I was sitting alone, in the dark. In front of me I could see nothing, save for my breath misting out before my eyes in the cold air. There was an emptiness about this place, a feeling I couldn't shake. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be in the dark.
I sat for some minutes. Too afraid to stand, too afraid to move. And after a while, there was a voice. At first I wondered if it had been my imagination, for it was so low I could barely hear it. But as the seconds wore on, the voice steadily grew louder, or at least, I found myself more able to hear it. At first I was unable to make out the words, but could hear there was a sweetness to it, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It was velvety, luxurious, golden. As it got clearer I could make out the words. "Follow me" it said. "Follow me and I will switch the light on for you. Follow me and I will switch the light on and you will know all things. Follow me and I will show you the truth. All you need to do is follow"
As I was about to stand I heard another sound, a different voice becoming clear in the oppressive silence. This was different from the last; hard and coarse and strong like an un-plained piece of wood. It was saying something different. "I'm not asking you to follow me," it said "and I can't provide a light for you to see. But I can promise to always hold your hand and walk through the darkness with you."
So there I was, faced with two choices. To follow in the light, or to be accompanied in the dark. Slowly, I held out my hand. Just as I was wondering if I should say something (for how would the voices know which I'd chosen?), a rough hand grasped mine. Its skin was hard, like that of a workman, and yet I found it strangely comforting. We walked together for some time, chattering often at first, but then after a while we walked in silence more and more. As I stumbled and felt my way through the darkness, hand in hand with this... stranger, I wondered if I'd made the right decision. I asked the voice regularly why it wouldn't switch the light on. "The other voice offered me light... why did I choose this darkness?" I would ask.
More and more, as the days went on, I argued with the voice, resenting it for keeping me in the dark, asking what truth it was keeping from me that the other voice had offered.
Finally one day I snapped. Unable to take the overbearing darkness any more, I stopped, and demanded to know why it was necessary to walk in the dark, what truth it was that was being kept from me.
The voice was quiet for a moment. I held my breath, and realised how terrified I was that the voice would leave me. "You wish for me to tell you the truth?" the voice asked me. "I have walked with you hand in hand in the darkness all this time because the truth is, my friend, the light is already on."
Friday, 23 December 2011
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
Theology and The Church
This time last week I was in Edinburgh, at a conference put on by the SST. The theme of the conference was Theology and the Church, and it was excellently run, with some extremely high quality papers given.
The question of the place of theology in the church is one that has been asked over and over again, and one that particularly interests me since making the (not so easy) transition from studying for a degree at Oxford, to being a full time baptist minister "oop north".
It struck me, when I first arrived here, as sort of odd that there were so many people in ministry who seemed to think my academic pursuits would get in the way of my ministry. There isn't a lot of room for theology in church ministry, I was told. Over the past few years I have heard that sentiment repeated over and over again.
I trained for ministry at Regent's Park, Oxford, which in my opinion is, of course, the only place to train (I kid). But one of the massive privileges of training at Regent's is the exposure to a real Oxford education. I did my degree alongside other Oxford students, went to lectures with other Oxford theologians, took tutorials with Oxford tutors. Perhaps my zeal for Old Testament is even, in part, due to the fact I was tutored for Old Testament at Christ Church college. I adored my time there, and though I arrived feeling as though I'd be out of my depth for three years, I slowly learned to swim, and by the time I left I had grown to love academia and the pursuit of theology.
And yet for me, I felt that there were two clearly different sides to my life at Regent's: the degree, and the ministerial training, and it was during the latter that I discovered the church's distaste for theology. I was told, on many occasions that my 'choice' to be a college based student studying for a degree, rather than a church based student getting practical experience was a barrier to really being formed as a minister, as "theology is all well and good, but what has it got to do with running a church".
This is an interesting question, and one that I have been reflecting on a lot since becoming a minister, and attempting to run a church. In the past few weeks I've been told several times to stop blogging. My theology, it seems, is getting in the way of my job. What an interesting place to be in. I wonder if the state of the church, both in general, and specifically here in the valley, has been affected by the divorce that has occurred between church and theology. If ministers aren't 'doing theology' I wonder what it is they are doing? More importantly, I wonder why they're doing it.
While I was at college a fellow student expressed concern for me, that understanding salvation was all very well and good, but how was I going to get through leading my first funeral if I was only equipped with words from books. Since being here on this estate I've been asked outright how I feel my interest in theology is going to reach these people, who I've been told have no concept of or interest in theology.
