The first is an article by Richard B Hays which is an adaptation of a lengthier book section. It is a pretty comprehensive statement of the conservative position on homosexuality. I recall reading the full book section in 2nd year New Testament studies and found it to be useful then. That was not long before General Assembly discussed the issue of human sexuality. The Mission and Discipleship report (.doc file) and the congregation discussion resource document (1.5M pdf file, via OneKirk) they produced drew heavily on this work for the conservative perspective. It was also at the heart of a ‘refutation‘ at the time by Paul Middleton, but that work never fully engaged with Hays and so I was left feeling that it was a somewhat selective and not entirely convincing counter-argument.

The second referenced article is by Kim Fabricius (on Ben Myers blog) is a useful ‘in a nutshell’ view from the other side of the debate. The comments are extensive and worth a skim through. It is not a point-by-point argument and assumes a degree of ‘honest’ scholarship which recognises the ambiguity in many of the scriptural references to homosexual activity. If that’s not your ‘place’ then I would recommend doing some wider reading before decrying what Kim says. An ‘honest’ approach will/should leave Romans 1 as one of the few ‘unambiguous’ texts which need to be dealt with. Thereafter you may engage with his propositions and reach your own conclusion.

Finally, the third article referenced is not a theology one, but rather a media comment on a recent sex scandal in Australia. It makes some very valid moral/ethical observations which, I think, are quite pertinent to the whole discussion.

As I read it I was reminded of an observation from Barth which I think I’ve previously mentioned – that the church has always been a minority. The implication is that it always will be, and that that’s no bad thing. In the light of Pagitt’s comments it even makes sense (to me anyway). It opens up the whole question of the purpose of the church. In a sense it only ever needs to be a minority if it sees its purpose as finding where God is at work and joining in. ‘Church’ then becomes the place where church members are spiritually renewed and sustained and sent out to mission again. Their mission purpose is to make disciples of all nations. But does that need to mean growing a church congregation? OK, so it raises issues of ‘Christian imperialism’ when we count those who are working for ‘the good’ to be disciples, but then the issue is about the kingdom, and not the church. It also ‘meets the requirement’ for the church to be ‘in the world, but not of it’. And it has a somewhat liberal, vaguely universalist, soteriology. But that’s just theology and a few proof texts will soon take care of that.

But it also throws into question the whole issue of the EC movement. Is it actually necessary to establish churches to do mission work? The answer must be, “no,” but what then is EC for? It seems to me that EC is, in a sense, a by-product of missional work. Or, at least, it can be. It can also be a project in and of itself. Context is the key, I suppose.

It also raises some interesting questions for the Church of Scotland, particularly at this cash-strapped time and as it considers its ability to meet its Third Article and be a presence in every part of Scotland. Maybe by trying to be ‘church’ everywhere it will never succeed; but as the missional bringer of the kingdom, that may be a different story. A lot of joined-up thinking required I think.

The first one is to to with healing. In Mark 7:31-37 we read of Jesus healing the deaf man. It’s a story that many, I guess, will be familiar with and look at it on the surface level. In it we see Jesus performing a miracle and so we glorify God and praise Him for His ability to heal, even from serious afflictions. But in so saying, I have fallen into the trap that the reflection for that day wanted to highlight. We see deafness as an ‘affliction’ and something that needs to be ‘healed’.

The reflection raised the issue that many deaf people cannot identify with the man in this story. They simply do not see themselves as ‘ill’ or ‘afflicted’. Their deafness is as much about who they are as how they look, how they think and so on. It is an integral part of their self-identity. Is a deaf person simply someone who needs to be healed? Is deafness seen as an imperfection, a blot on their humanity? When we see only the ‘sickness’ (as perceived from a so-called ‘normal’ perspective) we don’t see the person and that does indeed devalue them.

But what of this healing story from Mark? The reading notes offered a number of ways to interpret the story. Perhaps, in this instance, restoration of hearing was the man’s greatest need. Another interpretation might be that the ‘healing’ was not not strictly a restoration of hearing, but of the self-esteem and confidence needed to be part of a society which did look askance at such a thing. After all the man went away ‘speaking clearly’ – something he was previously unable to do. Regardless of how you interpret the story, what is plain is that we need to be aware of the preconceptions we bring and that our ‘desirable outcome’ isn’t necessarily what others would want or see as important.

