Tag Archives: Peter Rollins

Communities of Doubt

It was during my sermon on the story of the resurrection appearance to Thomas (known also as the twin) that I became aware of our culture’s view on doubt. It was with great ease that I was able to tell people I was preaching on ‘Doubting Thomas’ and the acceptance of that concept was widespread enough that it revealed a cultural reference point. In my sermon I asked why this one disciple was now infamous with doubt when it is clear that each of the close friends of Jesus doubted the reality of the resurrection before they saw the proof? Why, I thought, do we identify Thomas with this one event when he went on to be a great, faithful apostle in India (many believe!)?

As I explored this question with the congregation on Sunday morning, I began to think about my own underlying language about doubt; the name ‘Doubting Thomas’, amongst many, is assumed as an insult of some kind. To be identified with doubt is to be identified, in the original intention of the name, with weakness and failure. Doubt, it is felt, is wrong.

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Traditionally doubt was the direct opposite of faith. Faith is our goal, therefore doubt is the antithesis of that. This leads to doubt being frowned upon and something to be dismissed. There is, however, a change to this view for some. It is more acceptable now to discuss doubt in more positive light, doubt has become ‘part of the life of faith.’ In some circles, however, it has become even more than that. Doubt is either still spoken of in terms of something we live with but still not to be focussed on or it is at the heart of what we’re about. This latter view is the central tenants of Peter Rollins’ theology (‘To believe is human. To doubt, Divine.’)

I think both of these new viewpoints are interesting but have faults with them. The first view acknowledges the presence of doubt but it is seen as something to forget or to not pay attention to and, as you mature in faith, those doubts will disappear, revealing potentially other doubts about other aspects of the life of faith and God. The issue with this is doubt becomes an irritant whose solution is time. The second view not only acknowledges doubt but actively welcomes and encourages it as an important aspect of the walk of discipleship. I can see great benefit in this and we should not shy away or try and dismiss doubts. I am cautious, however, in my reading of Rollins, et al. who seem to be saying that it is the centrality of the Christian faith. That Jesus’ experience of doubt and forsakenness on the cross, expressed in his statement, ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ is the gospel, jars with me (in both a good and an unhelpful way.)

tomb-2On Resurrection Sunday, I preached a sermon on the empty tomb and proposed that we can fall into the trap of staying at the empty tomb; we can get caught up in the empty tomb and be so amazed at it’s emptiness that we forget the real wonder of that day (This was an unashamed re-working of Thomas Merton’s reflection in his book ‘He Is Risen’). The empty tomb, I suggested, is just a signpost to the real thing. It is not the empty tomb we worship, it is the risen Lord. I likened this to gathering round a signpost for Yorkshire and celebrating as if we had arrived in God’s own country (I apologise to those heretics who do not accept this truth to be self-evident!)

I want to suggest this second approach to doubt has the potential to trap us like the empty tomb does. We can get focus so much on achieving or experiencing doubt that it becomes the destination. We want to be identified with doubt. Once we arrive there we feel we’ve made it and we warmly embrace it and it becomes a comfort in it’s own way: ‘as long as we have doubt we know we’re ok.’

Doubt in the story of the disciples after the resurrection is only ever a stepping stone to faith in the risen Lord. Thomas does not remain a doubter (or at least not in that way.) Jesus says to him,

Stop doubting and believe.

To which Thomas responds,

My Lord and my God.

He moves from doubt to a positive profession of faith. This is a move which many in my generation struggle with. We are a people who are addicted to doubt and reactionary rebellion. This rebellion against accepted norms and traditions are often good and necessary but we get stuck in that idealistic place of protesting against a system or ideology but we never seem to be able to work out what we do stand for. We are passionate about what we don’t believe in or feel comfortable with or what is unjust but we have little to stay what is right and when we do find it we struggle to articulate it out of fear that our peers will disagree and we will become the focus of their protests.

