Theology Everywhere

by Philp Sudworth.

This continues ideas from last week… read Part 1 here.

Faith must also be seen through the dimension of time.  Traditionalists contend that the Christian faith was “delivered once and for all” and is thus immutable.  This denies the clear evidence of how faith changes over time.  A living faith will, like all living things, grow and develop, adapt to its environment and evolve.  We can see a progression from Abraham’s relationship with the God of the mountains, through the jealous tribal God of Moses, and the one universal God of Isaiah to the Father God Jesus taught to his disciples.  We can also see Christianity developing from the pre-Nicaea years, through the mediaeval church and the Reformation to the Evangelical Revival and the Second Vatical Council.  The movement from inter-denominational rivalry and bitterness to ecumenical co-operation has occurred within my lifetime. The inter-faith movement is still in its infancy.  Rather than having the final revelation from God, Christianity is still in a process of development – and so are the other religions.

We might expect that descriptions of God and his actions would in 21^st century Britain reflect our current understanding of the cosmos and the natural sciences, of biblical scholarship and of psychology and sociology – without detracting from our respect for the way faith was expressed in earlier times.  Yet the emphasis on traditional beliefs, rather than on relationships and on compassion, makes it difficult for churches to adapt to the knowledge explosion of the past 250 years.  They are slow to respond to changes in language and culture and appear to be locked into first century thinking.  This makes them seem irrelevant to everyday life.  

While Christianity is expanding rapidly in some African and Asian countries, due in no small measure to adaptation to local culture, churches in Western Europe have a communication problem, resulting in falls in attendances, and a loss of credibility and of social influence.  Preachers struggle to balance a God of love and reconciliation and healing with one whose demand for justice must be satisfied and a price paid.  The belief that all humans are corrupt and that those who don’t believe church teaching are deservedly condemned or “lost eternally” is associated all too often with the kind of judgmentalism that Jesus opposed so vigorously in his day.

All this is justified on the basis that it is in the Bible.  Yet as long ago as the third century Origen pointed out that there are different levels in scripture and that if we restrict ourselves to the simple literal level we can miss the spiritual meaning.  For many the bible acts as a mirror in reflecting their own hopes and fears, prejudices and priorities.  Oscar Pfister, a Calvinist pastor and psychoanalyst, said: ‘Tell me what you find in your bible and I will tell you what sort of man you are.’[1]  Churches need to revise the images they use, learn from science the concept of standing on the shoulders of giants and recognize that questioning ideas and building on the past are integral aspects of a living and developing faith.    

As individuals we should also be open to faith development at a personal level over time.  Professor James Fowler has postulated[2]that there are stages in faith development that reflect the long-recognized stages in intellectual, social and personal development.  Religious leaders are often very effective at helping their members to move through the early stages of faith development to the point of commitment. Many seem far less skilled in supporting those who are ready to progress further.  A friend of mine described attending church as like being kept down in Class 2 year after year and always repeating studies at the same level.  Some people leave formal religion because they outgrow the image of God from their childhood and they have never been helped to progress beyond that level of understanding to one more appropriate to their stage of maturing spirituality. As J.B. Phillips recognized over 60 years ago,[3] these people are rejecting a “God who is too small”.  There is an understandable reluctance among many religious leaders to accept the questioning of doctrines.  This is more likely to be seen as a loss of faith or as a challenge to the church’s authority than as a necessary part of progressing spiritually.

Professor Fowler suggests that the final stage in faith development is a universalizing faith that transcends the limitations and conceptions of one’s own tradition and culture and is ready for fellowship and co-operation across faiths. The few who achieve this stage are “grounded in a oneness with the power of being or God” and their visions seem to free them from the paradoxes and polarities for a passionate spending of the self in love and a commitment to overcoming division and oppression that anticipate an in-breaking of God’s commonwealth of love and justice. Challenging existing power bases is never easy.  Since such people work across and beyond existing religious traditions, they can be seen as subversive of those structures which promise the security of salvation and God’s protection.  They may even suffer the consequences of this through being ostracised or worse.

What these people have realized is that faith is about far more than assuring one’s own survival and salvation and gaining God’s favour during this life; that in a true relationship of love, one is more concerned about what one gives than what one receives.   They have recognized that it is more important that someone’s beliefs are inclusive, life-affirming and healing and that they live these out and allow God to work through them than that they share our beliefs. We face a range of evils within our world, including serious political, ecological, humanitarian, and economic crises; and religious fundamentalism is one of the problems. It is important to appreciate that all those whose lives are contributing to the furtherance of the realm of God and to the defeat of evil – even if they don’t understand it in those terms – are our allies. 

If God is Spirit and has to be worshipped in spirit and in truth, we are never going to encapsulate him in a catechism. Let’s get back to a proper emphasis on those dimensions of faith which are focused on love of God and love of others.  After all, those first Christians who had a strong enough faith to die in the Colosseum had never heard of the Trinity or the Nicene Creed and many were illiterate and never read any of the books that would later be included in the bible.  But their trusting relationship with God and their loving compassion, not only within their own fellowship but to all those in need, showed that they had a faith worth having and others were readily attracted to join them.

