Scots Church Adelaide

No Garden to Get Back to: Understanding Post-Avatar Ecological Depressive Disorder is an article in Religion Dispatches by Ryan Croken.

It may be only a movie, but it is turning significant segments of its audience into eco-radicals. We can go ahead and dissect the film’s weaknesses, but as our planet dies, and politicians fail, is this really how we want to talk about the most influential ecological parable of our time?

I’m pointing us to this article on Avatar because it is an example of words I am slowly beginning to see in the media; as our planet dies. I’m not talking about wild apocalypticsm here, but simple acceptance on the part of many writers.  Our planet is dying. Maybe, just slowly, people are waking up at last.

We recently linked to similar sentiment expressed by Derek Jensen.  In that article the loss of hope leads, according to the author, to a re-empowerment, which will not happen until hope is lost. Byron Smith at Nothing New Under the Sun constantly talks about global warming and ecological issues generally,  in terms of ‘what is right’, not ‘rights’ or hopes, or technology. Smith’s PhD research focusses around: “What is a faithful Christian response to impending civilisational decline? What role ought nightmarish apocalyptic visions play in Christian moral reasoning on these matters?”  Read on >>>>

Today's link is the story of one man's journey. This is an educated and humane man.. and humble.  There are some deep insights about being human, and christian in this interview. It's from Religion Dispatches, where Jacob Needleman is interviewed by Lisa Webster.

You talk in the book about having remained an atheist, even during years of great interest—even expertise—in religion and theology.

Yes, deep down, no matter how much I appreciated and understood religion—because it was damned interesting, and it was philosophically honorable. I defended Judaism, I defended Christianity. I gave lectures on it. I wrote books and I could explain it. But down deep I still didn't believe that this idea of God corresponded to something out there, really. Or in here—either way.

My mind believed it. But somewhere down deep I didn't really. It was only when I actually touched a certain level of inner experience, and I said, Ah, that's it. Now I am absolutely certain that there is such a thing. I always believed, as I was studying these things, that there was something higher in the universe. I never thought it was a dead, mechanical universe, like scientism. It was only when I experienced it as part of me that I saw that it was true....

And people cannot listen to each other. When we’re talking, you and I, mostly when I'm talking and trying to listen to someone I maybe hear—if I’m lucky—one-third of what they say. Mostly I hear my own thoughts, and when I try to write down what they’ve said I mix it with my own thoughts. But there is a discipline which one can obtain. It’s not that hard. It’s to step back from one's own opinions, make a space in myself and let you in. I don't have to agree with you but I have to let you in, so that you are heard. I hear you. And you let me in. And that way something very beautiful can appear; I can still disagree completely with you, but I don’t deny your humanity.

The art of listening is the first step of every ethics. That's been misunderstood: as if to become good is to become ethical. But it’s not a question of acting and doing the right thing—that’s hard. But we can listen to the other, give our attention, which is our precious human substance, to the other person. When I give my attention to you it's a little bit of love, whatever you might call it: and that's the source of ethics. That's been lost entirely. And it's really practical, it can happen. But people can’t do it. They don't do it. They don't know they have this capacity. They think listening is simply waiting for you to pause so I can come in.... Read on >>>>

For a different Professor's view on religion, go here.

Put simply, religion is a complex phenomenon admitting of divergent traits. It has always focused on the human encounter with the transcendent. But it has also been shaped by the ideological, superstitious, power-seeking and fear-driven impulses that infect so much of human social life.

Hitchens’ instinct is to define religion in terms of the latter; to view religion as poisonous and to exclude from the scope of “religion” anything that doesn’t warrant such a judgment. Sewell’s instinct, by contrast, is to define religion in terms of the collective human quest to both understand the meaning of our numinous experience and deliberately connect with the transcendent—and as such, she views everything that Hitchens takes as definitive of religion as, instead, its corruption.

I suspect these opposing instincts may be rooted in our earliest encounters with religious life. While I can’t speak to Sewell’s experience, my own seminal experience of religion was embodied in my relationship with my grandfather who, when I was a child, served as the minister of a small church in coastal Oregon.... Read on >>>>

Australia Day tells us of the growing capture of traditional religious functions by the state, says Godless Gross, owning up that he's been awarded an AM.  "There are many who will find this as a bigger and nastier surprise than Pearl Harbour."

Gross points out the lack of ceromony with our Australian awards- "probably a predictable and dull affair behind locked doors.  There is much to be learned from the Church to promote this ritual and accordingly add gravitas to the awards themselves." 

It seems to me that a lot of churches have forgotten the lesson that Dick Gross is taking from them, and are also "predictable and dull affairs."   Read on >>>>

Subtitle: Why some congregations drive me crazy!

I first met the clash between introvert and extrovert before I really understood the words.  We would get home from a meeting, or a party, and my new wife would be full of energy, while all I wanted to do was go to bed. It took a while to work out that she, the extrovert, would gain energy from a meeting or party, and I would expend energy. She was ready to party on, while I needed to recharge. This sort of dichotomy affects us in lots of places, including church.

Richard Beck writes

That is, extraverts tend to be energetic and enthusiastic while introverts tend to be mellower or even melancholic... Do introverts fit in at church?... The answer, obviously, is that it depends upon what kind of church we are talking about. In liturgical churches I expect introverts and extroverts fare about the same. But in non-liturgical churches they may fare differently....

In ... highly sociable churches there is an implicit theological theme that marries sociability with spirituality. That is, being sociable—visiting intensively, and being willing to "get into each other's lives"—is highly prized. To a point, this is understandable. A sociable church is going to rely on extraverts to make the whole vibe work...