The reflection also raises a bigger issue (at least I think it is a bigger issue) – that of self-identity. This starts to impinge on my hobby-horse. I am sometimes asked what the difference is between realised and inaugurated eschatology and this blog entry, for me, highlights one of the crucial distinctions.

Realised eschatology would take the view that a deaf person is God’s creation and so their deafness is very much part of who they are. The expression of the kingdom now (realised) would be a full acceptance of that state and for a work to be done to ensure inclusiveness and  acceptance of all people, as they are, breaking down the cultural ‘norms’ that act as barriers to participation. ‘Full acceptance of that state’ does not mean that we accept how people are treated, nor does it imply that we do not continue to find ways and means to enable greater participation.

However, there is, I think, a danger in such a position. It risks too great a focus on identity being wrapped up in who we are. Our identity becomes self-created and risks becoming self-obsessed. “You must accept me as I am, and if you don’t you have devalued God’s creation.” It overlooks the scriptural assertion that we are made in God’s image and that our identity is not found in our own self but in Jesus Christ. And this is not an issue of physical or mental attributes. Our identity in Christ is the valued (but imperfect in so many ways) creation we are now; loved by God to the extent that His Son died on a cross so that all of humanity might be reconciled to Him. And our identity is as those who are also called to share in the new creation, both now in the life of the Spirit, but also in the hopeful future, in resurrected life as it was affirmed through the resurrection of Christ and promised to all who believe.

A word here about the opposite of realised eschatology – that of futurist eschatology. Such a perspective sees this world as imperfect but also transitory. Suffering is something to be tolerated because of the greater ‘reward’ still to come. At its worst, it is a view that is complicit with oppression and injustice. At its best it becomes nothing more than a ‘good moral life’ with little Christian distinctiveness. It is dualist and Gnostic, encouraging a view of the ‘badness’ of the physical and the ‘goodness’ of the spiritual.

Inaugurated eschatology seeks to hold that tension of ‘now and not yet’. It acknowledges that we have the kingdom ‘now’, albeit not in its full glory. It acknowledges that in so claiming, we cannot be complicit in systems and structures which deny participation or devalue creation. It questions injustice and encourages ethical living. But it also acknowledges that there is a future hope, when creation will be restored and healed in fullness; where participation and acceptance are no longer issues that need to be ‘worked on’. It is a theological perspective that I believe the majority of Christians already hold; they just don’t put the label on it. But it’s why I think it’s an important theological area. It can be too easy to slip into either of the other positions.

And back to our original thought. The issue of ‘disability’ challenges our theological position and it particularly challenges our perceptions of identity. If we see a disabled person as ‘sick’ or a ‘victim’ we risk not seeing the person and valuing the person. If we fully accept who they are and ‘what’ they are, we also risk losing sight of the Christian distinctiveness that looks beyond what we all are now to the future fulfilment of our true identity. A more balanced view, seeing us all in our true identity in Christ, would also avoid much of the ‘us’ and ‘them’ language of this last paragraph and perhaps have avoided the need to blog on it at all.

It’s not a ‘big read’. It only took me a couple of days to get through it. It’s written in a light, very conversational tone so it skips along at an easy pace and engages you in the unfolding story. That story is Miller’s faith journey as he questions many of the religious baggage he carries as well as much of his behaviour and attitude towards himself and others. For that reason it’s very much about ‘experience’ and it has been heavily criticised for just that. In a sense it is very self-absorbed with faith growth being about growing as an individual and reconciling many of the big questions about relationships and life through a very personal lens. In essence, it starts with ‘self’ and aims God-ward.

Now this is often taken as a bit of an anathema by many who would suggest that we must always start with God and derive our meaning from that point. No argument there except that that simply isn’t the thought-world we live in these days. And interestingly (for me anyway), this was one of the themes that came out of my Masters research discussion the other day. It’s all very well having a go at someone’s ‘upside-down’ theological starting point, but if the language we use as theologians simply makes no sense to our current cultural context, we might as well be speaking Martian.

