Breaking the Rules

Maybe, just maybe, the Grenfell inquiry might uncover the truth about the dreadful fire that killed so many. One one level, it seems obvious that what happened was the the tower caught fire and the fire spread rapidly up the outside of the building through the newly fitted cladding. But more is expected from an inquiry, if the truth is allowed to be told. Did anyone break the rules? Behind this question is not only the need for accountability, but also a natural desire in the survivors for justice. It is too early to know the answer, but several (as yet unproven) suggestions have been made. Was cheaper cladding used in order that money could be saved? Was the fact that the tall ladder was not automatically deployed another example of protocols being determined by the need to meet budgets? Is it true that planning permission for sites near the tower overlooked the need for proper emergency access to the tower? And is it true that the health and safety regime that oversaw the application of the cladding was such that it made a mockery of the spirit of the original rules? We cannot say, but it is to be hoped that a proper inquiry will look at all these issues.

It has been pointed out that when people complain about what seem ridiculous and unnecessary health and safety rules, then the Grenfell Tower tragedy is an example of just why such rules are necessary. Rules, of one sort or another, govern our lives.  They define the game of life and allow human beings to interact in a way that creates society and sustains community. In Christian terms, the scriptures provide us with a rule of life by which we can strive to live holy lives as disciples of Christ. The problems come when people apply or interpret the rules in different ways and then feel aggrieved that 'so-called fellow Christians' are not abiding by the rules of the game. Yet what might seem clear-cut teaching (for example, Jesus’s teaching on divorce), can widely be either ignored or reinterpreted in the light of a developing tradition that is modified by reason.

In the Grenfell Tower tragedy, I was struck by another suggestion that rules were broken. A particularly powerful piece of film, shot by one of the attending firefighters on their mobile phone, expresses the horror those firefighters felt on seeking the scale of the fire. It has been said that the fire was so bad that the rules did not allow the firefighters to enter the building at all. Yet they did so, breaking the rules, for they were determined to save as many lives as possible. If this is true, then their bravery was even more remarkable.

There are some important questions here.  What were the rules of engaging in such a fire? What value had they and what was the significance of them being broken? Learning the rules must be seen as an integral part of the training of those firefighters. Indeed they could only develop into skilled firefighters by learning the ropes (the rules) in such a way that doing the right thing became second nature to them. Like learning to drive a car, when the right way to do it can be expressed in terms of rules (including the Highway Code), you reach a point in which driving becomes second nature. In the same way training to become a firefighter also needs to start with learning the rules of how to do it. Yet on the day, the rules could be broken, because all that training had equipped those firefighters both to do the job and to calculate the risks in going beyond the rules in order that lives might be saved.

There is a danger, when we talk about the Christian life, that scriptural texts become the be all and end all of Christian discipleship, so that keeping the rules is seen as being utterly essential to salvation. Yet it seems to me that what wound up the religious rulers of Jesus’ day was the extant to which Jesus was openly prepared to break the rule of scripture in order to reach out with compassion to meet the needs of those around him. The rules set the framework of the game. They define it. Yet it is possible to imagine someone who is a revered, leading expert on the rules of cricket (for example) yet who has never had the ability to set the game alight with a magnificent century or a bag of wickets. In the New Testament it is the Scribes and the Pharisees who are the acknowledged experts in the rules of the game, yet Jesus suggests that they miss the point entirely and fail to step into the Kingdom of Heaven. What then is the witness of scripture? What does it mean to be a bible-believing, orthodox Christian? What is the faith 'once delivered to the saints?' Surely it is to respond to Christ in a way that we lose our lives in self-giving to God and to neighbour. Thereby we not only find that in loving others, with generous abandon, we have fulfilled the law, we find with delight that we have already stepped into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Capitulating to Secular Values?

A letter, sent to the Telegraph, and signed by a number of leading conservatives, not all of whom are Anglican, bemoans the fact that there are now two forms of Anglicanism in England. One of these has capitulated to secular values, particularly in respect of attitudes to homosexuality. The other, describing themselves as faithful orthodox Anglicans, are those who continue to hold the faith ‘once delivered to the saints’. At the same time there is a group of people (some Anglicans and others no longer in the Anglican Church) who are meeting to plan a faithful ecclesial future.

