Sea & Islands Post 24

Island 4

The Queen Thinks the World Smells of Magnolia Paint

The Literal Words & the Contextualised Truth

We tend to think that those we disagree with are the unbiblical ones

Some years ago I was working on an RAF base in Norfolk close to the town in which we lived. I happened to be there about a week before the visit of the Queen. As part of her tour around the base she was due to inspect one of the married quarters situated close to the main entrance.

My contact invited me to take a look at the house that had been prepared for this VIP visitor. It seemed that the RAF were keen to show Her Majesty how this section of her loyal servants lived.

The room, of course, had been given something of a makeover in order to create a good impression; new carpets, freshly laid lawn (borrowed from a local cricket pitch), and a chandelier in the lounge. In addition the toilet had been soundproofed just in case Her Majesty needed to spend a royal penny.

It goes without saying that whole house had been repainted: mostly with magnolia paint. This kind of unreality is what the Queen experiences everywhere she goes.

Each of the various hospital wards, charity buildings, factories, and other assorted venues will have been freshly painted just prior to her visit. Hence the phrase 'The Queen thinks the whole world smells of paint'. I added the word magnolia after my visit to the RAF base and the fact that magnolia seems to be the standard cover-all colour of choice for builders and decorators up and down the United Kingdom.

It is not directly the Queen's fault of course; the Palace doesn't demand cricket pitch standard lawns and soundproofed toilets. In addition, she cannot truly know what she doesn't know.

There is an emotional truth to this for all of us: people will "paint" the world, negatively or positively, in response to our presence. In this regard each of us 'smells' (or views) the world in our own unique way and we don't completely know how other people perceive things. So it is with issues of race, gender, and sexuality; we can do our best to empathise but we can only know in part.

This is additionally complicated by the fact that some of us occupy positions of privilege. As a white, western, heterosexual, male, I walk around a world that has been freshly painted to my advantage, compared to the world experienced by those who do not fit into these often privileged categories.

I recall speaking to a man in the centre of Bradford as we waited for our wives to complete their clothes shopping. He had come to Britain from Iraq during the war in that region. Apparently he had helped the British and his life had been threatened.

As we spoke he stopped me and said that, other than in the context of work, I was one of only five white people who had spoken to him in twelve years. I can know nothing of what it is to be invisible in the country in which I live. I have the advantage of being white and western; my voice is heard.

Now, in one sense, there is understandably nothing I can do about being white; without wanting to turn this into a musical 'I am what I am'. It does, however, present me with both a challenge and a responsibility.

First, the challenge is for me to acknowledge the privilege that is delivered to me often without my knowledge; to acknowledge the presence of the "magnolia paint" and to recognise that this is not the reality for the many others who are not offered such a privilege.

Second, I have a responsibility to listen to those who do not have my own kind of privilege and to become part of movement for change. When I come to engage with issues of race I must first acknowledge my position of privilege; I live in a society weighted in the favour of white people.

The popular press would like to present a different picture when dealing with issues such as immigration, but I know that my path is eased by the colour of my skin. Similarly, when tackling gender inequality, I can never fully know how it feels for a woman to deal with systemic gender bias: I have never been refused employment because of being in my 'childbearing years'.

Likewise when addressing issues of sexuality I am also privileged in that my heterosexuality is never brought up as a description of who I am.

Challenging the place of privilege, even in ourselves, is turning the system upside down so that inequality is shown for the problem that it is.

Challenging the place of privilege is declaring that in God's kingdom the first shall be last and the last shall be first, even if it costs us to do so; perhaps even if it makes us look so Christ-like that it costs us our lives.

So here I am a white, western, heterosexual, male and I admit that the world smells of fresh magnolia paint in a way that is not true for others and I am committed to becoming part of the answer.

Now when I engage in debate with a fellow Christian over some theological issue or other I need to be aware of my worldview. I am often saddened that some tend to speak as if they are coming to the text of scripture without any cultural influences. The suggestion is that we need to understand what the Bible 'actually says' and that this is possible without first acknowledging the cultural glasses we wear when we read its pages.

Please note that because I have begun a journey of trying to smell the magnolia paint in my own world, I am not saying here that my position is correct. I am saying, however, that we all, without exception, are influenced in such a way; whether we wish to acknowledge it or not.

Nobody, and I feel confident in saying this, takes the Bible literally, even if they insist that they do. We all contextualise in order to find a way of appropriating the story to our own situation.

So when the more conservative end of the church accuse me of being a slave to 'popular' culture I can remind them that this is no different to being a slave to 'unpopular' culture. Just because your influences are rooted in modernity and mine have flavours of post-modernity, does not mean that you are reading the Bible in a plain or literal way. All of us are under an influence. We all bring magnolia paint to the text: the problem is that some will not admit this.

When God became human he allowed himself to be part of a particular disadvantaged group

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 13b

I remember, at the time of the September Eleventh tragedy in New York, looking for something to bring to our church meeting that very night. I wanted to share something that spoke of how we should react to the horror.

My mind went back to a time when I was attacked in my car during a trip to Manchester. In relating this to the Twin towers tragedy I know that my example of hurt, in terms of scale, does not compare with the events on that fateful day, but the principle of dealing with hidden inclinations within us is in keeping with the teaching of Jesus.

I had one of my young daughters in the back of the car and a gang of, what are often wrongly called, footballer supporters ran at the car. They were drunk and angry and violent. I had stopped at a junction and could move forward nor back. They attempted to turn the car over, rocking it violently from side to side. One of them, the biggest of the bunch, opened my door and started to kick and punch me.

