Category: Uncategorised

Amongst the pleasures of the Easter weekend was the BBC programme on Rogier Van der Weyden's masterpiece, The Descent from the Cross. Apart from the fascinating history of how this astonishing painting was commissioned by the guild of crossbow archers, and the subsequent story of how it was bought, purloined, stolen and almost ruined and then restored with near miraculous skill and patience, the images themselves were deeply moving and resonant of spiritual and theological depth.

What surprised me was my ignorance of this painting. In all my trawling and browsing last year, searching for paintings of Christ, especially the crucified Christ, I have no recollection of this painting. The artist was introduced to me by a friend who knows a thing or two about medieval and renaissance art, and I now have on my desk a postcard size reproduction of Van der Weyden's "Magdalen Reading", courtesy of that same friend. To have watched such a programme on Holy Saturday was one of the more reflective hours of a good weekend. And I suppose I'm left with a couple of thoughts I'd like to reflect on  further.

In an age when we are more attuned to moving images, graphic realism, and a selection of secularised saviour stories, I wonder if part of the church's mission is to go on persistently presenting and patiently preserving, the deep symbolism and the subversive otherness of the Gospel story. Relevance, accessibility, the Gospel popularised to the point of caricature, impatience with profundity, dismissive noises when thought and reflection are required, the default assumption that attention spans are now measured in 5 second info-bytes – all of this is fundamentally challenged by a painting like Van der Weyden's deposition. And while I am entirely comfortable with the idea of a church culturally attuned, and alert to the meaning and message of the Gospel as it relates to 21st Century experience, I am equally sure that somehow the church needs to hear what my theological hero James Denney called "the plunge of lead into fathomless depths". That sound of lead sounding the depths is missing from  much of contemporary Christianity.

The other thought is more straightforward, but complex too. The absence of symbol, art and representation in the worship and devotional life of my own tradition is, in an image soaked culture, now a missed mission opportunity. Sure, a number of churches have banners, ranging from the cliche to the art form, from the textual to the pictorial, but few if any survive repeated contemplation. A telling comment in a recent conversation with Sandy Stoddart, Professor of Sculpture at University of the West of Scotland comes to mind. Great art is never capable of exhaustive explanation; there is that which is beyond articulation, comprehension, cognitive control and aesthetic appreciation. There is a depth beyond us that draws us towards it. I would call it the transcendent, and a great theologian like Hans Urs Von Balthasar took 7 large volumes to explore that depth beyond, the place where the mystery of God's love is all but inaccessible – except that God in love comes to us in Christ, and what is revealed in Christ is the fullness of God, the one who fills all in all.

And until we recover a sense of that vast mystery of grace and mercy, and find ways to explore, contemplate, cherish and celebrate the reality of God whose 'eternity dost ever besiege us', (Helen Waddell), then our faith will remain prosaic, practical, partial, pragmatic, everyday accessible – and to that extent culturally conditioned. And we will, often without knowing it, long for that depth beyond, an encounter with the mystery of God who cannot be reduced to the measure of our needs, and for the chance now and again in life to stand in that place of bewildered wonder and nameless longing that is the place of adoration. A picture like Van der Meyer's has for many people, been a window where such moments happen. 

Whingeing about sporadic internet access is not an attractive trait, so I won't complain, explain, decry or cry. Update on relocation as follows

Our landline phone went live today after a hiatus of 12 days.

The study is approaching usable, though one or two key itmes still to be installed, including a small armchair which short legs, to give comfort to the study occupant who also has short legs.

After years of faithful service, and numerous trips to the recycling and waste disposal depots, the springs of my wee Corsa finally gave in and it is currently having a spring transplant at the local car clinic.

Currently on annual leave and finding it hard to remember what to do when on holiday – suggestions welcome only if they are unrude.

Had our first guests over Easter weekend and enjoyed good company, laughter and fun, and time to make good conversation over various high calorie desserts.

