Or, how does your understanding of the End Times affect the way you read, write or approach human history?

Oops, sorry, forgot to put the health warning first.  Normal readers, look away NOW!

This question seems to me to be important in a variety of ways, and has arisen from a paper I was reading today with the snappy title of Reinhold Neibuhr's Theology of History by someone called Langdon Gilkey and published back in 1974.  The paper compares and contrasts Neibuhr's views with those of other C20 theologians such as Pannenberg, Moltmann, Gutierrez and a pile of others I'm too ignorant to have heard of.  It is quite a complex paper (or at least I found it so) but the key to it seems to be the way we relate our understanding of the eschaton to the path of human history, and how we we see God's relationship with creation in all this.  Threads of process theology run through the arguments, and words like 'grace' 'judgement' and 'freedom' abound.

So, I am going to try to note the things it's made me think about before I forget them again.

Firstly, the eschaton, and eschatology.  How do we understand these terms in practical terms?  Do we have some kind of 'realised eschatology' (which I have to confess to never having really got my head around as a concept) or one that is still to come?  And whichever of these we have, is it about a perfect and/or new heaven and earth or something else?  You might think the answers to these are obvious, and perhaps they are, but they will affect the way you understand human history and human behaviour on a wider scale.

If we anticpate that at the Eschaton (or the end of time, or whatever) that humanity will attain perfection, then we end up with something not a milliom miles from the 'myth of Progress' model of academic history.  In this model, later is better, and it is possible to argue that sin can be equated with devotion to present and past and a closing of minds to what is to come.  This, the writer argues is what theologians other than Neibuhr tend to do.  I guess this is a kind of Pauline 'forgetting what is past I press on towards the goal' approach to the past, which renders the past irrelevent because now we are more perfect than we used to be.  If I can caricature somewhat, this model seems to have God as a kind of divine coach standing just beyond the temporal finishing line urging us on and telling us not to look back.  If this is what we believe - and to some extent I suspect most of us do - then it cannot but impact on how we tell the story of the past and how much (or little!) import we give it.

Neibuhr's approach is rather different, and centres on the idea of transcendence, and of God somehow involved all through human history rather than standing at the end of it beckoning us on.  Furthermore, even for humans there is potential to trasncend our own circumstances and reflect upon them.  In this model the idea of human experience getting more and more close to perfection as history (chronologically) unfolds is not inevitable, though it is possible, if only we are able to grasp it.  Rather than an inevitable end point, perfection becomes a horizon against which we can measure reality.  In this model, human sinfulness is part of our makeup and therefore no matter when, chronologically, we live, we have the same potential for sin.  Perhaps again with dear old Paul, we may find it to be a natural 'law' that despite our best efforts we foul up, failing to do the good we want to do and doing the wrong we don't want to do.  In this model, rather than sin being about being bound to the past, it is about being open to the potential of the future - which is full of possibilities, good, bad and indifferent.  If this is so, then our past is more obviously relevent to us in our thinking - as we 'transcend' it and reflect upon it, it can inform the choices we make as we go into the future, as (I think) God enables us to see and understand better.  Again depending on how much we relate to this model - and, again, I think that to some extent we probably all do - it will impact our reading and writing of our past.

I suspect that it is never quite as easy as the 'either/or' constructed by someone way cleverer than I am (and it is highly possible I've completely misundertsood this paper!) but really more of a 'both/and.'  Why might God not be both beyond the end of time, beckoning or luring (or whatever) us on and breaking into time with what gets referred to as 'special revelation'?  Surely the concepts of grace, sin, justice, atonement, and resurrection used in the writer's detailed discussion of these models can speak into both views, albeit maybe in different ways?

