Sea & Islands Post 23

What if Reconciliation is Bigger than we Think?

Much of this proposes that we challenge the usual markers and descriptors of church; and here I do mean challenge rather than automatically remove them.

Evangelicalism handed to me a view of two distinct tribes that were separated by either an acknowledgement of, or an ascribing of, redemption. Some were 'saved', and by implication 'in' the church (for some groups read 'in our church') and some were not saved and therefore not 'in' the church. There was some small allowance for the journey of discovery towards redemption, but the picture was that of two groups.

In this environment there was a tendency to approach the Bible systematically; verses were assigned their place in the theological compendium that affirmed our doctrine. Whole groups of disparate verses were lumped together to form what appeared to be a definitive belief system that was not easily challenged.

In actuality, the Bible was not written in this way, but the certainty with which doctrine was preached in my own particular church background did not allow for further enquiry without the possibility of being labelled as a heretic.

Take for example, the use of Hebrews 9:20 to say that there is no such thing as post-mortem salvation:

'And just as it is appointed for mortals to die once, and after that the judgment.'

Evangelicals have consistently used this to suggest that the moment of salvation can only take place in this lifetime. The verse does not specifically say this. The context of the surrounding verses are not directed at this issue. The only way that this can be categorically used as a proof text is when offered in conjunction with other verses in the Bible. Here is an excellent example of a systematic approach delivering a doctrinal position in a way that makes it seem that there is not another possible way of viewing this subject.

Now evangelicals may well be correct in asserting that salvation is only available in this lifetime and after death no further choices will be offered to human beings. As it happens I don't share that view, but my point here is that the systematic approach does not generally allow for further discussion. Infact, I would suggest that it ties belief up in such a way as to exclude doubt about basic doctrine.

This takes me to the nature of reconciliation. I have heard this preached on many times, but it is striking to me that the breadth of the reconciliation being worked out in Christ is seldom covered.

Read 2 Corinthians 5:14-21:

'For the love of Christ urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died. And he died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them. From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way. So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors for Christ, since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.'

Now, if you will, read it again and let the words wash over you.

I am not going to suggest that I completely understand what is taking place here. The context seems to be Paul commending himself and his theology to the local group in order that his words might be accepted. In verse 10 below, we see a much ignored verse where Paul talks as if judgement is more than whether we have put our faith in Christ, although of course, this is significant too.

'For all of us must appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each may receive recompense for what has been done in the body, whether good or evil.'

It seems there will be a day of reckoning and our actions are significant factors. Be this as it may, Paul goes on to suggest that there are two groups involved:

1) Those who have been 'given....the ministry of reconciliation', and

2) Those who 'in Christ God was reconciling ....... to himself, not counting their trespasses against them'

I feel that this is somewhat mind-blowing! In the evangelicalism I was handed, the two distinct groups of people were those who were 'saved' and those who were 'not saved'. However, in 2 Corinthians the two groups are actually those who are being 'reconciled' and, seemingly a subset of the first group, those who have been 'entrusted with the ministry of reconciliation'.

This gives the gospel such a greater sense of Good News. If you are from an evangelical background be honest with yourself and consider whether this has ever been truly explained to you.

Now we start to see how our theology dictates whether we develop church as a lifeboat or as a city on a hill. When some are saved and some are lost the church sees its role as being collectors of drowning souls or as Brian McLaren (50) puts it, the church has got involved in an 'evacuation plan for the next world' rather than looking for God's will to be done here as it is in heaven.

When we get gripped by the message of 2 Corinthians 5 we start to see that the difference is more likely to be that we in the church have found out that reconciliation has taken place whereas others have either never heard or are indifferent to the idea.

Now I don't say this to suggest that I am necessarily a universalist but to say that the work of God in Christ is bigger than most evangelicals have perhaps considered. In this economy it must surely still be possible to refuse the reconciliation offered but whether this offer is limited to this lifetime or not is surely open to question.

What if, when its all been said and done, God surprises us like he did to Jonah and has mercy upon all of his creation.

Whatever conclusion one might come to, it seems clear that the role of the church must be different from the one we have been handed. In this construct rather than being the confrontational defender of a belief system, we are the announcers and enactors of reconciliation.

