Lets face it we live in a world of instant gratification. You see it, you want it (but don’t necessarily need it), and you buy it. “It” might last for 6 months before the next “it” comes along that has 3 things different, none of which you use, and then the cycle starts all over.

About three months ago when the newest iPhone came out, I happened to be in town and passed one phone store after another where the que stretched around the block. After the fourth such occurrance I stopped to ask one of the guys in the que what everyone was waiting for. “New iPhone” came the reply. It was clear however, that all of these folks already had the “old” iPhone, and that those devices were working perfectly fine – I saw dozens of them tapping, snapping, and yaking away on them. But the “new” iPhone was the new “it” and it must be possessed.

Staying on the mobile phone topic – every 12 months my mobile phone contract comes up for renewal. Sometime before, and for sometime after, the company starts calling: ‘You’ll want a new phone, we can arrange that for you.’ Well, no actually, my existing phone does just fine thanks. ‘But the new ones have über-megapixel photos, and crystaline-HD video . . .’ Yeah . . . but I only want a phone. I’ve got a very good camera, and a very good camcorder thanks very much. My phone works fine, now go away. The caller always hangs up in bemused despair, not comprehending why I don’t want the newest, shiniest, fashion accessory.

With both examples – the “new” iPhone, that drove hundreds to que outside shops around the block on a sunny morning, and the annual ritual of renewal, I experience the corollary or is it the consequences of living in an instant gratification society. The power of marketing, and the push to take something from the realm of the useful, functional, and helpful, into the realm of  . . . meaningless fashion accessory. In this way the “it” item of today, quickly goes out of fashion, only to be replaced by the next “it”and people . . . .almost unconsciously it seems . . . are lead out into the streets to que for hours to buy “it” only to repeat the process 6 months later!

During the fourth century Christianity went through a period of enthusiastic asceticism. Asceticism it should be said is not what we often popularly percieve as a scrawny sun baked individual beating and lashing himself for Jesus (indeed many of the more famous ascetics taught that this was sinful abuse). Rather asceticism was about fine-tuning the spirit, character, and body of the individual, training him or her towards transcendence.

One key feature of this self disciplline, was to learn to challenge, even set aside those voices that constantly demand instant gratification: “must have”, “must do”, “must be seen to do”, “must . . must. . . .must. . . .”. One often finds in the recorded teachings of the desert fathers the instruction to sit in your cell, be content, and work your craft (usually spinning or braiding cord and baskets). To be content, with what you have, and to acquire the inner serenity that leads to clarity of thought, and the ability to sift through the many “must haves” that we impose upon ourselves, to find communion, and the realisation of one’s whole self.

Today, the fervour for vigorous asceticism is long gone – and that is not necessarily a bad thing. What we can learn from the example of the fourth century pioneers however, is a “modern” asceticism (St. Athanasius for example said anyone – regardless of their vocation, or station in life, could practice moderate asceticism and benefit from it); and that is to live simply, to be content with what we need, rather than everything that we are “told” we want.

The benefits of this asceticism are many, but here are just a few. Firstly you buy less, and learn to buy quality that lasts, rather than quantity. Secondly you unleash your creativity – you learn to enjoy making and doing things for yourself, and with others. Thirdly with very little effort you find that you’re reducing your environmental impact – which is of course good for everyone (though not necessarily the businesses screaming at you in adverts to buy buy buy).

How does this fit into a spiritual practice, an expression of our Christian faith? Simple, we are stewards of the earth – a lower environmental impact is a good thing. Following the example of Jesus we are enjoined to promote social justice – many of the cheap, low quality, mass produced items we buy, and throw away in six months, are produced in situations that would make a dictator weep in shame. Finally, with less clutter, less stuff, and more opportunities to engage and create with others, and for others, one finds that the fulfillment of things is replaced with a more stable, deeper fulfillment of personality – this is an expression of true asceticism, and the goal of Christian teaching.

Looking for ideas, places to start, here are a few very good links. We Live Simply is a site with all sorts of ideas, and conversations about getting the best out of less. The Really Good Life is similar, more personalised, and I think has a more of a DIY approach. Finally, How Can I Recycle This? is a site that does what it says – people ask, and people answer, and along the way you get some really good ideas in the most unexpected places. If you know of any similar sites, by all means post them in the comments.

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?

