Always Hope

On the future

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sat, 04 Apr 2020 10:30:00 +0000

What a month it has been. In time (how long will it take?) we will reflect on how a tiny bug brought the global traffic of human life to a crashing halt, but our initial reaction was mostly just shock. The suddenness of the lockdown in the UK took our breath away, leaving us scrabbling for meaningful activity to replace the things that had been taken away.

Now, as we move from shock (and a bit of denial) to a kind of acceptance, the semblance of a routine in the new normality, we are starting to think again. There is a great deal to think about. Coronavirus has revealed things about our society that were previously shrouded, both good and ill. It has forced us to examine our priorities - even Government ministers, not usually given to public introspection, have been heard to muse about a re-evaluation of what matters, afterwards.

As we think, then, about what comes after, so we have seen the emergence of the predictions. I've long been fascinated by the compulsion to predict the future. It is always present, but comes to the fore at times like this. Everybody, on social media and in mainstream outlets, is confidently predicting what the impact of this will be, despite the fact that the very existence of the crisis proves, to those who were not aware of it, that the future is never predictable. The church is no exception - literally within days of this starting, people were telling me what the impact would be on the Church of England.

I remember when the financial crisis first hit in 2007, there was a similar rash of predictions about how the world would be different. We would be more egalitarian, less consumerist, more spiritual, less hubristic, and so on. Very little of this came to pass. Probably the biggest short term impact was the introduction of austerity, which only had the effect of further impoverishing the most disadvantaged in society. Longer term, the stricter controls on banks arguably built more resilience into the existing order, rather than ushering in a new one.

The truth is that most predictions are only a statement of what the predictor would like to happen, rather than what will happen. Everyone hopes that the current crisis will finally prove their cherished hypothesis was right all along. So we have seen people telling us that after this, crowds will come flocking back to church, or that the churches will finally be deserted - take your pick, but understand that these only represent the desire of the person making the prediction.

Much of my work nowadays involves planning ahead, and one thing that is clear is that right now, all planning is off because the future is impossible to see. In a few more weeks, some sort of future will start to emerge and we can start looking ahead again, but it would be unwise to start that machine again too soon. A much better approach is to remain in the place where we are able to reflect on what this tells us, and what we are learning from this extraordinary time. Doing that, we will be better able to face the unknown future.

Clergy need to have more in common

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sun, 18 Jun 2017 20:20:00 +0000

The other day I was involved a minor twitter spat with one who we shall describe as "a well-known blogger". I say minor because, honestly, it would not even feature on the Richter Scale of such altercations. It was more an exchange of slightly grumpy tweets followed by what each party imagines to be a dignified silence (note to self - don't engage with well-known bloggers at 10 pm at the end of a long and gruelling week).

The cause of the dispute, you ask? The said well-known blogger was objecting to the number of clergy online who are joining the call for the resignation of the Prime Minister in the wake of the Grenfell Tower disaster and, well, everything else. I tried to question whether he would be equally disgusted if they were to give the same treatment to a Labour Prime Minister, whereupon he immediately took me to be one of the pitchfork-wielding mob, and sent me to Coventry.

The irony is that, on one point at least, I agree with the w-kb. The sight of Priests and Bishops lining up to call for the Prime Minister's head, in such a nakedly partisan way, makes me very queasy. Should Christian Ministers campaign for the interests of a political party? It's long been my opinion that they should not, and in the current situation I feel that more strongly than ever.

Of course, the Christian gospel is highly political. Anyone who reads the Bible and maintains otherwise is either missing half the pages or is being selective to the point of myopia. But what you won't find in the Bible is the manifesto of any particular party. You'll find some things which match the aspirations of any mainstream party, and other things which would make them extremely uncomfortable. Anyone who maintains otherwise is either missing half the pages, or is.. anyway, you know the rest. And Politics is a noble profession. I don't subscribe to the notion that politicians are all venal, mendacious chancers. Most are motivated by the desire to serve the public and to change things for the better. But, being duty-bound to keep to the party line, or at least to maintain the pretence that they are right and the other lot are wrong, they operate in an oppositional and abrasive way. This is not the calling of the clergy, or anyone who is in Christian ministry.

If my calling is to be a representative of Christ to people (however you understand that), how can I possibly be, if I alienate more than half of them by attacking their politics? And if I am called to preach Christ (again, however understood), isn't it confusing, to say the least, if I also preach the [insert name] party? It seems to me that this vocation demands that we are political, with a small p, but to eschew Party Politics, at least in public.

The Church of England has established a role for itself in critiquing the Government of the day, a role which perhaps began with Faith in the City, which so famously annoyed Mrs Thatcher. Recent examples including the Feeding Britain report, in which the Bishop of Truro played a leading role, and the ministry of Justin Welby, who walks the tightrope with great skill. But this role demands a political independence which is compromised if we start to cheerlead for one side (or the other).

Recently many people marked the anniversary of the murder of Jo Cox by celebrating her words, that "we have far more in common with each other than that which divides us". Perhaps, not for the first time, the church needs to heed a message from outside in order to communicate its own message more effectively.

Nativity chaos isn't so bad

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Wed, 03 Dec 2014 20:15:00 +0000

This week brought us a new entrant on the stage of popular theological debate: Netmums alerted the nation to the imminent demise of the "traditional nativity play". Mums are concerned, or in some cases, disappointed or even disgusted by their children's schools cavalier treatment of the Nativity, at a number of levels. Even those schools which haven't dispensed with it altogether, we learned, subvert the classic form by introducing a range of characters who can only be described as extra-biblical, including Elvis, Alan Sugar, spacemen, "a lobster", and, pushing the definition of "characters" to the limit, recycling bins.

None of which is news to any long-serving parent, especially those of us who had more than one offspring and consequentially sat through a decade or more of school Christmas performances, grinning fixedly at the antics of the fairies, reindeer, and angels in the syncretistic nativity of modern Britain. Nor is it news to any parish priest, who every year invites the children of the community to come on Christmas Eve dressed as "your favourite nativity character", knowing full well that the among the Shepherds and Angels will be Captain America, Tinkerbell, and a number of other characters probably best left un-named.

This, of course, drew the usual responses from the usual places. "Extreme political correctness or a nation too embarrassed to face up to its Christian heritage", thundered Don Horrocks of the Evangelical Alliance (quoted here). Which is odd, because one of the few things that unites conservative evangelicals and liberal biblical scholars is a dislike of Nativity plays. If we were to accurately reflect the biblical text, shepherds (from Luke) and wise men (from Matthew) would never appear in the same scene, and there certainly wouldn't be a donkey. For clergy and other Christian leaders who are already anxious about this kind of thing, the appearance of premier league footballers and dancing sprouts is bound to cause something close to meltdown.

