Talking of friendship

‘I no longer call you servants but friends.’

I have a theory.

My theory is that most of our institutions are in a state of utter chaos, crisis even, and that one of the reasons is that we, that’s all of us, have ceased to prize, value, and esteem friendship as a cardinal institutional value.

It’s worth saying up front that rather than defining friendship, or particular types of friendship, per se, I am seeking to position friendship as a general characteristic, or even feeling (we all know what friendliness, apathy, and hostility feel like), albeit one which should be intentionally fostered and worked towards. This, after all, is not a thesis but a theoreo (pondering)!

Anyway to carry on……

Somehow we have convinced ourselves – or allowed ourselves to be convinced – that strategy precedes equity, that competition is always healthy. that fragility is to be ignored, feared, and escaped from (what we all need is a good old fashioned dose of resilience!), that leadership is hierarchical and positional, and worse of all that friendship is sentimental, soft, and weak. And, just to say, I am using ‘we’ here because I am just as complicit as others in the in the critique I am offering.

That’s my working theory! And, of course, I am lobbing in a fairly large quantity of hyperbole, because somewhere in the depths of all institutions there are people who prize and value friendship, and who strive to ensure that the institutions in which they find themselves lodged are characterised by good and godly relationships. But, I suspect, we need to bring such people to the surface; we need to prize and value who they are and what they bring. We need to regard a gift for and commitment to friendship not as a soft skill, but rather a ‘core competency,’ (or even a hard skill – hard because it takes effort and commitment).

So, let me ask a question: when did any of us last see friendship, and a commitment and genius for friendship, mentioned up front, in bold, in a job or role description? Moving on…….

Somehow, you see, we seem to have convinced ourselves that the soft is to be devalued, but we have done so , without asking what is the glue that is to bind all things together? And yes, I am claiming that friendship is an expression of love, institutional love even. Jesus said to his disciples in his farewell discourse, ‘I no longer call you servants, but friends,’ (John 15, 15). I suspect he said this with the Corpus Christ, the Church, His body corporate, in mind. Friendship in the church should be valued and esteemed because, in the words of the old hymn, ‘the bible tells me so.’

Today the church celebrated and remembered Aelred of Hexham (although I believe Ripon are also keen to claim him?). Aelred was also Abbot of Rievaulx. The collect of Aelred begins with these words:

‘Almighty God, who endowed Aelred the abbot, with the gift of Christian friendship and the wisdom to lead others in the way of holiness, grant to your people that same spirit of mutual affection, so that in loving one another we may know the love of Christ, and rejoice in the eternal possession of your supreme goodness.’

Does this prayer get to the heart of the matter? It seems to me to imply that a commitment to friendship (and like Aelred we are all endowed with the gift for friendship), must precede strategy, inspire (in spirit) leadership, and, if we are to curate institutions where ‘all may flourish and none need fear,’ be a base expectation for all aspiring leaders. A commitment to friendship, as a cardinal institutional value, should perhaps, be writ large, in any, perhaps all, job and role descriptions?

Now to be clear I am not sentimentalising friendship; for as my friend (my old school friend) Rev’d Andy Bawtree reminded me on social media: ‘friendship is paradoxical – it is intentional but not always reciprocal. Remarkably Jesus called his disciples friends even though they all leave him and Peter and Judas are rubbish friends.’

Friendship is risky, it embraces fragility, it assumes the possibility for hurt, betrayal, and rejection, whilst hoping and praying for more. Friendship, in this sense, is a very ‘real word’ attribute. It accepts that ‘goodness’ can be found and celebrated in the messiness, pain, and imperfection of everyday institutional life. Friendship may well be the attribute, or preventive, that ensures that goodness trumps perfection (whatever perfect means).

Friendship will sometimes, perhaps, normally go unrequited, and yet, we are ‘called friends’ and if we are called friends, then surely, obviously, the practice of friendship, must be demonstrably characteristic of our ‘calling,’ and our common life.

Perhaps Jesus and Aelred were onto something? One of my hopes and prayers for this (still New?) Year is for a revival of friendship in all of our institutions, and especially the church. Could it be that friendship, with all the risks that it entails, should be our cardinal institutional value?

I ask because Jesus famously said: ‘ I no longer call you servants but friends’

Speaking of ologies and economic theory.

‘O.’ Maureen Lipman once quipped ‘you’ve got an ology.’

