Theology Everywhere

by Martin Thorne.

“To the People called Methodists with much affection and warm gratitude but in deep concern.”[1]

In this book we hear from one of the great Methodist preachers of the last century, Rev. Dr. W. Sangster and look at his concerns for the Church then. Sangster would have seen the rise of Methodism to its zenith in the early 1920s and then a decline which now has the appearance of a terminal dive. In 1938, as the 200th anniversary of Wesley’s ‘heart-warming’ – Aldersgate Sunday we celebrate today – he looked with deep concern, at the declining attendance in the Church. I wonder how he would feel now? To us 1938 seems like a golden age, now almost beyond living memory.

“If the people called Methodists, ministerial and lay, would humble themselves before the Almighty, not imputing blame to others but confessing their sins … God would bend to such faithful expectancy and use us again.” His point about the ‘cumbrous machinery’ (detailed in his previous pages) is still sharper today with its ever greater obligations for oversight and responsibility; also his remark that man-made obstacles are nothing to God and need not be insuperable to us if we – first, understand the problem and then have the wit and will to overcome. Of great importance, his comment on the class-meeting; where is that today? Elsewhere he makes observations about Denial and Defeatism to which is added here Passivity (‘wait & see’). Always easier to hopefully do nothing.

Today there are three internal failings in the Methodist Church in Britain which can be discerned:

1. Bureaucratised – “The bureaucracy is expanding to meet the needs of the expanding bureaucracy” (attributed to Oscar Wilde). Bureau → Office → Officialdom. The Church has volumes of rules, the Pharisees would be envious.

2. Institutionalised – Meaning “less able to think and act independently”, to which the synonyms entrenched, regulated, orthodox and traditional may be attached – not in a positive sense but as an indication of an inhibiting structure.

3. Paralysed – “Incapable of movement”, not steadfast but more like petrified or ossified, bound by ties of its own making: The efforts of the few hampered by the inertia of the many.

Well, this is easy to say but these rather sweeping generalisations are of little use unless accompanied by two things; actual examples and suggestions to overcome the problems.

This is not to be dismissive of the serious efforts of intelligent, committed and concerned members whose hard work has produced enjoyable, edifying and worthwhile projects; such as the Bible Month studies of recent years. There have been many valuable contributions like this and yet despite the helpful resources produced by dedicated Christians the Church continues to decline. Given the wealth of enthusiastic and often successful initiatives we must ask – how is the Church is in such a steep decline? (see membership figures on the Methodist website).

Sangster concludes here with what amounts to a personal remedy for us all:

“I Accept God’s full and free forgiveness and take the Lord Christ as my Saviour.

By God’s grace I Offer myself to do whatsoever my Lord the King shall command.

I Vow (and here may follow any vow the disciple is ready to make. Do not let us pose, even to ourselves. Let it be a pledge that Grace and Resolution can fulfil; and if it is made for one year or one month at a time it will not overwhelm us and can be renewed. The following are intended only as examples which the disciple can use or vary as God leads him)

I will spend fifteen minutes (or thirty or an hour) in quiet with God every day.

In my prayers I will listen more than I speak.

I will commend my Saviour in simple conversation to at least one other person every week.

I will read the Bible daily.

I will join in some form of Christian fellowship weekly.

I will attend regularly the service of the Holy Communion.

So help me God.”

While these are surely all important it is that last, Communion, we shall consider in a second article next week.

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[1] W.E. Sangster Methodism Can Be Born Again (Hodder & Stoughton, 1938, Repr 1958).

by Gerald Bostock.

The word ‘apologetics’ is not readily understood. Being an obscure term, the word remains an unknown quantity in the absence of a clear definition. So, it’s hardly surprising it is rarely used especially when the cognate word ‘apologies’ means the exact opposite of ‘apologetics’. It needs to be underlined that apologetics is not a matter of excusing failure but of explaining and defending the truth as revealed by God. The classic text 1 Peter 3.15 makes this clear when it urges us to defend the reason (λόγον) for our faith and hope. What is at stake here is the distinctive nature of apologetics: it is not a dogmatic exposition or a personal testimony but the intellectual defence of the faith. This can be seen in the original emergence of the word, as indicated in the OED:

“The science of apologetics… was unknown till the adversaries of Christianity assumed a learned and scientific character 1834”.

In the post-Enlightenment era, an intellectual critique and rejection of the Christian faith had to be met on its own terms and, however problematic and difficult this might seem, an intellectual defence of the faith could not be avoided. Hence ‘the science of apologetics’. The genie had been let out of the bottle of a self-contained and self-explanatory theology and a convincing response was required.

