Looking for the ‘risen’ Jesus? – Book Review
Geza Vermes, The Changing Faces of Jesus (London: Allen Lane, 2000)
This contribution to the search for the ‘Jesus of history’ adopts a rigorous methodology. Each of the canonical sources is examined in turn, albeit in an unusual order. Vermes begins with the genuine Pauline epistles as the earliest written sources available. He identifies elements in them that derive directly from the Jesus tradition – notably the account of the resurrection. Vermes interprets the formula ‘I handed on to you as of first importance what I turn had received’ (1 Cor. 15:3) as an indication that Paul is here repeating a core part of the proto-gospel message. Interestingly, the slight difference of phraseology in 1 Cor. 11:23 leads Vermes to speculate that Paul may have introduced the words of institution, previously unknown to the tradition, and that ‘the editors of Matthew, Mark, and especially Luke, who follows Paul most closely, introduced it into their respective accounts in the Synoptic Gospels’ (p. 69).
From this initial account, it is clear that we are dealing with a careful, text-based, and analytical approach to the question. Further treatment of the other epistles and the Johannine corpus confirms this impression. Vermes concludes his survey of this material by typifying the Jesus presented in Paul and John as a mystical, deified quasi-abstraction. He does this in large part by assessing the occurrences of the various titles they use for Jesus. The main difference between Paul and John is that Paul, writing in the middle of the first century, has a strong eschatological expectation (although this lacks clear definition – see p. 91). Meanwhile, John, composed in the early second century, has more or less disposed of this eschatological urgency. As Vermes puts it (quoting Alfred Loisy), ‘The first Christians expected the return of Christ, but it was the church that arrived instead’ (p. 113).
The Acts of the Apostles, the Synoptic gospels, and Mark’s gospel in particular, present a much more ‘human’ Jesus, along the lines of a ‘wonder-working prophet’ such as Elijah (see, for example, p. 190). It is interesting to note which of the sayings of Jesus Vermes admits as authentic – usually because they seem to go against the subsequent teaching of the Church – and how he weaves the emerging picture of a Galilean holy man together with his extensive knowledge of the Qumran scrolls and Rabbinic sources from the first century BC to the second century AD. These invariably cast light on the sayings and actions of Jesus, and help to situate them in a wider religious and social context.
Vermes is nothing if not fair. He recognises similarities between Jesus and other prophetic figures, while allowing for major differences of emphasis and vision. The inclusiveness of Jesus vis-à-vis women and outcasts is a notable distinctive, for example. Even his treatment of the resurrection tactfully leaves open the possibility that the account preserved by Paul and the fragmentary hints in Mark (later much elaborated by Matthew, Luke, and John to strengthen their veracity) might indeed refer to something real. Vermes quotes Paul Winters: ‘Crucified, dead, and buried, [Jesus] yet rose in the hearts of the disciples who had loved him and felt he was near’. It seems to me that this does not quite explain the persistence of the resurrection message, and its attested presence in the earliest recorded sources. Ultimately, the resurrection remains a skandalon to be accounted for.
The absence of an index and extensive bibliography is a serious shortcoming in this book.
Filed under Books, History, Spirituality, Theology | Comment (0)To be a Pilgrim: An experiment in inclusive language
Let’s take the text of a favourite hymn, and subject it to a grammatical/linguistic experiment.
In the original version, the first verse of Bunyan’s ‘To Be a Pilgrim’ goes:
‘He who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let him in constancy follow the Master.
There’s no discouragement shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent to be a pilgrim.’
Of course, the words ‘he’, ‘him’, and ‘his’ are problematic, as the pilgrim could just as easily be a woman:
‘She who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let her in constancy follow the Master.
There’s no discouragement shall make her once relent
Her first avowed intent to be a pilgrim.’
But this is just as exclusive as the first version. So we try a version that does not specify gender:
‘They who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let them in constancy follow the Master.
There’s no discouragement shall make them once relent
Their first avowed intent to be a pilgrim.’
