'Parent in God'?

The titles we give things in organisations can be funny at time. Of course, many are straightforward and describe an individual's job, but other times you have to wonder what whoever came up with title was thinking.

This week my supervisor was talking about the minister he worked under when he was at the same point in his training. But this minister was not my supervisor's supervisor, he was his 'Father in God'! I have to admit, this did make me giggle - not because my supervisor isn't old enough to be my father, because he is - but because it has the sense of one of those titles that gives a strange gravitas. What was the church/college thinking when they came up with this idea?

Now this was 40 years ago, so inclusive language wasn't such a big issue. I guess if we were to reinstate such terminal for our supervisors today, they would now be called 'Parent in God', but I have to say this does not help the title any and does conjure up the image of the Godfather! But although it does seem a slightly ridiculous title, and one that many would find awkward to use today, I suppose I can understand it. This year for me is about learning from someone who has significant experience in ministry and to some extent the relationship that will form is very much like the relationship between a parent and child. My 'parent in God' is here to shown how to do and not to do things; to explain things to me, that I don't understand; to encourage me when I find this tough. And it is not just about my own learning, for as many of the parents I know tell me, they are forever learning from their children.

Now I don't think I will ever refer to my supervisor as my 'father in God' or even my 'parent in God', but I do, on reflection, like the concept especially as I know the guiding hand my supervisor will be over the next nine months.

Am I really ready for this?

Today the reality that my final year of training for ministry in the United Reformed Church is about to start hit. Although it has been a week since I moved out of the comfort of Westminster College to a flat which is a very long way up with a view across London, it wasn't until I walked into town to meet a member of one of the congregations I will be working with over the next 9 months, that it really sank in that 'this is it' and all being well 12 months from now I will be gearing up for ordination (if not already ordained)!

Four years, when you start out, seems a long time. It lures you into a false sense of security that by the time the four years is up you'll be ready for anything that life as a minister will throw at you! Well, with only 12 months to go, and just about to embark the part of my training which puts me within a church-setting for most of my week, I can in no way say I'm ready! I think I'm still trying to get over the shock that God thinks I'm the right person for this.

Yet here I am at the start of year four, with the process of finding my first pastorate about to beginning and the start of my internship (or living ministry programme year) a few days away. I don't feel ready for this, but as I learnt this morning, I am ready for this. I may not know how to deal with every situation I might find myself in the next 9 months, let alone the rest of my ministry. I may not know the right words for every encounter I will have and I will definitely get them wrong at times. There is every possibility that I will stumble and even fall flat on my face. But none of that really matters. What matters is that I'm ready to give it go and answer the call God has made on my life.

So although my knees are knocking and I would rather hide away than head out into the big scary world on ministry, bring it on! I am not ready, but that's ok because apparently I am ready! (And once I know what that means I will let you know.)

Does losing our religion mean losing God?

Now seeing as my degree in theology is nearing completion, you may expect that for a little light reading I would now be picking up a theological journal, a book of sermons or Calvin's Institutes. But no, I have fallen back into old habits of wandering into the local newsagents and picking up a copy of the New Scientist.

This week there is an article by Graham Lawton on "Losing our religion" (New Scientist, 3 May 2014, pp.30-35), in which he asks why this is happening and what the world might look like without religion. It feels slightly out of place within this science weekly, although there is science: the cognitive scientists and their cognitive by-product theory, and meta-analysis of studies looking for links between religion and health. You might expect in such an article for religion to be damned, and an attempt made to disproved the existence of God; yet neither of which is really done. What it does do is state some interesting facts and observations. These include the intuitive nature of religious belief, religious decline accompanies society prosperity and stability, the low likelihood of a child being religious if their parents aren't. It points out how in the aftermath of disaster, there is evidence of resurgence of religion, even in the most secular societies.

So what does this article prove or disprove? It is published in a scientific (well, popular-science) journal after all. I'm not sure it does either. It raises questions, and ones that the church cannot ignore and needs to engage with. Irreligious in society is clearly rising, but society does not seem to have lost is sense of or need for spirituality. There is a still, as Lawton states, a yearning "for a sense of community and a common moral vision". Society might be classing itself as godless, with psychologists and sociologists convinced humanity does not require God for its morality. But is not society informed by its past? Is not morality based on notions and ideas which are religiously-rooted, if not God-rooted? I am not convinced that a society can ever be truly godless, or devoid of anything that does not have connotations of faith or religion. The rise of the 'Sunday Assembly' is possibly proof it this.

