Best Church in Town ?

We had visitors at church on Sunday. A recently retired minister from the North West and his wife were doing the grand tour and, somehow, they ended up in Brazosport. So, they came to worship with us at the traditional service. It was a pleasure to meet them. Lake Jackson isn't really on the tourist trail, except for those who like to visit chemical facilities. It turns out that the minister and his wife had a bit of trouble finding us. Actually, they were told that there were no churches in our area.

Apparently, they inquired at the front desk at their hotel. Could they provide a list of local churches? Of course! Whereupon the clerk supplied a list of 'Church's Chicken's,' which is a popular fast food franchise. So the wife insisted - no, she was looking for a place of worship, somewhere where she could gather with other Christians. But the clerk had no idea what she was being asked for, "I don't think we have any of those in our area," she said.

Now, I've nothing against Church's Chicken, in fact I enjoy going there once in a while. I do worry about someone needing a list of fast food restaurants. Do they need to check them all out? But I worry a great deal more about the clerk, and about the witness of the hundreds of churches in our area. Are we invisible?

The Maytrees

I've always enjoyed Annie Dillard's writing. I read "Pilgrim at Tinker Creek" in the late Seventies. She's an intelligent and interesting writer (the two do not always go together), even if, sometimes, she is a little arcane. Frankly, there are passages in The Maytrees over which I simply shook my head. It's not just that the terminology is alien - I can cope with that, I just ignore it, as I do when reading from Patrick O'Brian's smorgasbord of seventeenth century life at sea - it's more that Dillard piles up language in heaps until the sense is smothered. It's still beautiful, but in spite of the words, not because of them. She also has a tendency to tell you what she has been reading, dropping names like a gate-crasher at a party of the rich and famous. Then, suddenly, in the midst of some great debate, usually going on in a character's head, a snatch of quirky prose or a seeemingly random idea catches you unaware. At one point Lou, the main female character is discussing religion with herself. She asks herself why she had never bothered to become a Buddhist. her answer, "High blood pressure. Have you seen how fat Buddha is?" Humor saves Dillard on a number of occasions, when she is in danger of becoming unbearably high-brow, one might almost say 'pompous.' But it doesn't always save her.

The Maytrees is the story of a man and a woman, residents of Cape Cod in the years following the Second World War, who fall for one another. Fireworks follow. The man, Toby, is a poet-cum-housemover. The woman, Lou, doesn't do very much at all, but she paints the sea-shore every now and then. They are blissfully happy, reading 300 books a year, between them. Then Toby displays the stupidity of his sex. He runs off with another woman. For twenty years he avoids his old hometown, his wife and son, until events conspire to send him home. There are two death scenes towards the end of the book that are beautifully written. In both, raw realism is counterbalanced by mature reflection. The book is worth reading, if only for these passages. There is much to admire in Annie Dillard's writing.

And yet, I regret that she did not allow any of her characters to speak of faith, or of the wonder of creation. Their's is a flat land, populated only by thought, albeit profound. In a brief discussion of religion, Lou dismisses Christianity with disdain (and not a little prejudice). Later in the story, a break appears in the monolithic modernism. It is noted that the later Wittgenstein moves beyond dull empiricism to the neglected handmaiden of philosophy - metaphysics. But no sooner is the door opened than it is slammed shut. No room here for contemplating the divine. The legends of the Mayans and of the Aleuts may illustrate the circumstances of their broken lives, but there is no room for a Hebrew.

It makes me wonder, is this deliberate? Is Annie Dillard simply demonstrating the prejudice of the cultural elite, looking everywhere for meaning except to Christianity? Or, is she hoping that we will notice the omission, and go looking for ourselves? I'd like to think the latter, though I'm not altogether sure. And if this is what she is about, then she may need to plant more obvious signposts along the way.

The Maytrees is a good story, and it is (mostly) beautifully written; but if it points, at all, to a solution to the meaninglessness and emptiness of the lives she portrays, then it does so only by silence, and that is seldom enough.

La Mauvaise Vie

There is some interesting, and stomach churning, news going the rounds today. The French Minister of Culture, Frederic Mitterand, nephew of the late President, has been expressing his support for Roman Polanski. You may recall that Polanski was arrested the other week, in Switzerland, and is awaiting extradition to the United States, where he faces charges of having had unlawful relations with a 13 year old girl. He admits the charges. The incident happened in 1977 and ever since Polanski has avoided the US, or states from which he might have faced extradition. It's been a little nauseating to see Hollywood come out in support of the film maker. Apparently they think it is mean-spirited of the United States to attempt to send Polanski to trial, after all these years. Surely some kind of settlement could be arranged?

Mitterand's involvement may be a poisoned chalice for Polanski. The former TV presenter, documentary maker, and writer, who was appointed as culture minister in June of this year, wrote a book in 2005 called The Bad Life. The title is apt, because in it, Mitterand describes his passion for young, male prostitutes in Thailand. This comes at a time when the French and Thai governments are working together on ways to combat sex tourism.

So, here's a guy who admits to the exploitation of underage children, supporting a famous film-maker who also abused a child. Mitterand describes the actions of the United States, in its attempts to bring Polanski to justice, as "callous and horrifying." Humm!

And so the godless continue to stand morality on its head, calling darkness light while condemning the truth. Here's a thought, though - what would the press and the pampered movie stars have said, if the paedophiles had been priests?

The irony is, of course, that if the Hate Crimes amendment, which has been added to the Defense Appropriations Bill, is approved, and if "sexual orientation" remains undefined, then paedophiles may find protection under law, even in the Land of the Free.

Death of a Denomination. Part 3.

I've been making my way, painfully, through a copy of the May 2009 issue of Reform, the national magazine of the United Reformed Church in the United Kingdom. Having trained at Westminster College, Cambridge, and having served in the URC for ten years, I have a certain affection for my old denomination. But, having been away for sixteen years I can see how the URC has changed. I believe it has moved even further away from its roots.

One of the articles in Reform is entitled "Leave Behind Childish Things." Written by Dave Tomlinson, and based upon his book Re-enchanting Christianity, the article encourages church members to deconstruct their faith, and to reject those parts they don't like. Only then can the journey of rediscovery begin. "Reinterpreting the Christian faith requires us to abandon forever the notion that being faithful to the gospel means preserving doctrinal purity," writes Tomlinson. He then procedes to re-think the virgin birth, the atonement, the resurrection, and eternal life. His approach is clearly universalist; he has no time for either the concept of eternal bliss for the redeemed or eternal condemnation for the damned. "The injustice and grotesqueness of this outlook appears utterly absurd to many people today," he writes. Tomlinson also departs from historic Christianity in his interpretation of the person and work of Christ. "Jesus did not know everything - of course he didn't! Jesus made judgements that were less than perfect - of course he did! Jesus believed things about the world and the universe that we now know to be untrue - of course he did! He was a first century man... Never-the-less, in a decisive way - in and through his humanity - the character of God was manifested in Jesus of Nazareth. And this is what the incarnation proclaims: God inhabiting human life, without in any way violating or abrogating human nature." Tomlinson displays a classic, liberal understanding of the ontology of faith: "For Christians, divine revelation is not finally in a text, a creed or a set of dogmas, but in a person; not in words, but in a living Word."