This kind of leads to the second area of thought, which relates to the use of theological language or categories in writing about church history.  The themes of sin and grace, especially, seem to crop up quite often in this kind of paper, but not in the history books I read.  In other words, it seems that there is some good confidence that such language can be used when history is abstract, a general term for the sum total of human experience perhaps, but when it comes down to particular, or specific, examples, we cease to be comfortable in so doing.  Intuitively this seems both a good thing and a bad thing.  It is good in so far as any human endeavour to identify what is 'sin' or 'grace' is fallible - indeed open to sins such as pride, judgementalism and so on.  On the other hand, it is  bad, because we get a story that is perhaps agnostic or a-theist in the sense of a 'lack of God.'  So is there a happy medium?  Maybe if the writer or reader can hold in mind such categories, consciously and with appropriate humility, then the hints of the divine will be evident or glimpsed.  I have to say, that whilst I'd love to find a way of writing God into the story that doesn't read like triumphalism or the ubiquitous 'Kingsway paperback', I am as yet far from convinced that it is achievable.

I am still far from having a clue what a 'more useful for congrgeational theological reflection' hsiotry might look like, but it has been helpful to be reminded that our theology of history - however implicit and undeveloped (as I think mine probably is) that might be - is an important factor to bring into consciousness in our writing and reading of history.  I think if I am honest, I can't see a long path towards perfection in human history and am left with some kind of inbreaking of God at the end of time as we know it to 'make all things new.'  But that doesn't mean I can't be inspired to aim for that perfection, to seek for better self-understanding, to search for the mind of Christ in shaping individual and church life as I walk the chronological path of history.  Further, other concepts, such as 'kairos moments' may also have something to say in all of this.

As I have typed away I have found the words of a hymn coming to mind...

The Church of Christ in every age

Beset by change, but Spirit-led,

Must claim and test its heritage

And keep on rising from the dead.

 

This hymn, by F Pratt Green seems to me to express hints of both strands of theology Gilkey discusses in his paper; whilst it is quite political and liberation focussed, echoes of both atonement and resurrection can be found in later verses.

So, at the end of all this, what have I learned?  Probably that I need, at some point, and not too far in to the future, to think more carefully about my 'theology of history' and how it impacts, for good and ill, upon my work in this field.

The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity is 100 years old apparently.  This year I attended the most - apologies - monotonous and boring united service for this purpose I have been to in many a long year.  The ecumenism extended to the readings being done by myself and a retired Methodist, whilst the current Methodist preached and the vicar did everything else.  The service itself was incredibly wordy - printed liturgy at its worst - and the creativity and mutli-sensory activities we've used in the last four years were conspicuously absent.

Looking at it another way, ecumenism was lacking in terms of numerical representation - around half a dozen Methodists, half a dozen Anglicans (in their own building for goodness sake) and a couple of dozen Baptists.  That's sad too.  My people are starting to comment quite a lot - and rightly - that everywhere we go we out number the hosts.  What does that say about us and about others?

I'm not an advocate of organic union (i.e. one single church with one way of doing church organsiation) because I'm not convinced that at this point in history - if ever (I'm not convinced it existed in Bible times) - that is helpful or healthy.  But I am quite passionate about ecumenism, I do think that we honour Christ more in unity than division.

Overall, then, I am disappointed in today and not at all convinced we made any inroads in answering Christ's prayer of John 17.

In my capacity as almost tame risk assessor type person, I came across a useful document on fire risk issues for 'small and medium places of assembly' - which includes churches.  It is downloadable free - or you can buy a real copy for £12.  It's quite a big thing to plough through, but for all that it is in normal English, and has some pictures!

Should you want to check out, for example stuff around room occupancy, how many fire exits you need or how your chairs need to be fixed together, it is helpful.  Not worth losing sleep over, but at the same time helpful for those odd occasions when you need to cram people in (when I checked retrospectively the needs for our carol event last year I found it was compliant because it eventually becomes intuitive and is, at the end of the day, just good old common sense).

Anyway, if it is helpful take a visit here or, for other issues that might face you and your church check the main website here

Anyone who has read this stuff for any length of time will know that our church's children's club on a Friday has been a source of concern and frustration for about a year.  For quite a lot of the autumn term I gave up my Friday evenings to go as the 'parent' helper because the parents simply would not volunteer.  The children were incredibly badly behaved and discipline was a real problem at times.

