Rector's blog

As part of my preparation for the Parish Pilgrimage to Sinai in November (assuming the global situation allows us to make the journey) I have just finished reading “Jerusalem: the biography” by Simon Sebag Montefiore.  It’s a well written book, based on anecdotes rather than theories.  The narratives are well told, full of pace, blood, intrigue, jealousy, revenge and sex – just like the Bible, really.  There are few upright moral heroes; yet it is a “morality tale”, in the sense that, by reading the stories, you can see more clearly moral character and the consequences of behaviour.

I was familiar with parts of Jerusalem’s history: Jesus in the 1^st century, persecution by the Romans in the 2^nd and 3^rd, the alleged finding of the true cross and sites associated with Jesus in the 4^th, the establishment of scholarship and monasteries in Jerusalem in the 5^th, and the arrival of Islam in the 7^th.  But then there is a gap of 400 years of nothingness before the crusades begin; and after those, there is another 400 year lull until the stirrings of Zionism, the fruits of which are still growing.  Sadly Montefiore concentrates on the times of blood and fighting, and tells us less about the periods of quiet decline.  This is a mistake.  Periods when “not much happened” can be too easily dismissed.  This is why we largely know of British history between 410 AD (when the Romans left) and 1066 as the “dark ages”.  It’s a period which allegedly sheds little light.  But increasingly historians are recognizing that the fundamental building blocks of our nation which are so familiar to us even now, were laid down.  These include the basic shape of parliament, counties, towns and villages, manors and parishes, and Common Law.  All these developments are rooted in the “dark ages”.

The other major theme I see in Montefiore is how rulers in each generation see themselves as the culmination and pinnacle of what has come before.  Yet their achievements so often last merely moments after their death.  In Jerusalem in particular, stones from one palace are used and re-used in the next generation’s palaces, city walls, or temples.  How ironic then to see, when I was sitting in a Governors’ meeting at the Royal Grammar School yesterday, the title of a history book: “Success is never final”!  This is a message no leader finds easy to hear.

I am now taking a bit of leave for the first part of half term, and will be back blogging in a week.

“Don’t worry.  You never forget how to do it.  It’s like riding a bicycle” he said, as he pushed the punt away from the bank.  I was with Hilary, taking Michael away from his studies for a day, just before his exams.  I have not punted for 30 years, so my confidence was low.  Is this really a skill that you never forget?  He pushed the punt into the stream just below the weir (so the water was choppy), and there were other punts under the “control” of Japanese tourists, and there was a low bridge only 20 yards away.  A recipe for disaster (or, a soaking).

But he was right.  One or two quick strokes and we were clear of danger, gliding gracefully along the river.  How does the body remember such things?  Surely there are some skills we forget; but there are others – like riding a bike – which seem permanent, once learnt.

So, as I punted, I pondered: what spiritual skills are important to develop in a way that, once learnt, we will never forget?

As a teenager, I belonged to a Church that taught that daily Bible reading was the essential skill and duty for a Christian.  Though I treasure the Bible, and though I use it routinely at Morning Prayer, having a daily 10 minute “Quiet Time” reading the Bible in a methodical way has never been a habit that has lasted long for me.  That sort of activity is too much of an “ought” and is not in my spiritual DNA.

“Mindfulness” is a skill (and then an attitude) that is about living each day aware of God.  I don’t mean this involves thinking about God 24/7.  Rather mindfulness is a way of spiritual attentiveness and reflectiveness: it means that when we make moral decisions, or when we are sitting in the sun in the garden, or as we enjoy time with friends, or while we are at our daily work, we are aware that we are in God’s world, blessed by God with talents and opportunities, and able to make choices that can be affected by our knowledge of God.  Once embedded in our soul, mindfulness is likely to last.  Busyness or tragedy can swamp it for a while.  But once we truly know that we have come from God, and are going back to God, we will never quite be the same again.

Perhaps that’s why I like the prayer, attributed to Sir Jacob Astley, which he prayed just before the start of the Battle of Edgehill: “God, you know how busy I will be today; if I forget thee, do not thou forget me”.  We may rightly concentrate on things other than God for a while.  But, in the end, we will not forget God, as God will never forget us.

There was as little enthusiasm as there was support for the proposed changes to the voting system in the recent referendum.  So perhaps we should not be surprised that the White Paper on reforming the House of Lords, published today, was a rather low-key affair.  Notwithstanding that, the Bishop of Leicester on behalf of the Church of England bishops published a press release outlining his objections to the major options for reform.  It was interesting to read his language carefully.

He was contrasting the House of Lords as it is now with what it would be like if some of the reforms are enacted.  We could have an elected House OR we could (as now) have a House that is full of independence and expertise.  Note the contrast, and the implication that, if we gain “elected”, we lose “independence” and “expertise”. That (if true) is a damning indictment on the electoral system, that independent and expert candidates either won’t stand or won’t get elected.

What’s more, the Bishop contrasted an elected chamber as assertive, with the current chamber as representative.  Surely an electoral system is meant to deliver representation.  But the Bishop’s words are wise, namely, to question the link between a person being elected and a person being recognized as being representative.

Now I realize that my comments could be construed as being supportive of an old style system of patronage.  On very rare occasions in my diocesan role I have been in a position to nominate someone to a committee or a council. I have taken very great care when doing so to ensure that I make a choice that is good for all (and so aim for a person who is independent, expert and representative).  The danger (beyond such a position being abused) is that I can only make assessments of others from my perspective.  But handing the choosing over to an electorate brings into play other forces that cannot guarantee better results.