Or, in what I am told is the emerging feminist consensus:
‘Zie who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let hir in constancy follow the Master.
There’s no discouragement shall make hir once relent
Hir first avowed intent to be a pilgrim.’
On balance, the slightly dodgy grammar of the third option wins over the sheer strangeness of the fourth. So the third person plural comes to be treated as if it were a gender-inclusive form of the second person singular.
A fifth and final option:
‘If one would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,
Let one in constancy follow the Master.
There’s no discouragement shall make one once relent
One’s first avowed intent to be a pilgrim.’
While it has the virtue of being grammatically consistent, this version has little warmth or vigour!
To you to decide…
Filed under English, Society, Spirituality | Comments (2)St Joseph of Nazareth, 19 March
“Did they tell you stories about the saints of old?
Stories about their faith?
They say stories like that make a boy grow bold
Stories like that make a man walk straight”
- Rich Mullins
The story of Joseph is not heard often enough. Here is a man overshadowed by his wife and his children, and neglected throughout most of Church history. Yet Joseph speaks with fresh relevance to all of us, and especially to twenty-first century boys and men…
Ironically, Joseph never actually speaks at all. Not one word of his is recorded in the gospels. He simply hears and thinks and acts.
In a world of sound-bites and marketing and mass-communication, words rule.
But how often is there a disconnect between our words and our actions?
Joseph shows us the difficult path of action. St Matthew calls him ‘a righteous man’. We might say he was a man trying to do the right thing. And in weighing up the right thing, Joseph considers the demands of his conscience and of his society, as well as the needs of those he loves. He was a caring man, unwilling to expose Mary to public disgrace, but we can tell that he agonised over this decision for his sake and for her’s.
Because Joseph was a faithful man. He tried to keep his commitments. He only had to hear God’s difficult call and he obeyed without question. He received God’s last-minute instructions and responded, even when it meant risking death and becoming a refugee!
And in all of this, Joseph is a model of strength and generosity. His model of fatherhood has never been more relevant than in our times of broken and re-combined families.
What about us? Are we men and women of righteousness and faith? What thoughtful and caring action can we carry out today, inspired by the example of St Joseph?
Lectionary readings for today:
2 Samuel 7.4–16
Psalm 89.26–36
Romans 4.13–18
Matthew 1.18–end
The ‘historical’ Jesus? – Book Review
Bruce Chilton, Rabbi Jesus, An Intimate Biography: The Jewish Life and Teachings that Inspired Christianity (New York: Image/Doubleday, 2000)
At the core of Chilton’s study is a true observation. The Jewishness of Jesus has tended to be overlooked, or even deliberately obscured, throughout history.
From such a start, one might expect a critical historiographical survey, or a rigorous reexamination of the evidence.
Sadly this is not what Chilton gives us.
Instead, Rabbi Jesus is an ‘intimate’ biography, which seems to mean a consciously one-sided and impassioned account of Chilton’s own reconstruction of the life of Jesus.
Chilton’s account draws on historical research and archaeological excavations, some of which is no doubt accurate. However, it is treated in a haphazard and unscholarly fashion. Chilton favours the existence of a Galilean Bethlehem about which I had never heard, for example, and helpfully contextualises Herod and Pontius Pilate within the Mediterranean power politics of the time. But Chilton also relies on very old traditions, such as the early death of Joseph, and on apocryphal sources whose authenticity has been questioned since the early centuries of the common era.
There is therefore a lack of care in Chilton’s handling of sources. The same can be said of his translations from the Greek of the New Testament. Aiming for freshness, Chilton certainly conveys the strangeness of the text, without necessarily helping us to understand it better (the true aim of translation). Thus he renders the familiar phrase ‘the Son of Man’ as ‘one like a person’, on the basis that Jesus seems to have taken it from Daniel 7:13, where it refers to a creature that looks like a human being. Leaving aside the problematic nature of the word ‘person’ itself, as well as the fact that the phrase ‘son of man’ occurs throughout Ezekiel and also in Daniel 8:17 (where it seems to be a circumlocution meaning ‘you the addressee, as a representative member of human society’), Chilton’s translation seems to suggest that Jesus was not really a human being, but only seemed to be one. Yet this is more or less the opposite of what Chilton means to say, given his view that Jesus was a human being who discovered himself as a son of God, just as all of us can.
