Author Archives: Elizaphanian

About Elizaphanian

Rector of West Mersea

The prostitutes get to heaven before the priests

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Most people are familiar with the phrase ‘the lesser of two evils’. What this means is that, in any particular situation, the choices available might all be objectionable in one way or another, and that includes the choice not to make any decisions at all and simply let events take their course. A classic example from the movies is ‘Sophie’s Choice’ but they don’t have to be that dramatic. It might simply be someone shopping at the supermarket and finding that there isn’t enough money to get everything needed – so do we do without milk or eggs this week?

Christian thought describes this using the language of ‘The Fall’ – as I touched on in my article about assisted dying. As I said then, the importance of the story of Adam and Eve is not about particular historical events that may or may not have taken place several thousand years ago, but about the nature of the life that we are living today. As a result of living in a Fallen world, we are often in situations where there is no right answer and there is simply the choice between different evils.

There is a lot of ethical thought which the Christian tradition draws on when considering these questions (it’s called ‘casuistry’), but such thinking is not distinctive to Christianity. It is shared by lots of other ways of thinking, especially within governments, where it is occasionally admitted to (it’s called ‘utlitarianism’ – the greatest good of the greatest number). What is distinctive to Christianity is an understanding that the lesser of two evils nevertheless remains just that: evil.

The way this works is to recognise the difference between the choice that is being made at any one point in time, and what is actually right and good from God’s point of view. In other words, if someone is forced to go without either eggs or milk in the supermarket then their family is going to suffer from the evil of deprivation. This is not God’s intention for that family. Therefore, even though a ‘lesser of two evils’ decision might be made between eggs or milk – and even though that decision could be readily defended by the casuists and the utilitarians – it is still a decision that is a ‘wrong’. Why is this distinction important?

Well, the huge benefit that comes from treating such decisions as instances of continuing evil is that we do not lose our moral moorings completely. To recognise that having to choose between milk and eggs is an evil is a way of holding on to the notion of social justice, and therefore it provides fuel and energy to all those who seek to help build a society where families don’t have to choose between milk or eggs. It allows us to hope and long for a better world.

To use a sailing analogy, it is the difference between working out the best immediate course to follow given local conditions of wind and tide, and knowing the eventual destination. Without having an eventual destination in mind, the sailor simply runs with what seems best at the time. With an eventual destination in mind, course corrections can occur over time, and tacking in the ‘wrong direction’ can be recognised as a necessary evil on the way to the eventual safe harbour.

Without the ability to retain a sense of lesser evils still, nonetheless, being evil, we soon lose our sense of any moral fabric at all. A good recent example is a philosophical paper arguing for the legitimacy of infanticide. When the laws around abortion were changed in the 1960s, the argument put forward was that it was a lesser evil to have safe and legal abortions than to have illegal, backstreet operations which put the lives of young mothers at serious risk. That makes sense – it probably is a lesser evil. Yet what has happened is that, without the acknowledgement that such abortions remain an evil, abortion has become just another lifestyle choice, and the logical consequences are now being seriously argued for – that where an infant is inconvenient, it is not wrong to kill them. Such are the depths to which our society has now sunk, simply because it has lost any sense of where it is going.

Which brings me to the nature of grace and redemption. As I said in my last article, I’m in favour of blessing civil partnerships in church, but I’m not in favour of ‘gay marriage’. That is simply because I see the right way to bring up children as being by their natural parents. Call this the ‘ideal’. What happens, however, when – as inevitably happens in our fallen world – such an ideal outcome is impossible, either through death, or divorce, or desertion? Well, then we are in the midst of our choosing whatever is the lesser evil, and those lesser evils can be seen all around us, functioning more or less well. I know of many cases where broken families are put back together with others, and where real security and love can become possible again. I’ve even been privileged enough to speak God’s blessing in such situations, to allow a second chance and a remarriage in church. This is what Christians call redemption. Redemption is simply when God takes something which we have broken and builds something good out of the pieces. It is not an endorsement of what has gone wrong before; it is not saying ‘you were right to choose the lesser evil’; it is simply God saying ‘I am not going to let you go and I will work with you to bring something good out of this situation’.

