The FIEC recently published an article with an interesting look at which parts of the Bible we (meaning 'conservative' type evangelicals) typically preach - and which we typically avoid. There is apparently not a lot of love for 1 and 2 Chronicles, or 2 and 3 John. Jonah, on the other hand, attracts attention out of all proportion to his canonical importance.
So how do we decide what to preach, and when? Karl Barth suggests that you can pursue three methods: you can follow a set lectionary, you can preach through whole biblical books, or you can just select passages as you go. He doesn't recommend the latter, because it gives you - the preacher - too much control of the agenda. Most evangelicals, of course, will go for the consecutive-through-books approach, but that raises the question: which books, and when? It's still possible that the preacher rather than the Scripture is setting the agenda. So what to do?
My guess is there's no perfect method. Here's what I do.
1. I maintain a spreadsheet which breaks down all our sermons by testament and genre (or sub-genre; it is useful to separate Paul's letters from others, for example). That means I can tell you that in Cowley Church Community between January 2016 and August 2019 (for my spreadsheet extends into the future), we will have preached 32% of our standard sermons from the OT, and 55% from the NT. (That leaves some others, to be explained below). Fully 25% of our sermons have been from the gospel of Luke! A glance at the spreadsheet helps me to see if we're preaching the balance of Scripture.
2. The 'balance of Scripture', however, does not mean treating all books equally. I think we have to take a theologically informed approach here, getting ourselves into that virtuous cycle of allowing our reading of Scripture to shape our theology and then allowing our theology to shape the way we approach Scripture. So yes, the New Testament predominates. I'm okay with that; I think it reflects the theology of revelation which is made explicit in, for example, Hebrews 1:1-2.
3. Sharpening that up a bit, I think the understanding of revelation in the NT means that we should always have one of the four gospels on the go. Jesus is the Word of God, to whom the OT points forward, to whom the NT points back. The way we do it is to return regularly to our series preaching through Luke; when (if??) we finish Luke, I'd be keen to move on to another gospel. (Incidentally, odd that the stats seem to show Mark as the least popular gospel for preaching; why on earth would that be? Makes me want to preach it next. Would take less time than Luke, anyway.)
4. Having said that, it's useful to recognise that you, the preacher, like preaching some things more than others. Perhaps you enjoy preaching an argument rather than a narrative, or vice versa. Keeping an eye on the balance helps you not to fall into a pattern that just reflects your own preferences. I suspect it also helps to keep preaching more interesting - preaching narrative as narrative and argument as argument, for example, makes for a much more varied approach; and that's before you even throw in the Psalms etc.
5. At CCC, we also try to shape the preaching around seasonal celebrations; taking time in the Christmas season to preach about Christmas, taking a couple of weeks after Easter Sunday to reflect further on the resurrection. That seasonal preaching makes up slightly less than 10% of year, and has the advantage of keeping us further focussed on the central things of the gospel. We would also usually try to make some of our more 'standard' expository preaching fit the mood of the seasons; we're heading into Jeremiah at the start of Lent, for example.
6. One problem with the setup of churches nowadays is that the preaching has to do quite a lot. When I were a lad, everyone went to a 'bible study', which was in reality a biblical or theological lecture, every Wednesday night. That was a place to do some catechesis. Nowadays, most of the teaching has to happen on a Sunday if it's going to hit a decent proportion of the church. So sometimes we feel the need to interrupt our expository preaching to preach some doctrine - still sticking very close to Scripture, but taking a more theological tack. We did a series on sacraments recently.
7. There are some issues with our approach. A series tends to be broken up, with only 6-8 weeks or so given to each part. That can make it easy to lose the thread of a big book (like Luke!) - but to be honest, patterns of attendance mean you have to regularly recap anyway. We don't always go in for preaching through a book consecutively; we did I think five weeks in Leviticus, for example, getting an overview of the big themes; I think it was good, but obviously there is stuff you've missed. I wonder, as well, whether we always help people to read the Bible for themselves, or whether we give the impression that you need to get it all cleared up for you by a professional.
I dare say it's not perfect, but overall that's my approach.
So, how do you do it?