Dave Tomlinson is perfectly entitled to his opinions, but I don't know how he can pretend that they come even close to traditional Christianity. He may claim the name, but to do so he has to redefine its content to such a degree that the name, like the word, becomes devoid of meaning. I may call my dog a cat as much as I like, and complain about the limitations of language; but until he starts 'meowing' I'll keep on calling him a dog.

Back in the mists of time, when the URC had some sense of itself as a church in the tradition of the Reformation, it understood what it meant to be Christian. There is even a confession of faith in the URC Service Book, taken from the Manual. It reads, "We believe that God, in his infinite love for all, gave his eternal Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who became man, lived on earth in perfect love and obedience, died upon the cross for our sins, rose again from the dead, and lives for evermore, saviour, judge, and king." Is this the childishness that must be abandonned if one is to reimagine faith? If so, what are candidates for the ministry to be taught, and what should they teach once they are ordained? Environmentalism? Is that the best they can come up with?

Tomlinson's vision is simply a rehashing of ancient heresy. The Ebionites wanted Jesus as Messiah but they didn't want to call him divine. Their beliefs (curiously close to those later propagated by Islam) were rejected by orthodox Christians. Arius made the same mistake, as did the Nestorians and the Socinians. All of them failed to grasp the divinity of Christ, refusing to accept that, in Him, "the fulness of the Deity lives in bodily form" (Colossians 2:9). Placing human reason above divine revelation, they judged both Scripture and Christ. Their modern equivalents are the unitarians, whose beliefs are similarly far removed from the historic tenets of the faith.

When did the URC become unitarian? When did universalism take the place of particular redemption? And when did it become acceptable for the official publication of the denomination to be used to destroy the beliefs unpon which that denomination was founded? No wonder the church is dying. What good news is there left to proclaim?

Tomlinson's article can be found at www.urc.org.uk/What_we_do/Communications/reform/09/may/leave_behind_childish_things

What Works?

What do people want – and need – from the Church?

If you had to choose only one or two things for your church to do well, what would they be? What drives church satisfaction as well as spiritual growth? In this first section of FOCUS, the authors, Greg Hawkins and Cally Parkinson, examine the evidence and reach surprising conclusions. Their aim is to identify the key to meeting both wants and needs.

FOCUS begins with three hypotheses:

What people need from the church is spiritual guidance, but what they want is something different.

What people need from the senior pastor is spiritual challenge, but what they want is great preaching.

What people need from the church is spiritual guidance, and what they need from the senior pastor is spiritual challenge, but what they want is a great weekend service.

Hawkins and Parkinson assume that there is a disconnect between what people want and what they need. The first part of the research examines the first hypothesis by seeking to determine what really does drive spiritual growth.

The authors identify sixteen sources of church satisfaction and spiritual growth. They call these ‘drivers.’ A driver is a strong force that creates significant energy and momentum.

Having found sixteen such drivers, the authors group them into five categories. Each category represents an element of the Christian life which people expect their church to provide.

In no particular order, these are:


SPIRITUAL GUIDANCE – the expectation that the church will provide leadership for personal spiritual development.
- Helps me to understand the Bible in greater depth.
- Helps me to develop a personal relationship with Christ.
- Encourages me to take personal responsibility for my own spiritual growth.
- Challenges me to grow and take next steps.
- Provides a clear pathway that helps guide my spiritual growth.
- Church leaders model and consistently reinforce how to grow spiritually.

ACCOUNTABILITY AND IMPACT – the development of intentional spiritual relationships that will help people to grow.
- Helps me to develop relationships that encourage accountability.
- Provides opportunities to grow spiritually through relationships with others.
- Empowers me to go out on my own to make a significant impact in the lives of others.

OWNERSHIP – a feeling of allegiance and identity, not in the passive sense of participating, but in the sense of “I am the church.”
- Sets clear expectations about what it means to be part of the church.
- Inspires such a sense of ownership that the church becomes an important part of who I am.

BELONGING – the desire to experience community and worship in a place where you fit in.
- Helps me to feel like I belong.
- Helps me in my time of emotional need.
- Provides compelling worship services.

SERVING – the expectation that the church will help those in need.
- Promotes a strong serving culture that is widely recognized by the local community.
- Provides opportunities to serve those in need.

All of these drivers are important. The question is: which have the greatest impact in terms of what people are looking for in a church? The answer to this question should be of great value to us in evaluating our ministries and increasing our effectiveness.

So,
WHAT DO PEOPLE WANT FROM THE CHURCH?
Here are the results from the survey:

1. Spiritual guidance has by far the biggest impact on people’s satisfaction with the church. At 54%, spiritual guidance dominates the other categories. These are the things that people want.
2. Belonging is also a powerful driver of satisfaction. Belonging accounts for almost one third of the responses as a primary expectation.
3. The influence of accountability/impact and ownership on church satisfaction is limited. These categories, though important, have far less impact than spiritual guidance and belonging.
4. Serving did not emerge as an influential category. Though important, the fact that the church provides opportunities to serve does not seem to influence people’s satisfaction with the church. The reason for this is that satisfaction is driven by what is important for personal spiritual growth.
5. The drivers of church satisfaction are the same for everyone, no matter how long they have been Christian. No matter where they are on the continuum of faith, spiritual guidance is equally important.

In conclusion, spiritual guidance is the primary driver of church satisfaction; belonging comes a strong second.

Now we must ask,
WHAT DO PEOPLE NEED FROM THE CHURCH?

The authors examine data from the churches that have experienced significant growth in order to determine what actually works. They then ask, “Is there a difference between what people want and what they need?”

Which of the sixteen drivers of growth is most needed in the life of a local church? Their findings are as follows:

1. Spiritual guidance and accountability/impact are the church’s most significant drivers of spiritual growth. Although the results vary slightly over the spiritual continuum, generally speaking, the desire for spiritual guidance predominates. It appears that people do, actually, want what they need! This is encouraging. People really do want to deepen their relationship with Christ. As they grow as Christians, accountability and impact become increasingly important.
2. Serving and ownership are important contributors to spiritual growth. Although not identified as a significant contributor to church satisfaction, serving does help Christians to grow. It is an example of something that people need from the church even if they don’t acknowledge it.
3. Belonging is not a driver of spiritual growth. This is an example of something that people want but don’t necessarily need in order to grow spiritually. It is important because it provides the environment in which growth can occur, even though it does not, itself, contribute to growth.

