Christopher's Ghosts

I picked up a copy of Christopher's Ghosts by Charles McCarry a while ago, and have now read it. During the Cold War, McCarry was an undercover intelligence officer operating in Europe, Africa, and Asia. He draws upon his experience in this dark thriller. The story begins in the harrowing years before the Second World War. Paul Christopher, the son of an American father and a German mother is living in Berlin and, because he refuses to join the Hitler youth is singled out for trouble. Trouble is exactly what he gets. An SS officer, arrogant and deadly, takes a special interest in the Christopher family. As one may imagine, it does not turn out well.


Fast forward twenty years and Paul Christopher is an intelligence officer working for the Americans. After a successful mission in Africa, he is sent to his old haunts. So many people are dead; but not his nemesis. The remainder of the story is a well-crafted tale of remorse, regret, and revenge.


The book feels a little like one of those spy novels, so popular in the 1960's, where the debonair agent takes on the agents of evil. But Paul Christopher is not a cardboard cut-out; his character is real and believable. Deeply wounded by the events of the war-years, yet hiding his grief behind an icily efficient exterior, his exploits are almost cathartic. His bravery, bordering on foolhardiness, is less fueled by anger than by survivor's guilt. Not until the last moments of the novel does one discover that love was an even greater motive.

Perhaps that is true for many of us. Despite the self-proclaimed amorality of our secular world, we are still a pot-pourri of emotions. Guilt and love are never very far beneath the surface. If Victorians suffered from the consequences of suppressed sexuality, perhaps our generation will be known for the suppression of guilt. Some social commentators try to establish a link between laissez faire economics and Victorian morality; perhaps there is a link between a new Elizabethan amorality and laissez faire values in society! Yet the guilt remains. Christopher's Ghosts is, in many respects, a modern parable of a man, and of Western culture, trying to come to terms with its violent past.

Deconstructing Childhood

I came across a copy of R.M. Ballantyne's The Coral Island the other day. It was one of my favorite stories as a child, so I thought I'd re-read it. I remember getting a copy as a prize when I was in primary school. Before beginning, I tried to recall the story. Given that I probably last read it over 40 years ago, I did pretty well! First published in 1857, the story features three young English boys who are shipwrecked on a tropical island, somewhere in the South Seas. They have adventures exploring their island; they witness some violent behavior by indigenous people who turn out to be cannibals; and the main character, Ralph Rover, is caught and taken away by pirates. I still remember being entranced by the descriptions of the island, and of the underwater cave that was to become their sanctuary. I even remembered what happened to the old cat they found, which had been left behind by a long dead castaway. It's quite a story, in the glorious tradition of "ripping yarns' much loved by bored schoolboys.

What I did not remember was the racism. Coral Island is not an easy book to read nowadays. There is an imperialism about the tale which may have been acceptable in the days of empire, but today it is simply embarrassing. For example, shortly after arriving on the island, the boys debate how to get home. One solution they consider is to find local people and get involved in the running of their tribe. Being white, they reason, they will naturally rise into positions of leadership and will soon be able to dictate affairs to their advantage. The natives will be only too willing to help them, recognizing them as natural rulers. What nonsense! Ballantyne's ripping yarn is full of stereotypes and false value judgments that would make even the most uninformed person squirm. No school would think of giving it as a prize today; it's probably not in many school libraries, except as an example of racist prose.

And yet, there are other assumptions in the book with which I heartily agree. The boys are Christians. They count the days so as not to work on Sunday. Ralph tries to lead a repentant pirate to faith, dredging up Bible verses to bring comfort and hope to the dying man. Towards the end of the book, a native Christian leader is shown to be an honest, industrious, and brave man. The advantages of the Christian life are stressed, repeatedly. When the horrors of 'savagery' are contrasted to the effects of Christianity, there is no doubt in Ralph's mind that the islanders need to accept his religion. In place of violence and falsehood, Christianity brings peace and honesty. To Ralph, there is no doubt that religion is a civilizing influence, and that it is to be commended.

Modern secular readers of Ballantyne's story will doubtless reject his religious views along with his racism. Like others, they will probably talk about the 'noble savage' whose pristine way of life was corrupted by the moralistic views of Westerners intent only on raping the resources of the land. In fact, William Golding's book Lord of the Flies was written (in 1954) as a direct attack upon the themes of The Coral Island. In it, Golding's shipwrecked Europeans become the savages, destroying the paradise they have found as they destroy one another. But this, too, is nonsense. There was no paradise. Some South Sea Islanders were cannibals; many lived in poverty throughout lives that were "nasty, brutish and short." If the eradication of violence is the standard, then Christianity did have a profound influence for good. It's all very well for modern historians to object to the activities of the missionaries as defacers of indigenous culture, but to do so is to ignore the bravery of those who, very often, gave their lives for the furtherance of the Gospel and the release of the oppressed. And, while we must accept that the worldview of some of those Victorian pioneers may have been tarnished by racism, we are not obliged to judge their intentions as totally flawed. Perhaps more to the point, if their perceptions were clouded by their assumptions, is it not true that ours are also, as are those of the commentators who now sit in judgment upon them?

A broader view of the importance of missionary work will reject cultural imperialism, but it should surely emphasize the centrality of the saving work of Christ for all people. When we give our faith away, we should be careful not to wrap it in cultural assumptions. That was Ballantyne's mistake - he equated the vision and growth of Empire with the Great Commission. For the islanders to become 'civilized' they had to become both Christian and, well, British. Their huts had to be whitewashed and set in rows; their gardens had to be well-tended. He assumed that Christianity would make them behave like Westerners. He was wrong. But we need not to throw out his assertions of the benefits of Christianity, just because he failed to see that Samoan Christianity need not look like that practiced in Southend or Suffolk.

I wonder, sometimes, whether denominational officials do not continue to make the same mistakes. Will future generations re-read the pronouncements of Louisville and shudder at the arrogance and the imperialism that insists that our view is always right? We all wear blinders. We all have assumptions that we find it difficult to discern. That's why we must always bring ourselves, our worldview, and our society into the blinding light of Christ.

Download a free copy of The Coral Island at http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/646

Cathari and the Quran

Various groups have been called "Cathari" over the last two thousand years, but Sean Martin's book, The Cathars deals with the medieval sect which was given that name in the second half of the twelfth century, in Germany, and which flourished, briefly, in Southern France and Northern Italy a hundred years or so later. The name comes from the Greek katharos which means 'The Pure.' In France, the group were also known as the Albigenses. Doctrinally, they were similar to the Manichaeans with a pronounced Docetic influence. Basically, they were dualists who understood the world in terms of a cosmic battle between the forces of darkness and light. Their experience led them to believe that this world is governed by Satan, the ruler of darkness. They tended also to deny the ultimate reality of the world, as a mere shadow, which led them to also deny the full humanity of Jesus. Yet, those who knew them generally regarded them highly, as sincere Christians seeking moral purity. When they rejected Catholicism and came to look upon the pope as the anti-christ they found themselves in political hot water. Persecuted without mercy, first by overzealous churchmen, then in the infamous Albigensian Crusade, and finally under the Inquisition, the movement died out when all of its leaders had been burnt at the stake.