I wonder if the church needs to pay more attention to the ologys? It sometimes feels to me that we churchy types get so locked into our preferred ways of thinking, behaving, and relating that we risk damaging ourselves and others. I further wonder if the church, just like many other institutions – let’s not be overly hard on ourselves – has submitted to the absolutist hegemony of modern and hyper competitive economic theories?

Let’s be clear, at the very least, economics has replaced at least one ology, theology, as the ‘Queen of the Sciences.’

Economics, or at least game playing economic theories, is in many ways easy work. All it asks of participants is the willingness to is to buy into an off the shelf theory or ideology. And, here’s the magic bit: you can do this as a conservative, as a liberal, as a traditionalist, or as a progressive; you can do it from the either the right or the left, but what you will always be doing is buying in as a competitor in a win-lose game, for economics is the most competitive of disciplines. The magic, however, for willing participants, gets even better, for it comes with a seductive and compelling narrative (or fiction): the pretence that what we are doing is called theology, and the stance we take, for we are all guilty, is called ecclesiology.

But is it? How much of our modern, or postmodern, theology and ecclesiology, and yes missiology, is economics applied to the church, dressed up for good effect, or appearance, under the guise of ‘contextual’ theology? Everyone loves a context but, of course, context can easily be nothing more that construct smartly dressed.

The language of economics is rife in ‘our’ various church debates: ‘the majority of Anglicans….’ is, for example, often used to defend the status quo when it comes to relational ethics; economic utilitarianism applied to denominational polity, perhaps?

The ‘Resource Church,’ is clearly an economic phenomenon in its foundation, for what is economics if not ‘the discipline for allocating scarce resources?’ The very name gives the game away. And of course being a disciplined or systematic allocator is no guarantor of either virtue or success (do we ever hear about the resource churches that fail?)

The Resource Church also, it seems to me, is firmly rooted in trickle down economic theory; ‘if we can make this particular church (through some form of planned economic process) big and successful through the allocation of assets, then the effect should be that its’ success trickles down to other churches,’ so the theory goes (pure Milton Friedman).

But is this true? Or does the resource church ultimately become part of an oligopoly that rather than supporting the eco system ends up undermining it? I suppose only time will tell. My fear is, however, that the Resource Church might end up undermining, rather than sustaining and growing, the whole. We all need to be aware of the rule of unintended consequences.

There is of course a strong relationship between the ologies and economics (behavioural finance for instance), but maybe the time is right to ponder anew the extent to which our own sociological and psychological biases, inform our economic and theological preferences?

I would like to suggest that the modern, or do I mean postmodern, church needs to pay close attention to two syndromes and one complex: Imposter Syndrome, Stockholm Syndrome, and the Messiah Complex.

Staring with Imposter Syndrome I wonder how many ‘leaders’ feel that they live on the edge of being found out (Mea Cupla – I’ve been there), leading to a fight to retain control of self, or others, of assets, of economic decision making, a fight which they are ultimately bound to lose, frequently at great cost to both themselves and others? Modern economic theories, which broker no ambiguity, and allow for little in the way of nuance, are a great prop to the leader suffering from Acute Imposter Syndrome.

And then there’s Stockholm Syndrome, or at least an analogical version of it. I wonder how many of us are imprisoned, rather than liberated by, the clubs or tribes to which we belong? The genius of ecclesiological Stockholm Syndrome is that it provides a set of supposedly objective rules for engagement that keep people in the club, making breaking free a cost that for many, or even most, isn’t worth bearing.

Finally, the Messiah Complex. in business, in sport, in other spheres of life the notion of the heroic leader has become all pervasive, where the hero is, of course, entirely synonymous with the ‘saviour,’ but as we know from Scripture the ‘saviour’ is frequently a false prophet; a false prophet with maybe good intentions, but a false prophet, nevertheless.

Imposters, prisoners, false prophets; three horseman to be wary of; three horseman dressed up finely in economic livery. Economics is these days, whatever, the ologists say is, ‘the queen of sciences.’ But is it a servant queen; that is the question.

Speaking of Together in Love and Faith; a short reflection.

‘At last,’ you, or we, might think: a diocesan bishop who has spoken his mind.

Others, of course, might wish that Bishop Steven hadn’t spoken his mind, for his is a challenging mind.

I was pleased to receive a copy of Together in Love and Faith which I read with great interest. In some ways I found myself more interested in + Steven’s journey and his theological method than in his conclusions.

I would want to gently suggest that Together in Love and Faith should be used as an exemplar of Theological Reflection (and Narrative Theology) on ministry courses irrespective of whether tutors share his conclusions.

