Rector's blog

It is good to greet people on their return from holiday.  I may have spent 2 weeks in Guildford, doing the same old sorts of things I do, week in week out.  But those coming back from holiday seem to have packed so much more into the same 14 days.  We have been in different time zones.

Holy Saturday seems to be in a different time zone: the day between Good Friday and Easter Day, between cross and resurrection.  What happened on Holy Saturday?  One poetic answer from the ancient Christian tradition is that, on this day, Jesus descended into Hell to overcome the kingdom of death.  You can see icons of “the harrowing of hell”; having conquered his own death, Jesus goes down to release others from the power of the grave.

If this imaginative response does not move you, perhaps you can ask a different question: what was God doing on Holy Saturday?  Why did God have to wait for a whole day between Good Friday and Easter?  Surely, God could have brought Jesus back on the next day.  Did God have to wait or did God choose to wait?  Perhaps there is something about the need for time in great transitions.  The nine months between conception and birth is emotionally and physically vital for everyone (not merely the baby) to be prepared and made ready.  At the other end of life, after the loss of a loved one, grieving cannot be rushed.  Perhaps Jesus “resting” in the grave on Holy Saturday is a sign of God not forcing the pace, but rather God’s action matching our time-scales.

A few days ago, I was present at the burial of ashes of a dear parishioner in the Garden of Remembrance at St Mary’s.  I felt we were living in three time zones at the same moment.  Memories of the one who had died were very present; these memories were real and vibrant as we recalled her life.  Yet, we were also laying her ashes to the ground: this was not the funeral, she had died some time ago, and we recognized that her life was well and truly in the past.  Yet, also, we heard the wonderful words “I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last, in my flesh I shall see God”.  Somehow, although it is so hard to understand and express, I felt that the one who had died was safely and comfortably in three different time zones: it made sense to think of her as past, present and about to join the final resurrection - all at the same time.

The Easter message is not only a story of “the defeat of the grave”; it also shows us that God is not constrained by time.  We are called to live in the ‘here and now’; and yet everything is present to God.




This is me signing off for a week or so.  After an Easter break, and The Wedding, I will return from “another place”, refreshed and renewed.

I only came across the novel “The Eagle of the Ninth” by Rosemary Sutcliffe by chance a few years ago.  We discovered a copy in a holiday cottage we were hiring.  This was very timely as Zoe and I both read it and enjoyed it, it being a gripping adventure tale suitable for early teenagers.  So, Zoe and I went to see a film version of this last night called “The Eagle” and were both rather disappointed.  The film did not match our memory of reading the book.  Aren’t our inner imaginings usually more creative and memorable than cinematic presentations?

Actually, I just had to note the trailers for other films that preceded the showing of “The Eagle” to realize that I was on to a loser.  All the trailers contained lots of fighting, explosions and car chases.  This should have alerted me to the fact that the director was going to tell the story of The Eagle as a quasi-Roman equivalent: more violence than character development was on the cards.

But it was timely to be watching this during Holy Week for this is essentially a story of honour.  The father of the protagonist was the centurion who lost the Eagle of the Ninth Legion; his son is desperate to restore his father’s honour by retrieving the Eagle and establishing that he did not die a coward (corporate and personal honour).  But social systems based on honour are not that familiar to our culture now.  A story about an “honour killing” of a woman, who has fled the family network, which occasionally is reported in the press, distresses and often revolts us.  Yet one of the earliest understandings of the Atonement (what Jesus achieved on the Cross) is based on a system of honour.  Our sin dishonours God; something has to be done.  Nothing can be done from our side as we are already sinners, and any offering would be unworthy.  So the Son offers himself, thereby restoring God’s honour.

I find such an understanding unhelpful and fundamentally revolting.  Systems of honour are so often limited in that, if I offend you, my honour is only increased at the expense of yours.  There is a limited amount of honour, so any relationship must be a matter of win/lose, or gain/loss.  A narrative of God’s honour being restored by the sacrifice of his son does not resonate – moreover, the details revolt.