Martin's book is not at all sympathetic to the Roman Catholic Church; he makes light of serious theological error; and he fails to unravel the political forces that were at work, particularly in France. Land and property were seized from Cathars often for the most secular of reasons. Not all of the blood-letting was religiously motivated. And yet there was a great deal of blood-letting. It seems incredible, at this distance that Christians can have deceived themselves to such a degree that they were willing to use torture and violence in order to defend the Faith. It does the Church no credit to be associated with such monstrous mass-murderers as Simon de Montfort. Though the officers of the Roman Catholic Church were most to blame, even the Cathars, in the end, adopted the methodology of oppression, resorting to murder and revenge in order to get their way.

Looking back at a dark period in the history of the Church, and seeing how committed Christians could come to conclusions radically opposed to those that we would reach, makes me wonder about what we misunderstand today. No doubt there will be those who would answer that our rejection of alternative lifestyles and our opposition to global syncretistic understandings of the nature of religion are examples of violence done by Christians today. I don't think it's as simple as that. The adoption of postmodern universalism could well turn out to be far more arrogant and destructive than a straightforward defense of historic Christianity. I don't believe that exclusivism is necessarily more conducive to violence than the worldview that brings everything down to its lowest common denominator. In short, I don't think that peace is best served by forgetting differences and just saying "Why can't we all get along?" The fact that Mediaeval Catholicism went too far in defense of the Faith does not mean that we are not allowed to make any kind of defense. So, should we burn the Quran? What is served by burning copies of the Quran, beyond the creation of yet more enemies? What happened to the way of peace?

We don't need more enemies. Mutual respect does not need to be an act of compromise. Defenders of the Faith do not need to become warriors (except, perhaps, in self-defense, or more properly, in defense of the defenceless). We need to ask the Holy Spirit to open our eyes to the ways in which we have been fooled into accepting the morality of the world. And we need to change to overcome evil not with more evil but with good. Maybe then, if we stand for all that is good and noble and upright and true, a day will dawn when we are known as 'The Pure.' After all, don't we have to be pure in heart if we are to see God?

La Querencia

Last weekend, Lesley and I had the privilege of wandering around Yosemite National Park for the best part of two days. What an absolutely amazing place! The crowds were not as bad as we had feared, though there were hundreds of people in the park. We entered from the East on the Tioga pass, and were simply stunned by the scenery. However, when we reached the Yosemite valley it rendered us (almost) speechless. Without actually being there, it's difficult to appreciate the sheer immensity of the cliffs towering above. Looking down on the valley, from the tunnel viewing area, the trees obscured the cars and the campsites. No wonder John Muir was enthralled by Yosemite, and spent so much of his life striving to protect it.

I bought a small book of Ansel Adams' prints, and saw some of his original photographs in the small gallery that bears his name. Included in the book Yosemite is a quote from Adams, taken from Charlotte Mauk's book of selected writings Yosemite and the Sierra Nevada. Adams writes: "That first impression of the Valley - white water, azaleas, cool fir caverns, tall pines and stolid oaks, cliffs rising to undreamed-of heights, the poignant sounds and smells of the Sierra, the whirling flourish of the stage stop at Camp Curry with its bewildering activities of porters, tourists, desk clerks, and mountain jays, and the dark green-bright mood of our tent - was a culmination of experience so intense as to be almost painful. From that day in 1916, my life has been colored and modulated by the great earth-gesture of the Sierra."

Then, in his introduction to the book of photographs, Michael L. Fischer, quotes Barry Lopez on the Spanish concept of la querencia. This is, he says, "a place on the ground where one feels secure, a place from which one's strength of character is drawn." Fischer goes on to describe Yosemite as Adams' la querencia, a place of strength and of connection to the infinite.

It struck me that this is exactly what the Church is called to be - a place of strength and security, where we can be inspired to serve purposes beyond ourselves, where we see ourselves as small yet far from insignficant, a place where God bends down to touch our souls with eternity.

Interestingly, when speaking of the need to defend Yosemite, Fischer quotes the father of American environmentalism, John Muir, who was of Scottish Presbyterian stock. "National Parks have always been subject to attack by despoiling gain-seekers and mischief-makers of every degree from Satan to Senators, eagerly to make everything immediately and selfishly commercial. Thus, long ago a few enterprising merchants utilized the Jerusalem temple as a place of business instead of a place of prayer... ".

Defending the sanctity of the Church is no less noble a task than protecting the wilderness of the Sierras. If the gathering of God's people is to be la querencia for a new generation, it must have less to do with the pursuit of personal esteem, and much more to do with sitting, silently, in awe and wonder at our God.

Y'All Come

I got back from the Presbyterian Coalition's "Y'All Come" meeting in Chicago last night (well, I did, my luggage is still in Kansas City). It was a somewhat frenzied meeting and, not unlike others I've attended, not a little frustrating. These are good people. Their hearts are certainly in the right place, but they do love to talk about things rather than actually do anything. Jerry Andrews confessed at one point that he finds it easier to dwell in the place of ideas. I agree. It is much easier to escape to an intellectual argument than it is to hammer out an appropriate action. Sometimes, being able to see so many different sides of any given question is a distinct disadvantage. For example, towards the end of the meeting, we were asked to issue a call for opposition to the removal of the fidelity/chastity clause, to the introduction of the Belhar Confession, and to the new Form of Government (nFOG), all of these initiatives having been sent to the presbyteries by the recent General Assembly. For a variety of reasons, the body would only come out solidly against the proposed (and much weaker) replacement for fidelity/chastity. They will provide resources concerning Belhar and nFOG, but would not come out with a strong condemnation. This is folly. Simply because some expressed doubts about how we would appear, particularly if we opposed Belhar, in that we would leave ourselves open to the charge of racism, the whole package was weakened. In truth, the Coalition can sound altogether too much like Neville Chamberlain.

Just before the meeting began, we were emailed a study paper written by Joe Small, from the Office of Worship and Theology in Louisville. Joe is a great guy. We will miss him when he retires. In his paper, he diagnozes, very carefully, the situation in which we find ourselves, and the reasons why the church seems to be being led by the nose by popular culture. Then, he takes an idea from Vaclav Havel, the former president of the Czech Republic, written in 1975. Havel, writing under communism, sought to explain how dissidents could promote an alternative society by refusing to live out the lie perpetrated by those who simply fell in with dominant culture. Joe took this as a model for our dissent.