Well I guess that depends on what your definition of theology, doesn't it? Because when I led my first funeral, understanding my own position on salvation was extremely helpful. When speaking to a church member who was dealing the suicide of a family member, I'd say theology was pretty helpful. When engaging with people who live on the estate (which I live on) who 'know nothing of theology', I've found that not patronising them when it comes to matters of God, Religion, and Prayer has made our conversations as engaging for me as I hope it has for them. In setting up new ventures, such as the tea room I have opened, I've discovered that thinking through what it means to be church by reading the thoughts of people such as John Colwell (Living the Christian Story) and working out what it means to be hospitable through writers such as Letty Russell (Just Hospitality: God’s welcome in a world of difference) are an imperative part of the process. Unless I know why I have this feeling in my gut that it is important for me to do this that and the other, unless I understand why I believe what I believe, whatever it I embark on is going to be messy, and a little pointless.
Perhaps my ministerial formation wasn't as rounded as my colleagues who were placed in churches, but I get the feeling that it was much more useful than they give credit for. My 'theology' is what equips me to make decisions, it's what equips me to relate to people, it's what equips me to do everything I do here, and reflect on it before and after.
The conference in Edinburgh was a great start to a conversation that needs to continue between theology and the church. I can't shake the feeling that there is a gap between the two that needs to be closed. Newsflash. Ministers are in the business of the theology. Stop running away from it guys, and we might actually accomplish something that doesn't look to the outside world hypocritical, rushed, or simply pointless.
The question of the place of theology in the church is one that has been asked over and over again, and one that particularly interests me since making the (not so easy) transition from studying for a degree at Oxford, to being a full time baptist minister "oop north".
It struck me, when I first arrived here, as sort of odd that there were so many people in ministry who seemed to think my academic pursuits would get in the way of my ministry. There isn't a lot of room for theology in church ministry, I was told. Over the past few years I have heard that sentiment repeated over and over again.
I trained for ministry at Regent's Park, Oxford, which in my opinion is, of course, the only place to train (I kid). But one of the massive privileges of training at Regent's is the exposure to a real Oxford education. I did my degree alongside other Oxford students, went to lectures with other Oxford theologians, took tutorials with Oxford tutors. Perhaps my zeal for Old Testament is even, in part, due to the fact I was tutored for Old Testament at Christ Church college. I adored my time there, and though I arrived feeling as though I'd be out of my depth for three years, I slowly learned to swim, and by the time I left I had grown to love academia and the pursuit of theology.
And yet for me, I felt that there were two clearly different sides to my life at Regent's: the degree, and the ministerial training, and it was during the latter that I discovered the church's distaste for theology. I was told, on many occasions that my 'choice' to be a college based student studying for a degree, rather than a church based student getting practical experience was a barrier to really being formed as a minister, as "theology is all well and good, but what has it got to do with running a church".
This is an interesting question, and one that I have been reflecting on a lot since becoming a minister, and attempting to run a church. In the past few weeks I've been told several times to stop blogging. My theology, it seems, is getting in the way of my job. What an interesting place to be in. I wonder if the state of the church, both in general, and specifically here in the valley, has been affected by the divorce that has occurred between church and theology. If ministers aren't 'doing theology' I wonder what it is they are doing? More importantly, I wonder why they're doing it.
While I was at college a fellow student expressed concern for me, that understanding salvation was all very well and good, but how was I going to get through leading my first funeral if I was only equipped with words from books. Since being here on this estate I've been asked outright how I feel my interest in theology is going to reach these people, who I've been told have no concept of or interest in theology.
Well I guess that depends on what your definition of theology, doesn't it? Because when I led my first funeral, understanding my own position on salvation was extremely helpful. When speaking to a church member who was dealing the suicide of a family member, I'd say theology was pretty helpful. When engaging with people who live on the estate (which I live on) who 'know nothing of theology', I've found that not patronising them when it comes to matters of God, Religion, and Prayer has made our conversations as engaging for me as I hope it has for them. In setting up new ventures, such as the tea room I have opened, I've discovered that thinking through what it means to be church by reading the thoughts of people such as John Colwell (Living the Christian Story) and working out what it means to be hospitable through writers such as Letty Russell (Just Hospitality: God’s welcome in a world of difference) are an imperative part of the process. Unless I know why I have this feeling in my gut that it is important for me to do this that and the other, unless I understand why I believe what I believe, whatever it I embark on is going to be messy, and a little pointless.
