Over the past two years I’ve enjoyed a number of books researched by, written by, and published by Indie folk. Even those texts that I don’t necessarily agree with bring a smile and a nice dose of pride.
One aspect of this (I hope growing) scholarly production of indie history and theological voice – that it seems we have not yet come to grips with is the idea of peer review. I’m not talking about the traditional expectations of “peer review” – that just won’t work in our indie setting, besides the traditional method is being (rightly) challenged with new, more efficient, and it would seem more accountable, and engaged methods (see for example this article in the New York Times).
It would be nice, however, to have a degree of confidence that the work our own researchers are producing has been collectively edited by known experts in OC/IC history, ethos, etc. Naturally this raises the question of who are our experts. Moreover, it challenges the existing difficulty of getting those experts to engage with one another, and with other interested Indie writers.
It might be simply that we start a “trend” in the community for new books to show/state that they have been reviewed by, and commented on by three different “known experts” – thus giving other indie folks a sense of confidence that this work is relatively well put together – rather than the rantings of some grumpy crank wanting to see his or her name on the cover of a book.
In this way (or something similar) Indie writers and researchers can build their reputation in the community as solid researchers – as eventually, the “new guys” will be asked to review a work by someone even newer – and sound representatives of the tradition. Thus expanding the circle of experts, and further encouraging engagement within communities, and the wider Indie scene.
What do you think?
Last night I handed my PhD thesis over to my supervisor. In theory this means I have crossed the threshold from darkness into light – I am now exiting the cave. What comes next? I’m not sure, I know at some point in the not too distant future there is somethign called “the submission” followed by something else called “the defence” but I long ago gave up trying to get a clear plan, a succinct vision of how this thing works from my University.
This morning for the first time in quite a few weeks, I did my morning trawl, not thinking about the thesis, not dreading that stack of paper 7cm thick sitting next to me shrieking for attention. This morning I could (and have) rest, and think about other things, other possibilities.
A few weeks ago I ordered Rob Angus Jones’ book Independent Sacramental Bishops: Ordination, Authority, Lineage and Validity I’ve been looking forward to sitting down and reading this. My scan through suggests that it is well done, and thoughtful.
I have a stack of other books that have sat there, patiently quietly waiting to be loved, and read. Its all theology (of course) but more importantly it is NOT a thesis.
I have half baked, partially chewed morsels of various research and writing projects (most of an indie nature) sitting quietly in the background of my hard-drive – now, perhaps some of these can be dusted off, and re-visited.
It is amazing how something that you envisioned working one way, and that worked in a completely different way, can be so disruptive, destructive even. But I’m standing before that fine line that shift in colour that is the border between the cave, and the filtered light of the green forest. I can hear birds, and a brook, and I can even see flowers. They are also NOT the thesis.
So this morning for the first time in weeks I could sit down and do my morning trawl. Ever since the origin of this blog I spend a little time each day looking through religious news feeds and other sites of interest to see if anything inspires a post from an OC/IC point of view.
I have often asked what exactly is that point of view – what is our point of reference. And today is not different. Visiting a couple of my favourite sites on simple/eco/creative living I’ve noticed perhaps for the first time that many of them have “manifestos” that is a small set of ideas that serve as a launch pad for action, what we in the “pray-trade” would call praxis.
The Anglicans have a manifesto – the 39 articles – the Lutherans too. In the 19th century the Old Catholic movement had a manifesto as well. But here we are the proverbial ugly step-sister of the Old Catholic movement, and over 100 years later, perhaps it is time to evaluate our ethos, our reason for being, and deliberately, thoughtfully consider a renewed manifesto.
My question then is – what points of reference, what diving boards of praxis would you include in your “Indie Manifesto” and why? I can think of a few but would rather not influence the outcome so am asking you to speak up first (grin).
Readings In Original Sin
Last night I began reading Alan Jacobs’ Original Sin A Cultural History. This should be an interesting journey. I’m making a concerted effort to wrestle with an idea, a concept, a theory of the human condition that has fascinated and horrified me ever since I first learned about it.