Reconciliation has already been made effective; our job is to live it out for others to see

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 21

Private Evangelicalism

In my experience of life as part of an evangelical community I have noticed something of a disconnection between the stated beliefs of the church and the actions of individuals. As we have seen above this is not a static phenomenon; changes take place as people travel through different seasons of their life.

If we were to take a survey of the beliefs and actions of most evangelical Christians, I am confident we would find that the name 'evangelical' does not readily translate to a drive for adherents to either engage in evangelism or invite their friends to church.

I am not sure that in sociological terms the church is that different from other community groups in this regard. When one is a member of a group, there are all kinds of things that you personally will make allowances for; the odd behaviour of certain individuals, rules that you don't feel completely confident in vocalising, etc. You, as an individual member, put up with such things but you don't feel completely confident enough to invite others to witness such things.

This is a generalisation and I haven't had the opportunity of running a survey but I would suggest that what we have is a private evangelicalism, which itself is an oxymoron. I would suggest that most of our congregation members are comfortable to belong to the church, but would be horrified if some of the things that we believe were known by their wider friends and family.

I don't say this to apportion blame; I am in also a private evangelical many ways. It is all part of the compartmentalisation that takes place in post-modern life. Modernity offered communities of people whose lives were intertwined at many places; work, home, social gatherings, sports, church, pubs, clubs, local shops. Post-modern life means that most of us in the UK have very few social connections with our neighbours.

In this environment it means that we are likely to have several unconnected social groups, one of which is the church. This is what I mean by private evangelicalism; church is one compartment of our busy lives.

The usual methods used to evangelise one's friends often results in a loss of friendship

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 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

Sea & Islands Post 13a

The Incarnation is the Message

So we look at the ministry of Christ, which is after all the ministry of the church, and see a manifold sense of how God wants to impact communities with the Good News. Jesus was not confined to a particular approach. He met people where they were and touched every aspect of their lives. He brought healing, he spoke forgiveness, he touched the ordinariness of their weddings, he taught them, he chastised them, and he blessed their children. Every aspect of human life was touched. Every need of the human condition was met. What breadth, what creativity, what brilliance in the mind of God to conceive of such a ministry.

The gospel of John records the story of Jesus at the wedding at Cana (24). Here, apparently at his mother’s request, Jesus turns water into wine. It is all too easy to try to spiritualise such a story and give it hidden meaning. It speaks to me, however, of the sheer love of Christ for his mother and his community. The story depicts a scene where possibly the equivalent of over eight hundred bottles are produced from the water. We have to face the fact that some expressions of our ministry are intended to be more to do with loving our community than showing theological significance or making worldview statements.

None of us would intentionally try to decry any part of Christ’s ministry at the expense of another. Yet how easy we find it do so with the ministry of the church. Only when we give equal weight to every aspect of how a church impacts its community can we start to understand the breadth of the conception of God that resulted in the church of Jesus Christ.

Many of the stories of the ministry of Christ do not give details of how many people decided to follow him as a result of his ministry; there are no statistics but the word multitudes is used. There were also times when people left him. We would be mistaken in making a judgment that only those moments that result in 'real' faith encounters were of value in his ministry. Yet, rather sadly, we find it easy to do so with the ministry of the church. How easy it is, when reviewing a church ministry such as parents and toddler group, to make a value judgment based upon how many people have been added to the church through it.

The incarnation is of itself the message: the very presence of God in the human story is more than a study in the methods of Jesus, the Messiah.

In this respect some church activities may well be right to do, regardless of the seen benefits, because they are either done in obedience to God or they fit with the spirit of the ministry of Christ. No business practice or marketing techniques can overshadow simple obedience. I would suggest that simple obedience is more linked with the continued presence of the church in a community rather, than its ability to perform in various ways that fit with the latest views on the best way to attract people to attend. I am not suggesting that how we do church is not to be reviewed and questioned but that such a review is secondary to the presence of a loving community living out discipleship.