But it's interesting that the majority of schools actually don't dispense with the Nativity (that is, the birth of Jesus), but instead go with what we might call this "Nativity plus" approach. And, in the end, is it so different from what went before? The traditional Nativity is cheerfully unbiblical with its eclectic gathering of angels, shepherds, and the ones who may or may not have been Kings. But, far from being a liberal sell-out which needs to be replaced with the biblically correct version, it actually says something important about the incarnation of Jesus. As the boy born to be King lies in the manger, he is worshipped by his own people, but also by heaven (the angels), creation (the animals), and all the nations of the earth (the wise men, who came from beyond Israel). The whole world is invited to gather round the baby Jesus, no-one is excluded, and all the realms of this world, political or cultural, are brought into his Kingdom. In the words of Christina Rossetti:

Come all mankind, come all creation hither,
Come worship Christ together.

So what's wrong with adding some new characters to the mix? Everyone's invited to the Nativity. We're always saying we want to communicate the real meaning of Christmas - I can't think of many better ways of doing that than seeing Darth Vader, Wayne Rooney, and the cast of Eastenders kneeling in the muck and straw around the manger. They belong there, with the sheep and the angels, in the world to which Jesus was born, and is born again each Christmas. Come one, come all, there's room for you in the stable.

What we learned from women bishops vote

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Fri, 18 Jul 2014 19:17:00 +0000

So, the deed is finally done, less than 2 years after the embarrassing collapse of the original proposal, the Church of England's General Synod has voted to open the ranks of the episcopate to women for the first time. Years of anxious wrangling appear to be coming to an end, as the new rules will surely be speedily approved by Parliament and then nodded through the final stages by the same Synod, before its term of office expires next year.

I'm in favour of this, I always have been, and though for the most part I respect and value those who hold a different view, I'm sure this was the right decision. I don't have anything to add to the many comments already made on the rightness of it, only a few reflections on what we might learn by observing what happened on Monday:

We learned that General Synod hasn't improved since 2012. Let's get the bad stuff out of the way first. We wouldn't be talking about this if the Synod had not failed, in 2012, to pass a proposal that had already been approved by 100% of the Dioceses. And once again, on Monday, we had to listen around 85 individual speeches to a body whose members had almost entirely made up their minds how they were going to vote in advance, and yet still had to endure an anxious wait to see if they would consent to pass the legislation that all the Diocesan Synods had already approved. It is frankly embarrassing to be represented in the national eye by this verbally incontinent bureaucratic dinosaur of a body. We need a better governance system and this process has made that painfully clear.

We learned a bit more about Justin Welby's leadership. He wasn't much in evidence on Monday but the process has his fingerprints all over it. Always Hope seems to be in danger of becoming the Welby cheerleaders' club, but still, credit where it's due, and much is due here. The Church of England seems to have unearthed a leader with the rare talent of getting things done. Instead of meekly accepting the failure of 2012, and sheltering behind the old excuse of Archbishops having no real power, Justin and his colleague Sentamu sent out a message that we were going to try again, and get it right this time.

We learned that the Church of England is not as divided as some think. My opinions about the Synod system do not detract from my respect for the many individual members who supported this legislation in a spirit of reconciliation, including several who voted against their own views to do so. Many people have been confidently predicting for some time that this, and other controversial issues, are going to split the church down the middle. This seems a perfectly reasonable assumption, given all the evidence. And yet, contrary to all expectations, once again the Church has demonstrated its peculiar genius for sticking together without agreeing on anything. The Church has a long tradition of holding together different streams which, at one level, seem to have nothing at all in common. The agreement over women as bishops is the latest example of unity being plucked from the jaws of division, and it was done, by the majority at least, in a spirit of humility and mutual respect. Maybe there's more to this than meets the eye. Maybe the explanation is something along these lines:

Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus.

There really is hope, after all.

Another year

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Wed, 18 Jun 2014 08:58:00 +0000

I appear to have had a year off blogging. I don't know how that happened. Perhaps I didn't have anything to say. But now seems a good time to pull the dustsheets off AH and take the old thing for a spin.

So what's been happening in the world, or at least the world as seen through the lens of this blog, in the last 12 months? Good question, thank you. Because it has been fascinating, even if not easy.

Life in the UK feels a bit downbeat. I avoid party political comment but it's not partisan to notice that the Government is struggling. We're told that the recession is over, and that economic policy is vindicated because we're all getting better off, but in real life everything still seems hard work. We're a country that is getting by, making the best of things, rather than one that's really enjoying life. The fact that almost all our politicians have adopted a rhetoric of threat, anxiety, and defensiveness only reinforces this. Hope seems to have disappeared from our public discourse.

Curiously, for the Church of England, things are looking up, or at least less down than they were. The advent of Archbishop Justin has been a breath of fresh air. The appointment of a financially literate Archbishop of Canterbury, coming so soon after the banking crisis, in which the Church became so spectacularly embroiled through the St Paul's affair, just seems to have worked. He had a good way in to the media, on which he has built and shown a happy knack for getting his message across without being misinterpreted or led into elephant traps. His leadership appears to steering us through the women bishops fiasco, which was threatening to destroy the Church completely. And he talks about Jesus all the time. Of course his predecessor did as well, but once again he seems to be able to make himself heard effectively. He's even made a start on cleansing the Augean Stables of church bureaucracy. Sorry if that sounds a bit crawly. I know he's not perfect, but he seems like the right man at the right time.

Talking of church bureaucracy, there's a lot happening in the internal workings of the ecclesiastical machine. Partly prompted by the aforementioned Archbishop, but partly as a belated reaction to changing times and circumstances, the way we do business as an organisation is being put under the microscope. This creates some tensions in an organisation that doesn't have a centralised chain of command, but the conversation is happening. This means we're seeing a surprisingly rapid culture change in the way the organisations of the church work. Watch this space.

So is there hope after all? I think so. But if there is, it's because we are plugged into the main supply of hope: "Jesus, who God raised from the dead", as Peter put it. There's a message worth hearing, in church, or anywhere.

Kate Bottley flashmob wedding is 100% good news

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sun, 23 Jun 2013 18:21:00 +0000

First things first. If you have spent the last 48 hours on Mars, or not on Twitter, watch it now:

Kate posted links to this yesterday and I think she was beginning to wonder if anyone was interested. She need not have. Today the internet has gone bonkers over it, in its usual frenzied way and she is the news-worthy vicar of the week, which is a good result in itself, keeping the usual embezzlers and philanderers out of the press, and giving the church a rare good news story on the clergy front.

