I went to a charity booksale today and was surprisingly self-restrained. I did emerge, however, (into the October rain), with a slim volume of poems by Edward Thomas, one of the most-celebrated nature poets of the early twentieth century. Whilst T.S.Eliot was busily adding one tortuous, esoteric phrase upon another, "making obscurity a creed" as someone once said, Thomas was following Hard's lead, using the language of the people to illuminate the beauty of the ordinary. We have Robert Frost to thank for turning Thomas, the hack writer, from prose to poetry. They met in London in 1913. Frost recognized the lyrcal quality of Thomas' best writing and encouraged him to follow the muse. Thomas went on to produce a third of his extant poetry within a mere six months.
One of Thomas' poems is called "At the Team's Head-Brass." A man sits on a fallen elm, watching a farmer plough a field with his team of horses. At every far turn the horse-brasses catch the sunlight; at every near turn the farmer and his watcher exchange a few words, mostly about the War, in France. As the poem begins, and as the team sets off to narrow the yellow square of the field, two lovers disappear into a distant wood. At the poem's end they reappear; the watcher realizes he will not watch that earth be turned again.
"The horses started and for the last time
I watched the clods crumble and topple over
After the ploughshare and the stumbling team."
It's a poem of contrasts: the fertility of the ancient earth is echoed in the embrace of lovers. The contrast is barely mentioned. In England the fields are ploughed, as they have been for centuries, ready for the seedtime and the harvest. But that world is passing away. Not many miles away, in France, the fields are soaked with blood. Europe's manhood collapses in the embrace of death.
Edward Thomas was killed by a shell during the Battle of Arras on April 9th, 1917.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There is a chilling beauty in simple words, not to be found in the over-elaboration of the professionally pedantic. That's a lesson a preacher would do well to remember.
http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ltg/projects/jtap/tutorials/intro/thomas/head_brass.html
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Gathering X
I've been to several Gatherings, over the years. They are organised by the Presbyterian Coalition, an umbrella group designed to pull together the different Renewal groups within the Presbyterian Church. About ten years ago, when the ordination standards battles were really beginning to get under way, the Coalition was created in order to co-ordinate an orthodox response. Differences of emphasis or theology were set aside in order that conservative evangelicals, from five point Calvinists to charismatics, could come together to face a common threat. There has been a great deal accomplished over the years. Not only was the challenge to ordination standards defeated, but an increasing number of evangelicals have found themselves in positions of responsibility within the denomination. And, if some things have not gone as we would have wished, for example in the adoption of the PUP report, then we can at least argue that the outlook would have been very much worse without the Coalition. I'm grateful for all of the resources that have been produced over the years; for the tremendous amount of advocacy work that has been done; for the support given to churches and individuals that have fallen foul of the system; and, most of all, I'm grateful for the friends I have made across the denomination, with whom I share a commitment to the historic formulations of the Reformed faith. The Presbyterian Coalition has been a blessing in my life, and to many others.
Nevertheless, I have to say that I've been disappointed by the latest Gathering, which has just concluded, in Houston. First, I have to admit that I missed the last morning, initially because of an emergency hospital visit I had to make; then, because Tropical Storm Erin closed SH 288. With hundreds of other motorists, I found myself stranded by the flooding, then had the novel experience of driving the wrong way on a state highway! I hope not to have to do that again. So, my experience of the Gathering is incomplete. However, I don't imagine that there were more people there today than on the other two days. In fact, there were probably fewer. The Layman reported 97 in one session (www.layman.org/ article on Aug 16). In another, I counted less than 70. Is this really the best that the renewal partners can do? Why do we always need a cause to move us out of our indolence? Last year, in Atlanta, over 400 people showed up. Perhaps we could bribe one of the progressive groups to come out with something crazy every year, just to increase attendance at Coalition Gatherings?
More seriously, I was disappointed by the tone of the meeting. It was dominated by a few voices. They had good things to say, and the plan for the reformation of the church is a great piece of work, but there was no energy in the meeting. No fire. Listening to one plenary session, with a panel, I found myself thinking that this was more dreary than some of the debates I've listened to in Presbytery. That's saying something. The material was thoughtful, serious and well-presented, but it was also tired. Apart from a passionate plea for personal repentance, brought by Joshua Lee from the National Presbyterian Korean caucus (or whatever it's called), the event never seemed to get out of first gear. Is it time for a new thing? Do we need a new generation to begin to take ownership? Or are we simply all out of new wine?
