Doggie Heaven?

Another parish mag item, just to keep the blog in existence.

A friend whose dog has recently died asked me to consider doing a sermon on the general theme of "do pets go to heaven?" I wasn't sure how long it would take for a suitable Bible passage to crop up in the Sunday readings (a long time, I suspect) and I wasn't sure either, that I could pad out "I don't know" into a full sermon. But that "I don't know" does turn out to raise a few issues, so I thought I'd have a quick shot at a couple of them here.

The traditional answer to the question is simply no. Animals, having no souls, can't really go on to an after-life. But the issue isn't quite that simple. For one thing, it's not really all that obvious what a soul is. The idea that we have a sort of detachable part of us which leaves the body when we die, and travels off to realms unknown is rather hard to find in the Bible. It got into Christian thinking from Greek philosophy and it causes more problems than it solves.

Can we even imagine a soul? Aren't we in fact so intrinsically embodied that it is impossible to conceive of a bodiless existence? That isn't to say that talking of souls is meaningless, but it does say that souls aren't so much something we have as something we are. The definition I like best is "rational self-consciousness".

Some animals, I would argue, are certainly self-conscious to a degree. My cat definitely is (though she does not accept that anyone else is). And if being a soul is a function of rational self-awareness, then it seems that other creatures than humans possess a degree of such consciousness (and to some extent rationality). So on the soul front, it might well be that there is a sliding scale, on which some creatures score pretty highly.

However, thinking about souls doesn't get us all that far if we are not looking for them to break loose on death, and sail away. In fact, the Christian view of life after death is actually about the hope of resurrection, and God's provision of a new creation. In that creation (though what it may be like is beyond our imagining), it may well be that there will be some sort of animal life - after all, in this one, God seems to have created rather a lot of non-human life, so why not in the new creation?

Whether that life will in some way include our beloved Fido, we can't say. It is, after all just speculation - butit's possible, I suppose. This, though, brings us to the real point, which is not just about about pets. We are told very little about the life to come.

Christians believe in resurrection, in a new creation, and a healing of all that is broken and hurt in this world. But we are not told about it in detail, and attempts to speculate hardly do it justice. (Look for instance, at the well-meaning but hopelessly twee illustrations in those tracts that Jehovah's Witnesses leave behind them.) What we are told, is to trust God.

This comes out well in funeral services. We don't focus on the destination of the person who has died, but on God. We do not commend to deceased to heaven or Valhalla or wherever, but to God. Christianity is not a belief in a particular system of heaven and hell or whatever, but a trust in the God who meets us in Christ, and who will ultimately say, "Behold I make all things new."

Worlds Apart

Well, I'm back.

Of course, not many people knew I'd been away, and it was only for ten days, but it feels like a trip to another world. In some ways, it was.

I was taking part in a sort of conference for clergy. There were only twenty-four of us, but it was interesting and challenging. The speakers were fascinating, the discussion engrossing and the food amazingly delightful. All this took place at St. George's House in Windsor Castle, and that was the different world.

People there didn't lock the doors of their houses, and left cars parked with keys in the ignition. I think the idea was that your average burglar and car thief might be put off by the men and women in flak jackets and carrying machine guns who greet you when you enter the castle. To enter, of course, you need a security pass (or to have bought a ticket).

There's a little chapel there (well, bigger than St. John's, Heaton Mersey) with a Dean, canons and choristers. Services are three times a day, and the evening prayer is beautifully sung. (One can't actually join in, but it's great to listen to.) Knights of the Garter gather there on special occasions and sit in the choir under their personal banners. The Canons are erudite, and organise conferences and discussions for the great and the good (and occasionally the clergy).

And somewhere in the background are royalty. One evening I was warned against going down a certain part of the cloister because a Duke and Duchess were down there. I said I wasn't afraid, but they still wouldn't let me in.

The whole thing was a sort of surreal experience, a glimpse into a world which rarely interacts with the one I normally live in, and then only in carefully managed events.

And yet, strangely enough, it turned out to be an ideal place to get away from the everyday and spend some time reflecting on the topic of the conference - how to speak about God in the light of the present world.