It was an interesting paper, as always, well written. However, it refused to countenance withdrawal, and it concluded with Joe's personal opinion that he thought it unlikely that this kind of movement could succeed in the PC(USA). There were no practical illustrations offered of what it might look like for us to remain in the PC(USA) yet operate as a 'second culture,' a kind of subversive movement dedicated to the truth. So, there were no concrete solutions. We learned about Phyllis Tickle's thoughts about the emerging church. We spent a great deal of time in a description of where we are. We spent hardly any time strategizing about how to change that reality. As a result, despite a tip of the hat to Presbyterians for Renewal's 17th Synod solution, and a similar idea from a group of Philadelphia pastors, we came away just saying "Hey, let's work harder - we can still 'Stay, Fight, Win." Actually, though I support the effort, I have to say that we are much better at "Stay, Fight, Lose."

Voting on amendments will begin in the presbyteries this Fall. we will have to see what will happen. A bigger problem may emerge from the action of the GA to request that the Board of Pensions offer same-sex benefits to church employees. This will affect every local church and will increase dues across the board by 1%. We will, therefore, all be implicated in supporting behaviours that the constitution and the confessions call sin. That may yet be an even bigger deal breaker in the poor old PC(USA).

Purity and Power

I've just been listening to this month's "Defining Moments" Leadership Audio Journal from Willow Creek. It is called "Spiritual Transformation of the Next Generation." Nancy Beach, from the Willow Creek Association, interviews Bill Hybels, Willow's Senior Pastor, and Shane Farmer, who runs their Senior High ministry.



It's all rather intimidating - the organization they have in place at Willow Creek for Senior High ministry. Designed to operate in three complementary phases, the ministry includes large group worship held on Sunday morning, at the same time as regular worship (I see some issues there); medium sized group gatherings happen on Sunday afternoons with multiple leaders and the opportunity to break off into small groups based on specific High Schools; and then there is the student-led ministry in those High Schools, which seems to operate rather like Young Life. Very interesting, especially the intentionality behind the development of spiritual disciplines and spiritual gifts.

There was an informative and thought-provoking section about the value of camps and mission trips. Nothing surprising there, except for the emphasis on letting local leaders do most of the teaching. Willow sees these events as opportunities to build community among small groups. This goes against the flow, but I think it's a good idea. In our context, camps usually break up our party and place kids in small groups with people they don't know. An outside speaker is usually charged with presenting some kind of challenge. This is quite a risk, especially when the speaker is from a predominantly liberal denomination; often they have an agenda to impart to the kids, and we have to pick up the pieces. The other thing is that, by splitting up our party, at least for some of the time, we create a false environment which can't be replicated at home, and we miss an opportunity for deeper fellowship with our kids.

One thing that really caught my attention, however, doesn't really have anything to do with youth ministry. Toward the end of the discussion, Shane Farmer was asked what he would like to pass on to other student or youth leaders who might be listening. In response he said that leaders need to nurture their own walk with Christ, because if they neglect that they will find it almost impossible to lead. And then he said something like, "Concentrate on purity, because power follows purity." Now that is quite a thought.

What if the power and blessing of the Holy Spirit are more easily channeled through those who seek to live according to God's will? What if there really is a link between the effectiveness of our ministries and our pursuit of personal holiness? And what if one of the reasons why the Presbyterian Church seems to be so devoid of power, is that we have institutionalized sin? If that is, indeed, the case, then our continued alignment with those who deny both the orthodoxy and the orthopraxy of the Gospel is a severe detriment to the work of the Kingdom. If power does indeed follow purity, then the source of our problem is that we have, repeatedly, failed to seek biblical purity. In fact, as the recent General Assembly proves, we are still trying to make acceptable that which the Scriptures condemn. There's a lesson there for more than youth ministry.


By the way, this sin't quite the type of purity I had in mind...

The Jesus Boat

The Sea of Galilee Boat looks, from its cover, like a dry-as-dust academic report. It is nothing of the kind. Published by Perseus, Shelley Wachsmann's book reads more like a thriller. It is a step-by-step account of the discovery, excavation, identification, and preservation of the remains of a fishing vessel from about the time of Jesus.

In January 1986, two brothers took advantage of an exceptionally severe drought to comb the mud flats around the Sea of Galilee. They discovered the remains of a fishing vessel whose timbers had been preserved in the mud. A story of typical Israeli ingenuity ensues in which, against the odds, the boat was successfully excavated. It is now on display at the Yigdal Allon Center, just a mile or so from where it had slept for two thousand years. When news of the discovery got out, many people started to call the find The Jesus Boat. It's true that the little fishing boat could well have been used on Galilee at the time of Jesus, but that doesn't mean that it was one of the two boats we can identify from the Scriptures. Powered by four oars and a square set mast, steered bya rudder oar, the boat could easily have held a dozen or more disciples. There would even have been a place for Jesus to lay down to sleep, only to be awakened during a storm. A poor man's boat, made up of largely reclaimed timbers, it probably had a life of less than twenty years. With the remains of at least two other boats it was left in the shallows, not far from Migdal, until it settled, forgotten, into the mud.

There is another possibility for an historical connection. The Jewish Roman author Josephus tells of a military operation against some rebellious Jews that took place within the same time frame (100 BC - 100 AD), in which Roman soldiers defeated the inhabitants of Migdal in a battle on the lake. An arrowhead was found inside the hull, which could indicate that this boat was one of those used by the Jews. However, it's little more than conjecture.

It's a compelling tale, told in a narrative form that brings light to the story of the New Testament. There are even local connections: the chemical used to preserve the timbers, which is a type of penetrating wax, was donated by the Dow Chemical Company, of Freeport, Texas; and, one of the first experts to vouch for the authenticity and antiquity of the boat was a professor from Texas A&M University. If you are interested in Bible times, and enjoy a good (if lengthy) read I commend this book.

Forgiveness

I grew up on P.G. Wodehouse. The world of Bertie Wooster and his "gentleman's gentleman" Jeeves gave me enormous pleasure. It was a world far removed from the privations of the industrial North of England, so I suppose it was escapism in a way, but I soon saw for myself that Wodehouse was a master of character and dialogue. He is, for me, the most entertaining author of the century (as well as one of the most prolific). Even today, some of the names remain with me: Blandings Castle, obviously, but who wouldn't remember, with mirthful joy, the adventures of Stilton Cheesewright, Oofy Prosser, Pongo Twistleton-Twistleton and the immortal Gussie Fink-Nottle. "What-Ho, chaps!" and all that.

There's an interesting story in Joseph Connolly's biography of Wodehouse. During the war years, Plum (as Wodehouse was almost universally known) was arrested by the Germans in occupied France. At this time, approaching the age of 60 and still working feverishly, Wodehouse seems to have hardly noticed that there was a war on. In fact, one of his most enduring characteristics was an other-worldliness, bordering on ignorance. Plum didn't take the world terribly seriously. He'd never been good at holding grudges, so didn't do it. The fact that people could actually lob bombs at one another rather horrified him, despite his service during the First World War. At any rate, Wodehouse was arrested as a citizen of a belligerent nation (belligerent to the Nazis, that is), and taken to a variety of rather unpleasant jails. Naturally, whilst in confinement, Plum continued to write, producing a series of novels, and a memoir of his experiences. Unsurprisingly, he titled it How to be an Internee without Previous Training.



