All carols and no scripture

Every year we have two or three charity carol services with celebrity readers and an excellent visiting choir. We also have carol services for law firms, livery companies and Barts Hospital, in addition to our own traditional services. And there are some carol concerts. "Services" have clergy present and offiating and sanctuary and altar candles are lit. "Concerts" have neither clergy nor sanctuary candles. Some concerts, however, have a reading or two, often inclkuding scripture, so the boundaries are malleable.

Gradually, however, at the charity services the biblical narrative has shifted from the readings to the music. So the story is told through the items sung by the choir and the hymns or carols sung by the congregation. As these include "Good King Wenceslas" there is a gap between biblical truth and creative fiction. This year's readings included Dr Seuss, Dickens and C.S. Lewis but not a single biblical reading. This is, I think, a step too far. For next year I shall need to define "a carol service" as having at least one, maybe two, biblical readings.

More on hymns

We had a lovely Advent carol service last Sunday evening. Towards the end the organ thundered out the chorale "Wachet auf" The choir sang "Wake, O wake! with tidings thrilling" and we all looked forward to the second verse sung by choir and congregation. Alas, there was a line missing in the text and, while we didn't lose it altogether,it rather diminished the impact of this great hymn.

Over mulled wine in the Cloister a lady said that she would like to meet the person who had left the line out. I didn't get a strong impression of what she would do to them when she met them but I guessed it might not be pleasant. "It was me," I said. At first she didn't understand me. I repeated it. "It was me. I left the line out." I explained that we switched from the AMR version to the CP version and when I copied the text I omitted the line "see her Friend from heaven descending". I nearly explained that copyists often do things like that and biblical manuscripts are littered with scribal errors, but I thought my "Mea culpa" was probably sufficient. I couldn't really believe that I had done it.
I must say that I am torn between the Frances Cox and F.C. Burkitt versions and I think, on reflection, that I prefer the Cox (the AMR version). I love the conclusion of the first stanza:

Come forth, ye virgins wise;
The Bridegrom comes, arise!
Alleluia!
Each lamp be bright
With ready light
To grace the marriage feast tonight.

I'm good

The story of Jesus and someone who came to him with a question is a significant one. In one version this young man comes speeding round to the house where Jesus is staying — indeed, the Lord is at the doorstep, bidding farewell to his host, when the young man grabs hold of him, preventing his departure, so urgent is his question or does it perhaps tell us about his own self importance? In Matthew’s version of the story the young man asks about good deeds. Jesus, surprisingly, responds by saying “Why do you ask me about what is good? There is only one who is good.” We need to note that.

Jesus has no time for the modern answer to the question “How are you?” “I’m good.” No you are not. None of us has the right to claim to be good. There is only one who is good. To say “I’m good” is to make a claim to godlike perfection; at the very least it is to make a claim about one’s moral or ethical standing. And if you object, as you might, that I am deliberately misconstruing the significance of an innocuous phrase, and positive version of our more usual English understatement “Not bad, thanks” then I would alert you to semantic shift! Perfectly good words abused in this way lose their original meaning. A guidebook to this church published forty years ago describes our founder, a minstrel at the court of Henry I, as a gay cleric and many a novel tells of gay parties in the 1930s, 40s and 50s — but we have sadly lost the ordinary descriptive use of the word. We must not take such a cavalier approach to goodness.

Messing with hymns

When we switched from Ancient and Modern Revised to Common Praise a few years ago I discovered that the new book, though it now provided hymns like "Ye who own the faith of Jesus" and "Sweet Sacrament divine", was very short on penitential hymns. In some moment of madness the editors also decided to reintroduce verses that were previously, and fortunately, omitted. Some old hymns have been amended by changing an archaic word into something more modern. Some other hymnbooks have lost "consubstantial, coeternal" from the doxology of "Blessed City, heavenly Salem" and I was glad to find a Facebook group opposed to the dumbing down of doxologies.

The relatively small sins of commission and omission in Common Praise are as nothing compared to some internet hymnals. Couples marrying here and preparing their own order of service often download hymns. Today brought the unbelievably bad second verse of "Love divine, all loves excelling."

Breathe, O breathe thy loving Spirit,
Into every troubled breast!
Let us all in thee inherit;
Let us find that second rest.
Take away our bent to sinning;
Alpha and Omega be;
End of faith, as its beginning,
Set our hearts at liberty.

No wonder the AMR editors noted that "Stanza 2 is omitted". A pity someone put it back in.

But the prize for the worst reworking of a hymn goes to an internet version of "Praise my soul, the King of heaven." It is de-pronouned, de-gendered, and defaced. It works on the basis that you cannot use a gender-specific pronoun in reference to God - and we all know that God is not gendered in that way - but the result is truly dreadful. One stanza shows this:

Fatherlike, God tends and spares us;
Well our feeble frame God knows;
Motherlike, God gently bears us,
Rescues us from all our foes.
Alleluia! alleluia!
Widely yet God's mercy flows.

So please write a new hymn, if you have the skill, but don't mess with the old ones.

On Rahere Ward

As I left for the Hospital at 5.45 this morning I grabbed a book, the Abbe de Tourville's Letters of Direction, subtitled "Thoughts on the Spiritual Life". For years and years it had been shelved at the bottom of my bookcase, but the collapse of a couple of shelves under the weight of reference books has led to some reshelving and it was lying on my desk. Henri de Tourville (1842-1903) spent eight years as a priest in Paris, wore himself out, and spent the remainder of his life as an invalid. But his ministry did not cease and he became an influential spiritual director. The little book gathers material from his letters under various headings; it was first published in English in 1939, with an introduction by Evelyn Underhill. One passage had particular relevance this morning:

Do not be anxious about death even though you feel it to be imminent and have every reason for despair, but give yourself up all the more to the mercy of God. No one, not even the saints, can do anything else. They can only confide themselves hopefully to God. Death is frightening only when it is far off, and it is useless to think of it from our present standpoint. I have seen many people die, and not one of them had the slightest fear of death once it was there.

Anonymous cowards

Many internet bulletin boards allow anonymous postings with participants choosing a name, perhaps expressive of their outlook or personality, or employing an avatar. One such site that I read from time to time and to which I, like a number of other users, contribute in my own name, allows anonymous contributions. The contributors use such non-identifiable pseudonyms as “undercover”, “horseradish”, “inferno”, “busybee”. One frequent contributor has adopted the persona of “Herr Doktor Pangloss”, Voltaire’s professor of "métaphysico-théologo-cosmolonigologie" and self-proclaimed optimist in Candide.

Another is calls himself “hamlet” and is, as I understand it, in internet parlance, an anonymous coward — someone who uses posts to make critical comments about other people, hiding behind a cloak of anonymity. The best thing to do with anonymous letters is to burn or shred them, giving no credence to what is written because the reader cannot know the credentials of the writer. “Credentials” are those things that entitle a person to be believed. The anonymous have no right to be believed and when anonymity is used to slander than the perpetrator is rightly labelled as a coward.

“Hamlet” is the pseudonym of this coward. Shakespeare’s character of that name is melancholy, introspective and of such a scrupulous nature that he is irresolute and dilatory in action. In order to escape the suspicion that he is a threat to the new king, Claudius, he counterfeits madness. The rest of the story is too well known to require commentary, other than to say that Hamlet, and nearly every other character, is dead before the curtain falls. What sort of person, we might ask, would choose “Hamlet” as a pseudonym?