The phrase, ‘once delivered to the saints’, is a favourite of those who take the view that the gospel message cannot be changed. My problem with the use of this phrase is that it can be used against any change. What was once delivered to the saints? It seems to me that that is the fact that Jesus died on a cross, that he rose to new life on the third day and these events are linked to a new age in which the Spirit is being poured out on the world in a way that is transformational. Yet within the pages of the New Testament there is already change, as for example the obvious debate as to whether this is a message only for the Jews, or whether Gentiles too are included in God’s saving plan. It took a century or two before what is ‘orthodox’, in terms of Christian doctrine, was hammered out in the form of the creeds. Oddly, the creeds make no mention of human sexuality.

For me, as an orthodox, bible-believing Christian, the faith once delivered to the saints is totally focussed on the person of Christ. I do not primarily seek to defend any doctrine of the atoning sacrifice of the cross, nor of the historic truth of the resurrection. Rather I am compelled to share my joy at the transforming power of the love of God, mediated to me through the dying Christ, and the reality of the risen Christ in my life. I might read the account of Pentecost but, rather than engaging in an exegesis on these texts, they form a framework for my faith which has led me to a place in which Pentecost is certainly a vital chapter in the history of our faith but, far more importantly, it is my own experience of my life being set ablaze by the power of the Holy Spirit. This radically changed my life. It changed my own-self-awareness. It changed my relationship with every person I meet and indeed with the whole of creation. It changed me so much that one of my relatives said she could no longer recognise me as the same person. That is what it means to be born again. And that transforming, renewing love is what I have preached for this past 40 years. It is the Gospel once delivered to the saints. It is first order stuff. It is the heart of what it means to be a Christian.

So I despair at the sight of fellow Christians seeking to set up alternative structures within the Anglican Church, which take as their core value what people do with their genitals. It appears that they do not like secular values, especially when it comes to questions about human sexuality. And it seems that it is this that has become for them the issue which defines true Christian faith. I have to disagree. It is the transforming reality of Christ, who set my life on fire with the flame of the Holy Spirit, that both defines my life and binds me into one fellowship with every other Spirit-filled person I meet. In fact that fellowship is not so exclusive, for the vision of a world that is drawn into the Kingdom of heaven is what makes me so passionate about mission.

I wonder whether modern views of human sexuality, which accept committed, covenanted relationships between people of the same gender, are quite as secular as is made out. In 2012 I toured some of the Scandinavian Churches of the Lutheran tradition, with whom we are bound through the Porvoo agreement. In several of these countries the church marries people of the same sex. It helps that they do not accept that one can speak of a ‘doctrine of marriage’. For them the core doctrines of the Gospel do not include anything about marriage. But in Sweden, when the debate was running as to whether or not the church should embrace same-sex marriage, the Archbishop made a speech in which she said that the Church should be thankful that Gospel values had finally impacted on secular values and helped to change them. For centuries, she said, we have been preaching that in Christ there is no Greek or Gentile, no slave or free, and finally the secular state has listened and made marriage inclusive.

There is perhaps a warning here that whatever it is that we hold dear is not necessarily THE Christian point of view. Other Christians think differently. Do we really believe that we are preaching the Gospel, if we divide over issues of human sexuality? Are we not making an idol out of this issue, in that we are allowing this, and not Christ, to define and shape our lives?

The Church and Bexit

As we engage in the process of Brexit, we are assured by the proponents of this move that there are wonderful opportunities out there and it will all be worthwhile in the end. I am not so sure. There was much wrong with Europe and much that needed reform, but I cannot see that Brexit is the answer. I think of my own ministry and a lifetime of involvement in the ecumenical movement. I have experienced many examples of dynamic and vibrant expressions of mission and ministry, which were enabled by different churches coming together and working as one. A common passion for a mission project can bring people together in a way in which other differences of tradition and practice take their rightful secondary place. Indeed, in such a project, difference can become treasure to be shared, as a variety of perspectives become rich ingredients in the mix of the project. Such ecumenism is life-giving and generates energy. I have experienced such exciting moments of ecumenical practice and it strongly enhances mission. Yet I have also experienced the opposite of this. Ecumenical endeavours that have lost that sense of purpose can so easily become, not life-giving, but energy-draining. When the ecumenical purpose ceases to be caught up in the exhilaration of working for a shared goal, and all energy is sucked into maintaining the structure of the project and the relationships between the participants, then the ecumenical ideal has been lost. The whole endeavour has lost the cutting edge of mission and it has become a time-consuming exercise in managing structures.

