Bože!

“Liberal” churches may be sabotaging themselves by reducing the commitment of their members – so suggests a recent report in New Scientist. The persecution of early Christians may have had a dramatic effect on the spread of Christianity because the sacrifices of martyrs and confessors instilled in others the idea of sincerity: “few would willingly give their life for an ideal they did not believe in”.

Once people believe they are more likely to undertake or endure similar displays of committment. Through a mathematical model, the study suggests that this becomes a “self-reinforcing loop” enabling the belief system to persist over time.

The suggestion is that communities that expect a higher level of committment as displayed through particular behaviour endure and grow whereas those communities which do not eventually dissipate. Comparing liberal Protestant churches and fundamentalist Protestant churches appears to prove the point.

How is this relevant to OC/IC communities?

I dare say that today there might be a few confessors out there, but not too many martyrs. So lets look at the effects of more down to earth forms of “costly sacrifices”.

The study suggests that acts of sacrifice, or self-denial/renunciation by religious leaders has a stronger overall impact on the commitment of others. So, how many of our OC/IC leaders and clergy are regularly participating in the life and community of other churches? From the stand point of a visitor/observer/participant – if my local indie bishop, priest or lay leader is heavily involved in another tradition then this indie thing must not be worth my own personal investment.

This opens the door to the next question, assume our leaders are setting the example, are we doing enough to cultivate, and encourage “membership” through the right of chrismation? That is to say – if our leaders have “sacrificed” the (false) safety net of another church, then are we also encouraging the same within the community as a whole? In short are we actively giving people a reason to give a confident “yes” to the OC/IC way of life, and be willing to whole heartedly throw in their lot with us?

Keeping in mind the above two points, how might the common practice of open communion affect committment to, identification with our OC/IC communities?

Finally, in our history can we point to as an exemplar of commitment to the OC/IC ideal? I can think of a few, such as Varlet and Ofiesh, how about you?

Stability within our communities is and has always been a challenge, created in part by small group dynamics. The vast majority of OC/IC projects have 20 people or less. This means that unless a higher proportion of the assembly is “committed” to the project – any minor fluctuation in say membership or even attendance can be demoralising. Congregations in the Big Tent Churches average between 75 and 50 members (there are notable exceptions) which means that a smaller proportion of their membership needs to get their hands dirty for the whole project to maintain a stable momentum, and not experience negative effects caused by fluctuations in membership and attendance.

How do we overcome this challenge of group dynamics? One answer is to grow the community. However, large communities are not the norm within our tradition – and most of us like it that way. We’ve been discussing (here) ideas of identity over the past few weeks, and I think that there is a connection between stability in our movement and what we see as the defining marks of our identity (perhaps the topic of another post).

If a higher proportion of members and participants strongly identify with the OC/IC “brand” (both locally, and on the wider stage) then it seems there is a real possibility of a project surviving and thriving in the face of the challenges presented by fluctuations in attendance and membership. If on the other hand a higher proportion of members and participants are actually incomers (this community is merely convenient) the result can create real challenges for the project and it might not successfully adapt.

My community in DC (which had 15 regulars and an odd handful of intermittent attendees) literally died when I went to study in the UK for 5 months. I thought everything was in place for them to carry on as usual without me – they had a deacon, a priest was only 15 min away if they needed him, they had access to the worship space, and they knew what to do. I even thought that my absence would encourage them to explore new directions and fresh ideas. The community was unable to adapt to a brief, planned absence, of one member, and fell apart.

Take this problem in a different direction. How often do members (not participants or incomers) move away and begin a project in a new place? In my experience, unless they are in orders, never; and it is rare even when they are in orders. Why is this the case? Is it because our bishops and synods are unable or unwilling to support such projects? Do we not encourage them enough? One of my working theories has to do with the sense of isolation OC/IC clergy and communities “feel” living in our tradition – but that will have to wait for another post.