By now you may be curious about Hamlet’s posts on this bulletin board. He or she has made about forty posts and three of them referred to me, two during elections, and one in response to my recent blog about the point at which a “church” ceases to be a “church”. That blog was copied by someone on to the site to which I refer, without intending to cause mischief, I feel certain, but that was not the result. The law of unintended consequences was in operation!

My blog was described by someone as an “extra-ordinary rant” — such a response might be the bulletin board equivalent of road-rage, and I can’t help wondering why so many people seem to be so angry so often and about so many things. Hamlet responded by posting this:

“Unfortunately this is far from being an "extra"ordinary rant from a man who somehow manages to alienate a substantial proportion of people who come across him. I actually blame his careers' tutor since he shows little aptitude, (as one professing a Christian faith), to be anything other than self serving.”

Well, that was certainly sobering, but I recalled one of his earlier posts when I stood, unsuccessfully, against the excellent David Graves for Alderman of Cripplegate. Hamlet then wrote:

“I have been tempted to move to the Cripplegate ward simply to vote for David Graves who has been a staunch supporter of the residents of the Barbican. I have never met Mr Graves but I have had dealings with Rev'd Dudley and I thank Mr Graves for his candidacy -'nuff said.”

Someone asked Hamlet to tell what these dealings were but there was no response to the invitation. One earlier post, also at election time, in 2005, carries a similar message:

“I will admit to being favourably inclined to vote for an "outsider" rather than at least one of the standing residents (who has proven to be arrogant, officious and deeply unpleasant).”

I should like to know what I did to attract such venom from the person who is concealed by the pseudonym Hamlet. If I knew I might be able to remedy the fault and apologise, if appropriate, or else, perhaps, to justify my actions, whatever they were. But if Hamlet prefers to allow the offence to fester like an unhealed wound, to make it a source of poison, and to strike at me from time to time sheltered by the pseudonym from recognition and from all possibility of dealing with this estrangement, then it must be thought that like Shakespeare’s character he or she prefers introspection and melancholy, and should accept the appropriate internet label “anonymous coward”.

When does a "church" cease to be a church?

It is ages since I have written my blog - for which I must apologise. I kept meaning to, but I had a list entitled "Things to do before going to Egypt" and it kept me completely occupied. Then I went to Cairo, Sinai, Aqaba, Madaba, the Jordan, Galilee, Nazareth, Bethlehem, and Jerusalem, and I am still processing the hundreds of photographs that I took on my travels.

My question doesn't concern redundant churches or those that no longer hold services but one that continues to advertise itself as a church, and not as a community centre, but which seems to have given up being in anyway a sacred space. I live right next to it and my thoughts were triggered by a posting on a community website. It explained that after a very enjoyable Scottish dancing evening, it was now proposed to have ballroom dancing on a Friday early evening because "the church is such an excellent space for dancing".

Then I opened the latest residents' magazine which announced that Vocality, a Surrey-based singing organisation, is bringing its expertise to the City and forming a new choir. A free taster workshop was announced for a Thursday lunchtime. The church is clearly an excellent space for singing everying from gospel to pop, slave songs to folk songs, jazz to world music (I quote the announcement). It will be run by Vocality Singing which is a business and a limited company; there are fees to pay to sing and terms and conditions.

The residents' magazine had a whole page devoted to events at the next door church in June and July: a Friends of City Churches walk, a concert by the Apollo Orchestra in conjunction with the Barbican Library, an organ recital, a City of London Festival event, a chamber choir prmoting 21st century sacred music, another chamber choir, the Guildhall School of Music New Music festival, a BBC Singers concert and, indeed, a couple more concerts. Other advertisements around the place point to a book fair in the church and I voted there in the European elections when it was a polling station.

But where is Christianity in all this? There is no mention of the Holy Trinity, Corpus Christi, St John the Baptist or St Peter & St Paul. The Church's website does list services - Morning Prayer said Monday to Thursday, two Eucharists on Sunday, a once-a-month Family Service, and said Evening prayer on Sunday afternoon. Rather a small religious offering compared to the concerts, the organ school, the dancing, the choirs, the book fair, the rehearsals.

The mission statement says, among other things, we will "remind the community of the church in their midst by ringing the bells". But to what end? Not to call to prayer. The website declares it to be "a quiet place" but it seems to have become a place of incessant noise and activity, and it is available for hire, daytime or evening, seven days a week!

By now you are probably thinking that this is Dudley sounding off about a church he doesn't like. Actually I do quite like it; it is a reasonable post-war rebuild of a late medieval church and in sunshine it looks splendid. Well, it would look splendid if it wasn't for an altar on wheels, mobile stalls, a surfeit of organs, a semi-permanent book fair in one aisle, and a general sense of clutter. It has become a hall for hire. If it ever had the sense of being a holy place, it has it no more. Perhaps that was inevitable. It once had a busy street passing its door but post-war redevelopment has left it stranded. Perhaps all these activities are necessary to get people through the door at all, but I have yet to be persuaded that concerts, even of religious music, do anything to promote the mission of the Church. And if you think that is just me sounding off there's nothing I can do about it.

Have a look for yourself: www.stgilescripplegate.org.uk

What can I expect from an Anglican Church?

"Living the Faith" was a little booklet that I produced for the church bookstall in 1999. Selling at £1 or £1.50, it contained some notes on the basics of Christian belief, a catechism, the text of the creeds, a list of the books of the Bible, a list of the provinces in the world-wide Anglican Communion, and two lists - one headed "What can I expect from an Anglican Church?" and the other "What would an Anglican Church expect of me?"

I am now revising the text for a new edition. I don't recall the origin of the list headed "What can I expect from an Anglican Church?" As with so much that I use, it probably began with someone else's list, perhaps an article in Episcopal Life, and I reworked and developed it. What interests me is whether it should still carry this title. I know that this is what you can expect at St Bartholomew the Great. I'm sure that you shouldn't expect it at either St Helen's, Bishopsgate, or St Michael's, Cornhill. Here is the list anyway:

1. A local Anglican Church will be a community of believers which accepts others as they are and does not attempt to force them into a pre-determined mould or model.

2. It accepts and tolerates a wide range of beliefs and attitudes both inside and outside the Church.

3. What is authoritative for Anglicans is discerned from within the church, taking account of Scripture, the tradition of the Church, and the use of reason. Authority does not come from outside, from an infallible book or an infallible teacher.

4. The focus of the Church is liturgical forms of worship which celebrate and express the faith of the believing community and facilitate God’s action within it, rather than dogmatic teaching.

5. Anglican teaching has more to say about the goodness of God’s creation than about the sinfulness of humankind. Rejoicing in the creating and saving work of God, it takes sin seriously without becoming neurotic or despairing.

6. Anglicans are, usually, able to laugh at themselves, at their traditions and at the pomp and trappings of church life, while being serious about the need for God and the way in which the Church brings us closer to God.

