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.

Outside In

The gentleman who came to the church to talk to me about becoming our PCC Treasurer seemed singularly ill at ease. The current office-holder is a young accountant who has produced one child during her tenure and I expect would like to add to the collection, so it's time for her to relinquish the role. She's been brilliant: you don't need an accountant as such (though you do need someone for whom numbers on a page stay still rather than dance around as they seem to do for me) but it's a role people in any voluntary organisation seem even more reluctant to take on than the others available.

I could understand: this gentleman had only come to our attention because he'd got to know a congregation member as a fellow dog-walker and let slip that he would like to give something back to the community in a way that uses his abilities (he's already been treasurer of one charity in the past). He is also not a believer. This is all right from my point of view as the skills required are practical rather than spiritual ones as such: it's preferable to source them within your church community, but not necessary, any more than you'd absolutely insist on using a Christian gas engineer. What surprised me was the fact that he felt he had to keep repeating it, contrasting his own situation with that of a religious relative, and I wondered what he was nervous about. Was there some particular experience which had put him off? Nothing like that was mentioned. Rather I got the impression that he felt he might be criticised for his viewpoint (I am not likely to do that with someone who might help us), and this is something I've met before - a feeling that the Church is there to make judgements about people as though it has no experience of functioning in a secular society. Sad if true. I said that in theory I looked after every one of the 11,500 or so souls in Swanvale Halt but that only a tiny proportion of them would ever find their way through the church doors, so I was very much used to interacting with people outside the church community. Given his nervousness, I imagine it was quite bold that he had come through the doors. 

How many such encounters might I have with all the thousands of souls I never have anything to do with, I wonder?

Winter Museums

It's a bit of a while since my last post, and though I am no longer publishing for the sake of doing so these days I do still have a minor mission to sing the praises of the local museum and over my New Year break managed to find a couple new to me. I must have been to the Salisbury and South Wilts Museum many years ago, but if so remember little about it. It's now based, of all places, in what was until 1994 the Sarum Theological College, a rambling hodge-podge of a building of many periods which doesn't feature much in the displays themselves. There are a couple of rooms of art, a natural history gallery, one of Medieval Salisbury and another which covers the later town and includes the towering figure of Giant Christopher whose modern counterpart is still taken on procession through the streets at Midsummer; but the most evocative area of the Museum is the relatively new archaeology display, the Wessex Gallery. This dates from 2015, but although it's sparkly and modern it has a delightfully retro feel to it, even down to the typeface used which could have been designed in the 1950s. The only thing it lacks, thankfully, is hessian fabric backing to the display cases.

A couple of days later I found myself in Brighton visiting one of the most lacklustre holy well reconstructions in the country (St Anne's Well at Hove), and while ambling along the seafront discovered the Fishing Museum. This is a great contrast to the mighty Brighton Museum & Art Gallery (is it really six years since I was there?) and consists of two small rooms crammed under the promenade. The best use is made of this space with a small walkway taking the visitor round on a higher level around a small boat, fibreglass seagulls, nets, and pictures of 18th-century crab-sellers and Edwardian swimming clubs. It's free to go in, but a card reader waits hopefully for visitor donations. I much enjoyed it!

When the Wolves Were Running

I suppose on a personal level I should be grateful to the White House Deputy Chief of Staff Mr Miller, who over recent days has provided me with material for a Facebook post, a newsletter article, a sermon, and now a blog entry. That’s good going for the following few words, spoken to US TV channel CNN in reference to recent events in Venezuela:

The US is operating in the real world, that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power. These are the iron laws of the world from the beginning of time.

Generously, you could say, yes, they are. International relationships are indeed shaped by balances and imbalances of economic and military power and, as the Lord himself said, if a king goes to war with another king he first decides if he has enough resources to do so. Any nation must have the wherewithal to defend the things it holds important from those who would destroy or steal them. In World War Two the Allies did many immoral things to secure our way of life, ranging from simple deceit to the mass killing of civilians. We know this is the case.

But ‘securing our way of life’ is the point here. Then, we deployed strength, force, and power to defend a state of living which, however imperfectly, said it valued every human being as an individual, which recognised their worth and dignity, and which was expressed in a political and legal system which the human race has, over centuries, devised to protect the ordinary majority from the powerful, the cruel and the violent: the psychopaths who believe there’s nothing wrong with the rule of strength and force. We call it ‘democracy’, and it includes not just periodic elections (tyrants are content with those as they are so easy to manipulate), but limited, accountable government as a whole; free exchange of ideas; universal free education; security of property; and equality before the law. You know full well that this is not what the current US administration intends its strength, force, and power to defend. Instead, they are the kind of people that system is designed to constrain, the wolves it attempts to defang. That’s something of an injustice to wolves, but you get the point. And you know, too, that when they call strength, force, and power ‘the iron laws of the world’ they don’t just apply it to foreign adventures: the world is the whole of life. It’s why, in this view, it’s right not to allow extra support for the poor or marginalised, why law doesn’t matter, why the deaths of small people don’t matter, why there’s no problem with the powerful doing what they like. That’s just the way it’s always been.

By coincidence (or providence) tomorrow is the Feast of the Baptism of Christ; the Old Testament lesson set for the day is Isaiah 42.1-9, which describes the character of the Messiah: ‘a bruised reed he will not break, and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out’. He will not crush the weak, because they are children who can yet grow Godwards. Such bold restraint, such heroic tenderness, is what we are summoned to as well if we are baptised into his death and resurrection. And remember: the world was made through the Word, and ultimately it stands under the hand of God. He is in charge of it, and the Christ shows how he works. The laws of the world belong to him, not the apes and the wolves.

Episcopal Dealings

A few weeks ago I shared the text of the letter we sent on behalf of the SCP to our diocesan bishop outlining our 'dissatisfaction' with the way the Living in Love and Faith initiative, or its results, were handled. A couple of people wanted to know what happened next:

I wasn't expecting the Bishop to ask whether he might meet with us to talk through the matter, and I wondered what there was to say. In the end 'us' turned out to mean me, and it was slightly odd: both the Bishop and I knew each others' position, we weren't actually negotiating anything, and I don't think he expected me to change my mind any more than I expected him to. I had the strange impression that he wanted to talk for his own satisfaction as much as to exchange views. He outlined some of the ways in which he thought the process had gone wrong, and said he felt too much had been expected of the LLF initiative - that no consensus was ever likely to emerge about a subject that, in his view, required consensus before significant forward movement. He wasn't sure where we went from here now that General Synod had said it rejected the bishops' opinion, while for a substantial body of Anglicans not blessing same-sex relationships had become an absolute touchstone issue, regardless of what anyone else might prefer. He said he felt very keenly a responsibility to keep talking to divergent bodies of opinion within the diocese while trying his best not to say different things to different people, and maintaining his own sense of integrity.

So I was released from the Bishop's house and not consigned to the dungeons. It was a perfectly agreeable meeting but what it achieved was another matter!