On the basis of Daniel 7, Chilton develops the idea that Jesus’ teaching revolved around meditating on what he calls ‘the chariot’ (or God’s throne), although Jesus himself never used these terms.
On the plus side, Chilton emphasises the radical nature of Jesus’ shared meals and shows how much of his teaching revolves around a radical new understanding of purity (which he terms ‘Galilean’ because it bypasses the temple system policed by the Pharisees and Sadducees). Chilton therefore notes the ways in which Jesus himself supersedes the temple, following the author to the Hebrews but with a different spin.
Another plus is that, whatever its scholarly failings, Chilton’s account treats Jesus as a historically contingent human being, responding to political, economic, and cultural events. His reconstructed changes in the location and focus of Jesus’ teaching (Galilee, idealism, Jerusalem, militant radicalism, etc.) are intriguing but textually hard to prove.
I felt there was enough good in this book to make me wish it were better. Prediction: you may react strongly to the ‘intimate’ biography of Jesus!
Filed under Books, History, Spirituality | Comment (0)Ephesians 4: Practical Unity – Sermon
Living and working in Brussels, especially in international and European circles, one meets people from all over the world, and hears a lot of talk about national characteristics. People often say that the Germans are obsessed with order, that the French are always sure they’re right, that the English are very polite (and we won’t even go into what people say about our Belgian hosts…)!
If you’re worried that this all sounds a bit un-PC, you’re absolutely right! I wouldn’t be the first to peddle such stereotypes, as St Paul also went on record saying that people from Crete are ‘are always liars, evil brutes, lazy gluttons’ (see Titus 1:12). But in fact, all of these stereotypes can and should be questioned.
And I’d like to start with the one about the English. What do we mean when we say that they (we) are ‘polite’? First of all, we mean that English people have a tendency to avoid conflict, especially by saying nice things about other people – at least in front of them, that is. But behind the backs of the people we dislike, it is often a different story.
Imagine yourself at a party. You are talking to a stereotypical English man or woman, who seems on the surface to be genuinely interested in what you are saying. But inside, s/he is bored. If you are lucky, you may pick up on some very subtle signal of this inner feeling, but otherwise you will never know! An English person may seem outwardly calm, but privately burning with rage. They (we) may look interested, committed, concerned… but deep down we can just as easily be uninterested, non-committal, or even hostile to your plan.
There is often a big gap between what we say and what we really think. And if we are honest with ourselves, this gap can also be called ‘hypocritical’, ‘lies’ and ‘passive aggression’. In short, English people are not polite, even if their language seems to be. Language – and the culture that creates it – is like a veneer that hides the underlying reality.
Of course, it’s all too easy to hide behind generalisations like this, so I’ll just come out and say it: I’m the first to avoid conflict, to say nice things, to feign interest. I fail to speak the plain straightforward truth with genuine love for the other person.
But – as St Paul explains in his letter to the Ephesians – this is not the way to create a healthy, united community. And in case this sounds like a long list of ‘don’ts’, please notice that for every negative command in Ephesians 4:25-5:2, Paul gives a positive one too: for example: ‘put off falsehood’ is counterbalanced with the positive: ‘and speak truthfully’ (v. 25). In what follows, I will try to focus on the ‘Yes’ rather than the ‘No’.
In Ephesians 4:25-5:, Paul has three concerns:
1. That the people of God should stand out from the rest of the world
2. That we should live for each other since ‘we are all members of one body’ (v. 25)
3. That our behaviour should resemble Christ’s
We can sum up these three ‘Yesses’ in the word unity, since Paul is looking for the distinctive signs of our Christlike love in the way that we as ‘members of one body’ treat each other.