It seems to me that the problem with EU is that it has lost its unifying and life-giving ideal and has become instead a body which sucks in energy simply to maintain its structures. The lack of a shared ideal and common purpose can be seen in the difference between those who primarily want a political union and those who see the EU as a free-trade area with countries maintaining their own sovereignty. So, for many, it has lost its vibrant ideal for the future and is seen as a burden. It is not apparent to me that those who exercise the governance of our country have the charismatic leadership skills needed to unify our nation and draw us into a new shared narrative which will take us into a better future. Being tough at the EU negotiating table is not the same as having the visionary leadership needed to take us into a future in which our whole nation can prosper. Neither is the call for unity within our nation enough to overcome the deep divisions within our society. My experience of ecumenism leads me to say that only a shared endeavour, which fires up the imagination of all the participants, will have any hope of success.

The same might be said about the future of the Anglican Communion. As long as we are divided about such third-order issues as sexual ethics, and as long as such issues consume so much of our passion and energy, we will be a weak church, which will never quite succeed in its task of proclaiming afresh the Kingdom of God for our present generation. In my ecumenical career I have found a delight in working as partners with those who could not recognise the ministry of women, or indeed who either did not recognise my ministry as an Anglican or, on the other hand, the need for any ordination. Yet a shared passion to engage with the wider community with the message of God’s saving love was what bound us together. What a force for the Kingdom we would be if, despite some deep differences between us, we responded to the love of God, and celebrated our shared vocation to mission, by gathering around one Eucharistic table! It is our shared response to a body, broken for a fallen world, that should shape us and unite us in a passion set alight by the fire of the Spirit. Instead, we seem to delight in clinging to our differences, defending them and setting them up as tokens of true faith, while a world that cries out for the very bread of heaven goes largely unfed.

Vestments

The recent decision by General Synod to allow clergy not to use vestments is being heralded as a change in the practice of the Church of England. It is certainly a change in the law of the land, but how much change we will see in practice is quite a different matter. There are many Church of England churches around me where it is common to see clergy not wearing robes. The clergy concerned will have sworn an oath to abide by canon law, one of which laws say that clergy should robe (although ‘robing in what?’ has been a question of long-standing debate). Often it is the case that changing practice precedes a change in the rules, so what the Synod has done is to change the law to fit in with present practice in many churches. Even in churches like mine, which will go on using robes, there are occasions when, on pastoral or missional grounds, it is inappropriate to robe. The canons have been changed to recognise that. It must be healthy to bring the law back into what is now common practice.

When I was a student we welcomed the arrival of a new liturgy lecturer, who was from the Uniting Church of Australia. This new church was formed by the joining up of a number of different denominations. They called themselves ‘uniting’ (rather than united) because the process of Christians coming together in unity was work in hand. They found themselves having to agree on what rules and regulations would govern their church. Would their clergy robe? They thought not, but then the discussion moved on to what was appropriate dress for their ministers. Perhaps ordinary clothes would be appropriate – tee shirt and jeans? They thought not. Perhaps a smart suit? But then it was pointed out that suits (in their culture) were the preserve of the rich and powerful (this was the 1970s!). In the end they opted for a simple cassock-alb and stole. It marked out the person exercising the ministry of president and was a mode of dress which spoke neither of class nor wealth, but simply of the ministerial role being exercised by this person at this particular time.

I remember going to evensong at Westminster Abbey to hear Colin Winter preach. Colin was the exiled Anglican bishop of Namibia, who lived in London and had been exiled because of his opposition to apartheid and to the South African regime that controlled Namibia. There was something incredibly powerful about the sight of this man processing in the grand entry procession at the start of the service. The Dean and canons were resplendent in gorgeous copes, each of which certainly was worth thousands of pound. Colin wore a simple cassock-alb and stole. It was a simplicity that spoke volumes about a servant ministry that was to speak in a context of worldly power. Somehow, in that context, his robes were themselves a message about a gospel that should be speaking truth to power.

I have a certain admiration for some of my Roman Catholic colleagues, who might seldom be seen in any form or clerical dress, but who will put on robes to preside at the Mass. Those of us, who are ordained, do not cease to be part of the people of God and more important than our ordination is the fact that we have been baptized. I prefer to be called ‘Nigel’, rather than ‘Vicar’, as that is my Christian name and I am among a company of people who together share the vocation to be the Body of Christ, broken for the healing of a wounded world. Yet I will continue to put on my cassock-alb and stole when I exercise a priestly and liturgical. It marks me out as exercising a particular ministry of service and the empowerment of others. It must not remove me from the company of the baptized within whom the Spirit dwells.

