Some of these questions come out of a place of deep institutional anxiety. Others emerge from a more joyful enthusiasm for re-imagining the old in a radically new context. But there are often deeper questions behind the 'surface' questions, and it's these deeper, more theological questions that interest me most. I want to explore three of them here: questions of theological economics, questions of missiology, and questions of presence.
Framing the conversation: overlapping
economies
From my own sustained reflection
on my practice and experience in Hodge Hill, I want to offer brief descriptions
of three different economies which I
have discovered often seem to ‘frame’ how I think, feel, talk and pray about
the kind of questions we’re considering here. We might understand an economy as
a system in which things are used, move around and are exchanged (given and received) in ways which create and develop a
sense that certain things are valued.
1. A financial-numerical economy
This economy is
perhaps the most familiar to all of us. It places a high value on counting
(people, money) and keeping accounts. It sees ‘resources expended’ primarily in
terms of how much money they have cost, and will tend to look for ‘value for
money’ in how it evaluates its spending, understanding that primarily as
‘bringing back in’ a financial return, helping it ‘balance the books’. It
cannot help looking at ‘church growth’ at least in part as a means of
increasing its financial income: more people in church means more money in the
plate. (Just to be clear, I’m not suggesting anyone in the CofE or beyond thinks exclusively like this, but simply
acknowledging that this is, at least, one
of the economies that is operative in the thinking of many of us.) The two most
regular instruments of reporting from parish to diocese – the annual
statistical and financial returns – are firmly embedded within this economy,
even if they occasionally make space for comments gesturing in a different
direction.
2.
A
kenotic-Kingdom economy
Within this second
economy, the calculation is different. The growth of the Kingdom of God is what
is valued above all else, whether understood as flourishing communities, new
and deepening journeys of discipleship, healing in lives and relationships, friendships
across differences, etc. This economy is ‘kenotic’ because the primary dynamic
is one of kenosis: giving of what we
have for the benefit of others. This kenotic dynamic is captured perfectly in
these words from Bishop Duleep de Chickera:
“here is the crux of Anglican identity and Anglican spirituality: we do
not live for ourselves, and all our energy, all our gifts, are directed to
abundant life for the other”
‘Serving others’, ‘preaching the
gospel’ – these are done by the church because they are what God calls and
commands us to do, for the sake of the Kingdom. Resources are expended in the
process – primarily in the form of time and energy, but often also money (given
away, or paid to those who give of their time, energy and expertise). Change
may well happen as a result of our actions, our resources expended – but that
will not necessarily result in a financial or numerical ‘return’. The Jesus of
Matthew 25 (‘I was hungry and you fed me, a stranger and you welcomed me’),
Teresa of Avila’s ‘Christ has no body but ours...’, or the mantra ‘What Would
Jesus Do?’, perhaps often offer some kind of guiding principle here.
This second kind of economy adds
a significant complexity to our financial-numerical thinking. In a time of
ongoing austerity and deepening financial inequality, many people in our
neighbourhoods are struggling more and more with the most basic needs in life –
a home, food, clothes, etc – at the same time as much of the vital support to
negotiate the systems is being stripped away. The church, in many financially
poor neighbourhoods, is often the only organisation left for people to turn to.
And even when ‘church growth’ comes out of such interactions, those who are
joining church congregations are often financially poor, physically and/or
emotionally fragile, and immensely vulnerable. Welcoming them and embracing
them as ‘members of the body of Christ’ can often be a hugely costly act in
itself.
3.
A
radically receptive Kingdom economy
A third kind of economy
is a bit like the second, in that what is valued above all else is the growth
of the Kingdom of God. But it is unlike
the second because the primary ‘flow’ is anything but one-way. In this, it has
something in common with the financial-numerical economy (which looks for a
‘return’ on ‘expenditure’), but in other ways it is radically different. In
this radically receptive Kingdom economy (one that we have been discovering in
profound ways in Hodge Hill over the last 7 years), church members often go
into the world with empty hands and open eyes, looking for treasure,[1]
ready to receive, thirsting for relationship with their neighbours. In this
economy, the church often resists
‘taking the initiative’ or starting ‘projects’. That doesn’t mean there are no
resources spent, but they are often in the form of time and energy given to just
‘being around’, listening and learning from our neighbours. What we receive in the process might often first
and foremost be a new friendship, but will often also be a wealth of stories, a
passion or skill (cooking, gardening, reaching out to others, plumbing, you
name it!), a question or challenge to the status
quo (“why is the world like this, and what are we going to do about it?!”),
and often deep, hard-won, earthed, spiritual and theological wisdom. As church
in Hodge Hill, we have been enriched by all of these, and more, beyond our most
daring imaginings. The relationships of mutuality within our local community
have grown a hundred-fold (even if, numerically at least, our church
congregation hasn’t), and we Christians have learnt and received so much.