In conclusion, spiritual guidance is both what people want and what people need from the church. If we can only do one thing incredibly well, it should be to focus on spiritual guidance. If the budget will not allow us to do everything, this should still be our number one priority.

Marx Gospel

Here's an interesting snippet from Justin Phillips' book C.S. Lewis In a Time of War which traces the development of religious broadcasting on the BBC during World War Two. Lewis was representative of a new breed of commentator developed by the BBC, in a deliberate move away from simply broadcasting worship services. As a lay person, he was specifically charged with presenting an apologia for the faith in terms that ordinary people could understand.
The BBC had been formed with the Christian faith as one of its core values. John Reith, the creator of the Corporation, was a deeply religious man who saw radio as a civilizing force in Britain. In the entrance hall to Broadcasting House, in London, an inscription (translated from the Latin) reads:

This Temple of the Arts and Muses is dedicated to Almighty God by the first Governors of Broadcasting in the year 1931, Sir John Reith being Director-General. It is their prayer that good seed sown may bring forth a good harvest and that the people, inclining their ear to whatsoever things are beautiful and honest and of good report, may tread the path of wisdom and uprightness.

At the rear of the entrance hall the biblical metaphor implicit in the dedication is made explicit in a magnificent sculpture called The Sower, by Eric Gill. It is the Word of God that is to be 'broad cast.' It's purpose is to improve those who listen.



So, here's the surprise - only one third of the listening public had any real interest in hearing religious themes on the radio. One third approved of Christian influence in broadcasting; one third were uninterested; one third were antagonistic.
Younger Evangelicals today often speak as though the middle of the twentieth century was some kind of heaven on earth, and that the vast majority of people were sympathetic to the Christian faith. It seems that the rot began far earlier than many have realized. Here's one other interesting piece of evidence: it was ascertained that, of one group of men entering the British army, only 23 percent knew the meaning of Easter. "One bright youth," writes Phillips, "thought Mark's gospel was written by Karl Marx, author of Das Kapital."



So, perhaps things were not as rosy in the 1930's as we have imagined. Of course, they could have been worse. The young man could have thought that Mark's gospel was written by this guy.

Temple of Hate?

There's been a lot of trouble at Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, since the death of their much-loved minister, Dr. James Kennedy last year. Most pastors could have seen it coming. Churches grieve, just like individuals do. No matter that they appointed an excellent communicator in Tullian Tchividjian, the grandson of Billy Graham, as their new pastor, or that 91% of the congregation voted for him. Some members didn't like it. They didn't like the staff members he brought from his old church, which merged with Coral Ridge. They didn't like the fact that he preached in a sports jacket and tie instead of in clerical robes, unlike his predecessor. They didn't like the new music he introduced. They didn't like that he was not as forthright in political matters. So a small group of members, by some accounts numbering only six, began a campaign to oust the new guy. Sadly, one of the six was the daughter of James Kennedy. How much of their misplaced concern was motivated by grief?



Last Sunday a congregational meeting was held at Coral Ridge, overseen by denominational officials (the church is a member of the Presbyterian Church of America). 400 people voted to have the pastor removed, but almost 1000 wanted him to stay. He's decided to do so, but he will have a lot of fences to mend. The instigators of the attempt to remove him may face church discipline. How sad. A fine young pastor almost has his ministry curtailed. He could easily have thrown up his hands and gone to work for a para-church organization. I'm sure the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association could have found a spot for him! And a great church has suffered damage that will take a generation to heal.

One of our neighboring churches recently lost its senior pastor. He had been there for over 25 years, I believe. Sensibly, the church has decided to employ "an intentional interim." I asked a colleague about this unusual phrase. Apparently it is used to distinguish the job from "an unintentional interim," which is what Tchividjian almost became. Churches need time to heal following times of trauma, even when that trauma is nothing more sinister than a retirement. Coral Ridge would have been wise to have spent longer healing following Dr. Kennedy's death. It would have helped them to avoid some of the problems they have encountered.



I read about the congregational meeting, and its results, in the attached article from the Sun Sentinel. There's an interesting video in which one of the elderly members, clearly distressed, says that Dr. Kennedy was the only man to fill that pulpit. Maybe so, brother, but he no longer can.

One of the many comments attached to the newspiece caught my eye. Someone wrote, simply and starkly, "Tear down this temple of hate!" Presumably the author was expressing his anger against one or more of the political or moral positions championed by Dr. Kennedy and Coral Ridge over the years - maybe the illegitimacy of same-sex relationships, or the anathema of abortion. To the author of the comment, Coral Ridge stood for everything that was hateful, forever interfering in the lives of others, telling them how they should live and whom they could love. The current dispute must be confirming his prejudices. Certainly, he is no more likely to attend Coral Ridge now than before Dr. Kennedy's death. The witness of the church has been damaged by internal squabbling. Only the devil laughs.



Is this how the world really sees us? Is the place I know as an oasis of hope, a sanctuary to which all may come, really so hateful? Is it true that the church, which has love for the loveless as an unnegotiable core value, seen in such a terrible light? Unfortunately, yes it is. I don't think this means that we should change our message to accommodate those who disagree with us; but maybe it does mean that we should try a little harder to love one another, and to show it.

http://www.sun-sentinel.com/news/broward/fort-lauderdale/sfl-coral-ridge-b092009,0,1727138.story

Storm of Steel

I picked up Storm of Steel by Ernst Junger the other day, which is a first hand account of his experiences in the trenches during the First World War. It's interesting to be able to view the war through the eyes of a fairly ordinary German soldier. Not long ago, I read an account of the battle of Combles, from an Allied perspective, so it's fascinating to see the same events unfolding from an Axis point of view.

To be honest, apart from a certain Teutonic orderliness, and some differences in temperament, there is little to choose between the experiences on different sides of the divide. There are patches of almost lyrical intensity when Junger is suddenly assailed by beauty in the midst of destruction, like when the larks begin to sing over the detritus of war. There are also rare snatches of rather plodding humor. There are even a couple of occasions when the exaltation of battle makes Junger appear impervious to the bullets and deadly shrapnel falling around him. But most of the time, he is either bored out of his mind or scared out of his wits. Sudden violence is always only a split second away. Death is commonplace. Just like on the other side of no man's land.

