Chapters four and five of Looking Through the Cross focus on the topics of 'identity' and 'suffering' - two really good topics, and two that I pondered to some degree as part of preparing the conference paper I wrote.  Once again, the book neither surprises nor challenges me.

Our identity is defined by our relationship to Chirst, and him crucified, ergo we cannot define ourselves over against any other... basic enough conceptually but missing, in my view the key 'so what does that look like in real life' question.

The chapter on suffering seemed to me to involve a deal of contortion to explain that God-the-son suffers but God-the-father doesn't otherwise God is not 'bigger' or 'stronger' than suffering.  So, if God-the-father doesn't do suffering, why does God-the-father need to forsake God-the-son on the cross, as the author argues a few chapters earlier?  Or is that the point - God-the-father refuses to do suffering?  And, if God is one in three 'personae', not three godlets (my word) then isn't the distinction pretty much moot?  It needs a better theologian than me to offer an alternative, but it doesn't work for me.  Pace, Tomlin, but I think God suffers but is still 'bigger and stronger' than suffering or evil. 

I think what I am starting to realise is that it is the seemingly abstract/theoretical nature of the thoughts that is bugging me.... there really isn't much to disagree with, except in semantics or theological nuance, but it doesn't really seem to get itself grounded in real life.

So, identity, humanly defined is far for fluid than it was a generation ago, but how does our identity in Christ through the cross impact that day to day, at grass roots level?  If, as Galatians says, and Tomlin cites, in Christ race, status and gender are meaningless, and if, as he asserts, our identity in Christ demands the giving of self for the other which is like and not like us, what does that mean?

Must be the (somewhat ratty) practical theologian in me, but systematics without application is, well, systematics without application!

Recently smallVOICE have begun an interesting experiment to identify books and publications that they would choose add their extra-biblical canon.  I remember at the age of twelve going home from school and asking my mother, 'what came after the Bible?'  She didn't know and muttered something vague, as mothers (or fathers) are wont to do in such circumstances.  But it is a question that I've returned to on and off ever since (so the better part of forty years now, oh my!).

This month, smallVOICE commended a book called French Leave by journalist Fidelma Cook, and their reasoning left me sufficiently curious to purchase and read it.  To be honest, it took me a while to get into it, to get past the Daily Mail journalese which, in my opinion, characterised the early chapters, but I persevered and detected the charting of a metaphorical as well as physical 'journey' on the part of the author as she sought, bought and began to live in a house in La France profonde.  At around chapter 13, I think it was, the emphasis changed, there were more profound observations and less easy-if-justified comments about ex-pat Brits/English.  By the end, with its subversion of the happy ending, I was actually left wanting a bit more.

I am glad I read the book, and do now enjoy reading the author's weekly column in The Herald newspaper (for ex-pat Brits or non-Brits, avaliable online or in some supermarkets Northampton!) but would I canonise it?

No, I don't think it I would.  Not because it lacks much overt Christian, spiritual or theological emphasis (it was never intended to do any of the above, so why would it?) but because this is not a book to wihich I would return time and again in search of new insights, new nuggets of truth or humour, passages that merit further reflection, or even simply for pleasure.  I think, though my bookshelves are laden with all manner of books and leaflets, there are very few that I would return to rescue if the vestry burned down, very few to which I return time and again to re-read and re-reflect.  Very few that have the capacity to change my heart or my mind, to infleunce me sufficiently to be called 'good news'.

So what would I canonise?  That's a much more tricky question!  Certainly David Bosch's Transforming Mission which profoundly influenced my understanding of ministry, and to which I still return now and then.  Probably some stuff that I struggled with or railed against (such as Mary Daly who compelled and repelled me in equal measure). I expect some Moltmann, Volf and Fiddes, even a bit of Barth as these theologians continue to delight and challenge me.  Quite possibly The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence.  Oh, and Giles Andrae's 'Giraffes Can't Dance' and Charlotte Bronte's 'Jane Eyre', the two works of fiction to which I return most regularly (the latter for 40+ years).

What about you?  What criteria would you use to select works and which would be on your shelf?

It struck me at some point early today that I had chosen an outfit that comprised assorted personally symbolic items!  So a quick selfie and explanation...

The green suit, bought way back when I was getting my 'handshake' at the BUGB Assembly in Cardiff... and which I also chose to wear when I was 'handshaked' into the BUS.

The horizontally striped top I bought last spring when all my various bits and bobs of surgery were over and the stripes would sit horizontal after two years of lop-sidedness

The brooch, the newest addition, a gift to self from New Zealand, a Maori koru symbol for 'new life' and 'new beginnings' made of beautiful paua abalone.

A totally non-significant day personal calendar wise, and maybe that's a good thing, and kind of special in a non-significant way!

I love that comment in Revelation about there being silence in heaven for half an hour... all the alleluias cease, no flying winged creatures, no angels passing on messages - just - silence.

This morning I introduced our Lent series of services built around encounters between Jesus and A N Other in the gospel of John.  Essentially I've extended the lectionary gospel narratives a bit and omitted the OT and Epistle.  The plan is that I lead a 10 minute reflection on the passage, we sing a song or chant, have ten minutes of silence (with some optional resources to help anyone who finds them helpful) and then the song or chant again.

I was a little bit nervous about introducing it, and was overwhelmed by how well it was received... a few people who rarely express opinions sought me out to say thank you.

It's all much 'bigger' than that, though, and every week the way God's Spirit works in, through and despite us strikes me afresh. 

The all agey bit was a story 'I Love You because You're You' a delightful account of a mother fox who loves her child when they are good, bad, happy, sad, shy, bold, angry, stubborn etc.  I ended up saying that God loves everyone just like that.  "Even the guys who don't know?" asked a three year old - yes, even the guys who don't know.  Wow!

The intercessions were utterly stunning in their depth and courage - prayer for baddies as well as goodies, for those who know and name Christ and those who don't... the perfect match for the child's observation.  Wow!

Setting up this morning was fraught - the church projector kept misbehaving and shutting down.  I cadged a lift home to pick up mine, which then failed to work because the bulb had gone phut.  Thankfully we got the church projector to work (who knows what was up with it - the old unplug, replug trick!) and all went well (aside from me having the wrong version of the chorus of one of the hymns).

Silence in church for ten minutes - today and each Sunday of Lent:  I think that will make the vibrancy and noise of Palm Sunday all the more intense, and I hope it will prove overall a positive experience for those who participate.

... Eliminate the negative

A bit of reflection and self-examination never goes amiss and, whatever the outward appearance of my bloggerel, I am conscious of becoming increasingly grumpy and negative.  It may be my age or my hormones, it's quite likely to be yet another side effect of my drugs, but I don't like it and I don't want to be it!

So I am hauling myself up by my metaphorical boot straps and choosing to be positive.

All of which means if/when I descend into negativity, grumpiness or moaniness you are allowed to take me task.