7. Doubting and questioning are legitimate and acceptable parts of being Anglican.

8. Belief in God and love and concern for neighbour go hand in hand and are equally important.

Bishops and Pheasants

How should one address the Bishop of London? Sydney Smith (1774-1845), who was a canon of St Paul's from 1831, wrote to Bishop Blomfield in 1837; he said this:

My dear Lord,
I hope there was no incivility in my last letter. I certainly did not mean that there should be any; your situation in life perhaps, accustoms you to a tone of submission & inferiority from your Correspondents, which neither you, nor any man living will ever experience from me.

I wish I had found this letter earlier. It is not in the comprehensive Letters of Sydney Smith, published in 1953, but in the appendix to the volume St Paul's in its Glory by G.L. Prestige (bought in the very well stocked second-hand bookhop in Great Malvern). Incidentally Smith concludes his letter with words I could use myself:

I remain my dear Lord with respect, your obedt. Servt., Sydney Smith

There were huge numbers of dead pheasants on the roads of Worcestershire, Gloucestershire and Herefordshire, suggesting a large living population, and many pubs carried the name The Pheasant. Smith wrote to someone in 1841 to acknowledge a friendly gift of pheasants:

Many thanks, my dear Sir, for your kind present of game. If there is a pure and elevated pleasure in this world, it is the roast pheasant and bread sauce - barn-door fowls for dissenters, but for the real churchman, the thirty-nine times articled clerk - the pheasant, the pheasant!
Ever yours,
Sydney Smith

How lonely sits the City

Every Good Friday the Butterworth Charity service takes place in the churchyard of St Bartholomew the Great. This is what I said this year:

“How lonely sits the City that was full of people!” laments Jeremiah, “How like a widow she has become, she who was great among the nations. She who was a princess has become a slave.”

Jeremiah has much to say about Jerusalem that can equally be said of the City of London, the City financial, in these troubled days. And those who first administered this Butterworth Charity knew what was involved in being a widow at a time when women, especially women of the middle classes, were not, and could not be, financially independent. To be a widow meant being dependent on others, on more distant members of one’s own family, if they had anything to spare, on the Church, on the parish, on the overseers of the poor.

The Prayer Book litany easily identifies those at risk, those in need of prayer and charity — all women labouring of child, all sick persons, and young children, the fatherless children, and widows, and all that are desolate and oppressed. The poverty addressed by the parish charities was absolute, in the absence of all state aid. As the state increasingly provided resources, the parish charities lost their immediate reason for existing. A number of them were amalgamated and formed into a new body called the City Parochial Foundation. Its offices are in this parish, just along Cloth Fair, into Middle Street. What is its purpose? This is what the website says: “The City Parochial Foundation aims to enable and empower the poor of London to tackle poverty and its root causes, and ensure that our funds reach those most in need.”

But like so many endowed charities — for it received the endowments of the countless small and large parochial charities — it is suffering in the financial crisis. Its resources are diminished. Its ability to aid the poor reduced. And 150 years after the overseers of the poor had to be make difficult decisions here in this poor and populous parish, outside the City walls, the trustees of CPF — and I am one of them — recognise the truth of Jesus’ own words “The poor you have always with you.”

The responsibility in the end comes back to us. In her “History of Jerusalem”, Karen Armstrong explains that religion must have an ethical dimension and the test of true spirituality is practical compassion. “This,” she says, “also applies to the spirituality of a holy place. Crucial to the cult of Jerusalem from the very first was the importance of practical charity and social justice. The city cannot be holy unless it is also just and compassionate to the weak and vulnerable.”

Jeremiah thought that Jerusalem had fallen to her enemies because she had forsaken God and done it in a most practical way — denying justice, subverting lawsuits, crushing the prisoner under foot, shedding the blood of the righteous. And he puts forward a requirement and a challenge to us all on the day of the Lord’s atoning death: “Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!”

An Easter message?

Oliver Ross, the new Area Dean of the City of London Deanery, has contributed the front page article to the April edition of the publication now managed by the Friends of the City Churches, called “City Events”, available in hard copy and online. It purports to be an Easter message; it is nothing of the sort. The text of his message is given in italics and indented with my commentary in regular type.

The great cry of the Bible and of the Christian Faith is that Jesus is Lord. There is no halfway house or equal division between good and evil. While there is no denying the reality of suffering, difficulties and wickedness, the Bible proclaims that in the end Christ is all, in all and through all and will embrace a creation renewed. No magic wand but a steady reclamation.

What was the first Christian profession of faith? In Acts 2, it concerns Jesus “delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God,” crucified and killed, whom God “raised up”. Peter says that he and the other disciples are witnesses of this. “This Jesus whom you crucified,” Peter declares, “God has made both Lord and Christ.” The Gospel involves death, resurrection and the definitive action of God. When Philip the Deacon encounters the Ethiopian eunuch, the question of faith is raised in relation to baptism. “Is there any reason why I should not be baptised?” Philip is asked and some manuscripts have him say “If you believe with all your heart you may.” The eunuch responds “I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.” Paul will subsequently stress a different basic statement that, as Mr Ross, says “Jesus is Lord”. This is based on his humility, his emptying himself being “obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” So Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, who died and rose from the dead is Lord “to the glory of God the Father.” It is not “the great cry” — that Christ is risen from the dead is the great cry and it follows from his saving death.

And what of “suffering, difficulties and wickedness”? Between Christ’s death and resurrection and the fulfilment of his promises at the “end time”, when history passes into eternity, we are in the “mean time”. The victory is won but its working out is not yet accomplished. It is in some ways a halfway house, just as the Church, the community of the redeemed, contains wheat and tares, saints and sinners. We have not yet reached the harvest time. There is no equal division, indeed at times it looks as if there is a profound inequality, with Christian believers a misunderstood and persecuted minority, a remnant awaiting rescue. But Christianity is eschatological, focussed on the end time and the moment of completion when Christ will, at last, be all in all. The whole creation groans in travail, as Paul says. There is no magic in Christ’s saving work but neither is there “steady reclamation” — quite the opposite, the world must be lost before heaven is found.

Mr Ross cannot resist a reference to the financial crisis, even though Christianity has no concern with earthly treasures.

At this time of financial difficulty it is easy to feel that we are the prey of forces far greater than we can control. But however deep the recession, however low the stock market goes, however high the price of gold rises, the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. And Jesus is still Lord. No magic wand but a steady reclamation.

What can this mean? Finance, recession, stock market, the price of gold — none of these have any relevance to the work of salvation. “How the gold has grown dim,” laments Jeremiah, “how the pure gold is changed!” His is a vision of the lonely city that was once full of people; the city that was a princess has become a slave. Jesus is Lord and part of his lordship is that he will come again in glory “to be our judge”. We need only think of his references to Jonah preaching in Nineveh, and bringing about conversion, or to the comparison between the cities of his day and Sodom and Gomorrah, to the clear advantage of the latter. Judgement is the clear teaching of Scripture; not “steady reclamation” but the possibility of condemnation.

What is the root of our confidence? We believe that Christ rose from the dead. We hold that this is a historical fact: no less mysterious for its being historical and no less historical for its being mysterious. This was no “conjuring trick with bones”. The evidence of the Bible points to the shattering surprise that it was to the disciples, with the confusing element that Jesus made his resurrection appearances.