It would be helpful, for all of us, if we were to collaborate and explore ways that we – together can cultivate stability in our movement. The challenge of small group dynamics currently, un-necessarily “clips” any momentum a community or synod might develop.

Any ideas?

Making my morning rounds recently I’ve been struck by the number of essays, news items, and “other” that in one way or another touch on the idea of why religion matters to us, to the world around us. This morning, for example I read a discussion guide of Krista Tippet’s book Speaking of Faith: Why Religion Matters – and How to Talk About It. Not long ago in the Guardian’s belief section, one writers commented on how contemporary Christianity has lost its sense of purpose. The Pew Forum’s site on Religion and Public Life too – often touches on why religion matters – not only to its adherents, but also to the “Public Square”.

I have been asked on more than one occasion recently to answer the question – why does religion matter – or more spcifically, why does the church, “this church” matter? What does it “do”?

Having thought about it off and on over the past weeks and months – I am struck by one thing. Unlike most other traditions, whose adherants often have a particular style of answer: a vocabulary, a turn of phrase, a particular point of reference, as an OC/IC beleiver I find it is more challenging to answer the question.

How do you talk about your experience of faith, and the value of life in our community? What vocabulary do you find yourself using that you’ve also noticed other OC/IC folk using? What has been your experience of other people’s reactions to your sharing your religious experiences – discovering that it is completely out of the expected collection of traditions and denomonations?

“. . . I will not reveal your mysteries to your enemies, nor give you a kiss as did Judas . . .”

We had a rather interesting conversation about this line in the prayer before communion this morning at breakfast. It is a reminder that Christianity is a “mystery cult” and begs the question – how is it so today? The conversation wandered down the path of speculation, we explored the link between this phrase and the responsibility to guard the sanctity of the Eucharistic assembly we all share (this lead to questions about who are Christ’s enemies then?); how does this square with the “orthodox” stance against classical Gnosticism, which claimed to pass on the true and secret teachings of Christ to initiates (“orthodox” teaching holds that all teaching was revealed to the whole ekklesia); how too does this sentiment connect with the Great Commission – to make disciples of all people?

At one point G asked – should we have things in the Liturgy that people do not understand? Hmmm . . . now this is a good question. My immediate response is that if it cannot be explained then no, it ought not be there. But then there is the point of leaving room for growing into understanding of an element, image, or idea.

Take it out because it might have been inconvenient, or incomprehensible at one point, might upset the balance of other images and ideas in the rite making them incomprehensible and before you know it – the weave of the rite is unravelled and you are left with nothing.

Two weeks ago we started a discussion on the security and symbolism of “the collar” this lead to some interesting discussion on not only the use of the collar but also the use (in our movement) of inflated clerical titles (see the great posts on this over at John’s, Tim’s and David Kling’s). The emphasis thus far has been on clericalism – but what about a more general exploration of symbols of faith?

Yesterday’s Guardian had an article about a Sikh schoolgirl being excluded from school because she wore the Kara, an iron bangle that reminds devout Sikhs of their duty not to sin. The symbolism is wonderful – a sinful act is often committed with the hands, thus the Kara is the last thing one sees before acting upon a sinful idea; a moment of reflection, a stepping back from the brink.

This is not an isolated occasion – indeed there have been a whole raft of reported instances, across the spectrum of faith in the past couple years when individuals have been expelled, fired, or suspended. A 15 year old Muslim girl lost her battle to wear a jilbab to class, a 16 year old Christian girl lost a high court battle because she refused to remove a “purity” ring, Jack Straw one of our better MP’s recently caused consternation when he asked a Muslim woman visiting his constituency office to not wear a full veil, BA last year found itself embroiled in controversy when a Christian woman was suspended for wearing a cross (a breech of their official uniform code which was clearly not consistently enforced) – at the same time Sikh men and muslim women are allowed turbans and hijabs respectively. France, in 2003, banned all religious symbols from public schools – hijab, cross, turban everything – it caused an uproar across Europe that focussed largely on the Muslim community.

