Category: living wittily

Yesterday Sheila and I went ‘doon the watter’ (travelled down the Clyde estuary, not by boat but by car) and spent a while in Helensburgh. A few miles further on into the Gareloch is the village of Rhu (used to be called Row), where the saintly theologian John MacLeod Campbell was minister in the early to mid 19th Century. He was deposed by the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland in 1831 for teaching that Christ’s death was for all, and that salvation is by the faith that believes this and trusts God that it is so. His masterpiece, The Nature of the Atonement, is one of the greatest theological works ever produced in Scotland.

Not easy reading, but why should a Christian pastor whose careful and passionate proclaiming of the Gospel was misunderstood, and at times misrepresented, by those who engineered through the Church Courts, his removal from ministry, why should he write a dumbed down climb-down? His book remains one of the most challenging statements on the meaning of the death of Christ and the Father’s love as the core of the Christian Gospel. Underlying his theology is a generosity of spirit, and a conception of the Father’s love that is primary and qualifies any understanding of God as judge. Such a theology is far more amenable to the missional imperative of the church than the hard-edged Westminster Calvinism which MacLeod Campbell challenged.

Which brings me back to Helensburgh, where we met two good friends from Fife, through to close down their caravan for the winter. Bill was recalling his last Sabbatical, all the books he read and the thinking he thought. And he said, ‘The most important thing I learned was the parable of the man fishing off the pier. This man fished every day off the end of the pier, and one day one of the local lads came to him and said, "The fish don’t come here any more". "Aye," said the man, "but they used to"’.

If the church is to survive and prosper through the current cultural flux, then it needs to stop using the methods, pursuing the practices, clinging to the memories, working on the assumptions, of what used to be. "The fish don’t come here any more". Right – let’s go find where they do come to.

And it is that go-finding mentality, that adaptability to changing circumstances, that alert noticing that change is deceptive but deceptively fast; that willingness NOT to make our own methods, habits, assumptions, convenience, memories, the standard of truth and the last word on how we go about God’s mission, that marks out the faithful follower of Jesus. For John MacLeod Campbell that meant searching for an understanding and portrayal of the Christian Gospel that frees it from theological monopolies and allows it to speak in its own power to the mind of today.

For the church in Scotland, it will mean giving up what used to work, and following once again the One who said, ‘Come after me and I will make you fishers of men and women’.

And it may also mean being prepared to listen to the One who says, ‘Cast your nets on the OTHER side of the boat.’ But maybe it takes some nerve for seasoned, experienced fishermen like ourselves to listen to Jesus telling us how to fish. After all, what does a carpenter know about fishing? Mhmm.

The photo has several times been requested by Margaret and I thought it might help overcome any sense that might arise from the rest of this post, that I have no sense of modern, contemporary fashion statements, whether in dress or in the liturgical activities of contemporary, cutting edge worship occasions.

No need for Andy (not Goodliff) to apologise for the last sentence in his comment on hymn and songbooks a couple of posts ago. This paragraph is by way of response to the implied uncertainty as to the value of hymn / song books. Now let me say, I ain’t defending "song" books. However, for me at least, Praise "song" doesn’t have the liturgical resonance of "hymn of praise". Hymns we sing to God – songs we sing to…whatever!? Now I don’t want to press the distinction – and my tongue is painfully embedded in my cheek – but if forced to choose as my main diet, between what is meant in worship circles by songs and what I mean by hymns, I wouldn’t choose the liturgical fast food. I’ll come back in a later post to my current research which is an Apologia on Behalf of Disappearing Hymnbooks.

More seriously, I think I’d like to explore some more the dynamic that is played out when congregational singing, other forms of music, when hymns and songs, words, images and sound come together in an act of worshipping together. I mean the dynamic between those whose musical gifts are invited to accompany, enable, support, even lead, the praise of God’s people, and how in many contemporary contexts the praise band is now accompanied by the congregation. I mean the inner dynamic between one person’s spiritual experience, and the diet of worship songs / hymns on offer to express, enrich, deepen, challenge that experience. I mean that inner and also social dynamic of singing together, merging voices, as a community gives voice (singular) to the praise of God, in words that have to be spiritually accessible, theologically coherent, emotionally congruous.

