perhaps need to be ‘….less hands on’ and ‘…notice different things.’

Let the gardening begin………


'It's the same each time with progress. First they ignore you, then they say you’re mad, then dangerous, then there’s a pause and then you can’t find anyone who disagrees with you.'

Tony Benn - British Politician (8)

Sea & Islands Post 4

Deconstruction is the Beginning of Incarnation

In order to be reshaped in the image of others, first we need to allow for the possible removal of our existing points of security. This is indeed a risk because we must trust that God will meet us in the process. Lesslie Newbigin (4) talks of leaving the hill of the cross to journey towards the stranger. In doing so we risk that the 'other' may hold something of the truth and we must trust that the God of the universe will be with us both in the mission.

This seems entirely Christ-like; the second person of the Trinity didn’t consider the markers of his own identity more important than his willingness to change or become. The letter to the Philippians speaks of this kenosis, or emptying:

‘Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing’(5)

For us then, as followers of Christ, a key component of faith is not professing that our beliefs are right at all costs. In this context our expression of faith is bringing our lives into contact with others, trusting the Holy Spirit to hold our beliefs.

Deconstruction allows every generation to be involved in shaping the church and its mission. It often seems that the voices of the dead carry more weight than the words of the living. Witness the wholesale dismissal of Rob Bell (6) over his declaration that ‘Love Wins’ by some of the very people who feel comfortable quoting C.S. Lewis (7); someone who held equally controversial views.

I am not suggesting that our predecessors should be ignored, but that they should not be so revered that their views cannot be questioned.

For Beverley and I, our journey has brought us to embrace the twin motif of Rooted-Openness. We have spent time looking for that in which we can confidently put down roots. At the same time we have tried to build an environment of openness so that we might love, and learn from, those who see the world in a different way to us.

In this context, deconstruction always starts at a personal level before affecting a wider context.

Having said this I intend to add to this personal journey by looking at the following areas:

Our theology in terms of how evangelicals approach the Bible. In particular, I want to offer an honest assessment of my views on gender and sexuality.

Our ecclesiology and how we have a tendency to create self-fulfilling models of church that miss many of the marks of incarnation.

Our missiology in regard to how we see both the work of Christ and the message of the church.

It is time for incarnation. Let the deconstruction begin…….

Deconstruction is a holy process: sacred, because it mirrors the incarnation

Sea & Island Post 2

There is no Good Place to Stand

Having four daughters has an effect on both how you see the world and how you live your life. I have probably spent more than my fair share of time on shopping expeditions for clothes and other daughter related products. The majority of these consumerist exploits have been spent outside the changing rooms of various department stores.

I have developed a theory about such things that I feel is worthy of sharing at the beginning of this book. It centres on the idea that on these occasions there is no good place to stand. If you position yourself too near the changing rooms you tend to look a little odd. If, however, you stand too far away, you will not hear your wife calling from behind the curtains for you to exchange one of her items for a different size. Either way, there is no good place to stand.

It often seems like this when considering the key themes involved in leading church. Wherever you stand, there will be those who will criticise your choice; this can mean that sometimes it becomes easier to make no decision at all, rather than risk making the wrong one. We are left with a set of unspoken issues that remain unchallenged, for fear of standing in the wrong place; we are left with a kind of theological dissonance.

A little too close in one direction and you may well be dismissed as unorthodox; move too far the other way and you may well be seen as irrelevant to the community in which you serve. I have decided that it is best not to let the fear of being labelled ‘unorthodox’ stop me from wrestling with some very important questions.

Finding a good place to stand can only be a temporary exercise for anyone called to be a pilgrim