The Need for Apologetics

Now that scepticism and indeed atheism have become entrenched in significant parts of society and not just in various individuals there is a real challenge for the Church: attacks on the faith unanswered become attacks believed for lack of a convincing response. We are now in a situation, at least in western Europe, where the battle for the mind has been largely lost – even to the point of many people failing to recognise the fact and the significance of it. We cannot avoid the hard reality that this represents a victory for the ‘father of lies’ (Jn 8.44) and the ‘power of darkness’ (Col 1.13). It is a situation which cannot be resolved by repeating our traditional dogmas in the manner of tourists thinking that shouting ever more loudly in English will somehow enable foreigners to understand them. The fact is that the Church has to meet her critics and sceptics on their own ground and then challenge them with the ultimate questions of the meaning and the purpose of life, the nature of our creation as spiritual beings, and our understanding of God.

The Relationship of Apologetics to Evangelism

Apologetics, understood as the intellectual defence of the faith, is not a subject which will have much immediate appeal. Most people want a simple and pragmatic form of religion and may well dislike or even mistrust an intellectual approach. A dislike of intellectualism in evangelical circles is understandable if an intellectual approach appears to have discounted the need for conversion and the importance of personal experience. That said, it remains an integral aspect of mission and an essential element of the Gospel. The case for recognising this should be clear. The word for repentance (μετάνοια) means a change of mind, and the word for sin (ἁμαρτία) in its original sense means a ‘missing of the mark’ i.e. the wrong thinking which is the source of wrongdoing. In each case the mind is involved just as it is – or should be – in the normal course of life where we are enjoined to ‘love the Lord our God with all our mind (Mt 22.37)’ and in the process of our redemption when we are to be ‘Transformed by the renewing of our minds (Rm 12.2)’.

The intellectual defence of Christianity is integral to the effective proclamation of the gospel, not least in an age when many Christians are confused about the basic tenets of their faith and are in danger of being a ‘trumpet that gives an uncertain sound (1 Cor 14.8)’ when they are quizzed about their faith. Apologetics has a distinctive and essential role to play. We need to be confident of this and also about its relationship with evangelism. When we look at the overarching task of mission, it should be clear that apologetics cannot be ignored any more than John the Baptist can be ignored as the great forerunner of Christ. Just as John ‘prepared the way for the Lord (Mt 3.3)’ so apologetics clears the way for evangelism as the call of Christ himself to the individual soul. It acts as the light which illuminates the path to the door of eternal life.

by Josie Smith.

I was born at the beginning of 1930.    World War 1 had left the country exhausted.    The thirties are now regarded as a time of hardship and deprivation.     Not that I was aware of that – it was just normal.

I want today to point up in a mere thumbnail one or two of the more obvious changes in society and church over my 95 years.

The standard family pattern was two parents and their children, with grandparents probably living close by.   Father the breadwinner, mother the housewife, three or four pounds a week a good wage, and houses available to rent or buy.   

Then came World War 2.  Eight years of severe shortages where we all had to Make Do and Mend, salvage and recycle, buy second hand, do without things.    I still have some of the frugal habits of those times, and today’s throwaway society appals me.

Sunday was set apart.   No work, except for essential services.  Church in the morning, Sunday School in the afternoon, church again in the evening for the grownups.    Our church was huge, with two ministers and two deaconesses as they were called then.   Everything was church centred, apart from the occasional classical music concert.    That 2,OOO-seater Wesley Octagon has been replaced by apartments.    Homes for people.

There was reliable public transport.   Babies and small children had prams. Mother and child could look at each other, and the child was encouraged to look and listen and absorb.   Look, a pussy cat, or a policeman!   Listen to that bird singing!    Push chairs now face forward, so there is no eye contact or talk, and the grownup is on the mobile ‘phone.

Children were at home until school began at the age of five, learning how to live in a family.    Meals were at tables and taken together.   In winter the heat source was one coal fire, and the family would follow their pursuits together.    Now, both parents are in paid work from the time a child is weaned, children go to nursery, later migrate to their own rooms with their computer games, and connect with their friends remotely.     Once, they would have knocked on a nearby door and asked if their friend was coming out to play.

More and more children are obese, or are diagnosed with mental health problems.    Is there a connection?

After W.W.2 came cheap flights and the opportunity to travel abroad. Meanwhile public transport deteriorated and more and more people found cars a necessity.   Climate change eventually made itself felt.

I was once asked whether the church I belonged to at the time was primarily focused on maintenance or evangelism.    I replied that I would say SERVICE.    Church is firstly about the worship of God, and if this means anything it has to be demonstrated in love for our neighbour.

A teenager whose family had no connection with the church, explained why she had committed herself to the Way.    ‘These people had a quality of life which I wanted for myself.’   John Taylor, at one time a minister in Sheffield, said ‘I have never yet met anyone who became a Christian by studying the Creeds.    I have known many who were loved into faith by a saint.’

God who is LOVE needs us to love our neighbour.    This requires that we know our neighbour, work with others, join forces with seekers after truth,  justice and peace.    WE must be the saints – we are the Church, seven days a week, just by being who we are, loving people into faith.  