The irony of Junger's war is self-evident in the name of his Hanoverian regiment. They were known as the 'Gibraltars' because of their staunch defense of that British possession at the end of the eighteenth century. Across the bloody fields of Flanders, old allies exchanged artillery ordinance; young men from Mannheim and Manchester laid down their lives for competing ideals, rival empires. Divided by ideology, or at least by the intransigence of old men, they were united in suffering, and in death.

It is sobering, and instructive, to witness war from the vantage point of the other. There would, perhaps, be fewer wars if men could see one another not in caricature, but in terms of common humanity.

Death of a Denomination Part 2

Perhaps I should explain the "pro-Muslim" comment from my last post. The preacher who visited a URC and expressed the sentiments that went down like a lead balloon, was reacting against what some have called the Islamization of Britain.

This is not the place to go into a debate about multi-culturalism, so I will confine myself to observation. I need to make sure that you do not see these comments as racist. They are nothing of the sort. They do, however, reflect a radical change in the cultural landscape of Britain.

My old high school, Billinge, no longer exists. It was, at one time, the most successful State-run secondary modern institution in Blackburn. In terms of results, it was second only to the private, Royal Grammar School. Billinge is now for Islamic students only.

St. John's school, which my grandmother attended 100 years ago, which was run by the adjacent parish church, has been replaced by a huge mosque.

Instead of flat caps and shawls, Blackburn town center is now full of asian gangs, and women in full-length chadors or burqas. Whalley Range, which I often visited as a child, has become a ghetto where white faces are rarely seen.

We visited Tesco, a large grocery store, driving past another huge mosque. Inside the front door we were greeted by a large sign proclaiming "Happy Ramadan." All of the check-out girls were Moslem. All wore Islamic clothing.

I visited Blackburn Cathedral, which was empty. A display at the rear of the church showed photographs of staff members, including one of a young Pakistani woman wearing a hijab headdress - a liaison to the Muslim community.

In church on Sunday morning, at Trinity United Reformed Church, the minister suggested that we should use Ramadan as an opportunity to pray for our Muslim neighbors.

White flight has taken those who can afford it to the suburbs, or to neighboring small town such as Clitheroe. Blackburn is, as a rsult, almost unrecognizable. One interesting thing I noticed in the indoor marketplace: most of the stalls were run by Pakistanis. Many of them were selling Islamic clothing. Of those stalls still operated by white people, the majority sported Union flags, or flags of St. George, almost as though they were asserting their nationality in the midst of an alien culture. None of the Asian-run stalls bore English flags.

Then, when we returned to Texas, I got a letter from Lloyd's Bank, where we still maintain an English account. The letter was to inform us of changes in banking charges. I noticed that there were categories for Islamic students and graduates, and that those forms of banking are based upon Sharia law.

Yesterday, booking a flight from England for my mother, I noticed that one of the choices for mid-flight meals was 'Muslim'.

How has a minority become so dominant is such a short space of time? Multi-culturalism brings many benefits. I live, happily, in a multi-cultural community. But when one culture sets out to dominate another, and is not coy about declaring its intentions, then it is suicide for the host to fail to protect its own cultural heritage. Secularism seems to have no answer for the rising tide of Islam. No wonder Europe is beginning to produce its own radical terrorists. If the current disparity in birthrate continues, and if immigration from the Indian sub-continent does not diminish, then cities like Blackburn will be bastions of Islam within a generation, and non-Moslems will be reduced to dhimmitude. This is not a prospect I relish.

Death of a Denomination Part 1

A few weeks ago, when we were back in England, my mother gave me a copy of 'Reform', the national magazine of the United Reformed Church, my old denomination. It disturbed me no end. Over the next couple of weeks I'd like to extract a few sections from the magazine and discuss how things seem to have changed.

First, a word of background. The United Reformed Church is a union of Congregationalists and Presbyterians. I remember watching the service of union in the 1970's on a television at the front of the church I grew up in (very daring at that time - quite an innovation). It was never a big denomination, but it represented the historic Reformed witness in England and Wales (it has since united with Scottish Congregationalists, so now has a presence north of the border). The URC came into existence during the rising tide of ecumenism that swept British church life in the 60's and 70's. The expressed aim of the denomination was the visible unity of the church. Although its leaders had drunk deeply at the wells of Protestant liberalism, the church was still fairly orthodox. Many of the little churches and chapels that dotted the landscape were actually quite evangelical. They were the inheritors of Victorian non-conformity: decent people who loved their church and were not afraid to sing, with gusto, the hymns of Wesley and Watts. Some of those places of worship had been in existence since the expulsion of Puritan clergy from the Church of England in 1666. I remember preaching in a thatched chapel in one of the villages near Cambridge, in the early 1980's. The heritage of faith within those walls was almost tangible. Simple faith bowed its head before the mystery of the incarnation; the Bible was handled with reverence; Christ was glorified.

Increasingly, however, over the years, the leadership of the denomination became more and more liberal. In my experience, the local churches remained traditional. But at the national level, decisions were taken that moved the church more in the direction of the United Church of Christ in the United States. In fact, looking at denominational publications nowadays, the influence of the UCC is obvious. There has been a subtle reversal of accepted values. Justice issues and environmentalism seem to have taken the place of the proclamation of salvation.

In her editorial in the May 2009 issue of 'Reform', Kay Parris tells the story of a visiting preacher coming to her local URC. Apparently, the man did not understand the culture or theology of this local church. He spoke up against evolution, the "gay lobby", and the "Muslim lobby". He congratulated them for standing up for what they believed in.

One man stood up and, with his teenage daughter, left the building. Others remained, "paralyzed by a blend of horrified fascination, social conditioning and the knowledge that the respected member who had invited this man to our church had done so in good faith." After the service, no one shook his hand or thanked him for his message. Parris was appalled by what she had heard. The man's attitudes, she said, could explain why people might want to annul their baptism or refuse a visit by a hospital chaplain. "Surely a progressive denomination like the URC needs to take opportunities to explain publicly what it is not, as an essential aspect of promoting what it is."

Frankly, I'm appalled, not by the visiting preacher but by the reception he received. When did the URC announce that it is a progressive denomination? Who made the announcement? When did the inheritors of a muscular faith decide to become limp-wristed? Has the lamp-stand been removed? And what do we learn from these changes about what may lay in the future for the Presbyterian Church (USA)?

Words That Explode

I read an article recently by a famous churchman from a previous generation. W.H. Elliott was a Church of England cleric who, among other things, wrote articles for The Sunday Pictorial. His homespun wisdom and popular style endeared him to many. His words are still worth reading, even though they seem to come from a different world. Elliott died in 1957.

