The vital importance of Sunday morning is pretty easily lost amidst a flurry of very valid concerns and very important truths, pastoral and theological. "All of life is worship", so what need is there to have this short period of time fenced off from the rest of the week and allocated for 'worship'? "Church is more than a Sunday service", so why place so much emphasis on coming together once a week? "What really matters is relationship to God and one another", so why have this relatively formal time of liturgical action and listening? "Our mission is to be in the world as a witness", so is there any sense in making this gathering together of the 'already-ins' the focus of our church week?
All this stuff matters. But Sunday morning matters more, for two reasons.
Firstly, Sunday morning tells us how we are doing. It is all very well, and indeed it is absolutely vital, that I commit to worship God with all my life. But the very all-inclusivity of the target makes it hard to know if I'm hitting it or not. How joyfully can I sing on a Sunday morning, when I'm gathered together with God's people? That is a barometer of how joyfully I have been living for Christ throughout the week. I see this as in some ways parallel to the Sabbath command in the OT. All my life should be lived resting in God, but it is how I treat this one day which tells me whether that is happening or not. (Incidentally, reflecting on this is causing me to reconsider my general opposition to Christian Sabbatarianism, but that is a thought for another day).
Secondly, Sunday morning tells us who we are. If our worship is Christian worship - if it is focussed on and shaped by the gospel - then it will in turn shape us. We need the gospel story constantly dripped into our lives, and this happens most of all on Sunday mornings. Yes, we need daily Bible reading, but Sunday morning is where the action of worship in the setting of the gathered people of God brings the gospel home. This is not just about the sermon; it is about everything that we do together.
There is a circle here, or perhaps a mutually reinforcing dyad. As Sunday morning reveals how I'm doing, it also shapes me to do better; as it shapes me, it reveals to me how my life is corresponding to the gospel story. The point of both movements is to lift my eyes to Christ.
I'm looking forward to tomorrow morning.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Marriage, etc.
Those who move in Christian circles can hardly fail to have become aware of the Coalition for Marriage, a pressure group seeking to prevent the government from giving legal sanction to homosexual marriages. I imagine even if you don't move in such circles, you will have heard rumblings in the media. I have to say, I find the Coalition off-putting. It is partly the slightly shrill tone with which they pronounce their warnings, and partly it is the sorts of arguments they use - the argument from tradition, the slippery slope argument (and I quote: "If marriage is redefined once, what is to stop it being redefined to allow polygamy?"), and the 'rest of us' argument ("Same sex couples may choose to have a civil partnership but no-one has the right to redefine marriage for the rest of us"). These are not good arguments. But the whole thing has got me thinking more about what I think.
Firstly, I don't think government or anyone else can define or re-define marriage. Human sexuality is not something which is given to us to define. It takes its definition from creation, and ultimately from the gospel. I do not uphold 'traditional' sexuality or morality, or 'traditional' definitions of marriage, but I will hold to gospel definitions. The Biblical witness makes it plain that marriage derives its existence and its meaning from the union of Christ with his Church; moreover, it is clear to me, on the basis of this witness that only lifelong, monogamous, heterosexual marriage devoted to Christ's service or celibacy devoted to Christ's service adequately point to this spiritual union of Christ and Church - the former as a picture of what the union is like, the latter as a symbol of the over-riding importance of the union. That is where my definition of marriage comes from.
Secondly, because this definition is rooted in the gospel, I do not and cannot expect people who do not believe the gospel to accept it. I don't think it is wise for Christians to fall back on arguments from sociology or tradition in order to support their view of marriage, which if it is of value at all is derived not from tradition or sociology but from Christ. That will make it harder for us to make the public case, but then I wonder whether that is my job as a disciple. Is there any way to make the case for marriage other than preaching the gospel of Christ?