Thursday, January 31, 2019
Thursday, January 17, 2019
On denying God
In The Christian Life (p185ff.), Barth notes that there are three ways of being ignorant of God, all of which are to an extent wilful, incur guilt, and are bad. However, "within the badness proper to all of them we can think and speak of the bad, the worse, and the worst."
The merely bad, "the most primitive form of the ignorance of God in the world", is theoretical atheism. This atheism has always existed - it is not a unique fruit of modernity, not is it essenitally related to the growth of scientific understanding. It is, as the Psalmist notes, foolish. For Barth, the interest of atheism lies in the fact that it brings into the open the world's denial of God, which is concealed in the other forms of its ignorance. It is also interesting because in atheism we see that the world cannot state its denial of God with nearly so much seriousness as it would like. "The atheistic negation applies to a "God" who, if he exists, must do so in the same way as the data of other human experience or the contents of other human reflections exist for people." (Think of Dawkins: God is a scientific hypothesis or nothing). But such a negation does not touch the true and living God, who "is not a 'datum' of ours. He is his own 'datum'." So much for atheism.
The worse form of ignorance of God is religion. Religion is worse because it conceals what it is really about, masking the denial of God with a "positive substitute". Religions may be theistic, or they may be avowedly secular (there is no reason why secular things should not be venerated, promoted, in a religious fashion); either way, they represent a denial of the true God. "In all religions, even the highest ones, or what are usually called the spiritual ones, we simply have surrogates in whose invention, use, and enjoyment the world thinks it can help to safeguard itself against, and to offer satisfaction to, the present God who is not known to it." Religion represents ignorance, not knowledge of God, because it is always an attempt to avoid his self-revelation. Idolatry is the essence of religion.
The worst form of ignorance of God, however, is "the attempt of the world to exalt its own cause as God's or, conversely, to subject God's cause to its own, to make it serve it." Barth calls this the "nostrification" of God. Rather than deny God, as in atheism, or seek to serve and thus avoid him, as in religion, we can identify ourselves with him, and therefore him with us, so thoroughly that we can throw ourselves into life with absolute zeal, confident that whatever we will, God wills, and whatever we do, God does. "When the world is really shrewd, as it is not in atheism or idolatry, it tries to help itself in this way over against God." The world finds itself much more secure here, having, if you like, co-opted God. Objectively, of course, God stills stands over against the world, but subjectively he is subsumed within it, the world-God. And so he is safe.
I would only add to Barth's analysis, that the most terrible thing about the nostrification of God is that it is the most prevalent form of God-denial, of the unhallowing of God's holy name, to be found within the bounds of the church. And for that, we can only repent.
The merely bad, "the most primitive form of the ignorance of God in the world", is theoretical atheism. This atheism has always existed - it is not a unique fruit of modernity, not is it essenitally related to the growth of scientific understanding. It is, as the Psalmist notes, foolish. For Barth, the interest of atheism lies in the fact that it brings into the open the world's denial of God, which is concealed in the other forms of its ignorance. It is also interesting because in atheism we see that the world cannot state its denial of God with nearly so much seriousness as it would like. "The atheistic negation applies to a "God" who, if he exists, must do so in the same way as the data of other human experience or the contents of other human reflections exist for people." (Think of Dawkins: God is a scientific hypothesis or nothing). But such a negation does not touch the true and living God, who "is not a 'datum' of ours. He is his own 'datum'." So much for atheism.
The worse form of ignorance of God is religion. Religion is worse because it conceals what it is really about, masking the denial of God with a "positive substitute". Religions may be theistic, or they may be avowedly secular (there is no reason why secular things should not be venerated, promoted, in a religious fashion); either way, they represent a denial of the true God. "In all religions, even the highest ones, or what are usually called the spiritual ones, we simply have surrogates in whose invention, use, and enjoyment the world thinks it can help to safeguard itself against, and to offer satisfaction to, the present God who is not known to it." Religion represents ignorance, not knowledge of God, because it is always an attempt to avoid his self-revelation. Idolatry is the essence of religion.
