A new/old spirituality of the earth?

For a while now I have been exploring/circling around/discussing/reading about/reaching towards a new spirituality – at least to me. After all that deconstruction of the old religious paradigm so often explored on this blog, I am catching tantalising glimpses of shapes in the mist ahead… like one of those heavy days of fog when darker shadows suggest maybe an oak, or a looming rock formation. The only way to tell is go forward carefully listening intently for the odd returning echo.

There is a problem though in describing any spiritual journey, in that it can be like pinning a rare butterfly. I do so mostly through poetry these days, despite having so many books of theology on my shelves. My friend Polly (whose companionship has been so important already to this unfolding process) warns against any spiritual process than does not start in PRACTICE. She would have us all experiencing the wild, listening to the wild, allowing ourselves to be befriended by the wild, rather than the more common western religious traditions of first defining a thing in terms of head-first concepts, then only later seeking to apply these in some kind of (often disembodied) religious activity.

Why then might I persist in this process of trying to describe some of this journey?

Firstly, despite the warnings above, what brought me this far has been, in no small part, theology – very much with a small ‘t’. I love ideas – I get excited by them, and I have direct lived experience of how they can indeed be catalysts for change in my own life as well as in wider groups I am part of. It is not one or the other, rather how one relates to the other.

The way I am thinking about this just now is that we desperately need practices and principles – particularly those modeled by pioneers and edgewalkers who go ahead of us – that might allow us to find new meaning and hope in the midst of the omni-crisis we are living through. However we also need others that give us language and some kind of scaffolding for this unfolding, or it can never become a real movement for change.

We know the ‘problems’ that our faith techologies need to help us navigate in the present – climate breakdown, an age of ecological extinction and habitat destruction, accelerating wealth inequality, individualism and disconnection from each other, an age of addiction to the very things that are destroying us. Meanwhile our old political/economic/theological systems appear to offer no solutions, just answers to questions that no longer seem relevant or at least no longer precient. Alongside these failures others are deploying the old tools of hate and fear in order to distract and divide – it seems to be working too because what else is on offer?

Thomas Berry put it like this;

Even when we try to bring religious influence to bear on these issues we find thst our religious traditions have little relevance to what is happening. Our western religions exist in a different world, a world of covenant relations with the divine, a world little concerned with the natural environment or with the Earth community. Our sacred community is seen as primarily as one concerned with human-divine relations, with little attraction toward a shared community existence within the larger world of the living. Our iconoclasm is such that we hardly think of ourselves within a multispecies community or consider that this community of the natural world is the primary locus for the meeting of the divine and human.

Thomas Berry ‘Evening Thoughts’ pg 48

Does a different kind of religion exist? If not, we must invent it.

We Christians must worry a lot less about the Jesus who died for individual sin to save souls from hell and instead listen for the voice of the Christ who loves things by becoming them as that other great Catholic teacher Richard Rohr suggested. This Christ is not a ticket out of punishment for a chosen few, but rather the substance behind all substance, the great spirit who sings in the soul of everything. This Christ is not descoverable in abstract disconnection from the community of the natural world but rather by more complete connection to the mess that made us.

What might this kind of religion look like in practice? I do not mean in terms of doctine or theology, but rather the journey these things send us out on.

Thorndales Lane by Dave Hitchborne is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

I believe that a different kind of religion is possible- in fact it already exists, both within the tradition and as current practice. It is not (and has perhaps never been) mainstream but I believe many are increasingly seeking this path, even if they have not yet been given a language or story that articuates the longing that they are feeling. We feel deeply the dissonance between our sacred humanity and the destruction of the community we come from and are held within.

As Berry puts it, we cannot have well people on a sick planet.

I might also say we will have no heavenly salvation without earthly communion.

Another voice saying much the same things is writer John Philip Newell;

Today we are in another era of change, perhaps the most important we have ever faced in the history of our religious inheritance. It can be called The Great Search. We are seeking healing as an earth community, and we are longing for a new sense of home spirituality.

John Philip Newell ‘The Great Search’ pg 11.

A field in Nottinghamshire, England, sprayed with herbicide prior to ploughing.

What then can be said (by me) about what this new/old religion might look like? If Newell is right, what are we all searching for? I am certainly not claiming that this search is over for me, but I am starting to see some important direction pointers. Some of these are from the ragged messy thing known as the ‘Celtic tradition’. Others are borrowed from teachers like Rohr and Berry. Others arise from the logic imposed by my own broken experiences.

From original sin to original goodness

Pelagius was silenced eventually by Augustine but not completely – in the Celtic world at least. If we stop seeing ourselves and our fellow humans as essentially evil, then how might this change our relationship with each other and with outr own souls? If we discover God in the human spirit not by addition but rather by subtraction – by peeling back our layers and going deep to that part of ourselves that is Christ – then how might we start to understand the human condition? What are the obligations of this understanding?

If we start to see others as carriers of the divine, rather than people excluded from the club of the privileged and redeemed then can we still bear to accept injustice, prejudice or the poverty and inequality imposed by empire?

From one singular ‘incarnation’ to two generalised incarnations

Christ came to us as the world, not just into it as Jesus. I am not really interested in defining this in terms of pantheism or panentheism, but these concepts and the different between them might be useful to you. In this way of thinking though, the first incarnation was creation- that great unfolding of god into all the shapes and colours that continue to explode outwards into the universe. The god who loves things by becoming them. Jesus was a further revealing of what we had failed to understand – the second incarnation. Whether this was different to the first, or merely a more specific part of the same I leave to you.

From propositional truth towards connection with the flow of the wild

If god is the substance of all that is, then how might we listen to her? How might we pray? How might we seek to understand and learn how to love? Might we learn as much from trees or the flight of birds as we can from ancient scriptures? Can we read landscape as we used to read scripture? Might we not better understand these scriptures in the light of their relationship with the wild? Of course, some teachers and prophets always knew this – Saint Francis for example. Indigenous peoples never quite forgot. The rest of us have much to re learn. It is in the seeking after community (communion) in its fullest and deepest sense that we discover who we really are. This is what love is after all.

In a world of climate breakdown – associated with economic injustice and unsustainable extraction in relentless pursuit of wealth – what is the path of love for those who are seeking full communion with the earth?

From narrow doctrinal correctness to generous praxis

The protestant project has been a tumbling succession of people proclaiming their truth to be the only truth. What if we just decided that what we believe is less important that what we do? What if being ‘right’ is not about how we shape our doctrine but how we live our lives? If this is true, then we also have to accept that god herself is open to varience and variety in both religious and spiriitual language. If we can accept this (and yes, this is in itself a doctrinal position) perhaps we might start to focus on the big things that matter not the small things that divide us. Doctine then might be more about keeping the peace, not policing our election.