Thirdly, I find myself looking to draw a line between issues where I can believe a thing to be wrong, but not want to legislate, and issues where I think we must campaign for legislation. For example, I think it is desperately wrong, hugely damaging, and ultimately leading to hellfire to blaspheme. I do not think, however, that anyone should legislate against blasphemy (and such antiquated laws as remain should be repealed). On the other hand, abortion - I think we should do everything possible to make this illegal in almost all situations. The difference is that if I campaign for legislation against blasphemy, I am really only campaigning for my right to live in unoffended, unchallenged comfort; whereas if I campaign against abortion, I am campaigning for the right of another human being to live. Where does the marriage campaign fall? Do I think the government's plan are ill-advised, ungodly, and ultimately a reflection of sin rampant in our society? Sure I do. But is it the sort of thing that we ought to be campaigning against, or the sort of thing that should prompt us to preach Christ and his grace, and to pray much more? I think I incline toward the latter, although the issue is certainly complex.
Fourthly, I think we Christians need to be ready to suffer on this front, and we need to be ready to do it well. The race analogy keeps cropping up - saying that gay people shouldn't be allowed to marry is like saying that black people shouldn't be allowed to ride in the front of the bus. As a Christian, I can't accept the analogy; Biblical anthropology stands against it. But I can understand where it comes from, and it has a certain rational (and a great emotional) force. We will be hated for what we say, or at least what we say will be hated. How we react will matter. Here is a question: what rights of gay people and couples could we stick up for? How could we try to bless people whose lifestyles and choices we reject?
Fifthly, we are equipped with three ultimate weapons which will make a difference in this situation, and they are all prayers: agnus dei, kyrie eleison, and maranatha!
Firstly, I don't think government or anyone else can define or re-define marriage. Human sexuality is not something which is given to us to define. It takes its definition from creation, and ultimately from the gospel. I do not uphold 'traditional' sexuality or morality, or 'traditional' definitions of marriage, but I will hold to gospel definitions. The Biblical witness makes it plain that marriage derives its existence and its meaning from the union of Christ with his Church; moreover, it is clear to me, on the basis of this witness that only lifelong, monogamous, heterosexual marriage devoted to Christ's service or celibacy devoted to Christ's service adequately point to this spiritual union of Christ and Church - the former as a picture of what the union is like, the latter as a symbol of the over-riding importance of the union. That is where my definition of marriage comes from.
Secondly, because this definition is rooted in the gospel, I do not and cannot expect people who do not believe the gospel to accept it. I don't think it is wise for Christians to fall back on arguments from sociology or tradition in order to support their view of marriage, which if it is of value at all is derived not from tradition or sociology but from Christ. That will make it harder for us to make the public case, but then I wonder whether that is my job as a disciple. Is there any way to make the case for marriage other than preaching the gospel of Christ?
Thirdly, I find myself looking to draw a line between issues where I can believe a thing to be wrong, but not want to legislate, and issues where I think we must campaign for legislation. For example, I think it is desperately wrong, hugely damaging, and ultimately leading to hellfire to blaspheme. I do not think, however, that anyone should legislate against blasphemy (and such antiquated laws as remain should be repealed). On the other hand, abortion - I think we should do everything possible to make this illegal in almost all situations. The difference is that if I campaign for legislation against blasphemy, I am really only campaigning for my right to live in unoffended, unchallenged comfort; whereas if I campaign against abortion, I am campaigning for the right of another human being to live. Where does the marriage campaign fall? Do I think the government's plan are ill-advised, ungodly, and ultimately a reflection of sin rampant in our society? Sure I do. But is it the sort of thing that we ought to be campaigning against, or the sort of thing that should prompt us to preach Christ and his grace, and to pray much more? I think I incline toward the latter, although the issue is certainly complex.
Fourthly, I think we Christians need to be ready to suffer on this front, and we need to be ready to do it well. The race analogy keeps cropping up - saying that gay people shouldn't be allowed to marry is like saying that black people shouldn't be allowed to ride in the front of the bus. As a Christian, I can't accept the analogy; Biblical anthropology stands against it. But I can understand where it comes from, and it has a certain rational (and a great emotional) force. We will be hated for what we say, or at least what we say will be hated. How we react will matter. Here is a question: what rights of gay people and couples could we stick up for? How could we try to bless people whose lifestyles and choices we reject?
Fifthly, we are equipped with three ultimate weapons which will make a difference in this situation, and they are all prayers: agnus dei, kyrie eleison, and maranatha!
