Wit Wonders
A God and yet a man,
A maid and yet a mother:
Wit wonders what wit can
Conceive this or the other.
A God and can he die?
A dead man can he live?
What wit can well reply?
What reason reason give?
God, Truth itself doth teach it.
Man’s wit sinks too far under
By reason’s power to reach it:
Believe and leave to wonder.
(Anonymous – 15th C)
The
incarnation of our Lord lies at the heart of Christian faith. When the
arguments for and against virgin birth have been faithfully spoken and honestly
heard, there remains a residue of truth, a core of mystery not amenable to
explanation. A small part of that mystery is the faith of Mary who was able to
say, 'Be it done according to your will,' and the faith of Joseph prepared to
live with consequences he had no way of foreseeing. Clustered around the divine
miracle of annunciation and incarnation are a number of smaller miracles of
human trustfulness and openness to the coming of God. Perhaps we can be helped
in our appreciation of such miracles of faith if we do a little reverent prying
into the emotional rationale behind Joseph's reaction to Mary's own disturbing
annunciation.
…………………………..
Joseph kept these things and pondered them in his heart…….
Every
time one of our old Rabbi's conducts a betrothal, or a wedding ceremony he
tells the joke about the angel who gives just one wish. He told it at our
betrothal reception, when Mary and I got engaged.
One
day a man did an act of great kindness. As a reward he is visited by an angel."
Heaven has sent me to reward you. Whatever you want done, heaven will
grant." After thinking carefully
the man said " Build me a bridge from
Jerusalem to Rome so I can visit my family whenever I want to without going the long way
round."
"
Wait a blessed minute ", said the angel. "Have you any idea what that
costs? Fifteen hundred miles of bridge! Even
angels have to stick to spending guide-lines and work within the constraints imposed
on the miracles budget. Choose something else. Give me another option. " The
man replied, " O.K. Help me to understand how a woman's mind works." After
much thought the angel asked, "How many lanes do you want on your
bridge?"
The
rabbi told it as a joke. But hard as I've tried, and long as I've thought, I
still don't understand the mind of Mary. What she thought, and what she felt about
what happened to her, and what it did to us. I didn't understand why Mary disappeared
for three months to visit her cousin Elizabeth. I didn't understand when she
came back and said she was three months pregnant. I didn't understand when she said " I've
never been unfaithful. The baby is God's
gift."
I
didn't understand why she, the woman, should be the one who got to decide on
the name. I couldn't believe her story about being visited by an angel, who
told her that, of all the women in the world, God had chosen her as his point
of entry into human affairs, I didn't
understand, and I don't understand, in fact, I'll never understand how a virgin
can be pregnant.
What
I did understand, was that the Mary, who was promised to me, now belonged to
someone else. What I did understand, because I'm not just a man, I'm a just
man, was the need to protect Mary, from public shame and legal penalty. What I did understand was that our future stops here. No marriage! No
shared joy! No family! Just this unwanted pregnancy forcing us apart. And
what I did understand, and felt fully, unflinchingly, was the sense of
opportunity lost, grief
at the wasted possibilities, the certainty our dreams had ended.
But
the dreams weren't ended! I thought, just like the just, sensible, unimaginative
man I am, I
thought, I'll deal with this rationally, quietly divorce her, and get on with
my life. Still, before doing anything I decided to sleep on it! But it wasn't a slumberland sleep. It was
restless, anxious sleep; my mind and body tossing and turning. in synchronised
uneasiness. Then through my confusion and hurt a shining clarity. Interrupting my scheming and dreaming, a voice,
that shook my whole being awake. An angel, not like the one in the
rabbi's joke. He didn't ask me what I
wanted more than anything. Not that it would have mattered. I wanted the one thing I could no longer
have…Mary, uncomplicated, faithful, understandable Mary. Mary before all this
angels and God nonsense.
But
before I could think of what to say, the angel spoke. "Joseph, don't be afraid
to take Mary home as your wife, because what is conceived in her is from the
Holy Spirit. She will give birth to a son and you are to give him the name
Jesus." I no longer doubted Mary. But
what it must have meant for her, what it does to a woman to have others
question her integrity as a woman,while
all the time she is being faithful to God by receiving the gift of the
Almighty. That I have not, cannot understand.
I
don't understand how Mary, carried the burden of truth, that she would mother
God's son. I don't understand her openness to God, her obedient humility, or
her determined yes to the purposes of God. Like the child she carried, she
nurtured and nourished the truth of God's loving purposesfor
us and the whole world. I don't understand the ways of God, not even when
angels tell me.
