Category Archives: evangelicalism

Reasonable Atheism (11): Of Theisms Humourless and Sophisticated

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This is a brief one, and more ‘for the record’ than anything else.

The aspect-blindness that I am in the process of criticising as ‘humourless’ when it appears in an atheistic perspective is not at all a logically necessary part of atheism – it also appears in a great deal of apparently theistic argument too. Most especially in North American Protestantism.

I have no desire to defend a humourless theism. As I see it the arguments between atheists and (some) theists is best characterised by what is shared between the two perspectives, that being the sense that the Bible is best understood literally and ‘all-or-nothing’, that facts are the most important forms of knowledge, and that science is the royal road to establishing such facts. (It might seem paradoxical to say that theists give such a high role to science, but historically it is indisputable, and it is the source of the venom and antagonism displayed towards Darwinism – an idol is being dethroned).

I’ve written a lot about this elsewhere. See in particular Why I hate fundamentalism.

I-monk on good form

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“As much “Contemporary Christian Music” as possible please, It’s the soundtrack of apostasy, as far as I can tell. Nothing smells quite as inauthentic, juvenile, manufactured and phony. In fact, we need some down here for the more despairing and tortured areas. Is it on iTunes?”
Go read.

Very sharp

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Mad Priest on good form

An open evangelical is a Christian who, literally, “opens” the Bible, reads it and believes every word it says.

A conservative evangelical doesn’t need to “open” the Bible. He has already decided what the Bible says – “It says what it has always said.”

I’ve managed to get out of bed today, which is progress, though I’m still distinctly under-the-weather. I hope in particular to be well on Saturday morning as I have a major parish event to handle. In the meantime I’m catching up on some blog reading/ newspaper reading, and this issue with Elaine Storkey I find fascinating. What I said to Tim in a comment is relevant here – it’s not that I want to kick the conservatives out or break communion with them, it’s more the other way around. In some small way I think that making my understanding of authority explicit clarifies this underlying issue.

Three schematics for the place of Scripture

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This is following up on one of Tim’s comments. Tim was arguing that someone like Cranmer wouldn’t have understood the role of Scripture in the way that I do, and I’m wanting to get a handle on how they would have done, so because I think this way, here’s another triangle:

This one still has Christ as the highest authority, and under that Scripture, then tradition and reason etc. The latter lead into the former, but it is the former which must be accepted in order to gain access to Christ. (As I understand the RC position, the blue area is higher than the green, but still with Christ at the top).

This is different to my triangle:
…because with my triangle it is possible to gain access to Christ independently of Scripture (eg through the church community).

In my post on conscience I was arguing (in effect) that the first position was the equivalent of fundamentalism. That was question-begging, because another diagram will express how I see fundamentalism(!):

In other words, for me, by definition fundamentalism isn’t in touch with the living Christ (the yellow cross). I think that the first triangle above – call it the ‘Reformed’ model – can and does provide access to the living Christ. What I wonder is whether it’s possible to preserve a communion between those who accept the two different triangles. Because they are really quite different theologically. I may go into that in greater detail later on; for now, I’ll let the question stand.

A point of clarification on conscience

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Tim said in a comment “both sides in the current dispute claim to be [following their conscience], and yet you seem to be saying that somehow the ‘conservative’ side isn’t doing it right – or, they’re drawing the wrong conclusion from what they’re hearing. I’m just not sure on what basis you make that judgement, Sam – because make no mistake, it is a judgement.”

I think I need to expand on this, because I don’t want to argue that holding the conservative position is necessarily against conscience – I don’t believe that it is – I just think that one form of the conservative stance (possibly the dominant and most vocal one) seems unsupportable (that is, those who use this argument are precisely ‘not doing it right’).

I think there is a difference between these two positions (both forms of the conservative perspective):
1) the expression of homosexual desire is sinful; it is destructive of the soul and pernicious; and Scripture and tradition have unanimously taught us this from the beginning;
and
2) the expression of homosexual desire is contrary to Scripture, and therefore it is sinful, destructive of the soul and pernicious.