Which is how we are to understand what Jesus did. If we look at Jesus’ own ministry, he was normally to be found amongst those who don’t fit, those who are broken and very aware that they don’t meet the standards of what is socially acceptable. Why? My sense is that Jesus spent his time with those who have experienced pain and brokenness for the simple reason that they didn’t indulge in the illusion that they were perfect; rather, they were the ones that were extremely conscious of their own failures, the ways in which they fell short of God’s intentions for them. They knew that their choices of the lesser evil were still evil – and so they longed all the more for their eventual destination, when things would finally be put right. In contrast, the ones that Jesus criticised the most were the ones who believed that they had all the answers, and that they were ‘right’ – in other words, that their choices of lesser evils were not evil, and so they felt able to be self-righteous, and they used the ‘ideal’ as a club with which to beat all those who fell short. That is why Jesus is so astonishingly abusive to them – they had become vessels of merciless judgement rather than grace. There are, of course, those with the same attitudes today.

There is a wonderful Leonard Cohen song called ‘Anthem’ which expresses this eloquently: “Ring the bells that still can ring/ Forget your perfect offering/ There is a crack in everything/ That’s how the light gets in”. The light gets in, because it is those who are broken who recognise the need for genuine non-judgemental love, love which gives without a thought of receiving, love which sees what is wrong but loves anyway, love which can redeem what has gone wrong and graciously build something new. This is what Jesus offered, and that’s why I try and follow him. Then Jesus explained his meaning to the religious authorities: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do.” (The Gospel of Matthew, chapter 21, verse 31)

A few thoughts about gay parenting

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This is really by way of a supplement to my previous post about civil partnerships, and prostitutes getting to heaven before the priests.

My argument there is that we need to draw a distinction between sanctioning and blessing relationships which are purely about the relationship between the parties involved, and sanctioning and blessing relationships which involve the raising of children. I believe that the wider society has a much stronger interest in the latter than in the former. Whilst there is all sorts of Christian thinking that can be considered in such cases, my overwhelming feeling is that it is for the Christians concerned to establish what is right, between them and God (and if they explicitly seek God’s blessing for their endeavours then the church should enable such blessings to take place). In other words, I think it is a matter of taking their baptism seriously, and trusting in the outworking of grace in the lives of brother and sister Christians.

The latter situation, involving the raising of children, involves more factors. Two things to say about this. First, I believe that – in so far as we can use such language – it is part of God’s original intentions for humankind that each child is to be loved into being and raised by their mother and father, and that there is something inevitably biological and organic at the root of this. That is, any situation which results in a child not being raised in love by their biological mother and father is the result of sin somewhere along the line (not necessarily sin by the parents – it could simply mean that one parent has lost their life for any of a multitude of reasons). I think that it is important to hold on to this as the normative model for parenting.

My second point, however, is a recognition that, in our fallen world, we have to cope with many situations that fall short of the ideal. What then? Well, we make the best we can from what we’ve got. We patch up our families, putting together whatever pieces work in so far as we can do so. We recognise that things aren’t ideal, and we rely on God’s grace to plug the gaps. As I argued before, I suspect that it may be easier for God to do his work when people recognise their own brokenness rather than otherwise (“every heart to love will come… but like a refugee”). Given this, I don’t have any problems with couples of all shapes and sizes and orientations adopting or fostering children. Seems to me that if there are loving homes available, and children in need of loving homes, then everybody wins.

However, I would add a caveat to this. If we accept God’s intentions as normative – that a child is to be raised by their biological mother and father – then this places a question mark against all the ways in which there is a conscious choice to bring a child into the world without their biological mother or father being the ones to raise the child, eg through artificial insemination. That would seem to be to be actively choosing against what is normative, rather than simply coping with what is not normative and redeeming a broken situation.

So to sum up my present thinking:
– blessing of civil partnerships – big yes;
– adoptions by gay couples – yes (subject to same restrictions as heterosexual couples);
– actively choosing to bring children into world without mother and father – no.

Current ambiguity still to be explored – if a gay couple with children seek church blessing – does that mean ‘gay marriage’?! I think not, but I still have further thinking to do on this…!

The prostitutes get to heaven before the priests

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Most people are familiar with the phrase ‘the lesser of two evils’. What this means is that, in any particular situation, the choices available might all be objectionable in one way or another, and that includes the choice not to make any decisions at all and simply let events take their course. A classic example from the movies is ‘Sophie’s Choice’ but they don’t have to be that dramatic. It might simply be someone shopping at the supermarket and finding that there isn’t enough money to get everything needed – so do we do without milk or eggs this week?