In
my dream a deeper reality than I ever imagined had come close to me; And in Mary, the deepest reality of all was
coming true. God coming close to the world in an inconceivable conception. God
with us, love made flesh, borne and born through Mary.
The
Rabbi's joke about bridges and a woman's mind? To unimaginative, rational
patronising men,perhaps
understanding a woman is miracle enough. But when it comes to bridges, through
the faithful intuition, the imaginative love, the trustful yes of a woman, God
built a far, far bigger bridge than a Jerusalem to Rome flyover.; the promised
bridge between heaven and earth, through the faith of a woman, and the birth of
a baby. That's a miracle of love that
exceeds all budgets, and like much else in this story, I’ll never understand it.
But I’ll sleep on it.
The Shalom tapestry is coming along slowly.
Peace Haiku
Shalom comes slowly,
each stitch hand-crafted prayer,
for mercy, peace, love.
For a couple of months now I have lived with the
form and the content of this beautiful strange and life-enhancing word. The
quest for shalom means seeking well-being of heart and body, discovering energy
and resilience to live faithfully and creatively for God, receiving from the
Holy Spirit the freedom to trust our imagination to envision healing and
wholeness and justice for our world.
This small tapestry (4 inches by three) is part of a bigger project.
When finished it will be the small panel at the bottom of a larger, brasher
celebration of Shalom based on rainbow colours. Working with these Hebrew
characters, and the English letters in the larger panel, is an experiment in contrast, construction
and compassion. This small panel is entirely impressionistic. I love the sound
of the word Shalom – the threads impossibly try to give sight to the sound as I
say it or hear it spoken; the colours depict mood which you may rightly say is likewise
impossible, but the attempt is still important; sometimes while working it I
listen to music, carefully chosen music. So reader, what music should be played
when stitching Shalom?
During the last two months of stitching Shalom I
have prayed for Malala Yousafzai and Afghanistan; for Palestinian people and Jewish
settlers; for children, teachers and families in Newtown Massachusets, and for children
and families in Nangarhar Province, Afghanistan; for people close to me struggling with the life
they are living or trying to survive, and for others I hardly know but whose
hurt makes prayer and work for Shalom both an enacted imperative and an essential
attribute of spiritual integrity.
To seek Shalom and pursue it, to be a Shalom
maker, to recognise again the words of Jesus ‘my Shalom I leave with you’, to
lie within reach of and to trust the Shalom that passes all understand ding –
not a bad way to live really, or to really live.And during Advent to share the longings of millions for peace on earth and mercy mild….
In the space of two days –
Went into Marks and Spencers for a coffee – presented the loyalty card and got a free coffee.
Went into the UWS Canteen for a coffee – presented the loyalty card for a free coffee next time.
Went into Cafe Nero for a coffee – presented the loyalty card and got a free coffee.
Went into Costa at Waterstones – nobody mentioned loyalty card. Might not go back there!
As an habitual theological reflector I sat and thought about the profound implications of retail adultery, indeed retail promiscuity.
Just how many people can you be loyal to for life, if those people are competitiors and rivals?
And is loyalty conditional on reward or should faithfulness be that which we give to those we value, love and want to be with?
Are some loyalties limited and non-exclusive of others, and if so what does it mean to be loyal if there is, to put it nicely, a clash of loyalties – presumably someone gets dumped?
In Theistic terms, a Monotheist is faithful and loyal to one God, whereas a Henotheist is faithful to one God at a time, and can therefore be a serial monotheist. A matter of personal convenience and expediency which sounds like the kind of religion just made for consumers.
In ethical terms, is the loyalty card an invitation to a monogamous relationship, or an incentive to self interest? If so is it really a bribe which allows both retailer and consumer to benefit, to the exclusion of others?
In human terms, there is the comedy of standing at the till, flicking through the wodge of loyalty cards to find the right one, and the barista waits patiently because there's nothing new here – just customers after a free coffee, a good deal, and doing what everyone does.
These are reflections of a coffee drinking theologian wondering if churches should issue loyalty cards.
And then remembering that maybe that is what Baptism is –
a lifetime act of loyalty and only one card,
and at the Eucharist, every time, the bread and wine are free.
Because the card is stamped, the heart is given,
we love Him because he first loved us,
we are no longer our own but are bought with a price,
water has become wine,
bread is broken and we are fed,
and there are still twelve baskets full.
If any one will come after me,
let them deny theirselves,
take up their cross,
and follow me.
For what are we advantaged
if we gain the whole world,
and lose our own soul?
