Showing posts with label Kingdom of God. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kingdom of God. Show all posts

Monday, 7 June 2021

Life in the Household

 Preached as sermon at Croydon Minster 6th June 2021. Readings: Genesis 3.8-15; Mark 3.20-end.

‘Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.’

 

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Our gospel reading is a tale of two households; two very different households!

 

One is the household headed up by the adversary of God, the enemy of our human nature, Satan, a.k.a. the One Who Scatters (‘o diabolos). This is a household at enmity, marked by division and fracture. It’s a dystopian household where egos reign and clash, where no attempt is made to relate graciously to one another. It's typically human, and Genesis identifies it as human behaviour from the beginning, embedded in who we are.

 

The other household, by contrast, is empowered by the Holy Spirit. In this household people seeking Christ, come together and relate to one another, in deepening and flourishing relationships. The words of a psalm come to mind: ‘how very good and pleasant it is when brothers and sisters dwell together in unity’ (Psalm 133.1).

 

This is the work of the Holy Spirit: God’s capacity to weave together disparate people; a bit like us now.

 

In fact, just like us now. This passage is pointing to the indispensability of the Church in the unfolding of the Gospel and the deliverance of the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom of God is not an ‘out there’ remote dream, but God’s reality blossoming through the Church, the web of relationships around Jesus Christ, in heaven and earth.

 

Life lived in this household of Christ, has three key implications for us: ecclesial, political and personal.

 

Ecclesial. That means things to do with the Church. The Church is the household of God where we are schooled and our habits shaped in ways that deeply echo the Kingdom of God: here we relinquish egotism, we give up self to become truly ourselves, in Christ.

 

As Jesus died on the cross this re-fashioning of relationships began. Jesus said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’ And to his beloved disciple he said, ‘Here is your mother’. ‘And from that hour’, we read, ‘the disciple took her into his own home’ (John 19.26,27) It shows Jesus’ words in action: ‘Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.’

 

Discipleship is the commitment to, and way of patiently growing within the household of Christ, marked by the sign of the cross.

 

Audaciously, we claim in baptism that our relationships in the Church go even deeper than race or heritage, biology or shared DNA: we are brothers and sisters in Christ as those who seek the will of God. That’s a big claim at a time when, in the culture, identity and affiliation is framed in terms that divide rather than reconcile.

 

By placing ourselves here this morning at the Eucharist we come to shape our lives, preferences and habits towards Christ, towards life in the Spirit, in the many mansions of the Father’s house.

 

We are here because we are inhabitants of the household of faith, hope and love; the household of Christ; the household of the Church!

 

There is a political dimension to being part of the household of Christ. Politics is the ordering of the polis, the polis is the shared space of a community’s life, what we call ‘society’ or ‘the culture’. As Christians we need to be confident that we should engage in the life of society and the culture, influence and shape them after the Kingdom of God.

 

If the values of the household of the Church mean anything, they mean that we have something to say to the big questions of our day: how we order our lives together as human beings; what the household of our nation, or global society, could look like. That means speaking about taxes, vaccine availability, the environment and such like. All the more as the G7 meets this week.

 

St Augustine of Hippo, the great North African bishop of the fourth century, didn’t shy away from how we order society to reflect the Kingdom of God. He wrestles with this theme in his great work De civitate Dei, City of God, where he contrasts the city of those who do the will of God and those who refuse it: totally today’s gospel theme.

 

We pursue a just and equitable society, where there is no want, where everyone can be free and honoured, where the burdens of the weak are supported by the strong. That’s not because we’re of the left or of the right, but because it’s the vision found in the gospels and in the Book of Revelation where the earthly city is swept up into heaven gathered around the throne of the Lamb.

 

That is why the Church engages wholeheartedly in politics, it’s about shaping our local, national and global household, so that all may be brothers and sisters of one another.

 

To stay locked in, or withdraw, makes us just quite worthy, probably good and pious individuals. We can and should shape society. And we can do much better than sniping at politicians or blaming those who think differently from us - I am thinking of the Bishop of St David’s here – for politicians have rolled up their sleeves to shape society. Do pray for all Christian politicians around the world.

 

This may all sound big and highfaluting. The vision of Christ’s household is even more than global; it’s cosmic. But it is also deeply personal. Not private. Personal.