In an article entitled Words That Explode, contained within a book of reprints called Workaday Religion, Elliott complains, goodheartedly but seriously, about the prevalence of swearing. He finds it childish and unbecoming, a blight upon society that adversely affects our children and offends womankind (to use his terminology). He wonders whether the women should not be the ones to put a stop to it, at least by recovering the common courtesy of men not swearing in the presence of women. And then, towards the end of the article Elliott comes out with a word of prophecy: "It may be, of course, (that swearing is) one of the signs of a nervous, outworn, and decadent civilization." No sooner has he had the thought than he dismisses it. Surely that cannot be true.

We recently returned from a visit to England. The place has changed immeasurably since we moved, sixteen years ago. I will have something to say over the next few weeks about the sorry state of my old denomination, the United Reformed Church. But for the moment let me express the opinion that society has become harder, more cynical. There seems to be an absence of joy. Admittedly our experience was in the economically depressed North, but even there life used to possess a sparkle. When I grew up, in Blackburn, I was expected to be courteous and respectful. Now, that seems to have disappeared. On our recent trip I grew tired of reckless drivers, tail-gating then pushing their way passed; I cannot remember the number of times I witnessed a young person deliberately refusing to yield the pavement, elbowing their elders out of the way. No one holds doors open any more; there were no friendly greetings in the street; everyone seemed to be scowling at the floor. But what struck me as much as anything was the abuse of language. Men, puntuating every sentence with expletives is one thing, but when you hear mothers speaking to their children in the same way, and infants seemingly unable to talk without polluting the air with the foulest of language, then you know that something has changed.

Lancastrians always used to be known for their good humor, but now the stranger is greeted with curses that make your toes curl. I've heard it said that swearing is good for you, that it helps to relieve tension and can reduce pain, but I'm not buying it. Some people argue that it is only a change in social convention, and that it does not matter. But I think that it does matter. It is a symptom of the degeneration of society. Is it too simplistic to say that the charis of the Gospel has been replaced by the crudity of godlessness? Perhaps Elliott was right, after all?

Or, perhaps I should just get a life and buy myself one of these?

Azincourt

Azincourt (Agincourt in the US) by Bernard Cornwell is an account of the battle, fought on St. Crispin's Day in 1415, which has become one of the most famous in European history. The names of so many fields of battle have been lost, the combatants and their causes swallowed up in the amnesia of time. But Agincourt (as the English mis-spelt the name of the near-by hamlet) has become a romantic touchstone. Why?

Of course, Shakespeare helped. The famous speech, placed in the mouth of Henry V, has stirred the patriotism and the emotion of generations. I remember hearing that the captain of the England Rugby team, Will Carling, used it to energize and encourage his team-mates in their pursuit of glory (naturally, against the French). And the phrase, 'band of brothers' has gained a popularity of its own among those who probably have no idea that it comes from the Bard, or that it refers to conflict on the fields of Picardy. Even the notorious English two-fingered salute (not for polite company) is traced back, in legend at least, to the battle cry of the archers which claimed that, with just two strong fingers they would send their adversaries to the grave.

Azincourt is told through the lens of a common archer, Nick Hook. Cornwell took the name from contemporary records. An archer by that name did, indeed, fight for Harry, St. George, and England, (but that he endured a blood feud with a local family, or enjoyed a relationship with a beautiful French nun who would become his wife, is to be doubted). Nevertheless, Cornwell's skills enable him to weave a story that is at once both believable and bloody. Life was cheap in those far-off days. Members of the aristocracy could be ransomed, if captured, but commoners were expendable. Archers, in particular, were hated by the French. Ordinarily, archers had no training in formal warfare beyond their ability, ten years or more in the making, to bend a fine yew bow and to fire a bodkin-tipped arrow 250 yards. To do so, an archer had to be able to pull back about 120 pounds, and aim without being able to see down the length of the arrow. A bodkin (the word means 'needle') could pierce any but the finest armor. At Agincourt, 5,000 English archers could shoot 75,000 per minute. No wonder the French suffered such an ignominious defeat. A combination of atrocious weather and English archers led to the decimation of their forces. Though outnumbering their opponents by at least 5 to 1, the French suffered a reversal that sent shock-waves around Europe. For many years thereafter the French called 25 October la malheureuse journee - the unfortunate day.

Why does Agincourt hold such a special place in the folk history of the English nation? There had been victories before (Crecy, Poitiers); there would be victories in later years (Trafalgar, Waterloo), but none would be against such overwhelming odds. Perhaps therein lies the clue. Agincort was an exceptional victory in two respects. First, about 6,000 weary English, Welsh, and Gascon soldiers, of whom only about 1,000 were men-at-arms, overcame at least 30,000 of the finest warriors of France. That in itself is good reason to remember, but there is another. Second, the three French armies at Agincourt were defeated by a king who led the field himself, and an army of ordinary men. Does this make it the English Yorktown? For maybe the first time the professionals, in all their pomp and splendor, were brought down by the farm-workers and country-bumpkins of the English shires. The soldiers of Harry's army were underdogs in more senses than one. Shakespeare, cleverly, caught this theme:

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother, be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

William Shakespeare, 1599

The Cure of Souls

In one of his books, J.B. Phillips, author of the popular translation of the New Testament that bears his name, quotes the American essayist David Grayson. Following a stay in hospital, Grayson reflected on the experience in a little book called Adventures in Solitude. Here's the quotation:

As I thought during those long days, it seemed to me that the hospital cherishes a spirit, or an attitude, that the Church sadly lacks. I felt in it a respect for the human body and for the human life beyond that in the Church, as it stands today, for the spirit of man.

The hospital diagnoses before it prescribes; the Church prescribes before it diagnoses. The physician stands humble before the human body, studies it, doubts about it, wonders at it; labors to fit his remedies to the exact disease. Is there in any church an equivalent humility in the presence of the spirit of man? Is the priest willing to inquire and doubt and wonder? Does he know before he tries to cure?

Obviously, Grayson wrote before the small matter of insurance had come to dominate health-care; and he'd clearly never seen an episode of House, where the tormented physician treats just about everyone like dirt. Nevertheless, it's easy to see what he means. Phillips writes that the phrase "the Church prescribes before it it diagnoses" haunts him. It haunts me, too. There is a world of difference between proclaiming the simple Gospel and spouting simplistic dogma. The witness of the Church is harmed by those who fail to listen, who are too ready to tell all and sundry exactly what is wrong without even the courtesy of allowing the other to speak.

Of course, in terms of the sickness unto death that afflicts us all, there can only be one prescription. Eternal death, the result of our rebellion, can only be countered by eternal life, the gift of God through the sacrifice of Christ, appropriated by faith. However, there are many ailments beyond that basic disease. There are different words for different conditions. Just bawling "Jesus saves" doesn't really help when the ailment looms large. A soul tortured by remorse needs a quite different approach than the blustering bully who must learn to bow before the majesty of God.

