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Whimsical Haiku
"Been here for ages,
being inconspicuous –
please – just go away!"

Around 35 years ago I discovered Frederick Buechner as a novelist, pastor, and writer. Buechner was most at home in imaginative story-telling that was both down to earth and unembarrassed about the traffic of prayer and thought that goes between earth and heaven. It was in the front room of our manse in Aberdeen, the monthly meeting of ecumenical clergy, about eight of us. For a decade, over each year we met to plan inter church occasions of fellowship, mission and worship. That group was the most effective, enjoyable and able gathering of clergy I have ever had the joy of being with over a good few years. We were friends, we differed respectfully, we co-operated at every opportunity, we supported each other in our varied forms of ministry. Every month we spent a whole morning doing this, and the first hour we discussed the chapter of the book we were reading together. Books we read included John Zeisler's Commentary on Romans, one of the first to weave the implications of the (then) new perspective on Paul; The Persistence of Faith, by Jonathan Sacks, at the time recently appointed as Chief Rabbi; the biography of George MacLeod by Ron Fergusson; and we read Frederick Buechner.

The book we chose was Telling Secrets, the third volume of his memoirs, 106 pages of wise candour about what goes on in the heart of a son, a father, a husband, a pastor, a novelist – all of them one person trying to integrate each with the other in a life of faith in which the love of God was both gift and demand. That book occasionally brought tears to our eyes, tears of recognition of our own hopes and bereavements, failures and achievements, our prayers, promises and the realities that often collided with them. Buechner is that good, or at least so honest he exposes his readers' easy dishonesties, and speaks compassion into souls trained in unsparing self-criticism.

Over the years I have read Buechner, in that way commended in Thomas Cranmer's lovely collect – "read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest." Buechner I have found to be that best kind of friend to have as a voice in a book; nourishing, honest about his own inadequacies and confident in the adequacy of the grace of God. His essays are long conversations of insight and wisdom into what makes human experience both fascinating and ordinary. His sermons are beautifully written, not as literary, but as human documents, in which the exegesis of the text invariably becomes the exegesis of the human heart and the exposition of the grace, mercy and love of God. His theological musings, gathered in several books combine witty aphorisms and sharply observed truth as applied to the struggles of ordinary folk trying to make their lives work.

Few writers have rescued me as often as Buechner. I don't mean that in any exaggerated sense of major crises. I mean rescued me from the cynicism that can grow like algae on the surface of a pastor's heart' I mean rescued me from complacency about the miracle of life itself as one-off gift and as lifelong responsibility; I mean rescued from ever thinking that God's call, my vocation, was ever up to me or dependent on my skill, education, even perseverance. No, Buechner gave us what for me remains the finest anatomy of vocation:

"The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet."

Deep. It's one of Buechner's favourite words. Depth not superficiality; the truth beneath the surface of things; finding our treasure buried under habits of self-deception; working hard as a miner in search of the ore out of which is smelted the precious metal of a life worth living because a life worth giving. Diving deep into who we are in order to become who we are meant to be, and doing so in the faith and trust and hope that is nurtured from the depths of divine love. Not for nothing did Buechner study with people such as Paul Tillich, Reinhold Niebuhr and James Muilenburg. These were theologians familiar with the depths; and from them Buechner learned to dive, to dig, and to search for the truth of the human heart in its hunger for God, and meaning, and purpose, and the joy of integrating all three of these into a life well lived.

A paragraph from his remarkable essay, 'Adolescence and the Stewardship of Pain' will show you what I mean about the candour, compassion and self-deprecating wisdom of Buechner:

"I have no qualifications for speaking about adolescence with anything like authority except in one respect. I am sixty four years old. I have fathered children. I have written books. I have letters after my name and an ecclesiastical title before it. But to call me an adult or grown up is an oversimplification at best and a downright misnomer at worst. I am not a past participle but a present participle, even a dangling participle. I am not a having-grown up one but a growing-up on, a groping up one, not even sure much of the time just where my  growing and groping are taking me or where they are supposed to be taking me. I am a verbal adjective in search of a noun to latch onto, a grower ins earch of  a self to grow into…I speak about adolescence with authority because in many ways I am still in the throes of it. This is my only qualification for addressing myself to the subject here. I am a hybrid, an adult adolescent to whom neither term alone does full justice…" (The Clown in the Belfry, 84-5)

I read that and recognise a voice I can trust not to overload my conscience with all those positivity memes that tell me I can be anything I want to be. What I can be is someone on the way, a pilgrim on a sacred journey towards who and what it is God called me to be and made me for. And lurking in the background of so much that Buechner writes those aspirational words of Paul:

"Till we all come in the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ."

One of the up and coming New Testament scholars in the United States was asked in a Facebook profile to name the most influential mentor or teacher he encountered. The name he gave was Luke Timothy Johnson, one of the more prolific scholars on early Christianity. One of the most important lessons learned from Johnson is that he is a man of wide reading and consciously nurtured engagement with other areas of literature beyond his professional interests. His student mentioned especially his immersion in poetry and novels.