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[1] Pfister, O., Christianity and Fear (Allen and Unwin,1948)

[2] James Fowler, Stages of Faith (Harper & Row, 1981)

[3] J.B. Phillips, Your God is too Small (Epworth Press, 1952)

by Philip Sudworth.

Faith is often presented as a matter of religious beliefs, of accepting specific ideas about God.  Yet faith is much more active than this; it is so much more than an intellectual assent to religious propositions. It is more a spiritual adventure than a state of mind; a vision and a way of life rather than a creed.  Faith is not static; just as we progress intellectually and emotionally, we develop spiritually.

Our induction into faith is often at an early age through family, school or festivals.  Children are told, “As Catholics we believe …”; “We do this because we are Jewish.”  Belonging to a religion becomes a mark of identity that includes them within the group and sets the group apart from others.  It may become a focus for social as well as spiritual activity.  At this level, faith is a matter of tradition and of socialization. Unless faith develops beyond this, it risks becoming a form of tribalism – the in-group against the outsiders.

Faith moves beyond a cultural context or measure of self-identity to become part of what we are as individuals through personal religious experience. This may be an identifiable incident, but equally it may be a gradual awakening. It leads to an inner transformation and commitment to a continuing relationship of love, trust and faithfulness. This experience is as unique as we are as individuals.  This is not just a one-off event; it is a journeying together with God or the divine spirit in a developing relationship.  As with all journeys and relationships, we go through highs and lows and gain different perspectives as we find ourselves in new situations. 

The nature of our faith is most clearly revealed in how we make it into a practical reality in our lives.  It is evident in the kind of people we are at home, at work and in our neighbourhoods and how we respond to community and world needs.  This dimension is our response to the call to discipleship and to participate actively in God’s work in the world.  The golden rule at the heart of most religions on how to treat others is essentially the same. As Albert Schweitzer put it, “All living knowledge of God rests upon this foundation: that we experience Him in our lives as Will-­to-Love.”¹ 

The dimension of faith that pre-occupies many religious people is beliefs – the words with which we try to describe our experience of God in order to make sense of it and to share it with others.  We need to know the limits of such descriptions.  Humans are too complex for us to know even ourselves fully, so how can we comprehend the creative force that formed the billions of people and innumerable other life forms on this small planet which orbits one of trillions of stars?  All attempts to describe God or the way God interacts with humanity are inadequate; they are our best efforts with the concepts and the language we have available. 

Inevitably we resort to metaphors and picture language and talk as if God thought and acted like a human being.  But too often people forget that this is what we are doing.  Despite St Augustine’s warning, “If you understand, then it isn’t God,”² we find church leaders speaking of God as ineffable but at the same time telling us exactly what we must believe about him.  Metaphors become confused with historical truth and are then proclaimed as essential beliefs. So, what started as a wordless experience of love and trust, of commitment and faithfulness, and of giving oneself becomes a matter of doctrine and of the eternal rewards we are promised for holding the right beliefs. 

This emphasis on how we articulate our faith leads us to judge people by whether they express their spiritual experiences in the language we expect and in terms of our beliefs rather than valuing people for the way they love and live in relation to God and to others.  Yet, when asked “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus responded with the two great love commandments.

The stress on beliefs can make religion divisive and exclusive.  People are seen as either ‘believers’ or ‘non-believers’ (and our beliefs are the only standard); they are ‘saved’ or ‘lost eternally’; they are ‘with us’ or ‘against us’.  It leads to seeing those who experience God in a different way as peddling a false message. This assumption that two different ways of expressing a relationship with God must be in conflict with one another is a failure of the imagination.  Within Christianity, in the concern about which doctrines lead to salvation and to a place in Heaven, many have lost sight of the emphasis in the first three gospels on bringing in the kingdom of God on earth and on eternal life – life in all its fullness – commencing in the here and now.

Part 2 of these reflections will follow next week

¹  Albert Schweitzer A. – Out of My Life and Thought. (Johns Hopkins University Press, 1931)

²  St Augustine – Sermon. 117, 5: (PL 38, 673.)

by Michael Wakelin.

This year’s SPECTRUM Conference, What role for the Remnant Church? was held at Swanwick in mid-May and was led by Michael Wakelin and Elaine Lindridge, two speakers who have both written publicly of their growing conviction that some long-held beliefs and practices of Christians and the churches are in urgent need of close scrutiny and critique. Articles are in the form of discussion papers based on their session notes, with editing by Keith Albans – we will share them through the year on Theology Everywhere.

“I can’t stand your religious meetings.
    I’m fed up with your conferences and conventions.
I want nothing to do with your religion projects,
    your pretentious slogans and goals.
I’m sick of your fund-raising schemes,
    your public relations and image making.
I’ve had all I can take of your noisy ego-music.
    When was the last time you sang to me?
Do you know what I want?
    I want justice—oceans of it.
I want fairness—rivers of it.
    That’s what I want. That’s all I want.

Amos 5: 21-24 in The Message paraphrase

In the 2021 Census, 94% of respondents answered the voluntary religion question and, although it remained the most common answer, only 46.2% had described themselves as ‘Christian’, a 13.1 percentage point fall since 2011. In contrast, the second most common answer was ‘No religion’ – up from a quarter of respondents to around two-fifths.

