Holy grace in an untidy church

Introduction

This paper was given at the Society for the Study of Theology Conference 'Thinking the Church' and takes as its starting point comments made by the Archbishop of Canterbury in his presidential address to General Synod in February 2014. Justin Welby spoke of the need for a massive cultural change with the Church of England, so that people could flourish together despite deeply held differences. That shift is a journey of learning to live as an 'untidy church': learning to love those with whom we disagree and seeking mutual flourishing, rooted in what the Archbishop calls 'holy grace'.

I begin by setting out the challenges and hopes of his address. It is a vision that resists perpetuating the fearful denigration of the other; to sustain it we need resources which prevent us lapsing into idealism which is readily abandoned. I wonder if Dan Hardy's work on the nature of holiness might help us here. His description of divine holiness as a refining fire which heals fragmentations is challenging and compelling.

Holiness understood as transformative and performative leads to consideration of two questions: firstly, how might the dynamics of holiness increase our capacity to live with untidiness within the life of the church? Secondly, how is holiness embodied in such a way that it becomes a movement of hope in the world?

Prayer - Chris Gollon (2009)

The address

Archbishop Justin uses the five principles agreed by the House of Bishops (in relation to the
legislation to women and the episcopate) as an example of how love and trust work: ‘the love has to
be demonstrated and the trust has to be earned. But the love cannot be demonstrated if it is refused
and the trust cannot be earned without the iterative process of it being received and reinforced in the
reception.’ This might be described as a practice of holiness.

The ‘massive cultural change’ necessary for the living out of ‘a commitment to the flourishing of
every tradition of the church’ means accepting that those with whom we disagree are ‘deeply loved
by Christ and therefore must be deeply loved by me’. For him, the ‘gift that Christ gives us, of loving us to the end, to the ultimate degree is meaningless unless that love is both given and received, and
then passed on’. Holy grace is cruciform: we are held and moved by God’s holiness in worship,
participating in the refining fire 'as it has occurred in the Cross of Christ’ (Hardy, Finding, p. 20.).

Loving in this way is a difficult and risky calling. The Archbishop speaks about the need for integrity,
transparency and honesty; about doing what we do out of love. Such practices are societal patterns
needed to create trust. So we ask with Dan, what difference does worship make in cultivating
holiness? (Hardy, Finding, pp. 22-23.).  Might a ‘holy trust’ equip us to face disagreement and crisis in the hope of healing.

Holiness and healing do not equate to ‘tidiness’. The Archbishop said that an untidy church tells the
world 'holy grace' rather ‘consistency and coherence' is the ultimate virtue’. The Church of England’s
untidiness is reflected in lobbies and groups within and beyond the synodical structures of
governance and episcopal collegiality. When these things work well, love overcomes fear; but often
the opposite is the case. To acknowledge that the ‘resources of love lie within God hints at the
performative nature of holiness. That is an encounter with divine promise and assurance in worship,
in penitence and faith. Such love is demanding. It is a process of gracious reconciliation which is
cruciform.

Many of the issues which are centre stage engender fear: fear of rejection and irrelevance, the limits
of authority and generosity. Yesterday's headlines about GAFCON show just how acute and corrosive
these fears are. Perhaps Dan’s legacy will edge us beyond tribalism towards a holy and gracious
church. A church that is not preoccupied with its own inner life, but called outwards by the Spirit to a
creative vision for the sake of God's kingdom.

A refining fire - nature of holiness, human and divine

In Finding the Church Dan states that ‘holiness, sociality and worship are – or should be – extremely
rich and powerful notions and practices, and therefore capable of orientating vast ranges of life in the
world’ (Hardy, Finding, p. 8). He warns against supposing that it can be fully grasped – theoretically or ethically. Whilst heading this warning against domesticating such vision, we hold on to the challenge of how such practices change us and deepen our engagement with the world, not least because for Dan the church is constituted by mission and worship.

To begin with, how does Dan's understanding of holiness relate to the scope of God’s work in
creation and salvation? The gift of creaturely freedom is risky: our desires are misdirected, our lives
dispersed and fragmented; we are in danger of losing the sense of God’s presence with us (Hardy, Wording, p. 68.). ‘Extensity’ names this spread-out-ness in the world - our human propensity to get caught up in things. 'Intensity’ describes God’s self-movement of love towards the world – in creation, redemption, the perfection of human life in the world (Hardy, Finding, p. 34.) This intensity calls forth a response. Dan uses Coleridge’s term ‘abduction’ to describe the dynamics of this attraction to God. This attraction is cultivated and sustained in worship as we a turned away from self-absorption, as we participate in God's ways, as our desires are reformed.