So how does the church respond to this? How do you show a society that it is "doing God", when professes that it doesn't "do God"? Maybe the answer lies in what it means to be church! Hmmm...

Unconscious Breath

This week's sermon based on Ezekiel 37.1-14 and John 11.1-45... 

God asked Ezekiel: “Can these bones live?”[1]

Jesus asked Martha: “Do you believe this?”[2]
Two what would seem impossible questions, especially for two individuals surrounded by the realities of death.
How could Ezekiel answer such a question when for as far as he could see there were no signs of life?
How could Martha answer such a question when what Jesus had just told her was completely contrary to what she was experiencing?
However, both Ezekiel and Martha respond without appearing to give a second thought to what they have just been asked. But their responses differ. Ezekiel, who would appear to have no emotional connection to the bones surrounding him, gave a slightly non-committal, even slightly sarcastic response, “God, only you know that!”[3]. Whilst Martha replied with a definite and positive ‘YES’[4]! It is maybe easier to understand Ezekiel’s response than Martha’s. When faced with the fact that there is nothing to suggest that these bones could ever live again, the logical answer would be ‘no’. However, ‘no’ is not really an answer that you can give when you are in the presence of God. But Martha’s response seems to defy all logic. She professed belief in something that would seem to be untrue in that situation—Lazarus believed in Jesus yet lay dead, his body was enclosed in a tomb with the expectation that it would never see the light of day again! So how could she really believe what Jesus had told her? 

The clue to her response may be in Jesus’ words: “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.”[5] Life though you can die, and life in which you never die! Well that is as clear as mud then! Is Jesus saying that we will die or that we will not die? Is Jesus saying that if we believe, we are going to go through life a bit like the character Jaws in the James Bond films? He can fall into shark-infested waters, crash into houses and concrete walls, even be blown up in space, and he still gets up and walks away, maybe brushing of a little dust or shaking his head because he’s slightly dazed. That seems unlikely, although potentially useful. And anyway reality tells, as does the story, that death happens. So what does Jesus mean? Is there another way of thinking about what Jesus is saying that makes Martha’s response clearer? 

Martha, prior to her confession of faith in Jesus, alludes to the idea of the physical resurrection of the body. The miracle Jesus performs in Bethany demonstrates the power God has, as do the events in Ezekiel’s vision—physical death and decay do not hold God back. In addition to this, the raising of Lazarus was also a means by which Jesus could start to explain to the disciples and others what would shortly happen to him—that he too would die, yet rise again. However, as with most words and actions of Jesus, there is always another possible way of interpreting them. Jesus’ statement of being the “resurrection and the life” is about more than just physical resurrection of the body. The concept of life is not just tied to the physical; it is also about the spiritual. 

Now the beginning of Ezekiel’s vision paints a very dramatic, yet lonely picture. A sole figure stood in a desolate and arid landscape with bones being the only things to be seen for mile upon mile. It is a place of lament; there is no hope, no nothing apart from bones. Yet from that disheartening place, God demonstrates hope. God shows that the arid and dead can once again be fruitful and full of life. And Jesus, when he arrived in Bethany, found a place that seemed hope‑less—a place that had a great sense of loss; through which there was a continuous stream of tears. But from those tears came the restoration of life. And yes, what is seen in both stories is physical, but what is behind them is spiritual. Yet what do we mean by spiritual? 

The bones are not proclaimed to be alive until the breath of God enters into them. The bones coming back together did not mean life; sinew, muscles and skin covering the bones did not mean life; it was not until the wind had blown breath into the bones that they lived. And logically that makes sense—whether someone is breathing or not is one of the ways we determine if someone is dead or alive. Breath is essential for life. But here I am talking about the physical again, where I asked the question—“what do we mean by spiritual?”. In this passage from the book of Ezekiel, the keyword in the Hebrew is ruach. It has been translated as breath, but can also mean wind or spirit. The fact that this word has a tri-meaning has allowed authors and editors throughout the Old Testament to express what it means to be the recipient of the Holy Spirit and to live in and with God. The idea is even there in the creation story—God breathing the life-giving breath, the life-giving ruach, in to the nostrils of Adam[6]. The imagery that is created through the idea of breath being more than just the physical act of taking in air, I think, is a really helpful image when thinking about what it means to live in and with God through the Holy Spirit. The way in which the Holy Spirit is referred to through this idea shows it to be a life force; something that enables life in all its fullness. It is also something that dwells within us and is part of us; something we don’t really have to think about. Normally, how many of us actually consciously think about taking each breath? Ok, so now I’ve mention it we are all thinking about how we breathe, but ‘normally’ we don’t; our bodies just get on with breathing! God has breathed the Holy Spirit into us, it is there within us—we breathe it in and breathe it out. However, this unconscious nature of the Spirit within us can have its disadvantages. 