By all accounts, Kenneth Stevenson, the previous Bishop of Portsmouth, and my predecessor here as Rector, did a fantastic job in the House of Lords, first as a diocesan bishop, then also in his role as the Chair of the Board of Education for the Church of England.  He would never have been elected.  But the country was fortunate to have his wisdom and expertise in the House of Lords for those years.

I don’t believe the system is broke enough to require it being fixed.

In an interview published today, Stephen Hawking says “Belief that heaven or an after-life awaits us is a fairy story for people afraid of the dark”.

As a child, I was afraid of the dark.  So, not surprisingly, Hawking’s choice of words hooked me, and I want to stand strongly against what he has said.

Our Christian faith, I believe, gives us courage to enter the dark.  For example, I feel this strongly when I have been visiting townships in South Africa.  There is much to be frightened of physically; in many townships, there is an oppressive atmosphere, not least because of being so obviously a visiting white person.  Anyway, the amazing poverty makes me feel I am entering a dark place.  To go there, even though I am visiting friends and projects that would do their utmost to protect me, I need to summon up all my courage.  I do that because of, not in spite of, my faith.  I believe at times like this I am, and I am associated with people who are, light amidst deep darkness.  So, “no” to Professor Hawking; as a Christian I am not afraid of the dark.

It’s often good to see, if a person is being critical, what they are prepared to affirm.  Hawking says “I reject life beyond death because I want to emphasize the need to fulfill our potential on earth”.  Christians should have no problem with his affirmation – we want to do that too, and not for ourselves alone.  We follow a pattern of living that makes sense of giving up some of our desires so that others may live more fully.  Most Christians also would want to agree that heaven must not be spoken of in any such terms that would downplay the importance of living abundantly here and now (to use words from Jesus himself, recorded in John 10).  There have been times that the Church concentrated too much on heaven, but that is hardly the case now.  Hawking is trying to gain power for his affirmation at the expense of an unfair picture of Church teaching.

But Hawking also said “I regard the brain as a computer which will stop working when it components fail.  There is no heaven for broken down computers”.  A most revealing passage!  He could easily be criticized for visualizing and reducing the brain to a computer – much happens in the brain that cannot be turned into a programme.  He seems dismissive of those who remain alive though either their body or the brain has deteriorated.  The Christian wants to affirm the continuing dignity of each individual.  And, am I being too fanciful if I say that I hear in these words a longing from Hawking that his own words are not true?  Yes, there is no heaven for broken down computers; but there is a heaven for those whose bodies break down, yet who continue to trust in the God who created each one of us.

Had you been with me at this week’s meeting of the Archbishops’ Council, you may not have been interested in much of what we discussed, but you would have relished watching the dynamics of what was happening.  20 powerful people bound together for 36 hours, some “young Turks”, some “roaring lions” trying to dominate the pack, making significant decisions under relentless time pressure, still unsure of the role of the Council, and certainly unclear about how we relate to other teams within the Church.  Well, at least I will never have to endure my first residential meeting with the Council again.

Arriving was not easy.  I was told our rooms would not be ready till after lunch, so there was no “deckchair” where I could place my towel.  Having a space to call one’s own is so important.  Yes, I might want to make my mark, but I know that that will come later. No one is there to greet me; as a newly elected member I am joining a moving train.  But who in the Council is keeping an eye on building this body effectively?  As we in Guildford seek to welcome and integrate people into our ever-changing congregation, we need to note this lesson.  The opening prayer invites us to “leave behind what is on our mind” – why?  Certainly in this parish I encourage people to bring what is on their mind to our worship and fellowship, for that not only endorses people’s contributions but also enriches our parish life.

So, wanting to belong, I am watching keenly for signs of teamwork.  Some people seem to have something to say on every topic.  A few seem to want to shape every discussion, never being the first to contribute to a debate, but coming in towards the end, laying their own interpretation on what has been said, and thus claiming power.  I am reminded of Meredith Belbin’s analysis of the nine crucial roles that must be held for any team to work well.  As I can’t quite recall the details, I’ve already ordered from Amazon a book to remind me – but I reckon I have already seen an unbalanced team: too many shapers/deciders, too few listeners.  That is my role for now – but it takes courage, patience, and determined energy to go on listening.  I am helped by remembering once appointing a teacher chiefly because (as well as being a good teacher) I could see that her quiet unobtrusive presence would make the Staff Room a better place for everyone else.  Listeners must occasionally speak, but for now, I am quiet.

But then there is the added dimension of teamwork between teams.  The executive officers (the Church “Civil Service”) who attend parts of the meeting seem excellent.  Within their own departments they will be leaders, setting vision and driving forward action.  But as they attend these Council meetings, they have to change role – they can’t simply be in charge here as well; their teams need to fit in with other teams.

And that may be particularly hard for the House of Bishops, for individual Bishops jealously guard the independence and particularity of their own diocese.  It has been unseemly in the past for the House of Bishops to be seen publicly scrapping with one another.  Those days are largely past.  But families which have their own internal tensions can be united when facing the outside world in a rather prickly over-bearing way.  I can see evidence of good work having been done to improve the internal workings of the Archbishops’ Council and the House of Bishops, and to improve the working relationship between the two bodies – but possibly at a cost of not paying sufficient attention to yet another body: General Synod (which is, of course, where you come in – for one of the essential roles of this body is to represent the laity and the parishes).  

The Capulets had difficulties with tensions between the different generations of that family; as did the Montagues.  The two families had a common hatred (a cost borne by each with the deaths Romeo and Juliet), but shared a loathing any other city state that was not Verona.  How hard to create a common life with functional teams that have a strong identity yet work well with other teams that share territory but have distinctive roles within an overall purpose!

I think this story will run and run.