Perhaps my ministerial formation wasn't as rounded as my colleagues who were placed in churches, but I get the feeling that it was much more useful than they give credit for. My 'theology' is what equips me to make decisions, it's what equips me to relate to people, it's what equips me to do everything I do here, and reflect on it before and after.
The conference in Edinburgh was a great start to a conversation that needs to continue between theology and the church. I can't shake the feeling that there is a gap between the two that needs to be closed. Newsflash. Ministers are in the business of the theology. Stop running away from it guys, and we might actually accomplish something that doesn't look to the outside world hypocritical, rushed, or simply pointless.
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
Tolerance and Transformation
‘With the backing of their openly lesbian pastor, a Baptist church in Raleigh, North Carolina has voted to prohibit her from signing marriage certificates until gay couples can marry too.
The congregants said in a formal statement that current North Carolina law - and the language proposed for a vote next year on an amendment to the state Constitution - discriminates against same-sex couples "by denying them the rights and privileges enjoyed by heterosexual married couples." "As people of faith, affirming the Christian teaching that before God all people are equal, we will no longer participate in this discrimination," the church's statement says. The vote was unanimous and brought tears to the eyes of some of the 100 or so members who stood to vote in favor [sic] of the “statement on marriage ceremonies.”’
A short post. Less than a couple of hundred words. And yet today this short paragraph pulled me out of the darkness of depression and reminded me why I answered this call to ministry in the first place. It was never about carpets or curtains or the picture that's been in June's loft for the past decade. It was because I had a vision, a vision that the church needn't be a place where discrimination is openly fostered and exclusion is the norm. I followed a call to a vocation that I knew I would love and hate, and would want to affect with every fibre of my being. I knew that the church had the potential to be a place of openness, tolerance, love, grace… but I forgot. I forgot that the church had the ability to be anything other than cruel, egotistical, poisonous, and malicious.
But today, I read this article and remembered what I’d dreamed, what I had so desperately wanted to work towards. A community of people who are driven, inspired by Christ to stand up and be counted, speak out against injustice and inequality, whatever it looks like. A community of people who are not divided by petty differences, but instead united before a common cause. What this church has done is a beautiful thing, a thing that would bring a tear to the eye of him in whose name they have done it. I daresay over the coming weeks and months they’ll be in for a hard time from many who call themselves “Christian brothers and sisters” (but are clearly more interested in pointing out the specks in other people’s eyes than trimming back the forest in their own), and I hope they will be strengthened every time they open the bible and see in those pages the same kind of radical action for justice that they have displayed.
So this is me, laying my cards on the table. I completely agree with them. That homosexual couples are not afforded the same rights, securities and privileges as heterosexual couples is completely absurd, and we have no excuse, no defence for our discrimination. It is time to change. And I won’t sit by aimless while nothing is being done. I am an instrument of change. Get used to it.
The congregants said in a formal statement that current North Carolina law - and the language proposed for a vote next year on an amendment to the state Constitution - discriminates against same-sex couples "by denying them the rights and privileges enjoyed by heterosexual married couples." "As people of faith, affirming the Christian teaching that before God all people are equal, we will no longer participate in this discrimination," the church's statement says. The vote was unanimous and brought tears to the eyes of some of the 100 or so members who stood to vote in favor [sic] of the “statement on marriage ceremonies.”’
A short post. Less than a couple of hundred words. And yet today this short paragraph pulled me out of the darkness of depression and reminded me why I answered this call to ministry in the first place. It was never about carpets or curtains or the picture that's been in June's loft for the past decade. It was because I had a vision, a vision that the church needn't be a place where discrimination is openly fostered and exclusion is the norm. I followed a call to a vocation that I knew I would love and hate, and would want to affect with every fibre of my being. I knew that the church had the potential to be a place of openness, tolerance, love, grace… but I forgot. I forgot that the church had the ability to be anything other than cruel, egotistical, poisonous, and malicious.