What does mission look
like in these ‘economies’?
The Anglican Communion's ‘Five Marks of Mission’ are perhaps the definitive Anglican touchstone for understanding the breadth of the church's participating in the missio Dei (the mission of God). How might these five marks relate to the economies outlined
above?
Of the five marks, only one seems
to have any kind of obvious connection to the ‘financial-numerical’ economy: ‘to teach, baptise and nurture new
believers’ (#2, ‘TEACH’). Even there, if ‘baptism’ is the point of ‘counting’
(and it is quite obviously so much more than that), ‘teaching’ and ‘nurturing’
point to a kind of growth (in depth of discipleship, we might say), that sits
on a different axis to the numerical.
The ‘kenotic-Kingdom’ economy is much more visible in four of the Five
Marks:
·
‘to proclaim the Good News of the Kingdom’ (#1,
‘TELL’)
·
‘to respond to human need by loving service (#3,
‘TEND’)
·
‘to seek to transform unjust structures of
society, to challenge violence of every kind and to pursue peace and
reconciliation’ (#4, ‘TRANSFORM’)
·
‘to strive to safeguard the integrity of
creation and sustain and renew the life of the earth’ (#5, ‘TREASURE’)[2]
In each of these, there is no
direct ‘return’ for the church; rather, there is a clear sense of a ‘movement
outwards’, expending time, energy and more for the sake of the mission of the
world and the Kingdom of God.
So how does my third economy, the
‘radically receptive Kingdom economy’,
relate to mission? In part, it affirms the insight of missio dei theology that the church is but a participant in ‘God’s mission here on earth’, and that
God’s mission is wider than the church’s activity. But where the church’s part
in the missio dei has often been
characterised as ‘finding out what God is doing, and joining in’, in the third economy the church is also called to focus
particularly on the first part of that phrase: to discover what God is doing – by
receiving it, from our neighbours, as
both gift and challenge. Perhaps the key biblical words here are seeking ‘shalom’, recognising that our own ‘shalom’ is linked to the ‘shalom’ of
the place where we live:
‘But seek the welfare [shalom] of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to
the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare [shalom]
you will find your welfare [shalom].’
(Jeremiah 29:7)
In the language of the New Testament,
we see something very similar in Matthew 6:33: ‘But seek first the Kingdom of
God and his righteousness, and all these things [i.e. food, drink, clothes]
will be given to you as well’. So when we seek justice, pursue peace and
reconciliation (#4), and strive for the earth’s renewal (#5), we are not just
‘giving out’, but also opening ourselves
to discover and receive the abundance of God’s shalom, God’s Kingdom, coming to us in and with our neighbours.
This in turn enables us to understand ‘proclaiming the Good News of the
Kingdom’ (#1) not simply as ‘going out with a message’, but as naming the Kingdom where we see it in the
world: where justice, peace and reconciliation are happening, where the
life of the earth is being renewed, and where others (not just us Christian
do-gooders) are ‘responding to human need in loving service’ (#2). The Kingdom
of God we see in the parables of Jesus is, as Paula Gooder has recently put it,
‘subversive, tenacious and rampant’:
it comes to us and transforms us, as
much if not more than any contribution we make to growing it.
Remaining present in
the urban margins
From first-hand experience and my
doctoral research, I feel better placed to offer reflections on the church’s
calling to place in ‘the urban margins’[4]
(and in Hodge Hill most particularly) than in other contexts in which the church finds itself. Thinking of the wider church as an economy, however, means that questions of presence in some contexts
cannot be disconnected from questions of presence elsewhere. If we’re in an
economy, then we’re all in it together. What kind of economic thinking we
deploy in one place is connected to the kind of economy we imagine, and live
out, in another. If we consider ‘re-thinking’ necessary in one place, then the
same re-thinking cannot be avoided elsewhere. Starting from the urban margins,
then, I want to briefly consider five different reasons for remaining present, and the kind of
presence they imply.
1.
Equity
of presence
The simplest reason for remaining
in the urban margins is one of fairness, or equity. This might, for example, look to establish roughly equal ratios between stipendiary clergy and the population of their parishes. While ‘equity’ is almost by definition devoid of content, the kind of presence
implied has something to do with a direct relationship between the stipendiary
clergyperson and their parishioners: closest, perhaps, to the model set out in
George Herbert’s (16th-17th Century) The Country Parson, visiting parishioners from week to week,
‘present for every activity in a community, whether “church” or “civic”’.[6]
2.