What do we learn? That the privilege of sharing Christ must be preceded by the building of relationship, and especially by a readiness to listen. And having listened we will be careful to seek God's guidance. There are many tools available in the Word, but they must be selected with care and used with skill. As Phillips says, "the souls of men are delicate and complex affairs and their spiritual needs are never going to be met by mass prescription."

From Darkness Deliver Us

I remember Justin Webb as a fresh-faced young reporter with a slight lisp. An interesting, well-educated, and articulate man, Webb is employed as a special correspondent by that most venerable of institutions, the British Broadcasting Corporation.

For the last eight years, Justin Webb has been the BBC's North America editor, based in Washington, D.C. Over the summer he is due to return to the United Kingdom to take up a new appointment. Last weekend, on Radio 4, Webb reflected upon his time in the United States, and upon his imminent return to South London, in a broadcast entitled "Checking out of 'Hotel America.'" His words were subsequently posted on the BBC's website (see below).

It's clear that Webb has developed a great affection for the United States, (even though he has to pretend that no one ever lived in his home in order to sell it, and even though many Americans don't understand his humor). Webb admires the unbounded optimism of the American people, and the ability to change one's circumstances. It's not true that America is the only place in the world where a young girl in a Bronx housing project can dream of a career in the Law and end up on the Supreme Court, but that kind of transformation does seem more likely in the US. There is still a 'can do' attitude in America that is, frankly, refreshing to those of us who grew up with the social stratification of Old Europe. Webb admires that attitude. So do I. Webb's young daughter has already announced that, when she is old enough, she's moving back!

Social mobility, though, according to Webb, needs the dark underside of American culture because people need something from which to escape. Without the stark awfulness of some aspects of American life the dream would cease to exist. Webb witnessed the dark side on a trip to South Carolina, to an area be-devilled by tattoo parlors and pawn shops, gun stores and the Piggly-Wiggly (which, he says, "smells almost as odd as it sounds.") For Webb the downside of America is its ugliness - Doric columns made of cheap concrete, "encroaching into palm forests with no hint of apology." It is also to be seen in the hypocritical, small-minded, intellectual ugliness of American religion.

While in South Carolina, Webb met Governor Mark Sanford, with whom he was singularly unimpressed.

According to Webb, Sanford is "another quintessentially American phenomenon. A politician mired in Bible-laced hypocricy." Sanford, a conservative Republican who lived in some sort of Christian felowship house in Washington, disappeared earlier this year. He was in Argentina conducting an affair with a young lady while pretending to be hiking in Appalachia. Some of his trips to that country were, allegedly, paid for by the tax payers of South Carolina.

Exhibit two for Justin Webb is Kara Neumann from Wisconsin, an eleven year old girl suffering from type-one diabetes who, when she was diagnosed with an auto-immune condition, was not taken to the dosctor but to the preacher. Instead of medicine the little girl received prayer. She died. Quite rightly, Webb deplores the unnecessary suffering and loss of life. However, his conclusion extends well beyond a single case. He declares that he also deplores "the Stone Age superstition that stalks the richest and most technologically advanced nation on earth."

It's a shame that Webb's journalistic objectivity (trumpeted by the BBC but so little in evidence in recent years) does not allow him to see the vast amount of social welfare undertaken by the church, the millions of volunteer hours, or the generosity in response to disaster that regularly dwarfs the efforts of the Federal government. Webb plays the old trick - he picks up on isolated incidents and draws conclusions out of all proportion to the evidence. Sanford is a hypocrite, therefore all Christians are hypocrites. Kara Neumann's family does not understand that modern medicine is a gift from God, and that science and faith are not incompatible alternatives, therefore all Christians are mired in ignorance, only one step above the dark ages.

Of course it is nonsense. It is cultural arrogance. It is also poor journalism. Could it not possibly be that there is a link between the social mobility of American society at its best, and a theology that understands us all to have been made in the image of God? And could it not be, also, that as Justin Webb returns to secular England he will encounter a darkness far greater than that to be found in the salt marshes of South Carolina?

Justin Webb's article can be found at:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/8176448.stm

Taking Care of Business

I have been moved, this weekend, by a quotation from Brother Roger of Taize.

This morning during the common prayer I suddenly became aware of the quality of my brothers and am moved to the depths of my heart. They give their life - all their life. They pay dearly for the price of their commitment. I know that better than any. Then I can no longer say if my admiration is for my brothers or for Christ who has set His mark on them.

One of the side effects of the current recession is a certain harshness that has crept into relationships, especially in business settings. Talking to people in the community, I find that self-preservation has become the highest good for many people. Management has become so besotted with a drive towards efficiency (or the need to raise capital to stave off bancruptcy) that the human cost of redundancy has been forgotten. To an extent, this is understandable. If businesses are to survive they must make a profit, of course. But I do wish that managers would learn not to say that they are "trimming the fat" when they are laying people off. From what I understand, these decisions are often arbitrary. More importantly, they deny the dignity to their fellow-workers that we all deserve as creatures made in the image of God. I have heard horror stories of redundancies caused, not by economic necessity, but as a result of petty vendettas.

Servant-leadership, as modelled by Brother Roger, is a far more attractive option. As Christians, it is not our business to "lord it over one another" (Matthew 20:25 ) but to follow the example of the One who came not to be served but to serve, and to lay down His life as a ransom for many (Mark 10:45).

So, my prayer is that I will see the dedication of those who give themselves so freely and generously for the work of the church, as precious gifts upon whom Christ Himself has set His mark. It's far too easy for the culture of the business world to seep over into the administration of the church. I think we need to be diligent and business-like in our organization, but I also think that we need to remember that we are a community, not a company. We need to be intentional about building a culture of respect.

On August 16 2005, Brother Roger was fatally stabbed by a mentally ill woman during the evening prayer service in Taizé.

Dachau

There are some things we need to remember, and there are some things we need to forget.

There are some things we need to forgive, and there are many things for which we need to be forgiven.

Art Katz in his testimony-book Ben Israel writes of his visit to the concentration camp at Dachau:

I was totally unprepared for what greeted me at this museum of death ... the gas rooms with the jets still in the ceiling. Here my brother-Jews had been herded like cattle into cars. Women and children. Stripped naked. Old men and young boys. Why was the ear of God silent to the shrieks and prayer of these helpless, innocent ones who were slaughtered like cattle? My stomach turned sick and my eyes blurred with tears ... Outside were the conveyor belts where the bodies were dispatched to the giant ovens ... the mutilated bodies were slowly and systematically fed into the flames. The huge smokestacks never ceased their ugly belching - twenty-four hours a day as the ovens were stoked with the House of Israel.