Writing in The Times, Janice Turner responded by suggesting that Christianity ‘is blandly everywhere and therefore nowhere’ and young people prefer to identify as more interesting things.

The most visible representation of Christianity is not God or the Gospel but the Church, and while we may protest that its image has not been helped by ‘the media’, we have been shooting ourselves in the foot for decades with scandals, secularist attacks and a perceived obsession with sex! Sociologist and theologian, Prof. Linda Woodhead suggests that religious institutions such as the Church ‘have had their day … they have harmed, not healed … they have become a barrier and not a bridge’.

Society needs good Christianity, so how might we get back to what we should be?

Five areas of change

Get rid of Jesus! – or the picture of the blonde-haired Jesus that still hangs on the vestry wall! That image epitomises a bland easy-going figure, far removed from the edgy, rebellious Jesus in the Bible. We need to get back to the steely challenge of the real Jesus.

Get rid of the need to be popular – that was never a priority of Jesus! How is it that we have allowed church growth thinking to dominate, as if size matters most? John Hull wrote of the move away from Christendom towards Christlikeness – and a Church which is more of fringe movement than part of the establishment may be a better model.

Re-introduce Jesus to young people – Somehow the idea of Jesus, the very name ‘Jesus’ has become one of the most instant switch offs. And yet the Jesus of the gospels is a character typical of all that Gen X, Y and Z find interesting. He was on the fringes of society, with intriguing friends who enjoyed an edgy party. He mocked the establishment, poked fun at the pompous and spoke truth to power.

Get rid of the ‘Christian’ speak – we don’t seem to have twigged that the language we use amongst ourselves sounds odd and meaningless ‘out there.’ In his book Agent of Grace, Bonhoeffer wrote, ‘It is not for us to prophecy the day when people will ask God that the world be changed and renewed. But when that day arrives there will be a new language, perhaps quite non-religious’.

Movements such as Extinction Rebellion and other secular organisations have stolen the Church’s moral and ethical imperatives and have developed a new language to express Gospel ideas. We need to follow their example.

End the sexuality debate – it has played into the hands of those who want to marginalise us, and has got completely out of proportion. Amos 5 reminds us that there is much more in the Bible about justice, and we need to put things into perspective.

Conclusion: Society needs Christianity, but we need to get the relevant, dynamic, challenging, engaging Christian story out there. What kind of Church might make that possible?

For reflection:

‘Christianity is blandly everywhere and therefore nowhere’ – is that a fair critique? Examples?

What might you add to or remove from the list of five areas of change?

‘There will be a new language, perhaps quite non-religious’. What might we learn from secular organisations in how to express and embody the Gospel?

by Elaine Lindridge.

This is the second of Elaine’s two-part series. We published part one last week.

Last week I urged us to consider afresh the apostle Mary. Using the analogy of Scratch Art Cards, I ended with a question about whether the ‘black crayon’ has obscured some of the gospel texts we use today.

This thinking comes mainly from a sermon I heard by Diana Butler Bass that stopped me in my tracks and completely changed how I see Mary now[1]. In the sermon, Diana shares research from Elizabeth “Libbie” Schrader[2] who has discovered in the story of the raising of Lazarus recorded in John 11, that only Mary (no Martha, just one sister) is there. The oldest Greek text in the world confusingly says, ‘Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, at the village of Mary and his sister, Mary.’ Perhaps the most mind-blowing discovery was the realisation that sometime in the fourth century, the text of the Gospel of John, Papyrus 66[3], had been altered and split the character Mary into two sisters, thus Mary became Mary and Martha (not to be confused with the different sisters in Luke 10). I’ve also discovered that Tertullian, in his commentary on John refers only to Mary and not to Martha begging the question, ‘did Tertullian’s copy of John also only have Mary?’

Having shared in part 1 of this blog my sadness at how the reputation of Mary had been corrupted, I share this week the possibility that the life and witness of Mary has even greater significance then we might be able to yet grasp.

One of the reasons why Schrader’s research is so very important is that this means the Christological declaration of faith, ‘Yes, Lord. I believe that you are the Messiah’[4] may belong to Mary Magdalene. Now read the rest of John’s gospel in light of this revelation from and about the primacy of Mary! I am a novice student of Mary and I appreciate that many a theologian could say, ‘yes but…’ in reply to some of this research. But for me it opens up questions that I simply cannot and will not bury. I share my questions and reflections in order to encourage further exploration and not to state what is right and what is wrong.

In the Synoptics we have Peter giving a Christological confession, ‘You are the Messiah, the son of the living God.[5]” And Jesus turns around and says to him, ‘You are Peter, upon this rock I will build my church’….so we have Peter the Rock. Parallel to this, in John’s Gospel we have the Christological confession from Mary, ‘I believe that you are the Messiah’. Mary Magdalene….Magdalene being a title as opposed to a place. Magdala in Aramaic means ‘tower’ and how fitting to consider the woman who uttered this parallel declaration has the title ‘Tower’ representing her towering faith and influence. Peter, the Rock and Mary the Tower. Side by side, but unfortunately never regarded equally. What would our Christian tradition look like today if these two declarations had been received to the same decree? How much denigration of women might have been avoided if we’d been allowed to see Mary the Tower of faith who did not desert, deny, or betray but stood firm in her devotion and as an example to all followers of the way?

