Death of a Church

The news from Seventh Presbyterian in Cincinnati breaks my heart. I preached there in 1992. Rev. Stan Wallace and his wife Betty had stayed in our home, in England, a few years earlier. Stan preached for me at St. George’s United Reformed Church in Newcastle upon Tyne, so I was returning the favor. They were gracious and generous hosts. As for Seventh Presbyterian – the members were as welcoming as their pastor, faithful in worship and in Christian education, actively involved in mission in their community. Sadly, their story has been repeated around the country. Once vital churches struggle to maintain their facilities; vision is overcome by fear; the specter of closure freezes innovation. And yet, in this instance, it seems that the remnant did have a plan, and the finances to make one more effort to turn the corner. Even if it hadn't have worked, at least they would have had the satisfaction of knowing that they had tried their best. Instead, for whatever reason, Presbytery pulled the plug. A once-great church was hastened to its end and there was no dignity in its passing. I grieve for old friends, and for a system that appears to have lost its grip on grace.

Colorful Language

I've just come across a wonderful quotation in Arthur C. Danto's book Nietzsche as Philosopher. I'm only part way through the book, by the way, but I find it very helpful, even though Danto is too enamoured of Logical Positivism for my taste. Unfortunately, this tends to make his insights rather anachronistic, given that Positivism is no longer en vogue. Danto rescues Nietzsce from the accusation that he is merely an intellectual hooligan, endlessly expanding the meaning of words then crashing them back to what they were in order to expose their limitations. Apparently, Nietzsche regarded himself as someone who went about the business of philosophy "with a hammer." There's some truth in this, but Danto succeeds in showing the underlying seriousness of Nietzsche's lifework.

Anyway, here's the quotation. It does not just apply to Nietzsche.

His language would have been less colorful had he known what he was trying to say...

Amen to that!

Privilege and Power

I have just finished reading Philip Haythornthwaite's Wellington: The Iron Duke. It's a well-written, very accessible little book, (which doesn't make you feel like an idiot for not knowing the insider's jargon). Haythornthwaite deals with, perhaps the most accomplished British General, certainly since Marlborough, a man who demonstrated his prowess in India, confirmed his abilities during the Peninsula war, which liberated Portugal and Spain, then fixed his place in history with the defeat of Napoleon.


Haythornthwaite traces Wellington's development from his childhood in Ireland, through his military training (surprisingly, some of it was in France), through his triumphs and subsequent political career. Although he was born in Ireland, Wellington was really part of the English aristocracy, but he bore that mantle well. In fact, one of the recurring problems of Wellington's long and distinguished career arose from the system of preferment, based largely on social standing, which prevented him from giving promotion on the basis of merit. At times, he was able to sidestep this by advancing careers through the Portuguese army, of which he was also head, but it apparently riled him to see the inexperienced sons of the landed gentry given posts to which they were not at all entitled. He wrote:

I, who command he largest British army that has been employed against the enemy for many years, and who have upon my hands certainly the most expensive and difficult concern that was ever imposed upon any British officer, have not the power of making even a corporal!

Having said that, Wellington himself benefited from this system early in his career, especially when serving in India, where his older brother had a great deal of political influence. However, later in life, he saw how dangerous this system could be.

Although he could be aloof and reserved, Wellington at least had an admiration for the common man. He retained the prejudices of his age, especially in his fear of mob rule, and he did not believe that commoners raised from the ranks made good officers, since he thought them more likely to succumb to drink; but he did not despise those who had been born without the advantages of rank and wealth. This passage, by Wellington, caught my attention:

Perhaps there is no man now existing who would like to meet me on a field of battle; in that line I am superior. But when the war is over and the troops disbanded, what is your great general more than anyone else? I am necessarily inferior to every man in his own line, though I may excel him in others. I cannot saw and plane like a carpenter, or make shoes like a shoemaker, or understand cultivation like a farmer. Each of these, on his own ground, meets me on terms of superiority. I feel I am but a man.

