Three.Word.Dogmatics
I posted something about happenstance felicities of What.Three.Words addresses on FB, and Phil challenged me to write a three word theology. It’s been in my mind driving and walking around Northumbria on holiday this week, and this is I think my best attempt. I’ve used blank lines as additional punctuation, and there are some run-ons, which may be cheating. I’ve not checked whether any of these map to actual locations. Three.Word.Dogmatics God.Is.One God.Is.Three Father.Son.Spirit God.Is.Good God.Is.Love Many.Other.Perfections God.Creates.All Out.Of.Nothing God.Oversees.All End.Is.Coming Creation.Was.Good Humans.Did.Bad Creation.Is.Broken Humans.Need.Help God.Calls.Abraham Stories.About.Israel Exodus.Temple.Exile Return.Longing.Hope God’s.Son.Comes Born.As.Human Born.Of.Mary God.And.Human Lives.And.Loves Teaches.And.Heals Dies.To.Save Rises.To.Life Sends.God’s.Spirit Spirit.Is.God Spirit.Proceeds.From Father.And.Son Spirit.Brings.Life Spirit.Gives.Gifts Spirit.Grows.Goodness God.Calls.Church Body.Of.Christ Temple.Of.Spirit To.Father’s.Praise Church.Is.Sent Ends.Of.Earth To.Declare.Gospel End.Will.Come Jesus.Will.Return Dead.Will.Rise Jesus.Will.Reign Justice.Be.Established Joy.Will.Overflow Four.Last.Things Death.Judgement.Heaven… (OK, the Three.Word.Limit tripped me up at the end there, and it fell into universalism. There are worse errors.)...
Read MoreCommunion cups and individualism
Picking up from one or two comments in different places on my previous post: does the use of individual communion cups imply, or support, or strengthen, individualism? My short answer would be: not in British Baptist practice; I simply do not know elsewhere. This answer is based on a couple of convictions. One is that practices are not meaningfully narratable without properly thick description; the other is that I want to interrogate hard what ‘individualism’ means. I will deal with the first here; I might return to the second at some point. On the first: ‘thick description’ (for those who do not know) is a term coined by the anthropologist Clifford Geertz. He argued (roughly) that symbols are only intelligible specifically. That is, to take the case in point, the use of individual communion cups means nothing until you have (ideally exhaustively) described in detail how they are used in a particular community. I suppose I might have received communion in a hundred or so different British Baptist congregations; I have celebrated it in approaching fifty, each time interrogating the church about their own practices so that I could both conform to what they expected, and celebrate appropriately reverently by my own lights. On this basis, I think I can speak about the general practices of this tradition–and on this same basis, I make no claim about any other tradition. As I mentioned before, my own congregation presently uses (or pre-Covid used) several communal cups and intinction in our morning Eucharists; we use individual cups when we celebrate in the evening. This is however very unusual. I struggle to remember any other British Baptist celebration I have been a part of that used shared cups. British Baptist celebrations of the Eucharist, however, are (in my experience) focused determinedly on the shared life of the gathered, covenanted, church. In some Scottish churches in which I have celebrated this is first emphasised by a separation of the communion service from the main service. The sermon is preached, a hymn is sung, a benediction is offered, and some people leave: those who wish to affirm their belonging to each other remain, to receive the Eucharist (albeit from individual cups). This tradition, once common, is passing—to my mind with good reason—but the symbolism is surely clear: all may come to hear the Word preached, but only saints covenanted together may received the bread and wine. Outsiders are excluded to emphasise the belonging of insiders. The large majority of churches I have celebrated or received communion in will follow the reception of the Eucharist with a pastoral prayer; a significant minority will take up an offering around the table specifically for pastoral needs within the fellowship. Both practices insist that here, around the table, more than anywhere else, we are one body, in community, joined to each other, and so here we pray for the needs of the fellowship, not just those of the world; here we give to support our own sisters and brothers, not just charitable causes generally. Every Baptist church I know will receive new members, and appoint new officers (elders/deacons), at the communion table. This practice insists that here, around the table, is where we are family together, and so this is where we do our family business. Against all these practices, even if the use of the individual cup might in abstract be perceived as promoting individualism, it is hard to see it as anything other than bound into a profoundly communal set of ritual practices in concrete. The rite it is a part of is a communal rite that emphasises community at every moment; the mere adoption of individual cups cannot effectively challenge that, even if the practice were to be assumed to be inherently individualistic (& of course no liturgical practice is inherently anything; context and narration defines all meaning). To emphasise this I, and I know that I am not alone, use the individuality of the cups to emphasise the community of the church when celebrating the Eucharist. I instruct congregants to keep hold of the cup having been served it, and then, when everyone has been served, state that we will all drink together ‘as a sign of our unity in the Lord’. The shared act of drinking together reinforces all the other signs given to emphasise the community-based, and community-forming, act of sharing the Eucharist. I am not claiming any combination of these practices as perfect: I said in the previous post that I would rather we shared one cup, because that is what Jesus did in the upper room. That preference, however, is based on a Baptist commitment to...