From sacred buildings to the sacred wild

A logical progression from above is that the meaning of sacred space explored by our rituals and ceremonies must change. This does not mean taking the shape and sounds of our church services outside unchanged, rather it means creating and discovering new ways to engage with the great incarnation of the wild as both individial and collective practices. Buildings might still be useful in our climate, but we must start to migrate the centre of our practice towards the wild, in order to better understand ourselves as part of a human and non-human community or family.

From saving souls from hell to bringing heaven to earth

What is the mission of this new church we are making together? For those of us from the Christian tradition, what cross are we carrying? The mission many of us grew up with was about convincing people that their eternal souls would be punished unless they became Christian. Unpicking the whole theological machine that underpins that mission has been a long term project for many of us, but perhaps also left us with a void. What are we called to be, to do, to live our lives towards? What does redemption look like? What about salvation? What is the purpose and calling of the agents of the Kingdom (or community/insurgency/family etc) of god? This is the question we all must ask, but experience tells me that we will tend to answer this contextually, from inside the theological story that we have been given. If this story changes, then the mission must change too.

The story many of us are drawing close to is one that describes our deep sacred connection to the holy wild. We understand this connection to mean that all living things are our siblings and carry within them the same am-ness that is within us. Surrounded as we are with so many ways that humans have failed to live as siblings with both our human and non-human community then the path of love is towards redeeming through restoration, salvation through inclusion and reconnection.

I feel like I a scratching the surface here, but is this not what we have always done?

We seek goodness in small community. It is the best we can ever be.

Christus

Not Messiah, but memory –
You are what we once forgot.
Woodsmoke.
A curve of earth
Towards completeness.

Not God, but goodness -
You are what we left behind.
Compost.
A fecundity of light
Awakes this forest floor.

Not Risen, but wide open -
We are not just the sum of skin.
Mycelium.
An animal whom, despite of evolution
Finds value most in kindness.

Not Saviour but revelator -
We search those stars in vain.
Insemination.
A pulse pounds insistently when
There should by rights be silence

CG

What will we be if the Church is no more?

I wrote this article for the Iona Community magazine, Coracle. Not sure if it will make the cut, but here it is anyway.

Photo by Adrienn Csiszu00e9r on Pexels.com

What will we be if the Church is no more?

Here is something that will upset many of you- by any measure Church is dying. I should know, because as well as all those statistics, it has died in me. I am part of the new member uptake from 2025, but I do not currently go to ‘Church’. I mean no disrespect to those who are still faithfully serving as Church leaders, priests, pastors or ministers, but my journey through different expressions of faith has brought me to a different place. Rest assured though- I am not done with community making or seeking to explore faith and meaning with others, it is just that – for now at least – I find myself outside the institution.

I am very far from alone – so I want to do my best to speak for those like me, longing for God (even as we struggle to name her.) Desperate for meaning and stories. Angry at how Church has so often been a tool of Empire and colonial subjugation. Suspicious of all attempts to bring us back inside because of our woundedness. Both drawn by – and repelled from – religion of all kinds. Refusing hard boundaries or finger pointing. Seeking deep connections between earth and soul for the sake of the planet. Desperate to see change towards grace and peace in a world that seems to be careering towards the opposite. Looking for authentic examples of how people have transcended these tramlines. Sensing the beautiful beyond in music, in poetry, in acts of protest, in old forest and longing to share this experience with others in ways that feel meaningful. You might well tell me that this is the Church you already attend, which demands the question of why those like me remain outside?

Any examination of UK statistical surveys will show us that fewer and fewer of us participate in organised religion. Recent suggestions of ‘Quiet Revival’ following research commissioned by the Bible Society (1) was seized upon by some, but the evidence continues to point in the opposite direction For example, the most recent British Attitudes Survey (2) shows that young people are not filling up our pews and decline in participation continues. The number of us here in the UK who attend Church even sporadically is now below 10% and is expected to fall further given the age profile of people within Churches. What has not changed however is 40% of Britons who self-identify as ‘Christian’. This has been pretty stable for decades. Three quarters of these people do not feel able or willing to attend Church and this has been a conundrum that we have tried to solve throughout most of my adult faith life.

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

In my experience, those who are active in religious circles tend to have a very low opinion of Christians like me. The assumptions made are that that we are ‘passive Christians’ or ‘luke-warm’, or ‘back sliders’. Perhaps we are, but what do I feel this calling towards something beyond Church so keenly? Why is it that something new is singing in my soul? Could it be that God is doing a new thing, and this this might not look like ‘Church’ as we have known it?

There has been helpful work done by researchers such as Steve Aisthorpe (Author of The Invisible Church (3)) and Katie Cross (from Aberdeen University) (4) pointing us to a much more nuanced – and even a hopeful – picture of what happens to those who leave Church. These people often retain very active faith, continue to make spiritual communities which explore what it means to be Christian. We might be forced to concede that the largest part of the ‘Body of Christ’ here in the UK is outside formal Church. There may well be a wide range of reasons for this but as Katie’s research has shown, there are commonalities. Many have been wounded in some way by the institution. The slowness of change and the continuance of so many conservative ideas on gender and the rights of women is also clearly a factor. Then there is the wide sense that somehow the Church is no longer relevant, not able to engage in a meaningful way with the omni-crisis of our modern times. There is perhaps too a sense that Church – despite the fine tradition of ‘troublesome priests’ Church has become like cold lava, unable to flow or change. It is like an oil tanker trying to turn in narrow water. It is like all human institutions. It is what Ivan Illich saw happening to all human tools- trending towards the unconvivial.

We do see a rise of some kinds of Churches. They were increasingly American influenced- that no-longer new empire of the self-made individual, whose personal Saviour guarantees life, wealth and happiness, and rejects anything that looks like ‘socialism’ such as collective action on climate change or poverty. If the problems of the old UK protestants often related to our Victorian origins, this new American perspective brought new corruption into the ways of Jesus. It took years to disentangle myself from it all, thanks in part to finding a movement of other people on a similar journey. Many of these too are now outside of Church – a whole generation of activists and leaders burned out on religion. The ‘Emerging Church’ language that was part of our recovery feels ancient now, but looking back, it was a movement away and against more than it ever articulated alternatives. It was about loosening the grip of old religious dogmas, deconstructing meanings and ultimately setting us free to re-imagine and re-engage with what it means to be Christian, but the energy it contained did not result in a new form of Protestantism – there were perhaps too many of these already.

In the decades since all those earnest discussions, blog posts and social media storms, a lot has changed in the world outside organised religion. Here in the rich north we are increasingly excarnate, finding life and meaning through online avatars shaped by algorithms and AI processes we barely understand. A pandemic came and went. The world seemed ever more cruel and heartless. Our politics and our economics offered no new solutions. The climate continued to break down. Inequality got worse. The loudest versions of Christianity became less Jesus-like and more wedded to fascistic politics that serve best the powerful.