Probably, in his own day, few people would have accused Wellington of excessive humility, but in contrast to many others, he retained a sense of perspective. He did not think of himself as better than others, simply because he was the most successful soldier of his generation. I suspect that, in our supposedly more egalitarian age, that is a lesson we would do well to note.

On Culture and Change

In England, the Football League (real football, that is, with a round ball) has just launched a new survey for supporters. The League wants to know what fans like or dislike, how the 'beautiful game' might be improved. I came across a blog by Paul Fletcher, who recommends this new survey, then goes on to give details of a similar exercise undertaken in 1962. At that time, football in England was experiencing something of a decline. League leaders were concerned about falling attendances and commissioned a report to find out what could be done.

Over four thousand people were canvassed for their opinions. These were then evaluated and the findings compiled by one A.D. Bannatyne. Until recently, the results were kept confidential. This is not surprising when you read them.

For example, there is a section headed "Women," which asserts "On the whole women do tend to resent their men going out of the home to enjoy themselves - and this applies to football matches too. Women themselves do not display much interest in football." Bannatyne's suggestion is priceless: "...attempts might be made to encourage the wives and girlfriends of football supporters to be a little more self-sacrificing by letting their menfolk out to watch League matches." Of course, the relative absence of women could also have been caused by another set of problems picked up in the report: out-of-date facilities, poor seating, primitive toilets and woefully inadequate parking.

In other sections the report blames poor attendance on a general increase in the standard of living, with an attendant rise in the number of alternative leisure activities, such as "cameras, do-it-yourself equipment, cars, gramophone records and players, paper-backed books, etc." In particular, television comes in for criticism, despite the observation that "in general television only becomes an attraction when people become dissatisfied with football itself." The report advises that football should never be televised. Games should never be floodlit, in fact they should only take place at the traditional time of three o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. Football should never be played on Sunday.

How the world has changed! The 1962 report opens a window onto a society that has changed beyond recognition. Fletcher is right to identify Bannatyne's work as, at best, a commentary on social history. But I wonder whether the report has anything to say to the community of the church?

Frankly, the 1962 report reads very much like some of the navel-gazing studies done to examine the problems of falling attendance in mainline churches. We've read a great deal about the lure of alternative forms of entertainment. Television has been blamed for the demise of evening services. Poor facilities have often been cited as one of the problems facing those who want to attract younger people to attend church. Awful bathrooms, nasty nurseries, antiquated central heating systems, poor acoustics, and non-existent parking have all received their share of criticism. Increasingly, nowadays, we are hearing that the message must be packaged in more palatable ways, that our services are too slow and ponderous, that the preacher doesn't seem to relate to the modern world, and so on. No doubt there are good points to be made, even though sometimes it does feel like we should be congratulating people for having made it through the sanctuary door.

What concerns me is that the authors of the 1962 football report seem so blind to their cultural context. They want faster, more exciting play, but they also want to be able to tell women to stop nagging their menfolk. They want a higher skill level on the pitch, but they don't think that new technology has any place in football. Yet, today, international football largely dances to the beat of television's drum. Thousands of matches are televised every year. Games are scheduled for the benefit of the broadcast companies, including on Sundays. Without the income generated by television, the top teams would not be able to afford the ridiculous salaries now paid to the best players, or to build their fantastic new cathedrals of sport.

Are we similarly blind, in the church? Do we fail to understand how we are conditioned by our cultural expectations? Do we also fail to recognize those forces that will shape the future, whether we like them or not? Will a future generation look back at our dusty reports and smile at our parochialism and our lack of vision?

We, too, have experienced decline, and have not been slow to ascribe blame. But, in our longing for a world now past and gone, have we failed to see how God is still at work?