But today, I read this article and remembered what I’d dreamed, what I had so desperately wanted to work towards. A community of people who are driven, inspired by Christ to stand up and be counted, speak out against injustice and inequality, whatever it looks like. A community of people who are not divided by petty differences, but instead united before a common cause. What this church has done is a beautiful thing, a thing that would bring a tear to the eye of him in whose name they have done it. I daresay over the coming weeks and months they’ll be in for a hard time from many who call themselves “Christian brothers and sisters” (but are clearly more interested in pointing out the specks in other people’s eyes than trimming back the forest in their own), and I hope they will be strengthened every time they open the bible and see in those pages the same kind of radical action for justice that they have displayed.
So this is me, laying my cards on the table. I completely agree with them. That homosexual couples are not afforded the same rights, securities and privileges as heterosexual couples is completely absurd, and we have no excuse, no defence for our discrimination. It is time to change. And I won’t sit by aimless while nothing is being done. I am an instrument of change. Get used to it.
Thursday, 10 November 2011
Blazing Effigies
For those who were interested in my Halloween and Hypocrisy post, there was an interesting article in the Baptist Times this week that caught my eye. I was very interested to discover that the church in the valley who were most worried about my halloween party 'encouraging evil and dark spirits' held a Guy Fawkes making competition. The child who made the best guy would get to burn it on the bonfire. I couldn't help but chuckle. Anyway, for those who are interested, I've copied the article below.
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
American Antics
So I know it's been a while since I last blogged, but I have a very good reason this time. I took my very first trip to the states a couple of weeks ago to spend some time with the people I love out in Georgia. It was magical. In fact I very nearly didn't get on the plane to come back. The food was great, the weather was great, the company was great, the entertainment was great. I loved Atlanta, I loved Peachtree City, I loved Dahlonega, I loved Columbus and I loved Butler. And I loved all the people I spent time with in those places. But there was something stopping me. Something that just made it impossible to drop everything and move myself over there forever (other than my husband, of course). I spent just under two weeks in Georgia, which meant I was there for a Sunday. And so I went to church. Well if any of you were ever wondering what church in middle class suburbia, GA is like, here's a video of what I experienced.
I was left somewhat speechless. You see while I was at college we all sat around watching these youtube videos about starbucks church, and worship stars, and laughed at them. But here I was. I walked up and got my coffee and doughnut holes (something I didn't know existed), and was then welcomed and ushered to my seat in the balcony where what was displayed in the video above was executed with precision. The sermon was about the importance of saving our money. An interesting topic, considering Jesus' words about not storing up treasure on earth, and selling all we have to give to the poor. But that's for another day.
What interested me was the impact this style of worship had on the people in the congregation. The feeling was strangely familiar, despite the fact I've always attended small churches with little musical abilities. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at first, but quickly began to realise that this was very similar to every big concert I've seen at the NEC, or the NIA. It was a great performance, a show. People could choose to sing or not, and it would have no affect on the overall effect. Which seemed odd to me, really. I couldn't help but feel like this betrayed the point of worship. I began to wonder why it was necessary to have the bright lights, the staging, the musical trills by the worship leaders. More and more I was reminded of the X Factor. When did worship become a showcase of talent? I understand the need to ensure that we give our best to God, but this didn't feel like that. It felt pre packaged. It felt like there were a lot of egos involved. It felt like an awful lot of money was being spent on stuff that didn't matter.
I dunno. I have no answers. Something about this kind of worship was doing something for these people. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it was the wrong things that were drawing people in. I couldn't shake the feeling that Jesus wouldn't be as impressed with what was going on in that building as some of those people thought he would.
I was left somewhat speechless. You see while I was at college we all sat around watching these youtube videos about starbucks church, and worship stars, and laughed at them. But here I was. I walked up and got my coffee and doughnut holes (something I didn't know existed), and was then welcomed and ushered to my seat in the balcony where what was displayed in the video above was executed with precision. The sermon was about the importance of saving our money. An interesting topic, considering Jesus' words about not storing up treasure on earth, and selling all we have to give to the poor. But that's for another day.
What interested me was the impact this style of worship had on the people in the congregation. The feeling was strangely familiar, despite the fact I've always attended small churches with little musical abilities. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at first, but quickly began to realise that this was very similar to every big concert I've seen at the NEC, or the NIA. It was a great performance, a show. People could choose to sing or not, and it would have no affect on the overall effect. Which seemed odd to me, really. I couldn't help but feel like this betrayed the point of worship. I began to wonder why it was necessary to have the bright lights, the staging, the musical trills by the worship leaders. More and more I was reminded of the X Factor. When did worship become a showcase of talent? I understand the need to ensure that we give our best to God, but this didn't feel like that. It felt pre packaged. It felt like there were a lot of egos involved. It felt like an awful lot of money was being spent on stuff that didn't matter.