At the heart of forgiveness lies an understanding that, however bad the past, it need not determine our future.  Forgiveness is essentially a creation of new possibilities.  Forgiveness can seem to challenge a system based on honour, for the one offended has the chance, through offering forgiveness, to create new worth – to restore relationship without demanding payment.

I do not want to be too harsh on this sort of theology for it was very important to the Christian Church for many years.  It is too simplistic to say that they had a wrong idea of God and the Cross.  It’s worth pondering what they managed to express that we fail to capture in today’s ideas.  Nevertheless, it is hard to feel very positively about a social system based on limited honour.  Perhaps that contributed to the director turning “The Eagle of the Ninth” into an adventure story rather than anything deeper.

I was teaching Zoe and Michael how to cook Chicken Risotto today.  It’s one of our family favourites.  We all love it, and I wanted to pass on the recipe to them.  But of course, I don’t now follow a recipe.  It’s in my mind – or, rather, whatever useful is in the fridge goes to make up a different sort of recipe each time.  Trying to explain that to them wasn’t easy.

So I started by writing down precise instructions.  I thought I was being clear, but, each time, they had extra questions: how much butter?  How long before you add the stock?  So I tried another approach by describing what they needed to be achieving at each stage: ‘recipe by goals’, rather than ‘recipe by ingredients’.  This felt more satisfying because not only did I want to help them focus on what would finally be on their plates, but also I want them to be able to cook different sorts of risotto (for when the fridge has pumpkin but no chicken, or asparagus but no mushrooms).

And I stressed: one of the wonderful things about risotto is that all the flavours have to combine, with none being too dominant.  Whatever you put in the pan will end up on the plate, for you do not sieve or throw anything out.

Without being too obvious about it, this is a superb analogy for our use of the Bible.  I have so enjoyed teaching the New Start course this year for I have, through my preparation, become more confident in my admiration for the Bible and more enthusiastic in my use.

Nothing must be thrown away or sieved out: we value the pre-history of the Bible, the texts and communities that came before the actual text were written, and the later history of how the Bible was finally edited and then used.  All these traditions and flavours need to combine.  Whenever the Bible gives instruction, it is a perfectly reasonable spiritual response to ask further questions: why?  How long?  Why not?  No single spiritual approach to God should seek to be dominant.  Sometimes we as users need precise instructions; sometimes we need goals placed before us; sometimes we need to be trained in the skills of discipleship so that we can invent godly answers for the new problems that face us today.

We’ve had such a good time at the New Start course.  I have enjoyed teaching it; the listeners have expressed thanks and pleasure for the style and content of the evenings.  The heart of the matter has been recognizing the variety that is contained within the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the Bible as a whole.

The Old Testament holds together at least four major traditions, each with their own view of Yahweh/God, each with a different focus on what is required of believers.  The Gospels (especially Matthew, Mark and Luke) come alive when it is recognized that, as well as being very similar, they rejoice in their differences.  The nuancing of the gospel message that comes from comparison between these gospels is profound.  I am reminded of the line from Hopkins’ poetry: “fresh fire-coal chestnut falls… and blue bleak embers fall, gall, and gash gold-vermillion”.  The image is that, at times the outside appears grey and cool, but, once the embers tumble against each other, then the inner red-heat is revealed.

The same is true for the period after the New Testament books were written, while slowly over a period of 300 years the Bible came together.  There were tussles of what books should be included, and what excluded; what was the status of books which were not included, and what sort of authority still resided outside the covers of the Bible.  My closing remark on the final evening of teaching was that the Bible should be regarded as a journey rather than a finished product.  And I wondered out loud why some people are so uncomfortable with this.