Monday, March 05, 2012
"Philosophical Theology"
The scare quotes are to indicate that I don't think there is any such thing. Permit me to make a couple of remarks. They are not all that well thought through yet, but perhaps you'll bear with me and even make helpful suggestions. It is my blog after all.
1. The best philosophical argument for the existence of God is the ontological argument. It is the best, not only because there is something rather elegant about it, but primarily because - if it were valid - it would actually show that God exists with the degree of certainty which every theistic religion demands of its adherents. Sadly, there is no such thing as a valid ontological argument. If anyone tells you otherwise, I permit you to chide them gently. Try not to extend this into scoffing. Be nice.
2. I am increasingly convinced that probabilistic arguments for God's existence have, as well as their failings to persuade anyone as far as I can tell, the major failing that they are actually blasphemous. Let me put it this way: if Christian Theism is true, it is impossible that anything should exist on the supposition that Christian Theism were false. If we say of any thing, 'does this not make it more probable that God exists?', we are doing one of two things (or most likely both). Either we are moving God into the class of things which may or may not exist - a class which contains all things other than God already - and in so doing denying Christian Theism, or we are actually meaning something more like 'does this not make you feel more like God exists?', in which case we are appealing to subjectivity in a way which makes me uncomfortable.
3. If the existence of God is a philosophical question, not one of the Biblical authors ever thought to address the issue. Scripture is full of history; it is full of God proving himself in his words and deeds. It contains not a word of anything we might recognise as philosophy. I do not think Christians should be relying on a methodology which the Biblical witnesses, inspired by the ultimate Witness, saw fit to completely neglect. For us, it is history or bust; resurrection or atheism.
5. "Philosophical Theology" generally wants to appear rational and sensible in conversation with the outside world. This desire may be well motivated in many, although I know that in my own period of chasing the no-god of natural theology that for some at least (i.e. me) the driving force is pride, and a desire to avoid the offence of the cross - which is foolishness to those who are perishing.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Tertullian on the flesh
Here is Tertullian, with Genesis 2:7 in his mind, writing against Gnostics who devalue the flesh:
"Let me then pursue my purpose, which is to do my best to claim for the flesh all that God conferred upon it in creating it, the flesh which then gloried in the fact that this poor clay had come into the hands of God, whatever they are, and was happy enough at the mere touch... Think of God wholly occupied and absorbed in the task, with hand, sense, activity, forethought, wisdom, providence; and above all, that love of his which was tracing the features. For in all the form which was moulded in the clay, Christ was in his thoughts as the man who was to be; for the Word was to be made clay and flesh, just as at that time earth was fashioned into man."
The emphasis is, of course, mine; the thought is beautiful, don't you think?
"Let me then pursue my purpose, which is to do my best to claim for the flesh all that God conferred upon it in creating it, the flesh which then gloried in the fact that this poor clay had come into the hands of God, whatever they are, and was happy enough at the mere touch... Think of God wholly occupied and absorbed in the task, with hand, sense, activity, forethought, wisdom, providence; and above all, that love of his which was tracing the features. For in all the form which was moulded in the clay, Christ was in his thoughts as the man who was to be; for the Word was to be made clay and flesh, just as at that time earth was fashioned into man."
The emphasis is, of course, mine; the thought is beautiful, don't you think?
Monday, February 20, 2012
Historicist
To continue my rambling about my personal political views, let me chip in a very brief post about historicism. Historicism is the belief that the actual history of a particular person, group of people, or situation really matters. Unlike more philosophical theories, historicism does not see particulars as reducible (even in principle) to general rules. There is no overall scheme of things into which particulars must fit. One cannot, therefore, bring Marxist philosophy (for example) to a situation and seek to present solutions on the basis of that philosophy; one must look at the particular circumstances. In particular, one ought not to attempt an atemporal analysis, as if this situation had sprung from nowhere - as if it were a generic situation which could have a generic solution.