The worst form of ignorance of God, however, is "the attempt of the world to exalt its own cause as God's or, conversely, to subject God's cause to its own, to make it serve it." Barth calls this the "nostrification" of God. Rather than deny God, as in atheism, or seek to serve and thus avoid him, as in religion, we can identify ourselves with him, and therefore him with us, so thoroughly that we can throw ourselves into life with absolute zeal, confident that whatever we will, God wills, and whatever we do, God does. "When the world is really shrewd, as it is not in atheism or idolatry, it tries to help itself in this way over against God." The world finds itself much more secure here, having, if you like, co-opted God. Objectively, of course, God stills stands over against the world, but subjectively he is subsumed within it, the world-God. And so he is safe.
I would only add to Barth's analysis, that the most terrible thing about the nostrification of God is that it is the most prevalent form of God-denial, of the unhallowing of God's holy name, to be found within the bounds of the church. And for that, we can only repent.
Tuesday, January 15, 2019
The known and unknown God
As is relatively well known, for his whole life (at least from 1921) Karl Barth carried on a running battle with natural theology, most concisely expressed in his reply to Emil Brunner on the subject, published under the title "Nein!" - which is in itself fairly clear. But what is the natural theology which Barth rejects, and what does it mean to reject it? I've been enjoying reading the posthumously published work 'The Christian Life', in which Barth explores the Lord's Prayer; under the petition 'Hallowed be your name' he sheds a great deal of light on what he is saying.
First of all, Barth acknowledges that God's name is hallowed in the wider, non-human created sphere. "It may well be that the universe in its movements (besouled or not?) - from those of the heavenly bodies to those of the red and white blood corpuscles in our veins, not to speak of the infinitesimal units out of which everything is constructed - hallows the name of God infinitely more seriously than everything that comes into consideration as hallowing of this name among and by men." And Barth is clear that this glory of God in creation may be seen. So whatever it is that Barth is rejecting under the title of natural theology, it is not the idea that God's glory shines in the heavens.
Within the human sphere - in the world at large - Barth says God "is indeed well known, and yet he is also unknown..." He means that human nature, and each individual human being, is ordered towards God; this is true because God is the Creator of each person, and so (quoting Augustine) "his heart is restless until it finds its rest in Him". So God is known, necessarily known. But all the structures of worldly life betray the fact that God is unknown - humanity as a whole has perverted the relationship to God which goes with their creation, such that human beings per se do not know the God who is so well known to them. It's a paradox, which Barth eventually boils down to the difference between the objective and the subjective: objectively, God is known, in that each person is oriented towards the true God; subjectively, God is not known, in that this God is not acknowledged, his name is not hallowed.
It's worth noting here that Barth is not talking about a generic idea of god which is known in the world. No, it is "the one true and living God who is the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit" who is so well known in the world and yet totally unknown. And humanity, and each human, stands guilty before God for not knowing what is so well known. "Man, not God, is at fault if a subjective knowledge of God on man's side does not correspond to God's objective knowledge." God continually hallows his name in the world, even where human beings deny his name. "Is not his name holy in every blade of grass and every snowflake? Apart from us and even in spite of us, it is holy in every breath we draw, in every thought we think..."
So here is the ambiguity. Humanity as such stands in the position of knowing God and not knowing him. It knows him because objectively his name is continually hallowed in the world around and in each human life. It does not know him because it is wilfully blind, will not acknowledge him, and is therefore plunged into ignorance. This is real ignorance for Barth; it is not that everyone really, deep down, knows God. The muddle is deeper than that. To the depths, the sinful human being does not know God, just as to the depths they are continually confronted with the knowledge of him.
Now here comes natural theology. Sometimes God overcomes our blindness. Sometimes in the world God's name is hallowed effectively, the knowledge of God shines through, even in the most avowedly non-Christian places. Far from wishing to deny this in his battle against natural theology, Barth insists on it. "God the Creator does not contradict the contradiction of his creature for nothing". God hallows his name. But here is the thing: we cannot make a theology of this. We cannot take these brief flashes of insight and systematise them, as if they were the basis, or at least a possible basis, of an understanding of God. It cannot be so. The objective knowledge may be there - the real hallowing of God's name in creation - but is the subjective acknowledgement of God present? Not as it should be. Not as it must be. For Barth, the problem with natural theology is not that we do not have an object for knowledge in creation; the problem is that we do not have a subject. The known God (really known) does not meet with a knowing humanity (not really knowing, in the sense of acknowledging, hallowing). And so natural theology is impossible.