Nevertheless, I have to say that I've been disappointed by the latest Gathering, which has just concluded, in Houston. First, I have to admit that I missed the last morning, initially because of an emergency hospital visit I had to make; then, because Tropical Storm Erin closed SH 288. With hundreds of other motorists, I found myself stranded by the flooding, then had the novel experience of driving the wrong way on a state highway! I hope not to have to do that again. So, my experience of the Gathering is incomplete. However, I don't imagine that there were more people there today than on the other two days. In fact, there were probably fewer. The Layman reported 97 in one session (www.layman.org/ article on Aug 16). In another, I counted less than 70. Is this really the best that the renewal partners can do? Why do we always need a cause to move us out of our indolence? Last year, in Atlanta, over 400 people showed up. Perhaps we could bribe one of the progressive groups to come out with something crazy every year, just to increase attendance at Coalition Gatherings?
More seriously, I was disappointed by the tone of the meeting. It was dominated by a few voices. They had good things to say, and the plan for the reformation of the church is a great piece of work, but there was no energy in the meeting. No fire. Listening to one plenary session, with a panel, I found myself thinking that this was more dreary than some of the debates I've listened to in Presbytery. That's saying something. The material was thoughtful, serious and well-presented, but it was also tired. Apart from a passionate plea for personal repentance, brought by Joshua Lee from the National Presbyterian Korean caucus (or whatever it's called), the event never seemed to get out of first gear. Is it time for a new thing? Do we need a new generation to begin to take ownership? Or are we simply all out of new wine?
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Cultural Amnesia
A few evenings ago, I watched Bill Moyers interviewing Clive James, the Australian journalist, on PBS. James has written a book entitled 'Cultural Amnesia,' which they were discussing, (or marketing, depending on your point of view). Apparently, the main thesis of the book is that something of great value will be lost if the West forgets its cultural heritage. I agree. Like a fish that fails to appreciate the water in which it swims, Western Civilisation depends, to a large extent, upon the intellectual inheritance birthed, first by the Renaissance, then by the Enlightenment. Unless an appreciation for the liberal arts is taught to a new generation, their benefits may be lost. Unless the rights afforded by democracy are championed, they are likely to be taken for granted, before being sold for a mess of potage or a bag of magic beans. I didn't hear the entire interview, but I did wonder whether James would be as vocal in his defense of the benefits won by the Reformation.
I have always enjoyed Clive James' writing. He has a penchant for le bon mot, and seems able to express complicated subjects in terms which make them accessible to ordinary people. He's an old-fashioned Socialist at heart, with Old Labour's disdain for anything approaching elitism. His writing is clear, insightful, and thought-provoking. He also has a great sense of humor. If writers are to be judged on the basis of whether one would wish to spend time in their company, then Clive James is near the top of my list.
Towards the end of the interview, Bill Moyers asked James how he would have ordered the world differently, if he were God. It was a good question to ask a person thoroughly immersed in the secularism of modern Europe. James' reply was revealing. On the one hand, he had no idea how he would order the world differently. On the other hand, he was quite sure that he would make a better job of it than God. When asked why, James laughed and replied that, if there is some kind of divine force, it is "obvious" that this god does not interfere in the affairs of men.
The horrors of the Holocaust made a lasting impression upon Clive James as a young man. To this day, he cannot understand how such evil could have been perpetrated without divine intervention. Neither can he understand how his father could have survived internment in Japan, during the Second World War, only to be killed in a tragic accident while being repatriated to Australia by the Americans at war's end. He would not accept that a loving God could allow such seemingly senseless human suffering.
As an expression of the argument from evil, James' words are nothing new. I remember a debate I had with Alan Dutton, one of my old philosophy professors in Birmingham, which followed the same course almost exactly. Alan wanted to believe. He found Christ tremendously attractive. But he could not or would not believe. "Evil trumps love," he used to say. Nevertheless, he was open to being proved wrong. We talked about not blaming God for human evil, and the context of human freedom which stays God's hand. The arguments on both sides are well-known. For myself, I remain convinced that suffering has to be understood in light of the Cross - God's self-identification with the pain of a fallen world through the person of His Son. I also remain sure that God, in His mercy, only allows evil because He does not want to compel us to do good. Unless we are to be no more than mindless automata, obeying without the action of our wills, then we must be free to choose evil. Finally, I believe that human suffering must be understood within a teleological framework that acknowledges history's goal. If human history is purposive; if God has a desired end in sight, then we cannot judge the play until the curtain falls.