I simply cannot do justice to the depth of research that has taken place, nor is there space here to fully share Schrader’s findings but I strongly encourage you to do some further reading for yourself. At the very least, watch Diana Butler Bass’s sermon, or if you prefer, read the script[6]. Each generation has the responsibility to resist the temptation to simply accept everything their tradition has handed to them. In particular, as a woman, I feel a deep need to check for myself that my understanding of Jesus (and his life) is not shaped by a presumed patriarchal world-view. Doing so can be scary at times – a little like pulling a thread and not knowing what might unravel.

Diana Butler Bass talks of sitting in tears when she discovered Schrader’s research. I was in a coffee shop when I first heard about Mary the Tower at the grave of Lazarus and I too responded with tears. At first I confess they were tears of anger – anger that I’ve been misled by a tradition I thought I could trust. Tears of anger that the story and teaching of this towering woman had been obscured – like the scratch art rainbow obscured by thick black wax. It left me wondering what other things of beauty have been covered up?

But the tears were also of relief that I was hearing something that resonated deeply within me and liberates my soul. Something about encountering Mary in this way warmed a part of my heart that I hadn’t realized was cold.

Last week I opened with the picture of the Scratch Art cards, and I close with that same picture. Mainly because I don’t want to leave the focus on the black that covers the rainbow colours. The stories of Jesus, and particularly his encounters with Mary, offer us something stunningly beautiful. Her life, words and leadership offer us a glimpse of a reality that is still hidden for so many people.

Mary the Tower

Mary the Apostle to the apostles.

Mary the gospel writer.

Mary the faithful companion.

Finally I see a mother in the faith who points me to the divine and whose example I desperately want to follow.

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[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sSH-nfdh_S0.

[2] Elizabeth Schradeis studied Early Christianity at Duke University with a focus on Mary Magdalene, feminist theology and the gospel of John. 

[3] Nestle-Aland Translation Committee of the Greek New Testament is considering how this is to be incorporated into future editions of the Greek New Testament. Furthermore, there is much debate in New Testament studies as to whether this research should turn into a footnote in the next edition of the NRSV or if John 11 & 12 should be changed to take Martha out.

[4] John 11:27

[5] Matthew 16:16, Luke 9:20, Mark 8:29.

[6] Text can be found here https://www.mavismoon.com/blog/mary-magdalene-mary-the-tower

by Elaine Lindridge.

This is the first of a two-part series by Elaine. Part two will follow next week.

Scratch Art Cards were originally a children’s toy but are now quite popular for all ages. They work by scratching off a thick, dark layer of ink to reveal a lighter coloured layer beneath.

As a child, long before they were cheaply available on Amazon, we used to make them at school. The teacher would give us a sheet of card and using wax crayons we’d fill it with a rainbow of colours. Then the thick black wax crayon was used to completely cover over the colour. We’d be given a sharp implement (how times have changed!) and told to scrape off the black to make a new picture.

The memory of carefully scrapping off the black wax to discover a new picture made with beautiful rainbow colours has resurfaced in my thoughts recently. Mainly because I feel like I’m in the process of scraping away some unhelpful beliefs I’ve unwittingly inherited, and in doing so I’m discovering a thing of beauty.  

I could give many examples, but I’d like to focus on the person of Mary. Beautiful, colourful Mary Magdalene whose story has been forcibly cloaked in darkness for far too long.

This new picture has emerged for me through the teachings of Cynthia Bourgeault, Diana Butler Bass, and Mary herself in the words of the Gospel of Mary. I am no expert and I’m not going to pretend to have fully grasped the implications of all I am sharing. I simply offer this reflection as part of my own learning, journey and exploration into the divine feminine.

There is perhaps much ‘unlearning’ we need to do about Mary in order to discover something new in our understanding. The fabrication about Mary being a prostitute permeated the church so deeply that it took nearly 2000 years before it was rescinded – yet even now I still hear people talking about Mary the prostitute. What a travesty that this woman who was marked by Jesus as being ‘worthy’ has been denigrated by man-made lies for millennia. It was Pope Gregory in 591 who first pronounced her a ‘sinful woman’ even though there was evidence to the contrary in the Gospels. Before I was even born, Pope Paul VI removed the identification of Mary as a prostitute – and yet still this view remains in popular culture. Sometimes lies are more readily accepted than the truth.