Photo by levan simonshvili on Pexels.com

 Can the institution of Church respond to this new reality? How many reports and conferences have you been to that have explored this question in the last decades? How many books have your read or even written? How can those good people still active within Church ever find energy to do more work than they are already doing, looking after their aging flocks, running food banks and creches, visiting the sick and ministering to weddings and funerals? What do we do with all these empty buildings?

And what of the diaspora of Church leavers/survivors like me? Are we a lost and aging resource that need to come back into the fold? Or might we yet be part of a new movement? There are so many unanswered questions. Here are a few more.

If people do not attend Church, what does community-making look like? Might it be more ephemeral, more hybrid, more fluid? How do we do this in an excarnate world? What does authenticity look like? What stories bring us together? What stories keep us apart? Can community be made without membership or belonging? What about the children? How do we add power to each other through collective action if we stay apart?

Without the hierarchy of Church how do theological ideas and stories get made and shared? Who keeps all this safe? Who can we trust? Can we influence and inspire without the power or wealth of institution? Without paid clergy or regular meeting spaces?

What does a good life look like in our context? What do we celebrate? How do we live out the counter-cultural kingdom here and now? Where do we need to make peace and proclaim jubilee? Where does justice need to flow like rivers? Where is Jesus calling us to be salt or light?

Who are our prophets? Are these the musicians, the film makers, the poets? Who is seeking to give these people a platform and to celebrate with them? Whose work will light up our souls?

Who are our priests? Are these the networkers, the creators of temporary community spaces, those who carry mercy in their souls and offer radical hospitality?

Where are our cloisters? Where are those seeking to live out radical lives that explore alternative ways of being followers of Jesus? How do we network, support and include these people?

Who is looking after the activists? Who patches them together after imprisonment or tear gas exposure?

Who is offering people ways back into the Cathedral of the forest? How do we make our dogma and practices subservient to Celtic way of the community of all things? How do we provide ways for a mostly urban population to experience this once more, for the sakes of their mental health and the sake of the planet?

I don’t have clear answers to most of these questions but I no longer worry about Church- it belongs to God after all. I am done with trying to save it, or expecting it to be something it is not We still need the formal institution of Church and I always will, but we should also expect the Spirit of God to be at work in new ways. In other words, the title of this piece is redundant. We will never be without church. But we might be without Church- many of us already are.

All of which brought me to the Iona Community, currently exploring full membership. At my application interview, I was challenged about my non-attendance of Church, and I expect to be challenged again – in fact, I look forward to lots of late-night conversations with some of you.

But there is no doubt in my mind that dispersed community has a part to play in this new paradigm that we find ourselves emerging into. By accident we have a vehicle that engages and interacts directly with some of those questions above. I think that is exciting and I hope you do also.

Notes

  1. https://www.biblesociety.org.uk/research/quiet-revival
  2. https://humanists.uk/2026/01/28/gen-z-churchgoing-is-actually-still-declining-new-british-social-attitudes-survey-shows/
  3. https://standrewpress.hymnsam.co.uk/books/9780861539161/the-invisible-church
  4. https://thisfragiletent.com/2024/05/12/what-happens-to-those-who-leave-church-2024-update/

On that thing called prayer…

Hasan Baglar’s ‘Danlock’ has been crowned the grand prize winner of this year’s Cewe Photo Award (Image credit: Hasan Baglar)

I have been thinking a lot about prayer recently. I am starting a 2 year discernment process towards a decision of becoming a full member of the Iona Community. I will be committing myself to doing my best to keep the ‘rule’ of the community- which includes the following;

Daily prayer, worship with others and regular engagement with the Bible and other material which nourishes us.

Prayer is something I have never been ‘good’ at, even in the days when I tried hard to be good at it. In more recent times, I have moved to a point where I mostly do not pray – at least not in the way I used to understand what it was and what it was for.

I grew up with an understanding of prayer as a means to persuade God to aid our cause. The degree to which God was willing to accede to our entreaties and lists of requests was always something of a problem. It was very tempting to over-claim – or to build castles of consequence on shaky coincidences. Those times, for instance, when God miraculously granted us a free parking space, or a friend to talk to just when we needed them.

My wife Michaela was prayed for by good people for years because of her experience of chronic illness which left her ill and unable to participate in many things others took for granted. Some even suggested her lack of healing was due to unconfessed sin, or lack of faith.

Then her illness got better, overnight. It confounded medical people and confused us…

…particularly as my theological journey has taken me to a place where I no longer believe in an interventionist God. My current way of trying to resolve all of these contraditictions is through process theology – or sometimes open relational theology.

But this is all very ‘head first’ stuff.

For any theology to be real, it has to sing in our souls. The complexity of open relational ways to try to describe the way that a divine being might interact with our broken humanity is beyond more of us, particularly during the inevitable struggles and challenges of our lives.

What part has prayer to play in these struggles?

How might I/we concieve of a spiritual practice of prayer that is meaningful, relational, dynamic and useful?

I saw this quote from a new book the other day;

On the strength of this quote alone, and in the shadow of my own struggles with prayer, I ordered the book.

But these are not new questions for me, so I have some other provisional answers about what I think of as prayer now. They have broadened out to include this list (which is not in any kind of order)

  • Breathing
  • Seeking connection in forest
  • Singing
  • Caring and hoping for friends
  • Dancing
  • Looking for resonance in art
  • Hoping
  • listening to bird song
  • Deep talk around a fireside
  • Making art
  • Seeking goodness
  • Listening to people who are hurting
  • Pilgrimage

You may well think that this list is a good list, but not a prayerful one…

Above all, my current thinking is that I need to pray with a pen in my hand (or more commonly a keyboard under my fingers.) For me, my poetry is above all, prayer.

So I finish with this poem, which I wrote this morning;

I will not pray

I will not pray for miraculous intervention

But I will try to pray for those

Who cannot pray

I will not sing those hymns of adoration

Yet still I sing for those

Who cannot sing

I will not seek your soul to save

But I will search the wildest places for

The beautiful but broken

I will not rend my clothes to mourn

Instead, I mark those names that

Were never known

I make no promise as a lover

Except to look in love for those

Whose love has been emptied

I will not pray for favour, or for better weather

But whatever roof I have is

Yours to share

Church leavers research project- be part of the response!

Regular readers of this blog may remember previous articles and even podcast interviews with Dr. Katy Cross, who has been undertaking research trying to understand paths taken by people who leave church- the meaning they make and find, the connections they still seek and so on.

Katy is now towards the end of her research, and is entering a ‘creative response’ stage. There are a few ways you can be involved, but the first meeting on-line is Tuesday the 29th at 6PM. If you are on your own journey beyond church, but feel like understanding this better in community then this might be just the place for you.