To my mind, Augustine’s theory of “Original Sin” is so antithetical to the teaching of the Gospels, and the later writings of the fathers as to be . . . . well . . . heretical actually. As I understand it, Augustine says that we are all guilty, that we are all condemned, we are all naturally evil.
I’m sure there is a nuance there that I’m missing but allow me to play with this “recieved” interpretation for a moment.
The problem is that this sets us up spiritually, psychologically, and communally, for failure. It starts from an extremely negative view of the human condition, making us, all of us, bear the guilt of Adam and Eve’s misadventure in the garden.
Traditional explanations for the Fall tell us a different story. Adam & Eve were decieved, they were tricked, and then poisoned, or infected, as such they were made subjects of Death and his oppression, rather than Life, and his liberation. We do not bear their “guilt” rather, because they set a series of events into motion, we are faced with the challenges presented by the consequences of that event.
As I begin this journey to once again attempt to understand this particular theory of Augustine’s – which has had a significant (negative) impact on Western Christian theology for centuries, I’m curious as to how other indie folk – particularly western rite indie folk, assimliate this “doctrine” into our otherwise (largely) very liberal tradition. Do you accept Augustine’s theory? If so how does this impact the theology and praxis of you and your community?
How Traditional Are You?
Now here’s an interesting question, and it struck me while doing the morning trawl, one thing led to another led to another and before I knew it I found myself in the website of a convent scanning their FAQ page. What struck me about it was their answer:
“This is one of the hardest of all questions to answer because the person asking it usually has her own ideas about what “traditional” means. . . .”
This really opens a door into talking about what it means to be “traditional” because you have to start by asking the background question – what do YOU mean by “traditional”? In my experience in the indie community it generally falls into two categories (which sometimes but not always overlap).
Category A is ritual. I say ritual and not liturgy because ritual encompasses more than “just” liturgy. Frequently people define “traditional” or traditionalist, or traditionalism by the forms of ritual used in the life of the community. “Traditional” communities often seek to use “old” rituals, and to execute them with a level of precision that would make a drill seargent weep for joy. “Traditional” communities often like “the old language” – and use it liberally throughout their ritual year.
Category B is doctrine. “Traditional” communities in category B emphsise a set of doctrines that they hold to be the “traditional” teaching of “The Church”. Often this body of dictates is a set collection frozen in time, reflecting the real or imagined golden age of “The Church”.
The difficulty with these two (often overlapping) sets is that they are wholly unsuited to the OC/IC ethos. Which brings us back to the question: What is traditional (in our context)?
This little “sapling” of a conversation deserves more than its getting.
Looking at not only my own initial response on Twitter, as well as the response of others (see previous post) I’m realising that these two words are very “loaded”. Huw, rightly observes that the underlying question remains unanswered – what is our working definition of “spiritual”? What is our working definition of “religious”?
But here’s the caveat to those questions – can we define them without reference to the ongoing liberal vs. conservative war within and among faith communities? If we do succeed what affect does this have on the self description “spiritual but not religious”? Honestly, I’m not sure I have a definition – at least not yet – that is not consciously, or unconsciously rooted in the existing loaded nature of “spiritual” and “religious”.
Can I throw a spanner in the works here and ask – is there a difference between “religious” and “being faithful”? I ask this because it is how I often describe myself. It seems to me that to describe one self as being faithful is to actively divorce one self from the liberal vs. conservative, us vs. them, divisions.
Last week my friend and fellow Indie-Easterner Huw posed this question on Twitter: “Define ‘Spiritual but not religious’.” My initial response encompassed two ideas that I’ve encountered over the years from a significant number of people who describe themselves as being “spiritual but not religious”. First is the idea that the “institution” of religion impedes communion with God. Second that “dogma” or “doctrine” also impedes communion with God. Both of these themes have some very interesting problems. For example, people who describe themeselves as “spiritual but not religious” and go on to discuss their dissatisfaction at what they percieve to be the overly dogmatic nature of religous communities – frequently go on to make very clear statements of belief (doctrine) themselves. Opening the jar of questions about what do we know, and what do we percieve about the collection of teaching involved in a particular religious identity or praxis.