Can community be built on doubt? The passion and emotions involved in questioning all we see only lasts so long and sooner or later there needs to be foundations or otherwise the sifting sands will swallow us and we sink. Doubt isolates us from others in a profound way and, without being careful, we exclude others in our doubts. What can be shared if you affirm nothing? If all you affirm is doubt what happens when those doubts are reconciled? If doubt is the central tenant of a community you are a part of, then how and when can celebration occur?

This is not to say that we err the other way and firmly fix our dogmas and ensure people sign up to our set doctrines but there needs to be an affirmation of doubt without it being the destination we’re aiming for. The empty tomb is necessary but only as that which propels us on to meet with the risen Lord. Doubt is necessary but should only be seen as that which propels on to find faith in the risen Lord.

Chapter 12: lauds – celebration

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At Sunday Lauds…

Why should we praise Him?

We come now to the Divine Office of Lauds, named after the final three psalms (148, 149 and 150), ‘Laudate’ which means ‘praise’.

Praise the Lord!
Praise God in his sanctuary;
praise him in his mighty firmament!
Praise him for his mighty deeds;
praise him according to his surpassing greatness!
Praise him with trumpet sound;
praise him with lute and harp!
Praise him with tambourine and dance;
praise him with strings and pipe!
Praise him with clanging cymbals;
praise him with loud clashing cymbals!
Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!
Praise the Lord!

There are times, in the Christian life, when praise is hard; when God seems to be silent to your endless cries for help and mercy. There are those times when we can only place blame on God for a series of events; blame which, even if it’s not considered God’s direct action/intervention that’s caused pain and suffering, is seen rather as His lack of involvement that caused them. At these times we find ourselves asking,

Why should I? Is He even worthy of my praise, adoration and thanksgiving?

In isolated circumstances this response is normal and common but here is where the Benedictine pattern of saying 279 Psalms a week, repeating them again and again, comes in helpful. After months and years of repetition of all the different types of psalms a monk will know the balance of expressions and the revelation of both God and humanity will become clear.

When I was at college, I started, with a colleague, an annual all night vigil reading of a particular book of the Bible. In the last two years of the three years I was there, we used the Book of Psalms (you can read about my reflections at Monasticism and Asceticism (part I & III)). We had decided to do this when, in the first year, Tom Wright, who was, at the time, bishop of Durham, established a full public reading of the whole Bible in Durham Cathedral throughout Lent. A small group of us had signed up to read for two hours. After we had finished our slot we went and discussed how we found it. It was here that myself and TMBI (The Monastic Ball of Intensity) decided we’d like to read the whole of Isaiah through the night.

When one reads the whole of the Book of Psalms, one psalm after the other, you begin to see a broader, more rounded view of what’s going on in these verses. You find yourself feeling and saying things that you consider wrong or distasteful, you express vengeance on others which conflicts with an inner yearning for forgiveness but in the wider collection those feelings are balanced with expressions of who God is and how He works in our lives. Even though you proclaim death on all your enemies, the next moment you’re acknowledging that you deserve to be treated badly for your sin. Despite expressing the perceived absence of God you equally articulate the faithfulness of Him who surprises us with His presence.

Monks who go through this wide spectrum of experience and emotion will quickly learn and digest a more rounded view of reality. It is in the repetition and assimilating of these words that will balance out our instinctive emotional response to situations and remind ourselves of the bigger picture. The cycle of psalm readings here enables us to rise above the dense forest we so often get lost in and see the overview of the landscape to find our way out. With this view, however difficult it is to grasp and believe during dark and lonely times, the praise of God, properly understood and known, will fall from our lips. It is in the discipline of learning and memorising the words of Scripture, which reveal the Word of God, that we will defend ourselves from making Him in our image and allow Him to make us in His image.