Christian thought describes this using the language of ‘The Fall’ – as I touched on in my article about assisted dying. As I said then, the importance of the story of Adam and Eve is not about particular historical events that may or may not have taken place several thousand years ago, but about the nature of the life that we are living today. As a result of living in a Fallen world, we are often in situations where there is no right answer and there is simply the choice between different evils.

There is a lot of ethical thought which the Christian tradition draws on when considering these questions (it’s called ‘casuistry’), but such thinking is not distinctive to Christianity. It is shared by lots of other ways of thinking, especially within governments, where it is occasionally admitted to (it’s called ‘utlitarianism’ – the greatest good of the greatest number). What is distinctive to Christianity is an understanding that the lesser of two evils nevertheless remains just that: evil.

The way this works is to recognise the difference between the choice that is being made at any one point in time, and what is actually right and good from God’s point of view. In other words, if someone is forced to go without either eggs or milk in the supermarket then their family is going to suffer from the evil of deprivation. This is not God’s intention for that family. Therefore, even though a ‘lesser of two evils’ decision might be made between eggs or milk – and even though that decision could be readily defended by the casuists and the utilitarians – it is still a decision that is a ‘wrong’. Why is this distinction important?

Well, the huge benefit that comes from treating such decisions as instances of continuing evil is that we do not lose our moral moorings completely. To recognise that having to choose between milk and eggs is an evil is a way of holding on to the notion of social justice, and therefore it provides fuel and energy to all those who seek to help build a society where families don’t have to choose between milk or eggs. It allows us to hope and long for a better world.

To use a sailing analogy, it is the difference between working out the best immediate course to follow given local conditions of wind and tide, and knowing the eventual destination. Without having an eventual destination in mind, the sailor simply runs with what seems best at the time. With an eventual destination in mind, course corrections can occur over time, and tacking in the ‘wrong direction’ can be recognised as a necessary evil on the way to the eventual safe harbour.

Without the ability to retain a sense of lesser evils still, nonetheless, being evil, we soon lose our sense of any moral fabric at all. A good recent example is a philosophical paper arguing for the legitimacy of infanticide. When the laws around abortion were changed in the 1960s, the argument put forward was that it was a lesser evil to have safe and legal abortions than to have illegal, backstreet operations which put the lives of young mothers at serious risk. That makes sense – it probably is a lesser evil. Yet what has happened is that, without the acknowledgement that such abortions remain an evil, abortion has become just another lifestyle choice, and the logical consequences are now being seriously argued for – that where an infant is inconvenient, it is not wrong to kill them. Such are the depths to which our society has now sunk, simply because it has lost any sense of where it is going.

Which brings me to the nature of grace and redemption. As I said in my last article, I’m in favour of blessing civil partnerships in church, but I’m not in favour of ‘gay marriage’. That is simply because I see the right way to bring up children as being by their natural parents. Call this the ‘ideal’. What happens, however, when – as inevitably happens in our fallen world – such an ideal outcome is impossible, either through death, or divorce, or desertion? Well, then we are in the midst of our choosing whatever is the lesser evil, and those lesser evils can be seen all around us, functioning more or less well. I know of many cases where broken families are put back together with others, and where real security and love can become possible again. I’ve even been privileged enough to speak God’s blessing in such situations, to allow a second chance and a remarriage in church. This is what Christians call redemption. Redemption is simply when God takes something which we have broken and builds something good out of the pieces. It is not an endorsement of what has gone wrong before; it is not saying ‘you were right to choose the lesser evil’; it is simply God saying ‘I am not going to let you go and I will work with you to bring something good out of this situation’.

Which is how we are to understand what Jesus did. If we look at Jesus’ own ministry, he was normally to be found amongst those who don’t fit, those who are broken and very aware that they don’t meet the standards of what is socially acceptable. Why? My sense is that Jesus spent his time with those who have experienced pain and brokenness for the simple reason that they didn’t indulge in the illusion that they were perfect; rather, they were the ones that were extremely conscious of their own failures, the ways in which they fell short of God’s intentions for them. They knew that their choices of the lesser evil were still evil – and so they longed all the more for their eventual destination, when things would finally be put right. In contrast, the ones that Jesus criticised the most were the ones who believed that they had all the answers, and that they were ‘right’ – in other words, that their choices of lesser evils were not evil, and so they felt able to be self-righteous, and they used the ‘ideal’ as a club with which to beat all those who fell short. That is why Jesus is so astonishingly abusive to them – they had become vessels of merciless judgement rather than grace. There are, of course, those with the same attitudes today.