The first recognises some reality beyond itself, to which Scripture is a revelatory witness, and therefore implicitly recognises that IF it could be established that the expression of homosexual desire (in the context of permanent life-long union etc) were not sinful, destructive, pernicious etc THEN we would need to reinterpret Scripture. This I think is a position which is tenable and responsible and ‘on the same playing field’ as those who precisely want to argue that such a re-interpretation is right and of God. The community both for and against the change can thereby discuss what is right and true about Scripture and the expression of homosexuality and seek an understanding of God’s will. This, I think, is the position that Rowan is defending.

The second, however, does not recognise anything outside of “Scripture”; which then becomes reified and absolutised. There is no place from which it is possible to argue that – for example – Scripture is silent on the specific subject being argued about (which is a view I am sympathetic towards). It’s not possible to interpret Scripture creatively or in a new way. I see this approach as a) a breach with traditional forms of interpretation in and of itself and b) highly prone to subordination to political objectives. This seems to me to be the position adopted by a great many people in the debate, and I don’t recognise it as defensibly Anglican. (It may be defensibly Christian, but of a non-Anglican sort).

As I see it, the more thoughtful and reflective conservatives are arguing option 1), and Rowan in particular is arguing it from a position (assuming he hasn’t changed his mind) which doesn’t agree with option 1) but is ‘in the same ballpark’. That is, Rowan personally believes that our view of Scripture needs to change and develop, but that this change needs to be done in the right way – and he’s now embedded in an argument for that right way being established (and he sees the establishment of that right way as being more important than the public acceptance of LGBT ministry). I’m sure that what Rowan would like to see is a) an establishment of the Windsor Covenant, followed by b) an endorsement by that covenanted community – at some point down the line – of the acceptability of LGBT relationships etc.

My problem is with the advocates of option 2) which have, from my perspective, an anachronistic, Modernist and idolatrous understanding of Scripture, ie I think they’re fundamentalists. That’s why my longer post was about ‘The authority of Scripture’ as such – it’s independent of what position is held on the current dispute. It’s possible to hold both a conservative position and to hold that view of Scripture. It’s also possible – of course – that I’ve got it wrong. But that’s why the blog is so useful – I can rely on people pointing out errors of fact and logic in my position!!

A bit more about Scripture

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Following on from that long post, I think part of the reason why I relate to Scripture as I do can be explained autobiographically. That is, I came to faith after being immersed in the critical study of Scripture. There never was a time for me – at least after attaining ‘the age of discretion’ – when I have seen Scripture as being absolute or without error. The critical study of Scripture actually allowed me to move through it and see what it was about. Consequently I don’t have anything at stake in whether the Bible contains errors or not; I’ve always understood that there are such errors, but that doesn’t make any difference to faith in the living Christ.

The key question is what Tim articulated: “how do we decide whether the voice in our heads telling us to do something which is against scripture comes from God or not?” Ultimately I don’t think there is a finite answer to that question; we have to follow our conscience – a conscience which is educated and informed by Scripture, Tradition and Prayer – but still conscience all the same. And that means, we follow our conscience whether we are accepting ‘Scripture’ or rejecting it – in other words, even for those who are explicitly being obedient to Scripture, they are in practice following the higher authority of their own conscience.

There are some very knotty roots in play here. One of which is the doctrine of utter depravity, because if you accept that then any reliance on conscience becomes objectionable. Yet that has all sorts of other frankly appalling consequences so I don’t propose to spend much more time exploring that strand.

The other one, though, is the search for certainty – very much the Modern predilection and neurosis – and this is driven, at least in part, by the seeking for security in salvation. But I don’t think that this form of certainty is available to us. Not simply because we walk by faith and not by sight but because we live by grace and not works, and whatever we do can be redeemed.