Might this be a holy grace for an untidy church?

For Dan holiness and God are mutually defining: holiness is the attraction to God, which calls and
moves people; it is beautiful, satisfying and humbling; relational and performative ( Hardy, Finding, p. 12.).  It is rooted in the triune God. Dan says: the property of holiness is one of ‘intrinsic relation to all else… then holiness is intrinsically triadic… the Trinity immanent in God is his consistent performance of holiness, but this is maintained – as the Trinitarian economy in the world – through God’s energetic congruence with the world’ (Hardy, Finding, pp. 14-16.).

‘Facing the holiness of God, and performing it within human social life, is the special provenance of
worship. There all the interrelated dimensions of life are raised to the holiness of God’ (Hardy, Finding, p.19.). It is not merely routine human activity. God’s ‘formative, freeing and energizing attraction’ shapes us (Hardy, Finding, p. 20.). Worship is a crucible which enacts and extends holiness, which heals fragmentation of our extensity.  Might, in the words of Barbara Pym, our 'incremental shifts in virtue' be an outworking of holiness, in Christ, in anticipation of the Kingdom?


Increasing our capacity to live with untidiness

How might the dynamics of holiness increase our capacity to live with untidiness within the church?

For Dan, the Eucharist is an occasion of performing – and thus learning – the quality of God’s
holiness in action, whose implication are seen as it reconstitutes the life of those involved, forming
their multifold interactions with others.’ It counteracts fear and cultivates love (Hardy, Finding, p. 21.).  Might it also be a place where holiness is kindled not as a list of prohibited or acceptable actions, but as a way of being in relationship?

In Finding the Church, Dan describes the way in which trust liberates us to act without fear; it is a
sign of love which we give to others. It shapes and enriches our relationships, creating what Dan calls
'moral density'. If human flourishing is ordinarily dependent on stability and systems of
accountability, what difference does worship make?

How might the Eucharist enact a 'holy trust' as we are confronted with the 'refining fire' of divine
holiness? Divine intensity is the response to our extensity. Dare we approach worship in the
expectation that God will establish and transform our relationships as the cruciform fire of God's
holiness refines us?

Archbishop Justin criticised sermons offering the moral claptrap of niceness. Rather we are drawn
into a moral density is enacted in the sacrifice of Christ, which we call holy grace. Living this out in
the life of the Church is difficult and demands patience and attentiveness, which stretches our human
capacity. But our capacity is stretched by placing our assurance in God’s holiness. Only then can we
live with untidiness; waiting for difference to become a gift.

This increased capacity to disagree well in an untidy church sounds idealist. Dan himself was not
naïve about the cost in his work within Anglican Communion on issues of sexuality, gender, the
interpretation of Scripture and authority. He continually reignites our imaginations as we seek holy
grace in an untidy church. Let’s for a moment consider the reality of a local church in crisis and
discover the possibility of healing and the balm of spirit.

In Wording a Radiance, Dan describes the way in which the pastor opens herself to be an agent of
transforming and healing spirt. Individuals might then shift from being passive recipients to active
agents of the Spirit: Dan describes this as a turning from 'self-attraction to divine attraction and thus
attraction to others' (Hardy, Wording, p. 107.). It is not immediate, simple or straightforward; it is not mere choice or will. It is the central drama of our ecclesiology: 'when a pilgrim's openness to the Spirit is met by the Spirit and 'other' replaces 'self' as the object of attraction. This is not the end of the drama but the beginning: an opening for attraction to meet attraction and, with the balm of the Spirit, for a wounded Church to walk with Jesus' (Hardy, Wording, p. 107.).

It is difficult and time consuming. Holy grace demands that we deepen bonds of mutual trust and
affection by improving the quality of our disagreements. Holy grace in an untidy church means living
in the hope of healing. Dan has a word for this too: he calls it ‘granulation’, a healing from deep
within. When intransigent problems and differences are centre stage, they consume our energy.
Confronting the holiness of God in worship creates space and gives us the assurance to take risks,
with patience and generosity. It does so because our attention refocused on the glory and light of
God, whose kingdom ‘is not a matter of our working out every detail of how to move on; we need to
leave room for the Spirit to work’(Hardy, Wording, p. 105.).