In his pamphlet Steven draws on scripture, reason, tradition, and experience. He not only cites Scripture but describes (pages 25 & 26) his seven-fold methodology for engaging with Scripture (let me stress that one more time: his seven fold methodology).

There can be no doubt that as someone schooled in the Charismatic Evangelical tradition Bishop Steven continues to take Scripture, and the primacy of Scripture, very seriously indeed. To deny this is to refuse to engage with his overall argument. And yet many of his critics have, and no doubt will continue to do so, favouring instead pre-prepared, ‘oven ready’, and simplistic rebuttals.

Now to be clear I haven’t always agreed with Bishop Steven on a whole range of issues. When I served in the Oxford Diocese I was a frequent, but hopefully friendly, critic. On some issues I still believe, perhaps arrogantly, that I was more right than wrong, and on other issues I have had to reluctantly concede that he was more right than wrong!

Some of our conversations over the years have been robust, yet we remain respectful of each other. But even when I have disagreed with Bishop Steven I have always had to concede that he is a deep thinker, There is genuinely no laziness in his thinking. If you are going to push back you really do need to have thought through, war gamed even, your own position. So I find the question raised by one critic, ‘what was Bishop Steven thinking,’ interesting, for, to say it again, the one thing we do know about him is that he does think. (He also feels).

Bishop Steven has clearly been thinking about his response for an awfully long time; too long, as he acknowledges, for some of his more progressive critics. Mea culpa.

‘Better late than never,’ isn’t however a position I would want to take, and I certainly wouldn’t warm to such a criticism from elsewhere, for to repeat myself, what we have in Together in Love and Faith is an insight into the heart and mind of a diocesan bishop struggling, personally, pastorally, ecclesiologically, and doctrinally with the church’s most contentious issue. Together in Love and Faith must, on these grounds alone, be regarded as a gift to the Church of England, if not the ‘church catholic.’

To return to the ‘oven ready’ rebuttals, of which ‘he has just capitulated to society, or culture,’ is the easiest, and ecclesiologically most shallow.

It surely stands to (ecclesiological) reason that a bishop in an established and national church, a church which (rightly or wrongly) sits in the legislature, should spend a considerable amount of time thinking (for again that is what Bishop Steven does) about the relationship between church and state, or state and church?

But it is also surely wrong, and ecclesiologically myopic, to suggest that in thinking about the relationship between church and state, to conclude that the Church of England should simply accommodate itself to the state, or as various critics seem to advocate deliberately set itself over and against society, for as Bishop Steven writes:

‘Whenever the Church faces a question about an ethical point or doctrinal understanding or adjustment to advances in knowledge, it is vital for the Christian community to take this question to the Scriptures,’ (page 25).

This statement, even if Bishop Steven’s methodology and consequential conclusions are to be rejected, must surely leave no doubt over the primacy of Scripture in his thinking and reasoning. Scripture, for Bishop Steven, still seems to carry the trump card, as indeed it does for many of us who advocate for equal marriage and the blessing of civil partnerships.

As a quick aside: his method of biblical exegesis is in many ways ‘old fashioned,’ (traditional even), with it’s stress on the use of analogy (cf Origen) in biblical reasoning, what + Steven offers is decisively not some uber liberal, progressive, ‘let’s throw away all the rules,’ model of biblical exegesis, whatever his critics say.

So to conclude in just forty eight pages Bishop Steven offers a thoughtful (theological and narrative) reflection where his data sets include the personal, the pastoral, the ethical, and the doctrinal, all considered through the primacy of Scripture, and where he also reflects on, as any member of the clergy in an established church should, the nature of the relationship between church and society, or state.

Disagree, by all means, with his methodology, but please leave the oven ready one liners on the shelf; they really don’t help.

Will strategy save us, or kill us? A very few thoughts.

It’s a long time since I wrote a blog and I am not sure if I will write many more, for there is a ‘real and present danger’ in the blogosphere of writing for the echo chamber, but I thought I would write one more piece on strategy. All in my echo chamber may be pleased to hear!

My trouble with strategy is this: I don’t know many, if any, good strategists. I know plenty of people, inside and outside the church, who have acquired the language and techniques of strategy but I don’t know of many good ‘strategists.’