When Jesus arrived in Bethany, both Martha and Mary met him with the same accusatory statement: “If you had been here, Lord, my brother would not have died!”[7] As physically true as this statement potentially is, there is a level of untruth within it. Yes, we can read the story of Lazarus for what it is—the physical demonstration of the restoration of life that can be miraculously given by Jesus, because death has no power over him. But the conversation between Jesus and Martha shows us that there is another level to this story: what it means to be alive in and through the Spirit; to know the presence and have a relationship with Jesus Christ through the Spirit. 

The Holy Spirit is the member of the Trinity for whom I think it is most difficult to define in terms of who they are and what they do. Scripture is full of different imagery for the Spirit and its presence is observed in different contexts and forms. Where we can easily personalise Father and Son, or Creator and Christ; this is harder to do with the Spirit. The Spirit is clearly multifaceted—it has different roles and interacts in different ways with the different members of the Trinity, which is further complicated by how the Father and Son elements of the Trinity seem to also be able to give the Spirit as a gift to humanity. It is there at the forefront and also there in the background. And it is the background nature of the Spirit that we easily miss or forget about. 

How easy is it for us to cry out to God, “if only”? “If only you had been there such and such wouldn’t have happened!” “If only you were here, life would be simpler, easier”. We can very easily decry God’s presence when things are tough. If life feels stale even dead, then we declare the absence of the Spirit. But when we do this or we hear this, is it followed by a statement of unbelief in Christ, and his ability to work in and through us? Yes the Spirit can and does work directly in and on us, but in the background the Spirit is also making God known to us. It is nurturing and sustaining us, even when a life that is faith-full, feels almost faith-less. We do not have the luxury to be physically in the presence of Jesus as the disciples, Martha, Mary and Lazarus had. But the Spirit is the one who makes Jesus Christ present for us today in our lives. It is through the Spirit that our relationship with the one God comes into being. It is through the Spirit that we are brought into and maintained within that spiritual life which is of and with God. Although the Spirit can be a rushing wind or tongues of fire, it is also the unconscious breath that is essential for life in and with God. Physical death happens: fact. Spiritual death, though, I don’t think does. In Jesus’ profession of being the resurrection and the life, he is saying that the one who believes and so is alive spiritually will never die spiritually. Our spiritual life may waver and may even become dormant, but the Spirit is still there working in the background, being that unconscious breath. 

We are in the season of Lent, a time that has a sense of desolation, aridness, even lament, for at the end of it lies death. But death isn’t the end of the story. We don’t get to Good Friday and say ‘that’s all folks’! There is Easter day—the physical revelation of Jesus being the resurrection and the life. And always through these Lenten days including Holy Week is the breath of God, breathing in and through the days and hours, quietly in the background. The Spirit is there in the story, moving and working, quietly making known what needs to be known. 

God asked Ezekiel, “can these bones live?” Ezekiel turned the answer back on God’s knowledge. But what if God were to place us in that valley of dry bones and asked us that question, what would your response be as a gentle breeze blows across the bones? 

Amen

---

[1] Ezekiel 37.3, NRSV

[2] John 11.26, NRSV & GNB

[3] Ezekiel 37.3, GNB

[4] John 11.27, GNB

[5] John 11.25b-26a, GNB

[6] Genesis 2.7b

[7] John 11.21, 32, GNB

I believe...

Over the centuries the Church has made confessions of faith, some of which most members of the Church sign up to and others where they have meaning only to a certain group. The churches of the Reformed tradition are very good at writing and re-writing such statements. As we find ourselves in a new time and place, some of us write a new statement of faith. But what do these statements mean? What are their purpose? These are questions that I'm beginning to ponder as I start work on my essay for my Reformed tradition paper, however, they are based in a small piece of work I had to do at the end of term: the writing of my own confession of faith.

Originally, I had no intention of publishing this on my blog. But if a confession of faith in the reformed-sense is a statement of where one is today with God or with one's understanding of God, then actually it is something that should be publishing. Especially as this blog is about my journey to ordination. So after two and half years at theological college, this is where I currently stand. Not to say this is where I will be at the point of ordination, or 10 or 20 years into ministry, for I am reformed and faith is evolutionary! But for today this my confession: 

I believe in the one, true and living God, who is creator and sustainer of all. The one in whom, through whom and for whom all has come in to being. It is, therefore, in God my faith has found its home.

I believe in the trinity of God, through which the mercy and grace of God is given to all:

The one who is the source and Jesus called Father. The parental figure of creation, even when the concept of parenthood is difficult to comprehend;

The one who is the Word made flesh—Jesus Christ. The demonstrator of what it means to truly live a holy life, and to live in unity with and in God. Who conquered death so that moments of unholy living are not deemed irredeemable;

The one who is the inspirer—the Holy Spirit. Who has the power to break open even that which is most tightly closed. Who sustains faith from its strongest to its weakest points.

I believe in the holy catholic Church that continues to live out the life of discipleship, first asked of those who Jesus physically called to follow. As the body of Christ, I recognised we are a body of many and varied members, all of whom which have an equal part to play in the glorification of God; not only today, but yesterday, and tomorrow.

God calls the world to be holy as the Godself is holy. It is through and in the trinity of God, that holiness is brought to fruition and to whom I offer praise and supplication as I strive to lead the life to which I am called. 

Glory be to God, creator and sustainer; the one who was, and is, and is to come.

Liturgy: theologically or historically-based? Discuss

I really should learn to think before I speak some days, especially when it comes to theology. I seem to have this ability to make one line statements that although there is grounding for them within my head, that grounding isn't expressed in the any shape or form in my statement, or in any supporting argument I try to cobble together afterwards. In the past few weeks, I have done this twice when in conversations regarding liturgy.

So let's take yesterday's one-liner: "None of our liturgy is theologically-based!"
Really!!! What was I thinking? Not what came out of my mouth, that's for sure! Of course there is theological basis to liturgy, if there wasn't why are we still arguing over the words that are said in the Eucharist and the meaning they express. In my dissertation I have written that within my own tradition the way we teach doctrine to the masses is primarily through our liturgy. Liturgists and hymn-writers over the centuries have wrestled with theology in an attempt to lead the people of God in worship that gives glory to God and will edify them. So why did I come out with such a throw away statement?

Someone raised the question of the 'Lord's Prayer' and why we think it is an important element to be included in our liturgy. None of us present really had an answer other than saying that it was the prayer that Jesus taught us so it must be important. But it hasn't always been there religiously in our liturgical structure and for the person who raised the question, in the church tradition they had grown up in it had never been or perceived to be an essential part of their liturgy.

My only answer is history. Now, I could be making this response because my dissertation, which just happens to focus on liturgy, is heavily weighted on the side of Church History. But as I have looked at and mapped the change in the liturgy of my own tradition since the Reformation, there have been moments during our history where we have thrown most of what we would call liturgy out of the window as we have rebelled against the establishment. It has been events that have happened in the church local, national, and universal that have driven liturgical change. I'm not discounting theology's role in this, because engagement with Scripture and theology has happen which have caused liturgical movement. But how often to we actually theologically question what is in the basic liturgical structure that many of our churches follow? How often is our response to the question "why do we say one type of prayer here and another type there", "just because-that's how we've always done it".

I am finding myself riling these days when I hear people using the response 'it's because I'm a non-conformist' to why they do or do not do something. Yes, maybe the non-conformist movement does has the feel at times like 'throwing the baby out with the bath water' because we can, but there were theological reasons behind it initially. People took time to theologically reflect on the situation before they made their response.

So I guess that is where my one-liner came from. To me there is a sense that we don't always theological think through our liturgy anymore, we just do it this way because that is how it has been done for generations. Our liturgy has become more historically-based, although it has its roots in theology, just theology that is forgotten.