Read MoreOn the use of individual communion cups
There is evidently a fight going on within the Church of England on the potential use of individual communion cups as a Covid-safe way to celebrate the Eucharist. It’s not my fight, and I don’t want to say much about it. But in the last couple of days a new argument has emerged: that the use of individual communion cups is, historically, racist. That does bother me. Each of the five churches I have been a member of have used individual communion cups as a regular part of their sacramental life. This is hardly uncommon in either the English Free Churches, or Scottish evangelicalism—I don’t actually recall the last time I celebrated or received the Eucharist at a church that did not use individual cups (although our collegiate celebrations use a single cup and intinction). So the suggestion that the use of individual cups is pandering to racism worries me—or it would worry me if there were any plausibility to it; fortunately, there is not, or none that I can discover. As far as I can see, there are two sources for this suggestion: a blogpost by Peter Anthony, which cites a podcast by Barak Wright, which in turn cites (unhappily without reference) the investigations of an American Methodist leader, James Buckley, in the 1890s; and a paper by Hilary M. Bogert-Winkler, which relies entirely (for this point) on Daniel Sack’s 2002 monograph, Whitebread Protestants: Food and Religion in American Culture. Both sources are agreed that the presenting reason for the adoption of individual cups is the C19th sanitary reform movement. With the discovery that diseases were transmitted through ‘germs’ (at the time a rather unspecific term), ways of altering behaviour to prevent transmission were investigated and recommended. There was a general awareness that fluids were important in transmission, and so a concern about a shared cup where potentially, the saliva of the first recipient can enter the mouth of a later recipient. The charge in both sources is that, in the USA, sanitary reform became entangled with racial prejudice, and so that in certain contexts the shared cup was given to whites first, so that they would not be contaminated by African-Americans, and then individual cups were introduced for the same reason. Let us for the moment simply accept this. All that is then demonstrated is entanglement. But that is uninteresting. Suppose I were to campaign against a particular industrial development both because I believed that it would be damaging to the environment, and because I believed that there was a faerie castle that would be destroyed by it; the ridiculousness of the latter belief does not damage the cogency of the former one. Just so, someone who genuinely believes that it is unhygienic to share a single cup, and that non-whites are more likely to spread disease, cannot be criticised for the former belief just because the latter one is appallingly racist. (Were there a demonstration that the former, sanitary, belief was not sincerely held, but merely a cover for the latter, racist, belief, then of course the criticism would stand. Sack is careful to avoid that implication in his monograph; in the absence of references I cannot be sure of all Buckley claimed, but from what I have been able to read, it does not appear that he essayed the stronger argument either.) It is of course easy to survey the arguments around 1900—the material is all out of copyright, and so generally on the Web. What is striking is how much Buckley is an outlier—one can, for example, read through article after article opposing the use of individual communion cups in the old Lutheran Church Review and find no hint at all that there is any concern other than tradition and symbolism. (See, e.g., Drach, ‘Have Individual Communion Cups Any Historical Justification?’ vol. 26 (1907), pp. 567-574; Schuchard, ‘Individual Communion Cup Questions’ vol. 29 (1910), pp. 567-577; Michler, ‘Individual Communion Cups’ vol. 34 (1915), pp. 395-402). (Similar series are easily found in other denominational journals of the time.) There is a second point, however: even if Anthony and Wright are simply correct in everything they assert, they only establish the point for North America. The introduction of individual communion cups in the UK is a separate history, and, as far as I can see, there has never been a single scholarly suggestion that this history has been driven by racism. The medical point is of course to the fore; Dennis raised it in his System of Surgery (iii.803), and it was discussed repeatedly in The Lancet in the first decade of the twentieth century. A remarkable article, ‘The Patience of...
