Fasting from voices like mine
My Lenten discipline this year will be fasting, as far as I can, from voices like mine (white, male, Western, straight, able-bodied, cisgendered). The idea came talking to a colleague about the problem of gender imbalance on our reading lists. She (rightly, of course) stressed intentionality, which got me thinking about process. If I am writing an entire new module, I will think intentionally about reading lists, but I’ve done that once in the last three years. Far more often—like, more weeks than not—I give ad hoc advice. A student or colleague asks ‘what’s good on X?’; I reply with stuff that’s in my head. Most of the time, the authors I mention are all white, male, Western, straight, able-bodied, cisgendered (Can I offend against all aesthetic judgement and use ‘wmWsac’ as an acronym here?) That’s easy to explain. Perhaps 80-90% of the books published by major academic presses in the disciplines I work in are, still, by wmWsac authors. If I read at random from the major presses, 80-90% of what I read will be wmWsac; and so a chance list of books from my head on a given subject will in all probability all be by wmWsac authors. How, I wondered, do I break this circle? The answer, obviously, is to be intentional in reading authors who are not like me, to deliberately expose myself to voices not like mine. I need to work on this for all of life, but for now, it will be my discipline this Lent. It will not be total: I will mark students’ work in a timely fashion, even if they are like me, and read what I need to for the writing deadlines coming up. But beyond that I will deliberately hear different voices—and, I hope, I will be able to offer better and broader reading lists in those chance conversations as a...
Read MoreU.A. Fanthorpe, Not the Millennium
Wise men are busy being computer-literate. There should be a law against confusing Religion with mathematics. There was a baby. Born where? And when? The sources mention Massacres, prophecies, stars; They tell a good story, but they don’t agree. So we celebrate at the wrong midnight. Does it matter? Only dull science expects An accurate audit. The economy of heaven Looks for fiestas and fireworks every day, Every day. Be realistic, says heaven: Expect a miracle. From U.A. Fanthorpe, Christmas Poems (Enitharmon Press, 2002), p. 61
Read MoreI heard a girl singing
Everyone I know agrees that 2016 has been a bad year. Too many good people died (one a close friend of mine) and too much rubbish happened. 2016 should not have been, or so we all seem to think. But as the year came to an end, I heard a girl singing, and I think it might turn out alright. And it’s not that I’m ignoring the rest. I’ve heard the racist slurs that we wanted to have left behind in the seventies, and the economic forecasts, and the bombs going off, and the bulldozers in the jungle, and the bells tolling—so many bells tolling—the bells that seemed not to stop tolling all year. I’ve heard it all. And grieved for our losses. And despaired for our futures. But then I heard a girl singing, and I began to hope again. She was a bit younger than our eldest—fourteen, or perhaps just turned fifteen. Pregnant. She didn’t have much to sing about I guess. But I heard her singing anyway. She was away from home, staying with elderly relatives, trying to avoid the scandal back home I suppose. And she sang. And I can’t stop hearing her song. It was religious, of course, you’d expect that from me. There was a purity of confidence, a childlike trust, as she sung about God’s glory and God’s name and God’s salvation. And when you’re trying to have faith of your own, that’s wonderful to hear from someone in trouble. She saw hope for her own future, at least. And perhaps that began to give me hope. But her song didn’t end there. It got bigger. Not just her story, but our story. And even their story. You know, ‘them’, the ones who helped make 2016 such a rubbish year. The ones who lied their way to a referendum win and then abdicated any responsibility for cleaning up their mess. The ones who dropped or planted the bombs. The orange one. Them. Her song wasn’t very nice about them. She sang sweetly and cheerfully of what she thought God might do to them. Smashed and broken and deposed was only the start of it. She knew the despair and desperation that led some to believe the lies and others to plant the bombs; that was her life. But she looked to God to help—yeah, I know, but I said the song was religious. And while ‘they’ were getting smashed and broken, she was singing of God lifting others up and feeding the hungry. Of course, it could all be optimistic opium, dulling the proletarian pain to repel revolution. But I heard her sing, and I think it was something more. As she sang I started to believe that the mouths of the racists would be stopped—and their fists and feet too—and that one day God’s children would gather from every tongue and tribe and nation. As she sang I began to hope that the economic forecasts, even if true, might be prophecies of people finding cause to display love and generosity and solidarity. As she sang I heard her voice soar louder and higher than the bullets and bombs, and began to imagine peace. As she sang I understood that the voices of the bulldozed echoed louder in heaven than the exhaust pipes of the bulldozers ever could. As she sang I found hope, even, that the endless tolling funeral bells would one day be silenced for ever by a trumpet sounding. 2016 was a rubbish year indeed. But as it ended I heard a girl singing, and I learned to hope that it might yet turn out all right. (If you haven’t guessed, the song began Magnificat anima mea Dominum; the idea for this came as my colleague Elizabeth Shively sang a setting of the Magnificat in our service on Sunday.)...
