The gospel industrial complex and the big drummer in the sky

Photo by Caleb Toranzo on Unsplash

(I am grateful for the writer Chuck Lowe for this brilliance, which I hope I have not sullied too much.)

You need to make something happen? Here’s what you need:

  • A parts list
  • Step-by-step instructions
  • Hazards to avoid
  • Useful techniques for greater efficiency

Apart from the side effect of turning people into automata, this approach was powerful for simple things like recipes, fast-food restaurants, internal combustion engines, mills, factories and much else. The Industrial Revolution (I suggest) was a revolution because of the discovery and application of this power.

It is such a powerful approach that we humans have totally lost control of it and are applying it to everything, particularly complex systems, where it doesn’t work at all. Here is a partial list where it doesn’t work:

  • Babies
  • Adults
  • Children
  • Societies
  • Economies
  • Medicine
  • Education
  • Business

You get the idea: anything human. I notice (following Chuck Lowe again) how what powered the Industrial Revolution has hijacked the Christian Church, or at least the bits I inhabit. (Perhaps Orthodoxy largely escaped? I don’t know enough. )

Right now, around the world, how many courses are being delivered, how many notes taken, about about how to get the gospel working in lives and churches: evangelistic programmes, discipleship programmes, instructions on how to pray, heal, defeat evil, live well? What colossal percentage of time and energy is wasted delivering and receiving these courses. Because what works for the simple does not work for the complex. Anybody who has spent the shortest time with a toddler knows this.

Abandon it all. What are we supposed to do instead? I think in the Christian sphere it is about the attitudes that flow from a worshipping heart; about love love of God and neighbour; about serving as your passions and circumstances lead and constrain; and about trusting God, the big drummer in the sky, to call the dance.

Following Jesus into the darkness

‘Seeking the one who is higher than us’: photo by Cherry Laithang on Unsplash

When I was a student seminarian, a group of us went camping the high desert in California. I am a timid sort, but a couple of our number wanted to explore some disused gold mines. Miles from anywhere, following the map, we climbed down into one.

At the bottom of the mine was a narrow passage leading to further workings. You needed to crawl through the rubble. No way was I going there, but one of our companions did, crawling into the claustrophobic darkness, and found a further chamber. When he got back, I asked if anyone else had a headache. Everyone did. Mindful of carbon dioxide accumulating in old mine workings, we left.

I do not think too many people in their right minds would follow Jesus into a similar dark hole, dark, closed in, rubble-strewn, deserted and miles from help. We wouldn’t chose it (unless you were my camping companion). And yet sometimes we are taken there.

I was thinking about this during a jet-lagged night recently, and praying for various people I know wh0 themselves had been required by Jesus to follow him into the darkness. They did not have a choice, except perhaps the choice to see Jesus there with them.

Why does Jesus lead us into the darkness? I think because he wants to show us something.

What does he want to show us? (If we could figure that out, maybe we wouldn’t need to go into the darkness at all, saving much trial and effort). I think it depends.

  • Ezekiel saw a valley of dry bones and God showed him how Ezekiel’s words could turn it into living army.
  • Hosea saw a ‘Valley of Achor’ (is that bitterness or despair) leading to a door of hope
  • Caleb’s daughter-in-law, in words that resonate down the centuries, asked Caleb, ‘if you give me the desert, give me also streams of water. ‘
  • Joseph, exiled, jailed, and then part of the Egyptian government (led where he did not want to go) called one of his children ‘fruitful’ because ‘God has made me fruitful in the land of my suffering. ‘
  • Peter was told ‘you will be led where you do not want to go’ . In the darkness of a prophesyed martydom, Jesus dealt with Peter’s deepest insecurity, his fear that he would again let Jesus down again at the last.
  • Paul despaired of life but emerged with a deeper realization that God raises the dead.

No-one emerges unchanged. Following Jesus into a claustrophic mine shaft, dark, isolated, cutting your body up rough and with bad air? You would rather not. But he has something to show you.

Dumped women of the Bible

There have been many low points in Christian writing for women. Of books that have crossed my path (and that I have of course not read) were the booklet from the New Frontiers movement in the 1980s, ‘How to be a better leader’ s wife’; and from a parallel school, ‘Queen Take Your Throne, Becoming a Woman of Power and Authority.’ Thank goodness most books, presumably including these, disappear down history’s maw.

