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I owe many debts to R E O White, Principal of the Scottish Baptist College during my training for ministry in the mid 1970's. His insistence, against my lesser judgment, that I should go to Glasgow University and do an Arts degree before coming to College, enabled me to experience the mind broadening and deepening of a degree in several disciplines, majoring in Moral Philosophy. Intellectually, I began growing up at Glasgow University. His lectures were carefully written, delivered with customary restraint, open to questions if you knew enough to ask the right question, and with handouts that were hand typed and duplicated at considerable labour to himself.

But my primary debt has been a lifelong love affair with the New Textament – its text and background, the history of its interpretation, and a humble recognition that in diving into those deep waters you can both sink and swim. His lectures on NT Introduction and Exegesis were eye opening, mind awakening, cold water in the face of sleepy and lazy piety more or less content with uncritical devotion complacently read off the surface of the text. REO in full flow was a wake up call, with his persistent questioning of assumptions, insistence on weighing evidence, teaching us to listen to other voices in the conversation, and his patient valuing of insights and questions from his students. Time and again during or after a discussion, the Parker pen was taken from his top pocket and a note placed in the margin of his lecture notes. He taught by showing and doing. His Greek Testament

That interest in the New Testament has cost me a fortune in books – that isn't a complaint, more a sideways glance of gratitude. Amongst the pleasures of having more time to myself has been a further immersion in the New Testament world, in particular the reception history of the New Testament and the history of interpretation.  So I'm currently working through William Baird's 3 volume History of New Testament Research, having reached volume 3. Many of the names are of scholars I read in College and the years after, some of them I can still hear REO pronouncing – Metzger, Bultmann, Jeremias, Kasemann, Conzelmann, Beasley-Murray, Cullmann, Barrett, Moule, Arndt and Gingrich, Kummel – all of them significant figures in mid 20th Century NT scholarship. Since College days many of those names have faded and their contributions in some cases now either overlooked or even dismissed in the light of new approaches and developments.

Which brings me to the point of this post. These scholars were disciplined and innovative, some of them soaked in learning and expertise across several disciplines, each of them inevitably shaped by their historical and cultural context. Close scrutiny, wide ranging study and creative engagement with the New Testament brought these and countless other scholars to differing conclusions as they argued, contradicted, presented alternative interpretations, called in question the methodology or results of years of research, and produced what can only be described as a heated conversation that is still going on. It is that conversation that is crucial to faith,our own and the faith of the church.

By our own reading and thinking, exegesis and analysis, experience and inner commitments, we each develop our own voice, and begin to take part in that conversation. That process began for me in REO's classes; it has gone on now for 40 years, and I'm still not tired of listening to those voices, old and new. Today names like Sanders, Dunn, Wright, Hays, Schnelle, Luz, Bovon, Martyn, Hengel, are part of that conversation / chorus; they are thankfully joined by the voices of women scholars, Schussler-Fiorenza, Gaventa, O'Day, Thompson, Lieu, and the late Margaret Thrall whom I mention specially because she knew and greatly respected REO – both of them Welsh!

So how do you fill your time in retirement? Apart from a couple of part time ministries that is, and an underlying commitment to read, think and learn. I talk and listen; I read and think; I do what I was taught to do as a biblical scholar, pastor and preacher. I engage with the NT text and dive into the discussions about meaning and message, puzzles and enigmas, histories and stories, people and places, social theories and literary approaches, theological earthquakes and groundbreaking discoveries, the whole blessed thing that is New Testament study.

This is one of my favourite hills, Clachnaben. It's visible on the skyline from our street, and from the route I take when running / walking. Living where we do I've become more and more attached to Psalm 121 and that first verse, "I lift up my eyes to the hills, where shall I find help?" (REB)

That question goes to the very core of faith when life gets dangerous, scary or in our modern discourse of positivity, 'challenging'. I'm suspicious of that sleight of word habit, by which a problem is redescribed as a challenge, and a setback is always to be thought of as an opportunity. No doubt every problem and setback is also an opportunity, though recognising it, and taking it, might be a bit of a challenge when you're scared, stressed or just not sure how to deal with stuff.