Read MoreTrue Christian Manliness: On the Acts of St Andrew
Here in St Andrews, oddly enough, we mark St Andrews Day in various ways—this year I shall be at a graduation ceremony and, in best Hobbit style, at two formal luncheons. To mark it on a blog, I turn the to apocryphal Acts of Andrew, or rather to what we have left of them. Attributed by Pope Innocent I to a pair of ‘philosophers’ named Xenocharides and Leonidas, and a century and some earlier by Pilaster of Brescia to ‘disciples who followed the apostle’, we have a set of fragments in various languages, together with an apparently-garbled Latin summary by Georgius Florentius Gregorius, which together were reconstructed in the 1980s into two slightly different versions of the text by Jean-Marc Prieur (whose edition is published in CCSA 5 & 6) and Dennis MacDonald (who published in the SBL Texts and Translations series, vol. 33). The lost original can be dated to around, perhaps before, AD200. There is little doubt that the authors intended to construct a Christian version of Homer’s Odyssey, a text which was being used by Greek writers in the early Christian centuries as an allegory of the soul’s journey. The connection with St Andrew, MacDonald hypothesises, is not in any way historical but because ‘Andrew’ represents masculinity, and the text is a Christian attempt to reconstruct visions of masculinity. MacDonald says ‘the AA replaces the ethically questionable traits of Homeric heroes with Christian virtues. Instead of Odysseus’s wealth, sex, and violence, the heroes here represent poverty, chastity, and military disobedience.’ (p. 55) In the miracles reported in the Acts, warriors are repeatedly disarmed. Sometimes (e.g. Gregory’s summary, 9) this is against their will; other times, Andrew prevails upon his followers not to fight, but often there is a conversion to pacifism. Examples of the last two occur in the story in Gregory 18, and the longer version of it in the fragment preserved in the Coptic ms Utrecht 1: Soldiers are sent after Andrew, and a crowd comes armed to protect him, but he dissuades them from fighting. Then it turns out one of the soldiers is demonised; when he is delivered he throws off his military uniform and declares that from now on he seeks to be clothed in the uniform of God. The fragment ends with his confession, ‘there is no sword in his [Andrew’s] hand, nor any instrument of war, but these great acts of power issue from his hand.’ Masculinity is re-ordered by this text away from violence and militarism, towards pacifism and intentional peace-making. Mercy is another striking feature of the text. Repeatedly Andrew is depicted as raising from the dead those who have been struck down by God in judgement against their evil deeds so that they might repent. This happens with Varianus’s son in Gregory 18, and with the Myrmidons in the Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Flesh Eaters (which MacDonald has as the first book of the Acts of Andrew, but Prieur has as a separate text). In Gregory 23 Callisto, a proconsul’s wife, is struck down dead for falsely accusing a convert, Trophime, of adultery (a crime she herself is guilty of); Andrew raises her from the dead, even after her husband suggests she deserved death and should be left, and then invites her to repent. In the Acts of Andrew, to be a proper man is to be merciful. The story of Trophime gets us to questions of sexual ethics. It seems that the original Acts saw even marriage as impure, and commended chastity instead (Gregory conceals this in his summary); one of the recurrent motifs of this, however, is the protection of women threatened with rape or sexual violence. Trophime is enslaved into prostitution as a result of Callisto’s accusation; she is miraculously protected from all who would abuse her, in one case by the appearance of an angel who strikes the man down dead (and she then raises him from the dead; mercy triumphs over judgement once more!). Andrew is martyred by Aegeates, the proconsul of Patras, because he encouraged the proconsul’s wife Maximilla to stand firm in her desire not to have sex with her husband. Aegeates presents his wife with an ultimatum: if she will be sexually active, Andrew will be freed; if not, he will be tortured and killed. Undoubtedly in the narrative her desire to be celibate stems from an unhealthy ethic; behind that, however, it is striking that Andrew is martyred defending a very modern, and feminist, concept: ‘no means no’ (even in marriage). We might finally note humility; the servant who denounces Andrew and those who have been...