Mr Ross now turns to the root of our confidence (though it is not clear how confidence in the future of the financial City can be based on Christian faith). We believe, he affirms, that Christ rose from the dead. It is an historical fact, though mysterious, and he quotes the line of Bishop David Jenkins who held that the resurrection was a powerful myth, a story laden with meaning, but definitely not a conjuring trick with bones. We can certainly argue over the possible proof of the resurrection, indeed over whether proof is necessary, when Jesus blessed those who, not seeing the evidence (as Thomas did), would believe in him. The original ending of Mark’s Gospel, using the words “alarmed”, “trembling”, “astonishment”, “afraid”, and with the women who “said nothing to anyone” about the empty tomb, demonstrates the real amazement that Jesus had risen.

Paul writing in the first Letter to the Corinthians (15: 6 ) states that “Then he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have fallen asleep.” If those to whom the letter is addressed found it difficult to believe they could find a number of that 500 who were still alive and question them.

A theory for the disappearance of Christ’s body from the tomb is that there were grave robbers; very foolish grave robbers taking the worthless body and leaving the valuable spices behind? Another is that the disciples stole the body; a small group of scared disciples overpowered a well-trained military unit set to guard the tomb against such an event? The disciples were good Jews. As good Jews they would have upheld the three main tenets of Jewish life at the time – the food laws, circumcision and the Sabbath. It must have been something of cataclysmic cosmic proportions that made them change the Lord’s Day from the Sabbath/Saturday to Sunday, the day of Jesus’ rising.

An argument always looks weak when it has to be bolstered and buttressed. First the 500 are called as witnesses. Then a theory for the theft of the body is put forward, grave robbers or the disciples themselves. The suggestion of grave robbers is a new one to me, though I see it is dealt with in similar terms online in the Wikiversity without references, and in a more scholarly manner, not lacking in humour, in http://www.tektonics.org/gk/graverob.html. The argument of theft by the disciples was dealt with in Matthew 28:11-15 long ago. The emergence of Sunday is not a strong argument for the resurrection but for the need for the new community of Jews and Gentiles, soon to be called Christians, to have a distinctive identity based on non-Jewish practices. None of these so-called proofs are likely to persuade anyone of the reality of Christ’s resurrection.

In the City of London we have our own testimony to the fact that there is more, whatever circumstances may throw at us. In 1666 the Great Fire consumed all but eight of the churches. From the ashes the new St Paul’s arose; Resurgam was the message upon the stone that Sir Christopher Wren found. Out of the ashes across the City many churches arose. The glories of mediaeval London were destroyed but the life of London moved forward, the church of London moved onwards, and the Gospel was passed from generation to generation down to ourselves.

Mr Ross now executes the “City turn” as a way out of a failing argument and on this we need to be quite clear. The rebuilding of the City of London after the great fire of 1666 has no theological significance. It does not indicate definitively that there is a more of some sort. It may illustrate the rule that people, of every religion and none, rebuild their cities after destruction if they can, and abandon them if they can’t. Neither post-fire nor post-war rebuilding contributes to the religious or theological argument. The resurrection of Christ is, in religious terms, a defining moment for humankind and must not be reduced or trivialised by analogy to any other resurrection-like event. The Great Fire might be an argument for belief in the phoenix and what it represents, a human belief, pre-dating Christianity, in regeneration, for belief in after-life of some sort clearly exists in other religions.

We as Christians within the City are Trustees of our Christian heritage within the church buildings, be they mediaeval or from the hand of Christopher Wren or Hawksmoor. More importantly we are the trustees of a Gospel that is older than the buildings, and when the buildings turn to dust and ashes the Gospel still goes on. The Gospel proclaims that Christ is risen.

This is, of course, the publication of the Friends of the City Churches and that may justify a reference to the buildings, but the buildings themselves are only significant in a religious sense if they witness to the faith that inspired their construction or assist in the presentation of that faith to visitors and pilgrims. If a church building has become a concert hall, if its bells ring out to delight bell-ringers but not to call to prayer, if it becomes merely a heritage site, then it may be a counter-sign. At last Mr Ross comes near the real point. We are, he says “trustees” of a Gospel — a curious expression suggesting conservation rather than proclamation. We are, more accurately, ministers of the Gospel and stewards of the mysteries of God. The gospel is the good news and as such it is to be proclaimed. The gospel does not proclaim that Christ is risen; the gospel is the saving death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

Christ is risen though recession may come. Christ is risen though we may face traumatic difficulties in finance and family. Christ is risen and so there is more, not only to the story and not only to our lives here on earth: with Him we also shall rise. The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it and, like Job (19: 25), “I know that my Redeemer lives and that at the last He shall stand upon the earth”.

That Christ is risen is a basic Christian statement of faith. No event or experience changes that, but that is true of objective historical events of any sort. Caesar was assassinated, William of Normandy was crowned King of England, Napoleon died on St Helena — all these remain true despite recession and traumatic difficulties, but they also have a “so what?” factor, whereas the resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ impinges on the lives and expectations of Christians with regard neither to wealth nor family — both these aspects of living come under Christ’s censure — but with regard to matters of ultimate concern. Why cite Job at this point when Paul says it all? “Christ is risen from the dead : and become the first fruits of them that slept. For since by man came death : by a man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die : even so in Christ shall all be made alive.”

Odium theologicum

Peter Mullen, Cornhill's sage, said this in a recent sermon:

Augustine lived at the time of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire when the debauched people were entertained and consoled by the bread and circuses, the gladiatorial contests, public displays of great cruelty and lewdness. Today we inhabit the techno-digital version of something very similar. The nauseating voyeurism of Big Brother and the mindless culture of celebs. The narcissistic obsession with the mobile phone. Facebook and Twitter. A people shall speak drivel unto a people from generation to generation. The head-banging sub-culture of binge-drinking. It is as if aimless people with nothing in their lives are saying, I’m a nobody: get me out of here.

One wouldn't mind this sort of outburst, indeed we expect it of the man who proposed that gays should be tatooed, and it might be viewed as entertaining, until you remember that Dr Mullen made his comments about gays on his blog, that he puts many of his sermons up on St Michael's website, that he constantly writes to the newspapers, and was only yesterday sounding off in the Northern Echo (and still claiming to be the Chaplain of the Stock Exchange, who swiftly disowned him and his comments last October) about the Labour Goverment: "Labour is always ideological, doctrinaire and bureaucratic with a penchant for the politics of envy." It seems to be Dr Mullen who uses the very media he is so ready to criticize to set out his thoughts on many subjects - and most of his thoughts are dark and critcal of anyone except Peter Mullen and what he stands for (I am not exaggerating; just go and read his sermons on the St Michael's Cornhill website) - on the basis that he does not speak and write drivel and is not narcissistic. Peter Mullen also lacks humour which made his defence that his comments about gays were humorous and satirical particularly absurd.

So why should I bother about him? Because I find that he reads the same books and starts often from the same position that I would adopt, we go along together for a bit, with me agreeing with what he says, and then we diverge dramatically. Of course, on some issues we don't come anywhere near each other right from the outset. And I use this blog, and Facebook, and Twitter, and BarbicanTalk, and much of what I write is undoubtedly trivial. But we can look at it another way. Answering Facebook's question "What's on your mind?" or Twitter's "What are you doing?" requires a degree of reflection. My answer to the latter might often be "Wasting my time"; if I seriously considered the answer to the former I would have to write a long piece. As it is I send electronic postcards rather than letters and I have begun to think of the blog as a form of letter-writing.