Local
need
A second reason for remaining in
the urban margins might be linked to the levels of ‘deprivation’ and/or ‘social
need’ in an area. The ‘kenotic-Kingdom economy’ in action, expressed here the
church is ‘respond[ing] to human need by loving service’ (#2), through
foodbanks, job clubs and other community projects. Such presence often demands
funding for places where such activities can happen, and staff to deliver, or
at the very least, coordinate the volunteers who deliver them. The local church
congregation might supply some of those volunteers, but often challenges of
capacity and fragility mean that much of the burden falls on a stipendiary
clergy person – liberated from raising money for their own livelihood, so that
they can give much time and effort to sustaining those of others. We might also here investigate need in terms of social isolation (more difficult to quantify), and see church as a
primary means for addressing that need. Framed in these terms, the
accessibility of the church’s places
(church building? community centre? Community house?) and its services (in the broadest sense),
including the distance parishioners might need to travel, becomes significant.[8]
3.
Divine
presence / preferential option
A third reason is less pragmatic
and more theological: we need to remain present in the urban margins because that is where God is. Call it command or
vocation, we need to remain in the company of “the excluded, the disreputable,
the wretched, the self-hating, the poor, the diseased” because this is the company
Christ keeps.[9]
‘Being there’, and ‘being with’ those who live there, is not an ‘option’ that
we, the church, can choose to take or leave – this is God’s preferential option for ‘the poor’, a
fundamental and unavoidable aspect of discipleship for all Christians. This
does not necessarily require stipendiary clergy, but ‘being with’ does demand
the capacity for long-term presence and patient relationship-building. Small
congregations can do this, with the right support. Houses might often be as
valuable resources as church buildings. Small missional communities, so long as
they are prepared for the ‘long haul’, could be faithful responses to this
divine summons.
4.
The
church’s need
Linked to the third reason, and
the flip-side of the second, a fourth reason for remaining in the urban margins
is that the church needs the marginalized.
St Laurence, famously, when instructed to bring out the church’s treasures by
the Prefect of Rome, gathered together the poor of the city and presented them
to the Prefect: “here are the church’s treasures”. Jean Vanier, founder of the
L’Arche Community, has spent a lifetime showing us why those who appear to be
‘the strong’ need those who the world considers ‘weak’.[10]
Far from platitudes, the church needs ‘the poor’ because the church itself is
entangled in the sin of the world: the ‘unjust structures of society’ (#4) which
include systemic racism, and the dynamics of capitalism which ‘expels’ those it
deems ‘useless’ from the economy and from mainstream society.[11]
The church needs to remain in areas with significant Muslim populations, if it
is to challenge wider society’s Islamophobia and witness to the possibility of
encounters with Muslims marked by hospitality and friendship.[12]
The church needs to remain in areas with significant populations of people of
colour (both within and beyond the church) if it is to have any chance of
facing up to its own ongoing institutional racism.[13]
And the church needs to remain in areas with significant levels of deprivation
if it is to tackle its own complicity in structures and systems (both within
and beyond the church) which benefit the middle-classes at the expense of the
poor.[14]
The church needs the marginalized precisely because they hold the keys to the
church’s own reform and renewal. As Bishop Philip North has recently reminded
us, ‘[e]very effective renewal movement in the whole history of the Church has
begun not with the richest and most influential, but with the poor and
marginalised’.[15]
Here the role of clergy is significant: as those who can listen deeply in the
local, and speak prophetically to the structures of the church, they occupy a
crucial ‘middle ground’, without which the wider church is unlikely to hear the
challenges that the urban margins present.
5.
The
abundance of the kingdom
A fifth reason for the church to
remain in the urban margins is, like the first, quite simple – but unlike the
rather sterile equity argument, this last reason is rooted in a radically
receptive economy: the church should remain in the urban margins because there
it will discover the abundance of the Kingdom of God, abundant gifts not,
perhaps, of money, but of friendships and stories, passions and skills,
struggles and wisdom. Church buildings may be the least important asset for
this kind of approach. A radically receptive Kingdom economy is adept at
finding alternative spaces for gathering – indeed, is dependent on finding the spaces where people bump into each other
already, rather than expecting them to come into ‘our’ spaces. As in the
third approach above, small missional communities, committed to long-term
presence, might well prove a worthwhile investment. A radically receptive
Kingdom economy is, almost by definition, more focused on lay people in their
daily lives than on clergy who at most times have at least one foot inside the
church door.[16]
In terms of paid personnel, however, I have already suggested that deacons, as ordained leaders in and
co-ordinators of the work of ‘treasure-seeking’, may offer something
distinctive and crucial to this kind of presence. But again, the priestly
ministry of ‘gathering in’ also remains significant: investing in clergy with a
radically receptive disposition, to put down roots in the urban margins, may
enable the church to unleash the abundant gifts to be found in the margins, for
the enrichment of both the wider church and the wider world.
