Creation and evangelism.

I went to Evensong last night at a local church; not Nearest Church, where I've been attending morning services, but another one.

It was good to have some sung psalmody, and indeed the Magnificat and the Nunc dimmitis sung congregationally as well. I'm not very good at singing these without music dots and it's hard to do in a huge church with 10 people dotted around it (any English person walking into a church full of strangers will sit as far from all the others as seems reasonably possible and this is horrible for singing together), but I went, and it was good.

What I didn't like was the sermon.

I cannot tell how much the priest was preaching to the evangelicals I know exist among that congregation, and how much he believes of what he said. The main thrust of his sermon was that we should value, cherish and care for all of God's creation, because the awe and wonder it can inspire in some people is an important tool for evangelism. His view of human arts -- architecture, music, poetry, and flower-arranging (his example, not mine) -- is also that these are to be kept, to be honoured, because they may be useful in evangelising the unchurched. Before the service, during the announcements, the same priest was talking about friendship and community outreach in the same terms, stating that the hire of the hall to a local group was good not only because it brought in income, but because it facilitated a new set of relationships which might be a fruitful field for evangelism.

I am not one to put a huge stock in literal interpretation of the Bible, as any long-time reader will know. But the Old Testament reading, Genesis 1.1 - 2.3, seems quite clear to me. The passage contains the words "God saw that it was good" no fewer than six times, and then adds "God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good." Not "it was good because it made people see God" or any of that. Just, plain and simple, God saw that it was good.

Do we need more reason than that?

It seems to me that means and end have been confused.

It's true enough that people may be drawn to faith through their wonder at the beauty of creation. Surely the sun and moon are beautiful and may remind us that God is God; much of my sense of the holy is grounded in sheer awe at the natural world. But surely also the centipede is created by God and therefore is also good, even if to most humans it seems repulsive. Surely even the rat and the louse are God's creatures, regardless of our revulsion. Are they less good than a waterfall, in God's eyes rather than in our human context? Truly the stars sing of God's majesty, but so do the grasshoppers. Either might bring someone to consider the Creator behind the creation, but they do not somehow fail in their createdness if they don't. God made them and saw that they were good.

It's true enough that people may be drawn to faith through the observation of human-created artefacts...grand cathedrals, concert halls and the concerts within them, shuttles that fly to the moon, poetry that sticks in one's mind, a child's scribblings on the back of old envelopes. Indeed, music has been and, I suspect, always will be an important part of my own journey to and in faith. It's a lot more complex than "listening to or singing the music leads to belief in this or that doctrine" and I suspect that most paths are winding, most journeys are complex. There's no denying that the creations of human beings can glorify God and that sometimes people may be receptive to that. But if a cathedral fails to inspire someone, should it not have been built? If a piece of music falls on deaf ears, either spiritually or literally, should we condemn it as bad because we cannot conceive of a use for it? Context is important, purpose is important, but to reject all that does not fit our human-defined contexts would be a grave error.

It's true enough that people may be drawn to faith, or to church, through their relationships with others. Again, this has certainly been the case for me. Where would I be today without a kind word here, a bit of quiet understanding there, the hands that caught me as I stumbled, kept me from hitting the ground and helped me keep my balance until I found my feet again? Where would I be today without those who continue to offer me support and guidance? I have encountered people who somehow bring light, and I have wondered what makes them shine so brightly. But are those who help me, those who show me love, somehow more worthy in the eyes of God than those who are indifferent, or may even hurt me in their fear and brokenness? I don't think so. Taking a less personal approach, is a bishop a better person than someone who works at a supermarket? Is a hardworking father who pays his taxes, donates to charity, spends time with his family and volunteers at his local church somehow more Godly, more valuable, than the homeless, frightened refugee who sneaks in halfway through the service to pocket as many biscuits as she can before the wardens notice? No! All these are made in the image of God. All these are God's dearly-beloved children.