We need to ask the right questions; How does our church reflect the whole ministry of Christ? How do we honour and support all of these expressions of ministry? Are we multi-focused or single-focused? The marks of the ministry of Christ are broad and not narrow, they are manifold and not singular.

On speaking about his own imminent death, the Gospel of John (25) records Jesus saying that he was about to be glorified and then showed us the method of that glorification. Only by dying, or being buried like a seed, can he produce the fruit that the Father had intended for the world. Only by his self-sacrifice could Jesus, who had limited himself in time and space, affect the whole world towards eternity.

In the same way these marks need to be seen in the church. It is probably the greatest indication of an apostolic church that it can see further than the immediate and produce fruit that has its effect into eternity.

This sacrifice is not some puritanical willingness to go without the comforts of the modern day. It is far more radical than that. It is that you and I, together as the hands and feet of Jesus, might die to ourselves in areas that are often unseen by those around us.

Dying to oneself is not about giving up a few luxuries but the willingness to use our own seat of power for the sake of others and not for ourselves

Sea & Islands Post 12

Leadership and the Danger of Single Focus

It could be said that each of us incaranate the message of the gospel whether we intend to or not. Our thoughts and actions become a hermeneutic for our understanding of the work of God in Christ. This is particularly true for those in leadership; we bring to our teaching and leadership a worldview that shaped by our beliefs.

The problem is that this relationship, between the incarnation and our worldview, is also affected by other factors that might not seem obvious. Such things as often revealed in the culture wars that take place when our way of life seems threatened. What we are then presented with is a message that has all of the outward appearance of being connected with the gospel but is more a push back against the pace of change.

For example, in his book 'Why Men Hate Going to Church', David Murrow (23) sets out a view that has gained popularity in many aspirational churches. He uses statistics and stories to suggest that the over feminisation of the church has meant that men are not interested in attending. He lands the ultimate blow in his thesis with the phrase, “The religion that wins men, wins”.

There are so many things that I could say about the damage that this book, and others like it, have done, but I will focus on a few aspects that I think are useful to us here.

Firstly, I object to the idea that is created by such books that men are defined as male by 'not' being women; or at least by not displaying characteristics typically associated with being female. This places women in the position of the 'other', that men are to not be. There is a tendency in both the media, and by implication the church, to over genderise issues of personhood. This is the 'Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus' effect that I see so often in the management training sessions I run. The concepts that women can multitask and men can't; women love detail and men don't; and women are emotional and men are not, all present ideas about the differences in the gender that are open to question.

Even if we sometimes see representations of such things, it is highly likely that they are culturally conditioned and not an ontological predisposition. I challenge you, as I do in the training sessions, to consider you own group of friends and you will likely find men who cry and love detail, and women who are more stoical and straight to the point. The gender stereotypes might offer a bit of amusement among family members, but they are not something on which to build a belief system.

Men are not more male if they show fewer seemingly female characteristics: the cultural loading here is almost palpable but Murrow, and those who have used his material, are falling into the trap of not seeing the 'wood for the trees' when it comes to understanding humanity. I would suggest that human beings, both women and men, share a very high proportion of common characteristics.

Gender differences do exist, but that we should not allow popular culture to be the loudest voice in influencing our view; thus leading us towards an over simplified position. We certainly should not stoop to producing our own version of the call for people to 'man up' as if maleness was a call to some kind of bravado or aggression.

Second, as stated earlier, ideas that are based on revisionist views of history simply will not do. There has not been a time when, en masse, men have been so distinctly excited about church attendance. Murrow's idea only works if such a time had existed. Only in this context can he assign the cause of the downfall to the over feminisation of the church. Of more importance, particularly given the vastly out weighted statistics of male leadership compared with female leadership within the church, is Murrow's over simplification of what it means to be a man.

I heard a keynote speaker referencing Murrow's work at a men's conference a few years ago, I was staggered that intelligent people allowed such ideas to go unchallenged, let alone that such conferences have testosterone invoking names such as: Brotherhood, Brave, Xcel, Mighty Men, Courageous Men, Iron Sharpens Iron, Call to Arms, and Act Like Men.