I think of vibrant churches I know.   Busy all day with community groups, choirs, local historians and dieters – volunteers serving meals to all comers, free, with voluntary contributions (nobody’s counting) or at reasonable prices to cover costs.    Christians and non-Christians alike serve and are served – we all get hungry!! – and find themselves in a good place.

I am looking forward joyfully.  

Onward and upward, fellow saints!’

by Jo Cox-Darling.

Where we are, matters – because there is wounded wisdom in the earth that we need to pay attention to.  In the previous article of this series – Digging for Wisdom – the narrative of Genesis 26: 12-32 revealed the significance of the underground, both literally and metaphorically. Genesis 26 declares that the underground matters,because there is wisdom to be found throughout and within the whole of creation.  God’s project of healing and wholeness isn’t an anthropocentric endeavour. 

The mycologist Merlin Sheldrake identifies ways in which fungi provide a deep interconnected communication system beneath our feet – the fruit of which are mushrooms which are having an ever-increasing impact on our daily life.  He writes that among other things, mushrooms are among the first things to grow after a volcano, new species are being discovered in Chernobyl, as they’re able to eat radioactive material and make it safe and organ transplants require a mushroom-based drug to prevent rejection. Sheldrake adds, ‘Mushrooms have loosened some of my certainties.’[1]

Where MacIntosh looks to the blossom for evidence of something sacred, Sheldrake looks beneath the soil – to the composting of the present in order to resurrect something new.  That the inevitability of death needs to be held as part of life’s process such that we need some woundedness, loss, death, and attrition – in order to provide the context into which new life is brought.

Perhaps our wounded wisdom starts when we have cast aside our certainties, and where we are digging deep and clinging on – and when we need to find something in the rotting mess that we find ourselves in. There is something about the sacred subterranean nature of faith that we need to pay attention to – whether it’s ancient wells of wisdom, or honest trashing of the things that are no longer working, or noticing and nurturing something new in the mess.

Missiologist Liu Wong writes, ‘Our lives are imprinted with the lives of others.  Wisdom is holding together what is seen and unseen [with] integrity, refusing to let go of seemingly different worlds, worldviews, and perspective.  Wisdom is connective, integrative, and restorative.  Becoming wise involves active engagement with God and with others and with the world.  We are transformed by our relationships, imprinted by the lives of others, as we recognise how God is at work in our choices and lives.  Wisdom that comes from leading with others recognises the mutuality and importance of relationships and understands how we grow, lead, and dance together.’[2] Ultimately, at the heart of wounded wisdom, is the invitation to simply love, and be loved in return.

Questions for reflection:

How would you describe the soil where you are?  How would you go about finding out about what’s beneath your feet – literally and culturally?

What ancient wells need to be dug out in your spiritual life?

Who are you growing wise with?

This year’s SPECTRUM Conference, Wounded Wisdom was held at Highgate House in May and was attended by around 25 people. The subtitle was Discovering Healing and Hope – Words and Wisdom for these days, and the content addressed how our minds and bodies try to cope with the sense of woundedness and vulnerability which are a familiar result of wrestling with all that the news and daily life throw at us. The speakers were Jo Cox-Darling and Brian Draper, who also prepared papers for the Spectrum annual study guide, which we also share through on Theology Everywhere. This is part five of a series of six articles. Also see The art of vulnerability and This is my body and Love for the unloved days and The Place Where Beauty Starts and Digging for Wisdom.

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[1] Merlin Sheldrake, Entangled Life, Vintage, 2020, p25

[2] Liu Wong, On becoming wise together, Eerdmans, 2023 p123

by Sue Ann Mak.

If more people had grown up reading this children’s book, would we reject—or at least question and challenge—biblical inerrancy and infallibility, and a literal reading of the text?   

In turn, would there be less harm and abuse inflicted on vulnerable groups and individuals in the “name of God”?

Would we have prevented the current rise of Christian nationalism, the growing far-right propaganda around the world, and the ongoing anti-immigration rhetoric?

Would Christianity be more trustworthy and admired by people of other faiths?  

These questions have circled my mind as I read the illustrated Storybook Bible, God’s Stories As Told By God’s Children (2025).

I am in no way suggesting that this children’s book has the miraculous power to resolve urgent, disconcerting issues around the globe. It is not so much about the content in the book as it is the symbol and significance that this book project represents. This book’ blurb claims it is a “children’s Bible that takes its scholarship as seriously as its storytelling”. The stimulating combination of scholarship and story poses some larger question regarding hermeneutics and its consequences—good and bad. As one who only began the painful and confusing work of deconstructing and reconstructing theological beliefs and assumptions as an adult in my thirties, I see ways in which this book’s scholarly-yet-unintimidating approach to the Bible should be appreciated and adopted.

1. Transparency about Problems in the Bible

This children’s book does not shy away from problems that arise throughout the Bible—the authors (biblical scholars, theologians, and clergy) directly call out inconsistencies in the biblical records, including: instances of explicit deceit and lying; wrongful actions of enslavement, oppression, and partiality; and the sheer lack of women’s names and voices. The notorious passages in the Bible are not sidestepped, and the complexities of compilation and canonisation are openly discussed.