The postcards keep me in touch with acquaintances, new friends, people I don't see very often. They show that the communication channel is open; it is ready for something more important. The letters involve more serious thought. During Lent I have read quite a few letters by Petrarch and Erasmus. Both used letters as a means of expressing important ideas. Petrarch even wrote letters to famous figures of the past and when he found gaps in his letter collection he wrote an extra one to fill the space and continue the train of thought. Erasmus wrote and wrote and wrote, letters, dialogues, major works of theology and literature. Now I don't think I come anywhere near the intellectual strength, capacity and ability of those two great figures, though I have discovered that I share a number of their weaknesses, but I don't think that I speak and write drivel. I enjoy dialogue and I don't mind being corrected when I'm wrong - but I'm never wrong, so correction is never necessary. (I wrote it before you thought it!) I value a more public forum where ideas can be set out and I don't see why others shouldn't use it too for less serious thoughts. We don't have to read what they write, look at their pictures, watch Celebrity Television. We are free to ignore them. It is too easy to say that this is a time of decline and fall equal to that of the declining Roman Empire. It isn't. It is as unlike it as it is possible to be. And when I look at my two sons - one 20, the product of St John's, Leatherhead, Birmingham University and the Royal Military Academy, and the other 14, nearly 15, and at the City of London Academy (Southwark) - when I look at them and their friends, I am not disheaterned and I do not see impending disaster.

Charging for admission

The Church Times has had a couple of weeks of correspondence about charging for admission to cathedrals and I was wondering when someone would get round to us. On 13 March Robin Saunders reported the experience of having to admit, reluctantly, that you have come for prayer rather than as a tourist and then being

"escorted, like some highly infectious patient, to a side chapel used as an isolation ward to keep the real users of the cathedral, the tourists, from being contaminated by any suspicion of non-secular values."

The Revd Brian Cranwell thought Mr Saunders' observations "timely and apposite" and he cited the unwillingness of York Minster to allow the consecration of the Bishop of Sheffield on a weekday because of loss of income from tourism. Dr Robin Richmond moved the question to parish churches. (When will we be mentioned? I wondered.) He wrote of the many parish churches who "also see themselves as tourist sites rather than places of worship" with little mention in their literature about the building as a holy place.

We had a staff review of charging this morning, after a week of very high income from visiting groups. We decided that we had it about right. We have changed our external notices to stress that there is no charge for services or prayer (and we don't start charging until 9.30 a.m.). The verger/doorkeepers are very alert to this. We felt that we should give them greater discreton in allowing groups in at a discounted price if they just turned up without knowing about the charge. There is a chapel dedicated to private prayer but you don't have to go there to pray. What we ask is that visitors don't go into that chapel and disturb those who are praying. The new history boards in the Cloister make much of our Christian inheritance and the video shows the building in use for a variety of services.

As we finished the review I received an e-mail drawing my attention to Robert Crampton's Notebook article in todays Times, entitled "I'll pay to see Hugh Grant thumped", which is about a visit to St Bartholomew's, and he is very very nice about us. You can read it on http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/robert_crampton/article5962488.ece (I'm sorry that I haven't mastered link insertion; I did try.)

We will keep charging under review but it does provide both a vitally important income stream and employment for two people.

The flower of the field: God's grace and Judas Iscariot

A roundabout route can sometimes bring you to an unexpected and valuable insight. This intellectual journey began with something rather mundane: I was sorting out books, trying to make space for more. SCM produced a series of books in the 1970s each of which gathered together a selection of studies by a British theologian, mostly drawn from relatively inaccessible journal articles. The theologians were the New Testament scholars Denis Nineham and Christopher Evans (who taught me at King's), Leslie Houlden and Maurice Wiles. Volume 5 was by Donald MacKinnon and included his article “Tillich, Frege, Kittel: Some Reflections on a Dark Theme”. In it he explores the relationship of moral goodness to intellectual insight and the extent to which a thinker’s intellectual achievement must be judged damaged by grave moral faults in the man.

Gottlob Frege was a "a racialist of the most bigoted sort, narrowly nationalist, obsessively anti-Catholic as well as anti-semitic." Gerhard Kittel used his special familiarity with first century Judaism to develop the theological apologia for Nazi racial laws. MacKinnon is concerned with the way Paul Tillich emerges from his wife's memoirs as wilfully promiscuous. It was more than thirty years since I had read Hannah Tillich's book From Time to Time, at the time when I was studying her husband's systematic theology, so I got the rather battered copy of it from the London Library. Although Hannah's account is informed by her passionate love for Paulus, as she calls him, they had a marriage that did not exclude other sexual partners and she certainly depicts Tillich as obsessed with the seduction of ever younger women. Langdon Gilkey was a student, colleague and friend of Tillich's and his book, entitled simply Gilkey on Tillich, does a great deal to reveal the pathos and comedy in his life, as well as exloring the important themes of his now rather neglected theology.

Hannah said this of Tillich:

“Now I was seeing Paulus, the man with the golden mouth, who looked like a Riemenschneider carving in his earlier years. He had a body like a Gothic statue, lean, from the hungry years of World War I. His face was finely carved, with a well-shaped mouth over animal-like teeth. He was the desperate child of the century, who dared to give word to dreams of disaster and hope, carrying on to an ecstatic ‘yes,’ in spite of his philosophy of the demonic, of Kairos. He preached the agony of death in war, instead of heroism.”

The carving to which she referred would have been by Tilman Riemenschneider of Wurzburg, active as a master sculptor from 1485 until the middle 1520s. He is one of the sculptors featured in Michael Baxandall's marvellous study The Limewood Sculptors of Renaissance Germany and so I turned up the pages concerned with the Altarpiece of the Holy Blood in the St Jakobskirche, Rothenburg-on-the-Tauber. The altarpiece was commissioned in April 1501; it is in limewood and it is nine metres high. Baxandall says that it "declares itself as a gigantic monstrance". The main part of it depicts the Last Supper but the figure that displaces Christ from the centre is Judas, described by Baxandall as "a strange begging dog-like figure".

Why is Judas at the centre? Baxandall thinks that an answer lies in the preaching of an Upper Rhenish Franciscan, Johannes Pauli, and that it concerns "the lack of discrimination with which God offers grace."

You might say: seeing that Christ well knew what Judas would not follow his call and election, but rather betray him and be damned, why did he then call him, and receive him among the Apostles and entrust him with the bag...? The angelic Doctor Saint Bonaventura give the answer saying: Christ called Judas to him and chose him for his fellowship to show us that he will share his grace and mercy among both good and bad, and is ready to give his grace to all men who apply themselves to receive the grace of God. Thus he says: "I am the flower of the field, and the lily of the valleys". Why does he not say: "I am a flower of the garden or the meadow"? Because the sweet scent of the garden flower is only for those who have the key of the garden; but the flower of the field is at large, it grows on the open road, and every pilgrim who passes by may gain it and enjoy its sweet scent.