 

Ultimately we have to ask, how do I order the household of my own soul, mind and body? Is it a place where the Holy Spirt leads and guides; is it divided amongst itself; does it reflect the Kingdom’s priorities? Is the household of my soul filled with faith, hope and love?

 

Brothers and sisters! That is a big task. As we gather at the altar in our household let us rejoice in one another, and commit ourselves to live out the coming Kingdom of God.

 

Sunday, 22 September 2019

Good stewards of a Common Home


First preached as a sermon at Croydon Minster reflecting on the 'Dishonest Steward' on the Fourteenth Sunday after Trinity as we continue to focus in prayer and reflection on the Creation and Care of our Common Home. The readings were Amos 8.4-7; Luke 16.1-13

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In a world of ethically murky financial dealings - of tax avoidance and tax evasion on colossal scales by individuals and corporations; of pay day loans that escalate debt at eye watering rates; of the exploitative business model of the gig economy – in that world, the parable that we have heard this morning holds a mirror up to the ways in which money is used, is moved and is acquired.

Money is a delicate subject. It’s particularly delicate in church. And yet Jesus frequently speaks about money. The Bible as a whole - our reading from the Prophet Amos being a case in point - speaks more of money justice and distribution of wealth than it does about other matters that often preoccupy religiously minded people.

The parable touches on the way in which human beings relate to money. For a start the rich man has someone else dealing with his money. So he is detached from the consequences of what his money is doing for good or ill.

The problem with wealth is not the wealth itself, there will always be disparity in income and accumulated wealth, what is a problem is when the rich subcontract the management of the wealth to others. They lose the connection with what wealth and money is and how it can be used.

As the parable shows the behaviour of the rich man opens up the possibility of a careless approach to money by his manager. And his manager, or better translated ‘steward’ has done just that. He has been squandering the rich man’s money and property.

Once found out, the steward feels shame. Money seems hardwired to our shame reflex. Is that why we squirm when money is talked about? And closely associated to shame and money is embarrassment and guilt: I am generous enough? Can I afford this? Should I pay for that? Am I wasting my money?

In the parable the steward addressed his sense of shame, and potential to be ostracised, by turning to what one commentator has called ‘ethically murky’ practices. He settles debts quickly by knocking off some of the debt.

But it’s not his money to do that with. And don’t we see that in the way in which financial systems and economies work? Other peoples’ money: in pension funds, do we know what’s going on with our money ethically, or not? And so often it is the poor who suffer. The words of the prophet Amos don’t need a huge amount of updating; human nature is absolutely recognisable in sharp practices of short selling and getting a fast buck.

So it’s little wonder perhaps that the master, the rich man, commended the dishonest manager: because he had a casual relationship with his money he wasn’t bothered by justice and probity.

So where does all that leave us? Well, read on. Read on because Jesus gives practical wisdom and sets a higher vision and standard which he links to faithfulness in financial matters to service of God. You have to engage with the world of money: don’t be so heavenly minded that you’re of no earthly use! In a murky world be faithful, in small things so that the true treasures, the riches of heaven will be yours.

In his Encyclical Letter to all Christians, called Laudato Si’, Pope Francis speaks about our Common Home. He makes the point that we human beings inhabit a Common Home with all God’s creatures. The Greek word for ‘Common Home’ is oikomene. From the word oikomene we also get the English word economy. Pope Francis recognises in Laudatio Si’ that the environmental crisis of our times cannot be separated from economics.

The economy is not just about money, it’s much wider than that. A Christian vision of economics is more than money: it is about the good running of our Common Home, the oikomene; about being good stewards of the earth, of human society, of our household budgets and our church budgets. The steward in the parable – in Greek oikonomos - failed at that. He was not a good steward, and in that way he mirrors the poor human stewardship of the earth. And faced with his own crisis he used unjust means to get out of it, not unlike the way the rich trade carbon emissions without reducing it from their private jets.

We are stewards of the earth not possessors of it; we are stewards of wealth and money not possessors of it, and when we think we possess money without realising it possesses us, then are then we are serving wealth not God.

That’s where this parable takes us. So what we seek is not mammon but the Kingdom of God, and as Jesus promises, if we seek the Kingdom of God first then everything else we need will be given to us. And faithfulness in the little things will replicate in faithfulness in the big things. In other words small acts of generosity make a big transformative impact; small acts of caring for the creation – like fostering habitats or cutting energy usage - make a big impact when added together.

