lost and found

The gospel for the Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity yesterday was Luke 15: 1-10, the parables of the lost sheep and the lost coin.

We had a very interesting discussion time at our eucharist on the text. what does it mean to be lost and what does it mean to be found?

There is a very kind of "right-on" perspective which really struggles to imagine anyone as being 'lost'. Who are we to judge people or say that we are 'the found' and that they are 'the lost'. How arrogant and condescending!

At one point in our discussion someone looked out of the window at the street and asked whether we really had to believe that all the people walking past were really and truly lost.

But I think it's vital to hold on to this sense of 'lostness' if we are really going to 'honour' people's pain and take it seriously. The fact of the matter is that as much as we want to say that people are alright as they are (the trendy, right-on view)I suspect a lot of people would not say that about themselves. We want to say they are alright as they are but they know they're not. They know and experience pain and alienation in many different ways and this is a big part of what I would call 'lostness'. They may not use this language but there is a very real sense in which they need to be 'found', and they know it. Our political correctness does not help anyone. And we ourselves, even as followers of Christ, need to go on being found by him - there are parts of us that are still in the 'lostness' of pain and alienation.

Now that 'being found' may not mean 'coming to our church' and believing all the same things we do (and one of the reasons we squirm a bit when talking about these things is that we inherit these concepts with these 'colonial' overtones ringing in our ears) - but if we abandon the possibility that people are lost and need to be found then we not only diminish the gospel we also trivialize people's very real sense of their own pain.

The fact is that, as someone else in the discussion beautifully pointed out, these parables tell us that there is no where that God cannot find us. But God doesn't just locate us, he picks us up and carries us away from our alienation and pain and returns us to our homeland in him.

Whatever happened to the resurrection in our missiology?

I love this Easter season in the lectionary - spending time in the post-resurrection narratives.

One thing I have noticed and been surprised by - particularly in the readings in Acts - is that the first generation of apostles/disciples understood themselves primarily to be witnesses to the resurrection rather than the cross (or more precisely, expounding a theology of the cross). Obviously the cross was important but the main emphasis is on witnessing to the fact that God raised Christ from the dead. That was what had changed everything. I have been reflecting on how different that is from our modern emphasis on the cross over the resurrection.

Giles Fraser in the Church Times a couple of weeks ago complained that evangelicals have a very under-developed theology of the resurrection. For them all the action happens on Good Friday and Easter Sunday is almost a bit of an afterthought.

What would it look like if in our mission we 'led' with the resurrection rather than the cross? Not that it would be right to play one off against the other but just in terms of regaining a balance. What would that look like?

The Prodigal Son - but what about when the memory has gone?

Yesterday's lectionary gospel was Luke 15 - the parable of the Prodigal Son.
This story works out on a number of levels - Israel's return from exile etc.
But one of the most fascinating points to come out of our community discussion last night was how pivotal the role of memory was in the story.
It was when the son, who was living in a far off land, remembered the goodness of his Father that he decided to come home.
Now if we're talking about Israel's return from exile - then no problem. The memory was kept alive in the continuous retelling of the story.

But when we use this story to speak of people coming home to God - and I think it's appropriate for us to employ the story in this way - then how does it work if there is no memory of being at home with God in the first place to draw upon?

This is a very important story for us - our little community is called 'home' because that sense of home-coming, which is portrayed so beautifully in this story, is what we're all about. We want to embody God's call to come home. This is what mission is all about for us.

In what sense do the people around us have that memory of being at home with God? Is it like a primeval thing? You know - collectively as a human race we have a deep rooted sense of our homeland even if we don't have that memory on an individual conscious level?

Is that the best way to understand it?

The Spirit is the Front Man now

I'm probably being a bit theologically slow off the mark here but it occurred to me this morning that as we look back over human history - or at least to the point of early Jewish history in the Old Testament - that we have seen three 'epochs' which largely correspond to the three members of the Trinity:

The era of the Father - the prime mover and character in the foreground in the Old Testament
The era of the Son - through the incarnation in Jesus Christ
The era of the Spirit - after the ascension of Christ and the day of Pentecost, the Spirit poured out.

Of course - it's not a science! Because we are talking about interdependent, perichoretic Trinity here then there is beautiful interplay throughout the three eras (e.g. the Father and the Spirit were obviously involved in the incarnation of the Son, and in this present era the Spirit points towards the Son and the Father) but it's like there is a different 'front-man' at each point.

what does it mean to be a witness? (or - it's not enough to just not be weird)

As readers of this blog will know - I have been thinking a lot about evangelism recently.
I was thinking about it again last night when I was out for a drink with the guys from our ante-natal class.
I wonder whether to a certain extent we have defaulted to a kind of negative definition of what it means to be a witness.

i.e. we think it's enough to not be weird.

