Sèa & Islands Post 25

Community or Constituency

Now all human communities contain an element of politics. We may describe this without a capital ‘P’ but it exists, whether we like it or not. All of us, whether in leadership or not, have a constituency and this very fact means we will be drawn to speak and live in ways that affirm our position within what are perceived to be acceptable boundaries.

We may well, from time to time, develop thoughts and ideas that would be seen as being at odds with the demands of our community but we will be drawn to establishing political patterns of behaviour and modes of speaking that seek to confirm our place within the status quo.

Through a Glass Darkly

During my fifty plus years of life, most of which has been as part of a church community, I have grown somewhat tired of hearing emphatic statements in church.

Don’t get me wrong; I haven’t stopped believing. I just feel concerned about the way we present God and the expectations that we place on people’s lives. Once secure in the knowledge of our certainties, we begin to defend our new territory with the kind of fervour that the world find objectionable.

I am mindful that the Apostle Paul, arguably one of the most definite writers in the New Testament, accepted that his views were limited.

After nailing the context for Christian love in 1 Corinthians 13, he seemingly groans and offers his confession that we see these things, indeed all things, through a darkened glass.

This seems in stark contrast with the stand of certainty some Christians often take when discussing many of the subjects that our dear to us. Such a stance leaves little room for dialogue with other church people, let alone other religions or indeed agnostics and atheists.

It is my conviction that these positions of certainty produce a limited view of God, his creation, and his purposes. Here is the main point of my argument. It is the very limitation of our understanding on which the whole thing rests; or at least our acknowledgement of this limitation.

It is quite another to have such limitations and yet know that you see in part. It is one thing to have a limited view, yet believe that you see fully.

The latter can lead to a halting of dialogue, as individuals and churches defend their view as complete and absolute. The former can lead the pilgrim to hold their belief as a signpost pointing to a greater truth.

It is impossible for us, for example, to understand love fully. We engage with it in a context; in a time and space. When we attempt to describe God’s love, we are immediately confronted with the inadequacy of our words.

I read the gospels and find the Lord Jesus grappling with the problem of explaining eternal truths in an earthly context and I wonder why we believe that certainty is the goal.

Jesus seems to present one parable about the kingdom of God suggesting that it is like a tiny mustard seed that grows into the tallest of plants (51). Then, almost as if to deconstruct his own example, he offers his listeners another parable about a woman working yeast into dough (52). Following this, he offers many other parabolic examples pointing to the kingdom.

It’s as if Jesus is presenting his followers with one glimpse of what the kingdom of God is like and before they can build ‘The first Church of the Mustard Seed’ he indicates that this picture is not enough to explain it.

In light of this we must be wary of thinking that doctrinal expression can ever be enough to express how amazing is the love of God.

Indeed, as we hit some of the more perplexing parts of what it is to trust in the providence of a loving God, we are tempted to run in two seemingly opposite directions. At times the insecurity that we face makes us rush towards things that have the marks of certainty. We need solid ground; we crave a place that gives us hope in something more definite than the sum of our fears.

There are other periods when the questions break us out into new pastures; into ideas, thoughts and hopes that seem to rest on things less certain. Here we feel comfort from the freedom found in asking questions that we feel sure cannot be answered.

It seems odd at times to think that both directions, both responses, have Bible verses that support our newfound place of rest. It is at this point that perhaps we look to those on the other side of this divide and judge them by our own selection of verses.

We need to recognise that all of us view such things from a vantage point constructed by our experience and the theology expressed by our tribe. In this respect, we are being political and engaging with our own constituency.

I hope that it is not too much of a caricature to suggest that a Calvinist Evangelical might stand upon the idea of justice to view and interpret a theology of the love of God. Similarly I would prefer to stand upon the idea of the love of God in order to view and interpret justice. It is the acknowledgement that we occupy a particular viewing point, that makes questioning such an attractive and useful exercise.

For what it’s worth, I have found hope in the place of questions for which there are no answers this side of eternity. I find comfort in this from the way that the Bible leaves room for the providence of God to work outside of the construct that I and my tradition have made; the Centurion with greater faith than the religious, and the Samaritan woman becoming the first evangelist to her own tribe.

Certainty provides the comfort of believing that we can know definitive answers to deep and meaningful questions. Mystery says that the answers themselves are, as N.T. Wright (53) states, only 'signposts into a mist'.

As mentioned earlier, I was taught in my theological training that the Bible offered a systematic understanding of the world. I soon came to realise that the Bible is not written this way. When we take disconnected verses, out of their context, in order to make a systematic theology we often fail to hear the eternal echo of the true message.

This lack of system can seem strange to those who are looking for certainty but I believe it brings a freedom that often is not found in religious life. It means we read scripture to find the story or narrative that is being presented. We try to read it in context with a healthy respect for the writing style and the author's intent. In this endeavour I hope to find others on a similar path with whom I can travel.

God promised us an anchor for the soul, not certainty for the mind

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 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 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 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 & 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