Holiness - a movement of hope

Enriched by the Spirit, how is holiness embodied in the world as a movement of hope?

In Finding, Dan talks about holiness of God demanding the proper interaction between ecology,
history and culture; and social institutions playing a key role in the performance of holiness as
‘provisional approximations to the good’. In Wording, sociopoesis (the creating of the social)
emerges from his discussion of the way in which holiness is enacted in the world. Dan's
diagrammatic representation of this demonstrates a two-way dynamic, under God for the sake of the
Kingdom.

If facing holiness in worship cultivates generosity, trust and reconciliation in the face of disagreement, it becomes both a gift and challenge to the world. Rather than becoming overly concerned with our own ‘inner meaning’, how do learn afresh how to persist with our task in the world? What might be the signs of hope for the world of this holy, graced and untidy church?

Archbishop Justin spoke about letting go of the absolutes of coherence and consistency; but I
wonder what that might look like in term of holiness conceived as a mode of engagement.
Commitment to facilitated conversations and the Archbishop's frankness over Wonga might be
examples of that.

Risking incoherence and inconsistence might be part of our prophetic calling. If our assurance is
located in God - in his holiness - we increase our capacity to live with difference. Life is not tidier or
less complicated, but with God centre stage when we abide in the perfect, holy and refining love that
casts out fear. Holy grace in an untidy church is cultivated in worship, but it is also about witness.

The body of Christ radiating the light and love of God for sake of the Kingdom; opening up true potential of human life. As Dan puts it:'Liturgy is one way of facilitating and helping people enter into this creative dynamic and drawing them deeper into the light, letting it penetrate and irradiate them. But this opening is certainly not exclusive to the Church: there are lots of other ways, too, and we need to recognize and interpret them in public life. It is about how the Church relates to the world (16 Hardy, Wording, p. 106.).

If Dan was renowned for acknowledging the complexity of that, he was also renowned for calling us back to the unfolding work of the Spirit.


© 2015 Julie Gittoes

We need to discuss values and vision

Enough of the dry politics of numbers. We need to discuss values and vision.

So runs the headline of Will Hutton's comment piece in today's Observer.

The byline continues: Political conversation has been drained of all vitality, fixated on a narrow set of targets. To breathe new life into it, our politicians should stop talking like accountants and rediscover moral purpose.

Hutton goes on discuss the way in which politicians of his parents' generation traded their competing visions and debated how they would achieve the common good. Our own generation is preoccupied with the all-consuming metric of national debt. He calls for an ecosystem of innovation and investment; for a state driven by values which has to organise itself so that it has the wherewithal to sustain improvements to education, health, infrastructure, housing and defence. He asks, 'where is the political vision?'

Illustration: briancains.com

The Observer: Sunday, 22nd October 2015

The question of vision is vitally important for us as members of the church, the body of Christ.  Sometimes the narrative told about our worship and common life is one of decline or of maintaining buildings; sometimes our own internal dialogue is dominated by deficits and numbers; our viability rather than vitality.

We could so easily rewrite The Observer's headline: Enough of the dry ecclesiology of numbers.
We need to discuss values and vision. Is not our Christian discourse, our understanding of faith and the mission of the church drained of all vitality if it is fixated on a narrow set of targets?  To breathe life into the church we too should stop talking like accountants and rediscover moral purpose.

As a priest, a theologian, a member of the body of Christ, I would suggest that the church is in a far more hopeful place than we sometimes think.  We have an Archbishop who has set out three clear priorities - priorities which remind us that the church is not just another human interest group or a branch of social service. We are the body of Christ: that is our identity within which we discover our calling. Therefore, our first priority is to pray; to place worship at the heart of our life, individually and corporately. We are to make time for it and to invest in it - because in prayer we draw near to God and God reaches out to us.