So what do we actually know about her. Re-reading her story, I want to add my voice to those who now name her as the Apostle to the Apostles. News of the resurrection, and therefore Christianity, is derived from her being the first to encounter the risen Jesus and the first to act as a witness to that event and share the good news with others. She is named as the premier witness to the resurrection. Not only was she there, but she had faithfully and steadfastly remained with Jesus throughout the crucifixion. Hear Cynthia Bourgeault reflect on this;

          ‘All four gospels insist that when the other disciples are fleeing, Mary Magdalene stands firm. She does not run, she does not betray or lie about her commitment, she witnesses. But why, one wonders, do the Holy Week liturgies tell and re-tell Peter’s threefold denial of Jesus, while the steady, unwavering witness of Magdalene is not even noticed? How would our understanding of the Paschal Mystery change if [the role of Magdalene was acknowledged?] What if, instead of emphasizing that Jesus died alone & rejected, we reinforced that one stood by him and did not leave? For surely this other story is as deeply and truly there in the scripture as is the first. How would this change the emotional timbre of the day? How would it affect our feelings about ourselves? About the place of women in the church?’[1]

When the Holy Week liturgies only remind us that Jesus was betrayed, denied, and deserted, then we are merely shown a half-truth. Only telling those stories is like using a thick, black wax crayon to obliterate a beautiful story of faithful devotion and love. Where are the sermons and liturgies that reflect the dedication that Mary demonstrated?

This is all in our gospels and it’s only our perception that needs to be altered in order to see it. But what do we not see – or what have we been prevented from seeing? Surely questions need to be asked about Mary’s gospel, even if no clear answers are found. Deemed unorthodox by the men of the day, I can’t help but wonder if the attempted eradication of the text was simply a fear response. Was Mary and her message just too hot to handle? If so, that makes me want to study her gospel even more!

 And what if there is literally some black crayon that obscures some of the original texts that were deemed orthodox and make up the bible as we have it today? We will consider that next week.

To be continued!

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[1] ~ Cynthia Bourgeault, The Meaning of Mary Magdalene

by Josie Smith.

I am not by nature a marcher or a flag-waver or a displayer of placards.   But there are two protests I felt keenly and was not able to make, years ago, and still recall.

The first was in my Primary School days.    We walked to school alone at that time, or with friends we met on the way (something my great-grandchildren find incomprehensible in these fearful days when parents accompany their children to the school gates.   Didn’t my parents care, they want to know) – or sometimes in my case running to try to keep up with a long-legged and fast-walking male teacher at the same school, who lived next door to our family, made no concession for my little legs, and obviously found me an encumbrance.    It was quite a distance.

The school was led by an old-style head teacher, who was nearing retirement age and was remote and austere and frightening.   Each morning, he would lead the assembly, and we would dutifully sing the day’s hymn, and recite the Lord’s Prayer which we had learned by rote and didn’t mean much to most of us – but then he would call up to the platform those who had broken school rules or in other way transgressed.   And that was the point at which his cane came out.

I shall never forget a quiet boy called Michael, who was persistently late for school.    And just as persistently he was caned for being late, on the platform in front of the entire school.    After morning worship.     Did anyone ever ask why he was so often late?    Was he what these days we would call a Young Carer, having to do a lot of work at home to make life possible for a sick mother? Did anyone ever enquire into his home life? What effect this routine beating had on him I can’t guess, nor why it just went on happening, but my grown-up self still feels a sense of outrage.

I left that school when we moved house and I was nine years old, and one was not permitted to question the behaviour of grown-ups.

The second occasion was in church, when I was older, but still diffident.   Some small children were whispering to each other, making a bit of a disturbance and putting the elderly local preacher off his stride.    He stopped speaking, leaned forward with his hands grasping the pulpit Bible, and addressed these kids in a stern voice.     ‘God won’t love you if you’re naughty!’ he said, before resuming his task.

My whole being was shocked.     I wanted to stand up in my pew (we had pews then) and say ‘BUT THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT!’   Did he not remember that bit about ‘while we were yet sinners’?    The Grace of God is never conditional!    To this day I feel – again – a sense of outrage.     My adult self wants me to have protested then, but I was only a young member, and was surrounded by elders of the congregation who did nothing.     And one did not answer back in church.

It is often said that ‘the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing’.     So, I thank God that there are people who have the guts to shout, and march, and protest, and DO SOMETHING.    Heaven knows, there is so much that is wrong, so much hatred and injustice and cruelty and suffering in the world, and doing nothing is not an option.    So I am on the side of the marchers, the whistleblowers, the little solitary Greta Thunbergs pictured on the school steps, the victims of ill-considered decisions – and all who, in whatever way, speak truth to power.    Though my active days are behind me, I can still use words, to Them in Westminster, and to local government, and to businesses, and in encouragement to those who have the energy I no longer have; to light their own candle in the darkness.

by Andrew Pratt.

I walked into a café. You may know it. No matter. There were three floors. The appeal was that I entered at ground level. My right knee had been troubling me and I didn’t want to climb more than I had to. Each floor had a series of tables occupied by one, two, occasionally four people. Though the people were working this wasn’t the usual plethora of laptops, headphones and other paraphernalia. Casual conversation could be heard between the individuals, nothing intense. The atmosphere was relaxed. They were, you might say, pottering. And that sowed the seed of a thought, a germ of spirituality.

Jeremiah, I think, spoke? Wrote? It matters not how the picture developed. It told of a potter and a spoilt jar, squashed, broken, beaten down, then remodelled, refashioned. An allegory of healing? Of reconciliation? Of salvation?