Started A S Byatt's The Children's s Book, which is taking a bit of getting into – but she is a novelist I rate and can still remember the first time I read Possession, one of her finest novels, and have read it twice subsequently.

Just had a phone call to collect the wee Corsa which is now post anaesthesia and will have to be driven gently home.

Will try to log in again soon – bear with us, we will be living wittily again once the blessed broadband is up – not whingeing, just explaining……

Today

One of the other cures for grumpiness is to encounter a worldview that exposes the essential small-mindedness of the grumpy spirit. A theological critique of grumpiness isn't so much an analysis of whatever it is that disorders the self, as the posing of an alternative vision of what is important in life. So when I came across these lines from Bonhoeffer's Letters and Papers from Prison my spirit was lifted above the basement level grumpiness threshold to look again at the world through the eyes of faith, and to consider the essential selfishness of complaining that reality wasn't configured sufficiently around my own interests.

It is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith…By this worldliness I mean living unreservedly in life's duties, problems, successes, and failures…experiences and perplexities. In so doing, we throw oursleves completely into the arms of God, taking seriously not only our own sufferings, but those of God in the world – watching with christ in Gethsemane.

It's the word 'unreservedly'. Grumpiness is not much more than an inner list of reservations, complaints, criticisms, resentments which culminate in a spirit of holding back. Worldliness is the opposite – an engagement with the world in the name of the god who loved the world, loves the world, and will never rescind the fiat, "let there be".

Only very occasionally can I be accused of being grumpy.

My cheerful smiling disposition is evident from most photographs.

Yesterday I was accused by three people of being grumpy.

Guilty, my Lord!

1. Might be because I've lived in four different houses in 12 days.
2. Might be because I painted two rooms with three coats of paint in 14 hours the day after moving into the house.
3. Might be because as a lover of routine I ain't got one yet.
4. Might be that I am missing Sheila who is a major grumpiness cure.
5. Might be because despite the clock change the weather is still miserable.
6. Might be because I am becoming a grumpy old man.

I think it's a combination of 1 to 5. Number 6 is impossible.

One of my favourite art forms is stained glass. The picture is from Bar-Hill Shared Church in Cambridge and i designed a tapestry of this some years ago. When I feel grumpy an image like this acts like a grumpiness evaporator – it reminds me that God's wonderful world is far too much fun, and has far too much beauty for grumpiness to be anything other than a transient aberration of spirit. Or so I hope. I'll do another blog post on this window – it is an ecumenical treasure.

Not normal service yet but an improvement on the previous 10 days of sporadic silence. Thanks to all those who sent good wishes on the move. I survived, apart from some creaky shoulders and a body that protests albeit mildly at having to shift endless boxes, apply numerous coats of paint to the room whose colour scheme made the abomination of desolation seem aesthetically pleasing, lay a couple of carpets and reconstruct the study with all books reshelved and in their appointed places.

The aerobic exercise involved in celing painting (which was also previously coloured in bright pink with a blue one foot border!!) has put me in fine condition for a session of energetic charismatic worship, complete with the requisite arm movements when words like glory, power, praise, honour exalt and other words from the semantic domain of charismatic liturdgy occur in the praise / worship / songs. The swinging motion required to apply a smooth coat of emulsion, and in my case the rising on tip-toe and stretching forward at a dangerously destabilising angle, provided practice in a new repertoire to be used when ever I am singing songs in which passionate expressions of spiritual longing or fulfilment are called for :))

More seriously, I am now at College and started a new way of working away from home three days a week and working at home two days a week. No idea what this will feel like until it has been road-tested for a while. Meantime, after a hiatus of over a week, I am back in the melee of the Spring semester, preparing teaching and meeting with students, staff meetings and planning, marking and feedback, liaising with colleagues on campus, and generally reminding myself of what it is I do, am and am for!