The reference is to Pseudo-Bonaventura rather than to the Franciscan doctor himself but the idea, of free access to grace, of lack of discrimination on God's part, giving to whoever asks, allowing them the freedom to work out what to do with what is given them, is both hopeful and appealing. The initiative comes from God, the response from the human being and even if the seed does not bear fruit nevertheless it is widely cast. The ways of God are deeper than the systems devised by men. And I am certain that Paul Tillich, whatever his failings, received and conveyed the grace of God.

Erasmus on Motherhood

Erasmus is my Lent companion. He writes quite a lot about women, presenting a lively cast of virgins and mothers, housewives and harlots, shrews and the Renaissance equivalent of feminists. He gives his views on most of these roles and we find, for example, in his dialogue with a new mother, that he is opposed to the use of a wet nurse, saying “the woman who refuses to nurse what she bore is scarcely a half-mother. The better part of childbearing is the nursing of the tender baby, for he’s nourished not only with milk but with the fragrance of the mother’s body as well.” And that is not all, the mother is responsible, in Erasmus’s view, not only for forming the delicate little body of the child but also for fashioning the child’s mind through good education.

The mother, therefore, is responsible for creation, nurture and education, for forming the child in its totality. Erasmus delivered a funeral oration around 1489 for Berta Heyen, a woman who was like a mother to him and it is very illuminating. He said this:

She is gone, she, my guardian, my benefactress, my refuge in times of need. She took me in as an orphan, supported me in my poverty, helped me when I was in need, consoled me time and time again in my despair, encouraged me when I was faint-hearted and sometimes aided me with her advice when the situation called for it. She embraced me with the same love, and equal love, as she gave to her own children. She was as fond of me as though she had given birth to me herself. Indeed, she was not related by blood, but no one could be closer spiritual kin. Why shouldn’t I have loved her as I would a mother, since she cherished me like a son? She was as much like a mother to me as I could have wished, with the sole exception of the actual blood relationship, which I definitely think is the least important aspect of motherhood. Other than that, she fulfilled every single duty of motherhood with a truly remarkable devotion to me.

This is very tender language. It is the sort of language that has been used of the Blessed Virgin Mary, mother of Christ and mother of Christians, but could it not also define our relationship to God our Father? God loves us not because of anything that we have done ourselves. He loves us even when we are estranged from him. He beholds us as orphans. He sees our poverty. He helps us in need, consoles us in despair, encourages us when we faint-hearted, embraces us in love. We do not have a mandate that allows us to call God “mother” or “parent” for the divine nature is revealed as that of Father, Son, and Spirit, but the best characteristics of motherhood belong also to God. And we too are nourished by God as sons and daughters, receiving, as Paul, will say, spiritual milk for our nourishment. But let us also take up Erasmus’s earlier point about the mother feeding her baby; he refers not just to milk but to the fragrance of the mother’s body. He presents us with a picture of the most intimate love between mother and child in which the child receives a fragrance from the mother. And if that is so, how much stronger must be the fragrance we receive from intimacy with God?

It is fascinating exploring the life and teaching of Erasmus, looking at his picture, reading his words, but over and over again, as a good Christian, a cleric, scholar and teacher, he points to Christ his master. He urges his hearers to know Christ, to respond in love to his love, to breathe in the divine fragrance that comes from him, to be nourished by his heavenly food. And the season of the Passion, which will soon be upon us, offers an unparalleled opportunity to sharing also in his dying as the gift of the loving God that brings us eternal life.

Boiling the thurible or the tale of the stockpot

Once upon a time, long long ago, the thurifers complained that the thurible was coated in a nasty residue. "Could not the vergers remove it?" they asked, and Father recalled that one of the vergers had told at interview of his skill in boiling thuribles. So Father asked that this be done and was surprised when the thurifers complained and complained again. "Why has this not been done?" asked Father. "I have no pot in which to cook them," replied the verger. "Buy one," said Father. "I have no money," said the verger, "You buy one." So we bought one from Argos. And the thurifers complained that the thurible was not clean and Father asked why, and the verger said "The pot isn't large enough." So the pot was taken back to Argos, as directed, but when it was taken back they said "We must come and collect it" and it was done, as directed. Then came the verger to Father and said "I have no pot in which to boil the thurible." "Right," said Father, "let us search for one," and one was found thanks to cookware-uk and an order was placed online. Then cookware-uk telephoned and said "The stockpot is not in stock" but they then searched diligently and found a bigger and better one and said we could have it at the same price, and lo, it has arrived, in an enormous box,and it is enormous, and it was taken to the verger who rejoiced greatly, and is, hopefully, boiling it up so that the thurifers will cease from complaining.

This is an ordinary everyday event in the SBG Parish Office where we seem to deal with increasingly unlikely requests to do things. Could we bring 350 firemen to your church? Would you mind police photographers practising in the church? We are looking for a crypt. (Why?) Can we film some more of "Waking the Dead"? (Yes, but don't wake any of ours.) Could celebrity chefs be filmed in the churchyard? Could we film a piece about the Bible in the Middle Ages in your cloister? Could we have a life drawing class in the Lady Chapel? (Won't it be cold?) Could you arrange my funeral (I'm not dead yet)? Could our German boy's choir come to sing? (We so enjoyed the League of Gentlemen Christmas Special.) Could we have a fashion show in church? And then we seem to be a general church enquiry office, including, this morning, "I am going to a funeral in Camden Town. Which church will it be?"

Is our willingness to say "Yes" to (almost) everything the cause of this?

A New Archdeacon

An email from the diocese announces a new archdeacon in succession to Peter Delaney, who retires on 1 June: 62 year old David Meara of St Bride's, Fleet Street, takes over from 70 year old Peter Delaney. David is a splendid man, a scholar, a gentleman, a fellow antiquary and an authority on monumental brasses. He has certainly carried on the work of his excellent predecessor, John Oates, but is he the right choice for Archdeacon of London?

I would say not, and I do so for a number of reasons. First, we had only heard rumours of Peter Delaney's retirement up until today's announcement, and there has been no consultation with the City clergy about the qualities needed in an archdeacon, or even if the diocese has the right job description. There have been a number of archidiaconal jobs advertised recently, as well as cathedral jobs, with really excellent job descriptions - and they were advertised so that anyone could apply.

Second, before Peter's appointment, George Cassidy was Archdeacon; he was 45 and became a bishop 12 years later; Peter was already 60 when he was appointed. This means that our archdeacons are getting older, but the City is a vibrant place full of younger people. The mean age of our congregation is under 40. Instead of having an older archdeacon heading for retirement, we needed a younger archdeacon who would gain experience here and then move to greater things.

Third, George Cassidy was both Archdeacon of London and a canon of St Paul's. He was outside of the City clergy and able to take a more detached view. Peter Delaney came from among us, and David Meara does the same. Being of the City clergy doesn't help them and it certainly confuses the role of archdeacon and area dean, both of whom are drawn from the City clergy.

Finally, the Bishop of London is a big man in many senses, with many ideas that are forcefully expressed. It seems to me that he needs an Archdeacon, who might also be his Chief of Staff, who can tell him, sometimes, that he is wrong. A new archdeacon coming from outside the City, better still from outside the Diocese and outside London, would have brought fresh insights and new vigour to the Diocese and the City.