I know, and know of, a lot of people who have had enjoyed considerable short term success, whose businesses have flown, whose churches have grown; only to then come crashing down. And, of course, I also know that down right good luck looks a little bit more rational, planned, and envisioned when subsequently written up, claimed, as strategy. It’s far better for the ego, personal or corporate, to be regarded as a strategic master than a lucky so and so (even if luck, in fact, turns out to be providence).

But, to repeat, I really, really, find it very difficult to identify the cadre of strategic gurus and leaders who we should aspire to emulate. I feel we need to be honest and accept that ‘success’ in business, politics, sport, and yes the church, is normatively short lived, fleeting, and of the here today gone tomorrow variety.

Actually (awful word I know) I want to push my argument further by stressing that I am a fully signed up member of the death by strategy movement (and yes this really is a thing!) which stresses that the more institutions and their leaders focus on strategy (whatever this word really means) the greater the likelihood of accelerating their decline. Crafting strategy frequently leads to opportunistic myopia.

Doing strategy is neither a guarantor of success, nor a palliative slowing down an inevitable decline. Broadly speaking it’s a waste of time. And yet, the myth of the strategic leader, (or do I mean idol) persists. I wonder why?

‘O dear’, you might say, ‘this is all horribly fatalistic’, and of course it may well be for the majority of businesses (by the way check out the average life of a quoted business, the majority of whom have been led by a leader appointed for their assumed strategic genius), but maybe its far less fatalistic for the church?

The reason for this is that the strategic pursuit is essentially, despite its claims, inward looking, self-centred even. What can we get out of it, and how can we measure what we get out of it, being the two key strategic questions.

Yes, strategists like to say that’s it all about the customer, but this is only true in the narrowest of terms. Customers, stakeholders, are cared about primarily on the basis of ‘contribution’ to the bottom line. No business is really interested in a loss-making, non contributing, client or customer.

But in the church we are not supposed to be like that! We are not supposed to favour the successful, the profitable, and the useful. We are not supposed to evaluate people on the basis of their ‘contributory potential.’

We are supposed, instead, to serve the poor, the hungry, the alienated, the down cast, the lonely, and so on, and so on…….What we need to rediscover is the ministry of service, social holiness in other words; a ministry that is vested in a sincerely held belief in the God given dignity of every single human being. Secular business strategy (almost by definition) is built on a different set of premises and values. It really can’t be escaped: however nicely it is dressed up secular strategy instrumentialises, and, perhaps, that is why it ultimately fails.

Part of our vocation is also to speak truth to power: the prophetic mandate. And, this at the very least implies accepting ridicule, rejection, and scorn. I know of no strategic model that capable of accommodating the prophetic mandate, with all that this implies.

And then there’s prayer, but let’s leave that one for now. Okay let’s not, for my strongly held belief is that the church should be ‘rooted in prayer, routed from prayer.’ It is through prayer that ‘strategic’ opportunities seem to providentially emerge and this simply can’t be fed into a strategic model.

My prayer for the church is simply this:

‘That we may be rooted in prayer and routed from prayer, that we may be bold in action (diaconal) and outspoken in concern (prophetic), and that we may be a community where all may flourish and none need fear.’

So my pleas to the church are that we learn to sit lightly to strategy, so that we are alive to opportunity, that all we do flows from prayer, and that we are energised through a commitment to diaconal and prophetic expressions of ministry.

Speaking of a Transfigured Church

How are we to ‘behave in the world?’ posits Paul.

It’s a question that’s been bothering me all week. It’s been bothering me because of the shenanigans that have surrounded the Lambeth Conference; the conference at which the partners and spouses of gay Anglican bishops have been so very cruelly excluded. I think, know, I speak for many here at the cathedral when I say ‘not in my name.’

Now the thing about behaviour is that it’s observable, empirical even. It gets picked up by the media, it gets picked up by celebrities and it gets picked up by so called ordinary people. People, ordinary people, will come to a judgment about the Christian faith based on their perception of the Church and how the church relates to them, that is if it relates at all.

This week I met a member of the Pride in the Port committee who cried when I told him that we were going to fly the flag over the Pride Weekend. This week I met with another person who said, ‘I want to believe in God, but God’s people don’t want to believe in me.’ Today I received a message, you can read it on Twitter, from a near neighbour – someone who lives just up the road from the cathedral – who wrote: ‘slowly coming to realise that so many of have been lied to about God and what we deserve.’

More positively members of our local community – through the work of Pantry on the Hill – have said some kind and interesting things about the church, and some have even said that they might come and join us for worship and other activities. I am also very excited about other missional, relational, possibilities that seem to be emerging.