I dunno. I have no answers. Something about this kind of worship was doing something for these people. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it was the wrong things that were drawing people in. I couldn't shake the feeling that Jesus wouldn't be as impressed with what was going on in that building as some of those people thought he would.
Friday, 14 October 2011
Halloween and Hypocrisy
So I'm having a halloween party. At church. For the kids who come to our children's group.
I know, I know, I'm evil right? Playing with dark forces, encouraging 'the dark side', being unholy or whatever. Trust me, I've heard it all this week. It's amazing how easy people find it to comment before hearing a single thing about it. What I've planned is a Christian event, and there's no arguing with the content - we'll be talking about bible stories; Adam and Eve with apple bobbing, Ezekiel 37 with skeleton games, Lazarus with mummy challenges, the armour of God, with halloween costumes and of course Jesus light of the world whilst carving pumpkins. There's no arguing that this is an overtly Christian event. But it seems none of the other ministers in the valley are interested in that. You see, it's the name that's evil, the connotations it has that are going to lead people astray.
But you see, I'm confused. And once again I find myself wondering if it's because I wasn't brought up in the church, but I just don't understand the logic behind burying our heads in the sand and trying to pretend that Halloween just doesn't exist. Is the hope that, if we never mention it to the kids who we're involved with, they'll just ignore it too? Or are we hoping that if we keep telling them not to do it, they just won't, despite the fact their friends are, their schools are, and in lots of cases their parents are encouraging them to? Well if that's our hope, then more fool us.
I've been told a lot over the past fortnight, that I'm not biblical, the having a party like this is directly going against God' word. And yet I look through my bible and what jumps out at me are all these stories about the people of God using culture and mythology to talk about who God is, stories about Jesus meeting people where they are, speaking to them in their language, using metaphors and images they understand.
By embracing halloween, explaining it's origins in All Hallows Eve, and allowing children to participate in this festival whilst injecting a Christian message into it, aren't we being more proactive against all this 'evil' stuff (unconvinced that the world is quite as dualist as my evangelical brothers and sisters in the valley tend to make out, but still) than ignoring it? Isn't this, too, meeting people where they're at, using culture and mythology to talk about who God is?
I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy, but I get the feeling that kids are going to hear about halloween one way or the other (unless we ban them from school, supermarkets, friends houses and tv for the next two weeks), and I'd rather address it at church and have another holiday in the Christian calendar, than do nothing and then condemn people when they get involved in it.
Seriously - how many of us will have decorated trees up both in our homes and in our churches this Christmas and not bat an eyelid at the pagan connotations? How many of us will buy Easter eggs and make shredded wheat nests with our kids at Easter and not for a second consider anything untoward? You know, Jesus spent a lot of his earthly ministry calling the religious leaders of the time hypocrites. Nuff Said.
I know, I know, I'm evil right? Playing with dark forces, encouraging 'the dark side', being unholy or whatever. Trust me, I've heard it all this week. It's amazing how easy people find it to comment before hearing a single thing about it. What I've planned is a Christian event, and there's no arguing with the content - we'll be talking about bible stories; Adam and Eve with apple bobbing, Ezekiel 37 with skeleton games, Lazarus with mummy challenges, the armour of God, with halloween costumes and of course Jesus light of the world whilst carving pumpkins. There's no arguing that this is an overtly Christian event. But it seems none of the other ministers in the valley are interested in that. You see, it's the name that's evil, the connotations it has that are going to lead people astray.
But you see, I'm confused. And once again I find myself wondering if it's because I wasn't brought up in the church, but I just don't understand the logic behind burying our heads in the sand and trying to pretend that Halloween just doesn't exist. Is the hope that, if we never mention it to the kids who we're involved with, they'll just ignore it too? Or are we hoping that if we keep telling them not to do it, they just won't, despite the fact their friends are, their schools are, and in lots of cases their parents are encouraging them to? Well if that's our hope, then more fool us.
I've been told a lot over the past fortnight, that I'm not biblical, the having a party like this is directly going against God' word. And yet I look through my bible and what jumps out at me are all these stories about the people of God using culture and mythology to talk about who God is, stories about Jesus meeting people where they are, speaking to them in their language, using metaphors and images they understand.