There is a wonderful Leonard Cohen song called ‘Anthem’ which expresses this eloquently: “Ring the bells that still can ring/ Forget your perfect offering/ There is a crack in everything/ That’s how the light gets in”. The light gets in, because it is those who are broken who recognise the need for genuine non-judgemental love, love which gives without a thought of receiving, love which sees what is wrong but loves anyway, love which can redeem what has gone wrong and graciously build something new. This is what Jesus offered, and that’s why I try and follow him. Then Jesus explained his meaning to the religious authorities: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do.” (The Gospel of Matthew, chapter 21, verse 31)

School Assignment 1: Citizenship and Ethics

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Someone hacks your Facebook account and posts all your personal stuff online. They also insert a page with stuff you didn’t write that makes you look like a horrible person. The hacker emails 15 of his friends and says he got all the stuff, including the nasty bits, from your account. His friends show all this stuff to everyone at school and they tell them it all came from your account.

Almost everyone at school, even the teachers, now hates you and tells you so. You tell everyone that the nasty bits are fake and that you didn’t write them. But the teachers don’t believe you. They say that because most of the stuff is true the nasty bits must be as well. They post some of the pages on the school website highlighting the nasty bits and tell everyone not to talk to you.

Some of your friends speak up for you and point out some flaws in the faked parts that prove they are forgeries. The flaws are substantial enough to actually identify the hacker. The hacker then confesses but only to hacking your account. He says he got the page with the nasty bits anonymously in the mail and that he only hacked your files to find out if they were true. You’re shocked because at the same time he was hacking your files you had invited him to come and talk to your friends.

The teachers ignore the evidence of forgery and then try to justify the hacker’s actions, saying that although document phishing and impersonation is wrong, the hacker is a “hero” because they always thought you were a horrible person; horrible persons are increasing and the school is heading towards a horrible person catastrophe.

Q: Discuss the ethical implications of what just happened. There are bonus marks if you can work in a reference to polar bears.

From here – it’s worrying when something this obviously unethical is not taken seriously, because it would jeopardise the message

See if they wet their pants

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The words Guru, Swami, Super Swami, Master, Teacher, Murshid,

Yogi, Priest,

most of those sporting such a title are

just peacocks.

The litmus test is:

hold them upside down over a cliff for a few hours.

If they don’t wet their

pants

maybe you found a real

one.

Daniel Ladinsky

A commentator on Rowan’s successor

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May I draw your attention to the description of the Office of Archbishop of Canterbury contained in the details sent to members of the General Synod? The Archbishop of Canterbury is a ‘focus of unity”. This phrase has recently been introduced into the job description of diocesan (and perhaps suffragan) bishops in the Church of England. I think it is incorrect. The bishop is the SOURCE of unity, in that he or she is the fount of Holy Order in the diocese, either by the laying on of hands or by the giving of a License to those ordained elsewhere. So too with the Archbishop of Canterbury, it is by being in communion with this bishop that the Anglican Communion is constituted.

The Archbishop of Canterbury must first and foremost be true to their personal integrity of faith before God, not seeking to appease others but to reveal the truth. Then those already in communion either remain or depart. Pragmatism is not what Christ calls for in his bishops, but principle, truth, and justice.
Where will the Lord find such a person? And if he does, will we be allowed to receive their ministry? I am deeply afraid that such courage is lacking in those who will advise the Vacancy in See Commission.

(from the Thinking Anglicans comments page)

Going to Eli – the tension between the institutional and the vocational

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The prophet Samuel is called at a time when ‘the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions’. Yet clearly the institutional life of the religious establishment continues as before – Eli continues to minister at Shiloh. When Samuel hears the call from God, his instinct is to go to Eli, for this is the way in which his understanding of God has so far been formed. Eli’s reaction is to tell Samuel to go back to sleep. It is only Samuel’s persistent response to God’s calling that breaks through Eli’s habits and assumptions, and then Eli is able to genuinely minister to Samuel, giving him the correct guidance, and midwifing the birth of Samuel’s own distinctive prophetic ministry – a ministry that begins with the pronouncement that Eli’s sons, faithless priests at Shiloh, would soon be dead.

There is much that is worth pondering in this story; what I would like to tease out for now is the tension between the requirements of the sanctuary, and the requirements of responding to God’s call – the tension between the institutional and the vocational.