I attempt to serve others not because I wish to influence them into thinking or behaving more like I do, but because I love them, or because even if I cannot find it in myself to love them I believe that God loves them. I am human and this is complicated and difficult but I do try to eliminate in myself any expectation of reward for this: love does not entrap.

I pray, not so that others might see or know of me praying and feel that they should too, but because I have something to say to God (usually "Help!" or "Thanks!" or "I don't understand!" or "I love you!") and I believe God just might have something to say back, if I can but listen. I sometimes delight in praying together with others and sometimes find it difficult, but my prayers are prayers, not some sort of social propaganda.

I write and play music as part of service to others but also so that God might hear it, and so that others might explore their faith through music as I have done, or if they so wish, join me in the most authentic form of prayer available to me. As a musician involved in church liturgy I do hope that others will use music as a route to worship and prayer, and I aim to facilitate that, but never to force it. As a teacher I try to give people the tools of my art, to empower them to find their own creative voice, but I know full well that I cannot make anyone choose what to do with those tools or whether to use them.

I sing of my sorrows and joys, frustrations and triumphs, struggles and wonders, complaints and gratitude. I sing my confusion and pain, and my love and praise, not to change others to do my will, but to reconcile my human will to God's divine love and mercy, justice and majesty.

"Natural" wonders, created artwork, and the love we can feel for one another -- these are all precious gifts from God, and they are to be valued and cherished. To my mind, using them with the intent of manipulating others to be more like ourselves is not worshipful, but idolatrous.

Reconfiguration

I'm thinking about Luke 3:7-18. A friend mentioned a brood of vipers and I went to look it up, early yesterday morning, and it's been rattling around in my skull since.

It's not an easy text, you see. I don't have to preach on it this Sunday -- and I don't think I'm really made for the pulpit anyway. But difficult texts like this make me itch, and I scratch away at them.

It's a bit of a hellfire sandwich, this passage. The middle bit is alright, really.

And the crowds asked him [John the Baptist], ‘What then should we do?’ In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’

That's not so bad, really. I don't measure up to that (I have at least three coats) but I can see the principle behind it, I can accept that I should act that way. I think maybe I do a little better with the food. John's response to the tax-collectors and the soldiers is similar: act justly. That seems pretty plain to me, even if it isn't always easy to do faithfully.

But look at what comes before: those parts of the tree that do not bear good fruit will be cut off, thrown into the fire. Look at what comes later: a baptism of fire, the chaff being burnt with unquenchable fire. Scary stuff.

So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.

This is good news? Getting burned in unquenchable fire? Being cut off from the tree?

So I read back a bit. Just before this passage we have some information that gives time context, and then this:

He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,
‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.
Every valley shall be filled,
and every mountain and hill shall be made low,
and the crooked shall be made straight,
and the rough ways made smooth;
and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” ’

It's that last bit I'm interested in. Isaiah says all flesh shall see the salvation of God. Not just the people who manage to be good. Not just the people who manage to follow the commandments. Not just the people who believe in Jesus Christ as Messiah, the Son of God, God's incarnation on earth... all flesh.

That doesn't seem very consistent, does it?

But if Isaiah can be a poet, surely John the Baptist can, too. Maybe these texts aren't as contradictory as they seem. Maybe the tree which will be cut and tossed into the fire is not one of flesh, but one of actions. Maybe the winnowing of the grain, the chaff which will be consumed doesn't refer to people who miss the mark, but to their thoughts and deeds.

What happens to a piece of paper if you put it into a fire? It gives off some light and some heat, goes up in smoke and dissipates. Is this imagery about the erasure of our mistakes? The generosity of God in overlooking our sins, in taking all that we think and say and do and saying the screw-ups don't count? A selection process, a purification process, pruning all that which is not good in the eyes of God and leaving only love?

Perhaps. But then where do the "bad bits" go? Eternal, unquenchable fire? Is this what salvation looks like?

Modern science tells us that if you burn a piece of paper it doesn't cease to exist, not really. It doesn't exist in a form we'd identify as paper, any more, but each atom still has to go somewhere. They still exist, they've just been re-configured, re-arranged, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle taken apart and scattered on a table.