There are two ways folk can take part:

  • By attending online workshops to discuss prompts and reflect together. You can sign up here to join in.
  • By writing up your own reflections in your own time, and emailing these to Katie here

As above, the first group is meeting on Tuesday 29th July at 6pm on MS Teams.

We hope that Katie will be able to join us on the Proost podcast soon to collect together some thoughts and conclusions about this very important research.

Why do I think this chat is so important? As with this post, there is lots of chat just now about what is emerging in terms of organised religion in the UK. After a long decline, some say (on currently very limited evidence) that there is a ‘quiet revival’ taking place here, with young people, and young men in particular, flocking back into Churches. If this is true – if we are seeing a reversal of the decades-long social trend away from organised religion – then it seems important to understand this and the social forces that might be at work.

On the other hand (and at present I remain in this camp) if this research turns out to be flawed, we also need to understand why so many people within the Church have siezed on it with such uncritical enthusiasm.

Meanwhile there is another conversation that is taking place – for example in Katy’s research – with those who have been activists, leaders and pioneers within the church, but no longer feel able to be part of formal religious structures. What happened ot these people? Where are they finding meaning? How might they shape and influence what happens next?

Photo by Zac Frith on Pexels.com

Even as I write this, I think too of dear friends who continue to work WITHIN the Church, to carry forward acts of grace and mercy, to serve an aging population with critical needs, to run food banks and toddler groups, to set up refugee support groups and to make simple beautiful acts of worship that enable people to deepen their spiritual experience. I think how exhausted some of them are, and how abandoned the conversation above makes them feel…

Things are changing, shifting, shinking and unfolding at the same time. This has always been the case, but it does feel like we are standing on anther threshold. Whilst we mourn what is lost, we can also be excited about what will come.

The ‘quiet revival’ – what does the research REALLY say?

Leeds Minster (interior) by David Dixon is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

The Bible Society commissioned a survey from Yougov – a legitimate and credible polling organisation – which they claim ‘busts the myth of church decline’.

You can download the full survey here.

Here are the headline claims, using the somewhat bombastic language from the Bible Society itself.

Key findings from The Quiet Revival 

Co-author of The Quiet Revival Dr Rhiannon McAleer says the report shows that what people believe about Church decline is no longer true. ‘These are striking findings that completely reverse the widely held assumption that the Church in England and Wales is in terminal decline,’ she said. 

‘While some traditional denominations continue to face challenges, we’ve seen significant, broad-based growth among most expressions of Church – particularly in Roman Catholicism and Pentecostalism. There are now over 2 million more people attending church than there were six years ago.’ 

More men than women go to church 

The Quiet Revival shows that men (13 per cent) are more likely to attend church than women (10 per cent). And as well church decline being reversed, the Church is also becoming more ethnically diverse, with one in five people (19 per cent) coming from an ethnic minority. Close to half of young Black people aged 18–34 (47 per cent) are now attending church at least monthly, according to The Quiet Revival

It’s also great to see that Bible reading and confidence in the Bible have increased as well as church growth. Some 67 per cent of churchgoing Christians read the Bible at least weekly outside church.

This is the key statistic. It would seem to point to a massic uplift in church going, particularly in the 18-24 range. Young men now seem four times more likely to go to church than pre pandemic – at least according to this survey.

(For the statistics geeks, the actual data collected by the survey is here.)

Church Services by Alan Stewart is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

This rather startling survey has been greeted by some with incredulity. It seems to be describing a trend that has reversed a decades long decline in church attendance in the UK. Many have greeted it with rejoicing. Could this really be true?

There have already been webinars and conferences that are using the term ‘quiet revival’ to describe what people are claiming as a ‘move of God.’ The lesson, it is claimed, is that this is the beginning of an awakening of spiritual seeking in younger generations, and evidence of the fact that yound men in particular are searching for meaning.

This all sounds like a good thing, right?

We might not have noticed it, but are we seeing an actual revival?

So why do I feel a deep sense of scepticism? Is this just my post-church cynicism? I am on record as having very mixed feelings about the word ‘revival’ (this from 11 years ago for example) after being previously part of expressions of religion that saw this as the only valid aim of Christian activity.

I think it is much more than that, however. A long time ago I was a social science graduate, and if we had come accross a piece of research or a survey that had suggested a social phenomenon that was different to all other sources of data, we would have immediately placed it on the ‘need more examination’ pile. We would have to look at other sources of evidence and test any conclusions that might be made by exposing them to wider scrutiny and comparison. One survey is never enough to declare a brand new social trend…

particularly when other sources of information seem to directly contradict this survey.

For example, the British Social Attitudes Survey – the largest and most authorative survey of social trends in the UK – found no evidence of an increase of religious attendence, noting instead a continual decline.

It seems I am not alone in my sceptism. More or Less, the BBC radio 4 programme that explains – and sometimes debunks – numbers and statistics used in public life spent some time examing this issue today- it is well worth a listen.

Next, let me point you to this excellent piece on The Church Mouse Blog.

Here is how the Church Mouse frames the problem some of us have with this survey;

The most extraordinary claim is that, in the past six years (i.e., since just before the pandemic), the Church in England and Wales, across all denominations, has grown by more than half, from a total of 3.7 million regular worshippers to 5.8 million. The report says that it is largely the young who are driving this, in contradiction to our previous assumption that every generation is less religious than their parents.

The evidence for these claims comes from a large survey undertaken by a highly respected polling organisation, YouGov, that whether they had attended a church in the past month, among other questions. The same question set and methodology six years previously reveals a 56% increase in attendance.

And none of us noticed.

The Church Mouse goes on to say this.

Some of the churches where the Bible Society reported significant growth actually count the number of people who walk through their doors, and the numbers don’t match.

The most robust data set by a UK denomination is from the Church of England. Each church counts the number of worshippers during the same period each year, and the numbers are compiled to create a robust, consistent data set. The data shows that over the past six years, the Church has shrunk by between 10-20%, depending on how you count it…

…The same methodology can be applied to the data for the Catholic Church, the next largest denomination. The report said that it has grown from 23% of attendees in 2018 to 31% in 2024, meaning it would have grown from around 850,000 regular attendees in 2018 to 1.8 million in 2024, spectacular growth of almost a million regular worshippers.

The Catholic Church in England and Wales reported regular mass attendance down around 20% from pre-pandemic levels,  to 555,000 in 2023 from 702,000 in 2019. 

Between them, these two denominations have reportedly grown their regular attendance by almost 1.5m people, out of the total reported growth (According to the Bible society survey) of 2.1m, or over 70% of the total growth. But Church attendance data simply does not back that up.

Is this all hot air intended to inflate church ego? (Sorry, could not resist in relation to the photo above.)

The simple answer is that we do not know.

But either way we need to explain why this survey is so different. Here are the possible reasons for this as I see them just now.

Data collection problems/survey bias

Yougov knows its business, but rougue findings from one-off polls and surveys are certainly possible.