Inevitably, then, the backlash has followed, with various individuals lining up to ping epithets like "irreverent" at her, and explaining how they like a good laugh as much as the next man but apparently not within 10 miles of a church, since this is "not an appropriate moment in the liturgy" and other such important-sounding things. Tomorrow there will be a rash of newspaper columns shouting about it and telling us that this is why the Church of England is doomed. Apparently someone has even told Mrs B that this proves that women should never become bishops (presumably because there would be too much danger of having fun).

Always Hope wants everyone to know, then, that there is nothing bad here, and a battery of things that are good, nay brilliant. To begin: this is completely appropriate to the liturgy. What better point in the service to do this than the one where the congregation inevitably start cheering and the groom already expects a quick snog, as we see here? A bit of choreographed waving and wiggling is hardly going to detract any further from the dignity of the moment. And in case the critics (mostly clergy, who perhaps ban kissing in their services too) hadn't noticed, the liturgy is a celebration of love, human as well as divine, the clue being in the word "celebration".

And that is the crux here. People go to weddings to have fun and celebrate the two principals. Most have no great affection for the religious bit, and churchpeople who insist on turning it into a po-faced ritual which apparently has nothing to do with the rest of the day are only making it worse. The average wedding guest endures the service in the hope that it will be over quickly so the good bit can start, and so is deprived of the chance of celebrating the third person in the contract - God. (Who, we can assume, is not as easily offended as some of his servants).

What Kate has done here is to give a couple back some ownership of their wedding from a church that has been used to telling people what they want. It worked a hundred, maybe even thirty years ago, but not any more. She's made herself, and the Church of England a tiny bit less irrelevant. Read Andrew Brown today. And she has also sent away a whole crowd of people thinking that the God bit might be worth listening to after all. Read the Richardson's comment underneath their YouTube video: "a fantastic vicar, church and congregation, and a bit of faith!".

That's what mission looks like in unchurched Britain today. Well done Kate.

I just hope nobody ever asks me do this.

Church for the world

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 08:00:00 +0000

The way I'm thinking about church was clarified in an instant this Sunday, in the unlikely setting of an 8.00 am BCP service. Or perhaps not so unlikely, because unlike some clergy, I find the communion service of 1662 to be a liturgy that powerfully expresses the liberality of the gospel, built as it is around the explosive declaration that "God so loved the world". God didn't just love the 5 of us who did him a favour by turning up to the service, but the whole world, even the ones who don't seem that bothered about him.

This was brought home to me by the Gospel reading (completely different to the one that non-17th century congregations were reading):

Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners for to hear him. And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them. And he spake this parable unto them, saying, What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, which need no repentance.

(sensible version here)

Would a shepherd really leave ninety-nine sheep to their own devices in order to go after just one? This shepherd would. The God that Jesus reveals to us is a restlessly questing one, who loves with a passion that will not be quenched until the last sheep comes home.

Of course, if the shepherd had consulted with his churchwardens first, he would never have got out of the fold.

That is horribly unfair to many churchwardens, but as a general point it is sadly true. Many congregations have very little interest in the sheep outside their own little fold, and actively resent the time "their" clergy spend on community work, visiting non-church members, and evangelism. The irony that in the modern Church of England there is only one sheep left, and it's the ninety-nine who have done a bunk, is lost on these myopic Christians who would rather we spent our final days as a denomination looking after the tiny minority who are "in", and leaving the rest outside.

Sunday by Sunday we worship a God who is totally unrecognisable in a church that exists only for itself. If there is any future for us, it's time to reconnect with the Shepherd who leaves us behind and goes out to those who aren't tucked up in the cosy building where he keeps the sheep.

Part time clergy short of cash shock

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 08:00:00 +0000

A vicar in Cornwall has taken up driving for Sainsbury's delivery service. [warning to readers of a delicate constitution: links to Daily Mail website]. Of course the idea of the worker priest, or minister in secular employment, is a well-established and noble one. We've long benefited from the ministry of priests who earn their living in other jobs, taking their vocation to work, and bringing back their multi-faceted experience to the Lord's Table. What sets the Revd Martyn Pinnock aside is that he offers a less theologically nuanced reason for his new job, ie. he needs the cash. In fact he is not officially a Minister in Secular Employment at all, because he is a stipendiary priest, paid by the church. Or, to be precise, half-stipendiary.

This isn't a criticism of my old diocese, Truro. Or at least, not a criticism of Truro in particular. But without a doubt, there will be people around in Mr Pinnock's parish and his diocese who will frown on this as an inappropriate and selfish move by a man who, in their eyes, ought to be devoting himself to the work of the church. Whereas the correct response should be simply to note that, as a staff worker effectively employed for 50% of full-time, what he does with the other half of his work hours is entirely his business.

And could we blame him? The Mail's given explanation for his employment move is that he was recently divorced and needed the money for legal fees. But probably a more direct explanation is that a half stipend is about £12,000 a year. As we noted already, he needed the cash. Given his circumstances, it's very unlikely that he took a half-stipendiary post by choice, but because there was no realistic chance of getting a full-time one.

And there's the thing which should give pause for thought for anyone interested in the future of ordained ministry. Over the years Dioceses have elevated to a virtue the pursuit of knocking money off the bill for clergy pay. The latest of a long list of cunning plans is the half-stipendiary appointment. Diocesan leaderships like it because it helps them eke out the meagre number of clergy posts they allow themselves, and because it is nice and cheap, especially if by some alchemy they can persuade the priest that being paid half a stipend means working two-thirds of the time. And in reality, many part-time paid priests put in the extra hours out of their own time, because that's the kind of people they are, and because congregations, who have often been used to having a full-timer, have not scaled down their expectations. So everybody's happy.

Except, as it turns out, the priest. It's quite easy for a hypothetical Archdeacon in a hypothetical diocese somewhere to convince himself that because he gets applicants for the half-time posts he creates, that there are lots of clergy who really want to work for half pay. This enables Archdeacons to sleep at night but isn't a rigorous analysis of the situation. Of course there are some ministers whose circumstances mean that a part-time appointment suits them better (assuming they are able to manage their boundaries strictly) but there are many others like Mr Pinnock, who would like a full-time post but can't get one.

This is serious because it begs the question of what we as a church want from our ministers. I imagine that most churches would like to think that their parish priest is wholeheartedly devoted to their work, energised by a call from Christ and a desire to serve. And clearly this is what any Bishop would hope for the clergy in their diocese too. On the other hand, if you offered them a priest who was disgruntled about being forced into an appointment they didn't really want or exhausted from holding down two jobs to make ends meet, they probably wouldn't be too keen. But this is the path that "part-stipendiary" is taking us down now. It's not an attractive prospect, leaving parishes ill-served and opening us up to the charge of exploiting our staff. Dioceses need a serious think about whether cheaper appointments are always the best ones, and how we manage the demands on priests in part-time appointments.