Read MoreOn opening church buildings for private prayer
We should open our buildings for private prayer as soon as we can. Not for the members, but as a mission opportunity. This week it seems likely that the First Minister will announce that Scotland is moving to Phase 2 of our lifting of lockdown, which includes the opening of places of worship for private prayer—a move made this past weekend in the rather less orderly English system. I suspect that for most Baptists, the instinctive response will be to shrug; our spirituality does not have that sense of sacred space, or at least not of ecclesially-authorised sacred space. We might have our own ‘thin places’, where for us ‘prayer has been valid’, but they are probably not significantly connected to local church buildings. I think this response would be a mistake. There are a few Baptist churches around the UK that, before lockdown, were in the habit of keeping their buildings open for private prayer—I think of Bloomsbury Central B.C. in London as the example I perhaps know best; the doors are generally open, and a small room to the right of the front of the sanctuary—presumably once a vestry—is set aside as a space to pray. I’ve known the ministers of Bloomsbury over the past 20 years or so—Brian Haymes; Ruth Gouldbourne; Simon Woodman—and although I’ve never particularly discussed this aspect of their ministry with any of them, every passing reference they made suggested that it was not a facility offered for, or used by, the church members, but rather for passers by, seeking a quiet reflective space in the energy and noise of central London. Our buildings should be open, if they can be, not for members, but for non-members. I think of a friend, around my age, who recently rediscovered a faith she had walked away from as a child. She started to come to our church, but, having outgrown our building, we meet in a local school hall. Her searching spirit wanted a space that looked, felt sacred—the P.E. charts that we cheerfully ignore (and long to cheerfully ignore again…) were an impediment, a stumbling block, to her. Another church, lacking a building of their own, was borrowing our church building of a Sunday morning; she joined there. I think now if they moved out she would be happy enough; she has been well discipled into a broadly evangelical spirituality that emphasises the holiness of the community that meets, rather than that of the room it meets in. If someone wanted to narrate her recent story in Pauline terms of valuing the indifferent things that seem important to those of weak/immature faith, I suspect she would not be offended. Paul’s point in Rom. 14 is that we should in fact value these things, because nurturing nascent faith matters. Equally, although slightly differently, it matters that we provide seekers with comfortable ways to discover the truth of the gospel and the glory of our King Jesus. I suspect her spiritual sensibilities are not unusual: there are a significant number of people in the UK who, if moved to search for a genuine encounter with God, would look to a church building as the right place to begin that search. Some may have cultural memories of what church ‘should’ be; some may be coming from other religious traditions, and bringing those traditions’ assumptions about sacred space with them; some may just need to do something kinaesthetic to demonstrate to themselves that they are serious. Of course, as they find the truth, and as we have the privilege of discipling them into maturity, we will want to insist that being close to Jesus is what matters, and that being close to Jesus comes from being in covenant community, not from being in ecclesiastical buildings. But if stepping into the building is going to be the first step on that journey to Life for some, perhaps for many, we ought to do what we can to have the door of the building open, particularly if, as is being regularly suggested at the moment, there are significant signs of spiritual awakening across the U.K. just now. For some of us it will of course be impossible to open the building. Perhaps other urgent mission opportunities—running the local foodbank, e.g.—are taking all our efforts; perhaps we cannot, with the resources we have, open the building safely; perhaps, like the apostles, we have no building to open. But if we can open the building, I suggest that we should—for missional, not pastoral,...