Psalm 121 isn't written for those whose first instinct is to think positive. It's for those whose negativity kicks in when the journey gets hard, strength is depleted and aloneness presses in. "My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth", is the answer to his own question.

In the older Scottish version,

"I to the hills will lift mine eyes;

from whence doth come mine aid?

My safety cometh from the Lord,

who heaven and earth hath made."

One of the greatest achievements of Scottish worship is the Psalms and Paraphrases. The poetics are sometimes forced, but there is no concession to our current love affair with positivity. A problem is a problem, a worry is a worry, fear is real and the valley of deep darkness isn't a crisis to be managed but a real place to travel through.

"Yea though I walk through death's dark vale,

yet will I fear none ill;

for thou art with me, and thy rod,

and staff me comfort still."

See what I mean about the poetic idiosyncracies in what is one of the masterpieces of experiential faith rendered into a nation's language and idiom. So when I'm out running, or walking, I look to the hills. Where I stay there's no option, they are part of the horizon. Psalm 121 is a pilgrim psalm, probably sung responsively on arrival at Jerusalem after the dangerous journey over mountains, through deserts, across ravines and all the time the threat of bandits. This Psalm is sung after safe arrival – I suspect it was sung on the way too. When we pass through ominous terrain, the Lord is endlessly vigilant; when we walk through dark ravines the same Lord is with us as protective shepherd to comfort and strengthen.

Trust is not the same as positivity; trust is dependence on grace beyond our strength. Mere positivity on the other hand is, at worst, a form of denial that trouble is real, and at best, a form of self-reliance that if taken too far becomes practical atheism; which is to live as if God is not our Helper and Companion through the dark places.  Those dark places are still shadowy, menacing and ominous, however much we rephrase those experiences as challenge, opportunity or "it is what it is". The person of faith knows all of that, and has learned to trust the createdness of the world and the goodness and mercy of the Creator, even in the presence of our enemies, and all else that is a harbinger of harm. 

Amongst the most familiar wheeled vehicles that clutter up our world is the supermarket trolley. These utilitarian mobile baskets have a massive influence on our lifestyle, health, shopping habits and financial outlays.

Consider. If we shopped with ordinary baskets we couldn't load it with all the processed and tinned food, plastic bulk packed vegetables, cartoned yoghurt, 36 pack crisp bags, frozen foods. 3 for 2 and BOGOF offers. We'd need to go shopping oftener, or go as a team, or pay to have the stuff delivered, or order online. So the trolley colludes with our appetite for quantity, our lust for bargains, our downhill addictions to more than enough.

Trolleys are the workhorses of the postmodern consumer, necessary hardware to enable the big shopping, the habit of impulse buying – do we ever notice that contradiction interms. That we've become habituated to buying what we didn't think we need, because it was there. And they come in various sizes and styles, from the deep loader, to the standard and then there's the quick whizz round version that can still take about four bags of stuff if you pack carefully.

The photo was taken on a walk along the front, the shipwrecked supermarket trolley an eloquent protest at our capacity to grab ands gobble, produce and procure, spend and consume, load up, pay up and use up. When I walk the front most often I'm down on the sand, enjoying the sound of the waves, liking the smooth billiard table feel of sand compacted by tide, feeling body and mind begin to find the rhythm of wave, wind and weather. Next time I'll take a carrier bag and a pair of gardening gloves, and see how far I can walk until the bag is full of the rubbish that washes up, much of it previously transported to the checkout on a four wheeled basket trolley. Much of it around Aberdeen is just as likely to have come from the industrial catering and offshore maintenance of oil rigs and oil fields. 

Of course filling a carrier bag is a futile gesture, not even a drop in the ocean of debris and detritus that washes around our shores. Why bother? Maybe as an act of symbolic repentance for our greed and carelessness; perhaps a prophetic enactment of our inability to look after our planet and yet the defiance that will be required if we are to make a difference; maybe as a prayer for the healing of creation, an embodied act of cleansing of a broken and soiled world; or even a liturgical act of doing for others what they haven't done for themselves, taking away their rubbish.