One of the real excitements about Monday's election is having fifteen new members of the Court of Common Council, an influx that will change the dynamic and encourage fresh ideas and questioning of old certainties. I believe that is something to be encouraged, but in the Diocese of London it looks like business as usual and no rocking the boat.

After Polling Day

When I first joined the governing body of the City of London Corporation, known as the Court of Common Council, in 2002, I was the third priest to be elected in two months. There was a strong sense of anti-clericalism amid suggestions that it was a co-ordinated campaign (from those who clearly didn't grasp of the CofE's inability to co-ordinate anything). I remember having to reassure the then Chairman of policy Resources, Dame Judith Mayhew Jonas, that there was not a conspiracy. To the claims that there were too many clergy I replied with a question: "Too many solicitors or accountants?"

The number of clergy has gone up and down since then. The original pair were Brian Lee, from St Botolph's, Aldgate, who was for a while a pillar of the Establishment, and Fr William Campbell-Taylor, who was its scourge. Fr William dropped off - at the time of annual elections - and then got re-elected the next time and the Revd Stephen Haines (more financier than priest, which I do not mean to be at all unkindly) came onto the Court. Fr Brian was lost to us earlier in the year when ill-health led him to resign from the Parish; he nominally continued on the Court but no longer attended anything. Fr William did not stand for re-election this time, so Fr Stephen and I are now the only clergy. He serves in Cornhill ("Can anything good come out of Cornhill?") and I in Aldersgate.

I was returned yesterday, in the City-wide election, for a further four-year term, polling 300 votes. Unusually we had a challenge from the City of London Labour Party which is, as you might guess, rather a small body. The Party didn't really understand why we have no political parties in the City and also didn't believe our protestations that we are not all closet Tories. It did, stupidly, suggest we were all bankers! It put up seven candidates and none of them were elected, but the campaign focussed our minds and that was a good thing. Residential members might now be more inclined to voice their concerns and to insist on being heard.

My question, for myself, is whether I've gone native and become Citified. When I stood unsuccessfully as an alderman last year, I was accused of worldliness. I stick to the idea that "here we have no abiding city" and I try to seek the city which is to come. Erasmus, my Lenten companion, really stresses the need to strive for heavenly treasures, but that doesn't stop us bringing a thoroughly businesslike approach to things earthly.

I am glad I have kept my place on the Court and I will continue to be vigilant against worldliness. Incidentally, someone kindly described me as "the only original political thinker" among the Barbican candidates; he clearly hadn't read Machiavelli.

Ebor replies

The Archbishop of York replied to my letter. At first I wrote "graciously replied" but one line was, perhaps, not gracious.

He begins by being thankful "that in Christ I am a member of a tribe which includes people of all races. I have also said frequently, and continue to say, that the body of Christ is inclusive of all, without prejudice on grounds of sexuality."

But, he says, "the church is not obliged to treat debates about race and about sexuality in relation to the ordained ministry [my emphasis] as if they were equivalent. There is widespread agreement throughout the Christian world on matters of racial equality. Christian teaching about sexuality however is not so widely agreed."

He then refers to the blessing of the civil partnership and observes "As I recall, this event did not receive a welcome from your own diocesan bishop either." That wasn't gracious! Truthful but not gracious....

The debate about civil partnerships, he says "continues both within the Church of England and in the wider Anglican Communion, as well as amongst our ecumenical partners" and meanwhile we must continue to be guided by Synod, Lambeth 1.10 and the House of Bishops.

On his silence about Peter Mullen, as against his public statement about me, he says that Dr Mullen's statement "was indeed reprehensible - but I do not find the time to respond to everything written in the press on this matter."

I don't intend to argue with the Archbishop but if you are discriminated against because of your sexual orientation, it is unlikely to feel very different from being discriminated against because of your race or colour, but notice that the Archbishop limits the discussion to the ordained ministry. He does not deal with discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation in general but only as it applies to the ordained. At Saint Bartholomew the Great we refuse to discriminate (by which I mean treat people less favourably) on the basis of sexual orientation and that applies to the ordained and the lay. The same must apply with regard to ordination, treating men and women as equally able to receive ordination.

My difficulties, incidentally, with ordaining women to the episcopate at this time are just like those of the Archbishop over civil partnerships. Christian teaching about the ministry of women in the priesthood and episcopate is not as widely agreed as the attitude to race. Debate about it continues, within the Church of England, the wider Anglican Communion, and with our ecumenical partners. While the discussion continues, we should not take precipitate or unilateral action. Now the American Church has women bishops, which many in England want, but also has a gay bishop, when many in England apparently don't want. It seems to me that the American Church accepted the inevitable logic of its stand against certain types of negative discrimination and accepted that it should be much more welcoming. And that is my objection to the Archbishop of York's response; it refines the welcome. It takes the "all" of Jesus' "Come to me all..." and says "except the following".

I would also like an assurance that the debate about civil partnerships includes those who are in them and that they are not being discussed by others as "a problem" in and for the Church.

A dilemma, perhaps

This blog comes with a warning. When I said that I had given up controversy for Lent someone suggested that it might not have given me up. If you do not want controversy, do not read this blog; wait for the next one!

The next Master of a livery company asked to see me today. He was superficially very friendly and agreeable but I knew that he had come with a purpose. Like my predecessors I am the Chaplain to the Master of this Company. It is the Master's appointment but, to my knowledge, the Rector has been appointed every year; certainly I have done it now for fourteen years. My visitor is intent on appointing someone else, one of the clergy from St Helen's, Bishopsgate, and more than that, one of the signatories of the so called "Joint Statement from the City of London Deanery Synod representatives from St Helen Bishopsgate, St Peter-upon-Cornhill, and St Botolph-without-Aldersgate, made at the Deanery Synod on 16th October 2008". You may recall that statement - it was put on the web by a body calling itself "Anglican Mainstream". It said:

We do not presume to have any authority over Dr Dudley or his church, but given this service took place within the Deanery and that the Deanery Synod meets with an assumption of shared fellowship, we feel the need, with great sadness, to make clear that our fellowship with Dr Dudley has been broken by his recent actions. In particular, we cannot recognise him as a teacher of the same gospel as ours.

Now one of the usual functions of the Chaplain, apart from saying grace at the monthly lunch and a couple of dinners, is to preach at the annual service in the Company Church, which is St Bartholomew the Great. An invitation to preach comes from me, and you may wonder - and I am wondering too - how I can invite someone who is out of fellowship with me and refuses to recognise me as "a teacher of the same gospel". Those who have come recently to St Bartholomew's may be confused by now but it is, of course, all about the blessing of the civil partnership of Fr Peter Cowell and Fr David Lord in this church last 31 May.

There were two particular deficiences in the St Helen's Bishopsgate Statement. The first was the way in which breach of fellowship was expressed. The Church of England is not a series of parish churches which work together in a partnership agreed by each parish. It is an episcopally ordered Church, which means that the focus of our unity is the Bishop. Whether you agree with the bishop or not, whether you like the bishop or not, is irrelevant; when you are in a diocese your communion with the greater Church - the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church - is mediated through the Bishop. The Bishop represents the local church to the universal Church and the universal Church to the local church. The real point of last summer's controversy was whether I had somehow fallen out of communion with the Bishop of London. I hadn't and the matter is now closed. The St Helen's Bishopsgate Statement has, however, not been rescinded, though we may consider it to be so flawed as to be irrelevant, a piece of posturing by evangelicals.