We had various speakers address us on everything from the shape of future computers (in bacteria, living in yoghurt) to stem cell research and cloning (you can make a copy of yourself with existing technology, but you'll have to do it in Paraguay where it's not illegal). One of the speakers was Alan Rusbridger, editor of The Guardian.

He spoke about how newspapers are rapidly becoming redundant in the light of the internet and social networking sites like Facebook and Twitter. Once, he said, journalists lived in their own little world, where they produced newspapers and threw them out to be read by those of us who lived in the world outside. Nowadays that's impossible. People want to question and comment - and some of them know more about the subjects in view than do the journalists who write about them.

Newspapers can no longer live in their separate world. They have to get out, produce the news, but allow it to feed back, to be challenged and indeed to be improved by the encounter with the wider public. Hence the Guardian web site is replacing the printed paper and being a place where issues are discussed and updated far more quickly than could be done with the daily paper.

News is even gathered in from the public - and issues can be investigated simply by asking for help on Twitter. Needless to say, some journalists don't like this. They prefer the old model - pass on information and move on. Now they have to discuss their articles on a web site.

I couldn't help seeing a parallel with Windsor Castle. The old papers were like that - a sealed environment full of a certain expertise and encountering the rest of the world only in a special way - like the encounters of royalty with the commoners, in carefully managed events, with no prospect of a chance encounter in a cloister.

But of course, there's a parallel that's much closer to home. For isn't that how the church is traditionally seen to work? We worship and pray in our own religious world, and occasionally throw a message ("the gospel") out over the walls, hoping someone will respond, and come knocking on the door.

I suspect the model has never really worked. It's only when we interact with the people around us, allowing ourselves to hear their questions and doubts, and letting them see what makes us tick that a message is truly communicated. If we have good news to share, it will be shared with people who see us as willing to show our faith, our hopes, our weaknesses and our doubts and discuss them in the public arena.

So, where do I sign up for Twitter?

Benefit Cuts

A few weeks ago, my son had his unemployment benefit cancelled.

The reason?

He had refused to attend a seminar on how to perform at interviews.

The reason?

He was attending an interview.

He got the job.

God has a place for you...

... especially if you're the only person in Britain who fits the bill for a recent advert for a senior pastor in a Pentecostal church:

The Senior Pastor should hold at least a Bachelors degree in Theology from a recognised College/University. Must speak, read and write Hindi, Malayalam and English Language fluently and have IT skills in Excel spreadsheet, word and power point. Proven Pastoral experience in a Pentecostal Church in the UK in all the above three languages is a requirement. U.K experience in Recruitment, training and basic H.R administration is a must.

And I thought PCCs set high requirements for new Anglican clergy.

Or could it just possibly be that they already know who they want...?

Ambivalent building

There's an episode of the science fiction TV series, Farscape, which is set inside the decomposing corpse of a gargantuan space creature. There prospectors mine the body for valuables and in a way give the dead animal a sort of new lease of life.

I was reminded of that scenario in a trip to Gorton Monastery. This is a huge church and attendant buildings which was abandoned around twenty years ago by the Franciscans who built it in the mid-nineteenth century. After years of dilapidation, it has been mostly restored as a venue for just about everything from corporate functions to community dancing. The restoration is still under way, and has been done with considerable sensitivity and taste. The damaged reredos at the high altar has been retained, and the original crucifix restored to its place in the chancel arch.

It is licenced for civil weddings (after a considerable struggle, given the religious trappings which are still in situ) and welcomes spiritual events of all sorts. Interfaith discussion, new age fairs, and a regular opportunity to walk a replica of the Chartres labyrinth are just some of the possibilities to explore. And you can even hold Christian services there.

It is all very impressive and most commendable. There is no doubting the dedication of the staff and supporters, and some of the tales they tell, especially of the return of the crucifix, are inspiring.

And yet, I still feel a bit like a corpse miner. I think, in the end, the issue for me is that the building is not what it was intended to be - a place of worship. I am a great believer in diversifying the use of church buildings, of throwing them open to the community, and so on. But they are still in that case churches. I'm not quite sure what the Gorton edifice is, but its lack of churchness is undoubtedly what jars for me.

