Cross and Flag

Remember my stricture about not saying anything, if you can't say anything good? This afternoon's Radio 4 drama about a local community struggling to come to terms with the election of a radical right-wing council (who could they be thinking about as a model?) tested that resolution, so I will draw a veil over that save to mention that one of the strands of the story concerned the sudden arrival of an influx of new worshippers in the parish church whose motivations might be other than strictly spiritual. 'This is Christian nationalism, Cath. That's what it is, it's got to be!' 'Twice the congregation again, wouldn't you say?... They want to spread the word of the Lord, love and kindness, and that's what I want to do too!' Not only is this kind of dialogue used by no-one, anywhere, but I wouldn't like anyone to get the idea that anything like this is actually happening. I've heard colleagues wondering whether the 'Quiet Revival' might partly be a reflection of people being tempted in the direction of Christian nationalism, but not only do we now know the Quiet Revival was a myth but there is absolutely no sign at all that such people find their way to traditional Anglican parish churches (I discount the tweedy young fellows who have always turned up at high-class shrines such as Fr Rubric's in the West End, as they are a very different brand of soul).

Another of my strictures is to avoid political partisanship, but Reform UK did rather smoke me out this week by announcing an intention to 'restore Britain's Christian heritage' by various means. I will not get into the meat of this now as you can predict what my line might be, but instead think a little about what the circumstances are in which I do feel obliged to speak. It's a matter of conviction for me that there can be conservative courses of action which flow from Christian ideas as there can be progressive ones, and so I am deeply reluctant, most of the time, to use the platforms given to me to critique specific policies. I think the line must be when policies, or a political platform generally, are explicitly given a Christian justification and understanding: then it becomes absolutely incumbent on Christian ministers to talk about what the Christian understanding of a matter might be, and especially the principles behind that thinking. That's part of our mission, not to comment on civil public life as such, so much as to explain the Faith.

In this case, the relationship between Christianity and nationhood is not simple. A nation's law may be more informed by Christian ideas or less, and a polity may make it easier to pursue a Christian life or harder. But it is absolutely clear that God never had any relationship with a nation of people, as such, other than ancient Israel, and the whole understanding of the Christian faith is that the Church is the nova Israel, the covenant extended to all humankind through the shedding of Christ's blood. 'Nations' are of very secondary importance, and the concept of 'a Christian nation' in anything other than historical terms is something close to an oxymoron. 

Oh dear, I've fallen into talking about actual political stuff. Probably doesn't do too much harm, I suppose.

Telling Me The Story

As the diocese digests, as it seems to be, the imminent death of its bishop - things have moved on since the news got to the BBC - I'm conscious that I have been silent lately, but even though my thoughts today weren't connected with the update +Andrew issued they are not a million miles away from relevant. 

I am struggling towards the end of a number of projects, themselves the conclusion of a series which has occupied me really since the early Covid lockdown. I think that, once they're done, I may well have a rest for a while. I find myself writing about something contemporary over which opinion is very divided, to the point that different groups involved seem to inhabit entirely separate mental worlds. I fall more on one side than the other, though I will strive to be fair and at least do justice to both.

As you know I am a historian in a small way: even my holy well compendia are, in a way, gathered stories. When you set out to write history, you almost always have a thesis, a story already vaguely formed in your mind, if only because the smaller subject you're writing about is set within the grander story of humanity and you probably have that pretty much sketched out according to your beliefs. It's rare that you know nothing about your topic in advance. As you do your research, you'll be looking for anything that bears on that narrative, but not only what confirms it; you'll continually be checking it against what you find. It's a process of constant revision and re-evaluation, and to do it properly and honestly you have to be prepared for the possibility you might uncover something that sends you in a different direction from where you thought. It's not an exact business, but neither is it simply a rehearsal of one's own biases. That's how it works.

That's as it may be. As we draw closer to the end of our lives we might wonder how an impossible collection of events and impressions, of memories and experiences, can conceivably be shaped into a story, something we could put into a memoir or tell to a child. It cannot be, really. We don't know where in the human story we are: closer to its beginning or its end, or what that story means, even whether there is one. I tell the good people of Swanvale Halt Church that the story of Christ is the one overarching narrative of Creation in which our individual stories are gathered and made sense of. His is the book of which we are sentences. There is a comfort in that.

Visited

It wasn't even the Archdeacon who came to do the Archdeacon's Visitation at the church this week; it was the Deputy Archdeacon, the affable newly-retired Vicar of Crowfield who is clearly in need of some activity to ease himself into retirement (I'm pretty sure he doesn't get paid anything more than petrol money). In fact the last Visitation was the only time when an Archdeacon did do it, and as the Archdeacon then very soon became our Suffragan Bishop I had forgotten he wasn't when he came, if you're following me. On this occasion, Deputy Archdeacon Ray's first task was to swear Colin in as our new churchwarden, taking on the remaining months of the term of office until the Annual Meeting after Easter, and then to examine various register books and policies. This time we were mildly upbraided for not having our Certificate of Public Liability Insurance on display in both the church entrance and the hall, and for the Safeguarding Officer's details on show in the former but not the latter. Nobody has ever mentioned those, but ratcheting-up is the point of these things, so far do's. 'Your Safeguarding Dashboard is a bit of a dog's dinner', Ray stated, rather to my surprise, showing us a screen capture on his phone of a range of amber and red boxes, 'though you're not the worst in the diocese'. I suppose that's a comfort to everyone except the worst parish in the diocese, to whom the rest of us should be grateful. Curiously when I went onto the Dashboard the following day I saw much more green, and was able to turn another box green just by confirming the PCC had discussed something, so I don't know where Ray had got his image from, but again, I'm not disagreeing that more needs to be done.

Then we discussed our draft Church Development Plan. I was a bit conscious that a lot of it involves taking decisions about where to go with various ideas, such as whether to instal AV equipment or employ a Musical Director, rather than actually doing any of these things, but Ray was less fazed by that rather than the fact that much rests on me finding people to run with these ideas and build small groups of congregation members to do the thinking. 'Your initials are next to a lot of this', he pointed out, though I think at this stage it's inescapable that they would be. Poor Colin and Robert, the existing churchwarden, who didn't have a great deal to contribute to the discussion.

'What did you make of the previous iteration of this?' asked Ray. 'Well', I said, 'The fact that it was called the Parish Needs Process and the way it was marketed led us to think that we were identifying what our parishes wanted to do and then the diocese would provide what we needed to achieve our dreams, and it became clear that it wasn't really like that'. 'Yes', mused Ray, 'That's right. I think they've probably learned from that'. Which tells you everything you need to know.

Here's the glorious photo of Archdeacon Colley of Stockton I used for the last Visitation post.