The second deficiency shows the true nature of the flaw. The Statement said "we cannot recognise him as a teacher of the same gospel as ours". I don't believe that we have any gospel other than the good news of Jesus Christ; this gospel is not "ours" in the sense that we can give it a distinctive meaning that differs from that embodied in the text. The Church can only proclaim the good news that it has received and I can find no place in the New Testament where the Lord Jesus Christ has anything at all to say about same-sex relations. Now I don't want to revisit all that (and I did accept that while I had done what I believed to be the right thing, I had almost certainly broken church law in the process) but St Helen's does seem to think that it has a gospel - a purer version than the one preached here - and that I cannot, in consequence, be recognised as a teacher of the gospel (not their gospel anyway).

So, a nice young priest (though he probably doesn't call himself that) signs the St Helen's Bishopsgate Statement, declares he is out of fellowship with me, denies that I am a teacher of the Gospel - which I have been preaching to this livery company for fourteen years - and then becomes the Master's Chaplain with the expectation, presumably, of preaching here! Should I invite him?

No reply from the Archbishop

Those who receive the SBG E-bulletin will know already that I wrote, on 19 February, to the Archbishop of York. The reason is to be found in the Church Times report of last month's General Synod meeting and specifically of the debate about a policy that would ban clergy, ordinands and lay office-holders who represent or speak for the Church from being members of the British National Party and similar organisations. In the debate the Archbishop of York said (according to the Church Times) that "although he was very proud of the tribe into which he was born, the tribe into which he was baptised was the tribe of Jesus Christ, which welcomed everybody without distinction." I decided to make my personal stand on racism a long time ago.

My father, a white, middle-aged, middle-class, mid-Englander, held views that we would now see as racist. They were not extreme in any way but this neighbour or that was very nice "in spite of being coloured", as he would have said. His experience as a war-time sailor in South Africa hadn't helped; he believed in apartheid and supported the Smith regime in Rhodesia. A strong supporter of the Baptist Missionary Society, my mother frequently had black pastors to stay, and that was fine because they were just visitors. My position was fundamentally opposed to racism and I decided that I would not let a racist comment pass without comment. I tried to do this without turning every mealtime into a battlefield. My mother would say "Those Asian children down the road are very noisy"; I suggested that she try the sentence without the word "Asian" to see if it made a difference. She found that it worked just as well without a racist overtone.

After being a visiting scholar in New York and meeting black clergy in significant positions - rectors, archdeacons, seminary directors of studies, cathedral deans - I felt a need to do something about it. With the agreement of the Bishop of Oxford, I worked one day a week at the Simon of Cyrene Theological Institute in Wandsworth. Under the inspiring and charismatic leadership of Sehon Goodridge (see http://www.churchtimes.co.uk/content.asp?id=50701), the Institute provided access courses and theological education for black and minority ethnic students. I was the token white member of staff and I taught liturgy and Anglican studies. It was there that I met Father Christopher Oladuji, our Chaplain. I left the Institute shortly after Sehon departed to become a bishop in the West Indies, but happily retained my connection with Fr Christopher.

So why did I write to the Archbishop and what did I say? The reason was another form of discrimination, that against homosexuals and lesbians, and the statement that he made with the Archbishop of Canterbury following the blessing of Fr Peter Cowell and Fr David Lord last summer. This is what I wrote:

Your Grace,

The Church Times reports your pride in being baptised “into the tribe of Jesus Christ, which welcomed everybody without distinction.” The context was, of course, the discussion about racism. However, I recall that you were not so inclusive in your approach when it came to the blessing of the civil partnership of two gay clergy last summer, when a clear distinction was made and there was no noticeable welcome. I also note that you made a public statement concerning me but made no equivalent statement condemning Dr Peter Mullen’s proposal to tattoo gays. I wonder how you square these positions.

I have the honour to be Your Grace’s faithful servant,

There has as yet been no reply from Bishopthorpe.

A question of Calvinism

A few Saturdays ago I joined a drawing class at the National Gallery run by the amazingly talented Gayna Pelham. Not only can she draw, paint, teach others to do it, and make us do things we never thought we could do, but she also went round the twenty or so members in the group, asked us to say our names, and then repeated them a couple of times, and after that she never forgot who we were, whether in a group or individually out in the Gallery.

I have always liked the idea of being able to draw but I could never do it in a satisfactory manner. She showed me that I could. I shall never be a great artist but I can now do a drawing that doesn't make me squirm with embarrassment. I bought a sketch books, pencils, graphite, rubber, etc. Now what to draw? Gayna said that we should do something every day. I liked the look of the little sketch of Nicholas Copernicus on the front of the book Copernicus and His World that I am just finishing. He appears as the classic mid-16th century scholar wearing a lovely doctor's bonnet. I had a look for others like it and found Calvin and Luther and Erasmus (he provides my Lent reading) and then borrowed a book of Holbein's pictures from the Barbican Library.

My first little drawing in my grandly-named Reformation Studies 2009 series was John Calvin, after a student's sketch of him teaching in old age. It was a rather childish sketch - mine that is - and immediately took me back to the criticism that I scribbled rather than coloured in properly. Alright, I know that it is sad that I have never forgotten being criticised when I was eight years old, but it undermined my confidence in myself as an artist. Really! The next day I tried Luther and I'm glad to say that (in my opinion) the Wittenberg Police would have recognised him from my sketch. I did have trouble with his nose - round, chubby - but I also had trouble with Erasmus's nose, which is straight and long and like an isosceles triangle. (I was using a Holbein picture of, I think, 1523.)

One of the things I find now is that I have a very clear visual image of each of these three. And when the Parish Office 'phone rang and a lady asked me if there were any Calvinist churches in the City - "Certainly not", I replied in horror - I could see in my mind's eye old Calvin with his long divided beard. The conversation went something like this:

Did any City clergy teach Calvinism?

Not that I know of, because we are all Anglicans and our theology isn't Calvinist. Some clergy might tend more towards Calvin as others did towards catholicism.

What did Calvin teach, exactly?

I really don't have time to explain, try using Google! Goodbye!

If you go to Wikipedia you will actually find a long and useful entry on John Calvin. You will also find some very nice pictures. It won't surprise those of you who know me that I would rather draw a picture of John Calvin than study his theology.

Ash Wednesday

St Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians, 10:23-11:1

10 23 “All things are lawful,” but not all things are beneficial. “All things are lawful,” but not all things build up. 24 Do not seek your own advantage, but that of the other. 25 Eat whatever is sold in the meat market without raising any question on the ground of conscience, 26 for “the earth and its fullness are the Lord’s.” 27 If an unbeliever invites you to a meal and you are disposed to go, eat whatever is set before you without raising any question on the ground of conscience. 28 But if someone says to you, “This has been offered in sacrifice,” then do not eat it, out of consideration for the one who informed you, and for the sake of conscience— 29 I mean the other’s conscience, not your own. For why should my liberty be subject to the judgment of someone else’s conscience? 30 If I partake with thankfulness, why should I be denounced because of that for which I give thanks?

31 So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God. 32 Give no offense to Jews or to Greeks or to the church of God, 33 just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, so that they may be saved. 11 1 Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ.