How many Indie folk are there? This is a question that has been in the back of my mind for over a year now. I keep seeing hints – but nothing concrete. I’ve assumed that nobody is counting us. And even with what I found yesterday on the ARDA site – I’m not sure that there truly is an overarching study.

I suspect that such a study would be a nightmare to design. Who is and who is not “Indie”? This is one reason why John Plummer coined the term ISM – there are so many possibilities, so many branches, so many “tributaries” if you will that feed the stream we know as the OC/IC ISM . . . “Indie” movement. For my own part I generally only “count” those tributaries that have a direct link to either Mar Julius, or the Old Catholics. Everything else, while it can be loosely classified as “Indie” does not share the same historical thread as the rest of us. I know this is arbitrary on my part, but I also wonder if it is not also true to say that some of the other tributaries do not see themselves, or identify themselves as being a part of the OC/IC stream.

Yesterday, I saw this on the ARDA website. I found it quite by accident – through another article, that pointed to the section, but to another denomonation (UCC I think it was). At first you’ll think, this has nothing to do with Indie communities and getting a feel for how many of us are out there. But I urge you to take a moment and dig a little. You’ll find, for example, that the Liberal Catholics (both branches) are accounted for, so too is the Apostolic Episcopal Church, and the African Orthodox, among quite a few others. The stats account for both active and inactive jurisdictions. I was plesantly surprised that they were not all the big names like the PNC.

While these figures are drawn from various years and are not all consistent – that is up to date, and thus we can’t simply add them all up and get “a picture” of the current state of the movement, they do give us an idea of the shape of the Indie community over the past 50 years or so – and yes, in some cases up until relatively recently. It is not a perfect resource, but it is perhaps a starting point for talking about how many of us there really are, and what that could mean for our future sustainability – especially in relation to my post the other day about the supposed decline of “the Church” in Western society.

“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.

Back in August, having just handed in the official final draft of the thesis,  I wrote asking what you would include in an “Indie Manifesto”. I found myself asking the question in relation to a number of sites I visited in the morning trawl that had manifestos of their own. I observed that these manifestos gave a point of reference, a cause for the voice of the particular blog and its contributor(s) – and that there does not appear to be anything similar in the Independent Catholic movement as a whole.

The historical reasons for this lack of a grounding statement, an arc of purpose and action are, I think, well known to most who might visit here. The very fluid, often confusing state of the movement as a whole does not lend itself easily to cohesion of any sort.

This morning – in the back of my mind I started thinking about the idea of “manifesto” again. I pulled out the dictionary – what exactly is a manifesto? If you were to compose one – what would it look like? What purpose does it serve? My questions went on and on. Why am I revisiting this question? I think because as I am now able to turn back towards researching the history and ideas of the OC/IC movement – I am faced with two oft recurring and while not original, very important questions: Why are we here, and what makes us who we are?

Lets face it – in many respects – even in our 18th and 19th century origins – the OC/IC movement is born out of chaos – and (with very few exceptions) we’ve never escaped it. It is as though we revel in chaos. Again, I think there might be a historical precedent at work here – the movement originates as a response to rigid order, an enforced party line that must not be questioned. Seen in this light – it is easy to understand how anything that even suggests order is treated with suspicion.

I remember how, back in the early 1990s when the community I belonged to found itself cut adrift because of the breakup of our synod we spent three months in regular gatherings, praying, discerning, discussing a way forward – in a way we were looking for a way to create our own “manifesto” our declaration of purpose and action. We were trying to recover a sense of order out of the chaos created by others. And we were realising in the process that it was much more difficult than it at first might appear. While we mostly had personal loyalties to one another, and to our local community – that is not a solid foundation for moving forward when you are looking at a living, disciplined life of faith and praxis.

So this morning, thinking about manifestos what they are, how they work, and how they come into being – I fell into this rather fun collection of manifestos – mostly from political and artistic movements. Reading through them I was struck by the sense of passion and committment the authors and their communities had for the issues. It made me wonder – do Indie Christians have the same passion for the OC/IC ethos (whatever that might be now)? Or is it just “church” – the fulfillment of a need or sense of obligation?

I found, that in one source at least, a religious manifesto is described as a creed – rather than a “manifesto”. But when I think about the 39 Articles, and Luther’s 99 Theses I cannot help but think of them as manifestos not creeds. I could be wrong – it seems to me that the difference between a manifesto and a creed is that a manifesto is not just a statement of believe and conviction, rather it adds strategy and action – “this is what we believe, and this is how we (aspire to) do it.”

Is there an existing Indie manifesto that I don’t know about (perhaps an unwritten one)? What would you include in such a statement of priniciple and action?

I’ve long argued that “Gnosticism” or as I generally refer to it “neo-gnosticism” has no place in the Indie community. It is, has been, and will always be, antithetical to Christian teaching and praxis. Tom Write, the Anglican bishop of Durham, offers in this video a wonderfully refreshing take on Gnosticism.

I’ve always been fascinated by the tension between science and religion. I don’t know what it is about this subject that peaks my curiosity so. Perhaps because I don’t see any tension between them and so I feel that I need to understand why others do. Perhaps because I can glimpse some aspects of the key moments when the two were struggling to assert themselves, or even redefine themselves with respect to the other.

Last night I watched The End of God? A Horizon Guide to Science and Religion on BBC (you can watch the episode here until 1 Oct, there is also a permanent summary/essay by the presenter Dr. Thomas Dixon here).

One element of the interaction between the two subjects that puzzles me is the claim, and indeed for some, the belief that religion – and in our particular case, Christianity – provides all the information we need about the natural world. That is to say that the Bible is a user’s manual for planet earth, and from it we obtain “true” knowledge.

For me my faith has nothing to do with the acquisition of knowledge, or facts, at least not in the same way one does research in genetics to understant the genome, and how genes (and their aberrations) effect living organisms. I’ve always approached the faith as a relationship – it is fluid, it is enhancing, it is challenging, it is even enlightening, but it is not an encyclopedic source of “facts” about the world around me. Just as my relationship with my friends, and family is not a source of knowledge about genetics (well – in my case it can be since my other half is a geneticist – grin).

One cannot have a relationship with science. Science will not respond to you, it does not “know” you. And because one cannot have a “relationship” with science, it is not possible to “believe in” science. Thus, to say “I believe in science” is to posit a consciousness, or a relationship that simply cannot be. Science is about the investigation of the natural world – science (real science, not pseudo-science) is “fact”. Science does not, cannot delve into philosophy, meaning, value, because when it does it loses its impartiality, and no longer expresses, or discovers fact.

I guess then, that it is here where my understanding of the faith, and the tradition in which I find myself (OC/IC) is different from say – a biblical literalist who sees the bible as the black and white, beginning and end of “knowledge” and “truth” via revelation. The problem for me, here is that this perspective over-simplifies the scriptures – it smoothes over the rough patches, and turns the bible into an encyclopedia, a manual, a task master. It is none of these things. Moreover, it ignores the grace of free will, and free enquiry that is an essential element of our being human. It seems to me then, that fundamentalism, literalism, de-values the richness of scripture, and degrades the dignity of humanity. Two things I cannot imagine are true to the Christian faith.

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?

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)?

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.

Here in the UK the Guardian has a regular column called “Bad Science” which exposes . . . well, “bad” science, pseudo science, and “popular science” ideas – like homeopathy. Maggi Dawn has suggested on her blog the brilliant idea of a “Bad Theology” column. So what bad theologies, or pseudo theological ideas would you include, and why?

Thanks to Lyngine for forwarding this rather interesting article from Newsweek to me. Lisa Miller (the article’s author) writes that a recent Pew Forum study shows that 7 percent of Americans worship in small groups in house churches rather than attending larger gatherings/congregational settings.

The article goes on to explore some of the reasons – the era of the mega church is over, one size does not fit all when it comes to worship & spirituality, and the rigid institutionalism of “traditional” denomonations distracts and deterrs the faithful.

What was interesting to me however, from an OC/IC perspective is the analogy between mega-church and micro-church and big brand beer, and micro-breweries. A bit flimsy at first but lets think about the branding ideas, the backround imagery for a moment. When you think micro-brewery, you think small, local producer, you think quality, traditional manufacturing but quirky enough to bend a bit here, and be flexible there.

Hmmm . . . perhaps this is not such a bad analogy aferall. Perhaps this is a decent working image set for an indie community to use to draw up an outreach plan for 2010?