The offenses and deception of biblical characters as well as the discrepancies and contradictions in the biblical records serve as stark reminders that the Word of God did not “fall out of heaven” but is the product of many human hands and voices through many centuries. Therefore, there is no basis to claim that the Bible is pure, accurate, inerrant, and free from error. A commitment to inerrancy can lead to “bibliolatry”, which is defined as “an attitude of people who focus so much attention on the Bible as a book to be venerated and idolized in itself”[1]—in other words, the Bible has become God in place of God.

2. Variety and Safety

The stories in this children’s book are written and drawn by over 60 authors and illustrators, which means there is a wide variety of approaches, lenses, and interpretations.  The contributors consist of a wide diversity of people, many of whom do not fall into the categories of white, male, Euro-American, able-bodied, heteronormative, which naturally translates into exegetical views that are neither normative nor dominant. With a broad range of approaches and backgrounds, readers of God’s Stories will not be stuck in an echo chamber that merely repeats what one already thinks and believes.   

This book also emphasises safety. Stories are presented in a way that encourages the reading of scripture as a form of safeguarding.[2] Authors communicate clearly that the slavery, oppression, and harm of bodies observed in the biblical narrative are 100% wrong. Where there are weak, silent, and marginalised characters, authors deliberately write from their perspective and about their plight. When we begin to ask, “for whom is the text problematic?”; “how is a passage causing harm?”; and “who are being silenced or excluded in a narrative?” we are reading as safeguarding.

3. Contextual and Colourful

The very first chapter in God’s Stories is about the Babylonian exile in Jeremiah 29, not the expected Genesis 1 creation account. It is intentionally and brilliantly placed at the start of the book to explain the historical context within which biblical stories were passed down and compiled. Even the inerrantists will agree that context is very important for careful exegesis of a passage.

Because the stories are contextual, the characters are colourful. Jesus is not a white man with flowy blonde hair and blue eyes; neither are the other characters. The people on the pages range from light to dark brown, which accurately reflects the Middle Eastern and Mediterranean origin and context of the Bible. A serious contemplation of the skin colour of the Son of God and other biblical characters should end all white supremacist tendencies and promote the celebration of racial diversity and justice!

When some or all three of the above hermeneutical traits are not practised, the Bible can be used to uphold Christian nationalism, toxic masculinity, anti-refugee and immigration sentiments, homophobia, and to cover up racial discrimination and all kinds of abuses. However, when the above is demonstrated, I see how the Bible can be read in life-giving, wholesome ways from a young age.

American feminist biblical scholar, Phyllis Trible, who refers to certain violent stories in the Bible as “Texts of Terror”, asserts the following about the Bible: 

To love this book is not to claim it is without faults, imperfections, violence, and evil. To the contrary, to love this book is to understand that it sets before us life and death, blessing and curse…. And to love this book is to understand that it places upon us, readers and listeners alike, the responsibility to choose rightly.[3]

My questions in the beginning of this piece are, of course, one-dimensional and oversimplified, because there are other factors—not least psychological and socio-economic ones—that shape a reader’s interpretation of Scripture. Nonetheless, I believe a responsible interpreter of Scripture who calls out the problems and inconsistencies in the Biblical text, is open to a variety of exegetical voices and approaches, takes seriously the context within which the passage was written, reads with a liberative and safeguarding approach, and argues for positions and applications that do good to all creation, will contribute immensely to the recovery and reconciliation of broken individuals and families and fragmented communities and nations. Whilst I do not have a child at home to read God’s Stories As Told By God’s Childrenwith, I look forward to more children and adults reading it and/or approaching the Bible differently because of it. Ultimately, every story and record in the Bible can be used for boon or bane; good or harm; human flourishing or languishing—the choice is ours.  

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[1] Arthur Patzia and Anthony Petrotta, 2002. Pocket Dictionary of Biblical Studies, p.21 (italics original).

[2] Special thanks to Rachel Starr for first introducing to me the phrase “reading scripture as a form of safeguarding” and consequently demonstrating it consistently in her interpretative work.

[3] Phyllis Trible, 2000. “Take Back the Bible”. Review and Expositor 97, p.431.

by Tom Stuckey

Theodicy is the problem of reconciling the active presence of an omnipotent, just and loving God with a world torn apart by horrendous evil and suffering. The traditional explanation has been the ‘free-will defence’ which argues that the presence of evil is the consequence of giving human beings free will. Human beings rather than God are responsible for the mess. This defence, even when re-worked by Plantinga, does not satisfy me.[1] 

