Tag Archives: theology

Celtic Easter at Chanctonbury Ring

Posted on May 3, 2012 | Leave a comment

To review the short film clip of our prayer-scape, please click onto the The Contemplative Network Facebook page.

A cold north wind blows across Chanctonbury Ring. Her breath driving banks of white clouds across the crystal clear vista of the South Downs. Their shadows chasing the edges of light across the chalk landscape. Chanctonbury, an ancient iron and bronze age site, encircled now by banks of beech tree, is our host for our fourth Celtic Easter celebration. Thirty of us gather from across the country to meet on the date that the early British Church had celebrated Easter and to encounter Christ in the Cathedral of Creation.

Chanctonbury Ring

I am struck by God’s ability to communicate beyond the use of language. In fact my journey with the rediscovery of the British Easter celebration has become a journey of discovering theology and spirituality as drama and narrative, rather than the dominant view as history and orthodoxy. Much of our life in Christ is channeled through predetermined pathways, set out for us by the experts of cultural orthodoxy. Yet what captures most devotees of Jesus is not his orthodoxy, but his unorthodoxy. His desire to haunt the margins of society, the wild places of the mountains and valleys and to respond to the cries of the poor and the yearnings of creation.

The drama of Christ and the power of his resurrection is a story to be told and reenacted throughout life, not just a story to be confined to the pages of a book and a place in history. To my mind, confining resurrection to a ritual and to history is to deny its very veracity. If Christ is resurrected, then history has been framed as a daily encounter with the eternal. It moves from ritual to encounter, from history to future opportunity.

Therefore, celebrating Easter on the Celtic dating is not a reactionary political two-fingered gesture to the established religious institutions that benefited from the Easter Controversy and in recent times have presided over the demise of the message of Christ in these Islands, it is a vital symbolic enactment of the drama of God in our lives and an invitation to all of creation to take part in this drama. I call this a prayer-scape as it is more than just a meeting in the open air, it is the prayerful encounter of all of Creation with its Creator.

At Chanctonbury we weaved a prayer-scape of pilgrimage, ascending to the top of the highest peak in the area, the land meeting the coastland to the south, the Sussex plain the recipient of our prayers, the warmth of fire in the brazier, the procession through the points of the compass, voices intoning “be Thou My Vision” to the nation as we sung to the north, the mournful north wind chilling our bones as we listened to Uilleann pipes playing behind a recitation of the Psalms and watching Buzzards display in the open sky. In the breaking of bread and wine, Christ was in our midst, was in creation and our prayers for one another affirmed our desire to be transformed into the Likeness of Christ.

I am constantly challenged in my faith to find external ways of dramatising the internal journey of contemplative encounter. The resurrection of celebrating Easter on the calendar of the original British church is just one of those symbolic ways of doing so.

Glastonbury Tor

Next year we will look to take our rag-tag group to Glastonbury Tor for Celtic Easter on the 5 May.

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Jesus the Ikon of Justice – part 2

Posted on April 21, 2012 | Leave a comment

‘Armed with the justice which is the power of God, let us prove ourselves with great patience’.

Daily Office, 31 March 2012.

In my last post I suggested that ‘How God chooses to do something is as authoritative for the follower of Christ as the fact of God being God and due our devotion and adoration’. In this short post my aim will be to review some of the principles that I see in the Incarnation of Jesus and use them as a mirror to reflect upon the Churches priorities in witnessing to the risen Christ.

Justice does not happen it is announced. The Apostle John stresses this point very clearly in his focus on John the Baptist in the first chapter of his gospel. Before Jesus arrival, comes the announcement.

He who comes after me, is ahead of me, because he came before me. (John i v15)

I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, “make straight the way of the Lord” as the prophet Isaiah said. (John i v23)

The point here is that in order for justice to arrive, the new reality, or landscape that will be created must be articulated first. I must be able to articulate the new reality, help people to see there is a new way, before addressing the problem. This is the essence of ‘the hope’ found in the gospel. The announcement of Jesus is not an intellectual reorganising of a worldview, nor is it primarily confessional (a mistake the western church repeatedly makes in my opinion),  it is ethical, lifestyle, economic, moral, social, it is truly transformational, as John the Baptist demonstrated with his insistence on baptism. John painted a world of new possibilities and opened a door (water baptism) through which people could walk. This new world was not just a personal world, it was an entirely new way of being the ‘children of God’ (John i v12). It was not however the fulfillment, it was merely the announcement of the possibility.

In the same way the Archangel Gabriel and his announcement of the conception of Jesus within Mary, is the embodying of God’s intentional act of salvation through the backdoor. The ritualisation of this story, and the intentional marginalisation of St Mary by the Protestant church has robbed us of the radical impact of this moment. Heaven, through its ministering angels, announces the coming of the Son of Man through the body of a poor woman. This is another demonstration that the incarnation of Justice does not arrive in a limousine, a lawyers frock, or an act of Parliament. It arrives in the womb of a poor woman or using a twentieth century illustration on ‘the whites only’ seats on public transport in Alabama,

He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty (Luke i v53).