Huw uncovered an article from First Things “Spirituality Without Spirits” while a bit of a rant – makes an interesting point about the quality of being “non-dogmatic” in relation to also being “spiritual but not religious”:
“I don’t think Ms. Gaga or anyone else who talks like this has really thought it through. That God who forgives everyone and excludes no one doesn’t object to debauches in Berlin sex clubs. A point in his favor, from one point of view. But then he doesn’t object to murderers and torturers and corrupt bankers either. A point in his favor from no one’s point of view.”
Miller (the author) makes a fine point when he later says: “The word “spiritual” has no useful meaning if it does not refer to a relation to a real spirit. . . ” This is very true of course because that spirit necessarily has an identity, one which demands a particular relational mode, and that in turn shapes and informs the individual relating to it – just as all of our relationships shape and inform us as individuals.
In this morning’s news trawl I happened across another article this time in the Telegraph reporting that Mark Hucknull, the Chancellor of Lincoln Cathedral (a fantastic English cathedral by the way), criticises the “spiritual but not religous” crowd as selfish:
“To say that ‘I’ am ‘spiritual’ here is on a par with saying that ‘I’ am patient or thoughtful or generous; it is a description that is all about ‘me’.”
In truth this is not an unfair criticism. Think about the two themes already mentioned – the underlying issue in both is a desire to not be accountable, to not be challenged, and to not be expected to do X or Y in conjunction with one’s religious identity and praxis.
I’m aware that I’ve over-taken my usual 300 or so word limit so please bear with me just a few lines more, as I tie this into an OC/IC context. Ihave often heard indie folk, clergy and laity alike insist on being “non-dogmatic” or “non-doctrinal” – in essence “spiritual but not religious” the reasons given are that they endured the abuses of the “institutional church” and its imposition of doctrine through the activity of church officials. But It seems to me that they have run to the exact opposite extreme. The extremes at both ends are heretical as St. Epiphanius says in the Panarion.
“Spiritual but not religious” has had a lasting impact on the shape of the indie community over the past 20 years at least – one effect of this has been the simple fact that indie communities are fickle because people are afraid of committment, and they are afraid to call one another to account – because it might make them unpopular, and thereby shrink the “numbers” within the community. The problem with this model is that there is no integrity in it. Many people who convert – who become OC/IC believers do so because they are seeking a stronger connection between the integrity of the community and the practice of their sacramental Christian faith. “Spiritual but not religous” – non-dogmatic, simply does not cut it.
Have a look at the two articles, and maybe follow the sapling exchange of this thread on Twitter, but certainly add your thoughts to the comments below here.
What Is Your Comfort Zone?
Maggi Dawn, draws attention to an interesting set of posts from Church Mouse, highlighting some interesting figures from a survey done of 1000 or so men here in the UK asking about their comfort level in church. Apparently men are more comfortable in a lingerie department than they are in church. Fascinating.
But this got me thinking about comfort zones in an Indie (OC/IC) context. There is a general tendancy in indie communities towards stepping outside of the box of the pre-programmed idea of what “church” is or should be. Does this negatively affect how interested new-comers perceive the nature of an indie community? First impressions and all that. . .
Indie communities are often small – very small. This can be a real challenge to someone coming from the “Big Tent” church realm. Accustomed to a standard congregation size of between 50-75, coming into an indie community of between 5 and 20 can be a shock to the system – an impediment to seeing the rest of the experience of that community.
OC/IC communities often meet in unusual environments – unusual for sacramental Christians at least. Homes, rented church basements, public meeting halls, hotels, and out-doors. So once again in our context we find a possible barrier in a new person’s comfort zone. Sacramental liturgy is intimately linked to a building, a fixed consecrated altar, an iconographic plan, etc. Meeting, celebrating, in an unusual environment is occasionally nice but every meeting?