Reflection

For most of this week I have been thinking about the trend in ‘emergent’ theological circles to interpret Scripture in ‘new’ ways. This was sparked by Kester Brewin’s re-reading of the parable of the Lost Son. I want to explore my difficulty with Brewin’s approach at a later date but, for now, I want to say something on the danger of reading into Scripture our own presuppositions, biases and agendas. This process is not altogether bad or wrong; indeed it is a natural part of reading any text. We must, however, surround ourselves with the voice of others and the Other who will correct our perspective and subjectivity. We must have an external authority which connects us with reality beyond our own perspective. This is a challenge to the basic understanding of Cartesian philosophy (the thinking of Rene Descartes) which states that the only thing you can know is that you exist because, with Cartesian skepticism, your senses are fallible and therefore you don’t know that anything outside of yourself is possibly false or imagined. I won’t go into that too much out of fear that I will lose many of you who have managed to stick with this so far!

What this type of philosophy has bred is distrust, cynicism and skepticism. Authority is placed firmly on the subject (you). This leads, in my mind, to the break down of community and connectedness. What St. Benedict has taught me as I read his Rule is that despite the fallibility of our senses obedience to an authority in God is a way of protecting ourselves. This protection, certainly in the mind of Peter Rollins et al. is a form of slavery. I would argue that obedience and humility are characteristics of Christ’s walk on earth and so we should follow. Yes, authorities need to be scrutinised and tested but ultimately so must our own perspective, agendas and biases.

My thinking, at the moment, is that the problem of authority arises when there is only one. When there is a sole authority then it becomes a dictator and blinds us all from right thinking. What the Church promotes, and St. Benedict supports, is multiple authorities, to be used to test one against another. In Anglicanism there is Richard Hooker’s three legged stool which suggests that, Scripture, Tradition and Reason are our three means of authority. Scripture reveals God. Tradition helps us to read Scripture and Reason helps us to test Tradition. Scripture balances Reason. (This is my understanding.)

The psalms and the repetition and learning of Scripture gives us a broader perspective and it must be taken in that context. We need to find ways in which we can protect ourselves from individualised, subjective readings of Scripture and reality. In this way I support Descartes philosophy but I would offer the optimistic suggestion that it is in community that we defend ourselves from thoughts and beliefs that lead to darkness, nihilism and despair. Rollins, Brewin and co. are radical theologians but I fear that they throw many babies out with bath water. From my personal experience of their work; the fruit of reading them is a spiritual darkness, isolation, cynicism and hopelessness. Their freedom, is short lived in practice. I know this is not their desired outcome but by reading their work without a degree in Hegelian philosophy, etc. I’m led into confusion and slavery to doubt. This is ironic as they are saying exactly the same thing about the Church which they speak against. It seems they are hoisted, like the rest, by their own language and argument.

I admit I am lost and broken and lacking the intellectual rigour to engage fully in the ‘ground breaking’ thought that they are wrestling with but I am going on a gut instinct and suggesting that I feel uncomfortable, not with what they are saying but where it leaves me. What character does it foster within me? How do I interact with others? Does it, in the end, lead me to worship and praise the God who created all things, sustains all things and leads me to life eternal (both before and after death)?

I fall again onto His grace and mercy and ask that God, whose love endures forever and is never absent from me, despite my experience of his loss, is indeed right beside me inviting me into relationship with Him; to know Him better.

Ever present God, You are life to me. You give me hope. You strengthen me with Your righteous right hand.

Come, Lord Jesus.

London Calling (part VII)

As I see the end of my time in London taking large strides towards me like a long awaited loved one, their arms wide open to embrace me, I am struck by the loud crashes behind me forcing me to look back. I am stuck now between turning and embracing the rest and peace after a long a difficult journey and the need to see the explosion behind me to ask “Was that me?” On my journey I have, like all journeys, made decisions to take certain paths and they have all been made with honesty of the situation and with integrity. My decisions have effected people and situations and not all of them were positive.

In my last days of this journey I have found myself asking an important question, which, by me writing this, answers in part.

To blog or not to blog, that is the question?

I have been created as an honest, undivided person who’s principles in ministry is a desire for holistic, raw and real experience of people. If I, as a leader of a community that wants people not just to profess a faith but to live it, allow it to seep into every crevice of life then I need to embody that. If I want people to tell me what’s on their heart, to ask deep and important questions of themselves, of me and of the world around them, then I too need to do so. If I want to preach that Christ ministers to those who can face up to themselves as fallen and broken people then I want to encourage people to see me facing up to myself as fallen and broken.