Christmas Day

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Tue, 25 Dec 2012 20:23:00 +0000

So Joseph also went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born,and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them.

We sometimes think of the Christmas story as being tinged with stardust and a little magic, especially late on Christmas Day when the memory has been blended with Doctor Who and the Strictly Christmas special. And yes, there are angels and glory and and a star in the East. But the event itself is uncompromisingly ordinary. The blood and pain of childbirth, the everyday miracle of a baby's first breath, a young mum making the best of what she had in difficult circumstances.

And it is the wrapping of the Incarnation in ordinariness that makes it such a powerful challenge to the materialistic view of life. We are told that life goes on, day by day, following rules that cannot be broken. There are high points along the way, like our annual winter celebration that lifts the spirits, but they are just variations in the pattern. There is no escape from our journey from birth to death, and the stern humanists are waiting to whip us back into line if we try to lift our eyes away from that road. And so we live our ordinary lives - we eat, sleep, shop. We laugh and love, we cry and die.

How curious then, that the miracle takes place in the midst of all that. Not in a different world, but in our world, that we were told had nothing else to it. If this was a fantasy it would not be told this way. It is too plain, too commonplace. If we didn't read the rest of Luke's book, we would think that nothing happened at all.

The early church who placed Christmas at the same time as the ancient midwinter feasts did the right thing (although possibly for the wrong reasons). Christmas belongs right in the middle of the shopping, the parties, the family fun and feuds. Because the Nativity shows us that God is not afraid to get dirty. He cannot be kept sealed up in a precious heavenly dimension, even if we want him to. Our ordinary, messy and very human lives are where we meet God, just as much as in any sacred space. And in those ordinary lives we find him at work, and we find it's all right to be ordinary, because that is not all there is, after all.

God is with us. It's more than a promise, because he is.

Happy Christmas.

Christmas Eve

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Mon, 24 Dec 2012 17:31:00 +0000

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie.
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light.
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

These words will be sung by thousands tonight, and regarded by most of them as harmless sentimentality, which may or may not be a bad thing, depending on your point of view. But I've always found it the most profound and challenging of Christmas Carols.

I've noted this year, having more time for observation than I used to, the controversies stirred up in the media by opponents and defenders of religion. The Advent season brings Richard Dawkins out of the woodwork as reliably as daybreak makes the birds sing, and everybody else joins in the fun. Media pundits queue up to offer their views on the state of the Christian religion, the Church of England, and the future of Christmas itself, and meanwhile the churches engage in an advertising blitz to rival the apparently secular one which calls us to the shopping centres every December day.

It isn't surprising that Christmas stirs such strong passions when we remember what is at stake. Christmas and Easter, the two great celebrations, show up, like nothing else, the huge gap between the Christian view of the world and the atheistic, purely material one. Many of us sense this, and value the annual trip to church not just for childish reasons, but because it puts in touch with something deeper, something which goes beyond the world we can touch and see. But few realise just how deep, and how far beyond.

As we sing the words of the carol, it tells us that there was a moment in space and time when the whole of human history turned on its axis. The destiny of each and every one of us, a mystery which even the greatest minds could not solve, was written for all to see in stars and song and the moment of childbirth at Bethlehem. We are not just here for a time before we dissolve again into nothing. The moment we live in is not the only reality. Christmas changes everything, heart and soul, life and death and everything in between. "Heaven touches earth", in the words of the prayer. And at the moment it touches, Jesus is here, Do we dare to believe that as we sing, and allow the one who is from heaven to reach out to us tonight?

Picture by Cristóbal Alvarado Minic from Cagua, Venezuela (Sirius) [CC-BY-2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Student Christian Unions & women in ministry

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 22:36:00 +0000

In another century, many years ago (let's just say "20 or more"), I was young, confident, and impetuous. Like so many young people in any age, I wanted to change the world and I was sure I knew how to do it. I had drifted into a place at Bristol University without much idea of what to do with life. But the summer before, I had, as we used to say, "made a commitment" at a youth camp. I decided that I was going to be a Christian. When I arrived at Bristol, confronted at once with the full range of excitements and opportunities that University life offers, it dawned on me that this decision was going to have implications. Gradually during my first year, something that had previously compelled me intellectually began to convict me at a more visceral level: following Christ was something to be done 100%, or not at all. I threw myself into all things Christian, did my best to live out my faith in practice, and in the process became more and more involved in the evangelical scene at Bristol. Gradually, I suppose, this made an impact on those around me. What the impact was in some cases I shudder to think, but one effect was, that half way through my second year I was amazed to be asked to become the president of Bristol University Christian Union.

Some might be surprised to hear this, but know that it's not my intention to somehow recant of this phase of my past. Unlike some, after 20 or more years I'm not a "post" evangelical, but still just plain evangelical. I value my spiritual roots and wouldn't exchange my CU experience for anything, because of what I learned and the foundation it gave me for all that came after. But still, there are so many things I wish I knew then, that I know now. All this was brought back to me forcefully last week, when I read about BUCU and their decision (possibly since rescinded) to "ban" women from speaking at their meetings. I've no intention of defending that policy, which I think was wrong both in principle and on its own terms. In fact, that was one of the mistakes I didn't make during my year in the hotseat. But I did feel deeply for the young man who is the current occupant of that chair.

Did I mention that I was young, confident, and impetuous? I was twenty years old. I've never been more confident in my own abilities than when I was twenty. I could do anything (in my own opinion). I wasn't arrogant, I just didn't know better, because I had no idea of the huge range of human experience, of success and failure, of the complex interplay of hope and disappointment, of the multiple ways we react to each other and indeed, to God. I was young, confident, and impetuous, and I think I was fairly typical of the twenty-year old human, a combination which is both exhilarating and profoundly dangerous. Young people really can change the world, but they can also make a huge mess along the way. At this point in my life I was given the leadership of an organisation that encompassed an extraordinary range of views within its membership, which was under pressure from a huge number of external vested interests, and which represented evangelical Christianity in one of the UK's largest Universities.