Long sentence looming. I mean also that difficult to define something that happens, when truth is expressed in artfully crafted phrases, joined together as a richly textured response of mind, heart and will, to the God who is the recipient of worship, and then set to music which is evocative, provocative or otherwise capable of being the vehicle for such spiritual truthfulness, and then played by instrumentalists and singers, content to be the means to the great end of enabling the worship of the whole people of God gathered in this place, until finally, be it song or hymn, the people of God are indeed, enabled, supported, accompanied, in praise which is the collaborative, co-operative offering, of all God’s people, to the Triune God into whose eternal dance of loving, holy purpose, we are invited to particpate.

In that sense a true hymn truly sung, would be poetry in motion!

On a Sunday recently I was preaching for the first time at one of our churches. Renewed friendships with several people I seem to bump into only every few years – to my loss, and perhaps their relief. Nah, they like me too!

As in many churches now, worship was led by others and I was only required to preach – I didn’t choose the hymns, though my text and theme were known to those preparing the worship service. The closing hymn was introduced unpromisingly as having a kind of boring tune, but the words were judged to be ‘cool’. Two things – ONE. I am well impressed with worship leaders who give enough weight to the beauty of words, so that at times a tune can be secondary. TWO – this hymn was by a country mile the best hymn we sang all morning, in the humble but not muted opinion of this preacher.

The words are reproduced below.It appears in a number of hymn books – there will now be a rant on behalf of the Regrettable Demise of the Hymn Book party – [Hymn books – remember those ancient artifacts, they tend to be square, with hard or soft covers, churches had enough of them so that everyone got one, and between the covers there are sheets of paper printed on both sides with numbered appropriate things to sing, part of the intention being that a manageable number of hymns (appropriate things to sing at worship) would be known by the whole congregation and not require performing praise bands to praise God on behalf of a congregation once again patiently learning this cool praise song by miming words that have little rhythm, beauty of arrangement, metaphorical resonance, memorable rhetoric, in which bathos displaces pathos, and emotional me-centred feel good singing eclipses adoration rooted in the sense of God’s mighty love in Christ – which yes makes me feel good] – rant ended…..for now.

This hymn could stand being sung as often as some Baptist churches have communion – First  and third Sunday of the month in the morning and last Sunday of the month in the evening. It was an inspired choice, and I am grateful to the worship leader for overcoming personal taste in music to include ‘cool words’ and bring a worship service to that place of response where we all, in thepresence of God, covenant together to love and serve each other, in church and world, in the name of Jesus.

Brother, sister, let me serve you

  let me be as Christ to you:

pray that I may have the grace to

  let you be my servant too.

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We are pilgrims on a journey

  and companions on the road;

we are here to help each other

  walk the mile and bear the load.

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I will hold the Christ-light for you

  in the night time of your fear;

I will hold my hand out to you

  speak the peace you long to hear.

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I will weep when you are weeping

  when you laugh I’ll laugh with you;

I will share your joy and sorrow

  till we’ve seen this journey through.

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When we sing to God in heaven

  we shall find such harmony,

born of all we’ve known together

  of Christ’s love and agony.

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Brother, sister, let me serve you

  let me be as Christ to you:

pray that I may have the grace to

  let you be my servant too.

Richard Gillard, Baptist Praise and Worship, number 473.

  Tuesday to Thursday has been spent in Oxford meeting with the staff of the other UK Baptist Colleges. This is always a rewarding few days – networking sounds far too mechanical and functional for what takes place. Someone in chapel during prayers gave thanks to God for friendships that are mature and enduring, and others that are now forming, and that seemed to be much nearer the reality of what it means to gather, listen, talk, learn, laugh, pray, share meals, be made welcome in the life and affections of others.