One book or Bible study I have never seen is ‘Dumped women of the Bible’. It is a surprise, because it is a ripe and rich area of study. How about Rizpah, descendant of King Saul, who spent one summer keeping the crows off the strung-up and rotting bodies of her two sons? Or the seven concubines of King David with whom Absalom slept and who were kept in secluded isolation for long years after David regained the throne? Or Abishag the Shunamite, carer for King David in his years of enfeeblement, then treated as a pawn in subsequent power struggles? Did these women, and hundreds like them, within and without the pages of scripture, have thoughts, feelings, lives, sufferings, laughter, endurance and perhaps also faith? Not many queens taking thrones here but an awful lot of battered and bruised people having to find a way through.

How refreshing Jesus was, taking delight in lifting women up and doing down the male disciples. Look at some of the things he said to them or to the disciples about them: ‘She has done a beautiful thing for me’; ‘Neither do I condemn you. Go in peace’; and best of all, to the tear-stained Magdalene, the simple, ‘Mary!’

(Compare this with another divine voice in a garden, asking: ‘Adam, where are you? )

History’s motor powers along, leaving battered and bruised women in its tyre-tracks, but Jesus follows, picking up the casualties, and perhaps together Jesus and the women watch history’s motor chug over the horizon, belching smoke.

Or rather, it looks like history’s motor, as men, mostly men, with spanners and oily rags, tune the machine up, squeeze efficiencies out of it, reducing God’s purpose to checklists and the replacement of defective parts.

But in Jesus we see that God moves at the speed of the women and children.

Photo by Random Institute on Unsplash

On prayer

This from Nadia Bolz-Weber who can write and think, sometimes both at the same time:

So even though I don’t believe in the gumball machine idea, that if I put a shiny quarter of prayer and righteousness into God’s vending machine that a shiny round gumball of “blessings” will drop into my hand, I still pray.

I pray because I have fears and longings and concerns and gratitudes and complaints that are best not left unexpressed.  And so I hold these up to God, I repeat them in my mind and ponder them on my walks; I whisper them into my pillow, and press them into the soil; I write them on ribbons; I say them in the single, choppy syllables managed between sobs. And I believe that God somehow catches them and will not let a single one land unheld in God’s divine knowing. Not because God is good and I am good so I get what I ask for, but because God was, is and will be, meaning that God is already present in the future I am fearing and already loving me through the grief of the bad thing happening, and already and always ready to comfort and sustain me. God abides all around me even in times of collapse, even in times of boredom, even in times of selfishness, even in times of effervescence when I forget to be grateful. I know this to be true even when I do not “feel” it.

The church and mental health (some more)

I had the privilege recently of meeting and having lunch with a clinical psychologist, who was soon to retire. In our brief time together I was interested in what (if anything) Christian communities could do to take some steps towards tackling the crisis in mental health that seems to be all around us.

Dismiss for a moment the claim that we don’t have a blooming of mental health problems so much as a blooming of mental health terminology. And dismiss for another moment the further thought that previous generations had it much worse (think, World War I or the great plague) and just got on with it.

Ask instead, if the lived experience of many today is struggles with mental health (anxiety and depression say), can Christian communities do something to help?

Interestingly, my lunch companion thought ‘yes’. I hope I am not misquoting her in that she said many mental problems—wider than just anxiety and depression—are essentially chronic conditions, that is, life-long and to be managed rather than cured as such. But she said she could get good outcomes if her work with people was combined with their participation in community things. If there were two aspects to managing an illness, one was her work, the other was a community.

This was fascinating. But, I asked her, wouldn’t this community themselves need to be trained in mental health issues? Not really, she replied. Essentially they would just need to be able to spot a mental health crisis and know whom to contact. What was more important was normal, non-judgemental acceptance and human interaction.

We have seen this in our own church, and I suspect so have most churches. Most congregations I have belonged to have contained some marginalized people who have hung onto normalcy in large part because Christian communities have accepted them and welcomed them in.

We can do this. The same congregations that, in the 1960s say, hosted large Sunday Schools, or in later decades ran parent and toddler groups and youth groups and foodbanks, can intentionally set stuff up that will give the lonely something to belong to and the anxious a welcome.

Our church started a food hub, and we noticed that people turned up way earlier than the opening time. It wasn’t just to get the first dibs on the food. Some brought garden chairs. It turned out that as much as needing food, they needed community. They enjoyed the queue.

As time went on, entrepreneurial people in our congregation downgraded the food supply and opened a cafe instead. During the recent crisis in energy costs, we got money from the City Council to run a designated ‘warm space’ for people.