Many have pointed out that saying you go to church is not actually the same thing as going to church, and people do seem to exagerate their church attendence. Might the fact that apparently more people have exagerated their attendence in itself be an indication of church being a more desirable option?

Or perhaps there was an error in earlier surveys, and in pew numbers collected by churches? All of them? Over decades?

Timescale

Has the survey picked up sometihng interesting that has happened in the last year? has the decline flattened out? Is there a new trend? The comparison figure of actual numbers collected by churches are all earlier. This seem implausable but…

What does ‘church attendance’ actually mean?

Must we include the many on-line expressions of faith – apps, streaming, etc etc? If so, perhaps people are now exposed to wider digital forms of church and so are including these in their answer?

What about Churches that don’t collect or publish stats?

Perhaps the increase is all in the non conformist, independent churches? There is other evidence that some of these are indeed growing, particularly independent and evangelical churches. The trouble is, this is from a lower base, and the Bible Society survey asked people to list their religious affiliation- leading to the claim of growth in mainline churches that simply is not evidenced by other sources.

Young men?

I have a slight discomfort about this, in that there appear to be other trends happening in that age group. There’s a growing divide between young men and women, with men increasingly drawn to conservative, traditionalist or right-wing political movements (while women tend to lean more liberal.) This trend, linked ot the influence of ‘Celebrity Christians’ such as Jordan Peterson is not one that I find comfort in. Might this be the reason for young men apparently seeing Church in a more positive light? The attraction here might then be narrow moral certainty rather than the teachings of Jesus.

Church of St James the Great, Salt by Alan Murray-Rust is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

My conclusions then…

This survey is interesting, but we need to treat it with a great degree of caution. There are major difficulties with drawing any conclusions based on this one survey, and the Bible Society itself has used language and great fanfare that I find highly questionable.

Whatever is going on is not revival.

It might hint at a change to come, but only time will tell.

Antichrist…

I was thinking about the book of Revelation today – perhaps the most controversial book in that library of books that we know as the Bible. I grew up in a kind of religion that took this book and used it as a lens to understand world events, particularly (but not exclusively) what has happening in the middle east.

This was before all the current madness, stemming from things like the Left Behind series of books, and all the American Christian Zionism.

Back then, we had people like Hal Lindsay and The Late Great Planet Earth. It was the same stuff and it earned him a fortune.

I still know people who live within this bizarre world view, in which world events are viewed through a particular, modern, Capitalist and elitist interpretation of scripture. In some ways this is the first and ultimate of conspiracy theories- ground zero. All the ingredients are there- the special secrets that will open your eyes to ‘reality’, the sense of being part of a special selection, the cataclysmic alternatives, the network of others who see things like you do and constantly reinforce your world view.

There is also the unforunate side effect of how these ideas, now almost mainstream in the US, have made victims out of already oppressed people and become a wierd distraction for many at best, perhaps actually morally corosive.

Perhaps these ideas are even antichrist.

I will not be deconstructing end times eschatology in this post. If you are interested in digging deeper into this, then I would recommend this podcast;

Back to my cogitations on Revelation. I was thinking about how we might (as with Keith Giles’ account) better approach this book as a confusing veiled analogy of the danger of Empire.

How powerfull, charismatic and despotic individuals can first seem like messiah, but then turn out to be beasts.

We do not have to look far to see examples of these kind of individuals. Ones for whom death, destruction, exploitation and subjugation are just political tools, used casually for personal power and profit.

But I will not name any person ‘Antichrist’. I have heard Christians name many people this way over the years. The Pope, Gorbachev, Putin to name but a few.

What I think I can call antichrist are those things that are against the teachings of Jesus – those things that are contrary to a movement towards goodness otherwise known as ‘the Kingdom of God’.

There seems to be a particular kind of antichrist-ness that uses the Bible as a means to achieve its aim. I find myself loathing this most of all – Jesus did the same. He seemed to reserve a special kind of anger for the religious people who were users, profiteers, division-creators, victim-blamers and hate dealers. Think about these examples;

  • The Sermon on the Mount:Jesus directly challenges the teachings of the Pharisees by emphasizing the importance of inner motives and true righteousness over outward actions. 
  • “Woes upon you, scribes and Pharisees”:In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus delivers a series of pronouncements condemning the religious leaders for their hypocrisy and self-righteousness. 
  • Cleansing the Temple:A dramatic act where Jesus drove out those selling animals and money in the temple, criticizing their commercialization of a sacred space. 

There is danger here of falling into that same old dualistic us/them, good/bad, holy/profane trap in which we retire into a trench built of sandbags full of our own rightness. But despite this danger, after conversations this week I am going to say this. Christians have no monopoly on Christ. We are all capable of being antchrist. This is true in the small things and the big things.

Lets subjugate everything to love, to kindness and to compassion – particularly towrds the weak, the poor, the broken. Anything else is empire. Anything else is antichrist.

Things like this

Remaking religion 7: a return to that word ‘hermaneutic’…

This is a continuation of a series of posts in which I have been grappling with the religion I have inherited but often find myself deeply at odds with. I have this idea that what is happening to Christianity in the western world is not an end, but a transition. Lord knows, we need our holy stories more than ever to lead us towards better, to inspire the next generation and make leaders out of the old one. In these posts, I have been trying to describe what I think the shape of this transition might look like, sometimes through observation and discussion with others and sometimes by striving to get beyond my cynical frustration and letting loose hopeful imagination.

You can find the old posts by using the search box above- try ‘remaking religion’ as your search criteria…

…or if you are not in the reading mood then we have discussed some of the issues on a podcast, here.

Hermaneutic

I have spoken about this word on this blog over the years. I have usually tried to define it this way; the set of googles/telescope through which you view the world.

The optical distortions within these goggles- acknoledged or not – affect what we see and how we understand what we see.

I think this word is central to how we approach any renewal efforts towards religious story making.

I will start with a confession – I have developed a bit of a youtube habit. I would like to pretend that this arises from my deep interest in ideas- philisophy, economics, history, sociology, religion etc., but the algorithm does not lie. It knows me better than I know myself. Each twitch of the finger over the remote control is recorded as if as my unguarded conscience. So it is that alongside some material that does relate to high minded pretentiousness, there is a whole lot about car renovation, cricket, metal detecting, oppositional American politics, sailing and all sorts of other nonsense which allows me to switch off and not think. However, the algorithm sometimes serves up pure gold and the other day this came in the form of a video from the Centre for Action and Contemplation, of Richard Rohr talking about how Jesus used and quoted scripture.

Now perhaps you would have skipped along the feed towards something less cerebral – I almost did but I gave it a try, as much to save it for later. Instead I watched the whole thing, all one hour and eight minutes, despite all the other things I should have been doing.