A couple of months before his 60th birthday, when he was due to be released, Wodehouse found himself held in a former sanatorium in Berlin. He rather enjoyed being in a padded cell because it gave him the peace and quiet he needed to work. But, for some reason, the Germans decided to release him. Someone remarked that he had written about his experiences, and next thing, the German broadcasting authority was asking him to read excerpts on the radio. Wodehouse agreed. He gave five performances, largely to allay the fears of those of his readers who, hearing of his fate, had sent letters to his prison. Wodehouse thought little of it. His release had not been conditional upon his agreeing to do the broadcasts. No editorial control was exercised over him. He was not paid.

However, in Britain, the newspapers got hold of the news that Wodehouse had given these talks. They noted that this was the same station that had broadcast Lord Haw-Haw's traitorous comments on the war effort. They were incensed. Stories were published about Wodehouse selling his soul to the Germans. Details were invented about Plum being fetted with luxuries and showered with champagne. Questions were asked. Wodehouse was condemned as a traitor. This was gutter journalism at its worst, raising the hackles of the nation with half-truths and innuendo.

Wodehouse had absolutely no idea about the furor his actions had brought on. Later, he admitted that his actions had been foolish. He had been trying to reassure his friends; inadvertently, he had given credibility to a corrupt regime. Perhaps his main crime was that he failed to hate the Germans, as expected. He saw them as human beings simply doing a job, following orders. Wodehouse was probably incapable of hate.

Then, after the war, Wodehouse happened to be in the same city as one of his detractors. This man had come close to destroying Wodehouse's career. The question was raised, "Would Wodehouse like to meet this man?" Perhaps a severe dressing down would be administered. Perhaps Wodehouse would do a Wooster, and call him a "dirty cad." Nothing of the sort happened. Wodehouse met the man for lunch, and apparently enjoyed himself. It was as if he had forgotten the whole thing.



William Sangster once said that the essence of Christian forgiveness is that, eventually, we forget the offense. Perhaps it is the innocents abroad who learn this lesson best.

Marie Antoinette

Recently, I finished Evelyne Lever's monumental biography of Marie Antoinette. I think it's even better than Antonia Fraser's book, which has been around for quite a while now. Lever, who lives in Paris, traces the story of the Austrian princess through her idyllic childhood, and the heady days of her marriage to the Dauphin, to her eventual decline and fall. Lever gives us a fascinating insight into the self-absorbed, almost narcissistic world of the Hapsburg royalty.

The little princess was surrounded by fawning courtiers and given every opportunity to enjoy a carefree childhood, even though she was dominated by the imposing will of her mother, the Empress Maria Theresa. It was only when she reached her teenage years that she began to understand that she had a duty to her family that would dictate her destiny. She was obliged to make a favorable marriage. Like a pawn in a political chess game, Marie Antoinette was sacrificed to her mother's grandiose designs on France. There, she was affianced to the quiet, bookish Dauphin.

Following the death of Louis the Fifteenth, Marie Antoinette's husband (as he had become, by this stage) took upon himself the mantle of divine kingship for which he was almost totally unsuitable. Happier riding with the hunt than dealing with affairs of state, Louis XVI relied too much on ministers who did not always have his best interests at heart. Versailles, the seat of government, became a web of intrigue, most of which seemed to go unnoticed by the immature monarch. His wife was not much help. Marie Antoinette was hounded, constantly, by representatives from Austria, encouraging her to do her duty and to influence the King in favor of her mother's empire. But the Queen had discovered the delights of royalty and had no intention of ruining her day with politics. She was a foolish girl, in many respects, not realizing how many people she was offending with her silly games. The balance of power shifted, subtly, as she played off one former favorite against another, setting ancient families against each other. One gets the impression, from Lever's description, that the Queen was not the most intelligent of women. She could be as haughty and imperious as her mother, but without the guile. Despite the ineptitude of her husband, she eventually managed to become a mother. Her playfulness continued, but at least it was tempered by a maternal instinct. Marie Antoinette, very much against the traditions of her age, became an involved and interested parent.

Eventually, however, financial ruin began to stalk the kingdom. To a large degree this was as a result of France's involvement in the American War of Independence, but a series of poor harvests and some appallingly badly timed reforms combined to bring the realm close to bankruptcy. The Queen seemed hardly to notice, at first, continuing to give lavish balls and spend much more than her very large allowance. She was perceived, popularly, as a representative of a foreign power. Designated "L'Autricienne" she was blamed for France's political woes as much as for the shortage of bread. She did not understand that her unpopularity was destined to have fatal consequences.

When the Revolution finally came, both King and Queen were caught up in a rapidly moving maelstrom of events. There were several points at which decisive action could have saved them, and possibly the kingdom, but Louis continued to vacillate and all was lost. It was when she finally had to face the invective of the mob that Marie Antoinette came into her own. She fought for her family, and for a weak king whom she did not really love. She died, unrepentant, the symbol of a bygone era, swallowed up by nascent democracy. Except that it was not democracy that triumphed, it was unrestrained terror. There can be little doubt that Marie Antoinette was executed in order to placate a blood-thirsty mob. Her trial was a sham. The accusations were totally unsubstantiated. In effect, there was really no trial at all, simply a condemnation.
Following her death, and the eventual restoration of the monarchy, Marie Antoinette received a veneration that she did not really deserve; but, then, neither did she deserve to meet her death at the hands of Madame Guillotine.

Edmund Burke, the British politician, observed events across the Channel with growing concern. He correctly predicted the downward spiral into violence, and the necessity of war. He feared that radical reformers in Britain would be encouraged to revolt by what they heard from France. His fears were well founded. Liberty, when it is totally unrestrained by Law quickly turns into Tyranny. Without the moderating influence of commonly held moral beliefs, revolution destroys much more readily than it creates.

Censoring Faith

There's a report on the BBC today about Wayne Rooney, the Manchester United striker who looks like a club bouncer but plays like most of us can only dream. Despite injury, Rooney scored 26 goals in the Premier League last season. He is the hammer upon which the England team has placed its hopes.

Recently a reporter noticed that Rooney was wearing beads during a training session - rosary beads. When he was asked about this he simply replied, "It's my religion." So, Rooney is a Catholic. It makes sense. He is from Liverpool, one of the areas settled most heavily by Irish immigrants during the Victorian era. Merseyside has more Catholics, in relation to population, than the rest of the UK. Rooney was obviously not particularly bothered by the question; his answer was almost a shrug - "I'm a Catholic. What of it?" But when the reporter made to ask a follow up question, a press officer for the Football Association stepped in. "We don't do religion," he said. And that was the end of the conversation.