It is one of the gifts of art and image that words are compelled to recognise their limits.
What does "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted" look like.
It looks like this.
C S Lewis,
the Christian popular apologist, in an essay, On Reading Old Books, accused
those impatient with history of being guilty of chronological snobbery. The Prophet Isaiah dealt with a different
problem, chronological amnesia. Speaking to the people of Israel about their
exiled loneliness and dislocation, disorientation and spiritual confusion, Isaiah urged
them, “Look to the rock from which you were hewn”. By which he meant study the past, find there
clues to understand the present and give imaginative energy to create visions
for the future.
History can
be boring, mind numbingly, soul sappingly uninteresting. By definition it deals
with what is past. It has a crisis of relevance in an age of fast, immediate
and instant. In a pragmatic can do world the crudely utilitarian question what
is the use of history asks precisely the question history can only answer if it
is, indeed used.
Historical
precedent, the perspective of another age, and the keeping alive of cultural
memory, are essential strands in human knowing. Learning with a humility given
backbone by intellectual integrity, and fuelled by curiosity, history helps us
come to understand who we are by answering first, how, why and when we got here;
what is our place in the world; and then to recognise the reality and dignity
of others whose history is different from ours, but with whom we share a common
humanity, in theological terms the image of God.
The history
of a Christian tradition is what gives it roots, explains its distinctive and
peculiar identity, and places its followers in the broader context of Christian
tradition and cultural change. Such self- reflection gives us a sense of
humility, a critical openness, and makes our voice worth hearing. It also makes
other voices more obviously worth hearing, and attending to with a listening
spirit.
When we
understand our own story, with critical faithfulness and the wisdom of
hindsight, we can then acknowledge the validity and integrity of other people’s
faith story, those whose history makes up another tributary in the river system
of the Christian tradition. Baptists
have a history, or should we say there are Baptist histories. Britain, the
United States, Europe, and Russia, each have their history. Amongst the
distinctives of Baptist spirituality is a passion for religious liberty, a
profound sense of the sovereignty of the individual conscience before God, and
an historic aversion to all forms of external compliance in matters of belief
and worship.
In times when Baptist Identity is either a contested series of questions, or a denominational irrelevance in a post-modern world impatient with particularity, it is imperative for the integrity of a Christian tradition that its adherents know who they are, understand the source of their convictions, and be visibly committed to the living practice of a tradition which is essential to the overall wholeness of the Christian witness of the Body of Christ, the Church.
Baptist is not a pseudonym for Evangelicals who happen to immerse believers, nor is it a euphemism for a generic evangelicalism, and it isn't a vaccuous denominational label either. It is a description of a specific way of being Christian; it is christologically centred, rooted in the life and mission of the Triune God, earthed and embodied in a community of believers committed in covenant faithfulness to discern the mind of Christ together.
Our history is chequered and splintered; our story is still being written and told; the witness to which Christ calls us remains a vital and vitalising discipleship of faithfully following after Christ. Only as we cherish and value our own tradition, explore and reflect critically on how far we have been faithful to Christ's calling, and listen carefully to what the Spirit is saying to us, only then will we be humble enough to listen with the same receptive care and an appropriate respectful questioning, to those other followers of Jesus in other Christian traditions. And then we will learn, and be enriched, and pray God, perhaps bring some gift of our own to an already laden table.
In the space of three minutes my quietly begun and enjoyable day was derailed by Radio 4. I listen to the Today programme most mornings, often with a mixture of interest and irritation. The irritation is usually at the aggressive, rude, badgering approach to interviewing; an obsessive admiration on the part of the intrerviewer for playing the devil's advocate, undermining the person interviewed and demonstrating to the audience how clever, ruthless and cynically correct the interviewer is. A week or two ago Lord Falconer demolished John Humphreys wall of shoogly words and opinionated self assertions.
This morning it was reported that the RSPCA had successfully prosecuted members of a a fox hunt, located in David Cameron's balliwick. They played sound footage of the hunt and the kill, then reported the judge as saying the fact the RSPCA had spent in excess fo £300,000 bringing the prosecution was 'staggering', heard one of the guilty ridicule the RSPCA for wasting so much money on prosecuting such behaviour, and then Justin Webb interviewed the chief executive of the RSPCA.
Take time to listen to it on IPlayer. In it Webb is biased, rude, cajoling, deaf to any answer he is given, loud in making his own opinion heard, and an utter failure as an interviewer. That is, if an interviewer is there to enable intelligent comment, question where that comment is unclear, and generally be present as the facilitator of a discussion the public might want to listen to. Webb seemed to operate with an hermeneutic of suspicion, assuming the chief Executive of one of the oldest charities in the land was an evasive power mongerer out to prove a point, or a sentimental fool who thought £300,000 was not a ridiculous price for a fox.