This is why we should be talking about money, the economy and the Common Good in church and not be bashful about it. What we do with our money tells us about what we value: ‘where your treasure is, there will your heart be also’ (Luke 12.34). That’s why praying about and pondering our giving to the church is important and should be talked about – and will be in the coming weeks – as a response to God’s generosity. That’s why we should encourage our children in church to think about and plan their giving.

As stewards of the riches of creation - the teaming seas and the fruitful land - may we be faithful in our enjoyment of them not exploiting but tending, and may our use of money be to the glory of God as we spend, invest and plan. Amen.


Monday, 26 August 2019

Standing up straight & praising God


Preached as sermon at Croydon Minster on Sunday 25 August, Tenth Sunday after Trinity.

‘When Jesus laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God’ (Luke 13.12)

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This morning’s gospel reading tells us about an encounter that is both beautiful and disturbing at the same time.

Beautiful: because in it a woman who has been bowed down for eighteen years regains her stature and dignity of herself in in the sight of others.

Disturbing: because the reaction to this act of restoration and healing sparks indignation from those who should be most joyful that another human being has her dignity restored.


The woman typifies those who are bent over and weighed down, physically yes, but psychologically or spiritually too. This isn’t just physical: how often are the physically afflicted spiritually upright?!

This crippling aliment, described as a ‘spirit’ by St Luke, but not defined by him, has oppressed her for eighteen years.

The period of eighteen years will have had interesting connotations for the people gathered in that synagogue on that Sabbath Day.

In the book of Judges it was for eighteen years that the Israelites had to serve the foreign king Eglon of Moab (Judges 3.14) and for eighteen years the foreign Ammonite kingdom ‘crushed and oppressed’ the Israelites (Judges 10.8). The number eighteen is associated with oppression and being crushed down.

Intriguingly also, according to the Jewish numerological tradition, the number eighteen also signifies ‘life’, ‘alive’ or ‘living creature’.

So a woman oppressed for eighteen years, becomes a newly ‘living creature’ who can stand up straight and praise God.

Beautiful.

The fact this took place on the Sabbath Day is also deeply resonant and filled with meaning.

Observing the Sabbath is a good thing. A day of rest, a day when the pace of life changes, a day to know the gift of life; a day to honour God our Creator: it is telling that our society in all its turmoil and dis-ease neglects Sabbath.

But we miss the point of Sabbath if, like the synagogue leader, we cannot show mercy and loving kindness on that day. If we cannot show it on that day can we ever show it on the other six?

The Creation begins on the first day as God says ‘let there be light’ (Genesis 1.3) and unfolds over six days. The Sabbath is the seventh day of the week when God rested, seeing that all was good.

Yet the creation is marred and disfigured. People are oppressed, bowed down externally and internally, physically and mentally, and in the words of the hymn ‘Just as I am, without one plea’, we come to Jesus, the Lamb of God,

…tossed about
with many a conflict, many a doubt,
fightings within, and fears without’

We, like the woman, come to him now. And he beholds her; he beholds you; he beholds me.

To Jesus Christ we are not problems to be manged we are living creatures, who are loved, to be restored to life, to be released from all that bows us down.

So this act of restoration on the Sabbath Day anticipates the eighth day of creation, the first day of the new week, the Day of Resurrection, the Day of Life, the day of the New Creation, a day that has dawned today.

In the act of restoring that woman to dignity the crowds came to see that God’s priority is the lifting up of people from the dust, the gutter and into life.

The action of baptism is the Church’s sacramental sign that raises up men, women and children sharing in the raising up of Christ through his Resurrection.

‘If you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God’ (Colossians 3.1)

Being baptised is an act of restoration and with this gospel reading we learn how we might approach God and our neighbour.

As Christians we should not be able see another person without beholding them as Christ does. In a brief walk outside this church we will see many people bowed down in spirit: Christ raises them up when they are freed from addiction, poverty, pain and we respond to them with kindness, hospitality and love. That is a sign of the Kingdom of God.

And what of our approach to God? This question comes not least in relation to the first reading today concerning the awe and majesty of God which perhaps prompts us to fall to our knees in reverence and humble devotion. Kneeling is a right and proper posture in God’s presence: just as how we bow reverently before the cross; bend our knee in genuflection at Christ’s presence in the sacrament; or kneel to receive Christ in Holy Communion.