The conclusion of this should be fairly obvious, but it's one that has escaped the multitude of commentators who have rushed to hit the keyboards this week. But before we get there, there are a couple of observations that will suffice as my two-penn'orth on the subject:

1. is that it is much more likely that a CU would adopt a "no women teaching" policy now than it was 20 or more years ago. At that time, CUs could still make some sort of claim to be what they say they are, ie. a union of all kinds of Christians who signed up to the basis of faith. In my time at Bristol, solemn and sound Baptists rubbed shoulders with frothy house-churchers and tidy Anglicans. What might appear narrow from the outside housed a range of opinions which the Church of England itself could hardly match. We invited all kinds of speakers, including women, and nobody flounced out because they were the wrong gender, or the wrong anything else. It worked, somehow. But in the intervening years, British evangelicalism has fractured like thin ice into myriad groups, factions and movements. One of the results is that there are alternatives (some would say rivals) to UCCF (the parent group of CUs) on University campuses now. This means that the Uni CU is now more likely to be a gathering of those from conservative churches than it used to be. Not certain to be, but more likely.

2. is that much of the criticism aimed at BUCU last week was wide of the mark, because it assumed that the CU leadership somehow acted in isolation. Of course, as was pointed out, individual CUs are independent and make their own decisions. But however young, confident, and impetuous CU leaders are, they aren't really operating in a bubble. They all belong to local churches, where their values and understanding of their faith are formed. And their position brings them into contact with all kinds of people with strong opinions on what they should be doing. My time at BUCU was punctuated by constant advice, some of it benevolent, some of it less so.

3. Painful though it is to say, UCCF must think about its role in all of this. It's really not enough to say that they have no control, and there's nothing they can do about it. This is not the first time a CU has thought of taking this line, and it won't be the last. At the very least, some sort of advice about dealing with these difficult issues should have been in place. What does an advisory group do if it can't advise that a story like this would light up the national media? In any case, the time-honoured line of "they sign the doctrinal basis, and after that it's up to them" was looking less like a policy, and more like an excuse last week. UCCF's line has always been that CUs are all about mission, and everything else is secondary and should be left aside. If that means anything, it means they should coach CU's to avoid controversy and stay in the mainstream.

It's been strange to reflect on this from opposite ends of a 20 or more year gap. I'm not young any more. You might think I'm confident and impetuous, but you should have seen me then. I've learned a bit more about people, about myself, and about God. There's still a load of things I wish I knew, but I don't know what they are yet. But one thing I do know is that sometimes it's better to show a bit of tolerance than to rush to judgement. And if you think I'm soft for letting young people off the hook, then I've got good reason. One of them is me, 20 or more years ago.

Synod is broke - disagree if you dare

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Wed, 21 Nov 2012 13:02:00 +0000

Yesterday's vote in General Synod, which kicks the possibility of women becoming bishops into the long grass again, was the wrong decision. Not because it is right to have women at all levels in the church (although I personally believe that it is). But because the final decision does not reflect the intention of the church. As Tim Hind wrote in the run-up (I think in a national newspaper), the people of the churches are expecting to have women as bishops and expecting that soon. That expectation was based on a long and careful process that has clearly demonstrated that the Church of England is ready for this. What we saw yesterday was a failure on the part of General Synod, a catastrophic failure of process and of the body itself.

Synod is not, as many commentators are saying, the Church of England. (As in "Church of England rejects women bishops"). The Church of England is where I was last night, with a group of baffled women and men who worship in their local churches week by week, who work tirelessly to serve their communities in the name of Christ, and who see no connection between their lives and what happens in the Synod chamber. The Church of England has been saddled with a governing body which has only a tenuous connection with the body of the Church itself.

The synodical system was born in 1970, a product of the same post-war bureaucratic impulse which gave us Ted Heath's restructuring of local government and a whole culture of little committees and procedural rectitude throughout the nation's life. Business has long since moved on from this, the public sector is moving, but the Church remains wedded to it. Our system of governance is locked down by statutes, procedural rules, and glacial ponderings in interminable committees. General Synod yesterday epitomised this, as 7 hours of debate produced over a hundred speeches, largely saying what had already been said before, ending in an arcane vote which left us exactly where we were 10 years ago. Andrew Brown called it a "long and boring suicide note".

The system is no longer, if it ever was, fit for purpose. Synod is broke, and I dare anyone to say otherwise in the light of what happened yesterday. A majority, in the dioceses and in the chamber itself, voted in favour, but the measure was lost. Literally years of painstaking work was wasted because the rules say it cannot return to the Synod in the present 5-year term. The vote was decided by a small number of people who are in favour of women bishops but decided that the solution proposed was not sufficiently detailed. The will of the whole church was blocked by a minority who played the system more effectively than anybody else. Nor should this have been a surprise to anyone who has watched the antics of the Synod in recent years. Its world is one of motion and counter-motion, block votes and backroom deals, dusty briefing papers and divisions by houses. This is no way to do governance in the 21st Century.

It's being said that new Archbishop of Canterbury's first priority is to get the issue of women in the episcopacy through the Synod. Surely as he casts his eye over this antiquated and self-serving institution, his very first act should be to tear down the whole edifice and build something new in its place.

How to really confuse people

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Thu, 05 Jul 2012 16:31:00 +0000

I love this video clip from the BBC. Science correspondent Jonathan Amos explains the Higgs Boson by sharing an illustration that obviously makes perfect sense to him. Everybody else is left even more confused than they were to begin with.

I particularly enjoyed the bit where, gripped with enthusiasm, he grabs the ball with a string and hurls it across the room. If you look carefully you can see the newscaster's eyes glazing over as it whizzes by.

Preachers should take note. There's a common assumption in preaching that if you construct something that can be mapped on to the point you're trying to make, then you have illustrated it. Sadly you may find that you have actually completely obscured your point. The classic example is Trinity Sunday, when a whole raft of inappropriate comparisons is floated by an army of preachers who imagine that because their example contains the word "three", then it must in some way illustrate the Trinity. It doesn't.

Blog service interrupted

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Fri, 01 Jun 2012 14:08:00 +0000

To the three men and a dog who constitute this blog's loyal and devoted readership, I apologise for the even longer than usual gap since the last post. Generally I don't apologise, but the reasons may be of interest this time. Moving is disturbingly similar to dying. One becomes wholly absorbed in the process, and every sense turns inward, leaving very little to give to those around. What little I do have is necessarily used up by maintaining the routine of parish ministry, surprisingly demanding even with so little time to go. Yet it has been an extraordinary few weeks, which I hope to reflect on here over the next few months. If anyone finds my parallel with death distressing, don't forget that it is merely the prelude to resurrection - and Always Hope will rise from the ashes. However one thing is certain; having attempted to several times to establish a regular blogging routine, I now realise that strike blogging is more my style, and so it shall be from now on.

Anyway, a post is in the pipeline, but I thought I should post this first so it's not too much of a shock.