How we ‘behave in the world, matters, for how we behave, both as the local church or cathedral in our case, or the national and international – the one Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church if you prefer – is the evidence for who and what we value, what we stand for, and who and what we care about.

At a very simplistic level what we value, how we behave, and what we look like to the world outside the church equals mission.

Jesus, you see, isn’t an empirical phenomenon, but we are. This is why the Church is described as ‘The Body of Christ.’ So, when we ask how we are to ‘behave in the world,’ we should also ask ‘what do we look like to the world?’  Behind this question, however, there is a massive assumption and question: visibility. Are we a visible church and do we want to be a visible church? Do we want to be a church that stands out and shines as a transfigured beacon of faith, hope, love, and ‘radical Christian inclusion?’

Let’s assume the answer to these questions is ‘yes.’ This Sunday I would like to do something a little different with my sermon. Instead of giving a homily or carrying on with my homily I would like to offer a pop poem (pop because I don’t really understand the rules of poetry), entitled A Transfigured Church. Some of the words I have used are taken directly from the readings, others are mine:

A Transfigured Church:

I want to belong to a transfigured church; an enlightened, shimmering, shining church.

A pulsating, vibrant, and vivacious church.

A fluid, responsive, and adaptable, church.

A church both restless and patient, a church that knows how to run fast and stand still.

A church anchored in tradition yet, through reasoned critique, set free.

A church bold in action and outspoken in concern.  

A paradoxical, sometimes confusing, yet consoling church.

A church that understands that reaches out, embraces, and peaceably shares bread and wine, with all.

A church that’s sincere, frank, and true.

A church trusted for its integrity.

Valued for its hospitality.

Known for its charity.

Esteemed as a place of sanctuary.

I want to belong to Holy Church, a Godly Church, a Transfigured Church; a catholic and apostolic church; a church which others can look at and join with all in saying:

‘I too belong, and I too believe,’ (Amen).

A Litany for Newport

Newport our city:

We pray for Newport our city.

For all that it has been, is, and will become.

A city that has insisted upon, fought for, and witnessed men dying for the right to vote.

A city that marks its Seven Women; women of courage, women of virtue; women who claimed their right to be heard. Women who claimed their right to be counted, just the same.

A city known for its song and its sport; a city where matches have been played and victories won.

A city known for its industry, commerce, and trade; a city of ships, and docks.

A city which transported worldwide the work of hardened labourer’s hands.

We pray for a city that has left its mark yet has been left to languish; a city that resides in betwixt and in between; a city of green spaces, wonderful Victorian civic parks, and post-industrial waste lands.

A city where steel was king, and yet no more.

A city that cries out ‘what are we to become?’

We pray for a city full of schools where so many languages are learnt and spoken; thirty five in one, I heard.

We pray for our shops, open and abandoned.

We pray for our – for they are ours – migrants, refugees, asylum seekers, may they know the love of good neighbours.

We pray for the hungry and the homeless, of who there are far too many.

We pray for the young and the old, for the challenges they face.

We pray for a city with a rich religious heritage, chapel, church, cathedral, mosque, temple, synagogue, and other places of prayer.

We pray for a fresh and bold vision for this city, for all that she may become.

We pledge ourselves to Newport: may we serve her, love her, pray for her, and speak for her.

May we be a people in and for this city for ever daring to pray ‘thy kingdom come’ here in Newport ‘on earth as in heaven,’ Amen.

Learning to Speak Newport (with thanks to Newcastle Cathedral)

Vision: Easter 6

I suspect many of us will be familiar with the radio game ‘Just a Minute.’ The rules of the game are as follows: the participants, I think there are usually four, are presented with a word or phrase and they have a minute to talk about it. Someone starts but as soon as they are successfully challenged on the grounds of hesitation, irrelevance, or repetition the participant who made the successful challenge then continues and so on. The winner is the participant who is speaking when the whistle blows.

This week I am make no apologies for repetition: I am going to talk once more – just like last week – about vision, imagination, creativity, and flexibility. They are amongst my post Easter buzzwords, so you better start looking forward to Trinity (which is my favourite season!).

I am going to talk about vision, imagination, creativity, and flexibility once again for the simple reason, that they are the very stuff of today’s reading from Acts and Revelation:

‘During the night Paul had a vision,’ (Acts16, 9)

And

‘In the Spirit the angel carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the Holy City of Jerusalem,’ (Rev 21, 10).