There can be huge problems arising from our personality types, and the corporate personality type of our church (or workplace.) Beck says

Now, you may say that these introverts just aren't good people. But you would be wrong. Introverts are very, very relational. They just aren’t sociable. And to confuse the two is a grave theological and ecclesial mistake.  But many churches fail to make this distinction. They tacitly set up the following equation for church life: Spirituality = Sociability.  Read on >>>>

There is something very attractive in  the image of Jesus sitting in the boat, as the people press in.  It was hung on our Sunday School wall,  and painted into story books. As a farm kid who grew up a long way from the sea, I had ambivalent attitudes to the sea, but this picture always communicated something about safety to me. I always had images of warm afternoons, with gently lapping water. The crowd- I don’t like crowds- was not oppressive, but friendly and familial. Sometimes it was barely there.

Oddly, the places of my childhood that fit the mood I have painted, have nothing to do with the seaside.  They conform to Sunday School Picnics, where the whole world  retreated, and we had a few hours of escape to run and race, and feast, and enjoy life. The picnics were in a creek bed with steep earthen cliffs. Each year the farmers would provide old empty wheat bags, in which we would sit and wildly slide down to the bottom of the creek. Many a child, in the absence of a handy bag, would wreck the seat out of their pants!

These first few stories of Luke have some of that sense of sun-drenched glory days about them. There is no ‘and immediately’ as in Mark. The pace is slower, more relaxed. “Once while Jesus was standing… Once, when he was in one of the cities…”

Perhaps I am a hopeless romantic, but some of my thinking for the week will be to reflect on the safety that is in gospel despite all the seriousness and challenge! Even at the moment of great challenge in today’s reading, Jesus says to Peter, “Do not be afraid.”  Read on >>>>

And what this means is not that modernity has made faith unreasonable. But it does mean that faith is more fragile and unstable. As are all things in the foreground. The fact that faith is a choice means that faith can be revisited and the reasons behind that choice opened up to scrutiny. Further, we are constantly in contact with people making their own faith choices and can't help but be affected by their reasons. No longer taken for granted, faith is always exposed to reflection and revisitation. When faith is a choice it needs to be reasserted, like all our other choices. It's like waking up every morning and deciding what to wear. The choice is an everyday object in the mind. Thus, we need to keep choosing faith, over and over. And, like all things in the foreground, this take a lot of time and effort. Faith is now hard work. And some people, not surprisingly, just get tired.

In short, faith is going to feel different in modernity. It's going to feel vulnerable and fragile. It's going to be effortful. All this is simply saying that faith has moved from the background to the foreground.

This insightful short post is at Experimental Theology, by Richard Beck. Personally, I can't see a lack of doubt as anything other than denial!  I am glad that there is so much more freedom than the closed choices that were there in my childhood. But as Dr Beck says... you can get tired of it!  Read on >>>>

When we talk about God, and about following Jesus, there are two extremes. Theology always operates around two poles.

One pole is the formal, or systematic expression of our faith. It is the carefully worked out theological system, that looks at everything we know about what Jesus said, and what the tradition has discerned about God. It is important to keep the tradition coherent.

The other pole is the situation ‘on the ground’ where we are. How much sense does the lofty theology from the theological school make when we are literally sitting in a creek around a cooking fire? The reality of the local situation must always be honoured, or else the theology is empty, and even abusive.

The local and the formal work in an ongoing spiral of dialogue, informing and correcting each other. When we speak theology we must always pay attention to both. To do otherwise will reduce us to empty, perhaps abusive, words at one extreme, or idiosyncratic nonsense, at the other.

Today’s link is a sermon from a colleague; Reverend Janet Weiblen. Janet shows us the two poled approach, keeping the tension which brings life and power to the sermon. Read and enjoy... and thanks to Janet.  Her text is 1 Corinthians 13.

Andrew

Do you know the lyrics to the Beatles song, “All you need is love?” For whatever reason, that song swirled around my mind as I contemplated these words from Paul. I knew the chorus, but I didn’t know the rest of the words—I was never much of a fan of the Beatles. So I Googled it, and when I found the words, I was disappointed. To me, they made little sense, and that made me wonder about Paul’s words: did they make sense to those to whom they were written, the people in the Corinthian church?... Read on >>>>

During my recent holidays, I planned to ride-return to a cousin’s home in Horsham, some 450 kilometres away.  This, in the middle of the Australian summer, is not an easy journey. Apart from requiring many miles ridden on one of Australia’s busiest interstate highways, the first two days in my planned outing were forecast to be 41 degrees Centigrade. They were days of “Catastrophic Fire Danger,” when ideally, one would not be out in the Adelaide Hills, or anywhere, on a bicycle.

Although I had every intention of staying in motels or cabins, I needed to be ready to sleep rough on the roadside, in case of injury or breakdown.  I needed to be survive a night of constant rain, even though we are in the summer drought. In fact, I rode one day in constant rain; we have bizarre weather in this country!

The critical element of summer riding is to have sufficient water.  My route was determined by this figure; my preferred route has too little guaranteed access to water to be used in summer time. 

The volume of water is not all that counts.  It needs to be drunk constantly, “pre-drinking” at a rate which matches the loss of fluid through sweat. This rate varies dramatically. From Bordertown to Keith is 56 kilometres.  I rode this in constant rain Tuesday January 12, drinking only a litre of water. On the previous day, for the 38 kilometres between Tintinara and Keith, in 45 degree midday heat, I drank 5 litres of fluid... Read on >>>>