What surprised me about Clive James was the arrogance of his laughter. To be fair, Bill Moyer did not invite him to debate. James was never challenged. It was not put to him that his position is as much an act of faith as is that of the theist. The difference is, of course, that James has faith in his own mental faculties, not in God. He does not see that "the fallenness of humanity," one of the key ingredients of Christian anthropology, has warped him, just as it made a demon out of Adolf Hitler. James fails to grasp that Western Civilisation requires Augustine, not just Aristotle.
Culture, we are told, depends upon a humanist intellectual inheritance, derived from Enlightenment thinkers from Rousseau to Voltaire. In one sense, this is true. The seeds of optimistic modernism have blossomed, but they have become the poisoned plant of postmodernity. Instead of Diderot we are left with Derrida. Yet the culture that gave birth to Erasmus also produced Martin Luther. We cannot lament the loss of cultural icons without recognising the part played by the Christian faith. That's why James' laughter is dangerous. He, and many like him, already have selective cultural amnesia.
I have always enjoyed Clive James' writing. He has a penchant for le bon mot, and seems able to express complicated subjects in terms which make them accessible to ordinary people. He's an old-fashioned Socialist at heart, with Old Labour's disdain for anything approaching elitism. His writing is clear, insightful, and thought-provoking. He also has a great sense of humor. If writers are to be judged on the basis of whether one would wish to spend time in their company, then Clive James is near the top of my list.
Towards the end of the interview, Bill Moyers asked James how he would have ordered the world differently, if he were God. It was a good question to ask a person thoroughly immersed in the secularism of modern Europe. James' reply was revealing. On the one hand, he had no idea how he would order the world differently. On the other hand, he was quite sure that he would make a better job of it than God. When asked why, James laughed and replied that, if there is some kind of divine force, it is "obvious" that this god does not interfere in the affairs of men.
The horrors of the Holocaust made a lasting impression upon Clive James as a young man. To this day, he cannot understand how such evil could have been perpetrated without divine intervention. Neither can he understand how his father could have survived internment in Japan, during the Second World War, only to be killed in a tragic accident while being repatriated to Australia by the Americans at war's end. He would not accept that a loving God could allow such seemingly senseless human suffering.
As an expression of the argument from evil, James' words are nothing new. I remember a debate I had with Alan Dutton, one of my old philosophy professors in Birmingham, which followed the same course almost exactly. Alan wanted to believe. He found Christ tremendously attractive. But he could not or would not believe. "Evil trumps love," he used to say. Nevertheless, he was open to being proved wrong. We talked about not blaming God for human evil, and the context of human freedom which stays God's hand. The arguments on both sides are well-known. For myself, I remain convinced that suffering has to be understood in light of the Cross - God's self-identification with the pain of a fallen world through the person of His Son. I also remain sure that God, in His mercy, only allows evil because He does not want to compel us to do good. Unless we are to be no more than mindless automata, obeying without the action of our wills, then we must be free to choose evil. Finally, I believe that human suffering must be understood within a teleological framework that acknowledges history's goal. If human history is purposive; if God has a desired end in sight, then we cannot judge the play until the curtain falls.
What surprised me about Clive James was the arrogance of his laughter. To be fair, Bill Moyer did not invite him to debate. James was never challenged. It was not put to him that his position is as much an act of faith as is that of the theist. The difference is, of course, that James has faith in his own mental faculties, not in God. He does not see that "the fallenness of humanity," one of the key ingredients of Christian anthropology, has warped him, just as it made a demon out of Adolf Hitler. James fails to grasp that Western Civilisation requires Augustine, not just Aristotle.
Culture, we are told, depends upon a humanist intellectual inheritance, derived from Enlightenment thinkers from Rousseau to Voltaire. In one sense, this is true. The seeds of optimistic modernism have blossomed, but they have become the poisoned plant of postmodernity. Instead of Diderot we are left with Derrida. Yet the culture that gave birth to Erasmus also produced Martin Luther. We cannot lament the loss of cultural icons without recognising the part played by the Christian faith. That's why James' laughter is dangerous. He, and many like him, already have selective cultural amnesia.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Peace Posts and all that jazz
I must confess to being bothered by the description of the erection and dedication of a peace pole at St. Helena's First Presbyterian Church (Presbyweb, July 12, 2007).