Deliver Us From Evil

During this season of remembrance, I've been re-reading Alistair Horne's superb book, The Price of Glory, a study of the battle of Verdun in 1916. It makes sobering reading. Like two stags locked in combat, the armies of Germany and France fought themselves to a standstill. The Germans, under the overall command of the dithering General Erich von Falkenheyn, attempted to bleed the French dry at Verdun. In one sense they succeeded, since the successful defence of 1916 was followed by the mutinies of 1917. Virtually every French settlement, large or small, was affected by Verdun. A generation of young Frenchmen was wiped out by their leaders' defence a outrance, the single-minded determination not to cede an inch of land or, having done so, to reclaim it as soon as possible. To this day, the names of some of the key features of the battle - Douaumont, Le Morte Homme, or Cote 304 - send shivers down the spine of France. Indeed, neither side 'won' at Verdun. It was, as Horne says, "an indecisive battle in an indecisive war." By the end of 1916, Germany had suffered a third of a million casualties and captured only a pathetically small strip of land. France lost a similar number, though no one will ever know for sure. Churchill put the French casualties as high as 469,000.

What struck me, 'though, was a metaphysical reflection (p.242-243). It seems completely out of place among the realism of harsh statistics. Horne writes about a common understanding, at the time, that events were being manipulated by evil.

In the last days of peace, there had seemed a point where the collective will of Eurpoe's leaders had abdicated and was usurped by some evil, superhuman Will from Stygian regions that wrested control out of their feeble hands. Seized by this terrible force, nations were swept along at ever-mounting speed towards the abyss.

I don't think that Horne is suggesting that responsibility for the mistakes of the war can somehow be transfered to a malevolent spirit; he is clear about the culpability of leaders. Nevertheless, he acknowledges the existence of evil. There is something for us, here. Perhaps in our post-modern sophistication, we have become blind to the shadows that stalk our world. We watch Twin Towers fall, and we are too clever, or too afraid, to call evil by its name.

Grace and Law

Earlier this year I read, and commented upon, a series of novels by Brendan O'Carroll, stories that are raw and vibrant with the life of the Jarro, a working class slum in Dublin. They are well-worth reading, as long as you can see beyond the language, which is somewhat earthy... I enjoyed the stories of Agnes Browne and her rambunctious clan because they reminded me of life in the North of England. O'Carroll has since written a 'pre-quel,' as they say, telling the story of Agnes as a young girl. I don't think it's as well written as the main stories, as is often the case with works written to fill in the gaps in our knowledge. It's hard to avoid the suspicion that it was written to satisfy the demands of a curious public (and the publisher). Be that as it may, The Young Wan is a cheerful tale. There's a smattering of Irish nationalism, a tipping of the hat to the unions, and series of entertaining anecdotes. I'm not sure I'd pay full price for it, but I'd borrow it from the library, or pick it up at Half Price Books, which is where I got my copy.

In my previous review, I noted that there was an absence of anti-clericalism, which struck me as odd. The Church was simply an irrelevance to Agnes, as an adult. This volume may give us part of the reason why.

Towards the end of the story, Agnes is about to be married to Redser Browne. She is already having doubts. However, she is pregnant and he has agreed to marry her. The tension in the story concerns Agnes' wedding dress, which is white. Her mother and grandmother before her had worn the same dress. Her first communion dress had been made from its train. Agnes is determined to wear the dress, but when Father Pius finds out that she is "in the family way" he forbids it. Only virgins may wear white. She will have to wear something else, and suffer the shame. Secretly, the priest sympathises with Agnes, and would like to bend the rules, but the Church refuses compromise on the sacrament of marriage. If he performs the ceremony, and she is wearing white, he will lose his job. In the end, this is precisely what he does, and before the registers have been signed, he has been defrocked by the bishop. Only then do we learn of the debt owed to Agnes' father by this priest.

So, the issue is raised of rules or compassion. The priest wants to exercise compassion, but the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church refuses. When he acts according to his conscience, the hierarchy responds with legalism, it crushes his rebellion, and a family spends the next fifty years resenting the Church. The question is: which should be paramount, the rulebook or compassion, law or grace?