But that is not the only posture of a Christian. Christ says, ‘stand up’ to the woman, ‘reclaim your dignity as a daughter, a child, of the Most High. Our Eucharistic Prayer says, ‘We thank you for counting us worthy to stand in your presence and serve you’ (Common Worship: Services and Prayers for the Church of England, Prayer B). Standing as a posture of prayer bespeaks dignity, presence and attention.

In church standing when a priest enters is not about doing the priest honour but rather saying that together with the priest we are the church, ‘a royal priesthood, a holy people’. Worshippers are not spectators but participants.

We are citizens of the Kingdom not consumers of it. As Jesus says, ‘Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near’ (Luke 21.28).

Of course kneeling or standing is not easy for everyone, or not for prolonged periods of time. But even in sitting we can sit in an anticipating way, a receptive, attentive way, with open hands and relaxed shoulders; or we can choose to button up, with our arms folded, and sit as if at a show.

Liturgy is not a performance; we are all ministers of it. Never allow your posture to turn you into a spectator whatever is going on in front of you, because in worship we are in the presence of the Living God, just as the letter to the Hebrews describes:

…since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us give thanks, by which we offer to God an acceptable worship with reverence and awe; for indeed our God is a consuming fire. (Hebrews 12.29)

It is for this that we are made, to praise and glorify God in the gift of life given to us by birth and renewed in baptism: ‘When Jesus laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up straight and began praising God’ (Luke 13.12)


Monday, 26 November 2018

Christ the King in an age of upheaval: A sermon preached at St George's, Waddon


A sermon preached at St George's, Waddon, on Sunday 25th November at the Eucharist for Christ the King. The readings were Daniel 7.9-10, 13-14; Revelation 1.4b-8 and John 18.33b-37.

‘So you are a King?’ asked Pilate. Jesus answered, ‘You say that I am a king. For this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.’ (John 18.37)

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We are living in an age where there is a crisis of leadership. It has been called ‘the Age of Anger’[1] and ‘the age of upheaval’[2]. Either way, a collective nervousness has taken hold and expectations of our leaders has, at the same time, gone up – “they should sort this for us” – and has gone down – “they can’t do anything even if they were up to it”.

This crisis of leadership touches the church, with some people asking why our Bishops and parish priests are not doing more to arrest the decline in church numbers, and others saying that whatever they do the church is doomed.

In British politics we see the political classes flailing around all saying that clear leadership will sort out Brexit, austerity and any other woe we have. They have ditched the phrase ‘strong and stable leadership’ and in the vacuum all sorts of characters barge each other around, thinking they could do a better job.

And globally we see the rise and rise of the likes of Putin, Xi Jinping and their highly questionable approaches, the tyrants and dictators of war-torn and afflicted countries, and then, of course, there’s Trump.

In the midst of all that despair about leaders and ruler, what can be said of Christ our King? And how kingdoms and systems wax and wane?

The disruption to an established order that these rulers represent is deeply unsettling: the fabric of the democratic system that seems to have served us well is fraying at the edges.

All of this begs deep questions about how nations, local communities, families and relationships are ordered and sustained. Where does the power lie in our nation; where does the power lie in our local community, in Waddon, in Croydon; where does the power lie in our families and in relationships?

When we ask that question we are asking ‘what do we want of a King?’ We know that actually most political leaders and tyrants – global, national and local - live in terror of being ousted, either by a coup or an election, or pushed aside by their own supporters. Most people in families who dominate, coerce or control, who make themselves rulers of their household, usually are fragile people who lash out because they are afraid.

It is tempting to think that the brutality of the Roman Empire is something of another age. But human nature and the corruption and manipulations of power remain constant, as does fear of being ousted. Pontius Pilate knew in his mind what kingship and political power was all about.

So Pilate’s questions are today’s questions; Jesus’ answers are today’s answers.

Jesus’ vision of kingship and the kingdom is so at variants with Pilate’s that Pilate keeps on asking, probing, what this kingdom could possibly be and how Jesus could possibly be its king.

In St John’s gospel the theme of kingship keeps coming back. After the multiplication of the loaves and fishes the crowd wants to make him a king, yet he fled. The expectations of a king were not for him, not because social and political power is something Christians should shy away from, but because the presence of a king subcontracts responsibility. That’s why in the Old Testament the prophet Samuel keeps warning the People of Israel against having a king. The king is always a scapegoat to pin our own frailties on.