Maybe this baptism of unquenchable fire is not a process of erasure or purification but one of transformation. Even our mistakes, through God's grace, can be transformed into good. Our thoughts, words, deeds; our relationships, our projects, our dreams; our bodies, scarred and hurting or hale (whole!) and healthy: all will be changed, all will be forged into God's loving purpose, all will be made anew. We are not cut off. We are not rejected. We are transformed. That's how strong God's love is.

And all flesh shall see his salvation.

Words

This morning I played the organ for one of the hymns at Nearest Church. I had help. Networking Organist handled all the complicated stuff with stops, because the organ has been undergoing repairs lately and I've lost track of which bits work and which bits don't and I'm not quick enough yet to adapt mid-phrase if I realise something is wrong.

It went well.

It's sort of preparation for a few weeks from now, when Networking Organist isn't going to be there and I'm meant to play for the entire service.

Then I went off to Leafy Suburb Church for their Harvest Evensong.

Harvest Evensong at Leafy Suburb Church last autumn was my first ever Evensong.

This evening the vicar asked if I'd like to do a reading. So I said yes, and had a look at the readings, and went for the New Testament one. The Old Testament one was a lovely bit of Deuteronomy but the bit about the strong hand and the outstretched arm always makes me think of Pesach and it was a bit dissonant somehow. So I read Philippians 4:4-9.

A year ago you would not have convinced me that I would be reading bits of the New Testament aloud to other people in the context of a church service.

I am very, very tired. And I have that not-sure-if-I'm-flying-or-falling feeling again, but it feels okay because I also feel very much held in the palm of God's hand. There's a lightness, a freedom to it, a sort of ticklish feeling.

Some of the words keep coming back.

Let your gentleness be known to everyone.

This is what I referred to yesterday in proclaiming the Gospel by deed and word. I'm not not NOT one for in-your-face pushy evangelism. Partly that's because I have such an uneasy relationship with scripture myself. Partly that's because I don't think it's necessary.

I do think it's possible to make the Gospel known by our words, without going all Bible-quoting at people. If I had to distill my understanding of the Gospel I'd whittle it down to "God loves everyone." And I think making that known through our words means speaking with love and care, even when we have to address hard truths. I have in mind a friend who I think manages to do this better than most, so that I think she must have spent quite some time learning it. It seems to me that she is always ready to point out something good in a situation, always looking for that which can be encouraged and expanded upon. She does not make pointless platitudes; she does not shy away from difficult questions for herself or others and yet she never seems to be attacking. I don't know if this is because of her commitment to truth or her commitment to kindness but I admire it greatly.

Making the Gospel known by our deeds, I'm sure I've discussed before, but I'll have another crack at it. If the Really Short Version is "God loves everyone" then the way to make that known is to treat people with love.

That is a very tall order. It is a very serious invitation.

I have to stop and sleep soon. But it seems to me that to treat people with love is a whole lot easier if you actually feel love for them. And how do you learn to feel love for people you might dislike, might feel threatened by?

I fail at this every day. But when I do manage it, it's because I remember that God created everything, and start looking for what is good r Godly in a person. I might only get as far as 'this is a human being created by God and so deserves my respect and care'. I might not get as far as that.

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.

That does seem to help. Apparently the "think about" is translation from Greek which could also be "take account of". Take account of what is true, honourable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, praiseworthy. Count your blessings, in other words.

Not bad advice.

I like that St Paul in his letters addresses people as "beloved" (or this translation uses that term). I love sitting in church and being addressed as "beloved" -- once or twice it has been a very stark reminder that I needed to hear. I discovered, today, that I also love reading that, speaking aloud to everyone there and realising that I am reading to people I love, on some level. Leafy Suburb Church is maybe a very easy place for that to happen because I do care very much for some of the people there, but it felt bigger than that. In English culture we don't like to use these terms of endearment, of familiarity, or admit that we might love anyone. There's this stiff upper lip to maintain, you know. But within the liturgy it is sort of okay... I like that.

