Theology Everywhere

by Elaine Lindridge.

‘Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it’ (Mark 10:15). In the hymn, Says Jesus, ‘Come and gather round,’ developing the theme of a childlike faith, Leith Fisher asks: ‘When was it that we first forgot that questions helped us grow, or lost the openness to ask and learn what we don’t know?’ (Singing the Faith, no.510, v.2).

It is 40 years since the Sea of Faith movement began, in response to Don Cupitt’s TV show and book of the same title. And while it has led many to feel liberated to explore matters of faith and challenge cherished creeds, it has also given rise to others trying to shut down such explorations, assert their orthodoxy and load guilt onto those who pursue them.

Leith Fisher’s statement that ‘questions helped us grow’ does not simply apply to children – it applies to all who want to walk the way of Jesus – but the memory of a minister criticising the voicing of doubts and deep questions still burns after 40 years!

Brian McLaren’s book Do I stay a Christian? describes itself as a ‘guide for the doubters, the disappointed, and the disillusioned’. In the first part he outlines reasons to answer ‘No!’ and in the second part he similarly explores why you might answer ‘Yes!’ The final part addresses the question ‘How?’

The process of reimagining faith involves deconstructing that faith – but whether it also involves reconstructing it is an open question. It might also involve reimagining doubts – seeing them not as obstacles, but as an invitation to re-examine whether the original question was the right one. This is particularly true when we explore Jesus’ miracles, the virgin birth and the resurrection.

One sadness in many churches and fellowships of Christians is that folk find it hard to be honest, for fear of seeming to have put themselves outside of the camp. And yet if we are followers of Jesus and engaged in a pilgrimage of faith we will change and be changed as we travel and as we grow.

In one of his final chapters, Renounce and Announce, McLaren describes ‘coming out’ as a gift which our LGBTQ siblings have given us. In ‘coming out’ an individual announces that ‘you have thought of me one way, but I have come to understand myself in a different way, and I want to let you know’. He then encourages us to consider how we might ‘come out’ as the pilgrim we are now.

For reflection:

• Some argue that reimagining and deconstructing our faith is like opening a can of worms, whereas Socrates suggested that the unexamined life is not worth living! What testimonies do we have which may cast light on this?

• ‘Doubter’ is such a loaded word! Are there Bible stories or doctrines where doubts have led you into fresh understandings?

• Does the language of ‘coming out’ feel helpful? Can you imagine contexts in which it might be used?

This is the second paper from this year’s SPECTRUM Conference, What role for the Remnant Church? which 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 are sharing them through the year on Theology Everywhere; see also Time for a New Reformation.

by George Bailey.

This article continues a journey I have been traveling this year into the theology of environmental ethics, and its relationships to our theology and spirituality of salvation and holiness. See here on Theology Everywhere for earlier stages on the way (though I am not yet claiming to have a joined up account of all the ideas in these three articles!) – Capitalocene, new materilaisms and solidairty and Growing Resurrection.

Over the summer I was able to do some reading into critiques of capitalist models of economic growth, and some proposals for how escaping the need for constant growth could contribute to a significant and positive response to the climate crisis – pursuing the aim of an economy that maintains a steady state of equilibrium and so ceases to have an ever-increasing negative impact on the environment. Efforts have been made over the last 25 years to explore this potential for a postgrowth society, to be worked towards through a period of degrowth, arriving in time at a Steady State Economy,^[1] with a primary aim throughout being the ongoing improvement of human wellbeing.

Degrowth is a provocative term, and to some extent intentionally negative in order to challenge the dominant assumptions. Alisa et al. defend the degrowth agenda against the criticism that it is overly negative – it also offers an optimistic and radical vision for the future:

‘On the constructive side, the degrowth imaginary centres around the reproductive economy of care, and the reclaiming of old – and the creation of new – commons. Caring in common is embodied in new forms of living and producing, such as eco-communities and cooperatives and can be supported by new government institutions, such as work-sharing or a basic and maximum income, institutions which can liberate time from paid work and make it available for unpaid communal and caring activities.’ ^[2]

Degrowth is not simply about decreasing economy activity to reduce environmental impacts, but also taking more helpful decisions about how resources are used to most effectively improve human wellbeing. Milena Büchs and Max Koch analyse the arguments in favour of a postgrowth society and the steps that might be required to pursue it. ^[3] They propose that a key aspect of this is the recognition that core societal values (which have their roots in post-Reformation Protestant Christian spirituality) have developed in association with the economic growth paradigm, and that these will need to be changed to achieve a Steady State Economy.

‘Core societal values and orientations such as “achievement”, “upward mobility” and “social position as result of own work and merits”, which are of crucial significance for the maintenance of the growth paradigm, have their structural basis in the specifically historical features of the capitalist production and accumulation process that present themselves as natural features of economic activity.’^[4]

This is the point at which, for Christians, critical analysis of some key doctrines and the theological and practical expressions of them becomes vital – in order to understand the role of our theology in shaping our core economic and environmental values, and how we might change them.

The shortest, simplest, and yet also most profound, contribution I have read so far on this topic is from the early 1980s by Henri Nouwen – The Selfless Way of Christ: Downward Mobility and the Spiritual Life.[5] Nouwen is significant as a theologian who wrestled with questions of spiritual pride and the drive to succeed within the Church and the academy, and in the latter part of his life followed a personal path out of high-profile academic leadership and into caring ministry and solidarity within a L’Arche community, a vocation that is often overlooked outside of one small network of personal relationships. He proposes the term ‘downward mobility’ to describe this theological turn from upward progress and growth as the central metaphors of the Christian life. He calls on people to resist the temptations within Christian discipleship which can distort the concept of growth: ‘The problem is not in the desire for development and progress as an individual or community, but in making upward mobility itself into a religion.’^[6] The alternative downward way that Nouwen offers is shaped by the way of the cross of Jesus Christ, but also enabled by the Spirit which fills those who follow this way.

‘The way of the cross, the downward mobility of God, becomes our way not because we try to imitate Jesus, but because we are transformed into living Christs by our relationship with his Spirit.’^[7]

Too often our theology of spiritual growth, reasonable and sensible in itself, can be skewed into an assumption of the need for ‘upward mobility’ which shapes our economic decisions in ways that ultimately affect the environment negatively. Assuming that constant growth and ‘bigger is better’ are helpful in the spiritual life can lead us (even if in unintended, unseen ways) into abusing and damaging the planet more than might be justifiable even within our own environmental ethics. What we need are positive actions in pursuit of ‘downward mobility’, which might seem initially to make little economic, or even spiritual, sense. Perhaps the key way to grow in Christian spirituality and maturity is actually to grow smaller.

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[1] This term has a long historical background from John Stuart Mill onwards, with various interpretations possible – see analysis of this development in Herman E. Daly and Joshua C. Farley, Ecological Economics: Principles And Applications (Island Press, 2004), 54-56.

[2] Giacomo D’Alisa, Federico Demaria and Giorgos Kallis, “Introduction” in Kallis, G., G. D’Alisa, and F. Demaria (eds.), Degrowth: A vocabulary for a new era (Routledge, 2015), 3.

[3] Milena Büchs and Max Koch, Postgrowth and Wellbeing: Challenges to Sustainable Welfare (Palgrave Macmillan, 2017).

[4] ibid., 17.

[5] Henri Nouwen, The Selfless Way of Christ: Downward Mobility and the Spiritual Life (Darton, Longman and Todd, 2007); originally published as a series in Sojourner magazine, 1981.

[6] ibid. 26.

[7] ibid., 44.

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/