In other words, God allows us to get it wrong. And if we get it wrong but we are acting in good faith and humility and actively seeking the will of God then I have no doubt that over time God will reveal to us that we have got it wrong – and that, in fact, perhaps the ‘getting of it wrong’ is precisely what God was seeking (paradoxically) in that by growing through that struggle and finally discerning that truth then we will have reached a better place than we would have done without going wrong in the first place! Some things we need to learn for ourselves, even at the cost of making a mistake.

Which is why I am more and more of the opinion that, with respect to the current arguments, I should speak a little less and listen and trust a little more. When I read someone like Christopher, for example, I’m aware of a seeking after God. Those who reject TEC’s changes as ‘abomination’ or whatever are really saying ‘we don’t trust you to be honestly seeking God, and even if you were, we don’t trust God to be active in your life to lead you to the truth’. That seems faithless to me, let alone what it indicates about fellowship.

For who is harmed even if we assume – for the time being – that this will be a mistake? (ie accepting ministries from LGBT clerics). Why can’t we trust that God is in charge and active in this process – and trust and believe that even if we disagree with what is being done? It’s as if the objectors think that we mortals have the capacity to silence the stones!

I think I’m just becoming sensitised to the political use of the language of ‘Scripture’, and I don’t like it very much.

Come Holy Spirit (David Pytches)

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I came across this in the church library the other day, and as I am starting to pursue an exploration of charismatic thinking and practice, it seemed remarkably heaven sent. I found it to be a very interesting book, and a reassuring one, although a little dated in some ways (it was written in 1985). David Pytches is one of the founding figures of Charismatic Spirituality in the UK, being particularly involved in New Wine. I’m attending a New Wine conference next April in Harrogate, which should be illuminating.

Things I liked about it: first and foremost, the theological grounding for expecting ‘signs and wonders’ as a normal and routine part of apostolic ministry. I’m persuaded of this, and I suspect this is the most important thing I need to digest. I also liked the way in which the exercise of a healing ministry (for example) was separated off from any sense of controlling the outcome or feeding the ego of the minister (one of the things that had always steered me away from charismatic spirituality).

There were two things I didn’t like. The first was a sense of spiritual confinement, in that prophecy, for example, is a much larger and more dynamic gifting than is expressed in Paul’s letters – but Paul’s letters seemed to set the parameters for the exercise of that gift. This seemed sub-biblical; bizarrely, I would want to enlarge the active role of God beyond what was argued for here. The other element which seemed wrong was the lumping together of other faiths with a general sense of the demonic. I am not persuaded that, for example, the practice of yoga is Satanic; indeed I would argue quite strenuously for the opposite – that this sort of opposition to yoga is Satanic, in that it is embedded in skandalon and the taking of offence.

Yet those criticisms are not central to the book. I’d recommend it as a first step – it has certainly helped me.

Chelmsford Diocesan Evangelical Association to relaunch in 2008

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The Chelmsford Diocesan Evangelical Association, which has not met for over two years, is to be re-launched at a meeting on Saturday February 9th, 2008, at St Michael’s church, Braintree.

The guest speaker at the meeting will be the Bishop of Willesden, the Rt Revd Pete Broadbent, who will speak on the theme ‘United We Stand’.

Anyone who thinks of themselves as an Anglican Evangelical, whether lay or clergy, is welcome to come along from 10.00 am. Bishop Pete will address the meeting at 10.30am.

Later in the morning, it is proposed to appoint a ‘holding’ committee, which will draw up a new list of members and decide a programme for the remainder of the year. This will allow the CDEA to become re-established before more formal elections take place for a longer-term committee.

In the past, the CDEA provided a regular opportunity for Evangelicals to come together from across the Diocese to encourage one another in ministry and evangelism. With so many challenges facing us today, it is a great time to be uniting again with the aim of bringing the gospel through our churches to our world.

St Michael’s is near the centre of Braintree, just off the High Street, in St Michael’s Lane. There is a regular train service from London and from the east of the county. It is expected that the meeting will finish at 12.30 with the opportunity to stay on over lunch. For further details, please contact Revd John P Richardson on 01279 813703 or by e-mail, j.p.richardson@virgin.net.