"As we search for a knowledge of God in the world that is unequivocally achieved both objectively on God's side and subjectively on man's, as we look for a point where his name might be clearly and distinctly hallowed on both sides in and for the world, we can think only of the one Jesus Christ." And so he has to be a starting point.
First of all, Barth acknowledges that God's name is hallowed in the wider, non-human created sphere. "It may well be that the universe in its movements (besouled or not?) - from those of the heavenly bodies to those of the red and white blood corpuscles in our veins, not to speak of the infinitesimal units out of which everything is constructed - hallows the name of God infinitely more seriously than everything that comes into consideration as hallowing of this name among and by men." And Barth is clear that this glory of God in creation may be seen. So whatever it is that Barth is rejecting under the title of natural theology, it is not the idea that God's glory shines in the heavens.
Within the human sphere - in the world at large - Barth says God "is indeed well known, and yet he is also unknown..." He means that human nature, and each individual human being, is ordered towards God; this is true because God is the Creator of each person, and so (quoting Augustine) "his heart is restless until it finds its rest in Him". So God is known, necessarily known. But all the structures of worldly life betray the fact that God is unknown - humanity as a whole has perverted the relationship to God which goes with their creation, such that human beings per se do not know the God who is so well known to them. It's a paradox, which Barth eventually boils down to the difference between the objective and the subjective: objectively, God is known, in that each person is oriented towards the true God; subjectively, God is not known, in that this God is not acknowledged, his name is not hallowed.
It's worth noting here that Barth is not talking about a generic idea of god which is known in the world. No, it is "the one true and living God who is the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit" who is so well known in the world and yet totally unknown. And humanity, and each human, stands guilty before God for not knowing what is so well known. "Man, not God, is at fault if a subjective knowledge of God on man's side does not correspond to God's objective knowledge." God continually hallows his name in the world, even where human beings deny his name. "Is not his name holy in every blade of grass and every snowflake? Apart from us and even in spite of us, it is holy in every breath we draw, in every thought we think..."
So here is the ambiguity. Humanity as such stands in the position of knowing God and not knowing him. It knows him because objectively his name is continually hallowed in the world around and in each human life. It does not know him because it is wilfully blind, will not acknowledge him, and is therefore plunged into ignorance. This is real ignorance for Barth; it is not that everyone really, deep down, knows God. The muddle is deeper than that. To the depths, the sinful human being does not know God, just as to the depths they are continually confronted with the knowledge of him.
Now here comes natural theology. Sometimes God overcomes our blindness. Sometimes in the world God's name is hallowed effectively, the knowledge of God shines through, even in the most avowedly non-Christian places. Far from wishing to deny this in his battle against natural theology, Barth insists on it. "God the Creator does not contradict the contradiction of his creature for nothing". God hallows his name. But here is the thing: we cannot make a theology of this. We cannot take these brief flashes of insight and systematise them, as if they were the basis, or at least a possible basis, of an understanding of God. It cannot be so. The objective knowledge may be there - the real hallowing of God's name in creation - but is the subjective acknowledgement of God present? Not as it should be. Not as it must be. For Barth, the problem with natural theology is not that we do not have an object for knowledge in creation; the problem is that we do not have a subject. The known God (really known) does not meet with a knowing humanity (not really knowing, in the sense of acknowledging, hallowing). And so natural theology is impossible.
"As we search for a knowledge of God in the world that is unequivocally achieved both objectively on God's side and subjectively on man's, as we look for a point where his name might be clearly and distinctly hallowed on both sides in and for the world, we can think only of the one Jesus Christ." And so he has to be a starting point.
Wednesday, January 02, 2019
So, that was 2018 then
Just a brief retrospective from me this morning.