Blue Like Jazz is about ‘experiencing’ Christianity. Miller refuses to accept the label ‘Christian’ for himself, preferring instead to speak about Christian spirituality – he is a spiritual person who derives spiritual meaning from a Christian framework. I think his observations are and his experiences are exceedingly challenging and encouraging. It is a powerful testimony. I believe it could have been made even more powerful by more direct reference to scripture or theology, but that wasn’t the purpose of the book. It’s a book you could easily give to a ‘seeker’ (another contemporary term) and not feel you are Bible-bashing, but are still challenging their self-centredness and worldly outlook.

But I can’t help but feel that it still leaves a bit of a gulf between ‘true’ Christianity and some sense of a watered-down, post-modern, feel-good gospel. I wonder if Christian spirituality becomes another ‘commodity’ in the pick-n-mix religion supermarket and that if it’s all about being selfless and relationship friendly, then why not whichever framework works best for you? Why does it have to be a Christian one?

I know the book isn’t intended to be a theological tome that will encourage the pomo-generation to flock into churches, but I wonder if it short-changes those it does draw closer to Jesus. By ducking the “but why?” questions and giving an answer that is not really much better than “just because and anyway, it works for me”, it leaves open the possibility of creating either Christianity-lite or a lot of disappointed people when they discover they don’t have the underpinnings that support the times when the ‘big questions’ really matter (like when, as a friend might say, they are standing in the pits of hell asking, “how did I end up here?”).

As I say, the book isn’t meant to take people to that place (solidity, not hell), but rather expose them to a testimony that might get them engaging in the discussion about what Christianity (or Christian spirituality) is all about. And that’s not a bad starting point. Indeed it’s a place where many ‘hit them over the head with the Bible’ churches simply can’t even get people to in the first place. But the big question for me is how you then engage them in meaningful discussion that is theologically sound, God-centred and unashamedly Christian? And how to draw them beyond even selflessness into a concern and compassion for the world we live in?

Now these might seem somewhat disparate subjects but they are in fact closely related in many ways. Let’s take the first issue of the Church of Scotland as a national church. The 3rd Article Declaratory (part of the church’s ‘constitution’) states that the the Church of Scotland is “a national church representative of the Christian Faith of the Scottish people”. Now, there are many, many problems with this statement. The first is that there is an assumption that Scotland is a Christian country. The nest is that the CofS should presume to represent that. But I think that a bigger issue is that it its emphasis is all wrong.  If we (the CofS) take that responsibility seriously then the implication is that we are to be driven by how the faith of the Scottish people is made manifest. And therein lies the heart of the problem. Scotland is not a Christian country. In fact it’s debateable whether it ever was. And what Christianity can be found is often a bizarre mix of superstition and eclectic practices borrowed from different denominationas, old-wives’ tales and pop-culture. Funerals are a case in point. Joe Public wants their beloved relative given a proper send-off, but all too often they don’t want too much of that ‘God-stuff’ because Beloved Relative wasn’t too keen on the church. But we dress up the justification for performing the funeral in theological language. It’s a opportunity to evangelise, or show God’s love, or express a sense of hope which may be badly needed at that time. Now I know that we cannot determine how anyone will react or respond to what is said or done at a funeral (or indeed any other setting for ‘religious ordinances’) but is this just a way of painting another rose-tinted layer onto the glasses we look at society with?

So we compromise, letting schmaltzy poems be read at funerals, allowing ‘sponsors’ to bring a child for baptism and so on. And in our willingness to be accommodating we also look to embrace popular culture. Church has to ‘change’ to make itself more attractive, more appealing to an audience who can’t/won’t engage with straight Biblical teaching. We’ve got to ‘explore spirituality’ where multi-sensory worship ceases to be a way of worshipping God through our different senses but is about making us feel ‘touched’ through our own sensory experiences. The focus has shifted from God to us.

And we cry that we are in a postmodern world that we need to engage with in the same terms. Moral relativism, the value of ‘experience’, the search for ‘icons’ (defined as ways of helping us focus on God). The problem is, rather than engage with this cultural context, we have embraced it. The Bible no longer has authority, after all, truth is relative. Worship is only worthwhile when we get something out of it. And God is to be found in many things, nature, creativity, relationships and Jesus is sidelined or, at best, simply a good example.

Of course there is then the backlash to this. Fundamentalism rears its head and from the pulpit there are condemnations of culture and calls to return to the truth only found in scripture – “the full and final revelation of God” apparently!