First, as was pointed out between rude interruptions, the RSPCA was upholding the law of the land, and by the way when it comes to fox hunting it is, quite literally, the law of the land.
Second, the Crown Prosecution Service have repeatedly and habitually rejected such cases due to lack of evidence. This time the RSPCA gathered the evidence and brought the prosecution itself. The defendants didn't even contest the charges and pleaded guilty.
Third, Webb made no concession to the point, made several times by the interviewee having to speak above the hectoring of Webb, that the fox hunters were deliberately and knowingly breaking a law they didn't agree with. A Standard Grade in citizenship would teach any of us that such a precedent of selecting which laws we agree with and only obeying them would be, well, socially inconvenient and legal nonsense!
And finally, for now, the RSPCA is older than the police force in this country. Was founded to prevent cruelty and protect animals from needless or deliberate suffering, and as such is an important expression of our humanity, care of creation, and responsibility to all other sentient beings on this planet.
Justin Webb's lack of respect, common courtesy and professional skill as a prime time interviewer leaves me, to use the words of a certain Judge, 'staggered'. A highly professional CEO of a charity deserves better than such cheap baiting and uninformed opinion badly disguised as robust intelligence.
I was brought up on farms in Ayrshire and Lanarkshire. I've seen the damage foxes do on farms in the countryside. Farmers hate them, and have little compunction in killing them. They are not my favourite animal either. But fox hunting with hounds has been defined as a practice that causes unnecessary suffering and banned by law, along with hare coursing and badger baiting. Is a fox worth £300,000? What price do we put on cruelty, inflicted suffering, and the blatant ignoring of the law by the socially privileged? Not one word, not one, from the interviewer acknowledging the values that lie behind these questions, and that underpin the work of the RSPCA.
Oh. And to Justin's jibe that people don't give to the RSPCA to see the funds used in pursuit of such cases, in the words of the Panto audience, "Oh yes we do".
……………………………..
Update – the following complaint has been submitted online by me to the BBC.
Full Complaint: Justin Webb from the start of the interview was hectoring,
sceptical and biased. Repeated interruption and confrontational tone made it
difficult to answer or correct Webb's bias and uninformed comment. The lack of
respect and courtesy shown to a spokesperson of a leading charity was
embarrassingly obvious, and unacceptable. The key question of law-breaking was
drowned out by questioning the judgement of the RSPCA to fund and pursue
prosecution.The issue of the CPS declining to pursue previous charges was
likewise swept aside. No recognition in Webb's questioning that law breakers
should be prosecuted, instead blame for the RSPCA for using charitable giving
to bring the case. The claim that 'the public' would resent their money gifts
being used for such a purpose is unfounded, and an unfair criticism of a
judgement based on previous experience of CPS responses. The setting up of a
fighting fund for such cases was likewise rubbished by the interviewer, despite
the clear explanation given. This in the context of a prosecution for animal
cruelty, by pursuing a sport now outlawed and defined as a cruel sport. Why on
earth would the RSPCA not bring the case? The comment of the judge in the case,
which was used to set up the discussion was itself tendentious. An interview
ought to clarify issues, allow viewpoints to be heard, weigh evidence in an
exchange of views, and this in an ethos of courtesy, respect and intelligent
listening, by interviewer and audience.
President Obama has acted with great dignity and compassion in the days following the Newtown school massacre in Massachusets. Words are always necessary and seldom adequate, to express those deep longings and searing anguishes that can tear the heart out of us. Amongst the words he used was his rhetorical question about not allowing such tragic occurences to become routine. In addition to words, he came to visit, to offer his presence, to share the tears and the unanswerable questions of parents and colleagues and children.
One of the most underplayed episodes in the Christmas story is the slaughter of the innocents. It rightly finds no place on our Christmas cards, though there are many older carols that describe and try to find a theological sense in a minor political atrocity which in Herod's day would have been 'routine'. Here the King launches a pre-emptive strike against children, and the political expediency of the action justifies the collateral damage, ensuring his power remains unchallenged. Death comes openly and irresistably, and human life laid waste.
The news this morning tells of ten young girls aged 7-11, killed in Nangahar province Afghanistan, because one of them accidentally hit a landmine with an axe while gathering firewood. No one set out to place a landmine amongst the children, but landmines are made to kill and maim, and planting them under sand and soil, they are simply death camouflaged and waiting. That no one planned such a tragic event is not the point. Somebody made that device and made it well – it did its job, with terrible efficiency and guaranteed results. Someone else planted it with lethal intent, and landmines have their own pre-set circuitry, and the lethal intent was realised in its murderous obedience.