So, it was timely to come across two quotations that affirm this attitude of confidence in doubt:

A poem by Jo Shapcott begins “Uncertainty is not a good dog”, painting the image of a hound that struggles across the landscape, bumping into trees, rolling in scents not its own, following other paths.  In spite of the title, the implication of the poem is that in reality Uncertainty actually leads us into greater wisdom, beauty and truth.  So it is, I believe, with the Bible.  If we exalt it too much, believing that it contains perfect polished unassailable truth inside its covers (and no truth outside measures up to such perfection), then we are likely to miss out on so much.

I have lost the source of the other quotation which goes: “The fugitive is imprisoned by fear of the prison”.  I asked: why do some Christians exalt the Bible so much?  What are they scared of?  I reckon that some are terrified of doubt and anxiety – and are therefore trapped in fear of uncertainty.  Moreover, they need a God of simplicity and purity; a “monad” as the philosophers would say – something whole and entire unto itself.  But as I read the Bible I hear so many tales of variety, different aspects of God being revealed at different times and in different ways.  The Bible points us towards ways in which we can experience some of that richness of God’s being, as people have experienced it in the past.  But the Bible does not contain the whole being of God – rather the Bible is an atlas, a travel companion, a declaration that “if you travel this way, you too are likely to be richly blessed by the grace of God”.

There was a really good atmosphere at the Annual Parish Meeting held yesterday. There was a healthy buzz of conversation before, and people loitered around, chatting afterwards.  It’s always a good sign when people don’t immediately rush away. There were lively contributions from the floor, in particular when those standing for election to the PCC were invited to introduce themselves.  There was humour, and self-deprecating remarks – and the meeting applauded each person in turn (even before the elections).  Support, enthusiasm and encouragement were all shown.  I felt uplifted.

For me, the highlight came when Rogan Dixon, the Parish treasurer, took us through the accounts.  Now, in my estimation, “accountability” has gathered a rather bad name as a concept recently.  Sometimes, it is used as a route to blaming – it does not seem to matter who had the power to do something about XYZ, “YOU” (with a pointed finger) the accuser will say, “YOU are accountable”.  Sometimes, accountability is reduced to form-filling and box-ticking – the concept is reduced to a matter of following procedures rather than a giving of an honest explanation of what happened and why.  I think it was Onora O’Neill in her Reith Lectures of 2002 who began the philosophical assault on accountability when she identified that an over-emphasis on this was indicative of an underlying lack of trust within organizations and between groups in society.  For me, all this was in my mind as I listened to Rogan talking about the parish finances.

He did so with great grace.  He explained, described and analyzed – an indication of how well this was done was that no one asked questions afterwards.  It’s not that we were confused – rather the exact opposite.  Most importantly, Rogan gave us a narrative – he took us through in story form what we have done, what we were trying to do, and what we need to do now.  We were participants because he was telling us our own story (after all, it is our parish and not his nor the Rector’s).  This style also put finance at the service of parish priorities.  So often treasurers only seem interested in money.  But Rogan was essentially talking about what we are doing in the parish, and, as a secondary matter, how the finances ensure the delivery of those priorities.

Rogan would be the first to acknowledge that his role as treasurer is made so much easier by the active support of a great team from the Finance Committee (chaired by Geoff Cardinal), to the Parish Revenue Group (chaired by Simon Miller, with John Gillbe as the Planned Giving Recorder), to the collection counters (including Graham Morris, Guy Barnby and David Carle), and those helping in the Office (Lucy Harris, with Michele Lyon and Rebecca Cunningham).  To all these people, named and un-named, we are very grateful.

When I was a young curate being taught by my first vicar how to lead Marriage Preparation conversations, he told me “Get the couple to talk about money – if they can sort that out well, they can do everything else”.  We also had a therapist in the congregation who advised me “Get the couple to talk about sex – if they can do that well, they can do everything else”.  I have generally followed the first piece of advice.  That’s what we saw mutatis mutandis in action at the AGM, with the caveat that this was not all about money, it was essentially about the hope and the future of this parish.