The main discussion focus was our shared work on exploring then beginning to formulate a framework for good practice in ministry. Lots of thinking was already in place from a previous meeting – and we were wisely and creatively led towards a more concretised form. Now I didn’t like the word concretised, and still don’t – but – if I allow that to become an image of a path (even a concrete one!), on which people are invited to walk, then that’s part of a nobler tradition of following after Christ, or as St Benedict would say, running on the way of Christ.

Of course I did indeed visit Blackwell’s, and spent nothing there! Oh not because there weren’t any books I wanted / needed / liked / coveted. But I did note several for future further consideration. I did however find St Philip’s Books, what you might call a discerning second-hand bookseller, who knows the value of his stock and sells it just this side of reasonable. I found the Gifford Lectures of Karl Barth, The Knowledge of God and the Service of God, faded spine, solid clean copy, and as earlier noted, the price just this side of reasonable. I’m looking forward to reading Barth’s Gifford Lectures. Lord Gifford’s endowment was aimed at promoting Natural Theology, and these lectures were delivered by the arch-enemy of all Natural Theology. Barth must have hugely enjoyed standing on that prestigious platform, his lectures (and his own sweeping theological landscape) assuming the futility of the entire Natural Theology enterprise – and based not on science, philosophy or natural history, but on the Scots’ Confession. Once I’ve finished Hauerwas on Barth, I’ll read Barth.

Stuart and I drove down in my car – now here’s the puzzle. How come my insurance company quoted £30 to add his name for a week, but could add it to the policy for a year for £18?  Now I’m sure somewhere in the mystic, apophatic depths of insurance company risk assessment software, there is an explanation – for now, like a good theologian confronted with infinity, paradox and eternity, I recognise mystery, the finite reach of the human yearning to know, acknowledge with humility the need for intellectual reserve, and live content in the knowledge that somewhere, some time, all mysteries will become clear. But for now I look through a glass darkly…..

I’ve been doing some thinking (and preaching) about following Jesus in a consumer society. You know the phrase, ‘marching to the sound of a different drummer’? Maybe the phrase for Christ-followers in a consumer driven culture is ‘we pay attention to a different bottom line’. But is that true? Are Christians less wasteful – are cutting down on waste, recycling, responsible purchasing, doing without, virtues more obvious in Christian lifestyle?

Last night watched some of a programme about families who create most waste, and the ongoing debate about what we do with the amount of throwaway stuff we create – pay as you throw waste-bags, microchip bins where you pay by weight, for example.

Reminded me of this wee poem by Norman McCaig

Small Boy

He picked up a pebble

and threw it into the sea.

And another, and another.

He couldn’t stop.

He wasn’t trying to fill the sea.

He wasn’t trying to empty the beach

he was just throwing away,

nothing else but.

Like a kitten playing

he was practising for the future

when there’ll be so many things

he’ll want to throw away

if only his fingers will unclench

and let them go.

We live in a world where we throw away too much, want too much, and find ourselves being both possessive (things we can’t do without) and wasteful (things we no longer want, let alone need). McCaig captures with fine irony the idea of practising being greedily wasteful, and he exposes that capacity we all have,- to hold on to, and to throw away, to possess and to waste – and so to lose a sense of the value of things, to obscure that humanising regard for a world that is too beautiful to be rubbished.

In our environmentally challenged age we are learning to live with new ethically loaded terms such as carbon footprint. What about water footprint? And yet…major charity projects taking place in Africa and Asia are concerned with providing adequate, clean and safe drinking water. A major consumer market now exists for bottled uncarbonated water, which is drunk in the western world not by the litre but by the loch. Running, walking, working at the desk, driving, talking, in countless social situations people now carry a bottle in one hand and a mobile in the other.

How long before a night at a classical concert includes as the norm, the soloist trumpeter having a quick swig of Highland Spring while awaiting the next cue for entry? Has anyone yet come across a preacher who preaches with a bottle in the hand – or at least at the lectern? By the way I remember a Glasgow church years ago in the 1970’s was famous for ensuring a bottle of fizzy Schweppes Tonic water was placed in the pulpit for the preacher’s refreshment!