In the verses immediately before today’s reading, Paul reminds the early Christians of Ephesus that their behaviour should be different from that of unbelievers (the unbelievers who surrounded them and their own ‘natural’ behaviour); which was marked by ‘futility’ (Eph. 4:17), ‘ignorance’ (v. 18), ‘sensuality’ and ‘a continual lust for more’ (v. 19).
Our natural behaviour is primarily selfish, but as Paul says, ‘you [...] did not come to know Christ that way’ (Eph. 4:20). The behaviour of Christ is self-less, self-sacrificing, and motivated by love for others (Eph. 5:2), all admirable and desirable characteristics that sadly don’t come naturally to us! This means we are attempting something supernatural here, for which we need the support of God (see Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Gemeinsames Leben, p. 30).
Here we will see how Paul unpacks selfless Christian love in very practical terms. He shows how it should affect (1) our speech, (2) our disagreements, and (3) our work:
1. Christian speech is honest and constructive.
2. Christians manage anger and reconciliation.
3. Christians work to support one another.
First of all, our speech should be honest and constructive.
It is easy to be honest without being constructive, or vice versa. We love to use the truth to tear each other down. Or at the other extreme, we flatter one another with ego-massages but fail to draw each other’s attention to areas for improvement. Honest and constructive speech acknowledges the reality of a situation and is not afraid to offer challenges when they are needed.
According to the Proverbs, honest, constructive speech is like ‘Wounds from a friend’ that ‘can be trusted’ (Proverbs 27:6); the writer of the Proverbs continues: ‘Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of one’s friend springs from his earnest counsel’ (Proverbs 27:9). But what does this kind of speech sound like (and feel like) in real life?
For one thing, honest and constructive speech does not mean saying the right thing – the socially acceptable thing – but rather it is about speaking the truth in love (Eph. 4:15). Honest and constructive speech does not make indirect references to the things that annoy. It is not sarcastic, and does not gossip. Instead, it is concerned to say ‘only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen’ (v. 29).
The kind of honesty St Paul is talking about is direct, straightforward, and to the point. It means confronting the reality of what we see and feel, in words that cut across social dos and don’ts. It is motivated by concern for other people.
The rule of thumb that Jesus recommended is to: ‘do to others what you would have them do to you’ (Matthew 7:12). I’m guessing that you would not like to be attacked without reason. It hurts to be criticised for doing something with good intentions – even if it doesn’t quite work out the way you hoped it would. And you certainly wouldn’t want someone to uncharitably misinterpret your motives. But at the same time, you would want someone to take you aside and give you a friendly recommendation, some helpful feedback, a corrective tip…
You wouldn’t want someone to gossip behind your back, and you would appreciate their courage if they spoke to you directly about their feelings. So we should do the same for each other! ‘Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen’ (v. 29).
There is a helpful tip regarding this kind of plain speaking in the famous management textbook The One Minute Manager (Kenneth Blanchard and Spencer Johnson; New York: Morrow, 1982). It recommends that when someone makes a mistake, we should go speak to them immediately (or as soon as we discover the mistake). We should tell the person exactly what the problem is, specifying as much as we can to show that we have understood it correctly. What we say should be along the lines of: ‘I notice that you forgot to buy bread’. It should not attack their abilities, or their status as a human being. It should NOT be a variation along the lines of: ‘some people are so forgetful!’ or ‘you’re always forgetting things’, or ‘you forgot AGAIN’. Notice that these are generalisations that tend to lock the person into a negative view of themselves (much like the un-PC national stereotypes we saw just now).
Having explained what the problem is (honestly and constructively), we should then say how this incident makes us feel (angry, upset, or disappointed, for example). This brings us to Paul’s second positive instruction: ‘In your anger do not sin’ (v. 26).