Personally, 2018 has held a number of challenges. Many of these have been related to my position at Cowley Church Community (although on balance this continues to be a joy!), on which see below. The year ended with a bit of a shock, as I had a curious episode which has been diagnosed as a probable transient ischemic attack (TIA) - essentially, a mini-stroke. The episode was very brief, and no harm done, but it's certainly a shot across the bows from my own mortality. So, roll on the statins, roll on the low-dose aspirin, roll on the 'lifestyle changes'. I can report, having been forced to take a closer interest in such things, that all the food you like eating is poisonous, and that it is a sad business to have to moderate one's cheese intake over Christmastide. Most fundamentally, I'm happily surprised to find that I really do look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come; one never knows, it seems to me, how much one really believes something until pressed a little to put some practical weight on the belief. I am reassured. However, I hope and intend to be with you all for a long while yet.
In terms of ministry, 2018 has been a mixed bag. I continue to feel the fragility of our little church in Cowley - we are too small to be sustainable, and that comes with a degree of financial uncertainty - but on the other hand I see spiritual growth in so many of those who gather with us regularly. The year has hit many of our church members with really hard things, and in the midst of them it's been a privilege to minister the gospel and see the Lord supplying faith, and with faith comfort and the ability to endure. But whilst genuinely rejoicing at God's work amongst his people, can I be honest and express frustration with the slowness and difficulty of our evangelistic efforts? Where now is the LORD, the God of Elijah?
In wider culture, I think one of the most important currents of 2018 surrounds the transgender debate. It is striking that the elimination of the Christian doctrine of creation, having wreaked havoc in the sphere of human sexuality, now seems to be eroding something more basic: the idea of gender as a given, and thus human 'nature' at its most foundational level. David Robertson at the FIEC Leaders' Conference opined that Satan may have over-reached here; certainly the reaction is interesting, and places biblically-oriented Christians in odd alliances with radical feminists and others. One thing to note about the wider cultural debate is the effort to create an ideological space for those (particularly feminists) who disagree with the transgender agenda (so to speak) but do not see themselves as 'transphobic'; one wonders whether a similar space might not have been created in the sexuality debate, except that it was not politically expedient at the time for anyone to allow it. We will see whether there is greater success here. For the church, it is important to distinguish the wider debate - into which we must be free to speak boldly - from the pastoral response to gender difficulties which will inevitably crop up in a fallen world. The church needs to learn to speak at two levels, but with one essential message.
Politically, 2018 has been a depressing time to be a British subject. It is hard not to feel that the Lord gives us the leaders we deserve. The interminable negotiations around Brexit seem to have reached a conclusion which is designed to aggravate all parties, and meanwhile much bigger issues (like domestic poverty, or the need to respond to a changing balance of global power) are ignored. Personally, I've gone and joined a political party, for the first time since my teens. (I think I recall then briefly being a member of the Conservative party, although I may be mis-remembering). The SDP is looking to push its way back onto the political scene, and I felt inspired to join up. The reasoning? Well, it seems to me that when everything in politics is going to pot the responsible thing for concerned folk to do is not to disengage but to lean in, to put a shoulder to the wheel. I don't think it's appropriate for a Christian minster to make too much of party politics, but I'll just take this opportunity to suggest you read through the SDP's New Declaration and see what you make of it; for me, the explicit rejection of intersectionality/victim discourse, coupled to the effort to find a sensible and pragmatic economic model, is compelling despite my doubts about some other elements (I remain, for example, unconvinced about PR). But if not this party, could there be a party that you might join, and seek therein to have an active influence?
One thought I have going into 2019 is the importance of relating the passage of time to eschatology. That is to say, to explicitly recognise that the sands of time are sinking; whether we're talking about personal endings or the grand ending of all history, each passing year (and month, week, day, hour...) is another step towards the breaking in of that dawn of heaven. It is not in the past, nor the present, nor even the conceivable human future that we find our hope, or solutions to the great problems and issues of our times; but our hope is in the "fair sweet morn" of Christ's appearing.
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand;
And glory, glory dwelleth in Emmanuel's land.