John Polkinghorne, in Science and Christian Belief stated that God must bear his share of the responsibility for the existence of evil because ‘he is the one who ultimately sets the boundaries in which we live and move and have our being’. In the very act of creating the universe, divine self-limitation is necessary for the bestowal of the gift of freedom upon creation, but what if God’s self-restraint is excessive; permitting the emergence of the wild and unrestrained?[2] Ian Bradley, in his book The Power of Sacrifice, argues that the first creation story tells of the existence of wild watery forces of chaos which were later to flood the earth (Gen.1.1). Although tamed ‘they never lose their unpredictable power to upset the order and harmony of creation’. He also suggests that chaos possibly exists because of the failure of God’s previous attempts at creating.[3] Mess and creativity belong together as any imaginative artist will tell you, but what is the nature of ‘the mess’ out of which God creates? How toxic is it? Nigel Calder addressing the theodicy issue in a BBC lecture Violent Universe imagines God creating in the youthful exuberance of play. Maybe the energies of God’s Spirit are so explosive that the chaotic is released alongside the symbiotic.[4]

However one tries to explain it, there is tragedy here! Wheat and tares are mysteriously sown into the very structure of the universe in such proportions that evil is able to thrive more rapidly than goodness. Camus, speaking of the enigma of evil and suffering, may be hitting the right note when he says, ‘man is not entirely to blame; it was not he who started history.’[5]

I believe that prayers of protest and anger against God are therefore quite appropriate in such a broken world as ours. The Bible is not devoid of these as seen in some of the Psalms and the books of Job and Lamentations.[6]

Yet this suggestion of a dynamic of evil within God’s creation is contradicted by the Biblical refrain that God saw what he had made and it was not only good but ‘very good’ (Gen.1.31). The Hebrew word tov does, however, have a wide range on meanings (Gen.3.6) none of which suggests that ‘good’ equates with ‘perfect’. This does not imply that God has a moral defect; or that God has done an inadequate job. Rather it raises the issue of whether we can trust such a God who, from a philosophical point of view, may not have created ‘the best of all possible worlds’.

How does God respond to such a charge and restore our faith in him as Creator?  God does this by ‘choosing’ to hold himself accountable for the all the tragic defects which permeate his creation. He refuses to exclude himself or excuse himself from ultimate responsibility. For love’s sake he embraces the failed responsibility of human beings, and in an act of divine ‘repentance and promise’[7]  becomes the Judge who is Judged in our place.[8]  ‘God makes his own the being of man under the curse of contradiction, but in order to do away with it, God suffers it’. ‘He acts as Lord over this contradiction even as He subjects Himself to it.’[9] So grace, faith and hope are revealed in the ‘pain-love’ of God. This Triune God freely and graciously takes within himself/herself the ultimate responsibility for everything; both our sin and the possible failures within himself. This gives us the confidence to say with Job, ‘Though he slay me yet will I trust him (Job.13.15).’

So in recurrent acts of grace God scatters sparks of divinity into his evolving creation and, through the Spirit, leaves living echoes of his presence embedded in the moving matrix of history. This God is not like the entropic Humpty Dumpty of the Western nursery rhyme, always flying apart in a great measure of disorder. God is not split off from himself; that is our condition, rather we are witnessing here the pain-love of God as, in the words of Helmut Gollwitzer, ‘God himself is forsaken by God, God himself rejects himself’.[10]

The song of joy at the birth of the cosmos is also a cry of pain (Job 3). So creation became for God a moment of acute self awareness and discovery. Tangible good and evil came into existence and God has chosen to make himself accountable for everything. Sacrificial love lies at the very heart of the personhood of the Trinity from the very beginning.

The crucified Word made flesh was displayed in time on Golgotha’s hill; at the end of time is to be celebrated in the liberation of all things. This is also same Word – even Jesus – who ‘was slain from the foundation of the world’ (Rev.13.8).

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[1] God, Freedom & Evil, 1974.

[2] Polkinghorne, 1994, p.81.

[3] Bradley, 1995, p.66 & p.71.

[4] Nigel Calder, 1969.

[5] Camus,Vintage Books, 1956, p.297.

[6] Stuckey, Covid-19 God’s Wake-up Call, p.15f & 94f.

[7] C. S. Song, Third-Eye Theology, 1980, p.70f.  Song looks at creation from an Asian rather than a Western perspective. His book reflects on the pain-love of God and identifies the rainbow of Gen.9.16 as the covenant sign of God’s repentance.

[8] Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.1, 1961, p.222.

[9] ibid., p.185.

[10] Quoted by J. Moltmann, The Future of Creation, 1979, p.65.

by Jo Cox-Darling.

Let’s think about Genesis 26: 12-33 – it’s worth reading the passage either before or after reading on here. There are a few things to tease out in this passage:

• Woundedness often begins when there is a power imbalance.  Isaac is asked to leave because he was too successful. Pay attention to power, how we use it, own it, offer it to others: but also notice the power in creation… this passage isn’t about two people, it’s about subterranean access to water!
• Who gets to name things? The Philistines had changed the names of the locations of the wells, and then poisoned them.  But reverting to the original names, and unblocking them – symbolically, brings the people back into contact with God.  This is about history and memory and spiritual sacred symbolism.
• When people get grumpy, Isaac uses names which remind the people of the quarrel, the dissent, and the conflict.  The quarrel doesn’t stop the overall project, and God still offers a blessing to those who know themselves deeply enough to know what they are doing and how they are doing it.
• ‘The water is ours’ (v20) – the main argument is that the hole is Isaac’s, but the contents is the Philistines’…who owns the underground, the subterranean?
• Like pathetic fallacy in literature (where the weather reflects the internal emotions of the characters) – that device is used here. Recognise that what happens in the locality/soil – is what is also happening in the spirit/soul.
• v29 – remember that hurt people, hurt people.

