It became clear after our visit with Robin Gill that there are yet more tensions to be juggled. At one level there is the clear evidence from observation and from Robin's detailed research that church attendance is and has been, over many more years than most realise, in decline. While this may seem a given, Robin's research findings helped put flesh on the bones of what we thought we knew.
This brings us to another level of knowing to be juggled, the knowledge of long standing members of our congregations who remember full pews and full Sunday Schools. Their memories are not invalid, but in a longer term view provided by Robin's research, decline has been there, at least in Australia, all along.
Facing this decline is what Weaving Connections is about. It was almost comforting to realize that we Christians may not alone in this. During one wakeful night I listened to Part 1 of a BBC radio play called The Attractive Young Rabbi. My interest was piqued as I listened to the struggles of an aging rabbi who, while recognising that attendance at his synagogue was constantly diminishing, was unable to come to grips with both addressing this decline and the realities of life in the twenty-first century. The tension in this situation was heightened with the arrival of an attractive, young, female rabbi who opened a synagogue nearby in the local high street.
This seems to have more than a few similarities to situations we are grappling with in our churches. It is all too easy to mock the old rabbi's inability to notice and effectively respond to the changing world that seems to have left him behind, but we all seek the safety of what is known and familiar and equally struggle when reality has to be faced. Part 2 continues next week and I'm not promising that I'll be awake at 2 in the morning to hear it.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Weaving connections: Janine's thoughts #1
Tradition seems to dominate much of what we have seen and experienced in the first few days of arriving in England, but what is the value of tradition as such if it does not touch the lives of people today? Awe, splendour, breathtaking are just a few of the words that describe St Paul's, Westminster Abbey, Canterbury Cathedral; even the central Methodist church is imposing in its size and location. Dominance, power, glory are all found in these buildings and co-exist with beauty, history embodied and a sense of the transcendent.
I try to get my head into the space and time of those that planned and constructed these magnificent buildings. I am left with the feeling that their intention to reflect the glory of God is seen in these soaring buildings, but while they all have a central role in the life of England, and for some, the world, I wonder what lasting effect they have on the millions who pour in as tourists.
So far then, I am beginning to try and hold on to, at times, competing ideas about the life of faith that has been, is now and could be - tensions, contradictions, shifting points of view all juggle in my head.
At one level tension between what has gone and what is now doesn't really exist, since the compelling power of the religious institutions that are represented by the buildings we see no longer holds sway. A tension, however, does lie behind the questions we ask and the future we seek.
Janine Romaszko
I try to get my head into the space and time of those that planned and constructed these magnificent buildings. I am left with the feeling that their intention to reflect the glory of God is seen in these soaring buildings, but while they all have a central role in the life of England, and for some, the world, I wonder what lasting effect they have on the millions who pour in as tourists.
So far then, I am beginning to try and hold on to, at times, competing ideas about the life of faith that has been, is now and could be - tensions, contradictions, shifting points of view all juggle in my head.
At one level tension between what has gone and what is now doesn't really exist, since the compelling power of the religious institutions that are represented by the buildings we see no longer holds sway. A tension, however, does lie behind the questions we ask and the future we seek.
Janine Romaszko
Monday, August 29, 2011
Weaving connections: the interface between church and community
How do we understand the interface between church and community? What do people see when they see the church?
Westminster Abbey on a Thursday morning was swarming with people, most (like me) armed with a camera. The question is, "Were they seeing the church?"
We understand the difference between "Church as the Body of Christ" and "church as a building", but we only have that understanding because we are on the inside. And what does it take to get to be on the inside?
For a start there are a significant number of cultural barriers to be crossed - in one of my photos there stands a verger in robes and a security guard. With the former, I'm struck by the trappings of a church from a previous era. How foreign to people in their everyday 21C lives. And I want to ask about the purpose of the guard: Who or what is he there to protect?