Since Christmas one of the regular leaders has been unable to come along because of serious health problems, so I have been acting as No 2 leader, with one of my deacons taking on the 'parent helper' role.

Tonight we had thirteen children, and what could so easily have been a disastrous night with a fair amount of name calling and refusal to join in.  Then, after the drink break, I sat them down to make cards or write messages for the leader who is ill.  This was when it all felt worthwhile.  Every one of them industriously set about making something - cards, pictures, collages, poems - expressing their love and concern for the absent leader.  Sometimes last term they psuhed her almost to breaking point, and it was really touching to read in one of the messages "sorry for all the things we've put you through."

We are just beginning to have real conversations with the children, starting to do a few activities that allow us to build relationships rather than simply containing and channelling their energy.  I don't claim to understand boys - despite growing up with two brothers and always working in male dominated environments, virtually all my children's and youth work experience is with girls - and I am still learning that, as a rule of thumb, they need to loud and boistrous.  Yet one of the most beautiful sights tonight was to see one of the lads sit down, announce 'ooh colouring, I LOVE colouring' and create a super three-dimensional card with a 'boingy bit' and a kind-hearted message.

I think these children know how far they can push me, and I had to smile when I overheard one comment to another "it's a good job Catriona didn't hear you say THAT word" - nice to know I am still head dragon (my old GB Camp nickname) after all these years.

I really hope that more church folk will choose to get involved over the coming weeks or months, whatever it turns out to be, because for most of these children  this is the nearest they ever get to church.  I'd love to begin to introduce something more in the God-slot line, but it isn't yet the right time.  For all that, perhaps tonight, when for 15 minutes they thought about someone else and expressed love and gratitude for what they receive, they were closer to prayer than they - or I - realised.

A trusted, old friend is very special -someone who knows you really well yet still loves you; someone who you can rant and rave at, who takes it and then makes sense of what ever it was that wound you up in the first place...  Can books be old, trusted friends?  I'd like to think they can.

The book - or letter - of James is one my favouritest (most favourite) parts of the Bible, and I like to think it's an old friend.  It talks an awful lot of sense, has its own humour and if the traditional assertion that Jesus' kid brother wrote it is right, well then it must be pretty darned fine.  And, as it's a good friend, I got cross with it last night.

My Bible notes had just led me through a very disappointing exploration of Genesis 1-11 and I was really looking forward to spending some time with my old friend James.

Then he said this...

 

My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance; and let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.

And I was not amused.  For some of my congregation life is frankly, 'pants' at the moment.  In fact, it is worse than 'pants' it is more like 'excrement' though they are showing remarkable decorum in how they deal with it.  "Consider it nothing but joy" my foot!  I certainly had a good rant about that one.

Calmly James waited, and then said,

 

If any of you is lacking in wisdom, ask God, who gives to all generously and ungrudgingly, and it will be given you.  But ask in faith, never doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, driven and tossed by the wind.

It seemed as if he was saying, 'Catriona, this is pants, you are quite right, but what you need here is Godly wisdom, so ask for it, and trust that God will give it to you.'

Too often I have heard passages like this one used to bludgeon people whose prayers for healing or deliverance from trial appear to go unanswered, but that isn't what James says, he says we must trust when we ask for wisdom within the situation.  As I calmed down a bit, other verses surfaced in my mind, verses that speak of joy and sorrow, of God present in the hard places not lifting people out of them, of the kind of solid, sensible, real theology I associate with this trusted old friend.

To read what James says when life is going well is one thing, to read it when things get tough is another.  I'm not sure I'll ever view 'suffering' or 'trials' as 'nothing but pure joy' but the potential to grow in wisdom and grace within such circumstances is a helpful perspective.  I'm hoping we won't have another set to tonight, but then as a true friend, I guess James will just shrug and let me rant a bit...