So over the course of the last two weeks, we have heard about Peter having a vision, Paul having a vision, and John, the writer of Revelation, having a vision. Surely, we must therefore conclude that being visionary, or at the very least imaginative, creative, and flexible in our thinking, is normative to those who dare to say that they believe in ‘one Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church,’ and the ‘Communion of Saints.’  In fact, I would go far further and say that if these two phrases, which you will be affirming in just a few minutes, are to have any currency whatsoever we too must be visionary, imaginative, flexible, and creative in our thinking, for the alternative is to be well, just plain boring. O and irrelevant too. Who would want to join a boring and irrelevant church? Not many people, but who would want to engage with a visionary and imaginative church? Quite a lot of people I would suggest. To be apostolic is (in part) to be visionary.

If we want to be relevant, we need to allow imaginations to be inspired so that we like these three biggies of the New Testament, Peter, Paul, and John become visionaries.

Like John in the Book of Revelation we need, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, to allow ourselves to be guided into seeing a new vision for this city – Newport- and what it means to be a ‘healing’ presence in and for this city (and indeed diocese). If we are open to the work of the Holy Spirit amongst us, in and through our prayers, we will be granted a new, fresh, and exciting vision.

This week Dean Ian and I attended the National Cathedrals Conference in Newcastle. The big theme of the conference was justice, and we spent a long time listening to some wonderful speakers talking about social justice (in particular as it relates to younger – where the statistics and the stories should fill us with righteous anger), climate justice, and racial justice. We also spent a great deal of time thinking about hope, what it means to be a hopeful community, alongside what it means to be a place of sanctuary, and the importance of the prophetic voice. I am sure that you will hear more about these themes in the weeks and months ahead.

We were challenged, as we build our vision, to be ‘prophets for a future not of our own,’ and to be ‘bold in our action and outspoken in our concerns,’ (Sir John Major), we were told that we could, and should expect, to be criticised for speaking out for and spending our time and resources with those who society excludes. And with all of this I wholeheartedly agree.

But in many ways the most interesting presentation was from the staff at Newcastle Cathedral, who over a great many years, covering three deans, developed a vision for what it means to be cathedral in and for their city and diocese. Their presentation was called ‘Learning to speak Geordie.’

 What this meant was allowing themselves to be ‘carried away to a great high mountain and showed the city,’ not of Jerusalem but of Newcastle. I love the play on the phrase ‘carried away.’ Can we allow ourselves to be ‘carried away,’ so that we get a fresh and heavenly view of Newport – learn to speak Newport- so that we become all that Newport needs us to be? Can we then allow ourselves to be enthused, inspired, in-spirited, carried away, by the vision?

At Newcastle they got so carried away that their building was restored, the liturgy tweaked, the Newcastle Beatitudes were written and laid out as a path leading into the cathedral. The cultural, civic, industrial, musical, and sporting traditions of Newcastle and the surrounding area are all celebrated in the cathedral. The cathedral also acts as a place of sanctuary for the young, the old, and all-ages in between. It is a place of sanctuary for the homeless and the addicted, the lonely, those who need to be alone, and so many more. We were reminded of the importance of home and the fact that to say that buildings, homes, don’t matter is to speak from a place of enormous security and privilege.

So, what is our vision for this cathedral and what would it mean for us to speak Newport are the two questions I would like to leave you with.

But here’s the thing: I don’t want you to answer, or even to begin to answer that question just yet. The reason is that building a good and Godly vision takes time. Building a godly vision – allowing imaginations to be quickened – so that we become imaginative, creative, and flexible, must be the fruit of payer, the sort of prayer where we allow ourselves to be ‘carried away to a great high mountain and shown the holy city of Newport.’

‘Come Lord and carry us away, that we may see, gloriously see, your vision for this cathedral in and for this city, Amen.’

Acts 19,9-15 & Revelation 21,10,22-22,5

Speak of Lament. A sermon given at St. Woolos Cathedral, Newport on the second Sunday of Lent.

Lamentation:                                                                                                      Psalm 27, Luke 13,31-35

I don’t know if you remember many of your significant firsts, although I suspect you do. You know – and there really is no need to share – your first day at ‘big school,’ your first time on a plane or a ship, the first time you sang in the choir, or played the organ at a service, your first day at work, your first date, your first kiss even. As I say there is no need to share, some things are best kept to yourself, as a private memory.

