What a curious article over at Big Think! The gist of it is that there is a psychological component to physical cleanliness.

The examples are rather curious. Including one where as part of a study participants were asked to recall a personal immoral experience; as part of the session some were offered a cleansing wipe and the reason that it was part of the protocol for using the public computer, others were given nothing. Those that were given nothing volunteered to do yet more experiments/sessions; while those offered the wipe generally did not. If I’m “getting” the message right – the suggestion here is that those who recieved the wipes felt somehow “absolved” or “cleansed” from the immoral experience they were asked to recall.

Hmm . . .

When I come home after being out for the day the first thing I want to do is shower; or at least wash my hands. Why? Well for one thing it feels good. Ok, fine but lets set that “obvious” reason aside for the moment – why have I developed this . . . . “custom”? Not wanting to put too much meaning into it I find that it does shift my thinking – from “outside” things to “inside” or “home” things. I feel much more relaxed and ready to do new things at home once I’ve come in, had a shower and changed clothes. Thus, the shower or hand washing makes an almost unconscious break or dividing line between the two activities . . . Oh and it feels good!

So what does all this have to do with theology?

Well for starters reading the article made me start to think about baptism – and our perceptions about the nature and value of baptism. Obviously the studies point to ideas about washing and our sense of self, as well as our sense of – as they put it – morality and immorality.

That physical cleanliness (or filthiness) is closely linked to our perceptions of the moral, and the immoral. Thus when participants are shown an image of a dirty toilet – researchers found that they judged others more harshly than those who saw a clean room. This has me thinking about how we perceive and judge others simply by virtue of their physical appearance, or the appearance of their personal space. How this seemingly unconscious perception has a negative impact on how we relate to others.

I think therein lies the key – it is “unconscious” so being more conscious or aware of its negative impace on our thinking and perceptions might enable us to be more objective in our assessments?

“Don’t you think that Jesus is the solution to the problems in the Middle East – that it is only through him that peace will come to the region?”

This is a question posed to me by a door-to-door evangelist a few years ago. It is a question that irritated me at the time, and has remained with me ever since. It is a question, which to my mind, cuts to the very heart of our theology of the incarnation, our role in it, and how we have somehow, over time, surrendered that role.

We Christians describe the person of Christ as “God and Man”, “God with us”. The Patristic writers describe the process of the incarnation as one that required the cooperation both of God and of Man. At the very core of our understanding of the nature and mechanics of the incarnation is the idea that we humans had a function and a responsibility in the process of redemption, and the outcome of salvation. But somewhere along the way – I’m not sure where – we surrendered our active role in this very important process and became passive observers, fatalists. If God wills it, it will happen.

There is another problem with this all too pervasive model – Christianity focuses on the relationship between God and man, and in the context of our sacramental Christian tradition, the relationships shared between people. So if we have surrendered our role and function – our responsibility – in the ongoing process of realising the fullness of salvation, then this essential relationship is broken. That should be a very uncomfortable realisation for all of us.

A consequence of the broken relationship is that the “conversation” is over and all that is left is to obey, or to become a meek, hopeful supplicant. Since many who have joined or converted to the Independent Catholic life, did so in part because they rebelled against “un-thinking Christianity”. That is to be “told” to accept and obey the teachings and decisions from the hierarchy without question – wondering if there might not be a better way to conceptualise, even realise the significance of the idea within the life of the community.

In this broken model there are no active believers, no “Christians” there are only followers, numbers, bums on seats passively absorbing the dictums of an “elect” few. Here, it is easy to see how our broken relationship with God has seeped into our relationships with our “community” and its constituents. With this model – all catholicity is lost because only the hierarchy is in a position to actually do anything. The fullness of the “body of Christ” is not realised – the talents and effort of each constituent member goes uncultivated, uninvited.

The grace of baptism is the gift of empowerment to be participants in the conversation, to initiate creative theology and praxis, to relate both to God (who through the incarnation underwent the most extraordinary expression of his desire to be in relation with us) and one another. In our OC/IC context we are blessed with small communities, and if you’re lucky a decentralised hierarchy where the bishop is a teacher, a guide, a fellow sojourner, one who points the way and serves as a point of reference and unity rather than a “monarch” or “magestrate”. This ecclesiology allows for the community to develop a voice in conversation, and to become a voice in the greater conversation with God. When everyone in the community can sit down at table, share a meal, and explore an issue – be creatively engaged with our theology and come out at the other end with a renewed sense of praxis – then we are active Christians faithful to our underlying belief in the incarnation.

