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.

So that was 2013...

As we near the dawn of 2014, I've been inspired by a friend to take a look back on the past year. It does seem like only yesterday that my niece, a very close friend and myself found ourselves in the common room of Westminster College playing 'Fleeced', but that was a whole year ago now! So what has happened between then and now?

Well lots, there have been 365 days after all! But I guess if I'm really going to reflect on the past year, maybe I should be a little more specific.

I've finished my second year of my theology degree and started my third and final year.
I've rejoiced over some of my marks and cried over others.
I continue to stare at piles of books and scratched my head wondering how I turn what I've read into an essay that answers the question posed.
I'm beginning to accept that I now think more like a theologian than an engineer; although I still like a good diagram and look for a logical and systematic approach!
I've got on a plane and travelled to foreign parts on my own! (Huge moment and was very pleased to see a friendly face when I got off the plane at my destination.)

As in many years, there have been ups and downs:
Moments when I've wondered what I'm doing there and others when I've know exactly why I'm there.
There have been days when I've wished I could have had a second attempt at them.
There has been a new addition to the family, my third nephew, who is a joy and at nine months loves to give you a wave.
I have been to new places, seen new things, as well as continued to enjoy calling Cambridge "home".
I have managed another year of not managing to visit a number of good friends, but I do think of them often and miss them a great deal.
I've made new friends, whilst other friendships appear to have sadly come to an end.

So 2013 draws to an end and a new year dawn; a year in which I will finish my degree, start my year in pastorate with another minister and start the process that will hopefully lead to a call to a pastorate and ordination! So nothing to big happening!

Words...

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

I wonder if the person who came up with that rhyme was trying a bit of reverse psychology on themselves in the vain attempt to deal with one of those conversations where if the words were not meant to hurt then the other person involved really made a bad choice of words. We all know that words can hurt! They are our primary means of communication and even if we don't set out to hurt someone with what we say, sometimes the words we choose convey the wrong meaning. Sure we can all interpret words differently too, and we can turn innocent sentences in to something that they are not. But words do have power, which we all have the tendency to forget at times.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hzgzim5m7oU

Of course, words don't just have the power to knock a person down and hurt them, they also have the power to build someone up, give encouragement, and even change their life. The You Tube video I've shared here struck me as an amazing example of how some very simple, but well composed words can make a huge difference.

Well chosen words...change conversations that can be misunderstood to conversations that are thought provoking;

Well chosen words... give an incentive to change rather than desire to dig one's heels in.

Well chosen words... are the difference between hurt and love.

The Church has a lot of words, some used well and others used not so well. However, in the season of Advent, the Church's thoughts are very much drawn to words, particularly 'the Word'. For it was 'the Word' coming into the world that made things happened; changed it. And it is the returning of the Word in the world that there is a longing and looking forwards to. But 'the Word' isn't just something of the past and the future, it is also in the present. For as there are words in the world, so the Word is still in the world, for it is made know through our words.

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being." (John 1.1-3)

So remember your words and chose them with care, for today they may come to mean something more than just being a few words.

Music - something I listen to or something that accompanies me?

Those that have readily viewed my blog will possibly have spent a moment or two looking at Fred and George, who form part of my pastoral portfolio paper that I have to complete for my theology degree. They are part of my theological reflection on a placement at the local hospice, but only form a small percentage of my final submission. For alongside them I must also write a piece that is a theological reflection on an aspect of my church placement, which I undertook during the last academic year. So after a year at St Columba's what else could I reflect but music!

Now if you don't know St Columba's Church, Cambridge, then this might seem an odd conclusion, why chose music over some pastoral encounter had at the church door or over coffee? Well, music features heavily in the life of the church, which is at times a blessing whilst at other times a cause of many a headache, especially when trying to craft an act of worship. However, as I have started to read and think about how I might unpack the tensions I came across, I have started to think about my own relationship with music.

I guess I could kinda class myself as a musician, although not a proficient one, and music is a significant part of my life; the CD towers in my room are witness to this. But as I've read about composers such as Bach, Olivier Messiaen and James MacMillan today, along with the views of Schleiermacher, Barth and Bonhoeffer, I've begun to wonder what place music does have in my life. When do I actually sit and listen to music?

As I am writing this, there is music playing, but am I really listening to it or is just accompanying what I am doing? Am I really hearing what the composer and the performers are trying to say through the notation they are causing to resonant out of my speakers? If I'm honest, most of the time the music that resounds around me is a companion. For me to sit and listen without any distraction is rare, especially when it comes to purely instrumental music. And maybe that is why, when my full attention is given to some piece of music, I sometimes find myself slightly disturbed by what I hear, particularly when we get to the eclectic tones of 20th century music. When there are only musical notes and no words, I have to look within the music for something that I wouldn't have to look for if it were a song. I don't have this problem when I'm actually playing the music, maybe because I'm too busy trying to remember the key signature or count so that the rhythm is kinda right; but in playing music I find it easier for the music to become a part of me, because the music is as much about me as the notes on the page. Where when I'm listening, I have to let the music in, I have to let the music take hold of me, as I do when I playing a piece I know well. But just maybe that's what needs to happen; the eclectic tones may then not be so eclectic, and the mystery that they are trying to protray no longer such a mystery. Maybe if I do spend some time actually listening, I'll hear something life changing!

Although it will never stop be a companion!