A grumble: history teaching in the UK is dreadful. No offence at all is intended to the teachers, who do a grand job with a shoddy teaching philosophy. When people in politics start to ramble on about British values, and other such twaddle which we supposedly share as a nation, it makes me want to scream. What we share is history, except we don't know it because we've never been taught it in a coherent way. And that leads to all sorts of silliness, like British leaders appearing to claim that what really unites us is a sense of fair play (apparently shared with no-one else in the world beyond this blessed isle), or the SNP talking as if Scotland had been somehow conquered and oppressed by England. All this is due to not knowing the basic story of how we got here. (Yes, I am suggesting we teach narrative history. In order.)
Anyway, the point is this: attempting to move forward without looking backward is never going to work. Being up to date, in and of itself, is of no use. Being rooted matters.
A grumble: history teaching in the UK is dreadful. No offence at all is intended to the teachers, who do a grand job with a shoddy teaching philosophy. When people in politics start to ramble on about British values, and other such twaddle which we supposedly share as a nation, it makes me want to scream. What we share is history, except we don't know it because we've never been taught it in a coherent way. And that leads to all sorts of silliness, like British leaders appearing to claim that what really unites us is a sense of fair play (apparently shared with no-one else in the world beyond this blessed isle), or the SNP talking as if Scotland had been somehow conquered and oppressed by England. All this is due to not knowing the basic story of how we got here. (Yes, I am suggesting we teach narrative history. In order.)
Anyway, the point is this: attempting to move forward without looking backward is never going to work. Being up to date, in and of itself, is of no use. Being rooted matters.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Lent?
I come from a church tradition where the ecclesiastical calendar is not much valued. That may be putting it too weakly. I grew up in churches with such a strong adherence to the regulative principle that we did not observe any annual celebrations. A point was made of singing carols in July. But that is all by the by. Even my relatively relaxed current church, which does observe Easter and Christmas and makes occasional nods in the direction of Pentecost and the like, does not make much of the liturgical year.
So I decided to experiment. Since November, I've been imposing on myself the discipline of saying Morning Prayer, as set out in Common Worship, and I've been deliberately and very carefully observing the different seasons and (for the most part) festivals. I can't bring myself to celebrate particular persons, but I have been following the lectionary and trying to get into the 'feel' of the different passing seasons. Advent was a tremendous blessing, Christmas was enriched, and Epiphany (despite it's recent origin as a liturgical season) was a big help. I've enjoyed the experiment thus far.
But...
It is very nearly Lent. I don't get Lent. I can see that in principle it may be useful to have a particular time when we remember our sins, and show our repentance. Lent, however, seems to involve remembering this whilst forgetting the gospel. Why can't I say Hallelujah until Good Friday? Has the gospel been suspended until then? At the very least I seem to have to assume, for the best part of six weeks, that the good news doesn't apply to me, at least not in its fulness.
Is there a way of doing Lent which is not anti-gospel? Or shall I just stay in 'Ordinary Time' until Holy Week?
So I decided to experiment. Since November, I've been imposing on myself the discipline of saying Morning Prayer, as set out in Common Worship, and I've been deliberately and very carefully observing the different seasons and (for the most part) festivals. I can't bring myself to celebrate particular persons, but I have been following the lectionary and trying to get into the 'feel' of the different passing seasons. Advent was a tremendous blessing, Christmas was enriched, and Epiphany (despite it's recent origin as a liturgical season) was a big help. I've enjoyed the experiment thus far.
But...
It is very nearly Lent. I don't get Lent. I can see that in principle it may be useful to have a particular time when we remember our sins, and show our repentance. Lent, however, seems to involve remembering this whilst forgetting the gospel. Why can't I say Hallelujah until Good Friday? Has the gospel been suspended until then? At the very least I seem to have to assume, for the best part of six weeks, that the good news doesn't apply to me, at least not in its fulness.
Is there a way of doing Lent which is not anti-gospel? Or shall I just stay in 'Ordinary Time' until Holy Week?
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Anti-utopian
A utopia is a non-place. That is the main reason why I am against utopianism in politics. But perhaps I should explain a bit further.
By utopianism, I understand any political theory or system which believes that we can, ultimately, sort society out and make it work. A classic example would be communism. In Marxist theory, there is an identifiable problem which, when done away with via the route of revolution, will give way to generally harmonious living and a society that just works. The same could be said, as John Gray points out in his book Black Mass, of the neo-conservative belief that if we just introduced liberal democracy into the middle east, all the political and social problems would evaporate.