The nature of an outsider’s perspective (part one)

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I didn’t succeed in recording the first part of my Learning Church sequence on evangelicalism, which is rather a shame. I’m going to try and write up my talk, in two parts. The first one about where I personally am coming from and why I have the perspective that I do. The second one will be about my triangle and how I use it to interpret goings-on in the Anglican Communion.

So you could call this my “testimony”, if you were so inclined.

I grew up in what might be considered a typically Anglican family – there was belief but not a great deal of belonging. As a family we went to church three or four times a year (always at Christmas and Easter) and the Bible, stories of faith and prayer were a part – not a huge part – but definitely a part of the context of my early life. I have a distinct memory of when I was about seven years old of starting to read the Bible from the beginning – I think I got as far as the first genealogy! There was an occasional attendance at Sunday School, but no great commitment to it. On one side of the family was an active Anglican commitment (one grandparent being a church warden for some fifty years); on the other side a much more non-conformist ‘chapel’ heritage, with a strong commitment to social activism. It’s interesting seeing those two strands wrestle within me every so often.

At the age of eleven I was sent off to Boarding School. This was a Christian foundation and the school assemblies every morning were embedded in Christian worship, including the singing of a hymn every day; in addition there was a full church service every Sunday morning, in the chapel, attendance at which was compulsory. In my second year at boarding school I remember a conversation with a class mate about Gandhi, and whether he was bound for hell or not. As I took my friend’s understanding of Christianity to be ‘the truth’, and as I couldn’t accept the justice of Gandhi being doomed to eternal torment, I became an atheist. At first not a very active one, but over time, more and more determined. When I was about fourteen some Jehovah’s Witnesses came to visit and left a tract detailing their opposition to the theory of evolution. I read the tract; thought ‘this is interesting’, and decided to explore further. I wanted to hear from an alternative point of view so I purchased Richard Dawkins’ ‘The Blind Watchmaker’. This I found much more persuasive, and, along with the acceptance of evolution I accepted his general antagonism towards religious belief.

In essence the rejection of Christianity was driven by two things: a sense that it was unjust, and a sense that it was untrue. However, being at boarding school meant that I continued to be fed the diet of worship, including the singing of hymns, recitation of set prayers, and listening to sermons on a regular basis. I am certain that this has strongly shaped many of my attitudes to liturgy today, both positively and negatively.

My antagonism towards Christian belief manifested itself as antagonism towards religious believers, ie my classmates, including the very same classmate with whom I had had that original conversation about Gandhi. The trouble with me, however, was that I wouldn’t let things alone, and whenever the opportunity arose I would engage vigorously in discussion about the truth or otherwise of Christian doctrine. The real truth was that I was obsessed with God! (I still am really.)

When I was seventeen there were a couple of knocks to my sense of self and sense of purpose, one of the more significant being a rejection from Oxford University. I had a distinct sense that I was going to end up at Oxford, so, whilst ‘banking’ an offer from the LSE I resolved to try again in the context of a year out. What actually happened over that year, however, was a more general ‘drift’. Most of my ambitions had either been realised or put on hold and I had the opportunity to explore and read more widely. Most crucially, whilst thinking through my re-application for Oxford I came across a description of the Philosophy and Theology course, written by one of the students, which was headlined ‘You don’t have to be religious to work here’. This caught my interest, and the more I explored it, the more I thought ‘this is actually what I want to study’.

My motivation was not entirely honourable. I read ‘The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail’ at around this time, and was intrigued by the thought that modern scholarship provided much more heavyweight tools for attacking Christians with! Following some pleasing A Level results I then reapplied to Oxford and the experience could not have been more different than before – all the doors seemed to open up before me, and I got my place, to go up in the Autumn of 1989.

