Ascension Day Thoughts

Ascension Day Thoughts, “I’m frank and earnest with women…”

If we hear the word dog, the first word we’ll think of is probably ‘cat’ or perhaps ‘bone’. Psychologists claim to be able to tell much about our view of reality from the way we associate words. I heard a paradigm variation in a movie on TV the other night. A character said, “I’m frank and earnest with women.” I’m sure we’d all like to think of ourselves like that with the opposite sex, wouldn’t we?

The paradigm changed, though, when he then said “I’m called Frank when I’m in Chicago and Earnest when I’m in New York.”

How we see the world around us links with how we visualise words. So when the Bible talks about Jesus ascending to heaven we may, probably unconsciously, fall in with the first century view of the triple-deck cosmos. We imagine heaven is above us and that down in the earth we will come to hades or hell. Our mind shapes our thoughts this way despite knowing that reality isn’t really so.

Don’t worry, though, all is not lost. Our hearts can still overflow with love for our spouses and sweethearts, even though we now know that the heart isn’t the physical source of our feelings. Our love is still real and the metaphor works, even though we now know the heart is only a blood pump.

So how do we look at Jesus’ ascension, given that we now know that the structure of the cosmos isn’t the way the Bible writers probably thought it was?

The Roman Empire was infused with Greek thought, including the three-deck cosmos. Ancient Jewish cosmology was perhaps a little different. The Celts are maybe close when they think about the kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of earth being alongside each other in some mysterious sense but veiled off from each other. Hence Celtic talk about ‘thin places’, where the veil is thinner and you can almost see into heaven.

The ancient Israelites thought about the Jerusalem Temple as being the physical point of connection between Heaven and Earth. That was the root of the dispute between the divided kingdoms (after Solomon) about whether worship outside Jerusalem was possible. That led to the long-running dispute between Jews and Samaritans that drove part of the conversation between Jesus and the Samaritan woman he met at a well.

So does that make any difference to us in 2013. I think it does. Jesus predicted that the Temple would be torn down, as happened in AD70. Not one stone was left on another after that. The new Temple that Jesus talked about before he died would instead be built from believers.

That physical location of the interlock between heaven and earth is wherever there is a believer. Wherever we are, in Jerusalem, Samaria, or at the very end of the earth, our Lord is in heaven, alongside each of us wherever we are, and only a veil away.

Each believer is the physical place through which the God’s Holy Spirit can flow to make God’s will done “on Earth as it is in Heaven.”


For you, Jesus Christ came into the world and lived among us.

For you he faced the darkness of Gethsemane and the horror of Calvary.

For you he rose again from the dead and ascended into heaven.

There he now prays for each of us, even if we do not know it yet.

So the word of Scripture is fulfilled: We love God because God first loved us.

(With thanks to the French Reformed Church)

Make life easier….?

As if information technology was ever going to make life easier….

My thanks to those who have continued to read my Lent blogs through April and May. I hope some of you have managed to find your way to somewhere like Amazon to sample (or even buy) Blood of Innocents. Easter itself has been a dark time for me on a host of levels, hence my silence on the blogs.

My thanks too to all who have taken the trouble to post comments on my thoughts about Jesus and the people who were around him that first Easter. WordPress have emailed me suggesting I ‘moderate’ the comments and I have been tantalised by the first lines of each of them and the (…) symbol which suggests people have written more.

Then, of course, I am offered options like ‘approve’ or ‘edit’ and, most intriguing of all ‘history’. Sadly though, WordPress don’t seen to offer me a option to ‘read’. So I am still none the wiser about what you kind people have taken the trouble to say.

If anyone knows WordPress well enough to tell me, in about two sentences before you get cut off by the dreaded (…), how I get to read the comments kindly submitted by people, then I’d be very grateful for the advice.

On a more positive note I just spent a fabulous weekend in Scotland visiting, among other things, the Garden of Cosmic Speculation. I’ll offer some thoughts in the next few days.