In a sermon today, Archbishop Justin spoke about prayer as the most risky, the most dangerous thing you can do. It changes us. It roots us in God. His second priority flows from the first: as a church we are to be agents of reconciliation.  God is the source of this forgiving and recreating activity. It demands trust; it demands that we speak of our core values; it means that we have to lay aside petty jealousies and personal agendas. It is undoubtedly a hard and costly path - as Bishop Andrew (Guildford) reminded us, we are called to take up our cross and walk to Jerusalem, in the hope of resurrection.

Our Archbishop's third priority is the call to witness.  It is the calling of the whole people of God to share the good news of Jesus Christ.  Witness is rooted in worship: our deep attention to God - in the beauty of holiness; in word and music; in sacrament and silence. Worship forms us as a holy people - our witness is bound up with the reflection of God's love in our life together as we learn to be patient and generous, forgiving and joyful.  That is a compelling vision of our life together; but it needs nurturing.  There will be times when we have to challenge one another about where we place our attention or how we engage with one another.

As a community of shaped by worship, there is a deep moral purpose to our witness. In the power of the Spirit we are called to witness to the love of God made manifest in Jesus Christ.  Acts of service are a tangible expression of that; they are signs of God's Kingdom - God's values - breaking into the present. However, those acts of service only make sense if we also share the overarching story of God's creative, redemptive and sustaining love.

That is what Paul does in Romans - with tremendous rhetorical flourish!  He is piling up imagery and poetic language to name both the fragility of our human condition and the extraordinary abundance of God's love.  We are called to do the same.  At Guildford Cathedral, we are on the cusp of embarking on a two year HLF project which will restore this building, and improve its facilities. However,   The People's Cathedral project only makes sense within the retelling of God's story.

As we capture human memories through the oral history project, as we improve the interpretation material on offer to visitors, as we deepen our engagement with families, schools and neighbouring institutions we we will be witnessing to God's love for the world.  The story of brick givers only makes sense in relation to why a new place of worship was built; our contribution to learning and dialogue only makes sense if we have a vision for the work of the Spirit as we seek wisdom.  All this is an expression of the gift of God's grace in world longing for hope.

Our first lesson speaks of the way in which the exercise of  human power can dehumanise and appear immune to the grace of God.  Pharaoh demands that Aaron performs a sign or wonder.  Yet in his court, this is to compete on the same terms of magicians, sorcerers and those immersed in secret arts. Even when Aaron's staff swallowed up theirs, Pharaoh's heart remained unmoved.  We know, from our retelling of this story in Exodus, as it is remembered in the Psalms, as it is reenacted on stage and screen, that plagues come and go.  Yet Pharaoh will not let God's people go free. It is only when confronted not just with the reality of mortality, but God's power over death, that Pharaoh let's them go.

Paul picks up on this theme of liberation and promise.  His retelling is of grace and life on a cosmic scale; but he begins with confronting the reality of our human nature. It began with Adam: it begins with human kind - and our misuse of freedom; our propensity for our desires to be misdirected.  God creates with perfect love and freedom; and the risk of that is that we do not always chose to obey his will and loving purpose for us.

Our sin is our separation from God and the way in which our in fragmented lives injure others. Paul writes of the way in which the law embodies the vision of God's command - to love and worship God; to love and serve each other.  It is the reality of that law which reveals the weakness of our nature and the way in which we cross or transgress those lines.  We get caught up in the little things: disappointments, grudges, failures & loss.

Our hope, says Paul, is in Christ.  In him we see a bigger picture, within which our lives take on new purpose.  Adam represents our frailty; Christ delivers us and gives us a new destiny in hope.  We move from the trespass of death to the gift of grace; from disobedience to righteousness; from condemnation to forgiveness; from death to life.  The impact of these layers of contrasts is cumulative: the impact of Christ's life and death and resurrection is cosmic. It is also radically particular to each on of us: loved, forgiven, transformed; living out of grace not human strength for we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves.

That is good news.  The grace of God overflowed to the many; all have a share in that abundance of that love.

Enough of the dry preoccupation with numbers. We need to discuss values and vision

In prayer we are caught up in God's love for us.
As members of the body of Christ we are to reflect that reconciling love.
In the power of the Spirit, we are to witness to that abundance.

We do all this for the sake of the Kingdom of God.  As Brian Cairns' illustration alongside Will Hutton's comment suggests - our political vision, our church and the Kingdom is to be a flourishing plant, not a withered stem.

© 2015 Julie Gittoes