N T Wright plays guitar in Nashville

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sat, 12 May 2012 18:15:00 +0000

I stumbled across this winsome video of Tom Wright playing his guitar in Nashville (really). It's worth watching just for the theology that he puts into the song. It also showcases the gifts of one the Church of England's former Diocesan Bishops. And I wonder if I'm the only one wishing that he could have done this in General Synod. In fact, not only does the new, not-Bishop of Durham NTW look a whole lot more relaxed (which is understandable), he just seems more engaging and human than I remember him. I wonder what this says about the expectations that bishops (and all clergy) are conforming to when they are in their public role? Is it possible (or even desirable) for a Christian leader to be truly themselves, until they lay down their office?

This video comes from the Rabbit Room. Hop over there, because there's more where this came from.

Paganism in Cornwall RE syllabus

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 07:00:00 +0000

Jolly Pagans
source

Last week the antennae of some minor imp at the Daily Mail were twitched by the news that Cornwall's Religious Education syllabus is to include paganism for the first time. Not a huge story for the Mail, but just enough of a hint of "political correctness gone mad" for the paper to generate a bit of indignation. This was soon picked up by the kind of Christian organisations that respond to the same stimuli as the Mail, the Christian Institute reporting it with suitably pursed lips. And the Church Times duly arrived at the story on Friday. Except, of course, being the Church Times, the last bastion of responsible journalism in this country, it obtained a series of quotes from people in Cornwall who actually know something about it, and turned it into something quite uncontroversial.

David Hampshire is absolutely right. Cornwall has both a huge pile of ancient pagan sites, and a whole load of people who like doing religious or quasi-religious things around those sites. The fact that what they do there is probably nothing like what the original builders intended to do is irrelevant. It may be that you think that "paganism" is facile, fabricated, religion-as-weekend-hobby for those who don't fit easily into society, but that is also irrelevant. If we're going to have such a thing as Religious Education, and since it is the only national curriculum subject in which local variation is allowed, then the pagans ought to be in there with everybody else. In any case there are lots of people who think the same things about Christianity.

It's time to repudiate the curious idea that the content of RE is a battleground for Christians to fight on, and that inclusion on the syllabus is a privilege to defended against newcomers, or that the exact percentage coverage for each religion should be statistically mapped to the number of adherents it has. RE as an academic discipline is about comparative religion, examining the similarities and differences. And that in itself should make us pause for thought.

The whole RE project makes the assumption that religion can be studied and observed, like plant diversity or the dairy industry. This is not something which can be easily reconciled with religious belief. For the Christian at least, studying the aspects of our religion is only really worthwhile if it is done with the intent of deepening faith, something which is expressly excluded from the teaching of RE.

I find it odd that from time to time, church leaders feel obliged to go into bat for RE, as they did last year during the introduction of Mr Gove's "English Baccalaureate". I wonder what we have to gain by perpetuating a school subject that studies religion in much the same way as a Victorian scientist would study beetles, pinning them lifeless to a board, side by side with other interesting specimens. If the pagans want to join Christians and others in receiving that kind of treatment, then good luck to them.

Cornwall Council talks rubbish - the definitive statement

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sat, 21 Apr 2012 12:31:00 +0000

Always Hope is equally fascinated and appalled at the workings of the bureaucratic mind. The world according to petty officialdom is a wonderful place, where words have alternative meaning, reality is determined by flow charts drawn up in airless offices, and nothing happens unless a form is filled out 3 months in advance. Anyone who shares my fascination will thank BBC Cornwall for publishing this in full on their website:

Residents living in the former North Cornwall, Caradon and Restormel district areas should get a complete set of three new reusable sacks and a black box to replace the coloured disposable plastic sacks they currently use.

But former Carrick district householders, who already have a black box, a red sack and a yellow sack can expect a new orange reusable sack for recycling cardboard.

Households in the former Kerrier district will also get an orange reusable sack, a blue reusable sack for paper, but no box as they already have a blue box.

Whereas residents in the former Penwith area who already have a green box will be given a blue sack for paper, a red sack for cans and plastic bottles, and the orange sack for cardboard.

Recycling advice from the council says glass bottles and jars should be put in the black recycling box - which is not black, but blue in the former Kerrier area and green in the former Penwith area.

Paper should be recycled in the blue reusable sack (which is not blue, but red in the former Carrick area), while the red reusable sack (blue in Kerrier and yellow in Carrick) should be used to recycle cans and plastic bottles.

The good news, though, is that, according to a "council spokeswoman", each sack will have a picture on it, showing what can be put in it. Residents are apparently not encouraged to affix pictures of their own choice.

National Secular Society plumbs new depths of absurdity

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 20:47:00 +0000

This blog has a long standing interest in the antics of the National Secular Society, or National Sausage Society, as we now prefer to call it. (for reasons that are explained here). I'm not the first to comment on this (David Keen did already) but their latest attention seeking stunt is a classic of its kind.

As the BBC website tells us, "atheist children are being excluded from the scouts, the NSS has warned in a letter to Chief Scout Bear Grylls." Readers may remember from their own distant childhoods, that the new scout makes a promise to "to my duty to God and to the Queen". I remember saying it myself, and it meant what you might expect it to mean to the average 11 year-old, the "region of ill-defined piety", as Patrick O'Brian describes it in one of his books (though I don't think he was talking about scouts). I do not recall the march of atheism being a burning issue among my contemporaries in the 9th Ampthill & Woburn, but perhaps the modern child is different.

I don't deny there is the core of a serious issue here. But, as ever, any seriousness is badly served by the pantomime histrionics of the NSS. Their official version of this incident is typical. In the world of Stephen Evans and his fellow Sausage Society zealots, everything is terribly unfair, the world is riddled with religious conspiracies, and the populace is oppressed by the likes of Bear Grylls who threaten all right thinking people with the dreaded word "religious" (the appearance of this word in itself is a sign of how slack the NSS's thinking is). Their sonorous public pronouncements are a definition of what it means to take yourself too seriously, and they are utterly without a positive raison d'etre, their only aim being to stop things that they do not agree with.

The scout promise is one of the fundamental aspects of the scout movement. The wording of it may be debatable. But the Scout Association is not obliged to change it just because the NSS says so. Furthermore, it looks very much as though the leadership of the Association has the backbone to say so, unlike Bideford Town Council, which has now caved in to the NSS's bullying, despite losing its legal case on a technicality which was subsequently overturned by the Government.

Perhaps this could be a case too far for the NSS. I've seen Bear Grylls disembowel a dead sheep and sleep inside it. His methods might prove a bit more direct than the usual targets of the Secular Sausages.