Christianity is, and always should be, counter-cultural, and that also means the culture that exists within the church. It must engage and question what happens in society and in the structures of governance and religion. It must be the example of the ‘other’ in its social context. The other, of course, being the kingdom of God being made manifest in the here and now and all the while pointing to its greater promise of what is yet to come.

Stewart also wrote recently about ‘exclusivity’ and how it’s not always a bad thing. And that leads me towards a conclusion, of sorts. The CofS wants to be a national church and attempts to do that by inclusivity and responsibility, but I’m not sure this is the best approach. On the class blog for the tutorial about territorial ministry, I made a suggestion. A simple change to one word in that part of the 3rd Article would make a world of difference:

“a national church representative of the Christian Faith to the Scottish people”

The whole focus changes. We continue to be a national church in the sense that we commit to a national presence. But, first and foremost, our duty is to represent Christ, not the people. There is still freedom to engage creatively. But there is still the duty to be faithful to scripture. We can still supply ‘religious ordinances’ but they are no longer to be driven by people’s expectations.

After all, the church is not meant to be all things to all people, but is meant to be Christ to all people, in all contexts.

In one respect such discussions are interesting because it gives you an opportunity explore the ‘real’ story a bit more. But I wonder if puncturing the ‘mythology’ that has grown up around the Christmas story is altogether valuable. When we assume three wise men or conflate the timing of wise men and shepherds or have Mary travelling on a non-existent donkey, does it really undermine any fundamental doctrines or Christian ‘truths’? By allowing ‘stories’ to grow around these events do we not, rather, encourage a greater sense of involvement and ownership in those who hear and retell these stories? So long, of course, as the underlying gospel is faithfully represented.

On the other hand, by exploring and exposing some of the accepted wisdom in the traditional interpretations, there is opportunity to reveal further colour in the stories. On Sunday past, at my placement church, there was the third in a short series of advent reflections – myrrh, the other two being gold and frankincense (the 4th Sunday being given over to the junior church nativity service). The ‘traditional’ teaching on the gift of myrrh is that it is looking ahead to Jesus’ death as it is often used as an embalming ointment. However, Stuart began his sermon with an ‘all you never knew about myrrh’ presentation. I must confess to wondering where it was going and he duly went – myrrh has just has many uses, in fact more, for the living as for the dead and so myrrh could just as easily be a reminder of some of the many facets of Jesus. Myrrh has healing properties, it soothes, it takes away the stench of decay. When we explore the ‘story’ and even allow other stories to come into play, we unwrap a few more layers and thereby show the depth of meaning behind the simple ‘facts’.

There’s another thing that stories do. Facts explain things. Facts tell us where limits are. They provide ‘data’. Stories bring colour and depth and vibrancy. They bring out meaning and yet can also shroud in mystery. How can mere facts reveal the mystery of a virgin birth, God incarnate as a baby or the sense of wonder experienced by those who came to worship?

I think I’d rather see the mystery than the trivia, interesting though it may be.

I’m very glad I did. I found it to be quite a compelling read. Just to be clear – it’s a novel and it’s ‘fiction’. By that I mean that the story is made up. Like many novels it’s a composite of the author’s experience, circle of friends, family and so on. In that respect, the outline story isn’t even all that great. It’s contrived and compressed and wouldn’t generally merit a second glance in a discount book shop. It’s also a bit ‘American’. But, if you ignore that aspect of it and treat it simply as a vehicle for the ‘main story’ then you’ll find a very thought-provoking piece of writing.

On one level it’s an apologetic, on another it’s very evangelistic but I enjoyed it for its theology. It can be read ‘lightly’ and without any real engagement but then it would be a pretty poor novel. But it deserves to be read ‘engagingly’. It does a great job, in my opinion, of trying to find words to describe the Trinity and the consequences of its presentation of the Trinity (I don’t want to give away too much – it is genuinely worth reading). It stirs up issues of ecclesiology and what it means to be ‘church’. It challenges Christian behaviour and our response to others. It tackles the big questions of evil and why do bad things happen. It touches on eschatology and heaven and rebirth. Above all it’s a story about redemption and what it really means.