The Christian doctrine of creation is less about arguments on cosmological origins, and more about stewardship, creation care, environmental ethics rooted in accountability beyond ourselves. Organised clean-ups of beaches and parks, forest walks and mountains are not mere acts of damage limitation; they are statements of value, enacted resistance to the consumer disposable culture, rich in things and poor in soul, satisfied only when consuming, and suffering a hunger which remains an ache no matter how much we stuff ourselves with stuff. Perhaps alongside harvest thanksgiving there should be organised occasions of clean up, cultivation, culture, conservation and celebration of creation, and an asking of forgiveness for our sins against the Creator.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gates are for opening and closing. As Robert Frost said about walls, gates are for keeping out or keeping in, and it's important to know which is which.

This gate is on Scolty Hill near Banchory. It's a place I've walked often, and remembering my stavaigin' as a boy, now and then I climb the gate rather than opt for the walk through side gate. Because gates are really ladders lying on their sides.

The photo is taken on the way back down.The canopy of trees only shows so much of the road ahead. Paths, gates, hills, trees, all you need really as a metpahor for what the life of faith is mostly about. "Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly" is the very first verse of the Book of Psalms. Where we walk, and with whom, seems to be important advice if we are serious about God.

So instead of walking with the ungodly and sitting in the seat of scoffers the righteous person, the person who wants to live right and walk the right path delights in the "law of the Lord" and meditates on it day and night. Two choices then scoffing or delight; laughing at what matters, or laughing because we have discovered what matters most. And if we discover what matters most we follow after it; and Jesus said, "Follow me – take up your cross and walk."

Walking up Scolty, and down again, following a chosen path, seeing gates as ladders to be climbed and invitations to walk further, and always only seeing so far; it's an enacting of that daily walk with others, with myself, with God. This time of year some of the paths have ferns and bushes and overhanging trees that restrict vision. That too is part of the joy of it, especially when you near the top and the whole landscape opens up in a 360 degree panorama and you know this is what you climbed for.

Christ of the upaward way my guide divine;

Where thou hast set thy foot may I place mine.

And move and march wherever thou hast trod,

Keeping face forward up the hill of God.

The right moment, on the right day, at the right place, a picture like this is possible.

The rain has nearly stopped and enough of the sun glints through grey clouds to create a shadow from white and pink.

The entire pond is opaque, the water unrippled and still, and there is only this one flower, a jewel set in metallic grey-green.

At such moments a camera is like a prayer book, but one in which there are no words, only images. And indeed each image has first to be seen, perceived, noticed, and then attention paid to the isness of what is there. So rather than a prayer of glad wonder at an encounter with beauty, taking the picture is more prayer in anticipation, and the digital image a means of grace to be attended to later.

Photographs are 'experience captured', according to Susan Sontag. That is only true when we recognise that what we capture is the image which may resurrect, or recall, or remind, of the experience. But that moment standing under a dripping tree holding the camera still, on a dull afternoon touched by fugitive sunlight, absorbed by beauty and being reminded by another of Sontag's cautions, that photographs 'enlarge our notions of what is worth looking at'.

In the same way that God is not there for the taking, or for the taking for granted, so a photo isn't mere object for our enjoyment. Sontag spoke of photography as "memory in acquisitive mood." Henri Cartier Bresson understood the need for this reverent reticence which holds our grasping in check: "A photograph is neither taken nor seized by force. It offers itself up. It is the photo that takes you." Prayer and photography have this in common; each is our response to the initiative of another, and in that responsiveness is our salvation.