Via a suggestion through reading Bp. Rob Angus Jones, newest book, I’ve bought a copy of Abba Seraphim’s Flesh of Our Brethren. It is published on LuLu, which some of you know, I’m a huge fan of for producing much needed quality Indie research and resources. You can visit our own little kiosk by clicking here.

I’m only a third of the way through Flesh of Our Brethren, and so far I cannot reccomend it enough. Don’t let the typesetting put you off – Abba Seraphim has clearly done the research, and his presentation is both clear, readable, and well documented.

Flesh of Our Brethren focusses on the histories of three principal figures in our history, St. Mar Alvarez, Abp. Vilatte, and Bp. Ferrette, and their connections to the Syrian Church.

If you have already read Flesh of Our Brethren, and would like to share your own impressions, please do so in the comments below. Once I’ve finished it I might post a “proper” book review here.

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).

I just finished re-reading my copy of Terry Pratchett’s Small Gods. It is a humrous look at belief, religion, and what happens when it all goes horribly wrong. The story focuses on the Great God Om, and his companion the eighth prophet Brutha. Om is not so great anymore for a very simple reason, everyone thinks that they believe in him, but in reality they don’t. The story is about how Om gets his umph back – and becomes great again. But, its not that simple.

The story is humorous – its Pratchett’s style. But what I found rather ingeneous is how it looks under the rocks of “religion” – fundamentalism, power, money, manipulation, as well as straight forward real honest belief – forcing you to reflect on these things, perhaps from a slightly different (and admittedly irreverent) angle.

Small Gods is not a new book – its been around for a while – but it is one of those books that could very well benefit OC/IC folk because we’ve all seen incarnations of the Deacon Vorbis (a.k.a. “Lord Vorbis”), we’ve all seen individuals in our communities who, because of the nature of belief, how it can, and does “shift” people no longer believe in the God and his teaching, rather in the “structure” of faith, and its mechanisms. But we’ve also seen reflections of Brutha, the simple monk who just wants to tend his garden, but whose calling, and his gift of directness, and openess, takes him down a different path.

The Guardian reported yesterday that a major conservation project has been recently completed. The Gerima Gospels are perhaps one of the earliest surviving illuminated Gospel manuscripts thought to have been completed sometime before AD 650. Combined with the remaining fragments of the Cotton Genesis dated to sometime between the fifth and sixth centuries, the fifth century Goleniscev papyrus (interesting for its depiction of the Theotokos) the Gerima Gospels suggests that there was a vibrant culture of illuminated manuscrpt production in the late antique period.

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?

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 essay by Theo Hobson was in my morning trawl (thank you nod to Maggie Dawn – who has been picking the really interesting stuff of late). Hobson visits a Anglican . . . non-worship, worship service in West London and shares the experience.

Throughout his description of the art instalations, the impromptu feel, the artsy free form nature of it all, while talking about how some people are not comfortable with “organised” religion – that is the structured liturgical forms, and familiar settings of churches – I could not help but reflect on how it all began.

Take a eucharistic prayer for example – now it is the norm that (in western liturgical churches) the priest reads one from a fixed set of options. The choice may vary depending on the season, local custom, or personal preference but the words are the same every time – the prayer has become homogenised. Believe it or not this was not always so. Indeed this one prayer (as an example) was for at least three hundred years a free form on the spot prayer by the bishop (the normal celebrant for the period).

There is something – safe, possibly even comfortable, about the “norm” a standard format, a memorable set of words, an expected environment. However, there is something to be said for the edgy, the awkward, the un-expected because our experience of, and growth in our faith, and our OC/IC identity is punctuated with the unexpected, the awkward, those moments that interrupt the flow and make us pay attention.

Finally – it is, as I have often observed here – too often the case that we indie folk spend too much effort and energy trying to look like “the norm” – rather than being true to our quirky, edgy, experimental selves.

Last week my office was re-decorated. It was about time too. I’d never changed the colour of the walls which as you can see were a nausiating “Crayola Sunshine Yellow”. Preparing for the arrival of the decorator I had to empty the room in which I spend so much of my time. The bird had to come out, my books, my table, cushions, laptop – everything. At the end I paused to reflect on the emptiness of my room in the morning sun.

We often think of emptiness as a negative space – a lack, an absence of something important. It was interesting, even energising however, to take a moment and enjoy the moment of emptiness not as a “lack” of something but as “potential”, a joyful leap into the unknown.