Read MoreAn Evangelical approach to sexual ethics
I am just back from the annual meeting of the American Evangelical Theological Society (ETS) in San Antonio, TX. It is only the second time in my life I have been to the ETS conference, but they offered a slot for us to launch a book, Two Views on Homosexuality, that I’ve contributed to, and I decided quickly that I owed it to the publishers (who have been very generous) and to my fellow contributors (who in the process of arguing our points have become friends) to be there. I don’t suppose that it is a state secret that we were offering the launch around the conferences. If we’d got at slot at AAR/SBL, Wes Hill and I, who argued the conservative side of the question, would have been under fire, and would have looked to Megan DeFranza and Bill Loader, who argued the affirming side, to support us; at ETS it was rather definitely the other way around; Wes & I were—I think ‘denounced’ is the right word, but I will live with ‘challenged’—on the basis that even accepting the possibility that someone may find an affirming doctrine in Scripture was already a fundamental betrayal. I struggle with this because I am, by deep conviction, evangelical. I believe passionately in the core evangelical impulse, that I—not just can, but must—make common cause with all those who preach the necessity of the new birth, regardless of other disagreements. I live in a village where, in 1679, James Sharp, Archbishop of St Andrews and Professor of Theology in my own College, was murdered by those who thought that accepting episcopacy was repugnant to the gospel, and where in retaliation the Anglican establishment murdered six convinced Presbyterians, inhabitants of my village, who had no involvement in the crime, because the established church thought presbyterianism equally repugnant. When, sixty years later Presbyterians, Congregationalists, and Anglicans would invite each other into their pulpits because of a shared commitment to the gospel something quite miraculous had happened. What Americans call the Great Awakening and Brits call the Evangelical Revival was a move of the Spirit of God, not just in renewing the gospel of salvation by faith alone, but in breaking down the ecclesial barriers that separated believers in the gospel. I was slow to understand what went on in our session at ETS; the Rottweilers were out in some force, and challenging Megan and Bill on their understanding; OK, I did that sharply enough in the book. But there was repeatedly an extra step stated or implied in the questions, from ‘this is wrong’ to ‘you are not a Christian’. I admit I did not understand where this was coming from. Then someone came up to me at the end, and asked why I had been defending my friends. I began to say some stuff about love and loyalty but he cut across me, ‘They are leading people onto the highway to hell!’ Oh. I’m generally bad in live debate—my mind moves slowly enough that I need time to find an adequate response to challenges. But this one wasn’t hard—I am, as I say, by deep conviction, evangelical. ‘No, I know Megan and Bill, I know that they call people to believe in Jesus. They are leading people on the highway to heaven (even if I presently think that they are fairly seriously wrong on at least one aspect of the nature of that highway).’ The memory troubles me. I do not know who he was—his badge was turned around—but his conviction was clear: teaching false sexual morality was damaging the salvation of the hearers. Maybe I’m sensitive, because of the village I live in, because the blood flowed where I walk, but it matters to me desperately that salvation depends on our embracing of the forgiveness offered in Jesus and on nothing else. Nothing else. ‘Sola fide’ is not an interesting theological slogan for me. It is—literally—gospel truth. Add this or that condition, and you begin to justify the murder of members of my college or inhabitants of my village. More importantly than that, even, you begin to query the salvation of those who have put their faith in Jesus. Sola fide. I have to stand on that. Because the Blood flowed where I walk, and where we all walk. One perfect sacrifice, complete, once for all, offered for all the world, offering renewal to all who will put their faith in Him. And if that means me, in all my failures and confusions, then it also means my friends who affirm same-sex marriage, in all their failures and confusions. If my faithful and affirming friends have...
Read More95 Verses: The Reformation in 19 limericks
October 31st is marked by at least some churches as ‘Reformation Day’, it being the day on which, in 1517, Martin Luther published his 95 theses questioning the practice of selling indulgences. Next year will be the 500th anniversary of the Reformation. Next year we will properly celebrate and evaluate the contribution of Luther. Next year we will necessarily look again at the divisive doctrinal divisions, reflect, repent, and seek renewal. Next year we will mourn the brokenness of Christ’s body and recommit ourselves to unity in truth. Next year we will ask whether we have lost sight of the gospel just as our forebears once did. That’s all for next year. This year, surely, a somewhat more saturnalian attitude is required of us… Wittenburg 1. A grace-pedlar happened to flit Through a small German city named Witt- -enburg where young Martin The Reformation was startin’ By saying ‘Your theology’s shockingly poor.’ 2. A brash Roman preacher called Tetzel Said ‘I know all your sins and your debts’ll Disappear in a trice If you just pay the price!’ Said Luther (German accent) ‘Thet’s bull!’ 3. The lustre of faith was sadly gone And the papal office was badly done Or so it then seemed To a monk who then deemed That the church was in exile in Babylon 4. Justification, if of a Lutheran bent, is The articulus statis vel cadentis Which means that the church Will be left in the lurch If it once forgets truth so momentous. Wurms 5. ’We have summoned a diet of Worms,’ The Pope said, ‘Ensure Luther squirms!’ But it did not go as planned: When Martin said, ‘Here I stand On all that the Bible affirms.’ Rotterdam 6. A young Dutch scholar said ‘Eek! I’ve just published the gospel in Greek, And I’ll tell you what– All this penance is rot; Promoted by some Roman clique.’ Luther’s bondage of the will: 7. There once was a donkey in Rotterdam Who said ‘I must be free to be thought a man!’ But I say of course Each of us is just a horse Which is ridden by Satan or the Lamb. Rome: exsurge Domine 8. We have asked the professors and priors Who say you reformers are liars Rome alone knows What Scripture shows And your obedience she now requires. Geneva 9. A Frenchman said ‘Do you not see? What is is what God meant to be. Salvation or hell Both have been well Planned in God’s perfect decree.’ 10. Geneva’s a place that’s quite dreary, in Which they dreamed up a new theory on How the church should be run: When all’s said and done The only right way’s presbyterian. Zurich 11. A versifier despaired reading li- -sts ‘I’ve been all through the dictionary in Engli- -sh. It happens I’ve found An impossible sound Not one single word rhymes with Zwingli.’ 12. Some Anabaptists said, ‘You’ll never appease us And even if your soldiers should seize us We won’t be deterred From obeying the Word And following the true way of Jesus.’ Prague 13. A Czech man said ‘why all this fuss About Luther? He’s just a wuss It all started with me The previous century You should all be celebrating Jan Hus!’ Edinburgh 14. A Scots lad called John from the glen Blew a first blast o’the trumpet, but when Told that the gospel call Must mean freedom for all, He said ‘Och, it means all men, ye ken!’ Westminster 15. King Henry said ‘I want a divorce! We’ll have reformation by force So the gospel gets heard, And I get my bird, (And all the monks’ money of course)’ Trent 16. You must understand that you need Not just faith, but also some deed So we who were sent To council at Trent Infallibly now have decreed. 17. Of sacraments there must now be seven All needed to get you to heaven If you have even six Your chances are nix Of having transgressions forgiven. Today 18. A preacher called Luther was told ‘Your perspective has got rather old; We’re not really sure When you talk of the law That you get those of Abraham’s fold.’ 19. Our scholars on justification Have issued a Joint Declaration. They have given new light To show both sides were right— So that’s that for the great Reformation....
Read MoreReligious liberty and the European Union
In a Facebook conversation a few weeks back Eddie Arthur asked me if I could see any religious liberty angle on the EU debate. At the time I said no, since religious liberty seemed fairly firmly enshrined both sides of the English Channel and I didn’t see that changing however we voted. That claim stands, of course, but there is another religious liberty angle that I have only this week thought of, and it is (for me) a very strong argument to be pro-EU. Let me tell you about three friends, all missionaries. Call them Anna, Bridget, and Claire, because in one case I cannot put her real name on the web. Twenty five years ago, Anna was working across Eastern Europe, including Albania and ‘Another Eastern European Country’. The collapse of the Soviet Union led to a rise of ugly nationalisms in many states, which often had a religious dimension, so Anna’s work was illegal most of the places she worked. She worked quietly, hid, sometimes had to leave places quickly. Once (that she told me about) she was assaulted by a mob when she didn’t leave somewhere quickly enough. Bridget works in ‘Another Easter European Country’ now, for an illegal organisation, quietly convening evangelistic meetings for students. I don’t know her as well as I knew Anna, and can’t tell you the extent to which life has become difficult for her over the years; I have no doubt that it has, though. Claire works in Albania now for an international mission agency that is legal and tolerated. The work she does is open and permitted. She can worship in a local church which meets publicly and does not fear the police or the mob. Albania is not a member of the EU, but it is an official candidate for accession. The candidacy process involves the country being assessed on 35 criteria, which include fundamental rights and freedoms. An initial assessment highlights what needs to change, and then the EU works with the country to implement the changes. Albania is still some way off meeting EU standards on freedoms and rights, but it has got somewhere on religious liberty at least. Of course, there are many differences between the stories of that other eastern European country and Albania since the fall of the Berlin Wall; maybe without any interest in the EU Albania would still have moved towards democracy and religious liberty; who knows? But right now, it is committed to high standards in those areas because it wants to be part of the EU. Let’s pretend some of the Leave lies about the EU are true. It really does cost us £350m per week, or a little under £6 per week each; there are no cultural, economic, or political benefits from membership; it is entirely about petty regulations concerning bananas—but let’s also accept the single fact that it does this stuff promoting religious liberty on its southern and eastern borders. All I can say is, the morning I heard Anna had been beaten up, if you’d offered me religious liberty across Eastern Europe for the price of six quid a week and some rules about fruit, I would have bitten your hand off, and most of your arm with it. And that, very simply, is my pro-EU religious liberty argument. [16/6/16 Edit: a missionary friend contacted me and asked that I remove any identification for the ‘other Eastern European country’ concerned in this story, for fear of persecution for those working there, so I have done...
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