There is an oddity about this blog which several people have noticed recently; although it is the blog of the ministry team, at the moment, I am the only one writing it. There are two reasons for this; Seyan has too much else to do (but we are working on getting him to write!) and Simon has not yet got a password, and so is not yet “permitted” to take part.
This idea of a password and permission is of course deeply theological. You can only take part in this “community” if you say the right words, and if you are “licensed” by somebody with power. How often in the church of God are people only allowed to do certain things, to take part, to be recognised as involved if they can and will “say certain words” – use certain terms, or assent to certain propositions? And in many branches of the church, there are roles can only be taken on if authorised by the appropriate person, representing the hierarchy.
Of course, in Bloomsbury, we are not like that.
Or are we? We have recently adopted a new constitution, and as part of the constitution, there is a description of the faith that we assent to. If you want to know what it is, look at our constitution. But there is no denying that it forms a boundary; we define ourselves around a theological description.
Within the constitution, there are also certain limits placed on who can do what – those who are going to be elected deacons, for example, have to have been members of the church for a certain length of time.
Since on of the things we value about who we are – indeed, one of the things that defines us, and that we are proud of, is our unboundaried nature, our openness, our lack of hard edges, what are we to make of this?
What is it that makes us who we are. It is surely not our constitution. But our constitution describes who we are, allows us a way of laying out to other people what we believe to be important about our identity.
To have no boundaries, to have no definition “over against” is to have no identity. There are occasions when I spend time with people whose sense of self is so lost, and so formless that they find it hard to function. There needs to be some sense of where the self ends and the other begins for a measure of mental and emotional health. This is true of communities as well as individuals. We need boundaries, descriptions of what makes us not something else – not a political party, for example, not a social services agency. We are a community shaped by and centred on the stories of Jesus recorded in the gospel – and, I believe, more than that, centred on the presence of the Risen Christ, who is present to those and among those who meet in his name.
I know that not everybody who is part of our community will be comfortable with this description. And that is another part of who we are as a church – we are constantly in dialogue about just who we are, and how we live it out.
And this, I believe, is why we are not tied to “saying certain words” – because what we are committed to is carrying on the conversation; the conversation among ourselves as we discuss, question and explore – and the conversation with God in Christ, as we listen, and as we speak in prayer and living. And it is this which makes us the church, the people of God in this place at this time.
As for permission by hierarchy – well, that’s another post!
Thursday 29 January 2009
Tuesday 20 January 2009
The Visitors' Book
One of the sheer delights of worshipping at Bloomsbury is meeting the visitors who come to be with us. And on a really good day, some of them sign our vistors book. The comments and remarks are always worth reading. Sometimes, people are returning after a long time away, and their reflections on continuity and difference are fascinating and insightful. It also gives us a chance to track where our visitors come from and to greet them accordingly.
But recently we have had several visitors who have been unhappy about something they have encountered in being with us, and they have chosen to leave advice in the visitors' book for us. Whether or not their advice is appropriate is not concerning me at the moment - what is intriguing me is our reaction to this. I find for myself, that when I first read such comments I become very defensive - what do they know, what gives them the right to make comments when they are only here for one visit, they should try and work with the realities that make up our life before telling us how to do it better..... and so on. I am sure you can imagine the kinds of phrases that go through my mind.
But then I try to rethink this reaction. For, if people feel strongly enough about whatever it is to put it into writing, and leave it for us, then surely they need to be taken seriously. Whether or not we agree with what is said, that people have been interested, concerned or perhaps even uncomfortable enough to want to say so, then it is important that we hear what is said.
It is hard, though. I love this church, and I am proud of who we are and what we do. I know we don't always get it right - but I don't like other people, especially people I don't know, telling me so. However, such defensiveness is not a useful response, for it will stop me hearing some things we need to hear. It takes grace - and humour - to step away from the defensive position. And it takes community. I find that it is so helpful to hear what others in the team and in the church have to say in response to the comments. With our combined wisdom, and humility, we can usually make a fair judgement of what is being said, and how much attention we need to give it.
God give me - and us - the grace to hear what other bring us of possibility and change.
And thanks to God for the grace and generosity of those who leave the comments - the critical ones, and the (much more frequent) appreciative ones.
But recently we have had several visitors who have been unhappy about something they have encountered in being with us, and they have chosen to leave advice in the visitors' book for us. Whether or not their advice is appropriate is not concerning me at the moment - what is intriguing me is our reaction to this. I find for myself, that when I first read such comments I become very defensive - what do they know, what gives them the right to make comments when they are only here for one visit, they should try and work with the realities that make up our life before telling us how to do it better..... and so on. I am sure you can imagine the kinds of phrases that go through my mind.