It is easy to answer "compassion." In recent years whenever there has been a conflict between what have been called the masculine and the feminine sides of the Church, the feminine has always won. We find it increasingly difficult to make hard decisions. Church discipline is almost impossible to enforce. Now, I'm not suggesting that we should return to an entirely law-based ecclesiology, but I do wonder whether the pendulum has not swung too far. If we have no standards to keep then we compromise too readily with the tears of the world. Sometimes those tears are genuine, but sometimes they are not. Surely, there is a balance to be found? The Church should be seen a place of principle, but also as a bastion of love. The truth is that, if love is always exercised in a vacuum, and if no standards are fixed, then it is love that suffers. Grace without law ends up merely being licence, and that is a corruption of the Gospel, just as much as the inflexibility of Law.

Earlier Review at http://presbuteros.blogspot.com/2009/06/dragonflies-and-death.html

Gathering Rosebuds

Sorry for the absence, we've been enjoying the mountains in Colorado. While there I picked up a copy of Hesperides by Robert Herrick (1591-1674). I find his work a little more accessible than that of some of his contemporaries, but even so he can be a little obscure. Herrick was heavily influenced by Ben Johnson. Apparently, at one time he belonged to a group called "The Sons of Ben"! The most famous poem in the book is called "To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time." It carries echoes of Johnson's "Song: To Celia." Both poems remind their readers of the ephemeral quality of life and suggest that, since our time is short, we should make the most of it. What on earth does Herrick mean? Is this a manifesto for lust?

I find this a little odd, given that Herrick was a bachelor, and a minister of the Church of England for thirty two years. There doesn't seem to be any scandal associated with his name whatsoever, and yet the simple implication of the poem seems to be Carpe Diem, or, in plain English, "make hay while the sun shines." This interpretation is not helped by those who insist that double entendres exist throughout the text, and that Herrick's lines are actually rather erotic! I suspect that those who read Herrick in this way may be telling us more about themselves than about the author.

The idea of Carpe Diem comes from Horace's first ode. It is the belief that, since life is brief, one should live in the moment. The most famous line in Herrick's poem is also taken from a Latin original, perhaps by Virgil who, at the conclusion of the poem De Rosis Nascentibus uses the phrase "collige, virgo, rosas," which means "gather, girl, the roses." Could it not be that Herrick is actually trying to do something rather more profound than to urge his readers to "get on with it", as some have suggested! There is more to his philosophy, for example, than Robert Frost's wistful longing in his Carpe Diem. Herrick is interested in reconciling Horace's original idea with his Christian faith. He does not suggest that the brevity of time should lead to licentiousness, but to commitment. The virgins, of whom he writes, are encouraged to marry while they can, not to pursue as many lovers as youth will allow. Is there, perhaps, some longing of his own hidden in the text, the memory of a love long lost, of a young woman who could have been a companion for life, but who slipped through his fingers? Herrick lived through one of the most tumultuous periods of English history - the Civil War. He had seen changes on a scale that must have been unimaginable in his youth. A King had been deposed. The old securities had been swept away. Many lives had been lost. Surely, Herrick understood the need to take opportunities when they came, because one could never be sure what tomorrow would bring.

Today, Carpe Diem is a superficial rallying cry for those who do not wish to think about tomorrow, who are caught up in the headlong rush for instant gratification. For Christians, the phrase can have a deeper meaning. Since no one knows how long life shall last, we should not refrain from commiting to one another. Life is too short to play the field; when we find love, we should not be afraid to "gather it, while we may."

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

Best Church in Town ?

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

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

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

The Maytrees

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

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

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

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

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

La Mauvaise Vie

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

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

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

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

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

Death of a Denomination. Part 3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Works?

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

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

FOCUS begins with three hypotheses:

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

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

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

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

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

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

In no particular order, these are:


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marx Gospel

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

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

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



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



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

Temple of Hate?

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



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

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



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

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



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

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

Storm of Steel

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

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

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

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

Death of a Denomination Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death of a Denomination Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words That Explode

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

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

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

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

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

Azincourt

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

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

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

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

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

William Shakespeare, 1599

The Cure of Souls

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Darkness Deliver Us

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Justin Webb's article can be found at:

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

Taking Care of Business

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dachau

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

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

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

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

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

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

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