And later, on the train that took him on his way ...

In an instant the truth dawned: Katz, except for the accident of birth, the caprice of time and place, you might have been born a German Aryan. It could have been you stoking bodies into the ovens. He shuddered and looked long into the blue eyes of the German man opposite. "I have been to Dachau," he said quietly.

A photograph of Dachau, which was posted with this article, has been removed. My apologies; I did not realize that the photograph was under copyright.

Smoke and Mirrors

Where does religion come from? Sigmund Freud thinks he knows. His theory, entitled "the psychogenesis of religion" is to be found in Totem and Taboo (1913). According to Freud, every major religion venerates a father-figure. The reason for this involves "the Oedipal complex." This is what Freud means:

At some prehistoric time human beings lived in a tribe ruled by a chief. This chief was, literally, a father, having exclusive sexual rights over the women of his tribe. However, as the chief aged, and as his sons matured, conflict, fuelled by sexual frustration, grew in intensity. Eventually, the sons rebelled, overthrew their father, and killed him. Almost immediately the sons were overcome by remorse at what they had done. They created rituals in order to assuage their grief and guilt, and so religion was born.

Freud goes on to interpret individual religious experience on the basis of the Oedipal complex. For Freud, veneration of a father-figure is a childish response to a dominant human parent. Fear of punishment forces the child to subject his will to his father's, and then to project the characteristics of the father into an illusory spiritual realm. In effect, therefore, religion is simply the perpetuation of infantile behavior. The frightened child trusts that his father will protect him from the ogres under the bed. The timid adult trusts that his heavenly father will protect him from the very real ogres who inhabit our world. But this is little more than wishful thinking. A confident young adult moves away from his father's control and gains his independence. As he leaves behind the phobias of childhood, so he should also reject the delusion that is religion. He should grow up and deal with the real world, not hide away in a realm created by his own wishes.

For me, the most telling response to Freud's theories of the origin of religion is simply to point out that he is creating an hypothesis, not stating a fact. Freud has absolutely no evidence to support the theory of a prehistoric patricide; the Oedipal complex has no foundation. He has merely invented the event in order to give credibility to his theories, which in turn support his prejudices. This is eisegesis of the worst kind. Freud massages the evidence until it appears to support his conclusions. But it is all a game with smoke and mirrors. Freud is the illusionist, not the Christian.

And yet, how many atheists continue to use this argument? Belief is still condemned as infantile. Obsessional neuroses are blamed for being the hidden persuaders behind religious ritual. Believers are told that they are foolish children, reacting to trauma by repressing their instincts and their emotions. Christians continue to fool themselves by creating castles in the sky.

In truth, though, these criticisms tell us more about the repressed spiritual urges of those who reject Christianity than they do about the origins of religion. Atheists have created their own myth. There is no evidence for its truth, but they continue to advocate for the illusion because they cannot bear to think that they might be wrong. Sound familiar? Freud's psychoanalytical atheism is an hypothesis, nothing more. Christians have no reason to fear an illusion.

Wishing Doesn't Make It True

Is our desire for God anything more than wishing Him into existence? It's an old argument that has been going the rounds since Ludwig Feuerbach. I recently came across the debate still festering on http://www.opposingviews.com/

In a way, I'm surprised that the debate is ongoing. Over a hundred years ago, Eduard von Hartmann pointed out the logical fallacy in Feuerbach's argument, but that doesn't stop the anti-God lobby from using it. Alister McGrath quotes von Hartmann in one of his books, "It is perfectly true that nothing exists merely because we wish it, but it is not true that something cannot exist if we wish it." Things do not exist simply because we desire them. But it does not follow that, because we desire something, it does not exist. Feuerbach's argument is a logical fallacy. What's the argument about?

Feuerbach wrote that religion is simply a projection of our wishes. We would like the world to be ordered, for the good to go to heaven and the evil to go to the other place, and so we wish it, and convince ourselves that it is true. In The Essence of Christianity (1841) Feuerbach argues that the idea of God arises from human experience. Human beings long for something beyond themselves, for immortality, for justice, for love. And so we translate our experience of longing onto an illusory plane and create the idea of God. In a sense, as Sigmund Freud was to argue, religion is a childish response to our dependence upon our parents. When we continue the culture of dependence into our adult lives, we substitute God for our earthly father. If only we would grow up we would realize that our search for spiritual reality is a study of our own experience. There is no external reality to be discovered.

Feuerbach has been very influential, though few remember his name today. Karl Marx adopted his critique of religion. Freud promoted it; in his The Future of Illusion (1927) Freud said that religious ideas are "illusions, fulfillments of the oldest, strongest, and most urgent wishes of mankind." It's an argument that is still rolled out with great regularity today.

You can't really argue with Feuerbach, or his disciples. He simply states his hypothesis as gospel, and that's the end of the argument. Religion is wish-fulfillment. Nothing more. With a condescending smile the popular psychologist encourages us to grow up and grow out of the delusion. Only then will we be free.

Feuerbach's arguments are predicated upon the assumption that all religious experience is actually human experience. Specifically, as Schliermacher wrote, religion is based upon the human experience of being dependent. This was a popular idea at the time but, as many have pointed out, Feuerbach ignores the doctrine of revelation. As Christians we don't have to rely upon our subjective interpretations; God confronts us through His Word. He is prior to and independent of our experience. We aren't just listening to ourselves. God speaks. More to the point He often says things that we probably we would not wish to hear, especially when He calls us to repentance, to turn from sin and to turn to Christ. How can it be wish-fulfillment when it would be easier all around if God did not exist, if there was no judgment to fear?

Most of the time, though, Feuerbach doesn't depend upon arguments. He just insists that he is right. Curiously, it's like arguing with a charismatic who claims a direct line to God. There can be no argument when all opposing viewpoints have been eliminated, a priori, as nonsense. Even the glib, self-satisfied smile is the same, "Of course you wouldn't understand."

What we understand is that just because an argument keeps being repeated, that doesn't make it right. When I was at Birmingham University a young girl, who used to attend the meetings of the Christian Union, suddenly stopped coming. Eventually we found out why. She was dating an undergraduate from the Department of Psychology. This genius had read a little Freud and decided that he had no further need of "the god hypothesis." And, because he wanted her to do away with her "bourgeois, oppressive, Victorian morality," he persuaded her that her religion had been a projection of her insecurity. She responded, not by slugging him, but by agreeing. Rejecting the moral code of her childhood she was free to debate philosophy between the sheets. I don't know what became of her. I pray that she woke up.