It turns out that Richard Rohr – who I believe offers a vital prophetic, apastolic perspective to our generation – had things to say that were of great importance to my quest for a renewal of religion. He does this with a playful gentle kindness that always makes me listen all the harder. Here is the video in question;

There is so much about what RR has to say here that I find myself saying a soul-deep YES to… but towards the beginning he says something like this;

You must define and clarify tour hermeneutic- your science of interpretation. If you don’t have a consistent hermeneutic, you can make scripture say whatever you want. If we don’t make clear at the beginning how we approach scripture and the way we give it authority, then we are really not worth listening to because it will just end up being ‘opinion’. You will then just find texts that affirm your opinon.

Richard Rohr

Even the most faithful of my critics – with much justification – might point to this Remaking Religion series and accuse me of doing exactly what RR warns us against. I am expressing opinions then, if I seek to anchor this in scripture at all, then I do so only in ways that justify my opinions.

Some might chucle and suggest that my hereneutic is youtube!

Perhaps my critical friends might go even further than this, and point out that my failure to base most of my arguments on scripture is indicative of my wearyness, my cynicism towards the scripture itself and there would be truth in this criticism. I feel as though I have escaped from what I now view as a a prison in which the iron bars were made out of scripture. No wonder then that I, and others like me, are less interested in ‘proving’ or ‘evidencing’ truth based on narrow versions of scripture because the whole idea of ‘biblical authority’ feels like a prison gate. Having said that, any cursory read of this blog will notice that I am certainly not done with the bible, neither do I in any way reject the treasure and wisdom it contains.

What RR does in this video – and many others have done alongside him – is hold a mirror up to the religious traditions we were parented by in our faith and in doing so, pointing out that they too had substantial unconscious bias arising from their hermaneutics. They too then backwards interpreted scripture in such a way as to confirm these biases.

Worse than this, the bigger and more ‘successful’ these hermeneutics became, the more invisible they were, the more unasailable, the more they were given the authority of ‘truth’. The more they were seen as coming directly from God himself, as if on a velvet cushion from the sky. (Strange then, that this truth often seemed to fit well with a set of priorities that confirmed the power structure of the empires they grew within and continued to support.)

The continuing attempt to preserve the crumbling remains of the 13thC Dunkeld Cathedral

What do we do with this insight?

What might it mean as we try to remake our religion in our shifting changing context?

I think we have to refuse to get back in theological prison, and instead start to use scripture in a very different way, which involves reading it through a deliberately different hermeneutic – one that remains faithful to tradition, but free from it also.

JESUS

RR does a brilliant job in trying to describe how Jesus approached scripture, and how this seems radically different to the way we have read it. Selective quoting from just 4 OT books are recorded in the gospels- sometimes miss-quotes! Actively disagreeing/wrestling with scripture

HIERARCHY OF TRUTH

As Pope Francis puts it, not all truth is equal. Some comes first. Not every sentence in scripture can or should be given equal merit as if it were heavenly law.

INCLUSION

Jesus always includes. Critique the in-group, make the outsider the hero.

MERCY

Always Jesus started with love, continued with love and ended with love

PEOPLE OVER DOCTRINE

I loved the way that RR described the difference it makes when we engage with theology though connection to people as opposed to approaching people through theology.

PRINCIPLE OVER FINE PRINT

Back to that hierarchy of truth thing- if we can ‘prove’ something using ancient scriptural texts then we must also subject that text to the bigger principles that the text contains. We know this as Christians because that is what Jesus did.

Remaking religion 5: mission…

I am just back from a late Autumn canoe trip on Loch Arkaig, a place of sublime beauty, lined with ancient woodland and high mountains. We stayed in a bothy maintained by the Mountain Bothy Association, who make it freely available to the wide community of walkers, climbers and paddlers. There were four of us, and amidst the usual profanity and age-related moans and grouns we spent a lot of time talking about things that mattered. (I made a short video about the woods, here.)

In many ways, this landscape captures the best of what the Scottish landscape and history has to offer. The huge expanse of the mountains around a twelve mile long loch. Wild boar, deer, eagles, Ospreys (who had left for warmer places when we were there.) The Caledonian pine forest there feels holy, in the way it demonstrates connectedness, but also what being there does to me deep inside my chest.

Approaching St Columba’s isle – Island Columbkill or Chalum Cille Loch Arkaig

Out in the loch is a very small island with the remains of a chapel so old that no-one knows when it was built. It is known as St Columba’s chapel, and the island as St Columba’s island – who knows, it may well have a connection to one of the saint’s missionary journeys.

I always find myself wondering about what motivated Columba and his fellow Irish missionary monks. What problems were they trying to solve? Was it always about saving souls? Did they see themselves as right and the pagan world they set off towards as wrong? The assumption in the old stories always seems to be that these questions had obvious answers. Of course they were ‘right’, and of course those who had not encountered the Christian story needed to hear it. In a black and white world, colour is confusing. Better not to see it.

But perhaps I judge Columba (and his generation) too harshly, because their mission was not the same as those that came later – or at least I don’t think so. Theirs was a mission of peace to a world of tribal/clan conflict. What came later was much worse. Celtic Christianity developed and flowed amongst the culture and traditions of its time – perhaps even sitting alongside older spiritualities rather than replacing them. There is a much longer conversation to be had about this, but my point here is to wonder what might be the mission that religion would/could send us on now. What problems might/must we engage with? What cultural context might/must shape our mission?

It is worth saying right now that the religion we are largely leaving behind continues to make mission. I have been (rightly) critical of some – the legacy of which has left toxic stains across the world. Those kinds of missions had as much to do with cultural and economic conquest as they did with religion. They were a product of empire, a means of colonisation and subjugation. But despite this dark legacy, there have always been people motivated by their faith who have become activists of a different kind- peace makers, feeders of strangers, animal lovers, adventurers. Even now, if you look to the workforce of charities around the world – from our city streets to the furthest flung war zones – you will find that an outsized proportion who are there because of their religion. We should celebrate these people, and the way that faith has sent them on missions of healing and goodness.

My strong feeling is that people of faith have a duty – we might even say a religious obligation – to engage hopefully and critically with the context in which we are living. This means bringing as much passion, integrity and energy to bear as we can, illuminated by a set of principles not of this world (not of empire) but of another, sometimes known as ‘the Kingdom of God’.

This might mean opening our eyes to the spirit of our age, and exposing it to a different story- to the considerations of the Kingdom of God. At a time of widening inequlaity, of climate breakdown and mass extinction, of war-by-drone waged on defenseless children, we surely do not have to look very far…

This Kingdom of God always had a different set of priorities – above all, it was a call towards living in compassionate community with each other and with the beautiful world we are part of. In so many ways this simple, radical message was always at odds with the logic of empire, and as such, the counter-cultural part of the message was often reduced to a far less problematic priority of personal individual sins – particularly sexual sins.