Personally, 2018 has held a number of challenges. Many of these have been related to my position at Cowley Church Community (although on balance this continues to be a joy!), on which see below. The year ended with a bit of a shock, as I had a curious episode which has been diagnosed as a probable transient ischemic attack (TIA) - essentially, a mini-stroke. The episode was very brief, and no harm done, but it's certainly a shot across the bows from my own mortality. So, roll on the statins, roll on the low-dose aspirin, roll on the 'lifestyle changes'. I can report, having been forced to take a closer interest in such things, that all the food you like eating is poisonous, and that it is a sad business to have to moderate one's cheese intake over Christmastide. Most fundamentally, I'm happily surprised to find that I really do look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come; one never knows, it seems to me, how much one really believes something until pressed a little to put some practical weight on the belief. I am reassured. However, I hope and intend to be with you all for a long while yet.
In terms of ministry, 2018 has been a mixed bag. I continue to feel the fragility of our little church in Cowley - we are too small to be sustainable, and that comes with a degree of financial uncertainty - but on the other hand I see spiritual growth in so many of those who gather with us regularly. The year has hit many of our church members with really hard things, and in the midst of them it's been a privilege to minister the gospel and see the Lord supplying faith, and with faith comfort and the ability to endure. But whilst genuinely rejoicing at God's work amongst his people, can I be honest and express frustration with the slowness and difficulty of our evangelistic efforts? Where now is the LORD, the God of Elijah?
In wider culture, I think one of the most important currents of 2018 surrounds the transgender debate. It is striking that the elimination of the Christian doctrine of creation, having wreaked havoc in the sphere of human sexuality, now seems to be eroding something more basic: the idea of gender as a given, and thus human 'nature' at its most foundational level. David Robertson at the FIEC Leaders' Conference opined that Satan may have over-reached here; certainly the reaction is interesting, and places biblically-oriented Christians in odd alliances with radical feminists and others. One thing to note about the wider cultural debate is the effort to create an ideological space for those (particularly feminists) who disagree with the transgender agenda (so to speak) but do not see themselves as 'transphobic'; one wonders whether a similar space might not have been created in the sexuality debate, except that it was not politically expedient at the time for anyone to allow it. We will see whether there is greater success here. For the church, it is important to distinguish the wider debate - into which we must be free to speak boldly - from the pastoral response to gender difficulties which will inevitably crop up in a fallen world. The church needs to learn to speak at two levels, but with one essential message.
Politically, 2018 has been a depressing time to be a British subject. It is hard not to feel that the Lord gives us the leaders we deserve. The interminable negotiations around Brexit seem to have reached a conclusion which is designed to aggravate all parties, and meanwhile much bigger issues (like domestic poverty, or the need to respond to a changing balance of global power) are ignored. Personally, I've gone and joined a political party, for the first time since my teens. (I think I recall then briefly being a member of the Conservative party, although I may be mis-remembering). The SDP is looking to push its way back onto the political scene, and I felt inspired to join up. The reasoning? Well, it seems to me that when everything in politics is going to pot the responsible thing for concerned folk to do is not to disengage but to lean in, to put a shoulder to the wheel. I don't think it's appropriate for a Christian minster to make too much of party politics, but I'll just take this opportunity to suggest you read through the SDP's New Declaration and see what you make of it; for me, the explicit rejection of intersectionality/victim discourse, coupled to the effort to find a sensible and pragmatic economic model, is compelling despite my doubts about some other elements (I remain, for example, unconvinced about PR). But if not this party, could there be a party that you might join, and seek therein to have an active influence?
One thought I have going into 2019 is the importance of relating the passage of time to eschatology. That is to say, to explicitly recognise that the sands of time are sinking; whether we're talking about personal endings or the grand ending of all history, each passing year (and month, week, day, hour...) is another step towards the breaking in of that dawn of heaven. It is not in the past, nor the present, nor even the conceivable human future that we find our hope, or solutions to the great problems and issues of our times; but our hope is in the "fair sweet morn" of Christ's appearing.
Dark, dark hath been the midnight, but dayspring is at hand;
And glory, glory dwelleth in Emmanuel's land.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)