And I noticed that the people were handling pottery, turning it this way and that, carefully manipulating its position so that different, sides, facets, shapes were exposed to view. Gently, or vigorously, they applied paint. Delicate shades like clouds of coloured mist, or sharp jagged lettering describing words, short, staccato sentences.

I wonder if people you see and the things they’re doing ever make you think laterally, take a sideways jump into something unrelated. Perhaps it’s me, though I’ve noticed it in comedians, that it’s not unusual to have an unexpected perspective that makes you think, or laugh, or perhaps both.

That visit to a café, if you want to seek it out it’s in Conwy in North Wales, prompted a train of thought that I want to share. It relates to our ability to use art, words, images to transcend solid things round us and enter something which for me can have a spiritual dimension. Let me explain.

As the people talked, ordinary conversation, the message was not in their words, but the actions in which they were involved. In the throwing of the pottery shape and form had been determined. This was now redefined as colour, light and shade offered perspective. If this had been thought and argument, I sensed that the conversation was shifting. This was now a matter of co-creativity, substance and creator cooperating, or resisting, something new, or evolved. A unique perspective was emerging.

What had been soft, malleable, wet, had now been shaped, then shaded. Ultimately each observer determined when completion was reached, or at least this act of creation, of evolution, could go no further. To kiln and fire each object found itself consigned. Here the testing heat would confirm and set, or fracture, and destroy what had been made.

And as I reflected this mirrored for me something of the life of faith. We grasp something which changes the direction of our lives, a moment of conversion, if you like. Then how we live as much, if not more than what we believe, changes. And are we as human beings tested like the pot being fired, in some parallel way? And if, in our audacity, we strive to improve on this cosmos, which has hatched and nurtured us, and we let our pride run free, what will be the conclusion? If we risk running with the change our faith has formed, humbly accepting that we owe to each other, and to the cosmos, little less than our whole being, what then?

Will fire allow our hatred to exist? Or will our kindness sear our being so that we, born of this earth, this clay, permeate all we are? Might not that greater goodness be the endpoint of our existence?

by Stephen Lindridge.

Though it’s only early September the autumn weather has already brushed up close. Having moved nearer the coast I had my my first taste of fog. A warm summer day lead to a muggy and very dense day of fog. It seemed almost like low cloud. What could be seen so clearly the day before, now it was like it didn’t exist.

The sunning views over the Tyne and down the coast were gone. It’s funny how the mind works when something you knew was there suddenly cannot be seen. I could get lost in a range of pondering questions but the simple truth I reflected on was how the fog brought my focus upon what was close up. No longer casting an eye upon the horizon but to what was before me.

Some might say in the same foggy conditions “you can’t see very much!” True, but it does bring the immediate space you can see into greater attention. The parallel between these unexpected weather conditions and my own situation, caused me to stop and reflect. Having just left a role I have served in for nearly a decade, these last few weeks have felt a little like my focus is very much on what’s immediately before me. I have to say it has brought me much joy and thanksgiving.

To gain a fresh look and some basic things and having the gift of time to truly be attentive to them has been a great blessing. It brought to my mind the time when Jesus’ focus changes, in his journey to raise Jairus’ daughter, as a woman grasps the hem of his garment (verse 30 in Mark 5:20-43). Jesus turns his attention from the on coming to the present, his time is given to attend to the now.

The Bible has a lot to say about the heart. Our heart, God’s heart and what’s being described about it. I am learning that ‘being present’ is a not so much a head action but that it’s a heart one. Those who’ve studied ‘heart-math’^[1], know our hearts are far more complicated, and modern science is discovering again what the ancients knew all too well. We need to attend to our hearts, what’s right in front of us and hear, see, feel, what’s being encountered.

Scientists have discovered the heart has its own complex nervous system. Based on over 25 years of scientific research observing interactions between the heart and the brain they have discovered that the heart possess a network of nerves which contain over 40,000 neurones. More than this the heart communicates with the brain through: hormones biochemically, pulse waves biophysically and energetically through electromagnetic fields.

So we think about what scripture has to say to us about a pure heart (Matthew 5: 8). Jesus said pure hearts can receive love. Love is the way that brings tenderness and forgiveness and compassion to ourselves, that is honest with how we are feeling. It is actually important to stop and notice, to recognise when we’re very stressed out, or anxious, angry, frustrated, and being able to listen to that. Don’t suppress it, listen to it. Don’t resist it, for that is wisdom of the heart – welcome it and see what it has to say to you. Because resisting it can affect your heart rhythm pattern and therefore your thinking. Learning how to change your heart rhythm back in to a regular pattern that restores a balance in our system, bringing a calm state where we can make wise decisions, and order harmony to our minds.

As we attend to our emotions and allow them to flow naturally our hearts will be pure. We can’t have a pure heart when we are emotionally constipated. When we attend to our emotions they naturally dissolve – resting in the heart of God. The heart invites us to ask – what’s the most important thing in this life I need to attend to?