Let’s look at this second principle a bit more closely. ‘In your anger do not sin’ comes from Psalm 4, which Paul is quoting directly. If you read this Psalm, you will notice that the structure of this psalm is similar to the structure of Paul’s argument in Ephesians 4. It begins with those who ‘love delusions and seek false gods’ (v. 2), in other words, unbelievers. Then it talks about holiness: ‘the LORD has set apart the godly for himself’ (v. 3). Believers are meant to be different from unbelievers (remember: ‘you [...] did not come to know Christ that way’, Eph. 4:20).
Only then does the psalmist offer his (or her) practical advice: ‘In your anger do not sin’…
The implication is that anger is not necessarily sinful in itself. It is not something to be avoided. Rather, it is a normal, healthy expression of emotion. Speaking for myself again, I know that I tend to keep my anger locked up inside, doing untold damage to myself until it eventually explodes in response to some small thing, usually at exactly the wrong moment, as my family and friends can testify!
The time for anger is precisely in the heat of the moment. Not at a later date, and certainly not for long periods of time. That’s why Paul suggests ‘Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry’ (v. 26), and also why he is so strongly says ‘Get rid of all bitterness’ (v. 31), which is the result of brooding continually on the causes of our anger.
Returning to The One Minute Manager, an honest expression of our feelings (of anger, frustration, disappointment, etc.) should be followed immediately by a positive affirmation of the individual we are talking to: ‘I know you can do it’, ‘I believe in you’, ‘this doesn’t alter my respect for you…’ etc.
Finally – and this is perhaps the hardest part – The One Minute Manager and St Paul both advise us to consider the matter closed. We will not speak about it any more, and will not hold it against each other!
To avoid bitterness and rage, anger should be expressed. Then we can seek forgiveness and reconciliation. ‘Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you’ (v. 32). This is easier said than done, and therefore requires the support of the Holy Spirit (v. 30).
And notice also that this kind of communication requires a certain kind of listening; listening that does not take offense, but listens to the hurt of the other person. Listening that does not defend itself, but takes on board the criticism of the other. When we speak and listen like this, our communication will be transformed!
A community which shows genuine kindness, compassion, and forgiveness of the kind I have been describing is well on the way to achieving unity. It is also very attractive, both to those on the inside and those on the outside.
Thirdly, Paul turns his attention to our work. The one ‘who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with his own hands, that he may have something to share with those in need’ (v. 28), says Paul. Perhaps he is referring to a specific person in the Ephesian congregation who used to be a thief. This would fit with the phrase ‘you [...] did not come to know Christ that way’, Eph. 4:20). We don’t know the details, but the principle is clear.
Why do we work? Paul’s answer is not that we work to support ourselves, or our families, or our chosen way of life. We don’t work to secure our freedom or our positions. We don’t even work for the fun of it! These are motivations all individualistic (selfish, in other words). Rather, Paul says that we work so that we ‘have something to share with those in need’ (v. 28).
We work for each other, not for ourselves. Try thinking about this tomorrow morning, when you’re on your way to work! It’s revolutionary stuff!
And notice that the work Paul has in mind is not only paid employment. He talks about ‘doing something useful with [our] hands’, so that we have something to share with those in need.
So what about you? Ask yourself what things you can share with those in need… Unity is all about living for each other.
Is there something true and constructive that you need to say to someone this week? Do you need to hear something true and constructive that someone has been trying to tell you?
Are you angry? Perhaps you should be! Express it straightforwardly and clearly! Then seek resolution before you sleep tonight.
What about your work? Are you feeling demotivated? Think of others! Are your motivations selfish? Think of others!!
So to go back to the stereotypes with which I began, we can paraphrase this passage in the following terms:
- Be honest
- Be constructive
- Be angry
- Seek reconciliation
- Work for each other…
‘Be English, but do not sin’!
Filed under Spirituality | Comment (0)Death and Loneliness – Film Review
The Sound of Insects – Record of a Mummy (2009, Essay) by Peter Liechti, Switzerland
This review makes reference to Agnes Varnum’s response to this film.
A man in his 40s goes into the woods to die. He does not say why, only how: by self-enforced starvation.