In my own context, I might be able to claim freedom from either of these things, but I'm not convinced we are free either of incomprehensible symbols or protections designed to keep the world at bay. There may be comfort in the familiar and safety in our separation, but these things also diminish the possibility of relationship with the community around us.
Surrounding St Paul's is the commercial region of the City. The grand cathedral stands like a beacon on a hill. Its very architecture speaks of something profoundly different, but is it merely different or is it counter-cultural in ways that Christ would recognise as bringing in the kingdom of God?Interestingly (at least, to me), beside St Paul's is a modern glass clad building: the headquarters of the Salvation Army. Its ground floor windows carry scriptural quotations but is it any more "in the world, but not of the world" than the cathedral it stands over against?
Are either of these structures the face of the church Paul had in mind when he wrote, "Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers... Rejoice with those rejoice, weep with those who weep"?
After visiting St Paul's with its thousands of visitors we went to the the site of a different sort of pilgrimage: the Borough Market. Here people flock to experience the wealth of English foods. Apart from the inevitable tourists (like us), there were also many people taking their lunch break.
Westminster Abbey on a Thursday morning was swarming with people, most (like me) armed with a camera. The question is, "Were they seeing the church?"
We understand the difference between "Church as the Body of Christ" and "church as a building", but we only have that understanding because we are on the inside. And what does it take to get to be on the inside?
For a start there are a significant number of cultural barriers to be crossed - in one of my photos there stands a verger in robes and a security guard. With the former, I'm struck by the trappings of a church from a previous era. How foreign to people in their everyday 21C lives. And I want to ask about the purpose of the guard: Who or what is he there to protect?
In my own context, I might be able to claim freedom from either of these things, but I'm not convinced we are free either of incomprehensible symbols or protections designed to keep the world at bay. There may be comfort in the familiar and safety in our separation, but these things also diminish the possibility of relationship with the community around us.
Surrounding St Paul's is the commercial region of the City. The grand cathedral stands like a beacon on a hill. Its very architecture speaks of something profoundly different, but is it merely different or is it counter-cultural in ways that Christ would recognise as bringing in the kingdom of God?Interestingly (at least, to me), beside St Paul's is a modern glass clad building: the headquarters of the Salvation Army. Its ground floor windows carry scriptural quotations but is it any more "in the world, but not of the world" than the cathedral it stands over against?
Are either of these structures the face of the church Paul had in mind when he wrote, "Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers... Rejoice with those rejoice, weep with those who weep"?
After visiting St Paul's with its thousands of visitors we went to the the site of a different sort of pilgrimage: the Borough Market. Here people flock to experience the wealth of English foods. Apart from the inevitable tourists (like us), there were also many people taking their lunch break.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Weaving connections: a cathedral, a market, an art gallery, and a pub
A big day today with much to reflect upon. But... the problem with big days is they're very tiring and tomorrow is a very early start. So it's quick thoughts only.
What do a cathedral, a market, an art gallery and a pub all have in common? Among many possible answers is: people! In today's experiences it means lots of people. St Paul's was chockers with tourists (from a dizzying array of places); Borough Market was as busy as Salamanca, but it's only Thursday (oh, the food!); the Tate Modern draws a substantial crowd to view some wonderful artwork; and the Albert squished us all in for our "getting to know you dinner". And in each of these places people were consuming.
It's somewhat disturbing to stand awestruck in front of a Monet and then realize that others only pause long enough to have their photo taken in front of it before they're off to repeat the performance in front of the Kandinsky. Similarly, the hordes of foodies descending on the market stalls are there because it's a fashionable thing to do as much as for the food. But more disturbing is the extreme popularity of St Paul's. Why the long queues full of people of many faiths and no faith? What are they there to consume?
In the midst of the bustle and noise, it was reassuring to see some folk sitting quietly, absorbing more than just the magnificence of the architecture. But is God any more present in a cathedral than in the art gallery? Or in someone's kitchen? Is quiet contemplation more likely to lead to an experience of the divine just because it's in St Paul's?