That summer, with my future settled, and after working in Colchester doing various exciting and exotic jobs(!) I spent three months travelling around the United States and Canada with a friend. I had recently read Robert Pirsig’s ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ for the first time, and that had a huge impact upon me. I had always had a strongly ‘mystical’ streak, even in my aggressive atheism, and I devoured a lot of material on the occult and New Age spirituality. Pirsig’s account of Quality made a tremendous amount of sense to me – it still does – but it was probably the most important factor in dismantling the aggressive atheism that I had imbibed from Dawkins.

So I went up to Oxford, all the chips on my shoulder still intact, and waded in to my tutorials with my prejudices. Which didn’t last for very long. Very gently – astonishingly gently really – my principal tutor, who was the College chaplain, slowly took apart all of my beliefs about what Christianity actually was, and demonstrated, both through his teaching and example, that Christianity was intellectually credible. You didn’t have to leave your brain behind when you walked in the door. Essentially, what I had been rejecting as Christianity I would now recognise as fundamentalism, and there is the world of difference between the two.

However, this change in my attitude was not enough to bring me to a form of belief. Logic and reason can do many things but our foundational commitments are not borne on either, they’re much too important for that. What triggered the change was a religious experience. I was on my own at home in the August of 1990 and reading the book ‘Green Christianity’ by Tim Cooper. I remember vehemently disagreeing with him about God, and thinking ‘but God’s not like that!’. And I caught myself thinking that, and realising that I was arguing from a position of accepting God – in other words I realised that I did believe in God – and at this point my head exploded. I fell to my knees and my sight was wiped out with white brightness. Two things in particular erupted into my consciousness. The first was about the overwhelming priority of love. That love was, in the strictest scientific sense, the fundamental force governing the universe; that I loved God – and always had – and that I was loved by God; that love literally made the world go round. The second is caught in the phrase ‘become who you are’. There was an astonishing degree of affirmation involved – an affirmation I still draw on today – and I was on an emotional high for quite some time – weeks – afterwards. This was the foundation of my vocation.

Well I returned to Oxford a little chastened, in that a lot of the positions I had adopted I now repudiated, and I largely withdrew from active involvement in many wider endeavours. I had received the wound of knowledge and I needed to dig down and work out where that wound had come from. So I actively pursued my studies, and explored Christianity, and slowly more and more pieces fell into place. I was confirmed in the Church of England one year later – as someone who still had lots of doubts, and was undoubtedly ‘unorthodox’ in belief, but someone who was also committed to this path.

In 1992 I left Oxford and went to London, working for the Civil Service. Church attendance fell away during this time, although my own personal explorations of the faith continued actively. The next really significant breakthrough occurred in 1995, when, as a result of my wider personal life becoming rather complicated (see here) I had another religious epiphany. This one was not so positive, in that God made it clear to me that I was embarked upon the road to hell. He also made it clear that I was called to the priesthood; specifically I was given a vision of celebrating the Eucharist – THIS was what I was called to do. I resisted for as long as I was able to – about two days – because the thought of becoming a vicar was anathema to me. To me a vicar was a figure of fun, an ineffectual wimp tossed hither and thither by cultural forces beyond his comprehension, an intellectually vacant space. I gave in, of course. (In retrospect I’m sure that reading the Susan Howatch novels in the months preceding laid a foundation for this; ignoring the literary merit I think they’re pretty sound theologically).

Once more my life changed course, but this time it was through a commitment not simply to exploring the faith in an intellectual sense, but through starting to change my life and habits away from ‘the works of darkness’ and putting on the armour of light. I became actively involved in the church I had recently begun to attend and put out feelers concerning potential ordination. I left the Civil Service one year later and worked as the school caretaker in the church school, joining in the Daily Office and generally getting embedded in the church life.

