Holiness and (Church) Politics

Anything involving people interacting means politics — one of the most suspect words in the English language. Latin cultures have much less suspicion, historically, of the talking, plotting and shenanigan that goes on in the public square of the polis. Yet things must be decided and done, and this means some element of power among any group of people, hopefully mainly elective. Vote for the best people. But how do you decide who they are?

You could say you vote entirely for the person not the policy, so it doesn't matter what the latter is as long as the former is holy, committed and humble. This can easily turn into the secular game of voting for the politician who shows best evidence that s/he loves puppies and hates mean things, regardless of the crazy notions they would implement if elected.

Anyway, as Erika pointed out in the comments yesterday, the two realities, person and policy, are connected, however tenuously. I agree. I couldn't, for example, vote for a fascist candidate just because of their supposed personal qualities; nor could I easily imagine a candidate with the kind of qualities I’m looking for in my representatives wanting to be a fasist in the first place.

What then are we to say? That the only people you should ever vote for are people who would be too humble, reflective and other worldly to stand in the first place — landing us up with an assembly of people who are inadequate in all of those vital departments. See the problem?

I was puzzling through all this, and wondering how to square the necessary demands of holiness and politics, when I came across these words of Richard Rohr, which I find helpful:

Remember this: there are always two worlds. The world as it operates is power; the world as it should be is love. The secret is how can you live in both for a while, which gradually allows you to loosen your grip on the first, as you see the inadequacy and weakness of power as domination.

However, you normally have to have a bit of power to let go of that very power.

Actual powerlessness is never an asset, except in the way that the Twelve-Step program speaks of it. Power apart from love leads to brutality and evil; but love that does not engage with power—and become a whole new kind of power—is mere sentimentality. It often becomes a destructive kind of powerlessness. True love is not naïve, but is a conscious and intelligent gift of the self.

Adapted from Jesus’ Plan for a New World, p. 41

Advent: Alignment, Preaching, Praxis

“This is a Jesus Society, and you repent not by feeling bad, but by thinking different.” Rudy Wiebe. Advent hope? NOT cheap comfort, massaging consciences to feel better about things to which they ought to feel more sensitized. It’s about coming fully alive, aware of the dynamics around our lives and activities. Here to support our struggle for alignment, for all of us who preach, is a wee something by way of Wes Roberts from a liturgy of the Abbotsford Community (h/t Graham Peacock)

Preaching What Your Practice

If I preached what I practiced
the church would be full,
with eager listeners to the latest means
of getting away with as easy a lifestyle as possible
and still call it Christian

If I preached what I practiced
the faith would have followers
clambering at its door, eager to sign up
to wishy-washy justice and part-time belief
if I preached what I practiced.

They would be keen for sermons about
a penny for the poor, and a pound for the pension
keen to listen to homilies that spoke
of living in the reflected glory
of someone else working for peace
They would happily believe
in a faith that changes a light bulb for the sake of creation
rather than sacrifice to shape a whole new way of living
If I preached what I practiced

If I preached what I practiced
church would be popular again
with a doctrine of excuses
and a creed of compromise
a half-way house on almost anything
and a God who is washed out
watered down
and used to support anything you want

we would never need to sign up
to a faith where we find ourselves feeding the poor
by feeding ourselves less
we would just have to proclaim it without doing anything about it
if I preached what I practiced.

we would never have to make a sacrifice for justice
for we would always find an excuse
that would allow us to buy things for the taste
paying lip-service to buying things for justice

or we would never have to go green
we could get away with lime
for we could live according to our personal means and desires
speaking passionately for the planet
living passionately for ourselves
without a thought for the legacy and footprint it leaves
if I preached what I practiced

So hear my confession
that my living is not as full of God
as the words that I utter
May it be that the words
take form
and leave footprints
of someone who finally
practices what they preach

It all puts me in mind of some words of Abu Bekr, father in law of the Prophet, and first caliph of Islam:

“I thank you Lord, for knowing me better than I know myself, and for letting me know myself better than others know me. Make me, I pray, better than they suppose, and forgive me for what they do not know.”

The Learning from Lambeth

OK — now I'm back at work, what is clearer to me as a result of Lambeth?

