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?