Again it is not the fulfillment, but the opening up of the new landscape of possibilities into which we can enter. This cry of the poor is the voice that calls God to intervene.

The invocation of the spirit of justice in the voice of the prophets and angels, may be the announcement of fresh opportunities, yet this fresh possibility is always contested. A good friend of mine with a Oxford history degree constantly reminds me that all democracy is originally won through the bullet and the bomb, not the ballot box. In the case of Jesus, the Ikon of justice, this is equally true (not of course that Jesus is a believer in democracy). The Incarnation of Justice was contested, through the Royal authorities of the day and the military institutions that supported that monarchy. The Massacre of the Innocents and flight to Egypt as a refugee (Matthew ii v13-18) continues the incarnational identification with the poor. Jesus was a refugee, an immigrant, a persecuted child from a poor family, that to be clear would never have got visa status in the UK or USA. Additionally many hundreds, possibly thousands of children were slaughtered in the name of the state and the perpetuation of what I am sure Herod would have justified as ‘the defense of the realm or national security’.

Gods identification with the poor is not theoretical or theological. It is not even ethical or practical, it is truly incarnational. Jesus as the image of the invisible Just God was not just good news to the poor, he was the good of the poor, as he was one of them. This was not a voice that came to the poor from the outside to help them out with social action projects. Here was the God of creation that was birthed from within the poor themselves. This act of redemption was not only an act of mercy and liberation, it was also a an act of judgement on the powerful, the elite and the rich. God did not choose them as the originating community through which salvation would flow to all of creation. I often reflect on this fact when I witness the misogynistic power games that rich mega church leaders and denominational institution’s play and the way they use their wealth, their bums on seats and platform success to convince the masses that Gods blessing is on them. Blessing or seduction, that is the question? Their model of Church is certainly not consistent with the approach that God takes to salvation in the witness of Jesus.

Justice is anticipated through new possibilities articulated from the prophetic margins of our society. This seems to be the way that God intentionally worked out his grand entrance. I would suggest the body of Christ should do likewise.

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Jesus the Ikon of Justice – part 1

Posted on March 17, 2012 | Leave a comment

All of humanity dreams of justice, not many however are willing for justice to live with them. For the Christian, justice can be a confusing word. Illustratively, a recent London conference that I participated in, saw our group want to focus on the externalisation of justice. Justice as politics, as public morality, justice as legal constitution or the criminal justice system and its restorative or retributional elements.

Certainly in Britain we have a strong tradition of Christians invading the public arena and ushering in social change for the betterment of the poor and society at large. Trade Unions, The Christian Socialist Movement, the Social Reformers like Shaftesbury and Cadbury, the abolitionists like St Patrick and Wilberforce. The creation of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals and the founders of the National Health Service all give witness to the power of an individual or a groups conviction in Gods justice giving rise to social change that led to a more equitable society.

Interestingly the one area of the public arena where Christians seem to be left behind is in shaping the global environmental movement, but even here, there are exciting developments emerging that may just puncture the British narrative and begin to drive the agenda. This narrative being rooted in the confession that God is the Creator and we as the created have a due diligence to care for, not exploit, our world for the common good. However these are the fruits, not the roots of the great river of justice that flows from heaven to earth.

For our group, the default position  concerning justice was to digest the word justice as though it was an external reality, a law, a rule that I must obey and be imposed. The ultimate sanction being the removal of civil freedoms and in some cases state sponsored executions. The role of the Christian in this process was to act as a mitigating force for the extremes of injustice, and to in some way campaign for our beliefs. Yet when pushed we struggled to land a definition of what makes our view of justice distinct and unique for both personal life as well as a major force in the shaping of a just and equitable society.

As a follower of Jesus, this challenge of pursuing Gods justice has been a defining expression of what I believe God has called me to be. It has equally at times, become a burden, idol and obstacle to my maturing in my faith. How does one fulfill this primary mandate to ‘follow Christ’ whilst maintaining a just interaction with the world? Below I will aim to outline some of the understanding that I have gleaned over the years of working alongside people who are very much at the front line of out working Gods justice in countries as diverse as Colombia, Ethiopia, India, Sierra Leone and the UK. Drawing primarily from St Johns Gospel, I want to demonstrate the idea that without a contemplative foundation to ones spirituality, activism cannot find its fullest expression in whatever arena we may be active.