I am just waiting for someone like Mark Driscoll to bring out the 'Grow a Pair' men's conference and I think we will have had all the various shades of culturally laden names available. It is worth noting that in popular culture males are encouraged to become more 'manly' with phrases like 'grow a pair', 'man up', and 'don't be such a girl'. The fact that some parts of the church not only do not see these are offensive but mimic popular culture by using them is more than worrying.

During the above mentioned conference, the one in which Murrow's book was lauded, I looked down the row at the group of men with whom I had attended and saw in that small picture why such teaching is wrong. None of us fitted the stereotype. I don't even think the speaker fitted the stereotype. I didn't fit it either. I am a six foot, eighteen stone, ex rugby playing Northerner, who likes meat from a barbecue: yes, I would fit the stereotype here. But I also cry at sad films, like art and poetry, hate fighting, and don't like Harley Davidson motorcycles. I probably need to grow a pair.

As I said, the rest of the men on my row failed to fit the brief. They were a fine collection of what it means to be men; complex and different. They may have laughed at the funny stories of how men like to shoot, ride, fight, eat road kill, and give firm handshakes (never hugs) but the truth is that the oversimplification was not our experience. As a mark of our male solidarity we had a group hug at the end and went off to a salad bar, it seemed only right.

Our understanding of gender is important when considering the incarnation as a model for the church. God did not come primarily to be a man but to be a human being. Churches, and authors, that present well defined parameters for what it means to be female or male, without acknowledging the cultural conditioning that our views are laden with, will have a tendency to create an incarnation in their own image.

Add to this, if you will, the idea that evangelical churches have typically followed a one ‘man’ ministry model of church leadership. In addition we might say that larger churches have tended to adopt the 'senior person as the CEO' model, we can see how Murrow's words become both dangerous and misleading. If the 'religion that wins men, wins' is in any way true, it is probably because the conditions that allow men to be in positions of power over women have not been sufficiently challenged.

So we have a high proportion of male leaders heading up congregations that generally contain more female members. At the same time the world is changing and male leadership as the norm is being questioned. It's no wonder that we have a tendency to highlight the male stereotypes; even if Murrow and conference leaders think the opposite.

Again the incarnation is not about God becoming male; it is about God becoming human. Once we have cleared this in our minds we can consider what the model might mean for us. Now before you think that this overemphasising of maleness only affects men it is worth noting that many women, in business, church, and politics, feel they have to demonstrate characteristics associated with being male in order to succeed.

It also places in the minds of our congregations ideas that suggest that maleness is more associated with God than attributes traditionally associated with being female.

Our goal in Christ is to become fully human; not to look for ways to display our masculinity or femininity

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 3

Demolition, Deconstruction, Construction, and Incarnation

In the early days of our family life, before we could afford a purpose built MPV, we had to make do with an old, but loveable, yellow transit minibus. It was in the days before the girls had developed a sense of embarrassment. Back then they would happily hold my hand as we walked down the street. They would run out of the school gates and greet both parents with a hug and a kiss. Well before high school days arrived, however, they had discovered that whenever they saw their parents, a rush of blood would fill their faces and they would blush with a high summer redness.

Our yellow people carrier, for that is what we called it in an attempt to make it sound posh, was fitted with all that we needed. Seatbelts on every seat, tow-bar for trailer or caravan, radio cassette (it was a long time ago) for travelling entertainment and even a 12-volt kettle for refreshments on longer trips. A couple of chickens and a goat would have given us new-age traveller status in most counties.

In an attempt to remove the need for regular shouts of ‘I need the toilet’ we took with us a potty that we kept under one of the seats. I insisted on calling it a 'guzunder' because it is a funny word and I wanted the girls to know some of the words that my mother had taught me. ‘Because it guz under the bed’ I would reply whenever asked and laugh as if I had never heard the joke before. I think it must be a genetic disposition that causes dads to tell, repeat, and continually laugh at the same bad jokes over and over again.

As the bus was longer than the average vehicle the children had to learn hand signals in order to get my attention in the front seat. This would mostly concern the need for a toilet break. On one such trip across the Pennines one of our girls had, having signalled her need, dutifully filled the receptacle with recycled orange juice and my wife was pleading with me to find a safe place to stop so that she could empty the contents. This being the Snake Pass there was very little chance of that happening for several miles, so I gave instructions for her to keep the guzunder steady for another twenty minutes.