As an ordained minister I remember most of my first sermons (I am not sure that others do!). The Sunday after I was ordained deacon I preached on The Parable of the Good Samaritan. My first sermon in my previous parish was on the Feast of St. Thomas – so called Doubting Thomas – good texts for a first sermon, and so I would like to thank Ian this morning for arranging for me to preach on a more problematic set of texts, and specifically on the Lament over Jerusalem! I hope, Ian – and yes, I am talking to you – that ‘we’ don’t establish a pattern whereby you get the ‘nice’ texts and I get the more difficult ones!

Yet Lament is something we must learn to do as part and parcel of our Lent discipline. The trouble is lamentation isn’t an easy concept to understand or appreciate. So, let’s try and unpack it a little, and let’s do so in the knowledge that the prayerful art of lamentation was something that Jesus both encouraged and practiced. To lament is to walk in the footsteps of Jesus and to pray like Jesus.

In the gospel passage we have just read Jesus is heard saying these words: ‘Jerusalem, Jerusalem the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it. How often I have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing,’ (Luke 13, 34 & 35).

By focusing on these two short verses, we can identify three of the characteristics that underpin lament: Truthful appreciation, Jesus doesn’t duck the fact that in Jerusalem atrocities take place and will continue to take place, desire, and compassion. Lamentation isn’t just about expressing our woes and our sorrows, our anxieties and our fears, for that would be an exercise that left us hopeless, in state of misery, for it is also simultaneously concerned with, inspired or inspirited by compassion, and desire. Jesus, without doubt, feels a deep sense of compassion for his ‘capital city,’ Jerusalem, and he desires a better future for it.

Are there places in our world that we feel sorrow for, that we could or should be exercising compassion towards, and where we experience in our very guts a desire for a better future? I think the answer to that must be obvious. We should be lamenting over the towns and cities in Ukraine and Afghanistan, and indeed also Jerusalem. We should lament of the state of things in many of our own towns and cities and sometimes, indeed, in the church. We should look at the world around us with a sense of sorrow, righteous judgement, compassion, and desire.

And one more thing: we should never, ever, lose hope. Today’s Psalm, Psalm 27 comes to an epic conclusion, where the Psalmist despite, in the face of, all the trouble that surrounds him writes these truly memorable – and they are worth remembering – words: ‘I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. O wait for the Lord! Have courage and wait, wait for the Lord,’ (taken from Celtic Evening Prayer, the Northumbrian Community).

To Lament is a deeply, deeply spiritual activity. When we lament, we acknowledge, even judge, the world as it really is with a sense of profound sorrow, never let anyone tell you that Christianity is a form of escapism from reality, but also with compassion and desire; compassion towards those who are suffering, and desire for a better Godlier future. Yes, this future may seem a long way off, but it will come.

So let us with the Psalmist pray that we will see the ‘goodness of the Lord in the Land of the Living’, and that in the meantime those who are suffering from the appalling consequences of tyranny and injustice, both at home and abroad will be given the courage that they require.

This week why not make those verses from Psalm 27 your own, praying them morning and evening, as you picture in your minds eye those people and those places for who you feel a real and deep sense of sorrow and compassion for their current reality, alongside a desire for a better, Godlier, future.

This week, this Lent, let us rediscover the spiritual art of Lament, Amen.

Speaking of character, culture, mixed economies / ecologies & parishes

I thought that Alan Billings article in the Church Times, ‘What the C of E can learn from the police,’ was both interesting and depressing.

Alan’s basic argument is that the character and culture, and therefore effectiveness, of the police came very close to becoming irreparably and fundamentally damaged due to top down decision making processes which undermined the concept of ‘neighbourhood policing,’ a significant consequence of which was the erosion of trust. Trust was eroded not because the police became less honest, but because they ceased to be embedded and visible.

The genius of the parish system resides in its visibility as an empirically observable phenomenon. A flourishing parish church recognises the importance of visibility. It might be an oversimplification but such visibility comes in three forms: the building, the ministers (lay and ordained), and the mission. For a church to be recognised, valued, and appreciated in the wider community, as a neighbourhood church, all three are both necessary and complementary.

It is these three that prevent the parish church from becoming closed and sectarian; the antithesis of neighbourly. It is these three that promote a welcoming inclusive culture and, give shape to our character. It is these three that allow faith, and the faith community, to become a public good. (This is not to say other faith communities aren’t able to act as public goods but, to say that the Church of England has inherited some highly significant structural advantages). As Alan Billings writes: ‘critically, this model is also well understood by those who are not church goers.’ I would go further and say not only is it understood but that it is, to a significant extent, valued. It may come as a surprise to some but ‘not church goers,’ value our buildings and our ministry, our visibility. In fact they help pay for it.