What is it to dig where we stand? Alastair McIntosh suggests that ‘the great disease of our time is meaninglessness.  If fresh wellsprings of hope are to be found…we must dig where we stand.  We must get beneath the grassroots of popular culture and down to the eternal taproot.  Here, new life can grow from ancient stock.’[1] In telling the story of land reform in Scotland he suggests that all acts of revolution, and action, and spiritual practice are acts of love, when they are done in true community together. Digging in to where we are, understanding the soil (literally), paying attention to what is present, and then working with that and with the people who are alongside us – it is possible to change the culture. ‘If we let ourselves be overwhelmed [wounded] – if we do nothing because we are thinking we cannot do enough – we misread, profoundly, the game of life.  We miss each season’s fleeting blossom.’[2]McIntosh concludes by reminding us that the darkness is a place of gestation, and that if humankind is to have any hope of changing the world, we must constantly work to strengthen community with the soil, human society and with the soul. ‘We need spaces where we can take rest, compose and compost our inner stuff, and become more deeply present to the aliveness of life… In short – is any of this concerned with the blossom?’[3]

Questions for Reflection

• What is it to dig where we stand?
• Which (metaphorical) ancient wells are those that we need to unstop, today?
• What are those places and resources that we need to rediscover in order to bring us greater clarity of who God is, and who we are called to be?

This year’s SPECTRUM Conference, Wounded Wisdom was held at Highgate House in May and was attended by around 25 people. The subtitle was Discovering Healing and Hope – Words and Wisdom for these days, and the content addressed how our minds and bodies try to cope with the sense of woundedness and vulnerability which are a familiar result of wrestling with all that the news and daily life throw at us. The speakers were Jo Cox-Darling and Brian Draper, who also prepared papers for the Spectrum annual study guide, which we also share through on Theology Everywhere. This is part five of a series of six articles. Also see The art of vulnerability and This is my body and Love for the unloved days and The Place Where Beauty Starts.

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[1] Alistair McIntosh Soil and Soul 2001 p2 Aurum Press

[2] Op. cit. p283

[3] Op. cit. p284

by Sheryl Anderson.

I was recently told by a friend and colleague that, in order to answer a question from an enquirer, they had found themselves having to give an account of the history of the Church. Wanting to be succinct, it had taken them about 15 minutes to get to John Wesley and Methodism. The enquirer was genuinely interested in what makes the different Christian traditions distinct from each other, and whether there was any rivalry between them. As my friend relayed the story I was in awe of their ability to give such an articulate account of the development of the Church, and I noticed something. One way of reading the history of the Church is that every disagreement, falling out, schism, divergence is about power; who gets to be in charge and who gets to say who is in charge. As an institution, the Church is as guilty as any other human institution, of the possibility of corruption.

The notion that ‘power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely’ was first expressed by Lord Acton, who was an English Catholic historian, writer, and Liberal politician. Acton engaged in a lengthy correspondence with Mandell Creighton, an Anglican priest who was also an historian, about the nature and purpose of the study of history. In 1870, Acton had opposed the notion of the doctrine of papal infallibility proposed by the First Vatican Council and lobbied against it. Creighton, as an academic, had written extensively about the papacy in the medieval era and objected to Acton’s critique of it as immoral and corrupt. The two men met when Creighton was a professor at Cambridge.

The debate between them was part of a larger conversation about how historians should judge the past. Creighton tended towards a moral relativism and objected to what he saw as unnecessary criticism of authority figures. Acton disagreed, and argued that all people, leaders or not, should be held to universal moral standards.

On the 5^th April 1887 Acton wrote to Creighton

“I cannot accept your canon that we are to judge Pope and King unlike other men, with a favourable presumption that they did no wrong. If there is any presumption it is the other way against holders of power, increasing as the power increases. Historic responsibility [that is, the later judgment of historians] has to make up for the want of legal responsibility [that is, legal consequences during the rulers’ lifetimes]. Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men, even when they exercise influence and not authority: still more when you superadd the tendency or the certainty of corruption by authority.”[1]

Acton was reflecting on the dangers of concentrated authority and understood that, unchecked power posed the greatest threat to human freedom.

Interestingly, Acton took a great interest in the United States. He thought its federal structure (with power vested largely in the states) was ideal to protect individual liberties. Ironically, this led him to side with the Confederacy who (among other things) fought to defend the states’ rights against a centralised government. Acton believed that such centralisation would inevitably become tyrannical.