Byron has an interesting post on the current bottled water market, carbon footprints and a world where the water is ill divided. He is quoting from the Sydney daily newspaper acccount (see the link here). Amongst the environmentally relevant and justice issue comments Byron makes are:

• higher levels of bacteria than quality tap water;
• transfer of toxins from the plastic bottle to the water;
• the production of a plastic bottle creates 100 times more carbon emissions than making a glass bottle;
• 1.5 million tonnes of plastic water bottles are created each year, only a fraction of which are subsequently recycled;
• bottled water costs about 10,000 times as much as tap water;
• and perhaps worst of all, the privatisation of water amongst the rich removes the incentive for ensuring high quality tap water for all.

So. What is a responsible Christian to do? The cup of cold water that Jesus recommended as an act of compassion, presupposed it was clean and a gift. At the very least perhaps we should opt to pay, as an act of discipleship, a personal tax on the bottled water we drink, by ensuring that we are financial supporters of those charities desperate for money to sink wells, buy purification plants, ensure clean safe water is supplied to those for whom bottled water, bought and drunk in a society with constant, clean, running water on tap, is unimaginable, inexplicable, and perhaps inexcusable. How big is my water footprint?

I find all of this complexity, my unavoidable implication and participation in a society that now trades globally, creates an underlying uneasiness, a sense that no matter what I do, someone can show me connections and consequences I hadn’t foreseen, but can’t easily avoid. Fairness, justice, generosity, humanity, responsibility…these are virtues it’s hard to impose on a market – and one way or another I can’t live outside the market. But on the other hand, I am a follower of Jesus, and one way or another, that cup of cold water, whether it comes from a bottle or not, isn’t for my consumption but for the comfort of the other. HMMMM?

Letters in The Times on Monday

Sir, I once had a tube of sea salt which had a long and lovely description how the salt was formed over 200 million years before. At the bottom of the container was a "use by" date. ANDREA RITCHIE.

Well as Jesus said, "Salt is good, but if it’s past its use by date………………….".

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Sir, Back home in Glasgow once I went into a shop and asked for a dod of cheese. "Certainly Sir. A big dod or a wee dod", was the reply.

Ye cannae beat customer service and precise instruction, eh?

Sectarianism. First Saturday of the Scottish season and a minority of Rangers fans embarrass Scotland again. The chanting of hostility from the terraces, directed at rival fans, is endemic in football. It isn’t only the Old Firm of Rangers and Celtic; Edinburgh and Dundee have their share of poison, and Aberdeen and Rangers can generate their own unique brew of historically specific rage (the tackle of Neil Simpson on Ian Durant that blighted a brilliant career).

I read some newspaper responses to the behaviour of the small minority of Rangers fans chanting their ridiculous but dangerous version of history at Inverness. Stephen Smith of the Rangers Supporters Trust laid in to the offenders.

We don’t want a situation where 30 or 40 half wits ruin the relationship between he supporters and the club. These people are idiots who don’t give a monkey’s  about Rangers. They think they can do what they want because they are at a football match. We would back Rangers in identifying  any idiots who bring disrepute to the club.

Now I support the courage and bluntness of that. But the truth is, the problem isn’t only lack of education, ill-informed history, ignorant prejudice – it is all of these fuelled by hatred. Let’s use the word. Those ‘party tunes’ and the ‘sectarian chants’ aren’t mildly offensive, or ignorant – they are howls of hate. A sectarian song, whether Rangers or Celtic, mixes the following ingredients. History revised to ensure that the enemy is known, defeated and humiliated; religious affiliation linked to the myth that somehow the present generation is part of that tradition of hate; a liturgy, of hymn and chant, sung in unison, articulating the emotional intensity of a perverted faith that survives by hating the OTHER; and all this complete with the liturgical colours of red, white and blue – or green white and orange – or whatever. The two current managers are pictured because they head up the teams – to my knowledge they are on public record as deploring sectarian behaviour and supporting every effort to stamp it out.