We never see this man, simply the world as he sees it: pine needles falling on the thick plastic sheet of his tent, the view from a train, glimpses (memories?) of lonely people in the city, a singer or televangelist. But we hear about the physical and mental effects of this man’s slow death, through a diary that he keeps.
This account of starvation is marked by an obsession with the self and the minutiae of one man’s experience. There is scarcely space in it for other people, except as objects for his desire. Apparently he has no regrets, and he does not bother himself with the question whether anyone will miss him, although we know that he has had girlfriends in the past.
The phenomena described are physical (pain, pleasure, weakness) and mental (willpower, desire, hallucinations). The man’s imagination is marked by half-remembered elements of Buddhism, Christianity, and popular superstition; but this material is poorly understood and is present not because it gives him hope, but rather to provide him with a language in which to talk about death. Unfortunately, he does not offer any meaningful insights. Factual statements about the things he notices are followed by simplistic ‘insights’ in the form of questions (à la Candace Bushnell, Sex and the City).
So why does he record his thoughts? Is it too facile to assume that he wants to leave a trace? It would seem this man needs to believe that someone will one day read what he has written. He wants to be understood, to have his experience and point of view valued by another person. I have a sense that his problem is not so much loneliness, as a desire to be valued.
In her review of this film, Agnes Varnum sees courage in the man’s actions, as if his goal had been altruistic: to offer us ‘a glimpse into dying’. In addition, she interprets his choice to kill himself as an authentic act of free will. For her, he is strong. The dignity (or otherwise) of suicide is another debate to be had. Suffice it to say that Varnum’s emotions tell a different story. The film is ‘harrowing’ and she watches it with ‘a mix of fear and ease’. For me, to see the slow process of dying through the eyes of the suicide was fascinating, while his self-obsession was sickening and tiresome.
Varnum concludes that this man’s death, like that of Alexander McCandless, proves that ‘the soul and the body are indeed two separate entities’. I do not know how she arrives at this idea, except by the same kind of confused borrowing from world religions that the character in these films engage in. If anything, the parallel decay of mind and body reflect the connectedness of the whole person. ‘Body’ and ‘soul’ are simply words that we use to describe the experience of human life and death; an experience that we still do not fully comprehend.
Filed under Film, Spirituality | Comment (0)Galatians 4, ‘Children of the barren woman’
What could be more natural than having children? But not the way that God likes to do it…
Sarah, Rachel, and Hannah (the mother of Samuel, see 1 Samuel chapter 1), Elizabeth and Mary (see Luke chapter 1), all of these women are dismissed as ‘barren’ by the men in their lives – including the writers of the biblical accounts.
Regardless of what we now know about the ongoing tendency of men to blame infertility on their female partners, rather than themselves – a sociological observation that may apply to some or all of the cases named above – the problem remains that these women were considered failures in their time.
Perversely and unnaturally, God chooses to accomplish his plan through these barren women. Three of them are direct ancestors of Jesus, according to Matthew 1. The other two gave birth to children whom they dedicated to God: Samuel and John the Baptist. This unnatural preference for the infertile is reminiscent of God’s penchant for the younger daughter (Rachel again) or son (David, for example). Grace works not with, but against the natural order of things, at least as far as the family is concerned.
By contrast, twenty-first-century Christianity has inherited an understanding of the family that has more to do with middle-class Victorian values than with God’s unnatural grace.
Notice that the positive words ‘free’ and ‘promise’ are associated not with the natural offspring, but with the unnatural child! For people who feel themselves to be passed over because they are single, neglected because they are childless, or rejected because they are ‘unnatural’ in some other way, the story of God’s unnatural grace brings hope and freedom.
Filed under Spirituality | Comment (0)Silence and the self – Sara Maitland Book Review
Sara Maitland, A Book of Silence (London: Granta, 2008)
Sara Maitland has been on a journey for some years now. It is a journey that has taken her to deserts and islands, that has led her to study the experiences of writers, ascetics, and solo round-the-world sailors. It is a journey into silence; silence that is neither enforced nor momentary, but chosen and deep.