1. The sheer scale of our communion in global terms. It was immensely moving to meet colleagues from around the world — Zimbabwe, Myanmar, Darfur — and learn directly about the human and gospel dimensions of their lives. Most moving was the experience of being in a huge congregation saying the Lords prayer together in over a hundred languages. Quoting a Tanzanian brother, God’s Word speaks to each of us in our own language as the people we are, where we are. I was often reminded of Max Warren’s saying “It takes a whole world to know Christ.”
   So? Get to know and prioritize time for the world Church
2. The experience of African led Bible studies in community was fantastic. Some of the more academic English felt it wasn’t quite their cup of tea. It was mine. I am ashamed at the comaratively modest amount of time I have spent down the years in teams and groups studying the scriptures personally together. Business always seemed more important. If only I had seen that corporate study of the scriptures was our business, I might have prioritised things rather differently!
   So? Direct, personal, corporate Bible study could be given a greater place in the engine room of our decision making processes.
3. Indaba is a considerable discipline that takes a while to master, but it’s worth it. We are so inculturated into parliamentary methods and tactics, with winners and losers, as the way to make decisions. Indaba is slower, and requires a higher order of listening skills. Imagine, say, the last General Synod, without all the locker room intrigue, hysterics and theatricals. I am still haunted by a Japanese colleague, who had needed continuous translation, thanking the group in broken English for “the beauty of being listened to.” It brings no glory to God that the same would be very improbable feedback from many of our church meetings.
   So? Be more aware about the negative effects of parliamentary processes on people, and work for more patient, open, mutual, emotionally inteligent ways of deciding things together.
4. Rowan’s big Lambeth strategy seemed to be about committing to personal and corporate holiness, and alowing our plans to grow out of that. I have no grand overarching command and control strategy for Bucks. Here’s my strategy: Grace through Faith — strive to become the kind of people God needs us to be, and he will show us, on the ground, what needs doing and, more importantly, how to do it. As we step out, with authenticity, in faith we grow; as we shrink back, our visions get bogged down in fear and trivial pursuits. Therefore, as well as looking outward, centering our team processes in Scripture and being rigorously self-critical of our methods, we will be richly rewarded by God as we prioritise faith over fear, realism over fantasy, personal and spiritual excellence over mediocrity.
   So? We need more Faith, more realism, more holiness!

John Dale: Gentle Anchorman

Sad, but immensely privileged, to be in Winslow on Friday to help with the funeral of John Dale (1945-2008), Licensed Lay Minster. It’s a thriving parish, and a great pleasure to minister with Belnda Searle-Barnes, Vicar, even on a very sad day for everyone. Hundreds and hundreds of people came — indeed the roads were thick with people twenty minutes before. The weather was amazing — Dark clouds and thick hail in Winslow, then beautiful spring sunshine for the burial in Addington Churchyard.

John was a remarkable man, combining the roles of reader, sacristan, and general factotum in all things pastoral and practical. I’m almost always a virtual newcomer in any Church I visit. Visitors easily sense the quality of welcome and connectedness, spiritually and personally, in a congregation. John was the anchorman for both of these at Winslow; the special person who somehow catalysed the best in everybody else, as well as keeping things running smoothly in the background.

Everything in St Laurence vestry was immaculately kept but not in a fussy way. He was immensely loyal and gentle, improvising and easing things into order, so that services could just begin as though everything had been waiting to go for hours. But that wasn’t the best of John’s ministry. At the end of the service he’d stand in a Jeeves-like way by me in the porch whispering occasional comments — “that's Mr Smith; his daughter’s baby’s been ill and he’d never ask, but he’d love a word of prayer,’’ “Have you met Mrs Jones; her ruby wedding’s coming up, and you could bless her new eternity ring,” and so on and so forth. You get the idea. It was like pastoral satnav for Vicars. To this very inexperienced Bishop, John’s ministry was striking and just wonderful. Every Church needs someone like that, and more churches than you’d think do have somebody a bit like that. John raised this gift to an art form, in his own gentle, unassuming way.

Professionally speaking, John never did anything but a very ordinary clerking job. His peculiarly Church of England, lay, holiness was not about doing extraordinary things but noticing people, and doing ordinary things extraordinarily well. There was pain and sadness in John’s life, but he never let it cloud his clear awareness of the beauty and spiritual possiblities in everybody. John was a gentle, implicit, son of peace. Much love and support was there on Friday for Jean and Luke, his son.
Let God’s peace rest on John as he rests, until with him, we rise in glory!