Furthermore, the dualistic message that the old story was bound up in (saved/unsaved, evil/holy, sacred/profane) was never a good fit with the Jesus story, let alone the indigenous religion of the Jews. It was, however, a good fit with the logic of Roman exceptionalism (or all the other empire exceptionalisms that have followed since.) It has been so easy to forget this inside the small rooms we have made out of our personal religion – to imagine ourselves as special, and anyone outside our ‘chosen-ness’ as dwelling in darkness.

But this takes me back to the first post in this series, which is to wonder how a (religious) story might inspire action – or mission.

If we embraced that part of our tradition that calls us back towards connection to the earth – with our non human brothers and sisters – what missions might this inspire?

If we embraced that part of our tradition that calls us back towards radical inclusion of the outcast and outsiders, how might we use our homes and communal spaces?

If we embraced that part of our tradition that calls us back towards honouring the poor what will that mean for our comfort and our bank balances? When will we have enough? What will we share with those who have less and how will we share it?

If we embrace that part of our tradition that calls us to make peace with our enemies, then how will be relate to those around us? How will we hold the war-mongers to account?

And if these are the priorities of our religion as it seeks to make a mission in our broken and hurting world, then what collective rituals and practices might assist us, encourage us and inspire us? Where will we make our church, and what will it look like?

Mostly the mission this might send us on will be human-scale. Those who get to influence great events or act as major change agents have a rare and precious opportunity.

The rest of us use what power we can within our arms reach – and this is not a small thing. A mass movement of individuals can be more powerful than a King, but what might create this mass movement in an age of a million divisive voices screaming at us through all those little screens?

If not a religious story, committed to action that is as loving and truth-centred as we can make it.

There is nothing else worth living towards.

Remaking religion 2: telling a new story…

Photo by Alvin Sadewo on Pexels.com

Behold, I am making all things new…

These are words attributed to a returning Jesus in the wild Book of Revelation, the last book in our Bible – and possibly the most controversial. (Incidentally, there is a really good podcast exploring some of the themes and excesses we have made from readings of Revelation here.)

You can find echoes of the same idea written many hundreds of years before by the prophet Isiaiah. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.

For some reason, this sentence always pokes me in the heart, right where I hope from. It has often come to me with tears. It was out of this place that I wrote this poem…

The great Becoming

.

How small we made you.

How constrained by our constraints;

We wore you like a lapel badge,

Pocketed you like a personal passport, then

Raised you at our borders like a flag.

We locked you in the pages of

Our Book, then threw away the key.

.

But how we worshipped you.

How we pointed at you with steeples.

You asked us to follow you, to

Give away our second shirts, but instead

We made a million icons, each one framed in gold.

We swayed and raised our egos, singing love songs-

Not to you, but to idealised versions of ourselves.

.

How is it that still, you love things by becoming them?

How was it that this brown-skinned man with the heart of a woman

Took upon herself another name for everything, so we could

Encounter her in all these beautiful things and bleed with her when she

Lies broken? And just when all seems lost, she whispers still;

See, I am making all things new.

Even you.

I think that when I first read these words, I saw them (or they were described to me as) the description of a one-off event – most likely a supernatural Jesus event – or prehaps an individualised thing done by our own personal Jesus. It may well refer to both of these things, or it might mean something… bigger.

What if this is a constant kind of ‘being made new’?

Rather than describing a divine rescue plan for a chosen few, what if it is the description of a great cosmic unfolding that began with an explosion of love so powerful that nothing can stop it from reaching outwards, and continues on and on not just through history, but through each and every one of us, every bade of grass, every living and love-made thing?

An unfolding that can be sensed in the kindness of strangers, the flow of water or the feeling we get in the pit of our stomachs when we stare up at stars…

Photo by dennis George on Pexels.com

What does this origin story look like, and how is it different from the one described yesterday?

How might it be more fitting for our times, as means of engagement and movement towards good in the areas we need it most?

How might it build on insights discovered by previous spiritual adventurers/theological wonderers?

Here is my suggested version (with room still for refinement and expansion.)

Photo by Belle Co on Pexels.com

We celebrate the Cosmic Christ, the God who loves things by becoming them (with a nod to the writings of Richard Rohr and his grounding in the Fransican tradition.) Christ might also be a word which means ‘another name for everything’.

Christ the substance through which all things have their being. S/he might be understood as the shared am-ness of all things. Through Christ we are interwoven and connected to all created things both human and non-human. Through Christ we are drawn to be lovers of the earth not because we are ascendent, but because we are included and interdependent.

Learning from the Celtic tradition, this same Christ is the very ground of our being, the truest deepest part of our personhood and our shared humanity. Sin is that which prevents us from being our truest selves, and this can be seen both in our individual lives and our collective brokenness.

This might mean that we discover Christ in our own souls not by addition, but by subtraction (with a nod to the wisdom of Meister Eckhart) by finding our way through all the mess, trauma and bad choices through to what was there all along, waiting for rediscovery and re-connection.

Remarkably, the story of Jesus (the historical Christ rather than the Cosmic Christ) suggests that god has been revealed not only through nature (the first incarnation) but through taking on flesh (the second incarnation) The life and death of Jesus is a deep call towards sacrificial love towards our human and non-human neighbours.

Christ taught a gospel of grace, in which we remember that the god who is the light behind our light and the soul within our souls knows our woundedness, and waits for us to journey towards her. A Christ who no longer is the deserter of earth, but an example of its greatest lover. A Jesus who is no longer a supra-human ‘other’, but rather one of ‘us’.

After the Celtic tradition, we seek to take our place in world where nature is the gift of being, but grace is the gift of wellbeing.

In other words, we enter the Kingdom of God (which the historical Jesus called us to take our part within) is way to describe a non-dual, engaged way to collaborate in the service of healing, peace-making and acts of love towards the world, with a particular emphasis on those parts of the human and non-human world that are broken, enslaved, endangered or subject to injustice.

Photo by Henrique Feiten on Pexels.com

Is this it?

Is this enough?

So far, in terms of trying to uncover an origin story, perhaps it is. In future posts, I hope to turn again to examining the degree to which this story might influence our practices, our ways of worship and our organisational structures- following the narrative logic that it might suggest to us.

One more thing before we leave this story though. I made reference to how we might discover God in our souls through subtraction rather than addition. This takes us back to an old debate between Pelagius and Augustine of Hippo.

Pelagius, thought to have been a learned Celt, from somewhere in the British Isles or Ireland, travelled to Rome and started to write things that upset Augustine, who had proposed the idea of original sin as a theological technology for making sense of our relationship with god, and to give meaning to the death of Jesus on the Cross. Pelagius held with the Celtic tradition, which saw humans as containing the living god in the core of our being – clearly not compatable with original sin.

One side called us towards the inate dignity and sacredness of each and every soul. The other required salvation through a narrow gate, controlled by the power of the Church. You can guess who won the argument. Pelagius was written out of the Christian story.