How come? When did the FA gain the right to silence people? What is so awful about Wayne Rooney's religious choice that it must remain private? Given his notorious ill-temper, it's almost surprising that he didn't tell the official where he could put his censorship, but he did not. Perhaps it's time somebody did.

Looking at England from a distance, and not having lived there for almost seventeen years, it seems to me that religion (or, at least, Christianity) has become more marginalized over the years. It's not illegal to believe, but it is illegal (in some respects) to bring your faith into the public square. It is not possible to express opinions about the uniqueness of Christ, or the call to holiness of life, or the unacceptability of certain lifestyles, without incurring the wrath of the authorities. Tolerance has been elevated to the highest, some would say the only, virtue. Therefore, any statement that implies exclusivity or questions perceived standards is outlawed. Is this 1984?

Back to Wayne Rooney, the contrast with the US is shocking. US athletes sometimes talk too much about their faith. No one tries to silence them. But, earlier this year, it was deemed inappropriate for college football players to display Bible texts on the black lines they paint beneath their eyes. What is next? Will we soon be seeing a "don't ask - don't tell" policy for Christians?

Maybe it's time for the Wayne Rooneys of this world to refuse to be silenced.

Humility

There's a brief episode, described in Jerome Bettis' autobiography The Bus, that got me thinking. Bettis was playing football for Notre Dame. In the fall of 1991 he reported back for training camp, still not convinced that he could make a career out of football. He had spent the summer working at General Motors in his native Detroit, wearing a shirt and tie and helping out in the tech plant with research and performance tests. Then, in August, he returned to Notre Dame only to discover that his team captain had been moved to tailback, which meant that the fullback position belonged to Bettis. He looked forward to a break out year.

One day, during practice, Coach Holtz did something out of the ordinary. He called the players together from the three practice fields and told them to take a knee. He had something to say to them. "There's a guy on this football team, " he said, "he's going to get our a-- beat. He doesn't have a commitment. I can't trust him and, personally, I don't think his a-- cares. We're going to lose a national championship because of this guy. He doesn't want to win, thinks he's God's gift, thinks he's the next big thing."

By this time, like the other players, Bettis was looking around, wondering who this malingerer could be. Most coaches would have left it at that, leaving every player wondering if mhe could be the weak link and determined to do something about it. But Holtz was not like other coaches. He asked Bettis to stand and publicly castigated him for not being as committed to the cause as he could be. Bettis was devastated. Not only was the criticism unfair it was also deeply humiliating.

Lecture over, Coach Holtz dismissed the other players back to practice, then invited Bettis to join him for a ride on his golf cart. "Coach, why'd you do that?" asked the bewildered fullback. "I just want to get you going" came the inadequate reply.

I've heard sermons like that. I've heard leaders rip into Christians who are just trying to do their best. Usually there is no come-back, no opportunity to make a more measured analysis, no fairness and little grace. Too many Christians have been wounded because leaders are unable to distinguish between humility and humiliation. I wonder whether some of those leaders have not, secretly, revelled in their power. Dangling a poor sinner over the pit of hell may be one way to get a person's attention, but it probably won't win their love. Pointing out faults is, more often, the prerogative of the devil, not the responsibility of the Christian leader.

We do right to hold one another accountable. We do well to counter the culture of narcissism that mutes all criticism and praises the mediocre. We do the Lord's work when we encourage His people to be humble and self-effacing. But we can do untold damage when we rant against sin and do not love the sinner.

It took Jerome Bettis a long time to get over his humiliation. The dressing down did not really help to make him a better player, it merely undermined his self-confidence. For a kid from the dangerous streets of Detroit, already out of his depth intellectually, the coach's actions could have had the effect of sending him backwards instead of drawing him on. And we run the risk of damaging disciples when we fail to balance Law and Grace.

Scripture tells us to humble ourselves, not to humiliate others. And the promise linked to the command is important, too. "Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He shall lift you up." (James 4:10).

Full-Orbed Calvinism

I've been spending time reading some of the foundational sources of Calvinism (that, and bedding in a new laptop, which is why I've been quiet). The more I think about it, and as I read Hodges, Warfield and, of course, Calvin, the more I see that a mature faith must be prepared to accept opposites. At the very least, we must be able to acknowledge what appear to be logical opposites.

Part of me (probably the part that studied philosophy) wants everything to fit within a coherent system. I've always been careful to defend the Christian faith, certainly in its Reformed manifestation, as being logically consistent. Everything is internally connected. It's not folk religion with a multitude of disconnected, mutually exclusive superstitions. From the doctrine of Creation to the Fall to Salvation in Christ to the Consummation of all things, orthodox Christianity is fundamentally reasonable, in fact it's that very reasonableness that has appealed to so many people throughout the ages.

And yet: Calvin stresses God's sovereign choice as well as human responsibility. And that's not the only example of opposite beliefs. What about the doctrine of election, which stresses God's activity, and the covenant of grace, which stresses ours? Or what about the conflict between an idea like total depravity, which lies at the heart of the Calvinist sytem (certainly of the old acrostic T.U.L.I.P), and the elevation of humanity that demands so much of those who would be disciples of Christ? A peculiarly Reformed contrast can be seen in the twin ideals of separation from the world, and influence upon culture. Are we to escape from the world in order to avoid contamination, or are we to engage the world and claim the arts for Christ? Both emphases have had their place in our history. Finally, as Henry Meeter pointed out, are we to be understood as intellectuals or as mystics? There are elements of both in Calvinist churches. Which is it to be?

Instead of an 'either/or' answer, I think we need to answer, with Kierkegaard, 'both/and.' However, this not a postmodern fudge. Far from it. It is a simple acknowledgement that the mind of God is so much greater than ours.

It is possible for us to assert both divine sovereignty in terms of salvation, and human responsibility. God chooses us, but we also choose Him. The question of which one is prior need not worry us unduly. We do not need to make our theological system logically coherent, though we should certainly try. There are times when we simply have to say, "Well, here You are, Lord. Your Word teaches both, and I am unable to reconcile them, but I know that You can, so that's good enough for me."

In the end, it's our doctrine of revelation that enables us to hold competing beliefs in tension. At this time in history, God has chosen to reveal so much, and no more. But, if we trust Him, and take His revelation seriously, then we shall not pretend to know as much as God does. What we cannot afford to do, is to choose to emphasize one aspect of the faith at the expense of another. If we are to be mature disciples, or, as Calvin would say "full-orbed," then we must learn all that we can learn, we must use our minds to the best of our ability, but then we must accept that we are still fallen creatures and that we cannot understand everything. This is the point of faith - that we let God be who He claims to be. That is always enough.

Calvin and Hobbes...