According to http://www.worldpeace.org/ "A Peace Pole is a hand-crafted monument that displays the message and prayer 'May Peace Prevail on Earth' on each of its four or six sides, usually in different languages. There are more than 200,000 Peace Poles in 180 countries all over the world dedicated as monuments to peace. They serve as constant reminders for us to visualize and pray for world peace."
Here's my question:
In what sense are the words a prayer?
The Larger Catechism tells us (Q.178) that "Prayer is an offering up of our desires unto God, in the name of Christ, by the help of His Spirit, with confession of our sins, and thankful acknowledgement of His mercies." Question 179 adds that prayer is to be made "to Him alone, and to none other." The Heidelberg Confession adds that prayer which pleases God is that which "calls upon the one true God, who has revealed Himself to us in His Word..." (Q.117). To whom is the peace prayer addressed? The answer is far from clear.
It wouldn't matter so much if the pole was not planted in a church yard. But, since it is on Presbyterian property, shouldn't there be some way to put the prayer, or at least the pole, in the context of a Christocentric faith? It bothers me even more to learn that the dedication of the pole included readings from non-Christian scriptures.
I wonder what message we give, intentionally or otherwise, when, even on church property, we fail to offer prayer in the name of Christ, who is our Peace (Ephesians 2:14).
According to http://www.worldpeace.org/ "A Peace Pole is a hand-crafted monument that displays the message and prayer 'May Peace Prevail on Earth' on each of its four or six sides, usually in different languages. There are more than 200,000 Peace Poles in 180 countries all over the world dedicated as monuments to peace. They serve as constant reminders for us to visualize and pray for world peace."
Here's my question:
In what sense are the words a prayer?
The Larger Catechism tells us (Q.178) that "Prayer is an offering up of our desires unto God, in the name of Christ, by the help of His Spirit, with confession of our sins, and thankful acknowledgement of His mercies." Question 179 adds that prayer is to be made "to Him alone, and to none other." The Heidelberg Confession adds that prayer which pleases God is that which "calls upon the one true God, who has revealed Himself to us in His Word..." (Q.117). To whom is the peace prayer addressed? The answer is far from clear.
It wouldn't matter so much if the pole was not planted in a church yard. But, since it is on Presbyterian property, shouldn't there be some way to put the prayer, or at least the pole, in the context of a Christocentric faith? It bothers me even more to learn that the dedication of the pole included readings from non-Christian scriptures.
I wonder what message we give, intentionally or otherwise, when, even on church property, we fail to offer prayer in the name of Christ, who is our Peace (Ephesians 2:14).
Saturday, June 30, 2007
In Life and in Death.
Time I got back on the old Blog... It's been too long.
I've been in the ministry for 24 years and, during that time, I've only had three funeral services for children. Of course, I'm glad that there have not been more, but I've been thinking, recently, that I've been blissfully unaware of a huge amount of pain in those I've been called to serve. (Maybe four funerals in two weeks has brought this to mind...).
I've just finished reading "Empty Arms" by Pam Vredevelt, which was recommended to me as a helpful resource for those who have suffered the loss of a child. I was horrified to learn that about 20% of pregnancies (not including abortions) don't come to term because of miscarriage or stillbirth (meaning death after 20 weeks). I had no idea the numbers were so high. For those who have special circumstances such as STD's the numbers are even higher. Which means that there must be a large number of women in the congregation I serve who have suffered in silence. Also, I had no idea how dangerous it can be for the mother to have an ectopic pregnancy (where the child develops in the fallopian tube).
Often, I'm not told about a miscarriage, which is not the end of the world if someone else is providing loving support, but it makes me wonder whether anyone is. I was particularly horrified by some of the stories of well-meaning people saying the most awful things while trying to support a grieving mother who has just lost a child.