The Disappointment of Authors

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 08:00:00 +0000

In my paper last week (sorry, can't remember which one) there was an interview with the author Michael Frayn who says that he always avoids literary festivals, as a punter or as an author. His point was that he doesn't want to meet the people who write the books he likes, in case they turn out to be less than he hoped they might be. "Authors are so often disappointing in person" I think was the quote.

It's an interesting thought. When we read a book, especially a novel, as well as entering into the created world of the book, we also create a world of our own in response. If we are impressed by the book, it's often the voice of the narrator that we warm to, and we can invest a lot of affection or respect in that imagined person. If the author, incarnated, turns out to be less than we hoped for, does this spoil the book for us? Many great authors, of course, have been less than saintly, but that is not necessarily a blow to the reader. What is more fearful is the minor disappointment of mediocrity. When the person whose humane observations of life you so admired turns out to read the Mail and share the same prejudices as your next door neighbour, it can be a blow. W. H. Auden, who enjoyed The Lord of the Rings, was famously appalled to discover that Tolkien lived in an ordinary suburban house with "hideous wallpaper". I recently saw Louis de Bernieres on TV and was mildly put out to find that he comes from London.

Perhaps the same thing might apply to bloggers and other internet word-grinders. Bloggers are particularly prone to creating personas specific to their blog. I wonder how many of the most popular could really match, in person, the impression they give online (and would it matter if they couldn't?). I love Twitter, and often some jovial soul will tweet, "must have a drink together some time", to which of course I say yes, but perhaps a small part of my mind fears mutual disillusionment if it should ever happen. When reading "great tweet-up with X, Y and Z last night", I find myself wondering how many other gatherings were happening where everyone was glancing furtively at their watches and wondering how soon they could get back on to Twitter.

You might even be one of the select group that enjoy reading this blog. But would you want to meet me? For that matter, would I want to meet you? Or is the written word sometimes enough?

People in funny clothes outside Truro Cathedral

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sat, 14 Apr 2012 09:41:00 +0000

I've had this for ages, but have not yet dared use it. It came courtesy of the entertaining RevdKathy, who assures me that it is something to do with the Methodists, although the one on the right looks strangely familiar.

There are so many things I could say about this. And for that reason I am going to say nothing.

Back to Church Sunday - essential?

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Fri, 13 Apr 2012 10:22:00 +0000

So today the C of E launches the sign-up for this year's Back to Church Sunday. I wonder if any readers are among the three million who are "waiting for a friend to invite them"? (For the record, I believe this refers to a survey carried out a couple of years ago when people were asked if they would consider going to church if someone asked them to). Or perhaps more likely, you are among those considering doing the asking.

Back to Church Sunday is a neat idea. There really are people out there who would consider coming to church if asked. Churchgoers get to interact with their unchurched or de-churched friends without having to talk about anything difficult like God, or their own personal faith - it's just a question of making the invitation. But there are one or two cautions to considered before investing Back to Church with the "essential" label, and seeing it as the panacea for all the church's ills.

The most obvious one is the question of what you are inviting people to come back to. There are all kinds of reasons why people don't go to church, or stop going. Unbelief or disinterest is only part of the story. In many cases it is painful experiences, unsympathetic rhetoric, irrelevance or just plain boredom that has driven them away. Unfortunately in the case of many of our churches there is a real risk that these people will return, only to find that nothing has changed. Of course the temptation is for churches to put on a special show that will convince the newcomer that this is the most lively/friendly/relevant church in the neighbourhood, but if this is just a whitewash, then it merely postpones the disappointment by a week. The question of what prompts people not just to come to church, but to stay, is very complex and a one-off invitation doesn't really address it at all.

"Back to Church" is no cure-all. But it would be very effective for churches that are actively trying to change to a more outward-looking way of doing things, used as part of a programme of outreach. That way, visitors will arrive at a church that is already set up for welcoming newcomers, and will be treated not just as exciting curiosities ("look, somebody different") but as potential new members of the community.

Open letter to David Cameron

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 16:53:00 +0000

The Rt Hon David Cameron MP
10 Downing Street
London
SW1A 2AA

Good Friday, 2012

Dear Mr Cameron

I read with great interest your Easter message, in which you talk about the character of Jesus and values of Christianity. You have received criticism from those who think you went too far, and those who think you did not go far enough, but I for one was pleased to see you put Easter in a Christian context. I particularly noted the way that you clearly identified yourself as one of the Christians who will remember the life and sacrifice of Jesus this Easter.

So please allow me to wish you in return a happy Easter. As a Christian, you will, like me, have spent part of today contemplating the extraordinary, epoch-changing event of the crucifixion, and the sacrifice made by Jesus Christ on our behalf, that the world might be redeemed. As Christians, nothing we do can be unaffected by it. Both you and I follow vocations in which our faith really ought to make a difference to the way we work. And since you have trespassed on to my territory, as it were, you will not object if I get a bit political on you.

You have firmly placed yourself in the long and notable succession of Prime Ministers who confessed themselves to be influenced by their Christian faith. Each worked that out differently in practice, but they all believed themselves not just to be Christians who were politicians, but Christian politicians. And although we cannot really agree now as to what it means to be a "Christian country", this is surely an important element of it. You too will have your own thoughts on what this means in your Premiership, but you might find it helpful to hear what I, as a Christian, would like from a Christian Prime Minister.

I don't want religious sentiment. We have enough people in the Church who can do that, admittedly some more effectively than others, but let the preachers do the preaching. It's enough for me to know that you are a Christian, without you expounding on the theme from Number 10. Your power is temporal in every possible sense, a fact that past generations of politicians understood much better than the present one. The things eternal are not within your remit, but the running of the country in the here and now is. What I want from you is Christian politics: a Government which pursues the values of justice, peace, and freedom, whatever party colour they choose to dress them up in. And a Government which encourages people to worship and live as Christians, rather than clamping down on them.

Do not misunderstand me. I am not of the persuasion that is convinced that Christians in the United Kingdom are being persecuted. I've heard too many stories of horrific persecution to believe that. In this country we are not arrested, tortured or executed for meeting together as Christians. In fact most people, even those of other faiths or none, seem to think the Christian church is a welcome part of British society. Which is why it is all the more perplexing that the policies of your Government seem to be progressively hampering the life and work of the churches in this country.