I also started up a Master’s degree at Heythrop, as this seemed to be a part of the vocation. My intellectual gifts had helped open up the path of faith for me in the first place, and it seemed natural that they would be a part of the vocation itself. In this I was encouraged and affirmed by the church hierarchy. This was a mistake. The first fruits of the mistake came at the end of the first year when I received a mark in an examination on Wittgenstein which was a) by far the worst mark I had ever received in such an examination, b) on the basis of what was, without doubt, the best work I had ever done, and c) which caused consternation to my tutor and fellow students (in other words, it wasn’t just me who thought the mark surpassing strange). Despite their best efforts to have the work re-marked the college refused and the papers were later destroyed. I later discovered, through a friend, that the principal examiner for the paper was not familiar with one of the key works on the topic (Wittgenstein’s Remarks on Frazer). In my various answers I had adopted an extremely allusive style, with a great many references to Wittgenstein’s writings on religion, which someone familiar with the field would have recognised instantly. However, for someone not familiar with the writings, they would undoubtedly have appeared strange and idiosyncratic – hence the low mark. I abandoned the MA in bewilderment, but trusted that God was in charge.

I was accepted for training for ordination, and after a tour around different theological colleges – I was keen to go to an evangelical college like Ridley, but my Bishop talked me out of it(!) – I went up to Westcott where my training was a combination of vocational work and a PhD. At first I flourished – there is an important part of me that revels in academic life – but in the second term the academic side completely fell apart. I realised that I had a profoundly different approach to the role of academic theology in the life of the Spirit, and that the essential thing for me was to be formed as a priest, not trained as an academic. I abandoned the PhD but then had a frankly awful time at Westcott as the institution sought to ensure that my academic training was sufficient, while I was spiritually straining in a completely different direction. I also met my wife at this time – in church – and after an extremely rapid courtship we got married. All of this rather overwhelmed me and with the benefit of hindsight I can see that I was deeply depressed throughout my second year there.

I then returned to London where I pursued my curacy in the East End. This was, on the whole, a very positive experience, a good grounding for ministry, but the last year of this was intense and draining, and involved the sudden death of my father (for more in this see here). Once more I was in a state of bewilderment, but it became clear that I needed to take time out. Through a legacy, my wife and I – and a newborn son – were able to spend a year on sabbatical in Alnwick, Northumberland, surely one of the most beautiful places on God’s green earth. This was a year in which I was able to catch up with myself, and digest all that had happened. In particular this was a time when I was able to come to terms properly with the collapse of all my academic pretensions and ambitions. I gave very serious consideration to pursuing a PhD at Durham, but in the end it became clear that parish ministry was the right next step. I still have a distinct academic ‘itch’, but I am much more relaxed about whether it will end up being scratched or not. In particular it is much more clear to me that the role of the intelligence is in the service of the church and whilst it may be possible for that service to overlap with the needs of the academic institutions there are definite times when there is conflict. And my calling is to serve the Body – the cloister not the academy.

All this was prior to Mersea. When I saw the post advertised I immediately felt ‘this is it’. I withdrew from another post that I was exploring and, as had happened occasionally before, felt that all the doors were opening up. It’s a bit like cracking the combination of a safe – slowly all the tumblers fall into place, things get turned one way or another and then – it all opens up.

Now since my rejection of fundamentalism at the age of 12; and then my intellectual explorations of the faith through University; and then my immersion in serious religion of the Anglo-Catholic sort through my church sponsorship, training and curacy, I had never had to deal all that seriously with evangelicals. They represented a sort of ‘here there be dragons’ element in my mental map, and, in particular, I found it hard to distinguish them from fundamentalists and other lunatics. Yet here on Mersea I was immediately immersed in a context where there were a great many evangelicals, and even more on the way, especially amongst my colleagues. So I have been forced to engage with what evangelicalism is and means. I am an outsider to evangelicalism; it would be a mistake to class me AS an evangelical; but I find, after a number of years getting to know it as an ideology and getting to know evangelicals as individuals, that I am much more sympathetic to it than I would ever have expected.

That is the context in which I shall be exploring evangelicalism from an outsider’s perspective. As someone convinced of the reality of God and the overwhelming love of God; one who is committed to a historically grounded orthodox faith; and one who has a growing sympathy with the evangelical tradition – but also as someone who remains an outsider.