Can the church cope with a world desperately seeking spirituality?

I recently went to a friend’s ordination. As an escaped Roman Catholic I am always more comfortable at the snake-belly low end of the church but I was interested to be part of a high church service. We did ancient robes, bells, candles, incense… I then remembered why I don’t like incense. I was seated two along from the server with the censer. He didn’t so much keep it burning as re-stoked it like a small furnace. As I struggled with waves of chemically-induced nausea I wondered why incense has to be acrid? Surely there must be something that emits a nice-smelling perfume when it burns? The stoker, though, managed to accidentally empty his censer onto the floor next to the altar and there followed some divine moments as the Archdeacon and various priests tried, as Mr Bean might have tried both frantically yet surreptitiously, to stop the altar carpet bursting into flames. The Bishop meanwhile continued solemnly to consecrate the host. Perhaps God doesn’t like the smell either? Does God share my irreverent sense of humour? The smiles in the congregation suggested they also enjoyed the church being for a moment more Rowan Atkinson than Rowan Williams.

The point of telling this story is not to poke fun at grown men (there were no women leaders) in frocks. What struck me most (along with the incense) was the significance of the physical divide between us ‘doers’ around the altar and the passive onlookers, the ‘dunnunto’, sitting in rows watching. A returning missionary once commented about going to church: “my problem…is not that I’ve lost my faith or feel like its hopeless … It’s more that I’m bored with it.” As a chaplain who works in the Navy I sit in church with the ‘dunnunto’ most Sundays. There I share that same sinking feeling. I’m usually the oldest person present in my ministry. On Sunday I’m often almost the youngest. What’s all this telling us?

In the West our churches tend to be aligned with the thought-world of the ancient Romans and Greeks. It was the thought-world in which Jesus grew up and also the intellectual home of the tyrannies that he challenged. It is the classical world of Socrates, Plato et al, the word of rational modernity. The Enlightenment’s roots are here and the church too seems to value the intellectual so much more than the physical. It is the thought-world of our great universities and that, of course, is where our clergy are trained, including me.

As I watch my friends in the High Church at play with bells and smells and my Evangelical friends preferring instead to worship the Bible, I see a common thread. Many of them think just like the secular rational modernists. They believe they have the knowledge and that their knowledge is good. They have the relationship with God and can keep other people straight about God. Our churches have places where the ‘doers’, led by the clergy, do ceremonial, lead appropriate singing, share the sacred texts and explain to us what it all means. If they think we’re suitable, we might be invited to join the ‘doers’. The irony is, though, that most secular rational modernists think religious people are deluded, including the religious rational modernists in the church.

Enlightenment rational modernity, incredibly useful though it is in discovering facts about the material world, reached its philosophical zenith with the Victorians. As a thought-world it started to die in the 20th century, which may explain why our churches tend to appeal to the over-60s. The ordination service was at night and only the front was properly lit, perhaps to emphasize the important bit at the front? As I peered into the gloom there were hundreds of empty seats. Where were the people who chose not to be there? As a Navy chaplain I work with (mainly) twenty-somethings. Given a fiver every time I hear “I’m spiritual but not religious” from those I serve with, I wouldn’t need a salary.

Many of them don’t feel they know much about God but they do feel they have permission to feel that there is something out there. I remember a generation back that we didn’t really feel we had such permission unless we became church-people. Then, of course we had to run the gauntlet of the secular rationalists who assured us that God wasn’t real and that our delusion would pass.

“Back to Church Sunday” next month is a response to empty pews. The youngsters I work with rarely believe in the church though. How many churches next month will be welcoming communities that value the spiritual search of those outside the church in any meaningful way? How many who are like that for Back to Church Sunday will be that way every Sunday? Or will they go back to asking the ‘dunnunto’ to be done unto by the same doers who still know what’s best?