In many respects it resonates with my own developing theology. It comes up against the usual language barriers when a word or phrase is used that you twitch a little at. But the the book’s trying to speak of God and language is never sufficient to do that. So in that respect, the book isn’t ‘perfect’. But then I’ve yet to come across a theology book that is. It would be a great book to run a discussion group on. I suspect it would challenge many of the popular conceptions of God and the Christian life.

I do see why it created such a stir when it appeared. Conservative evangelicals especially were up in arms (here’s a little spoiler – God the Father is mostly portrayed as a comfortably built Afro-American woman – but there’s a very good reason for that). It definitely challenges much ‘cosy’ Christianity. It certainly challenges Sunday Christians. It gives Bibliolatry a real savaging. What it does emphasise though, over and over again, is that being a Christian is about being in a relationship with God. Where the book may well challenge you is what the nature of that relationship is.

Historical criticism, as a general school of thought, seeks to reconstruct ‘the original meaning’, through history, archaeology, textual analysis (grammar, form, etc), author intent, redaction criticism and so on. In a sense this is no different from any other historically oriented discipline. Any historian, archaeologist, sociologist, anthropologist and so on, wants to get back to the original, unsullied, state. I don’t deny that there is value to be found in these approaches but they have, in my opinion, a major flaw – they assume, in many cases, a single ‘truth’ can be discovered. The sheer number of opinions on any given topic gives the lie to that optimistic outlook.

More recent literary approaches are very appealing (and I tend in that direction I must admit) with their focus on ‘the text’ as we have it and reader-response to it. In many respects they are a great leveller. They allow anyone to approach scripture without the need for any scholarly mediator. But they do open the door to an interpretational free-for-all. After all, I would suggest that there has never been a time when scripture has not been interpreted through the light of scholarly learning. Does that mean it should always be the case? I’m not sure. To maintain that position denies the work of the Spirit in interpretation and inspiration when we read the Bible.

Anyway, the discussion brought up the issue that texts, very often, use other texts for their own purposes. The lecturer (Larry Hurtado) gave an example of re-use which, I think, considerably undermines classic historical criticism. It wasn’t a textual example, but the principle still stands, I would suggest. Larry has, in his office, a paperweight. It’s a polished up railway spike and he originally took it because he liked it. Now, imagine some time in the future and a historian or archaeologist is rummaging through Larry’s office and they discover the railway spike. Historical critical methods want to get back to the original meaning so the railway spike is treated as a railway spike. But what’s the connection with a Biblical studies lecturer? Was he a collector of railway memorabilia? Was it a reminder of an earlier ambition to be a train driver? Nonetheless, its ‘meaning’ is still associated with beig a railway spike. You can imagine all sorts of contortions to create a link between the original function and the discovered setting. Ah, but then there is the setting. It was discovered lying in fragments of manuscripts, on the remains of a desk, in an office, so it’s ‘obvious’ that it had assumed a new function. It has been polished at some time (assuming you can determine that) and so it’s reasonable to assume it was decorative. A new use as a paperweight seems an obvious conclusion. So we have a whole new set of possibilities about the ‘meaning’ of the object. It’s merely a ‘tool’; it was just a handy lump of metal to weigh down papers; it represents a period in history where railway memorabilia was fashioned into office equipment. But what was the purpose in all of this? What was the author’s (sorry, Larry’s) intent in all of this? And what is the meaning for us today?

None of this gets close to the original ‘intent’ – he just liked it. It could just has easily have ended up as a decorative piece on a mantelpiece as a paperweight in an office. In a sense, putting it to re-use has confused the issue. The historical-critical method scholar would suggest that the answer lies in its original function. The more contemporary approach would look at the paperweight. Neither would get close to the ‘original meaning’ – it was aesthetically appealing to the person who owned it.

I would still suggest that the contemporary approach is perhaps closer to the ‘truth’ but there are, I’m sure, many examples where this is not the case. And, undoubtedly, the historical data can give us ‘colour’ when we come to consider the meaning.

But these thoughts also highlight a major issue with Biblical scholarship – it becomes/has become an academic exercise to meet its own ends rather than meeting the needs of the faith community it serves (or perhaps doesn’t serve any more). Biblical interpretation has to be more than the merely academic and this is why I lean towards the ‘reader-response’ approach. It has to be relevant to ‘me’ or the faith community I am in. It has to have contemporary use otherwise it does not represent the teachings of a living faith. The danger is that when we cannot find meaning then we discard it. When we do that, we discard and deny a critical aspect of our faith – the presence of the Spirit as guide and interpreter.