And then our little church extended the cafe idea to community lunches and a monthly ‘cafe church’.

This is slow mission but it is also the Kingdom leaking into the community around us.

Why you should vote for me

Since I am away for much of October, I hope you’ll forgive me having a little fun. This does not fit the slow mission brief but in this year of elections, I offer an unbeatable manifesto to win any election anywhere.

1. Abolish January 31st and add a day to June instead. Further, whatever day it actually falls, make that June 31st always a Saturday. So if June 30 is a Tuesday, say, the next day, the 31st, would be a Saturday. Then July 1st would be a Wednesday as normal, and the universe would continue untroubled. There are never enough Saturdays in June, and since most people live in the Northern Hemisphere, a global referendum would lead to a clear majority in favour of my proposal.

2. Make ironing illegal. Too many of us waste too many hours at ironing boards. Criminalize it. If you are found guilty of ironing, you will be fined up to £1000 but this money does not go to public funds, you will be required to spend it on non-iron clothing.

3. Every piece of clothing should be fitted with a ‘girlfriend tag’. Connected to a suitable phone app, the girlfriend tag will tell you if

(a) what you are wearing matches whatever else you are wearing

(b) if it’s suitable for whereever you’re going today (having consulted your calendar)

(c) if it even suits you and

(d)if you should have thrown it out years ago.

Vote for me! Except I’m not standing.

The small is big

It’s striking what is, and isn’t, emphasized when St Paul decides what to write in his short letters to churches. There isn’t much about fame, achievement or celebrity; nothing about goals and milestones. Not much that I can see about strategy, or mobilisation, or changing the world.

Quite a lot about relationships, though, about families, about employers and employees (well, slaves and slave-owners). It reminds me of the story of the founder of a world-wide Christian charity. Apparently there are two biographies about him. There’s the corporate biography, country after country entered, cash-flow problems addressed, new initiatives started, new staff hired, horizons falling away as the ministry soars, as it were, into the sky.

Then there’s the second biography, written by the daughter about a father who was never home.

It’s easy to criticise someone second-hand, and to simplify a complex thing to make a point. Big parts of Christian discipleship are getting our attitudes and our close relationships right. That’s a place to put effort and is a true arena of service. It’s also super-revolutionary, overturning priorities. The big is small; the small is big.

On Waterloo Bridge

Somerset House (part of which is now part of King’s College; and my old friend Waterloo Bridge). Photo by Sam Quek on Unsplash

I’ve been slightly ambushed by the past in the past few months.

We recently had a 40th (actually 41st for complicated reasons) anniversary reunion of my time in college. So all of us who were once fresh young graduates, world at our feet, are now the seasoned and greyed end-of-career types talking about retirement and needing reading glasses–with all our working and adult life placed between these two milestones.

I met a lot of people for the first time, former fellow students. One was a High Court Judge. One had shared a flat with Tim Berners-Lee and thought at the time that his web invention wasn’t all that good. One sold off zombie companies for a living and made hundreds redundant with a single phone call.

It was a lovely day. Wandering around beforehand (King’s College is on the river Thames in London, by Waterloo Bridge, still the most breathtaking location), I thought London was less grimy, all the shops had changed, it was a beautiful city, a wonderful place to be a student. I don’t remember it being quite so difficult to walk along the Strand without getting breathless.

We’ve also lost a close relative through death in recent months and one side effect of that has been sorting through his old things. Someone had bought him an archive of the day’s newspaper (the Daily Telegraph as it happened) that was published on his birthday every day of his life. It showed the newly minted leader of the opposition, Margaret Thatcher, receiving 51 roses for her 51st birthday from the Young Conservatives in the 1970s. Flip through the pages and you find the 80-something Margaret Thatcher, with her son and his wife. She barely seemed to know what was going on.

Reading the books on his bookshelf I found a history of the Lyons teashop family, its entrepreneurial rise, its dramatic post-war fall. The Strand in London has some relics of it still (the Strand Palace Hotel for example), and back when I was a student, a Wimpy Bar, another Lyons innovation, soon to be eaten in turn by the fast-growing McDonald’s.

Time like an ever-flowing stream bears all its sons away. Waterloo Bridge and the Strand remain for a time. Lyons Teashops and Corner Houses and hotels pass away. We all age and curl and fall. How important to live for things bigger and longer-lasting than our lives.