It seems to me that this debate is ongoing in our times. Freedom of speech does

not include the right to use abusive or threatening language, but who decides what counts as abusive or threatening and on what basis do they do that? As our legal institutions seek to deal with increasing demand there is pressure to be more efficient, which threatens to concentrate the power in fewer hands – doing away with juries, for example.

As the Church, Methodism included, dwindles, there are fewer people to take on responsibility for running the institution, and consequently power is concentrated in fewer hands. Where are the checks and balances that keep corruption at bay, and who enforces them? The Methodist Church proudly announces that it is a justice seeking church but justice, like charity, begins at home. Would we be willing to invest the resources needed to enable all officers to be held to account for their exercise of power?

Walter Wink, in his book Engaging the Powers[2] writes,

“Any attempt to transform a social system without addressing its spirituality and its outer forms is doomed to failure. Only by confronting the spirituality of an institution and its concretions can the total entity be transformed, and that requires a kind of spiritual discernment and praxis that the materialistic ethos in which we live know nothing about.”

Perhaps then this is something to which we could legitimately give some thought?

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[1] Letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton, April 5, 1887 Transcript of, published in Historical Essays and Studies, edited by J. N. Figgis and R. V. Laurence (London: Macmillan, 1907).

[2] Wink, Walter: Engaging the Powers, Fortress Press, 1992: p10

by Raj Patta.

Far-right leader and one of the loudest anti-migrant voices in the UK, Tommy Robinson urged his “Unite the Kingdom” movement supporters through a Christmas carol concert on the 13^th of December 2025 in London to “put the Christ back into Christmas.’ He intended this large-scale Christmas event to be show of national pride, saying ‘this event is not about politics…it is about Jesus Christ – fully and completely.’ This nationalist agenda is immensely hostile against people seeking asylum and Muslims, and is rooted in xenophobia and Islamophobia.

The Joint Public Issues team in the UK, a partnership between the Baptist Union of Great Britain, the Methodist Church and the United Reformed Church is has offered ‘rapid resources’[1] to churches in resisting the co-option of Christian symbols for nationalist agenda including Christmas. Their posters ‘Christ has always been in Christmas’ and ‘outsiders are welcome’ challenged the anti-migrant campaign of the far-right during this Christmas. Before we move on into the season of Epiphany, let us pause to reflect on these issues which have looked large during Christmas this year.

There are twin dangers to our context today, particularly in relation to Christmas. One is the growing secularism where Christmas is interpreted as ‘winter festival,’ where market and consumerism has taken over our public sphere. The other is growing far-right extremism, where they hijack Christianity by spreading hatred in the name of faith against the other, particularly people those who are seeking asylum and against Muslims, with a claim of ‘winning back Britian to Christ.’ In the present climate, we must critically examine what it means to “put the Christ back into Christmas.” Which “Christ” is being invoked in such appeals? It is certainly not a Christ in whose name hatred is legitimized, nor one whose symbols are appropriated for nationalist projects, nor one evoked merely through perfunctory declarations that “Christ is born today.” The other slogan that I heard again during this year is “Jesus is the reason for this season.” But again, have we really reasoned out how is Jesus the reason for this season?

The Advent readings about John the Baptist can be a helpful hermeneutical aid in our discussion here. John when he was imprisoned by Herod, heard about Jesus, the Messiah’s deeds and sent his disciples to enquire whether Jesus Christ is the one who is to come or should they wait for another one (Matthew 11:2-10). Jesus could have answered a yes or a no, but rather he invites John’s disciples to go and tell what they hear and see, the kind of transformation Jesus the Messiah was offering to the people in the communities: the bling receiving their sight, the lame walking, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hearing, the dead are raising and the poor have good news brought to them. Jesus Christ’s identity is interweaved with people’s experience of transformation. Jesus further says that blessed is anyone who takes no offense at him. To put this in other words, blessed is anyone who is not offended in the name of Jesus the Christ.

Jesus could have proved his messiahship by explaining the fulfilments of the prophecies in his life, but rather Jesus Christ’s identity is known by the deeds he does in the community, by the transformation happening in the community and by offering goodness in his name.

So, drawing on Jesus’ own self-accounting of his identity for his Messiahship, based on his deeds of transformation, is of great significance for us today in our discussion to ‘put the Christ back into Christmas.’ Which ‘Christ’ are we putting back into Christmas? It is this ‘Christ’ who self-identified himself through the liberative works of Jesus that we put back into Christmas.

Christmas is not merely a commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ; rather, it is an invitation to discern the ongoing birthing of Jesus within today’s contexts of vulnerability. Christmas calls us to embody the life and witness of Jesus, revealing its true meaning—love expressed in concrete action, grounded in a preferential option for the weak. It inspires us to pitch our tents alongside those in need, extending home, hope, and hospitality to all who seek sanctuary in our nation today.