I am wittering. It is time to sleep.

Goodnight, beloved.

Weekend post

It's been a busy week for me with academic work: a few more months of busy weeks like this and then I'll be finished the degree, God willing.

That doesn't stop me pondering and searching, though.

Margaret writes of Fear being the first sin. I think she may be right, and said as much in a comment there; I also mentioned something I'm starting to believe more strongly than I once did, that love is stronger than fear. Since then I've been thinking that a lot of scripture tells us to fear God, and a lot of scripture tells us not to be afraid, and I tend to interpret these two things very differently. It would be good to look into the context and translation in more depth at some point.

The Exegesis Fairy posted about Agenda and the Great Commission. I think what she was saying is similar to the sermon I heard on Sunday night. Another reader has a different interpretation of scripture and so I waded in... as much to understand my own beliefs as to understand his. Result? I'm still confused, but I'm slightly more clear what it is that I'm confused about. Some of the discussion there is the good old knotty tangle of scripture and truth and interpretation, which is not too bad if you decide the Bible is a source of inspiration and narrative truth but gets to be problematic very fast if you start trying to say that some bits are factual or literally directive--how do you tell which bits? And if it's all factual then we've got some serious problems. Some of the discussion is more a discussion of salvation. It won't surprise most of you who've read my posts so far that I'm not very comfortable with the idea of God's unconditional, unlimited love resulting in a quite narrow, restrictive and conditional salvation. I have a suspicion that humans made this part up. (The Exegesis Fairy is not online as much as usual at the moment, so it might be sensible to comment here rather than there.)

I also liked A Sermon for the Future, particularly this bit: So what is it to say Christ is Risen? It is to say that one can and will live within a renewed vision of hope, that the world can be ethically remade, that we will serve one another and seek the common good... I too have difficulty with scientifically implausible concepts like physical resurrection. Understanding some of the anthropological, humanist aspects of this story makes me feel more comfortable with it, to relate to it differently. Not, I think, comfortable enough to say the Apostle's Creed or receive the Eucharist, but I think I have a better understanding of why others do.

Today in a discount bookshop I spied a single copy of Work and Prayer, compiled by Chris Keating. I bought it. I think I will continue to use Morning Prayer (Common Worship) from the C of E website as the anchor to my morning, but I like the idea of having a short liturgy I can use at other times of day. It isn't that there is anything wrong with my rather more spontaneous, unstructured prayers, but borrowing words seems to be useful and meaningful. I do like that the morning and evening prayers have hymns in them in this book but alas, no notes, though I guess with only seven weekdays I can find the hymns and memorize them, easily enough.

I'm not entirely sure why I'm feeling drawn to more structured prayer in my life recently. It may be that I'm trying to find some ballast to balance the chaos of my academic and work commitments (I have a different schedule every weekday, and no two weeks are the same). It may be part of a more general yearning for a feeling of closeness to God. I'm trying not to worry about it too much, and just see where the journey takes me. But I do have some idea where I might be going.

I think I may eventually end up regularly attending Morning Prayer at a church (probably after my degree is done, for practical timing reasons if nothing else). This will be a bit strange as I normally sing the psalms, to whatever tune comes out; I may eventually get a psalter to use, but for now I see nothing wrong with improvisation. But I think most parish churches probably have spoken Morning Prayer.

I can also see myself compiling bits of liturgical material and ending up with a sort of prayer book of my own. I'd like to get the Summary of Law in there, and the prayer of St Francis. I prefer hymnody when I have the musical dots to look at, and I might like some sort of short list of prayers for various occasions, a bit like the Jewish bracha books with all the blessings in them. The big difficulty with that plan is a lack of portability; my work teaching and performing means I am out and about quite a lot, and while I can usually pray first thing in the morning at home, other times of day are not so easy. It may take me a while to settle on which material to include, and temporary bindings (ring binders and the like) tend to be bulky. So for now I'll be keeping things simple, using books other people have written or compiled.

What would you include in your own personal prayer book? What prayers do you have memorised?