Thursday 16 June 2016

Theology of Difference

The news may have filtered through that the Scottish Episcopal Church has voted to proceed with the second reading of a canonical revision which would pave the way for those in the church you would wish to participate, to solemnise same-sex unions, i.e. marry gay couples. Obviously this is an issue which causes heated feelings and it came as no surprise to discover that the BBC were at the meeting to see if there were any fisticuffs – they were disappointed. The debate was, as you would hope, held in an attitude of mutual respect and a fair measure of dignity. The theological content of the debate, however, was rather thin. This may be because the preparatory theological work done by the Doctrine Committee had been completed last year. Maybe, though, it was because most people had already made up their minds. I don’t know. But I did feel that, on the day, there was more passionate positioning than careful reflection. Certainly no one other than myself (I think!?) appeared to want to engage with the language of the new Canon itself. I can appreciate that people on both sides of the debate are probably fed up with just how long the process has taken, but that frustration shouldn’t lead us to drop the ball, theologically speaking.

Because theological questions remain and what I have in mind is not so much theological questions about the nature of marriage itself, but more about how we live with difference. Because the reality is, regardless of the decision made finally at next year’s General Synod, we will have to learn to live together as a community of believers who will continue to hold different views on a variety of subjects. And it is this reality which needs to be reflected in our theological thinking.

In so saying, I’m not suggesting a kind of theological que sera sera, rather an appreciation of what George Newlands has called theological generosity. In his book, Generosity and the Christian Future, Newlands writes:

Jesus didn’t say, “Blessed are they who always close ranks and never rock the boat.” We can disagree and still respect each other. But internal discussion, pulling up the drawbridge, is not enough. The church must be seen to be able to speak up for those who cannot speak up for themselves in our society – vulnerable people in the community. Christians believe that the grace of God is there for all humanity, at home and abroad. I suspect that the church will always be judged at every level on its record of care caring effectively for those who are in deepest need of God’s love. That’s the tradition of the gospel. When it seemed to care, the church will flourish.


Here, George helpfully links our ability or willingness to disagree with one another in the context of the larger mission of the church. Issues such as the one discussed at General Synod are clearly of significance but that significance pales against other fundamental issues that face our world today. Too often the church appears to be simply talking to itself and discussing its own internal agenda. That is to abrogate our responsibility to be salt and light in the world and to be the servant of all. As the Puritan, Richard Baxter put it, ‘Distance breedeth strangeness and fermenteth dividing flames and jealousies, which communion will prevent or cure.’ It may almost sound paradoxical, but I mean it when I say, God help us if we stop thinking theologically about what is really going on in our world at this time. God asks us to be distinctive, not distant. 

Thursday 5 May 2016

The Curse of Cliché

Sam Goldwyn getting dangerously close to smiling
This is the first post that I have offered for some time. The reasons for absence are multifarious but I guess, beyond sheer laziness, the one reason that has always dogged me in life, whether working in this format or any other, is the nagging suspicion that I don't actually have anything worth saying. But on top of what can easily appear to be a false humility is the genuine anxiety about cliché. The formidable movie producer, Sam Goldwyn is reputed to have demanded, 'Let's have some new clichés.' His well-documented cynicism belies an awareness of the ever-present danger of banality. In the film industry, where the profit motive is often more important than any artistic one, this much is obvious. But I think it is true in life more generally. The risk of simply surface living, or producing a life (to maintain the movie theme) which is about playing safe and offering what the world expects to hear or see is, paradoxically, a very real one.

Looking more broadly, I wonder whether this in itself has led many in religious communities to shun things like cinema or the theatre or, dare I say it, even books. The idea of being exposed to a fictional world, it is assumed, befuddles the imagination which ought to find its focus in the 'real' stories of life, namely the Gospel. The point that is missed in all of this is that it is precisely in such creative endeavour (and this includes our reading the Gospel) that we find ourselves both challenged and transformed.

Great critics like Samuel Johnson were, in the early days of the novel, particularly conscious of the negative effects of literature on 'unformed' minds.  Two hundred years later, T. S. Eliot was only half right when he said that, [i]t is our business as Christians, as well as readers of literature, to know what we ought to like.' While there is always a risk of stultifying or belittling one's life by what one chooses to read or watch, or indeed do, the counter argument is that it is that very risk which brings life purpose and meaning in the first place.

And I guess that brings me back to the point, which is that writing, like life, entails risk and if that risky dimension is absent, then we will find ourselves living shadow existences, experiencing life at second or third hand... or is that another cliché?