The religious worthies of Jesus’ day disapproved of his partying with sinners. By sinners they tended to mean the pagan Romans and other gentiles who they thought weren’t God’s people anyway. They disapproved of improper lifestyles and impurity, which usually meant they rejected the sick and the dis-eased, the lonely, the broken, the poor and the disturbed. What really upset the religious worthies about Jesus was that he hung out with all those wrong sort of people. Worse, he seemed determined to fill God’s kingdom with them. How much of the church also can’t cope with a world desperately seeking spirituality?

If Pussy Riot followed Jesus’ example, wouldn’t their demo have been in Holy Week?

A venerated religious institution, the focus of faith of thousands of worshippers, steeped in the history and culture of its people, is invaded by protesters. The faithful witness a violent and abusive tirade directed against a governing tyranny, including the religious authorities. The religious institution is not a direct part of the secular government but the protesters are none too polite about the religious heirarchy’s complicity with the tyrants of the day. Had today’s news media reported Jesus’ attack on money-changers in  the Jerusalem Temple, that is one angle they would probably have taken.

Among the chorus of comment on Pussy Riot’s action I have yet to hear much from the world’s churches. Do we Christians not see the similarities between the Jesus’ fate in the Passover that became the first Easter and that of this punk band challenging Russia’s Caesar? Have our churches become such a parody of the teachings of Jesus that we have become like Caiaphas, the Temple’s High Priest, and his minions when faced with a secular tyranny? Are we now so focused on our what we suppose is our heaven that we are no longer much use here on earth?

Was Jesus’ action a brave opposition to tyranny, or an ill-mannered and boorish insult to the righteous at prayer? A witness’s response, then or now, might depend on how the witness saw the Temple. Is institutional religion a bastion of faith? Or is it, as one 21st-century teenager once described the modern church: “a club for old people who are scared of dying”?

Jesus had arrived, a few days before Passover, from Galilee, now in the north of modern Israel. Passover celebrates the people of God’s exodus from slavery in Egypt and their journey to their own land. Christians (including not a few Jews) now see the Exodus as emblematic of God’s rescue of the cosmos from slavery to sin and death through Jesus the Messiah. At the time, however, messiah (‘anointed’) meant chosen by God, in the belief of most of the Hebrews in the Temple that day, to lead them in a war against pagans (the Roman Empire, they’d have said) that would see their promised land under Jewish control once more, from the Mediterranean coast to the River Jordan.  Ever wondered why so many Jewish boys at the time were called Judas? Was this upstart Galilean going to do that ?

Questions about Jesus’ authority to disrupt the worship of his people follow. Eventually, in an attempt to get him to commit sedition, Jesus is asked whether it is lawful to pay taxes to Tiberius, the Roman Emperor. His reply, now immortalized as “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s” has since lost some of its subtlety in translation. A Roman listening might have heard a statement of civic duty to Caesar. A Hebrew might have heard an echo of Judas Maccabeus’ demand, uttered during the Maccabee revolt years earlier, that the Gentiles should be paid back in full (Jesus’  uses a metaphor: in their own coin) for the suffering that they had inflicted on faithful Jews.

This response doesn’t salve the outrage of the religious or their priests, who arrest him anyway and hand him over to the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate. With Pilate unable to convict Jesus of a crime, Caiaphas and his colleagues tell Pilate that “you are no friend of Caesar”. They threaten to tell Tiberius that Pilate is releasing a man challenging Tiberius’ authority to govern. Pilate, perhaps for safety’s sake, crucifies Jesus who suffers the fate of Rome’s political criminals. This creates two reasons why, then and now,  many judge that Jesus’ wasn’t messiah: he died and he died on a cross.

It is often enough for evil to triumph that the good do nothing. Pussy Riot will probably have plenty of time to contemplate that. Their comments that I have read suggest that they are bravely accepting that, like many before them,  they will suffer at the hands of the powerful. They may feel relieved that, unlike Jesus, they won’t suffer crucifixion for their supposed crime. On the other hand, they may already know that Jesus rose from the dead after three days, whereas their freedom may be rather longer coming.