Jesus is the answer! (But what is the question?)

A couple of weeks ago, I received a phone call at around 1.15 a.m. It wasn't, as you might suppose, a pastoral emergency, such as a sudden bereavement or illness. It was my daughter, wanting a lift home (with the inevitable friend) from a party which had unsurprisingly gone on longer than advertised.

The taxi service duly completed, Polly showed me, with some indignation, a couple of religious tracts that she had been given. One was about "what to do to go to Hell." Answer: do nothing! To avoid the fiery fate, however, one had to commit one's life to Christ. Daughter is all in favour of following Christ, but wasn't as certain as the tract's writer about the destination of those who don't - or even whether such a destination exists.

The second tract took the form of scratch card quiz - what is the world's favourite... name? (Mohammad)... flavour (Vanilla) and fairy tale (Darwinian evolution). Eh? Yes, quite. (A web address was provided, so the reader could be convinced of the last point - I didn't find it convincing.) The piece then went on to ask the reader whether they had broken any of the 10 commandments. If so, we were assured, we were going to Hell. So we had to commit our lives to Christ.

Now, as you may guess, I have more than a few theological, philosophical and scientific reservations about these little publications. But questions about the justice of Hell, the overwhelming evidence for evolution or the 10 commandments as a universal standard of judgement are not, in fact, my main worry about them.

The real problem is that they fail to engage with any questions which people outside the church are really asking. How many of our neighbours are genuinely worried about the possibility of eternal damnation? How many are likely to be convinced that evolution is a myth? And for that matter, how many could even list the 10 commandments, let alone worry about them?

To be sure, most would agree that murder is (usually) a bad thing, that stealing is wrong (unless you're Robin Hood) and that adultery is generally bad (unless you're actually doing it, of course). But if we worried about bearing false witness, a lot of newspapers would be rather slimmer, and our whole culture is based on coveting our neighbours' possessions (at least to the extent that we will buy something like them for ourselves). As for losing sleep over taking the Lord's name in vain or making graven images.....

Now, I happen to think that this is a bad state of affairs, but it's not likely to change if I threaten everyone with the flame that is never quenched or the worm that never dies. The Christian message simply misses the mark if it is only about issues which no one particularly cares about these days.

On the other hand, there are other questions being asked, and the tracts which roused Polly's ire are a particularly blatant example of the way in which the church as a whole tends to ignore them. To take one example, there seems to be a real interest in spirituality. People do look for signs that there is more to life than meets the eye, and that they themselves can be more than they are. There is a desire, not only for the ephemera of heath and beauty, but for a richer, fuller and more rewarding experience of life. There is the hope of encountering a transcendent reality, and of finding that one's own limitations can be overcome.

All around us we see advertisements that claim to meet some of these needs - Tarot readings, crystal energies, meditation classes and what have you. Yet the church, with 2,000 years of spiritual experience and technique is rarely considered as being in the running as a provider of spiritual growth or experience.

I'm sure that the reason is that we are still answering yesterday's questions. We are seen as locked in battles about meaningless doctrines (still arguing about transubstantiation, forsooth) and outmoded morality (gay bishops anyone?) It doesn't matter whether these are really important or not - they are special interest issues, and meaningless to most of our neighbours.

We need to listen again, and hear the real questions, and pose our answers to them, and not to the questions of the past. After all, on the spirituality example, don't we have something to offer? Aren't we about knowing the Spirit that pervades all the world, and called it into being? Didn't Jesus claim to give an abundance of life, and bring a new creation into the human heart?

We do indeed have answers for today's searchers. We just need to listen to what they are asking.

Arrgh!!

There are all sorts of reasons for prefering a cross to a crucifix (though in my opinion none is particularly convincing) but surely this one must be the worst. It's the Torygraph, I know, but the Grauniad has the same report, apparently from the same news service for what that is worth.

The Vicar is worried about the depiction of Jesus' death upsetting children. (The bloodthirsty little beggars at our church school wouldn't mind it, I'm sure.) But apparently it's not upbeat enough. And I thought Buddy Jesus was a Hollywood satire...