6.
Growing
the church?
In the financial-numerical
economy, growing the number of people who participate in the life of the church
– or at the very least sustaining it
– is the over-riding priority. In neither the ‘kenotic Kingdom economy’ nor the
‘radically receptive Kingdom economy’ does this feature as a direct focus, but may arise indirectly. ‘How can we serve the needs
of a neighbourhood if we don’t have any Christians left there to do so?’, we
might well ask. Or alternatively, ‘surely we can be more attentive to, and
receptive of, the abundant gifts of a neighbourhood if there’s more of us there
with eyes and ears and hearts open to our neighbours?’ Pragmatically, these
suggestions are surely both true. If we consider how our imaginations are shaped, however, both anxieties about survival and ambitions
for expansion are likely to risk distracting us significantly from the missio dei, the Kingdom of God, bubbling
up beyond the church’s own activities. There might, however, be a way of
thinking about church growth that is more in line with the radically receptive
Kingdom economy as outlined here.
What if we thought of the church’s welcome
less in terms of inclusion (making
‘reasonable adjustments’ to the church’s life to ensure all who come are able
to participate), and more in terms of transfusion:
we need our neighbours to become part
of our bloodstream as a church for us
to truly live. The metaphor quickly falls down, because a blood transfusion
requires blood of the same type for
it to be successful. Here I want to suggest, beyond human biology, that it
precisely different blood types that
the church needs within its bloodstream, so that, for example, a predominantly
middle-class church is not just learning to receive the gifts and challenges of
its working-class neighbours at the edges
of church, but is changing
fundamentally because ‘they’ are now a growing part of ‘us’. This is the
most radical challenge recently issued by Pope Francis: not simply to be
‘church for the poor’ or ‘church with the poor’, but ‘church of the poor’. Something similar could be
said of a predominantly white church engaging with neighbours of colour: how much more transformed would that
church be if it had people of colour in its bloodstream, in its worship, in its
decision-making bodies, in its leadership? In this final dimension of the
church’s presence in the urban margins, the local church community needs
ministers (lay and ordained) not just gifted at ‘sharing the gospel’ and
‘inviting people in’, but ministers who are alert to hear the gospel afresh from those neighbours with whom they engage,
and who can enable the established congregation to be open to be changed radically by those who join them. Those
ministers will also (as with both the fourth and fifth approach above) need to
have the boldness to challenge the wider
church to change too: to receive a ‘return on its investment’ that may be
anything but financial, to receive new and often challenging blood into its
ancient bloodstream.
[1]
In Revd Dr Kate Bruce’s sermon at the Ordination of Deacons in Birmingham
Cathedral this year, ‘treasure-seeker’ was one of the four images she offered
as summing up the role of the ordained deacon. That is, I would suggest, a
vital ‘diaconal’ role also to be shared by the whole people of God.
[2] www.anglicancommunion.org/ministry/mission/fivemarks.cfm
(revised 2012)
[4]
See Al Barrett, Interrupting the Church’s
flow: Engaging Graham Ward and Romand Coles in a radically receptive political
theology in the urban margins (Amsterdam: VU University of Amsterdam,
2017).
[8]
This would make a particular case for ongoing presence in rural parishes, in terms of some form of building, but not necessarily in terms of a paid clergyperson.
[9]
Rowan Williams, Being Disciples,
p.11.
[11]
See e.g. Saskia Sassen, Expulsions:
Brutality and Complexity in the Global Economy (2014).
[12]
As Richard Sudworth has recently put it: ‘[t]he financial vista of the Church
of England suggests that many inner-city parishes for which that formative
encounter with Islam is a daily reality are under threat. Many of these parish
churches have small, dwindling congregations and are in some of the most
deprived communities in the country. There are very real possibilities that the
unique ways that religion in the public square is negotiated in the
Christian-Muslim encounter will be lost to the Church within a generation. This
would be a travesty for any remaining integrity that the Church of England
retains for speaking into the national consciousness, and demands creativity,
imagination and strategic sacrifice in the training and deployment of ministers
in the future. The question is perhaps not whether the Church of England can
afford to be present in such areas, rather whether it can afford not to be present to the
Christian-Muslim encounter in our inner cities and towns’ (Sudworth 2017:187).