I had an interesting chat with a priest who led one of the brief services held regularly while the crowds come and go. "Is there a regular congregation which gathers here?" The answer was unsurprising: Yes - small in number and made up of folk who travel from a wide variety of locations. Very little, if any, sense of connectedness with the community which surrounds St Paul's. It's extraordinary beautiful, but what is its connection with the mission of God?
What was far more interesting to me was an incidental (or should that be accidental?) observation at the market: Where do people go to eat their delicacies? We ate ours sitting on the kerb. But many others were making use of the surrounds of Southwark Cathedral conveniently located next door. And there it appeared that the local congregation had put out tables and chairs for no other reason than to be of service. Is this connectedness with the mission of God?
What do a cathedral, a market, an art gallery and a pub all have in common? Among many possible answers is: people! In today's experiences it means lots of people. St Paul's was chockers with tourists (from a dizzying array of places); Borough Market was as busy as Salamanca, but it's only Thursday (oh, the food!); the Tate Modern draws a substantial crowd to view some wonderful artwork; and the Albert squished us all in for our "getting to know you dinner". And in each of these places people were consuming.
It's somewhat disturbing to stand awestruck in front of a Monet and then realize that others only pause long enough to have their photo taken in front of it before they're off to repeat the performance in front of the Kandinsky. Similarly, the hordes of foodies descending on the market stalls are there because it's a fashionable thing to do as much as for the food. But more disturbing is the extreme popularity of St Paul's. Why the long queues full of people of many faiths and no faith? What are they there to consume?
In the midst of the bustle and noise, it was reassuring to see some folk sitting quietly, absorbing more than just the magnificence of the architecture. But is God any more present in a cathedral than in the art gallery? Or in someone's kitchen? Is quiet contemplation more likely to lead to an experience of the divine just because it's in St Paul's?
I had an interesting chat with a priest who led one of the brief services held regularly while the crowds come and go. "Is there a regular congregation which gathers here?" The answer was unsurprising: Yes - small in number and made up of folk who travel from a wide variety of locations. Very little, if any, sense of connectedness with the community which surrounds St Paul's. It's extraordinary beautiful, but what is its connection with the mission of God?
What was far more interesting to me was an incidental (or should that be accidental?) observation at the market: Where do people go to eat their delicacies? We ate ours sitting on the kerb. But many others were making use of the surrounds of Southwark Cathedral conveniently located next door. And there it appeared that the local congregation had put out tables and chairs for no other reason than to be of service. Is this connectedness with the mission of God?
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Weaving connections: arriving in London
The plane gets in on time: a grey 6 a.m. Immigration, luggage retrieval and customs all negotiated without hitch, and on to the Tube. Out the window is England - strangely familiar after nearly four decades; terrace houses, green parks, communal allotments all speaking of past and present. I find myself grinning in the press of early morning commuters and wonder what Janine and Rod might make of my expression so at odds with those on the way to the daily grind.
Brandishing our oyster cards we change at Green Park, then surface at Vauxhall. A turn to the right and, with bags trundling at our heels, we find ourselves on South Lambeth Road and walk to the Comfort Inn. And all before 8:30! Which is, of course, much too early to check in, so it's leave the bags and out again.
What awaits us? Will it all be new and foreign or, heaven forbid, horribly familiar? Where will we find those things which speak of our commonality with people everywhere? Where will we be out of step and out of touch? Most of all - what will God look like in this strange land?
Brandishing our oyster cards we change at Green Park, then surface at Vauxhall. A turn to the right and, with bags trundling at our heels, we find ourselves on South Lambeth Road and walk to the Comfort Inn. And all before 8:30! Which is, of course, much too early to check in, so it's leave the bags and out again.
What awaits us? Will it all be new and foreign or, heaven forbid, horribly familiar? Where will we find those things which speak of our commonality with people everywhere? Where will we be out of step and out of touch? Most of all - what will God look like in this strange land?
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