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King's College Chapel in autumn sunlight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

King's College in autumn mist.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

King's College at dusk

We need to get some things in perspective when it comes to politics, economic policies, and in particular how our Government decides to use its money and save its money. There will always be debate, discussion, disagreement and at times downright ideological collision when it comes to state funded welfare, the NHS, national infrastructure and much else that contributes to the spagghetti plate intertwining and complexity of contemporary national and international finances. And I'm no expert on any of these. Even if I were, it would still be extrememly unlikely I could untangle the particular strands of spaghetti that belonged to my area of pretended omniscience.

So I'm happy to scale down my goal to something I, and most people reading this, know something about. Truth, honesty, trust, integrity, insofar as these are required in one who holds public office and who runs a Government Department which is entrusted, (mark that word which I use advisedly and intentionally), entrusted with overseeing the state's provision for a particular group of people. Such people as the elderly who rely on a state pension, the funds of which have been paid for an entire working life; unemployed people, the large majority of whom would work if they could, and if the could afford to live on what they are paid – hence tax credits and other allowances to support them in work; those who are ill and unable to work, whether short term or long term, and their right to be able to live with dignity, access to care and medical resources and attention; those who care for others to their own cost in life energy, time, money and loss of work, and whose care for and support for others it is in the interests of the state to support. The list could be longer but these will do.

Which brings me yet again to the vexed question of benefit cuts, austerity programmes and that recent euphemism of the uncaring powerful, benefit sanctions. Why not use the word punishment, chastisement, confiscation? Why use a word that is used politically for rogue nations which need to be made to suffer to make them comply with the will of those who inflict such loss and consequence on others because they can? The attacks on this unjust and arbitrary system of sanctions, differing from locality to locality, are answered with remorseless and monotonous mantras – it is to help people back to work, it is to reduce the deficit, it is within the austerity programme to which the electorate gave its democratic approval, it is to help those who do the right thing…..stop there, right there!

"Those who do the right thing…." The DWP admits now that it used fake identities and photographs, and fictional testimonials in its publicity about how sanctions have been praised as beneficial (conferring benefit, ironically) and just what was needed to get some people back to work. Iain Duncan Smith is in charge of the Department which has lied to the public, defended a controversial policy with made up propaganda, refused repeatedly to respond to a freedom of Information request for figures relating to benefit sanctions and suicide, and over the weekend played down reports of training of front line staff in dealing with suicide threats from distressed people being refused benefits. And he is still in office. Now I am not surprised at this; I am shocked and disappointed that I live in a country where such a scandal does not raise the question of a person's fitness for office.

Which brings us back to the words truth, honesty, integrity, and trust, and what it means for a Cabinet Minister, responsible for many of the most vulnerable people in society to be entrusted with such a portfolio. At the very least, it means he shouldn't preside over a Department that defends his policies with fake photos, made up stories and a Government department constructing the identities of people who don't exist – and using them as evidence that their policy works. And when found out, then makes no excuses, offers no apology but raises its eyebrows in surprise that we should ever have had a problem with such things because they are merely illustrative, not intended to deceive, they were produced to show people how the system works well.

There is something genuinely, and chillingly Orwellian in all this. The person on beneift is being patronised and persuaded by Government propapagnda. The truth is being illustrated with lies; policy makers' ideology and mythology is being confirmed by made up personal testimonies of people who don't exist; these actions of deceit are no such things, silly person, they are our Government helping us understand their good intentions. And far from them apologise and acknowledge this is wrong, just wrong, we are made to feel we are children in an adults' world who need to understand the realities of a Government that knows what is good for us. And will tell us so, with made up stories. And no answer yet to the link between benefit sanctions and the incidence of suicide amongst those so sanctioned.

So just be absolutely clear (I love that prefix, so beloved by Margaret Thatcher, signalling what is about to be said will communicate my superior viewpoint over your mere partial grasp of things) – just to be absolutely clear; a leaflet put out in the name of a Government Department, for the purpose of promoting their policy, providing evidence and answering critics, is required to be accurate. 

Essay Question: What ethical considerations would you suggest could be presented as a defense for producing a publicity leaflet purported to be an accurate account of the facts, and which contained fictional testimony, false names and borrowed photographs?