For some indie communities the answer to these questions of comfort zone is to look and feel as much as possible like a big-tent community. Unconsciously believing that to look, feel, and sound like tradition X or Y will overshadow the awkwardness of being indie, of not having those things one has been programmed to expect in a liturgical community. I’ve always thought we loose something in the mix when we do this. Other indie communities swing to the exact opposite extreme, re-shaping, re-designing the liturgy (for example) such that it is un-recognisable as Christian worship.
I wonder though are there not better ways to explore and address the issues of “comfort zone”? For those of us who have spent most of their life in the indie environment we don’t honestly “see” the problems others experience unless something like this survey draws our attention to it. But we do know its there because we’ve seen it in action, we’ve witnessed how individuals who are quite keen to join in, come for a while, but find those un-expected barriers of “comfort zone” overwhelming, and they turn away dejected.
Maybe we should experiment with celebrating vespers in a lingerie department? What do you think?
Have a look at this vid of behavioral economist Dan Ariely describing an interesting experiment involving fake fashion – you know the ones – you find “Gucci”, “Prada” handbags and sunglasses being sold for £5 at street vendors all over London. In the experiment he discovers that wearing fake fashion items seems to . . . . “empower” the owner/wearer to cheat more – to be less honest.
Hmmmm . . . .
I find this all rather interesting. Firstly I find the desire for, the need to buy “fake” anything – let alone “fashion” items fascinating. It is the search for status (often unnecessary status), it is the aspiration towards excessive wealth (which has its own negative social and personal effects), I could go on and on . . .
Two things pop out for me that, in this scenario, are directly connected to theology. First there is that bizarre desire to be seen, and to be seen as somehow out of the ordinary, or important. Jesus criticises the religious leaders of his day for wearing tassels, expecting to be greeted in the market place, invited to dinners, and offered the place of honour. It would seem that this particular defect has not yet been winnowed from our indie community at least. Second, there is deception . . . . no deception is not really the right word . . . there is a sense of not being wholly “real” or “honest” – something that from the reference point of the teaching of Christ is . . . well . . . . . just a bit dodgey, no?
Faithlab has this interesting snippet about a fundamentalist in California who is openly “praying” for the death of President Obama. They observe (I think correctly) that this is contrary to Jesus’ own example.
What is “prayer”? If we accept that it is that dialogue we have with God throughout the day – then is it not reasonable to expect that the lanuage of our prayer best reflects our aspiration to faithfulness to the teaching of the Gospel?
Paul reminds us to pray for what we need – rather than what we desire. There is I think wisdom here – sometimes we want something, it has caught our attention, or captivated our interest, but rather than contributing to our well being, it is a distraction, even destructive. Our sense of “desire” can be fuelled by ill concieved ideas, half formed thoughts, envy, competition with others . . . you get the idea. If we prayed for what we “desired” and found that those desires were fulfilled – we might later regret having asked for it! In this light then – can any faithful Christian truly believe that praying for the death of another human being (or any being for that matter) does not fall into this category?
But it got me thinking – are there instances of prayers in our liturgies that do not best reflect the gospel ethos? I’m not talking here of instituting a campaign of political correctness – as many regulars already know I find PC language to more often than not be more offensive and distorting than the original texts – rather I’m wondering out-loud if some of the historic “traditional” prayers might need a bit of editing for the sake of faithfulness to the teaching of the Gospel.
Given the referendums in the US, and the rise of violent (even deadly) attacks on LGB folk here in the UK this examination of the relationship between religion and LGBT youth appeared to be rather timely.
I was not aware for example, of the high percentage of homeless teens who identify as LGB folk. Moreover, the frightening consequences of their homelessness – entering the sex-trade to survive is a point well worth discussion – particularly as it has a direct impact on Christian ethics, and teaching – we who are baptised are charged to actively seek to end the suffering of others, and as I wrote some time ago:
What can we do? As individuals we can refuse to visit pornographic sites, we can support organisations that help work to free homeless teens (all of them – not just the gay ones!) from the sex-trade, and we can talk about this often un-discussed issue with others. As OC/IC communities . . . well, there are any number of ways that we can work together, collaborate, and make a real difference. But that would have to begin with our first building more trust with one another. Something I’m afraid is in lamentably short supply.
Speaking Of . . .