All of which leaves me wondering about the President of the United States' heartfelt wish that mass murder of children must not become routine; the truth is, it has, and in more places than America. Weapons and devices manufactured for the explicit purpose of efficient, accurate, quantitative killing of human beings will always find fingers to pull triggers and hands to set detonators. Our own experience in Scotland and the lovely town of Dunblane means we have some understanding of the consequences of inexplicable violence visited on the innocent.
So I sit here wondering what the real human connections are between those weeping women and men in Massachusets, and those weeping women and men in Nangahar. Parents have lost their lovely children; innocent precious young human beings taken from us and from our world. I passionately believe in the precious uniqueness of every child; I cherish the human capacity to love and give our deepest commitments to children; and I utterly hold to a view of each human being as made in the image of God. As a Christian I am left today reflecting about the dangerous world we live in, and the paradox that human beings begin life in a place of great vulnerability, and depend on the love, safekeeping and provision not only of parents, but of their community. And into such vulnerability came the Son of God, a child whose birth triggered the power paranoia of Herod. And into, and out of, that maelstrom of violence a family fled for their lives – and God came close to us, Emmanuel.
So whether a military grade assault rifle and two highly engineered automatic pistols stolen from a mother's cupboard, or a cunningly concealed fully armed landmine detonated by a child gathering wood to keep her family warm, mothers weep. And the prophet's immense sorrow lingers in our hearing, "A voice is heard in Ramah wailing and loud lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children; she refuses to be consoled."
Lord have mercy.
Christ have mercy.
Lord have mercy.
L Distressed and
hungry they will roam through the land;
when they are famished they will become
enraged and looking upward will curse their king and their God. (8.21)
R Aye that’s whit you think!
The
people who walked in darkness have seen a great light!
L They will look
towards the earth and see only distress and darkness and fearful gloom, and
they will be thrust into utter darkness (8.22)
R Aye that’s whit you think!
On
those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.
L The Highways are
deserted, no travellers are on the roads, the land mourns and wastes away, Lebanon is
ashamed and withers (33.7, 9)
R Aye that’s whit you think!
The
desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and
blossom. Like the crocus it will burst into bloom
L Look brave men cry aloud in the streets, the
envoys of peace weep bitterly. The treaty is broken, its witnesses are
despised, no one is respected ( 33.7-8)
R Aye, that’s whit you think!
Unto
us a child is born…and the government will be upon his shoulders.
L The treacherous betray. With treachery the
treacherous betray. Terror and pit and snare await you O people of the earth
R Aye that’s whit you think!
He will be called Wonderful
Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace….of the increase of
his government and peace, there will be no end.
As the rain hides the
stars,
as the autumn mist
hides the hills,
as the clouds veil the
blue of the sky,
so the dark happenings
of my lot
hide the shining of
thy face from me.
Yet, if I may hold thy
hand in the darkness,
it is enough. Since I
know that,
though I may stumble
in my going,
thou dost not fall.
(Celtic, unknown)
The dark night of the
soul is an experience of stripping away the assurance of the senses.
Disorientation, uncertainty, loss of impetus, mean that absence is more real
than presence, and the unfamiliar displaces the familiar. A spirituality
fixated on the positive, and in which dogmatic assurances silence those
important murmurs of dissent, is for all its triumphalist note, a spirituality
of denial. Not self-denial to be sure, but a more toxic form of refusal, a
denial of that mysterious withdrawing of God's sensed presence by which we grow
beyond adolescent claimfulness.
The above prayer
doesn't express the classic experience of the dark night of the soul. The last
line of it is reminiscent of Isaiah at his most pastorally poetic, and as the
theologian who best describes the rhythm of feeling forsaken by the one who
promises not to forsake. This is a prayer I now use regularly because it allows
me to be both honest and modest about my experience of God. Honest enough to
confess that sometimes God's presence is not felt; modest enough not to think
my own sense of God or lack of sense of God makes any difference to the reality
of things, that God remains actually present even in acutely felt absence.
"Though I may
stumble in my going, thou dost not fall." Since I know that, I know the
most important thing. And even if I am overcome at times with doubt,
uncertainty, and the pain of unknowing, more important than what I know, is
that I am known, and by whom I am known. And one day I will know as I am known.
And until then prayers like the one above are, in Eliot's word, valid.