We know that everyone thinks that Christians are boring and weird. We imagine people discovering that we are Christians and then saying something like - "You can't be a Christian - you're not weird, you're normal". And that has become how we imagine ourselves to be a witness.

But it's not really enough is it? It's a kind of inversion - communicating what we're not (weird) instead of what we are (fill in blanks yourself).

How are our lives really different from those people around us (apart from stuff in our heads about what we believe)? In other words, what positive statements can we make to point people towards the life of God lived out?

why are we so bad at evangelism (or - time to get cookin')

Yesterday morning, fellow hOMEie Jim and myself did a team-preach/discussion facilitation at St Clement's Parish Church - the Parish that most of hOME's activity takes place within (so we are there with their kind permission etc.)

The Lectionary gospel passage for the day was Luke 13: 1-9 which is a strange passage in many ways. We decided to focus on the second part in which Jesus tells a story about a tree that has been planted but has borne no fruit for three years. It was a challenging passage for us as we have been going about three and a half years now, so the passage begged a difficult question for us i.e. what does it mean to be fruitful, and have we been?

The New Testament describes fruitfulness in different ways (fruit of the Spirit etc.) but there's also no getting away from the fact that it also envisages fruitfulness to mean the growth of the Christian community. We might want to term that evangelism.

Evangelism has got a lot of bad press in recent years, a lot of which has been justifiable. And I have spoken many times about the need to see evangelism as an aspect of mission (which is rightly understood to be God's activity in the world to restore the whole of his creation).

But what about this pesky evangelism business. Why are we who are exploring new forms of church seemingly so poor at seeing people come to faith (this seems to be quite a common experience in emerging communities).

In the passage - Jesus talks about the manure that the gardener wants to put around the tree to encourage it to be fruitful. What might that compost/manure be?

We suggested it could be many things (and there were some fantastic contributions from the congregation to the discussion at this point) but some fresh thinking might be part of it.

Then we developed a germ of idea that was suggested in Pete Rollins' book - How (Not) to Speak of God.

Much evangelism to date could be characterised as being akin to going up to people in the street with a plate of food and trying to convince them (a) that they are hungry (they mostly don't think they are) and (b) they should take some of our food. We then develop ever more elaborate ways of trying to get them to take the food or convince them that it makes rational sense to take the food.

Pete suggests a different approach. What if we understood ourselves to be the 'aroma of Christ'. I guess we've all had the experience of walking down the street and catching a whiff of some fantastic food, which instantly makes us feel hungry. Could this be a more helpful way of understanding the task of evangelism?

What would we need to see this happen. We suggested 7 things:

1. chefs i.e. people of faith
2. a kitchen i.e. a context for the chefs to be together - church
3. ingredients i.e. good smelling stuff - mercy, compassion, reconciliation, justice, forgiveness
4. a cooker i.e. the life of the Spirit in us and between us/around us
5. some open windows i.e. to let the good smells out - relationships, honesty etc.
6. proximity i.e. to be cooking near to where people might be
7. a spirit of inclusion i.e. the ability and willingness to offer people a seat at the table once they take the initiative and get in touch with their own hunger.

Traditionally we have jumped straight to point 7 without thinking about how we can help people to figure out for themselves that they are hungry.

Anyway - thought there might be somebody out there who might be interested in this!

panentheism in action

So - without wanting to sound like an obsessed super-fan - I have been completely blown away by the Van Morrison DVD that Pip bought me for Valentine's Day...particularly by the first couple of minutes!
As the gig starts, and even before Van takes the stage, the band start playing and it builds and it builds, into the most intense, mystical, beautiful, soundscape. And that's before the first song has even started. It's so intense the first time I watched it I started giggling.
A couple of days later I sat down to pray and all I could hear in my head was this amazing music. And I found myself saying to myself, "stop thinking about Van Morrison and start thinking about God", and as quick as flash I heard the Spirit say to me something like - 'what you are responding to in that music, the thing that makes your heart and spirit soar, is God. what you are encountering is God - that is why it has the effect on you that it has'.

Now of course I am not saying that Van Morrison is God, but neither am I merely saying that beautiful, creative music is a reflection of the creativity of God (though that is undoubtedly true - and I have said it/preached it a thousand times).

I am trying to say something much deeper than that - something about actually encountering God in things - which the religious philosophers call panentheism. This is not to be confused with pantheism - which says that everything IS God. Panentheism says that God is IN all things but not synonymous with all things. Wikipedia's definition is here if you're interested.

So what I'm saying is that sometimes when we encounter beauty we are somehow encountering God himself not just a reflection of the beauty or creativity of God. I know some of you reading this will be saying "um, yeah, of course" - but for me, even though I thought I knew this - and maybe I did on a conceptual level - I think this was the first time it really hit home.