Andrew Boyle Season of Creation 4 27 September 2009
James 4. 13-5.12 Mark 9. 38-50
I want to start by reading a piece of a reflection from Adrian Pyle’s blog. Blog? An internet sort of public reflection journal where others are invited to
join the conversation. Adrian is the director of the Synod’s Mission Participation and Resource Unit.
I find myself in "church meetings" from time to time. There are frustrations associated with most institutional meetings but I couldn't put
my finger on a particular frustration I had with church meetings.
Then someone who never attends such meetings found themselves in one. And I had to ask - at the conclusion - what they thought of it.
They told me they detected a significant feeling of self-congratulation. By this they meant, even amongst the quite open-minded group that
were present, there was a pervading sense that the church "had spirituality under control" or was "the peak body for spirituality."
Suddenly a light went on for me. That's the frustration I often feel. A mild sense - (well, often more than mild) - of a stifling self-sufficiency
and a separation from the world.
I happened upon Adrian’s blog during the week and it shed some light for me on the contrast between these two phases:
Whoever is not with us is against us. GWB
Whoever is not against us is for us. JC
The difference between these two statements is subtle but there is actually a world of difference between them in how we engage with and treat others.
Depending on which one we might assent to will influence how we do this. In the church we tell ourselves in a variety of ways that we have something
to offer others – something that they cannot do without as Tom Bandy puts it. It’s the whole belief that most evangelism is based upon; it’s often the
position from which the church engages in mission.
I have recently found myself in a poetry sharing group. I have some ambivalence about being in this group. Not quite sure what my ambivalence is about
at this stage but each time we meet for sharing a meal and some poems I find myself inspired and touched by a profound experience of plumbing the
depths of our human existence and common concern. At each meeting we find that the pieces we each independently bring nudge around the same
theme and in the feelings we share each of us is encouraged and affirmed in our engagement with life and in the search for meaning going on within us.
We each share thoughts and give each other the freedom to wonder. As we share, though, I am aware of a tendency in myself to want to pronounce;
to have an answer; to say something conclusive; but I know that in the presence of these people, who are committed to a searching after truth, that any
such approach would be an abuse of our trust and I would assert myself as no more than a clanging gong. It would do violence to the spirit present
amongst us.
I know what these people gather for and I feel a great sense of unity and heartfelt affection for them as we explore together. And it’s a great relief to
me tojust enjoy the ride rather than having to be up front and to say something of gravitas or be expected to have the answer for some difficult
predicament
someone might be in. But I am aware of this lurking sense of self-congratulation within me ready to break out at a moment’s notice.
As I have searched my intentions in this poetry group I have had cause to reflect on how I interact in other situations where cooperation is required or
possible and who I think I am as I engage with others. Is humility at the heart of my engagement with others or some sort of smug superiority; maybe
unconscious but nevertheless present.
On the morning after the great winning and losing spectacle it’s not difficult to see how good it is to imagine oneself on the side of the winners. Much
of the language of the church has been about being on the ultimate winning side – allowing a smugness and complacency to infiltrate our language and
our sense of identity. But as we engage with people who may not be part of the church our superiority easily becomes transparent for what it is
– pride, a lack of humility, a sense of self-congratulation. And this causes us to not meet others where they truly are.
Life in the church has been shaped from the very beginning by a profound sense of separation from much that exists. The words of our scriptures,
both Hebrew and Christian, persistently reinforce a sense of division between the faithful and the rest. The Hebrew scriptures in many ways express
a sense of the Jews being the chosen people; this is not always the case as there are passages which do seek a sense of the universality of God’s
concern for all people, but there is in the main an underlying sense of separation from the surrounding nations.
And the Christian scriptures also reinforce a sense of separation of Jesus’ followers from most others; you and the world is a very common perspective.
The gospels were each written in the face of some serious conflict which caused the writers to couch their language in us-and-them tones.
This is possibly most extreme in John where the followers of the Way in John’s community were being expelled from the synagogues; so they needed
to reinforce their identity over-against the leadership of the synagogues. “The Jews”, as John persistently refers to Jesus’ opponents through his
gospel, come off very badly. In many ways it is an ideological tract.
In light of these perspectives it’s understandable that the church, as we have used the gospels to shape our identity, has separated itself from the rest
of society in various ways over time. And the result of this has been a view that if we are going to cooperate with and trust anyone then they need to
be on our side; in our camp. We have had an isolationist policy. Fortunately this is breaking down in some parts of the church - although in others it
seems to be as strong as ever. This isolationist stance is, though, so utterly contrary to what Jesus calls us to. The call to love neighbor as self, to love
our enemies, a call to overlook the dividing walls which separate us.
One of the reasons I am wondering about this question at this time is around the whole question of how we relate to the natural world. You see at heart
the creation story in Genesis asserts that humanity is certainly over and in some sense separate from the rest of the created order. The first Genesis
creation story asserts that we are the culmination of the creation – made no less than in the image of the creator. The second creation story – set in
that garden east of Eden, again sets us at the heart of the story; naming the animals and tilling the soil. We are over and above. And at the heart of this
created order is a fatal, irreconcilable flaw between us, God and the rest of the created order. The understanding of people in Jesus’ time was that this
flaw would be rectified by a final judgment; a settling of scores, a liberation of the creation; a new heaven and earth. And a costing out of the opponents
of God. It’s a profoundly troubled take on reality.
As we humans are facing what is probably the greatest challenge to our existence in all history we as Christians need to wonder abut whether we are
going to persist with this flawed take on our relationship between the earth, and all the wonder and beauty and mystery of it. Will we continue to be at
war with it or might we be prepared to reflect on and embrace new ways of being and as I said last week, induct our children and grand-children into
them? Or will we continue to assert the ancient’s understanding that the reality which they inhabited, which they believed to be flawed, was going to be
wiped out and another created? Because if we do, especially at an unconscious level, then we will never actually be fully present in this reality.
As the disciple John expresses his concern to Jesus about others casting out demons in Jesus’ name we hear echoes of a culture of suspicion which
still inhabits the church. A culture which is inclined to draw a line in the sand between ourselves and others and wag the finger, or utter a disapproving
tut-tut, than build bridges and partnerships and reach out in genuine humility and hope that together with others of goodwill we can make a difference.
This crisis we are entering requires of us a demeanor of humility and hope which comes from a sense that this life really matters; that this earth is the only
one; that now matters, not tomorrow; not yet at least.
There is no question that we are entering difficult times and thank God world leaders seem to be recognising that they, as a well as we, must act.
This is a time for renewed action, for renewed community, for renewed partnerships as we all engage in trying to shift our perception of ourselves and
what it means to call this earth our home.
The Future
For God’s sake, be done
with this jabber of a “better world.”
What blasphemy! No “futuristic”
twit or child thereof ever
in embodied light will see
a better world than this, though they
foretell inevitably a worse.
Do something! Go cut the weeds
beside the oblivious road. Pick up
the cans and bottles, old tires,
and dead predictions. No future
can be stuffed into this presence
except by being dead. The day is
clear and bright, and overhead
the sun not yet half finished
with his daily praise.
Wendell Berry from Sabbaths 2002, Number X
In Given, Shoemaker Hoard.