Read MoreBut what can I do? A beginner’s tool kit 1: knowing
[I’ve been wanting to write this all week, but our marking deadline was today…] Plenty of White British folk like me have this week been asking—but what can I do? It was a question I first asked myself seriously after watching the events in Charlestown, VA, in 2017. This post is a beginner’s tool kit, written by a beginner of almost three years’ experience, for beginners with even less, in the hope that it helps someone. This post is about knowing—knowing how to begin to understand white supremacy. I plan to add a couple more on ‘doing’ and ‘giving’ soon. This is specifically for people in the UK churches, and began from wanting to take seriously several conversations with Black British church leaders who expressed some concern/dissatisfaction with/over an assumption that the narrative of Black life in the UK could be simply assimilated to the US narrative. I was looking for a theorised account of oppression similar to the ones I knew about gender and sexuality, but wanted to honour the concerns of my Black British sisters and brothers, and so find an indigenous British version. I certainly don’t pretend to be an expert, but this is what I have found to be most helpful in the past three years of looking: 1. Know about The first task is to understand the reality: the history, cultural realities, and the facts of racial oppression, in UK culture and in the UK church: 1.1 History: David Olusoga, Black and British: A forgotten history (2016) is the best place I have found to start; it was based on a TV series, which I haven’t seen, but which I assume is equally excellent. I don’t know a good book covering all the history of Black Christianity in the UK, but Israel Olufinjana’s various studies of reverse mission offer interesting and varied snapshots. 1.2 Cultural Studies: Reni Eddo-Lodge, Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race (2018) is the single best text I know here. this is just a must-read; in brief and simple chapters, she explains whiteness, and how it affects so much else. Looking backwards in history, the work of the Birmingham Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies is seminal here. Almost anything by Stuart Hall is worth reading, but if you only pick one text, Paul Gilroy’s There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack: The cultural politics of race and nation (1987) is the one to go for. Stuart Hall and Paul Gilroy collaborated on a photo-journalistic essay, Black Britain: A Photographic History (2011), which is powerful and profound. 1.3 Church life: Ben Lindsay, We Need to Talk About Race: Understanding the Black experience in white majority churches (2019) is a brilliant and accessible introduction 1.4 Theology: I suggest you start with Anthony Reddie—he’s written loads, and there aren’t any bad ways in that I’ve discovered, but perhaps Faith, Stories, and the Experience of Black Elders (2001) is the place to start, maybe followed up by the collection he edited with Jagessar in 2007, Black Theology in Britain: A reader. These aren’t better than the rest, but they are broader, and so invite you into an overview which his many other writings fill out the details of. Robert Beckford is probably the next step–half a generation back in time. God of the Rahtid: Redeeming Rage (2001) is probably the way in. 2. Know: If the texts above are about informing the intellect, what follows is about addressing the heart. Art is key. Art speaks personal truth in personal ways. I list here material that I have found helpful in offering some sort of a window into what it actually feels like to be Black and British. (If a Black British person invites you to hear their story, that is a precious gift, and should be honoured as such, and will be better than most of this; but you cannot demand of your Black friends and colleagues that they open their hearts and wounds to you, and so art is important.) 2.1 Poetry: We are living in a golden age of British poetry, and immigrant and cross-cultural poets are probably leading the way. For those of us in Scotland, our national Makar, Jackie Kay, is the key voice, reflecting on experiences of immigration and adoption; Vahni Capildeo explores the identity of the immigrant profoundly and beautifully; Imtiaz Dharker brings the perspective of a subcontinental and Scottish heritage–one of her book blurbs describes her upbringing as ‘Muslim Calvinist’; Derek Walcott is of course one of the great Anglophone writers of the C20th, and his exploration of Caribbean life under the shadow of the memory of the British...
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