In other words, if we leave everything to politicians, politicians will get on and play the power games and then we in turn resent that and want to see them booted out.

Jesus reimagines what human power is and what human life and society can be. This is not a withdrawal from the world but walking head on into its mess, violence and death.

Having prayed for unity, Jesus enters into the world of conflict. Alone and vulnerable in the face of worldly and religious power, Jesus, the one who came into the world to proclaim the truth, the God of love, is arrested and condemned to death.

Jesus only accepts the title king when he is bound in ropes and standing before the representative of the Roman Emperor, the ultimate in kingly power. And yet that self-same Pilate will have declared above Jesus on the Cross as Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudeorum: Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.

The best summary of this that I have come across is in the writing of Jean Vanier, the founder of the L’Arche community with and for people with disabilities, which gives him another perspective on what is strong and what is weak in the world. He demonstrates that true power, true kingship comes from the priority of love, seeking God’s truth and kingdom, because as St Paul says, ‘the kingdom of God is justice and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit’ (Romans 14.17).

Vanier writes:

Jesus is the king of love
who wants to communicate his love
in and through his weakness and vulnerability.
He is a king yearning for the communion of hearts.
This is the truth he has come to proclaim.
Not power for the sake of power, but to build a world of love
at the service of the communion of hearts,
the power of love and compassion that heals, liberates and gives life,
that calls people to live in love with him.

We are all called to live a deep friendship with this vulnerable king.
That is why Jesus came to be with us.
Yet so often we want to be on the winning side
and would like to have a triumphant king,
a triumphant Christianity,
a triumphant church that imposes laws and has global influences.
Like Peter we can be ashamed of our humiliated king.
And like him we can learn from our humiliation.
Perhaps it is only those who are humiliated and excluded
who see in the humiliated king their friend and saviours…

…The soldiers weave a crown of pointed, piercing thorns
and push into his head;
Jesus is blinded by the blood that flows into his yes.
They put a purple gown, a royal colour, around him,
and making fun of him, say:

“Hail, king of the Jews” [3]

May we all find our place as citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven and know the reign of Christ our King in our hearts, the world and the heavens, and herald the coming kingdom of justice and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

© Andrew Bishop, 2018



[1] Pankaj Mishra Age of Anger, 2017
[2] Jason Cowley Reaching for Utopia - Making Sense of an Age of Upheaval: Essays, Profiles, Reportage, 2018
[3] Jean Vanier, Drawn Into the Mystery of Jesus through the Gospel of John, DLT, 2004. p 314-315.

Thursday, 8 September 2016

On the Rhetoric of Growth in today's Church of England

Over the last few years the Church of England has become acutely aware of the decline in numbers of church attendance, especially amongst the young. In response there is a renewed focus on mission and numerical growth with a variety of strategies to address this.

The emphasis on growth raises questions. Is this a ‘dash for growth’? How healthy is exponential growth? What does the urge for growth say about our understanding of the Missio Dei? What account do we give of how disciples, new and old, find their place in the Body of Christ? What are the dangers in looking at the metrics?

I want to contend that the growth of the Church is good and important but it cannot be undertaken uncritically, especially in relation to the current rhetoric of the Church of England through reports such as From Anecdote to Evidence. I propose a fresh way of looking at growth through a reading of the Parable of the Sower which does not simply focus on results but on an organic approach learning the lessons of the Green Revolution in agriculture.

Growth is Good & of God


The Gospel of Jesus Christ assumes growth: growth into the image and likeness of God, growing into the full maturity of being sons and daughters of the Most High (cf 1 Peter 2.2); growing in the way the corporate life of the church is modelled (cf Ephesians 4.15); growing in our personal way of life as disciples (cf Colossians 1.10) and growing in knowledge of Jesus Christ (cf 2 Peter 3.18); growing and building up in love (Ephesians 4.16); even pruning brings growth (cf John 15).
The pruning of a vine for growth

Growth is good. But growth is multi-faceted and not just about the numbers, although numbers are clearly a part of it, as in Acts of the Apostles extraordinary numerical growth is reported (cf Acts 1.15; 2.41; 2.47). What is absolutely clear in the New Testament is that growth is from God (1 Corinthians 3.6., 7; Colossians 2.19)

It is growth in numbers that has taken the priority in the strategic planning and overviews of many dioceses and parishes. It is important then to reflect on what growth is and what some of the challenges and costs of that growth might be, as well as the benefits.