The Incarnation of God in the man Jesus is an extension of the Divine personhood and presents me with an immediate window through which to understand Justice. I should of course caveat this point with a basic assumption, that Jesus is the Son of God (John i v18, 34) as John the Baptist confessed. As a member of humanity (John i v14) he was equally divine  (John i v1-2) and I have come to understand this to mean that to be God is also to be fully human. Jesus as a human, must be the distinctive and unique authority in all matter of social and creational ethics. For him not to be authoritative in these matters would be to deny the divinity and humanity of Christ.  He fully inhabited this planet and a body. Jesus is the centre of worship, faith and of course practice.

Assuming this as I do, I reflect on the incarnation of God as an act of intentional communication as to these social and creational priorities. The word becoming flesh and living among us (John i v14) shows us that Jesus is the Word and the two are inseparable (John i v1) How God chooses to do something is as authoritative for the follower of Christ as the fact of God being God and due our devotion and adoration. What does this teach me in regards to Gods justice and perfect plan for redemption and cosmic reconciliation?

At this point I find myself having to reflect on the Holy Trinity. St John’s discourse throughout chapter one gives me one of clearest visual illustrations of the perfect community that is the Godhead (John 1 v32-33). Here I have a picture of God’s perfect world of mutual love, appreciation, submission and creativity. To use a negative theological approach for a moment, there is no fracture, social alienation, abuse, crime, power distortion or use of coercion and violence in what John the Baptist witnessed at the baptism of Jesus. There is no injustice in the character and nature of God.  It is creative mutuality at its most intense and sublime. As God breaks into the world that moral consistent signature is extended to the world we inhabit (Colossians 1 v19-20).

The arrival of Jesus is therefore both illuminating of the world that receives Him as well as authoritative for us who wish to worship God in the light and truth of the Son of Man.

In a separate post I will look to develop this incarnational principle.

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L’église est fermée

Posted on March 7, 2012 | 4 Comments

“Monsieur, L’église est fermée”, said the old man as I wondered round the Sint-Niklaaskerk (Church of St Nicholas) in Ghent St Pierre in Belgium at 9 am. An hour I did not think was particularly excessive.

Saint Nicholas Church“Pardon”, I replied, “Comment l’Église peut être fermé?” or in English, “How can the Church be closed?”

I am currently in Belgium for three days contributing to a series of talks and presentations on the ethics, (or lack thereof), in the gold business. I try where ever possible to maintain a rhythm of morning prayer. Ghent St Pierre, is a beautiful Renaissance City so a morning stroll through the town to the local Church seemed in order.

At this point an old lady, who was busy brushing down the altar turned to me and in a sweetest English accent said “The Church is always closed”.

So welcome to my morning meditation. The Church is always closed. I despair. I was not even sad about it, I was furious. How the fuck can the Church be closed? No wonder the state of the community of Christ is in such a trauma across western Europe with a practice like that.

The sweet old lady informed me that they had just finished mass, and I could come back at 10 am when the Church opened for tourists. I explained I was not a tourist and I wanted to find somewhere to pray. She was clearly perplexed by my reply as I also indicated I would like to take part in mass. “You cannot do that”, she said “we have finished, you should have got up earlier”. The old man repeated I should leave as the “L’église est fermée”.

The Adoration of the Mystic LambWith these words ringing in my ear, I wandered further up the road to St Bavo’s Cathedral, the home of The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb by Hubert and Jan van Eyck. As I prayed in front of this iconic painting, the anger of a closed Church burned in my head. The deception of a philosophy of Christendom as a twisted witness to the authentic Jesus of Nazareth came into sharp focus for me. My anger began to give way to the grace of tears as the realisation that with the collapse of Western Christendom almost complete, I am free to enjoy these ecclesiastical art galleries, as the Cathedral of Christ can only be found in creation.

The post Christendom landscape of Europe presents us with a wonderful opportunity to find the real witness to Jesus, without the baggage of religious ideology fused with State patronage. The doors of Christendom’s buildings may be closed, but the community of Christ is open. Is open to imagination, open to opportunity, open to encounter and open to a rediscovery of ancient pathways made new.

In the build up, during lent, to our Celtic Easter celebration on 15 April, I am conscious this is where I am, in the landscape of re-imagining. Walking an ancient indigenous British path, rediscovering its rhythm of practice, learning to walk under the sun of the Son. The Monastic Church of the British Isles, a distant memory to the contemporary Church, is awakening again. A Monastic Church that in the fire of its youth, did not swallow the lie of the Emperor Constantine’s settlement of Christianity as the religion of the empire.

As I stared at the Mystic Lamb upon the sacrificial altar in the Van Eyck painting, I could see the early Churches emphasis on the redemptive sacrifice of Christ, the helpless lamb, led to the slaughter, a willing sacrifice for the horrors of humanities cosmic error. This willing submission to powerlessness and service as authentic witness is the road on which the true disciple walks. My prayer is that I will have the courage to keep walking.

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Posted in Indigenous Spirituality, Monastic Church, Personal Journal

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