This morning spent nearly an hour with a University colleague discussing the connections between Schopenhauer and Richard Dawkins and their shared interest in biology not as science but as philosophy, the furore surrounding Philip Pullman's new book on Jesus and the scoundrel Christ, the capacity of Christianity to turn toxic and embody the opposite of all that Jesus stood for and died for, and the implications of each of these for a church that is so busy trying to work out the meaning of mission that it seems oblivious of its core task – embodying all that Jesus stood for and died for!

Not sure about how it is for others, but I find such a conversation a liberal education in why Christian apologetics is an ultimately futile project of trying to win an argument. What is needed is more than winning the argument – much more important to win the assent of the heart, to work for the liberation of the spirit, to encourage the renewal of hope, to welcome the dawning of an understanding deeper than the mind but not dismissive of intellect and thought; by which I mean, what is needed is a church that lends credibility to its own message of peace, reconciliation, love as the bottom line, hope and hopefulness as rooted in God's mercy in Christ, and the offer of forgiveness, new beginnings and those gestures of compassionate self-giving that are redemptive and attractive and, finally and persuasively, Christ-like. Not even a Schopenhauer could out-argue a witness less interested in argument than in the integrity of a life lived in consistent faithfulness to the radical demands and gifts of the Gospel. 

 !

Scary thoughts – I have most of my books from my home study fitted comfortably into the new study at Westhill. But I have the same number of books at College – Church History, Theology, Pastoral Theology and Spirituality with miscellaneous other stuff. Not a problem just now – but six years down the line when retirement might just about catch me up – what then? Those who don't understand scoff and see the easy answer as a major literary cull. Oblivious to the terror such vocabulary arouses, insensitive to the passionate attachment of soul to library of books, never occurs to such literary utilitarians that a library isn't an aggregate of disposable units, but an organic collection of people, places, ideas and conversations bound up with personal identity, individual history, human development and prolonged intellectual adventure.

So what to do? Thinking about it. Open to suggestions – but not suggestions that upset my inner equilibrium which is finely calibrated and depends on the presence of books collectively bonded together into not just a library, but MY library.Don't want to go digital – I love books not just text. Don't want to throw out furniture to make room for more bookcases – though that may well be negotiable, though the person I'll need to negotiate with is no pushover. Don't want to put books in storage, why keep books to hide them away on the off chance you MIGHT read them. I've always wanted books around me as companions I notice, acknowledge and spend time with. However in a previous post or two I did concede that pushed to the place of having to choose, I could reduce my library to manageable proportions. It's just that the reality is likely to be harder than the hypothesis, the empty claim, and the cheap boast! Meantime I'll do a W E Gladstine and work out how to cram maximum books into minimum space.

Never mind though – as long as I don't retire there won't be a problem 🙂

Unfortunately there have been several unwanted comments posted on Living Wittily. And unfortunately I am not able to check the blog daily at present. Fortunately a couple of good friends alerted me to the problem. So for the time being I have implemented the comment moderation protocol, which means if you comment your comment will only appear once I've seen it.

I hope in a few weeks when my broadband is set up again to revert to the open forum approach. But for now I want the security of controlling who puts what on the blog. Apologies to all who regularly come by and comment – but responsible bloggers will understand the problem and the reasons for using moderation. And thanks to my friends who let me know there was a problem.

Once life regains equilibrium I think I'll do a couple of posts on comments, blogging and the difference between good interactive discussion and banal if mischievous nonsense. Or maybe not – the differences are obvious.

Appearances on this blog will continue to be sporadic till the broadband is connected. Currently I am working on the fruit of the spirit, speiclaising in patience as the blessed dongle takes half an eternity to load the typepad compose page.

So a quick update.

We moved into the house on Wednesday and so fare breakages total two pasta plates.

The removal men were brilliant – plumbed in the washing machine, lifted a couple of carpets we were going to replace.

Unloaded in two hours.