Web2.0 evangelists would have you believe that by making things, like the web, more interactive and with the ability to contribute then that is ‘a good thing’. Now, in a sense I don’t disagree. The ability to share information and knowledge is, I believe, a very good thing indeed. One of my own personal hobby-horses is theological education (it’s lacking and, what’s more, it’s getting drowned in a sea of voices usurping the language). The ability to educate, through technology has to be a good thing. But the big problem I see is that, whilst we are uneducated we are non-discriminatory. Everything becomes ‘valid’, information overload is a reality and rather than being turned on to education, many are turned off. “Just tell me what to think” becomes their mantra. In a Christian context this means not questioning economic policy, tolerating injustice or marginalising those who can’t cope.

The problem with technology is that it does those very things – it marginalises those who cannot understand or use it; it has an insatiable ‘upgrade’ appetite; it favours those who ‘have’. All of which are, or at least should be, anathema to the Christian community. But that doesn’t mean that technology is, in and of itself, ‘bad’; just that it needs to become more egalitarian and imaginative.

I believe that one of the fundamental works of the Christian church is to build ‘community’. Scripture’s repeated reporting of ‘God’s people’ isn’t an example of exclusivity, but an encouragement to be inclusive as we are, surely, all God’s children? Community means so much and it’s such a huge, all-encompassing term that I wouldn’t even attempt to define it here. In the discussion on Stewart’s blog, he suggest that the members of Second Life do have a sense of community. I’m sure they do, but the question is, is it a model of Christian community? I don’t think it is. It relies on pretending to be something/one else for a start. God accepts us as we are. Where is the irl (in real life) fellowship? Meeting virtually seriously undermines your opportunities to really get to know someone. How do you build a relationship of trust with someone you have never met? (And yes, I do note the implications of that statement with regards to a Christian’s faith in God, but that’s what the Trinity is all about). So, useful, yes. But certainly never a substitute for ‘real’ relationships. (Not that Stewart is suggesting technology should be, I hasten to add.)

But back to the earlier point of information v. knowledge. I was sitting in a waiting room the other day and the radio was on. It was the hourly news bulletin and a lady nearby was showing no particular interest until an report came on about a ‘celeb’ having been recently diagnosed with cancer. At this she cocked an ear, looked shocked and then somewhat sad. World events were of no consequence, but a ‘celeb’ with an illness was earth-shattering. But why was this even news? If you walk down the high street in any town you’ll pass a significant number of people with a terminal illness. None of them make the news. At best, such ‘news’ is information. But because it is presented as ‘news’ then we are trained to think of it as such. We become non-discriminatory and treat all information as of equal value. Then, inevitably, we ignore it because it eventually has no value.

Where’s this going? Stewart also mentioned that ‘tags’ are set to become a major aspect of how we deal with information. They certainly have the potential to be, but are just as readily open to abuse. Tags then become useless and we then rely on technologies to scrape information from web pages. Not so long ago Google got slammed for doing just that and searches for news ended up returning millions of blog pages and feed aggregators talking about the news and not the news itself. Where technology really needs to develop is in the processing of information. Or we have to become more intelligent and discriminatory in our finding and using information. And that brings us back to the point of needing to think for ourselves and to learn through interaction and so we’re back at community again.

As I said on Stewart’s blog, I don’t think technology is wrong, but I think we need to be a lot more imaginative in its use. In this respect I would entirely agree with his comment that it is through the creative misuse of it that will drive future development.

To address Stewart’s question, maybe what the church needs to do with technology isn’t so much jump on existing social media bandwagons but be a lot more creative in its thinking and drive new uses (misuses) of technology. But then that would require the church to be inventive and creative and radical and I think it would need to discover those things first (which it is doing in places). I think it has forgotten, in many respects, just how radical the Gospel is and should be.

Just to end on an ironic note. Earlier this week I was participating in a follow-up survey about e-learning being done by Dr Constantinos Athanasopoulos. He was most enthusiastic when he learned I use a blog for journalling (so if you’re dropping in from there, hello!). So I’m not a luddite really. I would just like to see technology used for the benefit of others rather than the promotion of some.