Slow dating makes a return

Just finished Louise Perry’s book The Case against the Sexual Revolution, which was so informative and eye-opening, even if it isn’t stuff that finds its way into my normal diet. Perry is a journalist and writer, raised in all the tropes of Western sexual culture, but turning away from them. I think broadly her argument is that:

  • Technology and culture change (easy divorce, the pill, abortion) have freed up women’s sexual choices
  • That freedom, in the cultural context that evolved with it, hasn’t served them at all well
  • The forces of evolution are much stronger in our make-up than new social constructs; men and women view and treat sex differently
  • It’s better to rely on structures that have worked OK in the past (monogamy) than speculate on or explore options that are theoretically possible but have not, across the whole of society, actually worked.

A former volunteer in a rape crisis centre, she’s very dismissive of the figleaf of ‘consent’, which is deployed whenever freedom to love is raised. Her problem? It doesn’t work:

[Out of ‘Me Too’ came stories of] a lot of women who described sexual encounters that were technically consensual but nevertheless left them feeling terrible because they were being asked to treat as meaningless something that they felt to be meaningful.

I’m anxious not to quote her too much, lest in my clumsy hands I make her say things she doesn’t say or (more likely) say things without her elegeance and erudition. As a writer she prefers the rapier to the halberd.

Nor does she start from an a priori conservative position (I think) ; more from observation and evidence of how much damage (to both women and men) the prevailing sexual culture is creating. The ones who suffer least are the high-status men; the ones who suffer most, young women. I wish I could quote her better and I wish even more than people would read her book.

It is, finally, a manifesto for slow too. Here’s a taster of her stuff, from near the end of the book:

  • Consent workshops are mostly useless…
  • The category of people most likely to become victims of [sexually aggressive] men are young women aged about thirteen to twenty-five. All girls and women, but particularly those in this age category, should avoid being alone with men they don’t know or men who give them the creeps. Gut instinct is not to be ignored: it’s usually triggered by a red flag that’s well worth noticing.
  • Get drunk or high in private and with female friends rather than in public or in mixed company.
  • Don’t use dating apps. Mutual friends can vet histories and punish bad behaviour. Dating apps can’t.
  • Holding off on having sex with a new boyfriend for at least a few months is a good way of discovering whether or not he’s serious about you or just looking for a hook-up.
  • Only have sex with a man if you think he would make a good father to your children – not because you necessarily intend to have children with him, but because this is a good rule of thumb

She has a podcast too.

The ever-widening horizon

The Chicago horizon … one of our summer views

I’ve been enjoying over the summer exploring the brain of former Archbishop. and continuing New Testament scholar, Rowan Williams, not least because I can now read his books for free, ish, on my phone, thanks to the wonderful perlego.com subscription service.

Something he said got me going, though. He described how becoming a Christian made his perspective wider, broadened his view. I really like that idea But how so?

I thought of some examples:

  1. Science is the pursuit of God’s utter ingeniousness. Science is great at ‘how’ and rubbish at ‘why’. But if the ‘why’ is settled, and especially if it’s settled in the idea of a loving God not able to keep his goodness to himself, and creating a universe, then science becomes a rather joyous romp in a playground. Wider, deeper and higher we can go, into the crannies of God’s genius.
  2. Art is for all humanity. Christ is Lord of culture. That is really something. This does not doom us to endlessly paint Biblical scenes, nor only to write theology. So much of the Christian faith is attitudes: set yourself to love God and neighbour, pick up your paintbrush, and see what happens. Wider, deeper, funner, lovelier. And because everyone is in the image of God, everyone is capable of artistry.
  3. The common good. We don’t need to resort to utilitarian arguments to care for the earth or humanity. We have, through the unrolling story of God-with-people, a context of individual, communal, global, and universal thriving. When we set ourselves with that perspective, we can have confidence that we are working with grain of the Universe, whatever our hands find to do. Wider, more imaginative, more creative.
  4. Christ is the Lord of Time. The proper Time-lord. What does this mean? We don’t have to rush. Let’s do stuff well. Let’s not do other stuff. And let’s be OK with failing.
  5. All will be summed up in Christ. So he’s taking the whole ‘completeness’ thing on his own shoulders. That frees us to be partial, incomplete, which frees us to attempt big things, because the final outcome rests just with us following our sense of his leading.

I am free to be my playful self, because I’m standing on somewhere solid and safe. And beause I’m loved. How lovely.