Virtue and Virtu

As I understand it, virtues (arete in the Greek), are those behaviors that lead to right actions. The moral system supported by the Christian virtues is that which has been revealed by God. He has set the standard and made it known to us through the two books of revelation: nature and Scripture. Virtue, therefore, is commonly understood to be a characteristic or habit that is in accord with God's moral will for the universe.

Roman Catholic theology even identifies seven cardinal virtues, in contrast to the seven cardinal sins. They are understood to be the hinges of a Christian moral life. They are faith, hope, love, prudence, justice, temperance, and fortitude. Of these, three have been understood as being infused by God. That is, if we exhibit faith, hope, or love, it is because they have been given directly by God, not acquired by natural means. Be that as it may, it is obvious that the Christian is supposed to exhibit virtue and not its opposite, which is surely vice.

All this becomes less clear when one reads the works of Machiavelli. I've been re-reading The Prince, as maligned a piece of political commentary as was ever printed. Machiavelli's work, which is now the best part of 500 years old, has been described as the most cynical, self-serving justification for immoral behavior. It is not a direct attack upon Christian virtue. In fact Machiavelli appears to have been a sincere Christian, even though he was drawn to the resurgence of pre-Christian philosophy associated with the Renaissance. Furthermore, Machiavelli's aim is not personal morality but the body politic. He wants to understand how a leader needs to behave if he is to create and sustain a stable, peaceful society. To this end, he encourages Princes to exhibit what he calls virtu.

Virtu, taken from the Latin root vir, which means "man", describes the qualities required by a Prince or leader. In contrast to the Christian virtues, these qualities include a certain ruthlessness. A "good" (or, more properly "effective") leader does not not think of others before himself. He is not modest or self-effacing. He is bold. And he should convey this quality to the state or nation of which he is the head. An effective nation, one which promotes stability and banishes anarchy, deals violently and mercilessly with its opponents. It has no business entering into treaties or making agreements that may end up not being in its own best interest. And it should break treaties if this will serve its purposes best. There is no room for weakness in diplomacy. The strong win.
Classically, virtu had been understood very differently. Cicero, for example, wrote that " virtu consists especially of always acting honorably and morally, because honesty is the best policy." Machiavelli disagrees. He thinks it inconceivable that any ruler could actually be like that, in a world dominated by men who are not good, and survive for any length of time. In his opinion, an effective ruler will not be merciful. It's interesting that, for The Prince, Machiavelli used his experience of Cesare Borgia who was an unutterably cruel man, but also the ruler who finally brought peace and stability to the Romagna.

An effective leader, according to Machiavelli, will be willing to do what is morally wrong in order to achieve a political end. He will either use force (like a lion) or cunning (like a fox) in order to get his own way. And the truly great leader will know how to make his actions appear to be morally acceptable, in a Christian sense, while using all the tricks in the book in order to achieve his ends. These ends, however, must not be oppressive. They should lead to security and freedom within the bounds set by the state.

It's easy to see why Machiavelli was condemned so roundly by contemporary theologians, and why he has been so beloved by those who have advocated authoritarianism as a means to stability and peace. There are those who say exactly the same kind of thing today. On the one hand they complain that Christian moral concepts have no place in international politics, usually adding that religion is an essentially private business. But then they also claim that they are acting in the best interests of the people. Usually they layer their pronouncements with protestations about personal integrity and honesty. They are quick to deny that they are acting in self-interest. Are they simply being Machiavellian when they twist the truth to serve their own purposes? Should we expect modern Princes to exhibit the Christian virtues any more than Cesare Borgia did?

The problem is that virtu is fundamentally derivative. If everyone was dishonest then there would be no advantage in being economical with the truth. If it was expected that everyone would be totally self-interested and that they would ignore the needs of others, then the Borgias of this world would simply be those who held the most power. It would just be a matter of degree. But how would Cesare Borgia rule a country where everyone was dishonest? How would he establish the value of currency, or standardization in weight, for example? If everyone had his finger on the scale, then there would be no standards from which to deviate. The only thing left would be power, the ability to dominate another by violence, or the threat of it. Who would want to live in such a world?

So, when our politicians tell us that it is naive to expect Princes and nations to take note of the Christian virtues, we should not believe them. We should not mistake power or popular acclaim for legitimacy. A politician who delivers may be popular; he may exhibit Machiavellian virtu, but he will know nothing of virtue.

Even Christians can become unduly cynical when assessing politics and politicians. We are sometimes so frightened of anarchy that we look for human strength and influence in our leaders instead of moral integrity. But is it really possible that God will bless a nation which does not seek to live according to His will?

Joy and Foolishness

I came across these wise words from Frederick Buechner:

To worship God means to serve Him. There are two ways to do it. One way is to do things for Him that need to be done - run errands for Him, carry messages for Him, fight on His side, feed His lambs, and so on. The other way is to do things for Him that you need to do - sing songs for Him, create beautiful things for Him, give things up for Him, tell Him what is on your mind and in your heart, in general rejoice in Him and make a fool of yourself for Him the way lovers have always made fools of themselves for the one they love... Unless there is an element of joy and foolishness in the proceedings, the time would be better spent doing something useful.

Justice Inverted?

There's a very strange story today in the English press, from Blackburn, my old stomping ground. Apparently, a couple of sixteen year old youths, with nothing better to do, made their way into Blackburn Cathedral where they proceeded to deface hymnals and prayer books with anti-Semitic words and symbols, and to desecrate a cross. They did about $4,500 of damage. They were caught, which is hardly surprising given that they had written their real names in the visitor's book. Shortly thereafter the boys were taken before the local magistrate, a certain Mr. Austin Molloy JP, who berated them for their behavior. He sentenced one boy to an 18 month supervision order, and to pay the equivalent of $2,200 (at ten pounds or fourteen dollars per week). The other boy got a twelve month supervision order and a fine of $145. “This court is disgusted by the mindless destruction you have caused," the magistrate said. "Normal people would consider you absolute scum. If it was in our power, we would have you both stand in front of the congregation at 10am on Sunday and explain your words and actions to them to see if they could understand it, because we can’t.”

This is where it becomes interesting. The court recorder, Christine Dean, interrupted proceedings at this point to accuse the magistrate of inappropriate language. A complaint was made that Mr. Molloy had no business describing the young men as "scum" and that he ought to apologize. Now, an enquiry is being held into the magistrate's behavior. The case could go as far as the Lord Chancellor and the Lord Chief Justice. Mr. Molloy could be dismissed from the bench. It seems likely that, at the very least, he will be told to moderate his language or face disciplinary action. The odd thing is that a father of one of the youths has come out in support of the magistrate. The overwhelming response in the local press has been in favor of harsher penalties and in support of Molloy. But, still, he faces an enquiry.
How strange, that the judge should end up being judged! The original offense seems to have been forgotten in the rush to be politically correct. And the emperor has no clothes.
Now, while admitting that Mr. Molloy was less than judicious in his choice of words, he clearly should have the right to express the revulsion he feels at the behavior of the young men. Whether or not he should have done this from the bench is really beside the point. If the law, and its representatives, cannot denounce evil, who can? Maybe God? Perhaps we shall end up putting Him in the dock, too!