So here is a critical question: ‘if many of the planned for new congregations are to be lay led and meeting in private homes how are they going to become valued visible communities and therefore public goods?’

Alan argues that ‘no organisation can operate two operating systems simultaneously without distorting its shape,’ (or in my terms, character). Needless to say I agree. I also agree that the Church of England needs to be far more careful with its language. If the general public don’t understand terms such as Oversight Minister we shouldn’t use them. But does any of this mean that there is no place for Fresh Expressions, New Congregations, Grafts, and Plants?

In my view ‘no.’ I think that all of these can add value, but I also believe that they can only work when they are parish initiatives. They won’t work if they are established, through some form of top down, generic, ‘strategic,’ process. If they are developed in parallel to the parish they will becomes differentiators, or even competitors, to the parish. Does the Church of England really want to create an internal market for the allocation of resources? Has it already, without really understanding what its done, established an internal market? I suspect it has.

One of the problems with an internal market is that it, by definition, encourages inward looking and competitive behaviour and an increasingly self referential sense of character and culture, the external manifestation of which is ‘confusion and incoherence.’ Internal markets also encourage categorisation, and categorisation facilitates favouritism. Internal markets, by definition, exist to promote growth in various ‘product lines,’ and decline in others. That’s how they, markets, work and that is why having two ‘operating systems’ will always and necessarily fail. Operating systems aren’t, as Canon Billings has rightly observed, complimentary (a very churchy word I know) but competitive. They are competitive even when their operatives have gone to great lengths to convince themselves otherwise.

So my worry is that the endless drive to manufacture a ‘mixed ecology’ – can an ecology be manufactured – will lead to characterless and a cultureless church; in plain language a lesser and less visible church, a church whose character is the manifestation not of a mature and proven ecclesiology but the product of a ‘strategically’ managed internal market.

The next five years are going to be a crucial time for the Church of England, a truly defining epoch. What is at stake is our character, our culture, and our visibility. In order to both sustain and thrive what is needed is a renewed sense of commitment to the parish, to our buildings, our ministers (lay and ordained), and their mission. Without these we have no real visibility, no defining character, and no animating culture.

The Parish is and must remain the Church of England’s operating system and it doesn’t need an overhaul or a rival, or even a ‘ revitalisation strategy’, but something far more basic: investment and the dismantling of an internal market of our own making.

Let’s put the Parish First.

Speaking of character, speaking of culture

It is General Synod Election time! Manifestos have been written, videos shot, hustings arranged, and votes cast.

Every politician is keen to emphasise the important of the coming five years, keen to present them as a defining epoch. This is true for Members of Parliament as well as candidates for General Synod. It is probably the case that some five year periods are less defining than others in the overall sweep of things but, I suspect that the coming five year period will be, for the Church of England, truly defining. Forget visions and strategies for something far more important is at stake: our character and our culture.

The Church of England has plenty to wrestle with: LLF, clergy discipline, safeguarding, our governance processes, the role of bishops, the accountability of the Church Commissioners, the Mission and Pastoral Measure, the deployment of our historic assets, the changing shape of ministry and the way we select, train and, equip the baptised for ministry, the relationship between the national church, dioceses and, parishes, protecting the integrity of creation, to name but a few! There is plenty to keep those standing for election busy! The next five year period will be a defining epoch.

All of these issues, however, come back to those two key words: character and culture. What sort of church are we to be, and what are to be the cultural artefacts (policies, regulations, ways of behaving and engaging, language / liturgy) that give the fullest and, most accurate depiction of our character?

The Church of England, put simply, has to chose whether to regress or progress, whether to become more open, transparent, and inclusive and, I would say, more courageous, or to retreat into its self protective shell.

Vision and strategy is important, up to a point, but what really counts and, what will make the bigger difference is character and culture.

All candidates standing for election have a responsibility, a moral responsibility, as a sign of character, to explain where they stand on key issues. Of course as those elected listen and participate in debates their minds must be open to change. But not stating your starting position is not really on.

So to be clear on LLF for example, I hope that at the end of the process same sex couples will be able to have their union liturgically blessed by the church (logically this implies marriage but I believe that there also needs to be a sense of pragmatism).

I have been disheartened that so many candidates are refusing to declare their hand on this and other key issues.

What I wonder does this say about our individual and collective character and culture? What does it say about the need for change?