I wonder whether some of your ministers need to be brought up to speed on the "nation informed by Christian values" message, so that they can re-examine their policies accordingly. Can I draw your attention to three in particular:

Lynne Featherstone, Under Secretary of State, Equalities: Why is Ms Featherstone going to the European Court of Human Rights to fight against two women who are claiming the right to wear a crucifix at work? It is perplexing that while you, and certain other members of your cabinet, give us bullish rhetoric about people being allowed to wear crosses, you are actually attempting to enshrine in law the opposite. Maybe wearing the cross was not a fundamental aspect of modern British Christianity. But, thanks initially to BA, and lately, to your Government, it is rapidly becoming one. I'm even thinking of wearing it myself, to make a point. After all, if Good Friday tells us anything, it is that we Christians are marked by the cross of Christ. Ms Featherstone may well be creating a persecution complex for our times.

Michael Gove, Secretary of State for Education: Mr Gove recently declared he was going to send every school a copy of the Bible. But Church Schools, already owning large quantities of Bibles, would have been grateful for more concrete support. Last week he announced changes to the way schools are funded, and while refusing to end the system which gives preferential funding to city schools in areas of particular need, he had no problem at all with axing the protection previously given to small schools of fewer than 75 pupils, all in rural locations. This is apparently about the "market", which will no doubt be reassuring to those families who will in future have to pay to drive 10 miles or more to get to school. But not only will this devastate rural schooling, it will impact on church schools, which represent a very high percentage of small rural schools throughout the country. Richard Dawkins must be thrilled. Mr Gove has done more damage to the faith school system than the champion of secularism could ever have dreamed of.

George Osborne, Chancellor of the Exchequer: This year Mr Osborne delivered a budget which has dealt a body blow to the Church of England far worse than the self-inflicted wounds that the media often accuses it of. In adding VAT to alterations to listed buildings he increased the building bill of almost every parish church in the land by 20%. This, we were told, is correcting an anomaly. Whatever this may mean to the civil servants in their treasury offices, it means that thousands of churches will now find it very difficult to carry out their plans to make their buildings more habitable and useful in the twenty-first century. Every roof repair, every disabled access, every improvement will now be 20% more costly. We were told that the churches were integral to the Big Society. We didn't really know what that meant, but we didn't imagine it would be this.

In summary, I'd like to tell you that I don't really understand. All the rhetoric says that your Government values the church, thinks faith is important in modern society, and respects the Christian way of life. But the policies say the opposite. Cynics will say that there is an obvious explanation. But my instinct is always to be generous, and I prefer to think that you just haven't joined all the dots yet. Unfortunately, like most parish priests, I can't afford a lobbyist, so this brief communication is my best way of letting you know what it's like out here in the Christian world of 2012 Britain.

Yours sincerely

Charles Peer
Priest in Charge of St Kea
Truro, Cornwall

Moving on (personal news)

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 21:13:00 +0000

So the secret's out. Yesterday I had the difficult task of telling everyone here that I am leaving Kea in the summer. Now I'm just about recovering from the euphoric rush of finally divulging something that had been kept hushed up for what seems like ages.

I'll be moving to the Diocese of Portsmouth, to take on the role of Mission Development Officer. You can read the official release here. As you can see from that, I'm enthusiastic about the job. And it was nice to get lots of positive feedback yesterday, in church and on Twitter. But I've already had the first query along the lines of "what on earth is that all about?", something which I expect to be repeated often, including by some of the good people in the parishes of Portsmouth. I don't underestimate the challenge, but I think it is worth the attempt. Calling is a complex thing, but writing this blog has been part of mine. And I've decided I don't want to become an armchair critic. So here goes.

I'm not sure yet what the future holds for Always Hope. Now all this is settled, I hope to have a bit more time to write. But when I get to Portsmouth things will change. Hopefully the blog will carry on, but it might look a bit different. And a postponed re-design is still on the cards. Watch this space.

The Lord's Prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Sun, 01 Apr 2012 20:47:00 +0000

Twitter users will know that the Twitter interface continuously displays the top 10 trending topics at any moment in time. It's simply a matter of which 10 phrases are most rapidly being adopted by the mass of Twitter users, and is usually dominated by a combination of the current news headlines, what's on telly, and whatever silly word games have been set in motion by minor celebs that day.

But on Friday, we were all treated to the sight of "The Lord's Prayer" registering as one of the top 10 UK trends. What prompted this apparent revival? It was Archbishop Rowan, who had opined, in response to a question from BBC Newsround, that he thought it would be quite good if the Lord's Prayer was re-introduced in schools.

I wonder what people think about the idea. The loss of the Lord's Prayer from the collective memory of the nation is, or is a symptom of (not sure which), a massive shift in the cultural landscape of this country. I was probably one of the last generation to be taught the prayer at school. Now only church schools will do this, and probably not universally. As a minister this makes things a little difficult at weddings, funerals, etc. Until now, whatever difficulties you might face in getting the message across to a congregation, there's always been the Lord's Prayer as a point of contact that everyone can engage with, and perhaps by grace, experience a moment of prayerfulness. Increasingly, though, that last point of shared spirituality is fading away.

On the other hand, I guess that for many, the memorisation of the Our Father represents all that was wrong with a stultifying mid-20th century drab and compulsory Anglicanism. How many thousands associate it in their minds with the most dull and forgettable moments of childhood? Even the ancient phrases, which once soothed the minds of the English, came to be associated with boredom and irrelevance (for which reason we always use the "modern" version in our Sunday worship at Kea, even though it lacks the poetry of the older one). That kind of enforced religion can only have been damaging to Christianity in this country.

So what would it be like if we tried to bring back the learning of the Lord's Prayer? Of course we're unlikely to find out. And also of course, that's not what the Archbish. was actually suggesting. What he wants is for children not to learn the Prayer by heart, but to learn what it's about.

Now there's a thought. Because a lot of modern RE doesn't seem much more exciting than the old rote learning sessions. Worksheets saying "name 3 special customs practised by Christians"? How dull, and just as likely to inoculate the modern child against a real understanding of spirituality. But .. explain to children that Jesus taught us to call God Father. Introduce them to the idea of giving thanks daily. Think about what it takes to forgive and be forgiven. Understand that Christian prayer means saying to God "your will be done". If that was happening in schools, then there would be some real points of contact, and a lot for those children to engage with when they end up in a baptism or a funeral.

I hope we get another Archbishop who can make the top 10 trends on Twitter, But I especially hope he can still generate ideas as brilliantly simple as this.

Song of the Pasties

noreply@blogger.com (Charlie) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 19:15:00 +0000

source: This is Cornwall
http://bit.ly/HnxnAN

A good crust and a trusty hand!
A faithful heart and true!
George Osborne's men shall understand
what Cornish food can do!
And have they fixed the budget yet?
Shall pasties be served cold?
Here's twenty percent VAT
before it's even sold!

And is your pasty warm?
And was it when it sold?
Here's twenty thousand Cornish men
don't like to eat it cold!

With apologies to R. S. Hawker