[13]
White Anglican theologian Jenny Daggers invites other white Anglicans to
acknowledge with contrition ‘our still-colonized minds’ – ‘our unacknowledged
racism and our reinscription of colonial patterns’ – and to place a
(‘decolonized’) commitment to evangelism ‘within
[rather than alongside] the church’s wider mission to work for the common good
of contemporary English society’. White British Anglicans need to receive
postcolonial diversity as a gift, she argues: we need to learn ‘to be
transformed, rather than to transform’ (Jenny Daggers, ‘Postcolonializing
“Mission-Shaped Church”: The Church of England and Postcolonial Diversity’ in
Kwok Pui-Lan & Stephen Burns (eds.), Postcolonial
Practice of Ministry: Leadership, Liturgy and Interfaith Engagement (2016)
pp.191-3).
[14]
Anglican theologian Andrew Davey has recently noted the tendency for
middle-class, suburban models and agendas for mission to become ‘normative’
within the Church of England (Andrew Davey, ‘Introduction: Deep Theology for a
Spacious City?’, in Andrew Davey (ed.), Crossover
City: Resources for Urban Mission and Transformation (2010), p.x).
[15]
‘Hope for the Poor’, talk to New Wine ‘United’ Conference 2017, p.3
[16]
While the focus of my PhD thesis is primarily on why and how we might
practice a ‘radically receptive ecclesiology in the urban margins’, I do at a
number of points return to the question of who.
I'll be interested to hear your reaction to my book Al. Your understanding of kenosis is different to the one I use that draws upon the work of missiologist Martha Fredericks and her models of mission in relation to other faiths. Kenosis in her understanding relates more strongly to your 'radical reception' model and what you term kenosis relates most clearly to her diakonia model. The connection between kenosis and what you call radical receptivity is clear in Yves Raguin's quote that follows
ReplyDelete'Kenosis, then, places us in a state of receptivity. We develop an instinctive attitude of listening, trying to understand, letting ourselves be permeated with the atmosphere of our surroundings, passing beyond what is merely heard and seen to reach the personality of the people with whom we live, or those we may meet. In this way we learn to know others from within. (...) Kenosis, then, is the gateway to mutual understanding, and beyond this, to an intimate sharing that is the consummation of a relationship in union. (...) By dispossession of self we are able to absorb the amazing riches of others.' Your model of kenosis appears perhaps to relate to Anglican 19 th century models which I think fail to recognise the radically receptive nature of kenosis and are written largely from the perspective of unacknowledged privilege, Sarah Coakley's brilliant feminist critique of both this model and dismissals of kenosis based upon it, recognises the radically receptive nature of true kenosis by rooting it in prayer and silence. In relation to interfaith engagement kenosis has taken on it's truly radical meaning and provides a clear Christological root to a 'radically receptive' engagement and a powerful spiritually rooted practice drawing together contemplation and action. I fear that in linking it to what others would see as a more diakonia model you risk loosing a powerful
spiritual resource for what we both in different contexts seek - a radically new missiological understanding.
Many thanks, Ray, this is a really helpful bit of clarification. The kind of kenosis you describe is indeed much closer to what I'm calling radical receptivity. It's partly out of my PhD research on Graham Ward that I use 'kenotic' to describe the second economy here - he describes much more of a one-way process, that starts in God, 'filling' the church, and 'outpouring' into the world. Although his theology is not exactly 'mainstream', I think that kind of idea permeates a lot of our thinking - both catholic (eucharistic) and evangelical ('sharing the gospel').
DeleteI think of the contrast between the hymn
Delete'Thou who was rich beyond all splendour
All for love's sake becamest poor.'
and John V Taylor's Christmas Venite
'... into these infant eyes
which offer openness only and the unfocusing
search for an anwering gaze. O recognise!
I am the undefeated heart of weakness.
Kneel to adore, bow down to pour your praise.
You cannot lie so low as I have always been.'
I think the difference often arises from where you start. Many models of Kenosis are working within a metaphysical framework of the Divine giving up power or pouring out, in Ward's words, whereas the more praxis orientated ethical approaches (Coakley and Yoder) are concerned with the practice of Jesus in his ministry, death and resurrection rather than metaphysical speculation. The Philippians hymn looks different when framed in this way and becomes less metaphysical speculation and more of a call to practice -
ReplyDeletein emptying and opening we are exalted through the gifts of the other in a mutual sharing - meeting and witnessing to the Divine through the process of relationship. Do we view Kenosis as a 'rescue plan' or as a a spiritual practice that opens us to participation in the Divine economy of right relationship