Speaking with Authority about Sexulaity

There is a passage in St.Matthew's Gospel in which Jesus has been teaching the crowds and he has ended with the parable of the wise man, who build his house upon a rock. The reaction of his audience is telling (Matt 7.29): 'Now when Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as their scribes.' The scene is not unique. In Luke's Gospel we find (Ch 2) Jesus, as as twelve year old, debating with the teachers, who are amazed at his understanding and his answers. In Mark's Gospel (Ch 6) we find Jesus teaching in the synagogue in his home town and his audience responds in wonder: 'Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done at his hands! Is not this the carpenter...?'

There is here a contrast between the teaching ministry of Jesus and the somewhat run-of-the-mill teaching of the Scribes and Pharisees, to which the people were far more accustomed. This was so much the case that the people were astonished at what he said. He spoke with that inner sense of authority in which truth is perceived and understood, an authority which self-evidently genuine and brings its audience to a new place of insight. We might be tempted to affirm Jesus' authority in the light of his death and resurrection. We proclaim him as the risen and ascended Lord, so of course his teaching carries authority. Yet the texts I have quoted, whilst written in a post-Easter setting, seek to portray Jesus has having an inherent authority for people who did not yet ascribe any status to him, except for the power of the words he used. 

We can take this portrayal of authority out of the overcoat of divinity with which we cannot but help envelop Jesus. When Albert Einstein said that e=mc2, he astonished the world with a truth that radically altered our perception of reality.Here was a truth that had not been perceived in this way before. Yet, once stated, the truth stood on its own merit with its own authority. It is that authority with which Jesus spoke. In a world of clever debate about the minutiae of what was lawful, Jesus simply spoke the truth. At first it amazed his hearers. Then the truth make them feel uncomfortable, for it challenged their perception of reality and undermined the basis of their own power. So they crucified the revealer of Truth, for he was a threat to the edifice of reality by which they crafted their own sense of identity and truth.

We live in an age in which, somehow, a significant number of Anglicans have come to believe that their view of marriage, together with their assumptions of the sinfulness of same-sex relationships, is a touchstone of true believing. The Church of England bishops attempted to address this situation by issuing a report which they presented to General Synod. Synod had only to 'take note' of the report, a formal procedure that recognizes a report, but which does little else. Synod took the unusual step of failing even to recognize it. That was a set-back for the bishops, a challenge to their authority. Yet that was not really surprising. Their report was an attempt to hold together two conflicting principles, firstly to defend marriage as a relationship between a man and a woman and, secondly, to say that being gay does not put you outside either the love of God or the fellowship of the Church. 

The bishops have now embarked on a two year process to produce a teaching document about sexuality and marriage. I cannot help feel that this is like watching a train crash in slow motion. What will come out at the end of this process and with what authority will any document be presented to the church? Will the document have its own inherent authority by which people are led to see truth in a new way? Or will the document be another example of writing which seeks a middle, and political, line of holding together an resolvable tension? My fear is that what is produced will be something that would make the Scribes and the Pharisees proud, a masterpiece of clever argument, yet a document which carries no inner authority. If its authority depends on the signatures of the two Archbishops, signing on behalf of an unanimous vote by the College of Bishops, then not only will the document lack any real authority, but the authority of the bishops will have been diminished by this. They will speak with the same authority as the Scribes and the Pharisees, but they will not have spoken with the mind of Christ in a way that astonishes and changes lives. 

Can such an authoritative document be produced? By prayer and an openness to the Spirit, we must hope the answer to be yes. Such authority is to be seen in 'Body Grace', a paper once written by Rowan Williams. Touches of such authority burst into the open in a collective way through the Second Vatican Council. Of one thing I am certain. Nothing produced will have any relevance to our society, if it is based on a internal church war over issues which long ago ceased to concern our nation. Only teaching, which is vibrant with truth, will touch peoples lives so as to astonish and delight them. Perhaps then they will be helped to affirm human sexuality afresh as a gift from God, through which the transcendent can be experienced and deep joy can be found in the vulnerability of giving and receiving between two people, whose life-journeys have become inextricably entwined.