My response to the poor evangelist standing at my door was to point out that no, we humans are responsible for the suffering in the Middle East because we have surrendered our baptismal role in working together, and with God to bring about a fair and just resolution. I’m afraid they went away surprised that someone would talk with them – and  perhaps regretting it.

Free will is a core belief in Christianity – that is of course unless you are of the Augustinian bent. Indeed fatalism (or to use a more appropriate contemporary term – determinism) is considered sinful by late antique Christian writers.

Recent explorations in to the nature of free will have shown that when you undermine a subjects belief in free will, he or she will be meaner and less considerate to others. This raises all manner of questions namely why? The evidence thus far appears to point to issues surrounding a sense of self – if the situation is presented in a mechanistic manner then the expectation is that the subject will indeed be “meaner”. If on the other hand the given situation includes a more human even humane description of cause and effect – the subject re-asserts their sense of free will.

What does this have to do with theology?

I’ve long been fascinated by the whole idea of free will, namely because much of the western Christian tradition is heavily influenced by Augustine’s idea of pre-destination, whereas it does not feature in eastern Christian thought (other than to say that fatalism is sinful).

Pre-destination, as you might expect, asserts that your salvation has been pre-determined, and nothing you can do will change this outcome. Essentially it takes all responsiblity for you, your actions, and your belief or non-belief out of your hands.

My biggest problem with pre-destination – and I make no claim to being original here – is that it undermines the entire reason and purpose for the incarnation and the resurrection. We believe that the incarnation is about God and man together, working together for the renewal of creation. Yes, we are dependent upon God, and must constantly remind ourselves of this fact. But the grace of our having been created in the divine image, infused with the will and reason of the Logos means that our thoughts, our actions, are not in any way pre-determined, or mechanistic. We enjoy free will so that we might better enjoy and appreciate the journey towards the fullness of being in communion with God. As with with the experiments described in the New Scientist article that found undermining free will had a negative effect on how subjects saw themselves in relation to others; Augustine’s pre-destination undermines this essential Christian journey, as well as the relationships that have shaped it.

The other day I saw a retweet of a tweet on twitter that urged people not to donate to Christian charities – for the relief effort in Japan needs “blankets and food, not boxes of bibles & Fundamentalist propaganda”. A little digging revealed that the author was a self-professed Atheist fundamentalist.

I had to laugh. First because one form of fundamentalism is as equally un-helpful – indeed wrong – as the other. Epiphanius taught us this back in the late fourth century. When you attack one extreme ideology from the standpoint of another – you’ve lost the argument. Second because Atheists have an image problem – a number of recent surveys and experiments have suggested that Atheists are generally less charitable than people of faith. But these two tangents, while interesting, are not the point of my post.

Having worked in a number of charities I tend to make my donations based on one qualification only: they get the job done. Do they feed the hungry, give shelter to the homeless, provide medicine and surgical care for those who could not possibly afford it or have access to it otherwise, do they bring relief to the battered, the raped, and the lonely? If they have a proven track record of getting the job done they’ll get my money, my support, and where possible even my time and what little talent I might have to offer.

I avoid giving to any charity that clearly has an ideology not grounded in true relief – that is, if their relief efforts are secondary to their prosletysing, or some other agenda. As a self-professed Christian I find I am very uncomfortable with mixing any form of evangelism with bringing relief to people in need.

A crisis such as we’ve witnessed this week in Japan, and last year in Haiti, is a human crisis, it is not a Christian crisis, or an Atheist crisis, or a Muslim crisis – it is simply a human crisis and it demands a human response. Who cares who is responding so long as it is getting the job done. We, all of us, ought to respond to this for no other reason than, that other person is suffering and needs my help.

Obviously my own reference point is Christian theology – my starting point is grounded in a particular intellectual framework. So I see those who are suffering as icons of the living God, and remember Jesus’ teaching: “I say to you whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” My faith gives me the language and imagery to understand “human-ness”. My charity is an act of devotion.