The circle on the right represents all that it means to respond to God’s call to minister in his name; to find life in serving him and become the person that God calls one to be. It is the path of life in all its fullness. The circle on the left represents all that it means to serve a particular religious institution, whether that be the sanctuary at Shiloh or the church today. Clearly it is God’s intention for those circles to harmonise, so that those called by God to minister in his name are enabled to do so through the life of the institution.

Sometimes, however, God’s intentions are not fulfilled. Sometimes the institution develops in such a way that the glory of the Lord departs from a place or institution. When this happens, continued service to the institution is not necessarily what is called for from the ministers. To do so is to become a Pharisee, one whom Jesus described as those that “nullify the word of God for the sake of [their] tradition.” Clearly this was the situation with Samuel, when the word of the Lord was rare. In such a situation God calls forward the prophets – those whose awareness of vocation is so distinct that they are enabled to speak the word of God independently of the institution, and to criticise the institution from God’s point of view. Put simply, when an institution falls away from true worship, it moves to the left of the picture; in response, God calls prophets to return the institution to the right of the picture. The role of the prophet, paradoxically, is to make it possible for the priest to do their job.

The place of the prophet is not a comfortable one. By definition, the prophet’s role is to come into conflict with the institution, to repudiate its present practices and call those within the institution to repentance. The temptation for the prophet is to collapse into cynicism about the institution, to relish the pronouncements of doom against it, yet to do so is to fail in fulfilling God’s purpose. The role of the prophet is to build up and edify the church, not to tear it down. It is to heal the church and bring it back to a living and active faith, not to arrogate to itself a role as judge and executioner. This is why Jeremiah is so archetypal – his love for the people of Israel abided throughout his ministry.

Where are we now in the Church of England? I am aware of far too many cases where the priorities of the institution have been catered for at the expense of individual vocations. When this happens, the minister either endures a life of quiet desperation or else falls out of ministry completely, normally through ill-health of one sort or another, or early retirement, or by seeking refuge in a non-parish role (the numbers of which multiply exceedingly). This is part of the inheritance of Anglican Christendom – Herbertism – and this is what has to be repudiated.

What, specifically, might this mean? I think, for me, it means questioning the perceived institutional needs, in the name of God. For example, the financial predicament of the Church of England, linked to the ongoing decline in numbers, provokes mortal terror in the heart of the existing establishment (apparently). There is then a subsequent push towards growth, using (often) business and management techniques – for they, obviously, are the very models of successful institutions. I see this as ‘going to Eli’, when what the church most needs is to say ‘speak Lord, for your servant is listening’. That is, the very root of our problems is a turning away from God and a being captured by worldly agendas. More worldly concerns will not lead us out of our morass. More visions and agendas and bright ideas are not what we need. Our path is and can only be one of renewed faithfulness and humble waiting upon God. It may be that in his infinite wisdom God has decided that the particular institution called the Church of England has outlived its usefulness as a vessel for enabling the spread of the gospel. I hope not – but the only hope for the Church is if we return to our spiritual centre, and remember what it means to be human.

The fate of a holy man in the Church of England

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This is by way of some brief thoughts about Rowan’s resignation:

– I think I’m as delighted by his resignation as I was by his original appointment; principally because I believe he has earned the right to some happiness (language that I’m sure he’d repudiate, but I think it’s true nonetheless);
– for me, the high point of his ministry was the visit to Zimbabwe – some clear and courageous leadership, with an unambiguous meaning;
– whereas the low point, and the tragedy of his time, was his treatment of Jeffrey John. I think that the worst general consequence to this was that it obscured the truth about the power struggles going on, and enabled a continuing aversion to honesty by the house of bishops. We are way past the time when an honest and adult conversation should be had, and the continuing deceit on this issue repeatedly damages the church. Rowan, on principle, placed unity ahead of truth, and we are still dealing with the consequences of that decision (I think it is also the principal ground for why the Covenant will likely be rejected in England – Rowan’s natural constituency doesn’t trust him, and therefore it);
– Rowan has many immense gifts, gifts which are much more apparent on a personal level than when mediated by distance or writing. What he has not had is ‘serpent wisdom’, and I would associate this with his lack of parish experience. By his own life and witness he has called the church to be more faithful; by his unworldliness he has allowed the bullies to dominate. Pious language has its place but we also need to recognise our fallen context;
– in sum, what I see in Rowan’s ministry is the fate of a holy man in the Church of England. Misused and abused – and bullied into collusion with the misuse and abuse – we didn’t get the best of him, for the simple reason that as a whole church we have lost sight of the one thing needful. So alongside the delight for him personally is an immense sadness for what might have been.