The Rhetoric of Growth: Anecdote and Evidence

The Church of England report From Anecdote to Evidence  is a key marker on the journey of reflection on growth, a journey begun by the Mission-shaped Church report in 2003. It forms part of the Church’s current rhetoric of growth.

Anecdote to Evidence gives pointers to the ways in which growth is achieved. Yet the title suggests that anecdote is a suspect way of reporting growth. The implication is that a quantitative way to understand growth is the only one that tells an empirically credible story. The implication is that anecdote is unreliable and not credible.

The Acts of the Apostles combines anecdote and evidence in testifying to the mighty acts of God in Christ and the numerical growth of the Christian community. Quantitatively we read, ‘that day about three thousand persons were added’ (Acts 41.b); qualitatively we read:

They devoted themselves to the apostles teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the. Awe came upon everyone, because many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved (Acts 2.42-47)’.

St Luke tells the ‘anecdotes’ of the first Christians’ quality of life. That tells us that it is the gift of the Holy Spirit in the Church which is what attracts people and grows the Church. Many parish clergy tell of growth in their churches. What are they talking about? Often that testimony is dismissed by the suggestion that the growth they detect is not real growth or that it is not sufficient to merit appreciation.

The currency of the Church is anecdote. Telling the story is integral to living the Christian life. Stories are compelling and shape the reality we want to see. Christians read the scriptures to discover and be reminded of the action of God in history. Christians celebrate the Eucharist to be rooted and anchored in the Gospel. Mission itself involves bearing witness to the telling of God’s story and its possibilities in individual lives and in the world.

A Cost to Growth?

Dashes for economic growth and exponential growth often have a habit of ending badly. Relentless emphasis on numerical growth can have adverse side effects when applied to the Church:

  • ·         It plays to a wider societal and media narrative that numbers are the only thing that counts in the life of the Church;
  • ·         It is anxiety driven. In the face of anxiety Jesus asks us to consider the lilies of the field – which neither toil nor spin - and yet they grow and, indeed, multiply (Matthew 6.28). In the face of anxiety the response is often to (clerical) control and lack of diversity of theology and style;
  • ·         It means we are deaf to the stories of the Spirit’s action in the lives of those who appear not to count in the eyes of the world – for example, children and the poor - but who are the first in the Kingdom of God. These are the quiet actions of the church in people’s lives exercised in daily pastoral ministry but that are never counted;
  • ·         The call to holiness, respect for faithfulness and patience can be diminished in a rampant rhetoric of growth.


The priestly task is to elicit the stories, to offer the vocabulary around which disciples, new and old, can frame and to hold the whole story, the anecdote, of the Gospel before the Christian community.

Harvest Focused Sowing

The ‘Green Revolution’ in agriculture, and the associated development of new varieties of crop, was all about maximising growth. But it has had unintended consequences. The pesticides needed to support the new varieties had a devastating impact on insect life and other plants that feed birds. Farmers became dependent on global conglomerations who supply the specialist materials and are held in economic fetters. Furthermore, as can be seen in nature, a monoculture leaves the species at risk of extinction.

What are the parallels for the Church? The Church must be wary of finding a formula akin to the Green Revolution that makes us think there is a single resilient, genuine, variety of Christian. Monoculture in church life kills off those who are attracted to the faith yet do not find themselves at the centre, but ‘touch the fringe of the cloak’ (Matthew 9.20) and still know the healing power of Christ. To retain the purity of a single variety in a species means the loss of others. This can lead to the crowding out and choking of intergenerational contributions from the very young and the old and also different theological voices.

The challenge for the Green Revolution and Church growth is, how we nurture and feed the greatest number of people that preserves the ecology of the creation and human ways of relating to Jesus Christ, that are not imposed or controlled.