There is an important element to devotion that is easily forgotten – “When you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do . . . to win praise of others. I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doing. . .” The problem with fundamentalism, whether it is Christian fundamentalism, or Atheist fundamentalism is that it significantly narrows your range of options. The fundamentalist says: “I will only help if you accept (or listen to the points of) my ideology”. Or, “I will only donate if you represent my issues”.

The fundamentalist is part of the problem. A fundamentalist is not responding to the crisis because it is a human crisis but because it is an opportunity to be seen in the marketplace, and given the seat of honour by others. “Look how he gave to the ‘right’ charity.” “See how he is promoting our agenda.” The result of course, and again this is from my reference point of Christian faith and devotion, is that the “offering” of devotion comes with strings attached, and is therefore devalued – it is not free, it is not a gift, it is ostensibly an attempt at social bribery.

In my naïveté I’d like to see any organisation that participates in the relief effort in Japan (or anywhere for that matter) have no banners, no logos, no uniforms – nothing that identifies the organisation and its point of reference other than declaring: “food, blankets, medicine, shelter, available here”. Ideologies, because they can (and often do) cloud our judgement and consequently affect our actions, get in the way of getting the job done.

The last day of 2011. Hmmm . . . .

Well, from a liturgical perspective this is not a big deal really – as the liturgical New Year was back in September. Today we commemorate Nelania the Younger, and tomorrow is the leave-taking of the feast of the Nativity. But never fear Theophany is just around the corner.

Melania the Younger was a fourth century ascetic who not only built two monastaries, but also famously – and perhaps a bit mythically -  ransomed 8,000 captives.This year (as well as in recent years past) we witnessed the horror of Somali pirates, and extremist groups abducting innocent people and holding them for ransom. Terrorising them, and their families for months. Many are still being held.

Perhaps today, on this last day of the year, as we remember the heroine Melania the Younger – we ought not forget those who are being held for ransom in our 21st century – perhaps too we ought to ask: ‘what can we do to bring relief to the suffering of these captives and their families?’

In this year of famous abductions – not all of them liberated through ransom – perhaps we ought to reflect on the work of this fourth century nun.

I’m still trying to find a full attribution, I can’t be sure but it may have been created by cyrenaica – I was lead to it via The Atlantic.

Its an image that you simply have to sit with for a bit (a larger, zoomable version is here) I live in one of the top 50 “Top Quality of Life” cities, and within “the wall” where 73% of the world’s income is produced by only 14% of the population.

A few months ago when all the hu-hah ocurred in the American South over a fundamentalist church deciding to burn Korans I wondered – would the same sense of indignation, the same tension, and issues be raised if for example a group were to burn bibles, icons, or smash statues of Mary?

At the time – I was more interested in expressing solidarity with the Muslim community who were being assailed by ignorance and attention grabbing. I think I Tweeted something along the lines of lets show solidarity with Muslims and burn our bibles.

I was also privately wondering what if . . .

What if a group of say . .  Atheists decided to burn the bible. Would anyone “react”? Would anyone care? Oh sure Fundamentalists would – but frankly, while it is the case that they are an all too vocal minority they don’t really count for much. Would the more grounded branches of the Christian community express horror and indignation?

We see a number of examples of contemporary art – one of the more famous that pops to my mind is the “Piss Christ” – that uses Christian religious imagery in shocking ways, out of context, or in an alien context – even an offensive context. Images and symbols of our faith have been used in this way for the past few decades. They sometimes cause scandal – as did the “Piss Christ”, so too the movie “Last Temptation of Christ” but aside form the rantings of a few groups of Fundamentalists, and the titilation of media outlets – little else happens. Why? What is different between our Christian approach to very sacred symbols and their use – and that of others? Or is it that at this moment the “other” (namely Islam) is a highly politicised topic – a “hot button issue” if you will across Western Europe?

These questions were brought to the fore again yesterday and today when I came across the news item that a 15 year old girl was arrested for inciting religious hatred here in the UK because she burned a Koran (why exactly she did it I’m not sure – I’ve not come across those details yet). My question is – here we are in an ostenbly, officially, Christian country, and if I were to go out and burn my bible and post it on youtube would I too be arrested?

I don’t have satisfactory answers to any of my questions, however, if you’re thinking about this too, you might wish to visit Cranmer who has posted similar and has some very good observations on the matter.