By embracing halloween, explaining it's origins in All Hallows Eve, and allowing children to participate in this festival whilst injecting a Christian message into it, aren't we being more proactive against all this 'evil' stuff (unconvinced that the world is quite as dualist as my evangelical brothers and sisters in the valley tend to make out, but still) than ignoring it? Isn't this, too, meeting people where they're at, using culture and mythology to talk about who God is?
I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy, but I get the feeling that kids are going to hear about halloween one way or the other (unless we ban them from school, supermarkets, friends houses and tv for the next two weeks), and I'd rather address it at church and have another holiday in the Christian calendar, than do nothing and then condemn people when they get involved in it.
Seriously - how many of us will have decorated trees up both in our homes and in our churches this Christmas and not bat an eyelid at the pagan connotations? How many of us will buy Easter eggs and make shredded wheat nests with our kids at Easter and not for a second consider anything untoward? You know, Jesus spent a lot of his earthly ministry calling the religious leaders of the time hypocrites. Nuff Said.
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Faith foundations and dedicated dialogue
Something strange happened today. I went to a meeting. Okay, that's not particularly strange at all, since my life seems to be made up completely of meetings and making the most of the time in between. What was strange, however, was that I went to the meeting as a brand new member, having never met the majority of the people involved, and left as the chair of the group.
I'm somewhat unsure how it happened. I was asked last week by a fellow minister if I'd like to come along to meeting of the interfaith partnership in Rossendale (RFP). I was encouraged to hear that such a thing existed, and so jumped at the chance to meet some of the members of the large Muslim community here.
So off I went this evening, expecting... well, I don't know what I was expecting really. Whatever my expectations were, I found myself surprised when I arrived. It was a small room, but then as there were only 6 of us, it didn't matter a whole lot. There was 1 member of the local Muslim community present, the chair(a Methodist), the vice-chair (an Anglican), an Anglican minister, a member of the local community partnership trust who was there for support, and myself. The meeting began by the chairwoman announcing her resignation. The meeting had an air of tiredness, which was freely admitted by the members. In the busy lives of those in church leadership, they explained, interfaith work very often falls to the bottom of the list of priorities, and when it is done, it is done with the last modicum of energy that they can muster.
We moved on to discuss the annual interfaith walk, an event where each year between 50-100 people come together in dialogue, walk around the valley and end with a celebration of food and fun. As we discussed this, the group started talking about other events that had gone on in the past, the tireless micro-level relationships that had been nurtured, visits to one another's places of worship, meals together, conversations, youth work, and so much more. During that discussion there were real glimpses of glory, moments when I could see all its potential and all of the hard work that had gone into it.
So when the chairwoman explained that she was resigning due to her lack of energy, and that she felt the group needed an injection of enthusiasm that it wasn't likely to get, and that we would probably have to come to terms with this being the end for the partnership, I wasn't quite able to let it go.
So here I am. Fresh blood? Perhaps. New energy? I hope so. I'm not sure if I'm up to the task, I'm not sure that I have all the right ideas, I'm not sure that I know what I'm talking about at all, but I know that I am dedicated to inter faith dialogue, and I'm dedicated to seeing the interfaith partnership in Rossendale fulfil it's potential. Because it is an imperative part of our life of faith.
Dialogue provides access to windows of understanding of how others define themselves and challenges us to grow in our own faith through the experience of the other. It necessitates a shift in paradigm, asking us to embrace those we have previously excluded or demonized. There are many different ways in which we exclude or marginalize others in different ways, ranging from assimilation, abandonment, indifference, and domination of the other. And our exclusion is also conjoined with the distortion of rather than simply ignorance of the other. As Miroslav Volf states, "it is a willful misconstruction, not mere failure of knowledge."
Exclusion often entails cutting the bonds of humanity that connect us as moral human beings and can generate a wide range of emotional responses, from hatred to indifference, and even the cursing of or killing of the other. The other emerges as an inferior being that either must be assimilated by being made like the self or subjugated to the self.