Journalling,as a spiritual discipline, is important to people like me for whom this is the way that we process experiences. No-one is in doubt of the strength and purpose of this spiritual discipline. How is blogging different from journalling? Blogging is making that which is private public. Blogging is like writing your journal and allowing others to see it. This leads, obviously, to some difficulties in terms of relationship with others. We all have disagreements with those around us. We all struggle to see eye to eye with those who, on the face of it, we are meant to be united with and when someone journals, it is natural to vent, rant and explore those feelings. No one is in doubt of the strength and purpose of this. To blog, however, is to make public that which was private.

As a future, Christian leader, there’s a strange struggle between what I make public and that which I keep private. There are, as usual, many different options of handling this struggle; to keep everything private, to make everything public or various shades in between. As a person who desires, unmasked, raw, real relationship I will naturally side with the not with-holding of information; not to put on a mask. I am fully aware, however, of the need of privacy for others and agree that it is an individual choice whether to make something of individual importance public or not. To put someone in a situation where they are forcibly unmasked in public is pastorally insensitive (I have fallen short here before and for which I am truly sorry!)

So why do I feel the need to make public that which is private?

In lots of instances I choose not to for reasons such as the privacy of others, the safety of others and my understanding that people need to control which masks are worn when.

Why do I feel the need to publish my inner thoughts?

Partly, it’s a pride issue. I own that, acknowledge it and this is a thorn in my flesh; that desperate need for people to look at me and pay me attention. I’m sorry for that but I am human and I need God’s grace afresh. But when it comes to my masks, I want to embody what I believe and get rid of them. I talk a lot about asking questions, of heading into an understanding of faith that does not have one answer but one that is relational and explorative. I want people to know that I am genuine in my search and for people to be encouraged to engage with me in questions and and discoveries.

I don’t have the answers. I am human. I am fallen and broken and I struggle with life. Why do make this public? Because I want to boast in my weakness. I don’t want to be a different person at home than I am in a church community. If this means it’s complicated and difficult then that’s what it’s going to have to be. If this is scary then that’s what it has to be. Jesus’ struggles are public, Jesus’ crucifixion if public, Jesus’ identity is questioned by Himself in public (My God my God, why have you forsaken me?) My personal leadership style, and it is my personal style so I don’t want people to think it’s the only way, is to be the same person behind closed doors as I am in open ones. I want people to see me broken, in pain and struggling in order that they can appreciate my God who makes me strong. I want people to truly know, through my example, that they, broken, lost, confused can experience God and be loved by Him. I want, more than anything else, for people to know that God wants us for who we are not what we’re told to be.

Faith is not a set of doctrinal beliefs but how you live your life. I can agree that money doesn’t make me happy but does it stop me seeking after financial gain? I can agree that God is my refuge and my strength but I can’t say it if I struggle when I’m not at home or with my wife. So do I continue to profess these things when I know I don’t live them out? Sometimes. Should I? No.

My struggle with life and ministry continues. How I work as a leader with both a public life and a private one is a continual struggle. How I earn the right to meet with people and share my faith is ongoing. To blog or not to blog… I want to make public my private struggles because I hope they are an encouragement. I hope they prompt questions in your mind. I hope that by witnessing struggles of faith you will know that you are not alone and that those people you put on pedestals are actually disciples of Christ. I hope that my blogs allow you to turn, face up to your own questions and say

‘To doubt is Divine.’

A lot of the thoughts and reflections I am having in this wrestle come from an interview with Peter Rollins when he visited Mars Hill Church. The recording is below and is 45 mins long. It’s well worth a listen and will piece together, I hope, many disjointed and rambling approach to articulate my current train of thought.

Power of Story

Next time I will try to tie together my reflections and feelings of my wonderful, powerful, difficult and life giving placement in London!