We can find a myriad of ways to let God’s love fill our hearts. The important things is that we do it. I was speaking to a retired senior leader some time back and he said to me the hamster wheel just seemed to be getting faster and faster over this last decade. He said he was more convinced than ever we need to make time every day and in the everyday to drink in what God through Christ’s love wants to breath into us. So I welcomed the fog descending, shortening my focus and reminding me again to pay attention to what’s before me, what’s in my heart and to discover a fresh the value of life in all its fulness. What unexpected interruptions help you to notice God and what the Holy Spirit may be whispering to you to be attentive to?

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^[1] https://www.heartmath.com/science/

by Ken Howcroft.

This is the second of Ken’s two-part series. We published part one last week.

This piece looks at the dynamics around the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE, whether there are any traces of them in the Gospel of Mark, and prompts the question of what might be any implications for us today. Part 1 set the historic background. This Part 2 looks at the time of Jesus and the early Church.

Herod the Great died in 4 BCE. Augustus divided Herod’s kingdom into 4 areas to be ruled by three of his sons. Herod Antipas ruled two of them, Galilee and Peraea, until his death in 39 CE. Philip ruled the area east of the Jordan to the north of Peraea until his death in 34 CE. The area of Judaea (including Jerusalem), Idumea and Samaria was ruled by Herod Antipas from 4 BCE until Augustus removed him for incompetence in 6 CE. It was then made into an enlarged Roman province until 41 CE.

Augustus died in 14 CE, and Tiberius ruled until 37. In 26 CE Tiberius appointed Pontius Pilate as procurator of the province of Judaea. To establish his authority Pilate sent his troops to Jerusalem. Josephus states that they entered the city by night with their military standards bearing images that conservative Jews found offensive. People rushed to Pilate in Caesarea to object. Pilate backed down, and continued to rule until 36/7 CE.

Tiberius died in 37 CE and was succeeded by Caligula, whose close friend was Herod Agrippa I. He was a grandson of Herod the Great from Herod’s marriage to a Hasmonean princess. He was named Marcus Julius Agrippa in honour of Augustus’s son-in-law and right-hand man, and spent most of his early years in Rome. In 37 he was appointed by Caligula to be king of the region previously ruled by Philip. Caligula then deposed Herod Antipas, and gave Agrippa that kingdom as well.

Then in 40/1 Caligula ordered that a statue of himself be placed in the Jerusalem Temple and that he be worshipped as a god. That doubtless raised fears of another ‘abomination of desolation’.  He was bravely dissuaded from this at least for a time by his friend Herod Agrippa, to whom he promised the kingdom of his grandfather, Herod the Great. But Caligula then again demanded to be worshipped, and the Temple’s situation was only saved when he was assassinated. Agrippa was then prominent in Claudius being acclaimed as the new Emperor. In return Claudius added Judaea and Samaria to his kingdom.

Claudius ruled from 41-54 CE, followed by Nero from 54-68. In 64 Nero sent Gessius Florus to be governor of Judaea. In 66 Florus used Samaritan troops to confiscate a large sum of money from the Temple. Riots ensued, and when Florus  responded savagely, militants seized control of the Temple. They were led by a young priest, Eleazar. He banned gestures of loyalty to Rome and sacrifices made and paid for on behalf of Caesar. War ensued. The militants defeated the Samaritan garrison and the moderate Judaean peace party. But when the Roman governor of Syria was on the point of taking the Temple, he inexplicably withdrew his troops. They were ambushed and massacred, and the eagle of the XII Legion Fulminata was lost.

Nero’s death in 68 led to the year of the four Emperors, the last of whom, Vespasian, had become the Roman commander in the Jewish war. As he returned to Rome, proclaimed by Josephus as the fulfilment of Jewish messianic prophecies, his son Titus completed the siege of Jerusalem and the final destruction of the Temple in 70 CE. Not one stone was left on another.

It was around 70 that the Gospel of Mark probably reached its written form. In Mark 5 the tormented man at Gerasa is called Legion. That term always refers to or alludes to the Roman army. So what is oppressing him is the Roman army. The evil is driven back to the pigs (which were ‘unclean’ so far as Jews were concerned, and so a suitable home for it), and then into the lake (the waters of chaos out of which God created order in Genesis 1). The emblem of the X Legion Fretensis, which was in the region throughout the first century period and which eventually destroyed the Temple, was the wild boar.

In Mark 11 the stories of the temple and the fig tree are intertwined. Jesus prophetically acts against the animal sellers and money-changers in the Court of the Gentiles. He says that the court should be a house of prayer for all nations (gentiles) and not a militant, nationalistic bandits’ den (which is what the word often translated as ‘robbers’ means).

In Mark 12:13ff Jesus is asked about how to deal with the competing claims of the Emperor and the Jewish God. Jesus responds profoundly. If they have Roman coins they are already compromised. If he had asked for a Temple coin, the Tyrian shekels the temple used had an image of the pagan god Melkart on them, and again they would already be compromised.

At the end of Mark 12, Jesus turns his attention to religious tendencies to idolise buildings and status at the expense of living faithfully. The Torah says that the worshipping community should care for widows, orphans and migrants. The Temple is turning that on its head and impoverishing a widow to keep itself and its practices going. In Mark 13 the disciples wonder at the huge stones in the Temple, which had not long been completed. Jesus says that not one stone will be left on another. Jesus then warns of the abomination of desolation appearing. Pilate’s troops had recently brought standards into the city. When these stories were told around 40 CE the saying would resonate with Caligula’s plans for his statue. In 70 it would resonate with the destruction of the Temple.

What might it resonate with today? We have military, economic and political ‘empires’ that can do good or be oppressive. We have local leaders and groups that can do the same, and which often struggle with the ‘empires’ and with each other. What does it mean for us as the contemporary incarnation of the body of Christ to render to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s?

by Ken Howcroft.

This is the first of a two-part series by Ken. Part two will follow next week.

The destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE at a time of regime change in Rome was a major event, and catastrophic for the Jewish people. Have you ever wondered why it is not directly mentioned in the New Testament? Does it have any lasting implications for us in our world? This piece turns over the stones that were thrown down (Mark 13:2) to look at the roles in the drama played by the Temple and its authorities, sundry Herods and the Romans, and the traces of their interactions in the Gospel of Mark. It is in two parts. Part 1 sets the historic background. Part 2 will look at the time of Jesus and the early Church.

The story begins in the time of the Seleucid king Antiochus IV Epiphanes, who ruled swathes of the Middle East from 175 to 164 BCE. The priestly elite in Jerusalem were at first happy to ‘modernise’ and transform Jerusalem into an Hellenistic city. But in 169 BCE Antiochus IV had  visited Jerusalem and looted the Temple, and then in 167 rededicated its Temple to Olympian Zeus. This is what the Book of Daniel refers to as the ‘abomination of desolation’. it led to a rebellion led by the Maccabees. They ousted the traditional (hereditary) high-priestly families and were then themselves declared to be High Priest-Kings in what we have come to know as the Hasmonean dynasty.

Not all of this was universally popular. One member of the traditional families, Onias IV, failed in an attempt to be reinstated in Jerusalem by the Seleucids and so went off to Egypt around 160 BCE and founded an alternative Temple and cult in Leontopolis. Yet another group of the old elite, the Sadducees, supported the Hasmoneans. A more moderate group however continued seeking to engage with Hellenistic rulers. Against this, the lay movement of Pharisees opposed the Hasmoneans for their usurpation of the High Priesthood. The group that centred around the Dead Sea Scrolls (probably Essenes or closely linked to them) similarly believed that the High Priest-Kings were illegitimate, and also that the Temple rituals were being conducted wrongly on a lunar rather than a solar calendar.

There were therefore major tensions between Jewish groups which focussed on the Temple. These continued for the next two hundred years. In 63 BCE the Roman general Pompey intervened to bring Judaea under direct Roman rule. He besieged and captured Jerusalem. He entered the Temple and, whether inadvertently or not, went into the Holy of Holies and thereby desecrated it. The following day he ordered that it be purified and its rituals resumed.  He left the Hasmonean priests in office, but deprived them of what we would call ‘political’ power.

In 54 BCE however Crassus, who with Julius Caesar and Pompey made up the First Triumvirate, plundered the Temple’s money and gold.

Things began to change with the parallel rise to power of Herod the Great in Judaea and the Emperor Augustus In the whole of the Roman Empire. Herod was a loyal client of Mark Antony. In 47 BCE he was named by the Romans as governor of Galilee. In 40 the Roman Senate appointed him King of Judaea and supported him in regaining Jerusalem from the Parthians in 37 and gaining complete control of the country in 34. When Julius Caesar’s heir, Octavian, had defeated Antony in 31 and become the Emperor Augustus, Herod skilfully moved from being Antony’s loyal client to Augustus’s.   

Augustus’s attempts to settle the empire were mirrored in Herod’s to settle Jerusalem and Judaea. Both involved the creation of infrastructure and investment in huge public building works. While the former built, for example, the Forum Augustum in Rome, the latter built a new harbour and city in Roman style on the coast at Caesarea Maritima (the choice of name being significant!). Aligned with the harbour rather than with the city streets he built an imposing temple to Roma and Augustus. The Roman Empire was being opened up to the Jews.

At the same time in Jerusalem Herod almost completely rebuilt and extended the Temple. The extension included the creation of a Court of the Gentiles which took up about half of the total area. In it Gentiles could study and pray. But also Jews and Gentiles wanting to offer sacrifices and make money offerings could buy temple-approved animals and change their money into temple-approved Tyrian shekels there.  The Temple was being opened up to the Gentiles in general, and the Roman Empire in particular.

Herod therefore followed Augustus in enacting a policy of “eusebeia” – performing the actions that were appropriate to the gods, particularly ‘local’ gods. According to Livy, Augustus was “the founder and restorer of all sanctuaries”. The Jewish writers Josephus and Philo say that in Jerusalem Augustus presented the temple with golden vessels and other precious gifts, and he ordered that whole-offering sacrifices be made on his behalf, paid for from his private purse. That is not the same as saying that he should be worshipped and sacrifices offered to him. His son-in-law and main military commander Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa (with whom Herod’s family were closely linked) paid for a hundred oxen to be sacrificed, together with other gifts.

But what did the various Jewish factions make of all this, and are there any traces in, for example, the Gospel of Mark?  We shall explore that in Part 2.