She was not happy with this reply and decided to take the matter into her own hands on this sunny Saturday morning. Sliding open a side window she readied herself to empty the potty. Seeing what she was doing in the rear view mirror, I shouted for her to stop because I knew that nothing good could come from this episode.

‘It’s OK’ she said, ‘I will hold it low so that none of the contents will come back into the minibus’. My bride had mistaken the meaning of my outburst, as she had failed to see a gleaming open top car directly behind us. The driver and passenger were enjoying the summer wind blowing through their hair as they travelled through the beautiful Peak scenery.

Ignoring all of my garbled protestations, my wife emptied the guzunder and the contents moved from our possession to the smiling faces of the couple behind.

When I informed my wife of the kindness that she had shown to the strangers following us, she ducked out of sight and screamed ‘go faster’. I informed her that Ford had not fitted this model of 2-litre diesel with go-faster stripes and so I could not travel any quicker, especially as we were going up hill.

I knew that I should have pulled over as soon as the road allowed so that we could have apologised, but you could have fried an egg on my face at the embarrassment of it all!

It wasn’t long before the open top sports car overtook our big yellow minibus and the driver and his companion showed their appreciation by teaching our children several hand signals that were not to be found in the Highway Code.

It seems that it isn’t enough to get rid of things you no longer want to carry, without realising that your actions have an effect on those who are following.

So it is with the journey of leadership within the church. In following the call to lead, one accepts a level of responsibility that is, at times, at odds with one’s own need for full autonomy. There are people following and we are called to be aware of how our lives affect them. Beverley and I have been on a twenty five-year journey of church planting; that is to say, over two decades of deconstruction. It started, as these things often do, with a general dissatisfaction with the status quo. It became apparent that, along with Bono and the boys (3), we still hadn’t found what we were looking for.

Initially, our inexperience drew us to employ demolition tactics in our eagerness to make changes. We soon learned, however, that our response needed to be subtler; perhaps a little more grown up. We knew that we had a responsibility to those who might follow to deal with our complaint in a way that didn’t adversely affect their journey.

Those of a more theologically conservative disposition might see deconstruction as a negative idea; often feeling threatened by any notion that comes close to questioning the basics of their faith. I would suggest, however, that there is a difference between demolition and deconstruction.

In our discussions with others we have often been treated to responses that are versions of ‘we shouldn’t question God – He is sovereign’ as if that would satisfy our curiosity and silence us.

This seems odd given that the very nature of an incarnational faith is life, death and rebirth as the gospel is fleshed out in every new generation; a kind of deconstruction and reconstruction. Even though the death of Christ appeared to his followers as a form of demolition they were soon to discover God’s purpose in the story.

As previously noted, however, there is a significant difference between demolition and deconstruction.

Our local town had a new road built through it several years ago in order to reduce the flow of traffic through its historic central streets. During the project houses were demolished, canal systems re-routed, and farmland was built upon in order to complete the project. A member of our congregation, Bill, worked on the project and reminds me that it is a 'relief road' and not as 'bypass' as most of the local inhabitants refer to it. It seems words matter in all disciplines of life.

This meant that some things were demolished. There was no longer any trace of what had been there previously. It is a permanent change without any reference to the past. The old is dismissed as having no or little value. Other areas, however, were deconstructed and reshaped in order to preserve areas of wildlife habitat. This exercise involves assigning a correct value and meaning to all of the materials and components of the construct. For sure, some of the components will be identified as not having a current significance and duly laid aside, but they will still be treated as having had value. It means taking a different approach and level of care with the landscape. So what might the marks of deconstruction be over and above that of demolition?

It is interesting to note that the rerouting of the canal was a major part of the project. In this undertaking the engineers made substantial changes, but the community was still left with a canal. Rerouting is not the same as removal.

Deconstruction is about dealing with the component parts of our faith and ecclesiology whilst demolition deals with the removal of the building as a whole. Perhaps the fear of those with a more conservative view might be due to any act of deconstruction being misconstrued as demolition.