The Bus Stop Nativity by Andrew Gradd is a powerful image of the nativity of Jesus for our context, where Jesus is born out in the cold, in the rain, sheltered in the bus stop identifying with the homeless people seeking a shelter. Jesus is born amidst the busyness of life, at a crowded bus stop where some people are waiting for the bus to come and take them on their journeys. Jesus is born right on our street corners, in sites that we know, at stations we have always journeyed from, and is born right in our own neighbourhoods. Let us pray that this Christmas message continues to challenge us, as we begin 2026, to find and locate the nativity in our vicinities, among the vulnerable. This image inspires us to reimagine nativity scenes relevant for our times and contexts, and to put back the Christ into Christmas.

May the peace and love of child Jesus, the prince of peace be with us so that we resist the hijacking of ‘Christ’ from the claims of the far-right and celebrate with him in loving and caring for people who are on the margins, for the Messiah is born from within our communities.

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[1] https://jpit.uk/joyforall

by Audrey Quay.

As the year draws to a close, I have been thinking about what it means to enter the depth of winter, with its shorter days and longer nights. The change is especially striking for someone who has spent most of my life in tropical climes instead of the temperate, four-season British Isles. In our modern world with artificially-created environments, the differences are easier to miss. We can turn on heating and light at the flick of a switch; LEDs and backlit screens keep our bodies in “daytime” long after the sun has set. Supermarkets offer out-of-season produce year-round, even as global supply chains carry their own costs for the climate. Add work schedules, entertainment and device notifications, and we can live as if the year has no dusk—no nudge to close the day, slow down and take stock, no permission to be less productive. Yet outside, creation keeps its own time, and looking outside, I recognise an older wisdom: a season not of constant output, but of conserving, recovering, and preparing.

Animals respond with practiced patience to wintertime. Hedgehogs and dormice hibernate and bats drop into torpor when cold bites, living off energy stored when food was abundant. Birds are thriftier: feeding hard in daylight, sheltering and surviving on what remains. Some leave entirely, like swallows and house martins migrating south, while visiting redwings and fieldfares arrive to take advantage of berries still hanging on (a reminder that British winters are milder than Scandinavia’s!). Even the relatively active make adjustments: foxes and badgers spend more time sheltered, and squirrels draw on hidden caches from their autumn’s work. Much of the plant world waits underground: bulbs sit protected beneath the soil, while many species persist as seeds, holding next year’s growth until conditions are right. Deciduous trees drop leaves to reduce frost damage, drawing resources back into trunk and roots until warmer days return. But the season isn’t empty; hazel catkins, holly berries, and gorse still flower—hints that life is being held in reserve.

Nature’s winter can help remind us to ease off our outward production and consider what we need to collate inwardly. What do we want to carry into spring—and what are we not meant to keep holding on to? As we move through the final days of 2025 and into 2026, what would it look like to store what is nourishing and release what is weighing us down? Who are the lonely and forgotten we have neglected through the year, whom we could reach out to at this time of recuperation and exchange of greeting cards? Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer describes an older “gift economy” in which abundance is not hoarded in private, but held in relationship, where “all flourishing is mutual.”[1]Ivan Illich terms conviviality “the opposite of industrial productivity”—a way of living in which tools and systems do not eclipse human agency or flatten the world into endless output.[2] Winter makes legible this logic, as it asks less of us outwardly, while drawing attention to the reality that life is sustained by reserves, reciprocity, and the givenness of what we did not manufacture, but can still pass on to others.

As nature denies us the illusion of perpetual spring, it follows the wisdom of Ecclesiastes to remind us that fruitfulness has a rhythm: seasons for expansion and consolidation, for speaking and silence, for striving and for resting. God’s work in us is often patient root growth, gathering strength before it shows itself. Renewal does not have to be announced loudly with ambitious plans and resolutions. It can begin underground and out of sight, unnoticed by the outside world. The year-end culminating with the depths of winter invites me to exercise a purposeful restraint: to let some things remain unfinished, to turn down the noise, to accept limitations without shame, and to rest as a way of receiving.

From the beginning, God’s own rest is declared blessed and hallowed—a boundary woven into creation itself. Sabbath reaches outward to creatures and communities, a rhythm of relief and refreshment extended as far as the soil itself. Jesus defends it as a gift “made for humankind”, and Walter Brueggemann describes Sabbath as resistance because it is “a visible insistence that our lives are not defined by the production and consumption of commodity goods.”[3] The God of ages is through all seasons Emmanuel. There is a time for everything; in the quieter season of winter, we realign ourselves with the rest of creation, learning again that whether in recuperating or making ready…God’s provision is present, even when we are at rest.

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[1] Robin Wall Kimmerer, “The Serviceberry: An Economy of Abundance,” Emergence Magazine, October 26, 2022.

[2] Ivan Illich, Tools for Conviviality (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), 5.

[3] Walter Brueggemann, Sabbath as Resistance: Saying No to the Culture of Now, (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2017).