I am against this kind of thinking because it is unreal, and I am against because it is grand, noble, and powerful. It is unreal, because no utopian vision has yet succeeded in fixing society, and none seems likely to in the future. Utopian visions require a changed humanity, and since no humanity other than that which has existed through all the centuries of recorded history is available to us (I will qualify this below), we should be extremely wary of anyone who touts a vision for the future that requires such a change. Aside from the non-existence of utopia - a pretty big problem! - the issue with utopianism is that its breadth of vision, and its rhetorical force, make it inherently attractive. Who wants to live in a world that can't be fixed? We all find the idea of the perfect society attractive, and so we should. But historically, the sheer grandeur of the ideas has led to horrific acts being perpetrated in the name of progress, or liberty, or the proletariat. Because utopia is such a powerful vision, it seems to excuse terrible things. And indeed, if utopia were within grasp - if all that were needed was the removal of this or that person in order to finally fix society once and for all - what ought not be done for the achievement of this vision? Here lies danger.
Utopianism is prevalent in contemporary politics, usually in the UK linked to the economy. Whether its the end of boom and bust, or some other promise of an eternally bright economic future, we should resist the urge to believe in this beautiful vista. It is illusory, and if it is believed in it is dangerous.
How does this fit with my theological commitments? As before, a summary:
1. Utopianism, as John Gray shows (despite his apparently limited and flawed understanding of classical Christian eschatology) is a secularised version of the Christian vision of the end; I prefer the original and better version.
2. Utopianism takes no account of human sin, and therefore assumes that given the right conditions we can be better; I disbelieve it.
3. A new humanity is on offer, but only in Christ, and only to be partially seen on this side of his coming. It is not something we can bring, but something he brings with him. It can be looked forward to, and to some extent anticipated, but not forced.
By utopianism, I understand any political theory or system which believes that we can, ultimately, sort society out and make it work. A classic example would be communism. In Marxist theory, there is an identifiable problem which, when done away with via the route of revolution, will give way to generally harmonious living and a society that just works. The same could be said, as John Gray points out in his book Black Mass, of the neo-conservative belief that if we just introduced liberal democracy into the middle east, all the political and social problems would evaporate.
I am against this kind of thinking because it is unreal, and I am against because it is grand, noble, and powerful. It is unreal, because no utopian vision has yet succeeded in fixing society, and none seems likely to in the future. Utopian visions require a changed humanity, and since no humanity other than that which has existed through all the centuries of recorded history is available to us (I will qualify this below), we should be extremely wary of anyone who touts a vision for the future that requires such a change. Aside from the non-existence of utopia - a pretty big problem! - the issue with utopianism is that its breadth of vision, and its rhetorical force, make it inherently attractive. Who wants to live in a world that can't be fixed? We all find the idea of the perfect society attractive, and so we should. But historically, the sheer grandeur of the ideas has led to horrific acts being perpetrated in the name of progress, or liberty, or the proletariat. Because utopia is such a powerful vision, it seems to excuse terrible things. And indeed, if utopia were within grasp - if all that were needed was the removal of this or that person in order to finally fix society once and for all - what ought not be done for the achievement of this vision? Here lies danger.
Utopianism is prevalent in contemporary politics, usually in the UK linked to the economy. Whether its the end of boom and bust, or some other promise of an eternally bright economic future, we should resist the urge to believe in this beautiful vista. It is illusory, and if it is believed in it is dangerous.
How does this fit with my theological commitments? As before, a summary:
1. Utopianism, as John Gray shows (despite his apparently limited and flawed understanding of classical Christian eschatology) is a secularised version of the Christian vision of the end; I prefer the original and better version.
2. Utopianism takes no account of human sin, and therefore assumes that given the right conditions we can be better; I disbelieve it.
3. A new humanity is on offer, but only in Christ, and only to be partially seen on this side of his coming. It is not something we can bring, but something he brings with him. It can be looked forward to, and to some extent anticipated, but not forced.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)