In this photograph, from the Lancashire Telegraph, the cathedral's head verger, Mark Pickering, looks at the statue of Jesus and John the Baptist that was damaged.

Shadows

We've been in San Antonio for a few days, following Nathan's graduation for Texas State. He is now, officially, as he says "All educamated." While we were there we decided to do something we have often talked about, but never done - we went for a ride on a boat on the riverwalk. Big mistake. I don't know how hot it was down there, but it felt like 100 degrees. Babies were crying, old ladies were wilting, and we turned a lovely shade of lobster. The contrast between the full force of the sun and the shade beneath the bridges was dramatic. It made me think of the Psalmist's prayer, "Hide me under the shadow of Your wings."

Shadows are sometimes described as fleeting and insubstantial. Human life, always uncertain and sometimes very brief, has often been likened to a shadow. Life is, according to the Talmud, "as the shadow of a bird's wing in its flight," and the Psalmist added, "my days are like a dying shadow." Shelley says that the despairing move "in the shadow of a starless night." Or, perhaps you know James Shirley's lines, that "the glories of our blood and state are shadows, not substantial things."

On the other hand, there's a lovely verse in the Song of Solomon, in which life is pictured as rich and thrilling because of the prevailing shadows: "My beloved is mine, and I am his; he feeds among the lilies. Until the day breaks, and the shadows fall away, turn, my beloved, and be like a roe or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether." In fact, there is beauty in the shadow, and the Bible writers, living in a land where the sun is scorching, often think of shadow as a place of rest. "I sat down under the shadow with great delight," says the Song of Solomon. Isaiah, describing the perfect friend (and therefore, God) says he is "as a hiding place from the wind and a covert from the tempest: as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a mighty rock in a weary land."

Unlike the Greeks, for whom the half-light was tinged with danger and regret, the Hebrews valued the opportunity to escape from the noonday sun. After all, even the darkness of the grave holds no terrors if God is there.

Beneath the cross of Jesus I fain would take my stand,

The shadow of a mighty rock within a weary land;

A home within the wilderness, a rest upon the way,

From the burning of the noontide heat, and the burden of the day.

O safe and happy shelter, O refuge tried and sweet,
O trysting place where Heaven’s love and Heaven’s justice meet!
As to the holy patriarch that wondrous dream was given,
So seems my Savior’s cross to me, a ladder up to heaven.

There lies beneath its shadow but on the further side
The darkness of an awful grave that gapes both deep and wide
And there between us stands the cross two arms outstretched to save
A watchman set to guard the way from that eternal grave.

Upon that cross of Jesus mine eye at times can see
The very dying form of One Who suffered there for me;
And from my stricken heart with tears two wonders I confess;
The wonders of redeeming love and my unworthiness.

I take, O cross, thy shadow for my abiding place;
I ask no other sunshine than the sunshine of His face;
Content to let the world go by to know no gain or loss,
My sinful self my only shame, my glory all the cross.
Elizabeth Clephane.

Everyman

I have just finished Philip Roth's Everyman, the story of a secular Jew who tries, and fails, to make sense of his existence.

Roth is a good writer. I appreciate his skills, even though I could live without some of his rather graphic descriptions. In this book he weaves a thoughtful tale around the life of a self-obsessed man who spends almost his entire life terrified by thoughts of his own mortality. The story begins at his graveside. The dead man's relatives share memories which slide seamlessly into the narrative. They represent different eras of the man's life: two estranged sons, a distraught daughter, an ex-wife, a still-faithful older brother. He is buried beside his parents in a semi-derelict Jewish cemetery. In the annihilation of the grave, he is 'everyman.' His fate is universal.

Lacking any kind of religious faith, despite the piety of his father, the man seeks meaning in his work in an ad agency. He is successful, but eventually retires, only to see his colleagues fall, one by one. He seeks meaning in family, but fails to control his passions, and so becomes only a serial husband and a part-time father. He seeks meaning in sexual conquest, indulging in behaviors that come close to being abusive. In the end, he is left ogling young women as they jog on the boardwalk near his New Jersey home, remembering the man he had been and no longer was. Tormented by ill-health, in later years, he resents the vigor of his older brother and distances himself from him. He is horrified by the loneliness, boredom and pain of old age. Finally, at a time when he doesn't really expect it, still making plans, he dies on the operating table.

Is he really 'Everyman'? I sincerely hope not. He may be a poster boy for the hopelessness of life without Christ. He may be a fitting illustration for a sermon about Ecclesiastes. He is not everyman. He does not possess the intellectual courage to question his prejudices. He never seriously challenges the easy atheism he adopted as a youth. He does not have the moral backbone to think through the consequences of his frequent, damaging lies. He is pure subjectivity, unable to prevent himself from harming those he loves, thinking, in the end, only of himself.

Towards the end of the story, he visits his parents' graves and seems to hear his mother's words of encouragement, "So, you lived, then." He also hears his father's advice, "Atone for what you have done and make the most of what time you have left." It is advice he chooses to ignore. Faced with the reality of his increasing frailty, the loss of passion, and the inevitability of death, and having no concept of judgment, he struggles to survive, if only for a little longer. "So long, Pops," says his still-angry, adult son, as he throws a clump of soil into the grave.

In the middle ages, an anonymous Roman Catholic writer wrote a mystery play known as The Summoning of Everyman. In it, God sends death to earth to seek Everyman, in order that he might give an account of himself. Despite it's pre-Reformation allegory, which makes it difficult for modern Christians, the play makes sense of death by placing it within the context of divine judgment. The Summoning of Everyman comes from an age when life was cheaper and considerably shorter than today. But it succeeds where Everyman fails, because it takes seriously not only our mortality, but also our homesickness for heaven.

On the Surface

I helped to deliver flowers to a wedding. The "Chapel" wasn't a real church, but it was made to resemble one. So, having a little time on my hands, I took a look around.

I discovered that the weathered stones were acually veneer stuck on breeze-blocks; the columns were just for show - they didn't reach to the roof so they didn't support anything; behind the scenes rebar protruded from unfinished cement work. In terms of decoration, the interior was a cross between bordello and Disney. Yard sale architecture, a collection of unrelated oddments, gave an illusion of antiquity. In the entrance, a fake icon showed fake Greek on an open book. An angel stood nearby, looking for all the world like a refugee from a cemetery.

A large room, with Mexican tiles on the floor, had a large, Italianate altar against the far wall "in the Eurpoean style" (according to the brochure). Candles were everywhere, on low walls, in sconces, and, wrapped in ivy, upon the altar. The coordinator was not satisfied with the effect. "There's something missing on the altar," she said. "How about a cross?" I suggested, and was met with a glower.