In a previous post, I wrote this;

What would the world look like if Augustine had lost the argument with Pelagius? What if we had never been convinced of our ‘original sin’, but instead built our thinking around the idea of original sacredness at the core of everything that has breath?

Without the empire that would we have had the religion of Christianity at all? What else might have filled this space?

What if the old Chritstianity is at the end of one of its natural cycles of existence?

What if it needs to be born again, and if so, who will be the midwives?

Remaking religion 1: examining the old origin story…

The point of this series of post is simple- renewal of a whole religious tradition to make it fit for purpose. For many, this is heresy of the kind that previously would have earned me a bloody end, but revolutionary reformulation is needed more urgently than ever.

After all, despite the grand proclaimations, what current use is western religion as a means of healing and restoration in our current broken world? I would argue that this is not just a minor issue requiring a slight shift of focus. Rather we need to remake our religion at source.

In this post, I attempt to reconsider our origin story, but first we have to consider the one that is still firmly in place.

When considering the stories told about the life of Jesus – those that have come to us through the inspired/historically accurate/mythological/unreliable (delete words as appropriate) written record – this thought occured to me;

If, by some strange circumstance, we lost all the scriptural records apart from the death and resurection story, would modern Christianity be any different? If we knew nothing of the teachings of Jesus – which we have ignored in large part anyway – could modern Christianity still stand?

Then there is a subsiduary thought.

If we only had the records of his teaching, and how he lived his life, WITHOUT the death and resurection story how might Christianity have developed- if it had been allowed to develop at all?

I think this is a significant question because (arguably) the religion Paul made – and was later adopted as the official religion of Empire – concerned itself to a large degree with the next life, not this one.

The origin story of this religion went something like this.

God is a divine judge who can bear no sinfulness, but because of his great love, he sent his only son into the world to be tortured and killed, taking on the rightful punishment of the rest of us, so that those who practice correct belief might be saved from eternal hellfire.

The degree to which ALL followers of the Christian relgion understood the origin story to be like this is, of course, debateable, but perhaps we can agree that this became the dominant Christian ‘good news’ story (or Gospel) fairly early, particularly in Rome, centre of the new Holy Christian Empire.

Meanwhile, those inconvenient teachings of Jesus slipped quietly down the list of priorities. For example, just off the top of my head;

  1. The first shall be last and the last shall be first stuff
  2. You don’t need two shirts on you back
  3. Blessed are the poor (in spirit) and his recognition of the beauty and dignity of all people
  4. Harder for a rich man to entire the kingdom than a camel through the eye of a needle
  5. The band of malcontents, failure and low-lifes he spent his time with, who he saw as his disciples
  6. Non-violence, offering the other cheek
  7. The ‘new kingdom’ (perhaps better understood as ‘anti-Empire’)
  8. Breaking national /ethical morality codes by speaking to women and Samaritans, lepers and Roman soldiers
  9. The radical inclusion of outcasts and outsiders
  10. The call to love for all and everything, even enemies

That question again- to what extent are these sorts of teachings central to our practice of the Christian religion?

Is it possible that we have made them at best ‘optional’ matters, much less important than saving souls from hell? We might hear preaching about them, but I think we can see clearly how Empire is always more important than the Kingdom of God’s anti-Empire messge. The dominance of American Evangelicalism is only the latest version of the same.

The goggles we have been given to look back at Jesus through make it very difficult to look afresh at the religion we have inherited, but if we were to invite an uninformed alien to read the gospels then visit one of our cathedrals, or attend one of our evangelical worship services, surely they would be very confused?

How did we end up here?

If the story of Jesus is the origin story not just of our religion but of our whole culture, it is hard to deny that this story does not seem to have been adopted whole. Rather it has all-too-often been interpreted in such a way as to protect the powerful and ignore the needs of the weak and oppressed. (One of the key ways that this replacement trick seems to have been wrought is by the deployment of a theological construct called ‘original sin’ but we will return to this later.)

Do we need a new origin story? Might we yet redeem our religion from the clutches of Empire? More than this, might there be somethng in this new origin story that might be useful to us as we grapple with the world that has been made in the shadow of the old one?

My answer to this is yes – and no.

Yes because the story as laid out above is not fit for purpose so we have to replace it. I say this because it fails to challenge the fundamental economically over-reaching, socially unjust and environmentally unsustainable problems created by the western culture it has sustained and developed within.

No because (many would argue) this was never the real story in the first place. The religion named after Jesus lost itself along the way. It became corrupted by those very things he spent so much time warning us against. Therefore, the task is not to make a new story, but to strive to find the one that was always there.

No also because rather than inventing anything new, perhaps the better strategy is to go back and examine what other followers of Jesus found most persuasive. We are not the first generation to grapple with these issues and perhaps others had a better story in the first place, engaging better with the problems described above?

This is difficult work, even for those of us who have been through painful deconstruction of the religion we previously knew. Where should we start? Who can we trust to guide and inspire us? After all, the Christian religion – particularly in Protestant form – sometimes seems like one long argument in which successions of men (it is always men) think they have a better grip on Truth than those before, and where did all of that get us?

One lesson we might take from the Protestant project is the failure of attempts to create correct belief based on ever more narrow readings of scripture, as if an ascendant Christian tradition would eventually reach a final ‘true’ position on all things – because the Bible says so. This approach has so many problems, but perhaps the more obvious one is that it is based on an unexamined and unacknowledged set of assumptions about the nature of scripture itself and the blind spots deployed to protect those asssumptions. I have written a lot about this – if you are interested, perhaps here is a good place to start.

If this approach was always flawed, and even worse has failed to deliver a religious framework that can engage with the crisis facing our society, perhaps we must instead find ways to prioritise practicalities and praxis – the efficacy and usefulness of religion. After all, what is belief for?

Or to put this another way – who cares what you believe if it does not change you/the world towards better? The saving souls business has too often been a distraction convenient to vested interests opposed to any real change.

It might be worth mentioning here my own process as I grapple with what might be described as ‘reconstruction’, along these lines;

  1. I acknowledge those whose teaching/writing/leadership has inspired me, consciously holding on to the things I inherited that are ‘good’. These act like signposts or filters or channels through which I measure and encounter the new
  2. I pay attention to what sings in my soul. I have decided to trust my own embodied reaction as a guide for accepting and adventuring. If I read something or encounter something and it lights me up emotionally/physically/spirituality (even intelluctually) then I follow this down and let it lead me to new places. are
  3. What is useful? By which I mean the degree to which ideas contribute towards my understanding of peace love and justice. If they do not seem immediately useful in this regard, I am not necessarily rejecting them as ‘wrong’, rather I am far less interested.

Enough with picking over the old story, what about a new/old one?

We will turn towards this in the next post.