In the next 48 hours we redecorated two rooms (three coats to cover the pink and blue ceiling and walls – and had carpets bought and laid in the same 48 hours.

This means energy levels are depleted and I don't have one of those three pronged things you use with mobile phones which are similarly depleted.

The neighbours have both acalled in to welcome us and looks like we will have good folk around us.

The study is right now in process of being reconstructed in its new and smaller room – this simply means choices about whether wall space for pictures is as important as wall space for bookshelves – don't jump to conclusions as to which priority will be prioritised!

For the rest of the day I will slowly replace the books on the shelves, doing a wee weeding process as I go.

For now – just off for the half mile walk to the local shopping centre to test drive the coffee shop.

The blog will return to its daily posting when the broadband is reconnected – could be a week or two thoug – so patience would be a fruit of the spirit I'm not the only one having to cultivate.

Blessings and shalom.

.

Spent last night with the folk at Newton Mearns Baptist Church, doing one of the talks in their Spring Break series on the Gospel and Culture. The talk was the second in the series, and the theme was "Positive Attitudes to Culture".

Decided to talk about how Christian attitudes, rooted in the Be(atitudes) lead to a positive critique of some of the worst excesses of current cultural experience. Peacemaking in a confrontational culture; mercy in a ruthless culture; meeknes in an ego drenched culture; justice in a systemically unequal culture. But not only critique – the Beatitudes point towards alternative dispositions of character that enhance rather than diminish human life. Meekness, righteous actions, peacemaking and mercy import significant moral and social responsibility into cultural expressions, and so characterise the attitudes and practices of those who claim to follow Jesus, that they constitute a transformative expression of the Church's mission.

Passion for peacemaking expresses the Gospel value of reconciliation; it is evidenced in discipleship practices such as forgiveness, welcome and hospitality, and is exemplified in the lived practice and experience of people like Desmond Tutu. Thus positive Be(attitudes) rooted in gospel values and expressed in discipleship practices becomes a process of salt and light interacting with their cultural context. Likewise hunger for righteousness, commitment to mercy and the disposition of meekness.

Seemed to work and led to some good discussion on the timelessness of human nature's capacity to turn creativity, social exchange, economic activity, moral norms and other cultural expressions either towards human flourishing or towards human diminishment. Sin is as imaginative and banal as it ever was; likewise, goodness and humanising creativity. What seems unarguable is the rapidly increasing pace of cultural change, and the exponential development of technology as an ambivalent nexus of social forces within which we now have to live our lives – as witnessing communities to a life that is cruciform in shape and resurrection oriented towards hope.

Much to ponder.

Hopkins is one of my canoncial poets, and the poem below an example of sublime poetry that in the act of reading slips ineluctably into prayer. And prayer in language that enables us to articulate longings usually too deep within us, and too elusive, to be brought by our own words to the light of God's day.

Years ago I read Bernard Martin's biography to gain a sense of context; in fact I came to understand why Hopkins' poetry delivers such a potent word of summoning towards that which I longed for. Christian vocation isn't always to a task or role – it is to being, and to authentic being at that. To be that which it is our God given nature to be, in all its unique peculiarity, its precious and unprecedented once-for-allness. When Augustine exulted in God's love as loving us as if we were the only one to love, he too sensed the miracle of a love that draws us to that place where, in accepting who we are, we say to God, "What I do is me – for this I came."

And far from an endorsement of the aggressive and selfish individualism pervasive of our culture and invasive of our relationships, Hopkins' poem is a celebration of what it means to surrender to the true self God made us to be. The sonnet form of fourteen lines is my favourite poetic form – in such disciplined brevity, and care for structure, Hopkins delivers one of the most expansive expositions of why it is God made us – "what are human beings that you care for them" – Hopkins' answer centres on Christ, and on our calling to be Christ-like. 

As kingfishers catch fire

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies
dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each
hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its
name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.
Í say móre: the just man justices;
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—
Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.