Dialogue is the first step toward accommodating or making space within oneself for the other. The challenge for both Muslims and Christians when they converse is to seek opportunities for interpretations that can make a community see the enemy in a new way. It is essential that we move away from defining ourselves over and above an enemy "other". This seems to me to be the only way of establishing authentic, peaceful relationships. In this sense, I believe we need to go beyond tolerating or understanding the other. More than ever, there is a need to embrace the other. This suggests a different function of dialogue, one that can bring the hearts, rather than just the minds, of people together. For us at the RFP, that means more than 6 of us sitting around a table and talking. It means moving out of our comfort zones and attempting to make room in ourselves for the other. This is a difficult journey for us to go on. Good foundations have been laid, but now we have to build on these foundations in order to demonstrate to our communities that dialogue between religions is a positive thing; it does not only entail relating the intensity or depth of our own faith but also witnessing and growing in it while understanding and respecting the faith of the other.
Standby. I expect there will be much more on Interfaith dialogue to come...
I'm somewhat unsure how it happened. I was asked last week by a fellow minister if I'd like to come along to meeting of the interfaith partnership in Rossendale (RFP). I was encouraged to hear that such a thing existed, and so jumped at the chance to meet some of the members of the large Muslim community here.
So off I went this evening, expecting... well, I don't know what I was expecting really. Whatever my expectations were, I found myself surprised when I arrived. It was a small room, but then as there were only 6 of us, it didn't matter a whole lot. There was 1 member of the local Muslim community present, the chair(a Methodist), the vice-chair (an Anglican), an Anglican minister, a member of the local community partnership trust who was there for support, and myself. The meeting began by the chairwoman announcing her resignation. The meeting had an air of tiredness, which was freely admitted by the members. In the busy lives of those in church leadership, they explained, interfaith work very often falls to the bottom of the list of priorities, and when it is done, it is done with the last modicum of energy that they can muster.
We moved on to discuss the annual interfaith walk, an event where each year between 50-100 people come together in dialogue, walk around the valley and end with a celebration of food and fun. As we discussed this, the group started talking about other events that had gone on in the past, the tireless micro-level relationships that had been nurtured, visits to one another's places of worship, meals together, conversations, youth work, and so much more. During that discussion there were real glimpses of glory, moments when I could see all its potential and all of the hard work that had gone into it.
So when the chairwoman explained that she was resigning due to her lack of energy, and that she felt the group needed an injection of enthusiasm that it wasn't likely to get, and that we would probably have to come to terms with this being the end for the partnership, I wasn't quite able to let it go.
So here I am. Fresh blood? Perhaps. New energy? I hope so. I'm not sure if I'm up to the task, I'm not sure that I have all the right ideas, I'm not sure that I know what I'm talking about at all, but I know that I am dedicated to inter faith dialogue, and I'm dedicated to seeing the interfaith partnership in Rossendale fulfil it's potential. Because it is an imperative part of our life of faith.
Dialogue provides access to windows of understanding of how others define themselves and challenges us to grow in our own faith through the experience of the other. It necessitates a shift in paradigm, asking us to embrace those we have previously excluded or demonized. There are many different ways in which we exclude or marginalize others in different ways, ranging from assimilation, abandonment, indifference, and domination of the other. And our exclusion is also conjoined with the distortion of rather than simply ignorance of the other. As Miroslav Volf states, "it is a willful misconstruction, not mere failure of knowledge."
Exclusion often entails cutting the bonds of humanity that connect us as moral human beings and can generate a wide range of emotional responses, from hatred to indifference, and even the cursing of or killing of the other. The other emerges as an inferior being that either must be assimilated by being made like the self or subjugated to the self.
Dialogue is the first step toward accommodating or making space within oneself for the other. The challenge for both Muslims and Christians when they converse is to seek opportunities for interpretations that can make a community see the enemy in a new way. It is essential that we move away from defining ourselves over and above an enemy "other". This seems to me to be the only way of establishing authentic, peaceful relationships. In this sense, I believe we need to go beyond tolerating or understanding the other. More than ever, there is a need to embrace the other. This suggests a different function of dialogue, one that can bring the hearts, rather than just the minds, of people together. For us at the RFP, that means more than 6 of us sitting around a table and talking. It means moving out of our comfort zones and attempting to make room in ourselves for the other. This is a difficult journey for us to go on. Good foundations have been laid, but now we have to build on these foundations in order to demonstrate to our communities that dialogue between religions is a positive thing; it does not only entail relating the intensity or depth of our own faith but also witnessing and growing in it while understanding and respecting the faith of the other.
Standby. I expect there will be much more on Interfaith dialogue to come...
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