That resonates with me at the moment. The humanities in general are undervalued by almost all the leading criteria in Higher Education. History, languages, literature, art, music, are all very well but what contribution would graduates in these subjects make to overall employability, or how would they advance our technological prowess, how do they compare with science and engineering and business management in making our country better prepared to compete in the global marketplace? These are not irrelevant questions, and employability, advances in science and technology, and being competitive in the global market are important criteria when deciding how to allocate public funding to Universities.

But life is about more than work; and human wisdom and knowledge reaches beyond science, technology and business; and competing globally in the marketplace will not of itself make for the good life, the common good, or the furtherance and deepening of human culture, communication and symbiotic exchanges of ideas and life perspectives. For that we need fertilised imagination, creative expression, intellectual agility, verbal facility and in all of this a deepening of human curiosity about what all this other activity and productivity is for.

The humanities are at least one bulwark against the bulldozer of utilitarian ruthlessness that measures every idea and artefact by its material benefit, its economic return, and by how far it increases our sense of security through possession. To go back to where I started. A New Testament professor revels in poetry and in varieties of fiction, and in books exposing the world's brokenness and exploring the world's goodness.

That suggests a mind that maintains high levels of active curiosity about the world, human behaviour, and that inner world of the personal with which we are all more or less familiar. In other words attending to the humanities helps to replenish the storehouses of imagination, empathy, wisdom and yes, humility. And each of these sustains our own humanity, and makes for personal flourishing. 

Human beings are not machines; human life does not flourish through restrictive systems however efficient; our everyday human experience cannot merely be managed, by ourselves or by governments, as if we ever could control all contingencies and outcomes. A human life well lived is one which enriches humanity, our own and others. That takes more than level of income, possessions, work status, and ability to feed the machinery of an economy. The cultural loam out of which the rich fruits of humanity emerge is made up of diverse essential ingredients. Yes science, technology, engineering, business and trade, management and strategic development of earth's resources.

But there is also the work of developing who we are, and who we are is collectively humanity, and individually human beings. And one way or another we have to get on with each other on this planet! So. What develops our humanity? What indeed defines a human life well lived? Are we primarily economic productivity units, fitted to purpose in the economic machine? Are we primarily competing societies committed to maximising possession of wealth, goods and power? Are we intelligent creatures to be trained towards employability, or persons to be educated? And in what specific sense are these two last options different?

Because lurking behind the demise of the humanities and their falling capital in University curricula, is a now contested view of what it means to educate a person. Yes, as we grow and develop our potential it will be essential to prepare for employment; but is education as an end in itself still a thing? As education becomes more specialised in school, college and university and on into employment, at what point does education morph into training, skill set development, and life goal aspiration focused on the material outcomes to be expected from that knowledge, skill set and training?

The place of the humanities in our earliest and middle years of education remains an essential of growing up. But what about schools now cutting out music tuition, art classes, and the slow erosion of even English as an essential prerequisite, not only for the job market, but as a key that unlocks so much else that nourishes us towards full humanity. It is the humanities that give us our best clues to self-understanding. It is story and poem, song and painting, that guide us into some of our deepest emotions, and through some of our most profound and life-changing experiences. 

What am I trying to say, and why do I feel the need to say this? Once again in Scotland we are hearing of Education authorities cutting back on creative arts – that deprives our children and young adults of so much potential enrichment of life now and later. Then there is the absence in recent social and political debate, of a shared agreement on the importance of history and historical perspective; added to this a felt and at times frightening absence of agreed values as to what kind of society and culture we want. The most penetrating critiques of what is going wrong in human culture are often found in the writings of the poets, the novelists, the screenplay writers, the musicians, that is, those whose workplace is the human soul, the human mind, the human conscience, and whose remit is to expose untruth and compel reflection.

 Two years ago my Bible was the worse for wear so I replaced it with an as new still in its box identical one, which unexpectedly turned up in the Oxfam shop.
So I started using the new one.

Last week I inadvertently left said replacement Bible in Montrose (40 miles from my desk!).

So I looked out the old one, which actually still works!

Then, just in case I was mistaken and my Bible wasn't in Montrose, I took the old one for the service today.
Result, Preacher had two Bibles – a twin engine preacher?

And despite using the new one for nearly two years, and despite them being identical, I found myself more familiar with the old one, which I've had since 1993, a gift from my friend Bob Maccini, and which has a reserved space on my desk.

Like wear and tear, and scratches and repairs on an old musical instrument, the glue, and stitches and Duct tape that holds it together are now part of the fabric and character of this particular retired, now semi-retired Bible.

No, you didn't need to know all that, but maybe I needed to write it!

    Whimsical Haiku

1
Who needs two Bibles
if the content is the same,
old yet ever new?

2
From this old Bible
has come food for the journey,
and light on the road.