My daughter was screaming in the rear of the car and I knew that I had to make a decision. I jumped out of the car with the intention of hitting the biggest one as hard as I could. I thought, just maybe if I frighten him the others might stop. This was of course highly unlikely. I threw a couple of emergency prayers up to heaven. I got out of the car and started to fight. Just as I did, amazingly enough, a vehicle full of bus conductors arrived and came to our rescue. They had to physically stop me hitting my assailant and they chased a number of others away. We were safe.

When I arrived at work on the following Monday I told my work colleagues what had happened. They were unanimous in their view that I had done the right thing in defending my daughter and myself. My friends at church agreed and so it seemed that all was well. I knew deep down, however, that I had crossed an almost invisible line within my heart. My initial response was based on fear and protection but I know that I ended up just wanting to hurt this enemy. I wanted to make him suffer. I am not a fighter and I love peace. I work wherever I can in the name of peace, but peace was not what I wanted at that split second. I wanted revenge.

To everybody else I had done the right thing but I knew inside that I had to repent of wanting to hurt another human being; effectively continuing the cycle of violence. It seems to me that we must not cross the line that we all have inside between a meaningful response and a search for revenge.

Repentance, sacrifice and change are part of our pilgrimage in following Christ as we die to ourselves and live to the fruit that God will produce in us.

Many of these sacrifices are unseen to most of those around us, and that is the way it should be. It is the sum total of our pilgrimage experiences that the world will see not the outward glare of self-important religious gestures. They will notice a radiance and peace that reflects Christ, often in a quiet and unassuming way so that when we do speak they are might be more willing to listen.

We would not normally associate glorification with death and sacrifice yet here marks an important difference between the ways of God and the ways of humanity.

Contained within all people is the purpose for which God has created them and, unless we are willing to deny our own misconceptions, we can never completely fulfil that purpose. This is as true for the church as it is for any individual. As with the life of Christ a choice has to be made as to which path we are going to take. In choosing to die to all that we could attain with our own ideas and strength, we are opening up to the possibility of new things being produced from our lives.

It goes further than giving up those things that hinder our journey. It is not merely a spiritual keep fit program. It is about recognising the freedom that we have gained in Christ and then being willing to sacrifice that same freedom for the sake of the mission to which we are called.

In Acts chapter fifteen we read that a discussion took place about the practice of circumcision. Whilst in Antioch Paul, along with Barnabas, were in a disagreement with some men from Judea. The argument was such that a number of the church travelled to Jerusalem to consult the apostles and elders. After a speech by Peter, James brought his verdict that the Gentile believers were free from the stipulation to be circumcised.

In Chapter sixteen we read that Paul, on taking Timothy on his missionary journey, decided to circumcise him. It was obviously not essential in terms of his acceptance into the church, yet for the sake of the Gospel he made such a sacrifice.

It was for freedom that we have been set free by Christ yet we are to choose to become servants and share in his sufferings.

There is an ontological truth about the nature of creation, God, humanity, and salvation that it seems worth holding to tightly. Yet we see time and time again in scripture a contextualizing of this revelation in the reality of the mess of life. We are saved into the ontological freedom of resurrection life, but our freedom is to be planted into the context of our communities.

Sacrifice, for the Christian, is not the needless denial of the pleasures that the world can offer, it is the letting go of any claim to know what is best for our lives outside of God’s providence.

The story doesn't end there, because as we take up our cross and share in the sufferings of Christ, the promise is that we will also share in the power of his resurrection. Every church needs resurrection life to shine out of its very being. I am drawn to the idea of power but quite often the symbols of power shown in our churches do not present the best picture. When we think of power encounters our focus is often on the pre-cross encounters of Christ. I am happy with this in many ways and I am anxious, as previously stated, to see every part of the ministry of Christ in operation in our churches. We, however, are post-resurrection and this gives a whole new meaning to these encounters.

I find it difficult to read the book of Acts without being made aware of the supernatural nature of the Gospel message. Yet the real beauty, for me, is that these events are set in the normality of ordinary lives. Perhaps the idea of the coming of the Spirit is understood in a correct context when it is in fact seen in this ordinariness.

Acts Chapter one, verse eight gives us a clue:

‘….you will receive power when the Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses……….’

The coming of the Spirit brings this power, this dunamis. Its purpose: so that we might be witnesses for Christ. Its origin: the authority of God.

Because the inauguration of the mission is the coming of the Spirit of God and because the medium is women and men reflecting the glory of gospel, it must mean that this power has more to do with ‘being’ than with merely ‘doing’. The promise is that we will ‘be’ his witnesses: as opposed to you will ‘do’ my witnessing.

Therefore, the supernatural in the context of the missionary life of the church cannot be seen as just a distinct move of the Spirit of God, outside of the ordinary life of the people of God. It is not merely an event; an encounter as sometimes presented by Pentecostal churches. Incarnation, and the power it brings, is about presence within a community.

It has to do with people finding out how to ‘be’ what they are called to ‘be’ in the context where we are called to ‘be’. This 'being' is represented by resurrection power is about heaven (the rule of God) invading the ordinariness of our lives so that others might want it too. In the midst of this there is room for healing and deliverance, but not as merely isolated events. In these incarnational themes lie the foundation of the church's involvement in the plan of God.

Charismatic gifts are not a collection of isolated events but an ongoing encounter with the grace of God