But then I try to rethink this reaction. For, if people feel strongly enough about whatever it is to put it into writing, and leave it for us, then surely they need to be taken seriously. Whether or not we agree with what is said, that people have been interested, concerned or perhaps even uncomfortable enough to want to say so, then it is important that we hear what is said.
It is hard, though. I love this church, and I am proud of who we are and what we do. I know we don't always get it right - but I don't like other people, especially people I don't know, telling me so. However, such defensiveness is not a useful response, for it will stop me hearing some things we need to hear. It takes grace - and humour - to step away from the defensive position. And it takes community. I find that it is so helpful to hear what others in the team and in the church have to say in response to the comments. With our combined wisdom, and humility, we can usually make a fair judgement of what is being said, and how much attention we need to give it.
God give me - and us - the grace to hear what other bring us of possibility and change.
And thanks to God for the grace and generosity of those who leave the comments - the critical ones, and the (much more frequent) appreciative ones.
Tuesday 13 January 2009
The mystery of worship
We had one of those services on Sunday morning. It was good to be there. It happened. They happen like that sometimes, and for those of us who lead, they bring a particular delight; now we know what we are for.
There is, for meat least, an anxiety that goes with such experiences too, however. For when things go really well, the temptation is to begin to analyse what it was that made it so good, and try to reproduce that. And I have been doing that since Sunday. Simon preached well, that's one of the elements. But Simon does preach well, so it was not simply that. I was glad to find words in the book of prayers that I sometimes use that enabled us to lament. But that happens at other times too. Sometimes when a service is particularly powerful, we feel that it is the music. Certainly, the music was good on Sunday morning - the instrumentalists were out in force, and that is always special. But that happens on other mornings too.
What happens in such services, I believe, cannot be identified with any - or even with a particular combination - of the elements. Sometimes it happens just because it does, because the Spirit comes in a particular way, and it is gift. And it is to be received as such.
When we meet in the chapel before the service for prayer, an image often occurs to me; the picture from my children's Bible of Elijah standing before the altar that he has constructed - and which is now soaking wet - and asking God to come in fire and power. (See 1 Kings;18;30-38) All sorts of things going on in that story, of course, but for me, just before we formally meet for worship, it is about what we do when we come together. We get things ready, we prepare and practice and think and focus - but if worship is going happen, it does so because the Spirit brings the fire. We meet, depending on the promise that Jesus made, that where two or three meet in his name, he is there. Whatever we do, without that promise, it is nothing - well, it may be polished performance and satisfying entertainment, but it won't be worship.
That we depend on the promise is not, of course, an excuse for not doing the best we can, and preparing carefully. But the risk comes when we begin to think that by doing the best we can, we can make it happen.
And so, if I am going to take that seriously, I need to let go of the anxiety - both when it works and when it doesn't - and let go of the pride that thinks it all depends on me. Which could make Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings a lot less stressful. Always assuming, of course, I don't let myself get anxious about the state of my anxiety......
There is, for meat least, an anxiety that goes with such experiences too, however. For when things go really well, the temptation is to begin to analyse what it was that made it so good, and try to reproduce that. And I have been doing that since Sunday. Simon preached well, that's one of the elements. But Simon does preach well, so it was not simply that. I was glad to find words in the book of prayers that I sometimes use that enabled us to lament. But that happens at other times too. Sometimes when a service is particularly powerful, we feel that it is the music. Certainly, the music was good on Sunday morning - the instrumentalists were out in force, and that is always special. But that happens on other mornings too.
What happens in such services, I believe, cannot be identified with any - or even with a particular combination - of the elements. Sometimes it happens just because it does, because the Spirit comes in a particular way, and it is gift. And it is to be received as such.
When we meet in the chapel before the service for prayer, an image often occurs to me; the picture from my children's Bible of Elijah standing before the altar that he has constructed - and which is now soaking wet - and asking God to come in fire and power. (See 1 Kings;18;30-38) All sorts of things going on in that story, of course, but for me, just before we formally meet for worship, it is about what we do when we come together. We get things ready, we prepare and practice and think and focus - but if worship is going happen, it does so because the Spirit brings the fire. We meet, depending on the promise that Jesus made, that where two or three meet in his name, he is there. Whatever we do, without that promise, it is nothing - well, it may be polished performance and satisfying entertainment, but it won't be worship.