Here in Lake Jackson we have a wonderful ministry, begun by church members, called "Johnathan's Ministry." Yes, you guessed it, Johnathan was one of the three. I conducted his funeral service just over four years ago. Lori, who runs the ministry, provides thoughtful, compassionate care for those who have lost children to neonatal death. She does a wonderful job. The problem is that, for months on end, no-one asks for help. And you know that there are needs just crying out to be met.
Two things occur to me. First, the need to provide circles of care within (and beyond) the congregation where women will feel comfortable opening up and then receiving help. It just reinforces for me that concept that the church needs to get smaller as well as larger. Larger, so that more will come to know Christ as Lord. Smaller, so that we can provide the compassionate care of Christ to those in need within the context of small, covenant groups. I suppose we also need to be far more intentional in learning, from books like "Empty Arms" about what those needs are, and how we can be the hands of Jesus.
Second, I need to thank God daily for the safe delivery of our children. Dan is 23 years old now, and I still remember the trauma of the delivery room at the Princess Mary Maternity Hospital, on the Great North Road in Newcastle upon Tyne, like it was yesterday. Looking back, I could have lost both Daniel and Lesley. I had no idea what was going on. That may have been a good thing (I'd have fainted, for sure); but it is not good to take the miracle of birth for granted, or the goodness of God.
FYI:
"Empty Arms" by Pam Vredevelt. Multnomah, Colorado Springs. Second Edition, 1994
I've also found helpful, from a Reformed Theological perspective:
"When a Baby Dies" by Ronald H. Nash. Zondervan, Grand Rapids, 1999.
This is more of a theological study of salvation as it applies to stillborn babies. It is not really something that I would put in the hands of a grieving parent.
I've been in the ministry for 24 years and, during that time, I've only had three funeral services for children. Of course, I'm glad that there have not been more, but I've been thinking, recently, that I've been blissfully unaware of a huge amount of pain in those I've been called to serve. (Maybe four funerals in two weeks has brought this to mind...).
I've just finished reading "Empty Arms" by Pam Vredevelt, which was recommended to me as a helpful resource for those who have suffered the loss of a child. I was horrified to learn that about 20% of pregnancies (not including abortions) don't come to term because of miscarriage or stillbirth (meaning death after 20 weeks). I had no idea the numbers were so high. For those who have special circumstances such as STD's the numbers are even higher. Which means that there must be a large number of women in the congregation I serve who have suffered in silence. Also, I had no idea how dangerous it can be for the mother to have an ectopic pregnancy (where the child develops in the fallopian tube).
Often, I'm not told about a miscarriage, which is not the end of the world if someone else is providing loving support, but it makes me wonder whether anyone is. I was particularly horrified by some of the stories of well-meaning people saying the most awful things while trying to support a grieving mother who has just lost a child.
Here in Lake Jackson we have a wonderful ministry, begun by church members, called "Johnathan's Ministry." Yes, you guessed it, Johnathan was one of the three. I conducted his funeral service just over four years ago. Lori, who runs the ministry, provides thoughtful, compassionate care for those who have lost children to neonatal death. She does a wonderful job. The problem is that, for months on end, no-one asks for help. And you know that there are needs just crying out to be met.
Two things occur to me. First, the need to provide circles of care within (and beyond) the congregation where women will feel comfortable opening up and then receiving help. It just reinforces for me that concept that the church needs to get smaller as well as larger. Larger, so that more will come to know Christ as Lord. Smaller, so that we can provide the compassionate care of Christ to those in need within the context of small, covenant groups. I suppose we also need to be far more intentional in learning, from books like "Empty Arms" about what those needs are, and how we can be the hands of Jesus.
Second, I need to thank God daily for the safe delivery of our children. Dan is 23 years old now, and I still remember the trauma of the delivery room at the Princess Mary Maternity Hospital, on the Great North Road in Newcastle upon Tyne, like it was yesterday. Looking back, I could have lost both Daniel and Lesley. I had no idea what was going on. That may have been a good thing (I'd have fainted, for sure); but it is not good to take the miracle of birth for granted, or the goodness of God.
FYI:
"Empty Arms" by Pam Vredevelt. Multnomah, Colorado Springs. Second Edition, 1994
I've also found helpful, from a Reformed Theological perspective:
"When a Baby Dies" by Ronald H. Nash. Zondervan, Grand Rapids, 1999.
This is more of a theological study of salvation as it applies to stillborn babies. It is not really something that I would put in the hands of a grieving parent.
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