Christ the Sower

The Parable of the Sower

The parable of the sower opens up our wondering about proper sowing (Matthew 13.1-9; 18-23). This should be the dominant text for growth. It tells us that:

·         Growth is possible in all sorts of soils. However that growth will not be long lived unless the soil is well prepared and suitable for the seed to take root and establish its growth;
·         Growth happens at all stages but doesn’t guarantee fruitfulness. The seed that is eaten by the birds has no growth of its own but sustains another species. The other seeds in the parable all grow, but either not very much or they get choked: but growth had happened in them. At which stage do we count growth as meaningful: adults in their 20s, 30s, 40s…80s, children?
·         Growth to fruition varies in ‘productivity’. The yield of the seed that fell on good ground is not uniform: ‘in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty’ (v. 23). Even numerical growth cannot be final arbiter of growth. What is successful growth in a church: 100 people attending worship; 500? 1,000? 10,000? 2 or 3? (cf Matthew 18.20);
·         Growth is not just for its own sake. The wheat of the ear enables the plant to sustain itself in the future by the emergence of new seedlings. It also gives it fruit to others, that are not itself, to sustain them: birds and mice eat the wheat; human beings harvest the grain systematically in order to make bread and other staples; and the Biblical vision of gleaning enables the poor to be served too.

There is no one indicator of ‘real’ growth.

The value of abundant, surplus growth is seen throughout the biblical tradition: storing up for times of famine (Genesis 41.35-36); the tradition of gleaning (Ruth 2.17-23) Jesus and his disciples plucking of grain to eat (Luke 6.1). The wheat is abundant in its provision and not consumed by itself.

The Proper Sowing: Countering a ‘Harvest Mission Model’

All growth demands patience: be that the grain of wheat, the gestating child or in a congregation.

‘Take no thought of the harvest, but only of the proper sowing’
(T.S. Eliot in Choruses from The Rock)

'The Corn Harvest' - Peter Breugel the Elder
In human society the classic measure of success is the harvest, the end of the production line. It defines the outcome and measurement of our labours. In the contemporary Church of England parish churches invest a great deal of time and energy in celebrating the Harvest Festival. Harvest Festival rightly is a time of thanksgiving and, if celebrated well, has a global justice imperative. Harvest is comforting because it is about tangible results and measurement. In that way it plays to our sense of security evidenced by metrics.

It is as if the Church of England, fed by media obsession with church decline, has a ‘Harvest Mission Model’.

In the Church Year there is another agrarian based festival that is now seen as something of an antique piece in the way harvest is not. That is Rogation. Rogation (from the Latin rogare ‘to ask’) is about asking God to bless our endeavours, most obviously in the sowing of the seed on the land.

Rogation is not about measurement, but about trust and prayer. Once the seed is in the ground, out of our sight and our control, we do not know what will come of it: we trust that it will take root; we trust that it will grow; we trust that it will be fruitful. But we cannot control that growth.

What if we focused more on Rogation? What would that do to our mission paradigm? A ‘Rogation Mission Model’ could move us from desperate responses to the decline of an institution to a faithful, trusting response to the God who gives life and growth.

After all, St Paul writes that, ‘God gives the growth’ regardless of who sowed or watered (cf 1 Corinthians 3.6). Jesus says that the harvest is God’s; it is not our possession. Labourers are to be sent out into the Lord’s harvest: this is a proper understanding of the missio Dei.

Conclusion

Wanting to grow is a response to the environment that the Church finds herself in in Western Europe at present. That environment is felt to be hostile, antagonistic and repulsed by the whole notion of religious faith and belief. It is also part of the imperative to grow as seen in the Acts of the Apostles and Matthew 28.19.

I have argued that, biblically, growth is measured by fruitfulness and that the Church of England must not be driven by anxiety or desperation when it speaks of growth but remains faithful to the promises of God, who gives the growth.

The 'tool' the Church already has to respond to and to shape this approach is through the Eucharist, about which I have written elsewhere. The Eucharist holds the story of salvation, receives the fruits of the harvest so that the believer is fruitful and grows into the full stature of Christ to be and live out God's mission in the power of the Spirit for the sake of the Kingdom.

The task of leadership in the current climate is to ensure that the Church as a whole, and individuals Christians, do not become gospel amnesiacs.[1] It is to help both those new to the Church and those already within it to find their place in the story (anecdote) of God’s action within the world and coming Kingdom. Growth is downwards, outwards and upwards: personal growth leads to ecclesial growth, rooted in the Gospel and fruitful.



© Andrew Bishop, 2016




[1] Andrew Walker, Telling the Story: Gospel, Culture and Mission. London: SPCK, 1996.