Of course, the irony is that she created a new reality on the basis of her wishes. She wanted to be found attractive to this young Lothario, (and for her brain not just for her looks), so she wished for a world in which her constraints evaporated. And they did. She mistook anthropology for theology. She thought that she had argued herself out of a need for God. But God is not dependent upon her needs, neither is He perturbed by her denials of His existence. She may wish for a world without God, but wishing does not make it true!

Why should we be expected to abandon the Christian faith just because Ludwig Feuerbach tells us that we are projecting our wishes instead of experiencing God? It's still a very unconvincing argument, no matter who tells you otherwise.

Dead Men Rise Up Never

Proserpine - by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Jack London has a tale, from his youth, of going to sea on the Sophie Sutherland, a three-topmast schooner, seal hunting off the coast of Japan. London tells of a fellow-sailor, an unpleasant man known only as "The Bricklayer" who died and was buried at sea, with "a gunnysack, half full of galley coal... fastened to his feet." Against naval tradition, the seventeen year-old Jack London took over his recently-departed colleague's bunk. His other shipmates warned him that the Bricklayer would not be pleased. He would come back to haunt the lad.

Then, on an ugly night, Jack was startled to see an ominous shape on deck, near the spot where the Bricklayer had been tipped over the side. Intellectually, he could not fathom what he was seeing. Was it a spectre, risen from the deep? Surely, "dead men rise up never." Finally, after an agony of self-doubt, Jack plucked up the courage to confront the ghoul, only to find himself face to face with an equally terrified Newfoundland dog.

The title of Jack London's short story (later purloined by others) comes from Swinburne:

From too much love of living,

From hope and fear set free,

We thank with brief thanksgiving

Whatever gods may be

That no man lives forever

That dead men rise up never

That even the weariest river

Winds somewhere safe to sea.

The Garden of Proserpine: A.G.Swinburne 1866

Is it true, though, that "dead men rise up never'? Ernst Troelsch, the German sociologist, had an unsophisticated answer to this question. His response is typical of many today. Troelsch argued that, since dead men do not rise, Jesus Christ could not have risen from the dead. And that's the end of that. The central pillar of Christianity is swept away, by fiat. Troelsch simply declares, like David Hume before him, that resurrection just does not happen. Since there is no evidence of dead men rising in our experience, it follows that no dead men have ever risen, or ever shall.

What are we to make of this argument, given that, as Paul says, "if Christ is not risen we are, of all men, most to be pitied" (I Corinthians 15:19)? Wolfhart Pannenberg points out that Troelsch takes a very dogmatic approach to the question of resurrection. Based upon his presuppositions, Troelsch dictates what can and cannot happen. According to Troelsch, and a horde of modern disciples, the question of resurrection is non-sensical. It does not happen today and it did not happen 2,000 years ago.

Troelsch's argument is based upon inductive reasoning, moving from a particular example to a general rule. The particular example he chooses is his own experience. He then proceeds to draw his conclusion based upon his chosen premise. This is obviously unsatisfactory. Observation cannot eliminate the possibility of resurrection, it can only establish probability.

If "dead men rise up never," how do we account for the witness of the New Testament? It cannot be wish-fulfillment, given that the devastated disciples were in no fit state to create the fiction. Neither would they have been prepared to suffer so cruelly for an obvious untruth. Could it not be that the bodily resurrection of Jesus provides the best explanation of the events? Often, it seems, our response to the empty tomb tells us more about ourselves than we imagine. Secular people give a secular response. But Christians tend not to be so concerned. We judge matters of life and death on the basis of what we know about Jesus, not the other way round, and certainly not on the basis of Troelsch's dogmatic metaphysical presuppositions.

We don't need to apologize for our faith. When our opponents dismiss the resurrection of Christ out of hand, they merely display secular fundamentalism. Swinburne's vision of the underworld was of a grey place without fear but also without hope. Is it wrong to hope for something better?

Tea and the Slippery Slope

I happen to like tea. I prefer black tea - a blend of orange pekoe and broken orange pekoe that most Americans would call "English Breakfast Tea." I like it piping hot. In fact, the hotter the better otherwise the tea will not infuse properly and the leaves will rise in the cup. Yes, I brew it in the cup, mainly because that's how I like it. I just have to remember not to drain the cup! In my humble opinion tea should have milk in it, and it should not be flavored. Blackcurrant, mango, and mint may be wonderful flavors for soft drinks, but they should not be allowed to contaminate tea. It goes without saying that the words "iced" and "tea" should not be used in the same sentence, sweetened or unsweetened.

Does that make me a tea-snob, or (as someone once called me) a tea-afficianado? No, it just means that I prefer my tea the way I have been drinking it since I was a small boy. I'm not going to judge your preferences, but neither am I going to apologize for mine. I just happen to like my tea good and strong and very hot!

Other people take their tea differently. In China, Gaiwan Tea has full green leaves floating in the cup. In Japan, Sencha is green tea that remains unfermented. Other traditions predominate in other areas. Millions of people enjoy their favorite drink in many different ways. And that's fine. To accept this, we have to have a basic understanding of cultural relativism. Different cultures have different ways of doing things. It's good to know that we are not all the same. Who knows, I might try iced pomegranate tea one day and like it. It's not very probable, but it might happen.

The problem comes when cultural relativism becomes ethical relativism. Let's imagine that, in order to produce their favorite type of tea, the citizens of Pomerania require that all of their left-handed children be taken from their parents, trained to climb to the tops of the trees to gather the youngest, most succulent leaves. Ethical relativism says that, since different cultures have different moral beliefs, we should not judge the Pomeranians. They have their method of producing tea and we have ours. That's just the way it is.

Ethical relativism tends to degenerate, over time, into ethical scepticism, which proposes that there are no absolute moral rules. If the citizens of Pomerania decide to kidnap children from our country and to force them into slavery, we still can't judge them, because absolute moral rules are impossible to prove. All that we can do it to prevent their capture, or rescue them. We will do this, not because we judge the Pomeranian tea-manufacturing process to be immoral, but because we value our children. With regard to ethical norms, we remain sceptical.

Ethical scepticism tends to degenerate, over time, into ethical nihilism, in which there are thought to be no moral rules at all. The Pomeranians may not only steal our children, they may also sacrifice them to the tea-gods after the harvest, adding their blood to the brew! As nihilists we will be unable to do anything, other than exert a superior military force. Morally, we could not challenge the Pomeranians. We could not describe them as "evil," since evil does not exist. We could not judge them, since there would be no standard we could bring to bear. No universal principle would guide us. No holy book would determine right from wrong.

* * * * * * * *

Of course this is all a bad dream. Cultural relativism does not need to become ethical relativism, which does not need to become ethical scepticism, which does not need to become ethical nihilism. And this conversation is not about tea.