At the very start of the book, Maitland describes the place where she now lives, a little glen in Scotland. She then proceeds to tell the story of how she came to find herself there.
A comment from a friend becomes a pivotal point in this story, as Maitland struggles to define what silence is. Her friend suggests that silence is a negative, an absence. ‘All silence is waiting to be broken’ (p. 28). This launches Maitland on a quest to find an understanding of silence as something positive and whole in its own right: the essence of silence. Maitland discovers that the effects of silence on the individual psyche are predictible and well known. Nevertheless, some people respond to these phenomena positively, while others interpret them negatively. Positive outcomes of silence may manifest themselves as spiritual insights, artistic creativity, or a heightened sense of self. Maitland explores these both in the abstract and for herself, asking how she herself experiences silence, and how she might like to.
This introspectiveness is the greatest strength of Maitland’s book. She is as honest and as objective as she can be about her own impressions and desires, crafting a wonderfully personal and insightful account of her own journey that makes her experience of silence seem appealing (to me, at least).
By the end of the book, Maitland has defined silence in a number of ways, including ‘the presence of God’ (p. 270), ‘the practice of being in the moment’ (p. 273), and a ‘pressure cooker’ in which ‘Everything gets cooked much quicker’ (p. 274). Her main three conclusions about silence are that it seems like a gift, that it is integrative, and that it is often ‘outwith language’ (p. 279).
If there are any criticisms to be levelled against this book, they are methodological and personal. First, Maitland’s thinking is not always crystal-clear, and there are gaps in her research (especially in the area of scientific research). She simply shows no curiosity about certain questions, saying ‘I don’t know, but…’
Secondly, Maitland has read many of the same books as me, and the same commonplaces have appealed to her imagination as to mine. The image of St Ambrose as the first silent reader comes to me from St Augustine via C. S. Lewis, for example. This makes some chapters seem predictible, especially the chapters on ‘Silence and the Gods’ (chapter 4) and ’Desert Hermits’ (chapter 6).
Filed under Books, Spirituality | Comment (0)Obsessed by Power? – Book Review
Reading this book, I have been aware of my own perspectives as a Christian, as a would-be theologian, and as a future priest. There is no doubt that it would be useful for someone with no knowledge of Christianity in history or in the present. And although it may not appear to be written for someone already familiar with Christianity, I nevertheless found Woodhead’s summary of the gospel narrative (p. 10) uncluttered and refreshing. To go even further, the global scope of Woodhead’s introduction offers even a well-read Christian some new perspectives. This is not simply an introduction to Anglicanism, for example, nor is its scope limited to Western or medieval Christendom. In addition, Woodhead’s use of art (pp. 31-33) and her interest in the appeal of the Church to women rather than men (chapter 7) gives breadth to her introduction.
The main strength of this book is that it places developments in Christian theology and institutions within their ’wider social and material contexts’ (p. 4). It describes relationships between Churches in terms of competition and authority, rather than in terms of their apparent doctrinal differences. Theological concepts such as the nature of Christ, redemption (‘saving power’, ‘divine power’, p. 39), and the sacraments, are discussed, but they tend to be explained in terms of ‘power’. Here and elsewhere, Woodhead seems to place undue emphasis on traditional ideas about demons that have little relation to the lived experience of many Christians today (p. 43). And the Christology of St Paul is described solely in the language of ‘subordination’ and ‘control’ (p. 22).
This focus on power (political, economic, and cultural – p. 107) reveals Woodhead’s primary concern as a sociologist, with the related subject of women’s experiences as a secondary strand running through this book (e.g. at p. 35). Her approach is phenomenological in the sense that it seeks to describe Christianity without judgment, and focuses on its human and social effects. The human focus is evident in Woodhead’s final conclusions (p. 46f.), while some value judgments can be detected in favour of mystical Christianity, as we shall see. It is fascinating to read an introduction that adopts not so much a historical or theological angle as a sociological one. And it is Woodhead’s interest in power that raises the most questions and produces the most insights.