My two previous posts (here, and here) asking about the theological and ethical implications of the new full body screening used in American airports has lacked a key element – the voice of the TSA staff who have to perform the “enhanced pat down” on an increasingly angry travelling public. It was not that I was not thinking about it – I was, and feeling a great deal of sympathy for the individual TSA staff who, I imagined, no doubt felt very awkward, demonised, and de-humanised because of having to carry out this new policy. However, all of the reports I’ve read thus far have largely been in the voice of the traveller, the protester, and the security specialist. I have, until now, found only a few oblique references to the viewpoints of individual TSA staff.

This morning this popped up on my radar during the morning trawl – and I’m very glad it did. This small sample of 17 anonymous TSA staff says a great deal about what they must be going through. What is clearly visible is that they too are feeling violated, humiliated, and dehumanised. What is more – and possibly worse – is that because this is a double sided sense of inappropriateness the encounter between staff and traveller is highly charged.

The traveller, who feels helpless and violated lashes out at the “nameless uniform” – forgetting that the person in front of them is an icon of Christ, while forgetting that they too are the embodiment of that same image. The TSA staff person is faced with knowing that he or she is loathed, nameless, and because the uniform essentially strips them of their unique identity, their humanity, they no longer represent an image of the incarnate Logos to the traveller – but the un-bridled power of “The Sate”. Therefore they too feel just as helpless as the angry traveller. The only difference between the two in this very negatively charged situation is that the TSA staff cannot (if they want to keep their job & feed their families) lash out at the traveller. Whereas the traveller – who has forgotten that they are facing an icon of Christ – feels free to demonise the staff.

Its a recipie for disaster. Because both sides are suffering, and forgetful, and because the situation is by all accounts out of the control of both, it seems that defusing the tension, bringing some humanity back into the mix, is all the more difficult.

What would you do?

The other day I made a brief post wondering out loud about the new body scanners, and the associated “enhanced pat down” in American airports; asking if the process had crossed a line dehumanising travellers. Well, It seems that this is now definitely the case as this article shows.

Again I’m wondering why I’m not seeing more (sensible) Christian voices questioning this procedure on the grounds of theology & ethics?

Our tradition upholds the idea that the person before you is a living icon of Christ – could you see yourself fondling Jesus? Would you stand by and watch someone humiliate Jesus because of a medical condition?

Christian praxis is about breaking the cycle of suffering both for ourselves and for others – to create distress, or suffering is sinful, and yet state officials in a self professed “Christian country” are daily humiliating and causing distress for travellers.

I’m not trying to make a mountain out of the proverbial mole-hill here. All I’m pointing out is my own bemusement at what appears to be total silence on the part of theological voices in respect to these new procedures devised in the name of security. Proedures, the effectivness of which, are viewed with no small degree of scepticism by the experts.

I’m also wondering if enough authoritative Christian thinkers were to voice their concerns over the new procedures, it would add to the weight and substance of growing protests over them?

I’ve been reading, with fascinated horror, the many articles now available about the widespread introduction of full body scanners in American airports. Security experts, including our own Home Office and Department for Transport have stated that these scanners simply don’t improve airport safety. What they have done, however, is created a storm of protest. The scanners “see” beneath your clothing – providing the viewing agent a rather detailed image of your naked person. You can “opt out” of the scans, but then you are subjected to a punative “enhanced pat down” which even in the most neutral terms can only be described as a sexual assault.

Elderly people, pregnant and nursing women, small children who neither understand the machines nor the stranger vigorously fonding them, and physically handicapped people, these are only a few of the categories of people I’ve read about who are now faced with very challenging sense of violation, fear and indignity either from the new scanning technology, or the enhanced pat down procedures. What is the christian community’s considered response to this?

As yet I’ve not found any discussion of these screenings in relation to Christian theology. Well, I correct myself, any “sensible” discussion. I have found a number of sad reports of fundamentalists in the US urging their membership not to fly, or not to allow themselves to be scanned, or patted down because it is an opportunity for militant homosexuals to harass god-fearing straight people. Yes, I howled with laughter when I read that one.

The big issue that jumps to my mind surrounds the theology of human dignity. Does this new screening technology cross a line?