But lets not talk of idiots and stupidity – lets name sectarian chanting as hate. We aren’t dealing with a problem which is solved only by more information. This isn’t an offence committed by certain people below a certain IQ level. This is a matter of ethics, an issue of moral values, a question of how we view other human beings, an expression of socially shaped character in a sub-culture where hating the religiously other is the norm. Sectarian songs and sectarian language are abusive, corrosive, latently (at times blatantly) violent, intended to provoke and demean; and they are sung just as zealously in Glasgow whether the fans are waving Union Jacks or Irish Tricolours.

Now here’s a historical curiosity. As far as I can tell, the original refrain, "Follow, Follow", comes in the (horticulturally sentimental) Sankey hymn, ‘Down in the valley with my Saviour I will go’. (Check it out in Sankey’s Hymn Book, number 529). Irony of ironies it’s been hijacked by certain fans of a certain football team, for whom peacemaking is an activity that takes place in a separate universe. ‘Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God’. As Jean Luc Picard used to say, ‘Make it so!’

PS. Rangers have just qualified tonight for the final knock out stage in the Champion’s League. I want them to do well – but more importantly, I want to not be embarassed as a Scotsman, by UEFA having to act against them because their fans were singing sectarian and offensive chants. As Solomon might have said, had he been Scottish, and from Glasgow, ‘Gonnae no dae that? Juist gonnae no?’

While clearing out a pile of stuff, I found these three observations I’d typed on a sheet of paper don’t know when –

Lord grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference

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The elderly gentleman said, ‘I have had bypass surgery, am largely deaf, and have both prostate issues and old age diabetes, and take about 40 different medicines that give me dizzy spells, but thank God, I still have my driver’s licence.

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‘Who then is God, that we must speak of Him? God is he whom we must thank. To be more precise: God is he whom we cannot thank enough. (Eberhard Jungel)

Multipurpose trip to Edinburgh yesterday – research for a couple of things I’m working on was the primary draw. I wanted to check up on the Special Collections holdings at New College – they hold the papers of one of my other spiritual heroes, Alexander Whyte. Of all the Scottish preachers I’d like to have heard, he is in the Scottish Premier League, and in the top six!

Two encounters with folk I’ve never met and probably won’t again. Since I was going to retrieve my car loaned to Aileen during our holiday, I only needed a one way fare. Spoke to the Ticket Man Behind the Glass and asked,

‘What’s the difference between a cheap day return and a single one way?’

‘Wan brings ye back, and wan disnae’, he said, smiling disarmingly but with the sub-text ‘Ya pillock’.

The difference in price was 10p – but it seems the 10p part of the Journey wasn’t transferable to the outward leg. decided not to ask him to confirm this!

.

Later, in the National Museum cafe, having ordered my Mozarella, cherry tomato, fresh basil leaves and pesto Ciabata (how Scottish is that??), I was reading, minding my own business. When my Ciabata arrived, and I was poised with knife and fork ready to begin the delicate operation of not eating it like a sandwich, a polite voice from the next table asked,

‘Excuse me, but what is that you have ordered’.

A senior citizen with a non-spray on tan, serious bling attachments to both wrists and her neck, smiled at me over her must have cost a packet tinted specs. So knife and fork poised I described the contents of my anticipated lunch and showed her on the menu where it was.

‘And is it nice’, she asked, before I’d even tasted it.

So I cut off a chunk, chewed it thoughtfully (and it was really good), nodded affirmatively, at which point she said to her friend, ‘No. I think we’ll just have the soup’. Was it the way I ate? Or did Scotch broth appeal more than eating Italian? Or was she an undercover quality control visitor satisfied that the punter was satisfied?

Dinna ken. But what I did discover is you can’t eat a Ciabata with a knife and fork and read a novel that snaps shut if you try to lay it flat on the table. So do I pick up the Ciabata and eat with one hand holding the book with the other? Or do I concentrate on enjoying the taste and nourishment of the meal – as well as eat in a more civilised, good mannered way? Happy to have advice on such nutritional multi-tasking, feeding body, mind and emotion (it was an Anne Tyler novel).