We clearly live in a time of increasing extremism – “Christian” extremists in the US attempting to re-write both history and the Constitution to create a “Christian” theocracy; Muslim extremists in the UK attempting to introduce Sharia law and bring about a renewed Caliphate, not in the Middle East but in Bradford, London, and Leicester. Atheist extremists – like Richard Dawkins assaulting the integrity of people of faith across the spectrum of faith; and secularism run amok in places the like the US, where the separation of Church and State has become a clarion call for the eradication of all expressions of faith outside the privacy of one’s home.

Radicalism is having a subtle negative effect not only on free religious discourse and expression but also on our idea of civil society – where a free flowing exchange of sometimes opposing ideas is an integral part of building an engaged and rich community.

Our OC/IC community is not immune to the radicalism sweeping society as a whole. Many of the newer jurisdictions have emerged as a reaction against the liberal/conservative divide in their “home” traditions. I cannot help but ask if this is really representing our heritage well (while at the same time admitting that some of these newer jurisdictions – while enjoying the benefit of our apostolic heritage, will have nothing to do with us, and are sometimes quite hostile towards us)?

One of the spin off conversations of the post on the collar has been to look at how our clergy employ titles. Here we have a real problem in our community of individuals using grand titles to pump up their own egos – my own take on this has been that these folks need to be encouraged to step back and look at what they are doing to our tradition, and their reputation, and if they won’t we owe it to ourselves and our community to not engage with them, to not take them seriously, and to openly acknowledge that they do not represent the best that our movement has to offer. I also believe that it is in our best interests to make it increasingly difficult for individuals such as this to find a path to ordination in the first place (sorry John, this is a big drawback to the “free priesthood” ideal). Setting aside that group of individuals who use grand and empty titles to puff themselves up – looking instead at the rest: It seems to me that many of these are radical conservatives holding romantic ideas about the function of “the Church” and her clergy in the 19th century and earlier – thus the coats of arms, and fluffy titles are woven into an ideal of a return to the good ole’ days. Strange – in the “good ole’ days” we OC/IC folk were condemned because of our modernism, and “radical” liberalism – our fight for the free exchange of ideas, and the education of the laity got us into a lot of trouble!

When we opened the conversation about the collar two weeks ago it was inspired by reports that a security advisor for the Church of England suggested that for their own personal safety clergy not wear the collar outside official functions. Does the wearing of hijab, a turban, a Kara, a yarmulke, or a cross also heighten the security risk? The Church of England report noted that clergy are no longer a “protected class” the taboo of assaulting a priest is gone. We talked a bit about this last week in the post – but in light of the wider issue I wonder how others interpret the collar compared to the hijab, the turban, or yarmulke? It is I think, an unpleasant thought but I wonder, has “the Church” lost so much good will and damaged its reputation such that in the eyes of the public a priest wearing a collar is seen as much an object of derision as a woman wearing a chador, or a man with a full beard?

What are these marks of faith saying about the individuals who wear them? What do they believe they are saying? Many here in Europe, for example, view the hijab, chador, and jilbal with suspicion – interpreting it not as an act of modesty but as an act of defiance, of setting one’s self apart from the rest of society, of isolation, and even judgement. True – there appears to be an increased take-up of the veil by young muslim women in Europe, and yes it is in some cases an expressed act of defiance against real and perceived anti-muslim popular feeling; but I find it hard to accept that that is all there is to it. Is the monastic habit seen in the same light? No, rather it is a harmless oddity, a bit of strangeness, even comic relief. With the increase of extremism across the board symbols that were once largely interpreted within the context of that specific community are now taking on new meanings – largely geared towards an outside audience.