Still snooping I ascended stone steps that led nowhere. Half-way up, for effect, a stained glass window was set, rather crudely, into a wall and illuminated from behind. It had obviously once graced a church. Its subject was a palm branch emerging from a golden crown. Beneath the crown were the names of those in whose memory the window had been given.

At least the ceremony was Christian. Scripture was read. Prayers were said. God's blessing was invoked. But, the setting wasn't real. It was a metaphor for superficiality. It was all effect, all surface. Is this the future? What happened to community? Will postmodern spirituality require nothing more than a stage setting for the sacred?

Cabanga

I got a rather odd email today. It came from the Blackburn Rovers mailing list, to which I subscribe as a follower of the beautiful game and a fan of the team I have supported for the best part of fifty years. Usually, emails from the official Blackburn site give news of recent victories (would that that were always true) or details of players and their various injuries. It's all pretty predictable, harmless stuff.

Then, today, i got an email asking me to be a twelfth man for the England football team, which is preparing to do battle in the World Cup, in South Africa, in June. I'm familiar with the concept of the fan as the twelfth man. When the 100,000 rabid Aggies scream for the Texas A&M (American) football team at Kyle Field, their vociferous support encourages the players to knock that nasty team in burnt orange back to Austin, where they belong. It's all about making a lot of noise, especially when the opposing offense is on the field. In the same way, supporters can get behind their team in virtually any sport. After all, encouragement usually achieves more than the wagging finger of blame.

Back to the email: apparently, some bright spark in the English FA decided to ask suppporters to think positive thoughts about the team, on the theory that minds concentrated upon a single purpose are capable of making a difference. Here's part of the email:

We all want the boys to win in South Africa this summer, but most of us think we'll inevitably get knocked out at some point after the group stages. So if we really want to help them win (without strapping boots on ourselves) then we need to use the power of the 12th man.A Neuropsychologist has found that the power of the mind can actually influence results. Experiments show that this mental energy is strongest when unified under a single positive word. And if we all focus on this one word then doubt is less likely to creep in.That word is Cabanga (it means 'imagine' in Zulu if you're interested).We know with a greater number of believers, we can get more power and energy behind the word.With this in mind we're aiming to reach 90,000 fans (that's around the capacity of Wembley Stadium) on our facebook page, to help our boys win this summer.So show your support, be part of Cabanga and together we can help bring home the cup.

On the face of it, this is an extraordinary claim. By this theory, if 90,000 supporters think "goal" at the very moment that Wayne Rooney pulls back his leg to shoot, then they can influence the flight of the ball sufficiently to make it evade the despairing clutches of the opposition goalkeeper. The obvious question is, of course, what happens if 190,000 supporters of the opposing team are willing the ball to miss the goal? I'm not sure that this can be proven, either one way or the other. I still find it extraordinary that a thoroughly secular organisation, such as the FA, would countenance such a scheme.

My second thought is: What does this say about prayer? When the US and England teams meet in one of the opening games of the tournament, should I be praying that my team will win? (By the way, as an Englishman living in the US, that's a game I cannot lose). Will God listen to my prayers, and the prayers of those who are asking exactly the opposite, before deciding who will win? Or, should prayer be reserved for rather more important matters? I know that God is interested in the details of my life, but I don't think I can claim Him as partisan in sport. Unless, of course, He is a Blackburn supporter...

The Tender Indifference of the World

L'Etranger, Albert Camus' dark novel of self-discovery and despair, was simply a rather odd novel when I read it for the first time, thirty years ago. Today, re-reading it, I'm more able to discern Camus' underlying message, even if it still annoys me! Modernists often accuse Christians of intellectual arrogance, but they fail to recognize the grandiose certainties of Existentialism. Camus is relentless. He is determined to make his readers understand the fundamental absurdity of life. the vehicle for his anti-gospel is a self-absorbed youth by the name of Meursault.

As the story begins, we learn that Meursault's mother has just died. She had been living in an institution for the elderly. Meursault, her only living relative, had not paid her a great deal of attention. Indeed, her death and subsequent burial fail to move Meursault from his morose naval-gazing. It is as if the novel is taking place in his mind. One is never altogether sure of the existence of the sun-baked Algerian landscape in which Camus' characters live out their miserable lives. Meursault is unmoved by distractions like the death of his mother or a job offer in distant Paris. His refrain is, "Cela m'est egal" - "It's all the same.

Almost by accident, Meursault meets an old work-mate, Maria. His "grief" does not prevent him taking her to the beach, or to see a comic movie, or to bed. He also acquires a disreputable friend, Raymond, who leads Meursault into further adventures. Whilst planning a lazy afternoon at a beach-house, Raymond is confronted by three rather faceless Arabs. Violence lurks, then recedes, until Meursault decides to take matters into his own hands. After everything has calmed down, and the danger seems to have passed, Meursault takes Raymond's revolver and pursues the Arabs. When the sun glints off a knife held by one of the men, Meursault fires, repeatedly, and the man dies. Later, Meursault can only blame the sun for his actions.

Throughout the rest of the story, Camus grapples clumsily with the themes of oppression and state violence. Meursault refuses to accept the existence of a universal moral code. He is accused of being cold and indifferent to other people, but he refuses to conform. Proudly confident of the absurdity of this world, Meursault gives up his life with a shrug.

How sad! Meursault is a man entirely without hope, because his world revolves entirely around himself. There is no consolation to be found in the "tender indifference of the world" beyond a vague appreciation of beauty, and regret at not having longer to enjoy it. Meursault isn't even really narcissistic, he has just convinced himself of he inevitability of the meta-narrative of absurdity. It never seems to occur to him to ask, "If nothing makes sense, should that not also hold for my statement that nothing makes sense?" Like the post-modernity of which twentieth century Existentialism is but one symptom, Meursault's creed is self-contradictory. Camus attempts to use logic to prove the illogicality of the universe. He succeeds only in making his main character appear truly absurd.

L'Etranger has been an immensely influential novel. It is still required reading for many undergraduates. Are those who teach its story still entrenched in the intellectual revolution that was the 1960's? Do pony-tailed professors still dream of Left Bank cafes, and of a time when all of the old certainties were overthrown? If they do, I wonder whether their students can see through the posturing? Will it take a new generation to burst the bubble of Woodstock and the gospel according to Jean Paul? Or, must we look forward to another generation of outsiders, for whom the greatest good appears to be the necessity of revolt?

There is a person missing in Camus' story. Meursault needs a father to hold him accountable and to guide him to maturity. Adolescent angst is no basis for a philosophy for life. And if we are to recover a robust theology that moves beyond both self-adulation and self-loathing, then we must help the Prodigal Meursaults of this world to find a way back to their Father's arms.