That we depend on the promise is not, of course, an excuse for not doing the best we can, and preparing carefully. But the risk comes when we begin to think that by doing the best we can, we can make it happen.
And so, if I am going to take that seriously, I need to let go of the anxiety - both when it works and when it doesn't - and let go of the pride that thinks it all depends on me. Which could make Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings a lot less stressful. Always assuming, of course, I don't let myself get anxious about the state of my anxiety......
Tuesday 6 January 2009
new lights, logos and baptism
There's a new light in the church. Well, in fact, there are several new lights. And we are very grateful for them. If you worship with us regularly, you may have already seen them. If not, have a look out next time you are here.
But there is one in particular that is noticeable, and intended to be so. It is on when others are not. It highlights the Bloomsbury symbol at the back of the foyer, the one that can be seen from the street through the main doors. By keeping it lit when other lights are off, we are making the whole place more visible to those who pass by.
It is wonderful that we have such an attractive logo that shows well when it is lit up. I'm sure most people know the meaning and the story of our Bloomsbury B. (If not, look on the website, under "Who we are"). The logo has a clear interpretation. But as is so often the way, we did not start with a description and then find a symbol to match it; our symbol came first, and then we worked out what it said to us about who we are, who we strive to be and what our longing is. And yes - I have moved deliberately from the word logo to the word symbol. A logo represents who we have defined ourselves to be andw we want people to know us; a symbol reveals us to ourselves, and incidentally to others, as we think about it, explore it and let it speak to us. And it goes on revealing.
There are various symbols deep in Christian identity. One of the clearest for us as a Baptist church is baptism by immersion. Baptism has this quality of being a symbol. When we are baptised, there are several meanings visible; the death of the alienated self and the birth of the new self in Jesus; the cleansing of our beings from sin; the integration into the living body of Christ in time and space. And there are many more. Like our B, but even more so, baptism goes on and on showing us who we are, who we aspire to be, who we are being transformed into. As a living and productive symbol, baptism is not something that happens once and then is over. It is a symbolic event which goes on informing, shaping and revealing to us who we are in God.
But another thing about baptism is that it is strange - it looks strange, and people find it intriguing. There is a temptation in thinking about, and practicing, baptism of believers by immersion as a logo; making it something to look at and to define, rather than letting it reveal us to ourselves and others.
There are always dangers in treating symbols as logos - of using something that is noticeable and distinctive about us as a way of raising our profile to other people; achieving brand recognition. There is nothing wrong with that if what we have is a logo. But if we make our symbols into logos, we will lose something very important in discovering the truth that God is bringing to birth in our living and in the world.
But there is one in particular that is noticeable, and intended to be so. It is on when others are not. It highlights the Bloomsbury symbol at the back of the foyer, the one that can be seen from the street through the main doors. By keeping it lit when other lights are off, we are making the whole place more visible to those who pass by.
It is wonderful that we have such an attractive logo that shows well when it is lit up. I'm sure most people know the meaning and the story of our Bloomsbury B. (If not, look on the website, under "Who we are"). The logo has a clear interpretation. But as is so often the way, we did not start with a description and then find a symbol to match it; our symbol came first, and then we worked out what it said to us about who we are, who we strive to be and what our longing is. And yes - I have moved deliberately from the word logo to the word symbol. A logo represents who we have defined ourselves to be andw we want people to know us; a symbol reveals us to ourselves, and incidentally to others, as we think about it, explore it and let it speak to us. And it goes on revealing.
There are various symbols deep in Christian identity. One of the clearest for us as a Baptist church is baptism by immersion. Baptism has this quality of being a symbol. When we are baptised, there are several meanings visible; the death of the alienated self and the birth of the new self in Jesus; the cleansing of our beings from sin; the integration into the living body of Christ in time and space. And there are many more. Like our B, but even more so, baptism goes on and on showing us who we are, who we aspire to be, who we are being transformed into. As a living and productive symbol, baptism is not something that happens once and then is over. It is a symbolic event which goes on informing, shaping and revealing to us who we are in God.
But another thing about baptism is that it is strange - it looks strange, and people find it intriguing. There is a temptation in thinking about, and practicing, baptism of believers by immersion as a logo; making it something to look at and to define, rather than letting it reveal us to ourselves and others.
There are always dangers in treating symbols as logos - of using something that is noticeable and distinctive about us as a way of raising our profile to other people; achieving brand recognition. There is nothing wrong with that if what we have is a logo. But if we make our symbols into logos, we will lose something very important in discovering the truth that God is bringing to birth in our living and in the world.
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