It is interesting that in our Christian context only the clergy have a clearly distinctive form of dress. Wearing a cross, either as a pin, a necklace, or an embroidered patch, by members of the community is not as striking or visible as the collar, the monastic veil, a habit or a wimple. What is more the cross has now become a cultural icon, no longer the exclusive mark of faithfulness but employed in fashion and media without reference to Christ’s passion and resurrection. Few OC/IC clergy wear a beard for example – and even if they did, without the collar or the habit to go with it, an observer would not give a second glance. Religious leaders and community members of Islam, Hinduism, Judaism and Sikhism all have very striking, distinctive attire that instantly “tags” the wearer as a member of that community. These faiths emerged in places where one faith was not the norm – Christianity, however, has until recently, enjoyed a near monopoly in Europe and the Americas – thus, the need to identify fellow Christians in a crowd was not essential, nearly everyone was (we ought not to forget that in many European cities that had a Jewish community – they were forced to wear distinctive items of clothing) – being able to find a priest however, was probably quite useful.

What are the marks of our faith? Our women do not wear the veil. Our men do not grow beards as a matter of faith or tradition. The cross is no longer a guarantee that the wearer is a believer. Only our clergy are typically distinctive in dress. If we accept that our clergy are public office holders – what then of the rest of us? In baptism we are “clothed” in Christ; in centuries past the newly baptised wore their white baptismal robe for eight days and then set it aside until their funeral. I opened this post with the Guardian report about the young Sikh excluded from school because she wore a symbol of her faith – a symbol which served a function for her, but which also identified her as a member of that community. One of my favourite daily prayers asks for the wisdom and foresight to act, and speak in such a fashion as to not be the cause of shame or embarrassment to our faith; in this time of increasing extremism ought we not consider the possibility of our OC/IC folk wearing some small token of our faith one that reminds us that we are a representative of our tradition, a tradition that historically places a great value on the free exchange of ideas, and tells others of our shared pride in our heritage?

Last week we started a great conversation (which continues) on the symbols, and ministry of ordained OC/IC service. In the course of that conversation, naturally, we also started to talk about the symbols and charism of the laity. I think, especially given our community’s pre-disposition toward ordaining more or less everything, that that conversation deserves a full airing.

Lyngine has started us off with some great observations in the comments of last weeks conversation – I’m reproducing them here in the hope that it will kick start a more in-depth exploration.

Lyngine writes:

“The charism of being laity goes beyond having the time and energy available that is not taken up by sacramental duties required in ordained life. The issue goes deeper and hits at the intrinsic nature of being laity. Because as laity, I hold no official power or authority within my local community and because it’s fairly common knowledge that I have no intention of ever seeking ordination–and therefore will never be in such a position, I am pretty much represent zero threat to folk who have had very negative past experiences with authority and clergy, which can be a large segment of people walking into OC/IC/ISM communities. This means I can be an easier person to approach about certain issues or to ask certain questions or if folk just need a little more encouragement to approach a priest about an issue. So people have another venue in which they make contact as they explore their faith. There is gift in being without overt power or authority in serving a community in which members have had past negative issues with power/authority. The gift lies precisely and intrinsically in the lack of the ordained status and the position that puts one in (as nicely described by Tim in an earlier comment). This also speaks to why someone ordained may want to remove one’s collar once in a while–it’s a constant symbol of authority and wearing it constantly can make it difficult to connect with those one serves.

The other gift of the laity is that , in general, most are not so completely immersed in religious/church/jurisdictional life and so bring outside loves, passions, and issues into the community—such a necessary gift if we are to keep from becoming overly internally focused as a group.

It’s not only that laity have some of their time freed up due to the lack of sacramental duties (though this is indeed true), the state of being laity itself holds/confers within it a particular charism that can complement that of priesthood within a worshiping community.”

The only thing I would add to this inaugural post on the symbols & charism of the laity is that without the laity a local assembly is incomplete, lopsided, and lacks the fullness of the spiritual gifts – in short it is as if it is not a “catholic” assembly.