Referring to St Paul as ‘an aspiring early Christian leader’ (p. 14), or comparing Jesus to radicals ‘from the lowest strata of society’ (p. 15), Woodhead’s approach is refreshing. Even more so is the acknowledgement that the orthodox Christian presentation of the gospel might be seen as ‘manipulative’ and ‘demeaning’ (p. 16). Finally, Woodhead explains the narrative of fall and redemption (as interpreted by St Augustine) as a ‘framework of immense power’ (p. 25) which was nevertheless capable of more than one interpretation (p. 27). As Woodhead points out, Christianity consists of many layers of ‘interpretations of interpretations’ (p. 6).
At times, Woodhead sets up a dichotomy between the controlling structures of ‘Church’ and ‘Biblical’ Christianity (her terminology) on the one hand, and the ‘free-floating divine power’ of the Holy Spirit (p. 44) – nevertheless still described in terms of power – on the other. Or else she imagines a continuum, with Church Christianity at one end, gradually giving way to the less authoritarian Mysticism, which she associates with an openness to the Holy Spirit and a relaxing of the structures (as, for example, in the case of the Quakers, for whom Woodhead has an obvious admiration, p. 87). Biblical Christianity is located somewhere in between the two, its high view of the authority of the Bible tempered somewhat by the possibilities it allows for personal interpretation and reinterpretation. The problem with each of these labels is that they rest on generalisations, as Woodhead freely admits (p. 24). Furthermore, it is difficult to know into which of Woodhead’s categories we might place modern-day Anglicanism (the diagram on p. 104 is clearly an over-simplification).
Standing over and against Woodhead’s descriptions of power in the Church are several hints of an inner tension within Christianity. The family of God proclaimed by Jesus (p. 12) and the Church he seems to have envisaged, ‘whose members share table fellowship, teach and minister to one another, and refuse to acknowledge any authority except that of a God of love’ (p. 48), as well as the idea of Christian ministers as servants, which Woodhead seems to ignore (cf. p. 48) and the ideals of Christ-like poverty and powerlessness’ (p. 60) are opposed to ideas of ‘order and unity’ in the Church (p. 49), especially as organised around heresy/orthodoxy (p. 54f.). Closely related to this has been the decision by many denominations at various points in history (particularly, though not exclusively, by the more established forms of ‘Church Christianity’) to hitch their fortunes to those of the state, as in the late Roman Empire or in the missionary endeavours of the colonial empires of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (p. 114). In the case of Protestantism(s), Woodhead locates the tension at the very heart of the movement(s) (p. 64). Such tensions and the associated danger of unquestioning collaboration with the state should serve as a salutary challenge to Christian readers, especially to those who are called to be servants of the people of God.
Woodhead’s critique is not wholly negative, however. She takes an interest in the content of Christian faith, its ‘vivid stories, striking images, resonant symbols, and life-shaping rituals’ (p. 1) as well as its social effects, and finds some aspects ‘dazzling’ (p. 23). She is particularly dazzled by Mysticism, liberalism, and feminist movements within the Church. Finally, she seems to value Christ’s ability to bring ‘the sacred into the midst of life’ (p. 18) and takes at face value the claim of many believers that they have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Her admiration is tempered by realism, as she recognises the social and cultural benefits of belonging to a believing community (p. 119 ; p. 123 ; p. 150).
The conclusion of the book gives us a succinct statement of the challenges facing the Church today, notably as a result of the ‘subjective turn’ of the late twentieth century in the West (p. 89), the emergence of fast-growing reactionary forms of Christianity with global pretensions in the developing/post-colonial world, and declining numbers in Western Churches, due in part to the Churches’ treatment of women and the social conservatism of many denominations. To these challenges Woodhead and the un-pin-downable Christ she describes offer some possible solutions. This is an introduction whose final conclusion has yet to be written.