Theological Reflection on a Derailment at the Points in Bletchley Station

I am pleased to hear that there was just the one injured person as a result of the derailment of the train at Bletchley station this morning. And it would seem that the driver's injuries are light, so that is good news.

Network Rail have indicated that the train may have travelled into the points too fast. Which may or may not be the case - I am happy to await the results of the enquiry which I am sure will be arranged. But it gave me thoughts of how we can learn lessons of life from this kind of unfortunate incident.

To be sure, for many of us our lives, dear readers, can appear to be running on rails. It is not that we have no options - simply that they are a sensible and finite number. For those of us with railway-like lives, there is no question of wandering off down by-ways, taking unwise detours or driving at high speed across playing fields, scattering screaming footballers in our wake. No, we have a choice of high-speed mainlines or attractive quiet branch lines. And wisdom consists in making the right choice when approaching the points.

For if we do not approach points with caution, we can choose unwisely (I realise that for a real train driver the points are chosen for him or her but Eileen has warned me what can happen if I get too Calvinist). We might choose a wrong route and, instead of rolling through the attractive Pennine valleys of life, be presented with the nightmare of a Friday evening on the East Midlands Line. Or, if we are going too fast to be careful we can simply derail and end up explaining to Eternal Controller how it came to be that our lives came off the rails.

For myself, I would be happy to spend my life in the sidings, helpfully pushing carriages around. I would be happy to know that I could never cause a day's disruption on the Euston Line. Quiet, useful and above all safe. For if we do not move too fast, Dear Readers, we can be sure that we will never overturn. Although we may rust solid.

The Logic of Creation

Some of our more recent readers may not be aware of the fuss that Hnaef caused a while back, when he came "out", as I believe the expression is, as a member of the Church of England. This caused us to see him in a new light, especially when I realised that the "Daily Office" he was reading was in fact Morning Prayer, and not a newspaper for the business community.


And a verse he quoted to us this morning pulled me up short. It's from Colossians 1: "He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation for in him all things in heaven and on earth were created..."
All a bit John 1, of course. But the thing that struck me was the contradiction between "the firstborn of all creation" which could be taken by some as implying Christ was created, and "in him all things in heaven and on earth were created" - which implies he certainly wasn't. 


But it seems to me that "first-born" isn't "first-made". The Egyptian and Roman gods produced new gods by - ahem - the way that rabbits produce rabbits, meerkats produce new meerkats and even, let's say it - even humans new humans. By which means the divinity wasn't lost, and the new generation were gods just as the previous ones were.


And maybe that's what Paul's trying to get at, it strikes me. Christ is "first-born" because he's got all the same god-ness as the Father. Of course, there's no Mrs God about the place (if there is, the Bible's  very quiet about it, although I know that Francesca Stavrakopoulou would say that powerful vested interests edited the text to get her to go away, and provide Dr Stavrakopoulou with the chance to make hard-hitting TV series and the Daily Mail the chance to get hot 'n' bothered about it).


But God doesn't need that Mrs God because (a) as far as we know, God doesn't do that sort of thing and (b) if anyone is Mrs God, then it's God Godself, as God has neither X nor Y chromosomes (and no mucky comments) and (c) the point Paul's trying to  make here is one of relationship rather than sex and the single deity. Paul's saying that Christ is not made - he's "born". And if he's firstborn of creation then he's there first - in the sense of really first, not merely waiting ever since a date I shall call "minus eternity"' and then just nipping in first before all the rest - but first-first.


But if first-born of all creation, and the one through whom it was all made, then when he was, if you will excuse the expression, born again - a second, physical birth, in a piece of rock orbiting a medium-sized star at the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the galaxy, as a sage once put it - then in a way, he was there already. He was coming back to his own. Because he was there in the beginning and all along - not as some spaceman came travelling, an alien in an alien place, but as one who knew every nook and cranny in that stable, every strand of DNA in the governor who was to condemn him, the full life-cycle of the tree that made his manger, and the tree that bore his body. That doesn't mean that Jesus the man knew all these things - as his brain was the same size as ours, give or take - but it does mean that Christ underpins the whole shooting-match in the first place.


It means the Son is the Logos, as John puts it - the Word through whom all creation was spoke, but also the logic that holds the whole universe together - the one who defines the fine-structure constant, Planck's constant, the speed of light in a vacuum and, for all I know, the numbers π and e (I'm not too sure about these last two - I can imagine a world where c is different, but I don't know if I can imagine one where π is).

All of which leaves me wondering - if that's true then has an assumed truth of the last western Christian century been upside down? We've got into a habit of thinking (which I'm not going to bother referencing as (a) I don't know where to find this and (b) I hope you'll recognise this) that people - of all faiths and none - have an appreciation of the Spirit, but not one of Christ. We beloieve that it is Christ that people are lacking, but because everybody is spirit-ual they all possess, to one degree or another, the Spirit. But if the first-born of creation is the one who defines the logic of the universe, then in fact it's the other way round. The Logos who sets our very physical parameters is the One whom we all - implicitly - understand. Of course, it's a bit of a shock when the Logos decides to reside on earth as a small Jewish boy-child, born to what we might call an unconventional family. But the shock is that one who was here all along, is here embodied and en-souled.

Maybe the spirituality we see in others - even non-Christians, even non-believers - the belief that "there must be something", the innate nagging that sees purpose - comes from the Logos, the one who innately fills the world with meaning and reason, not the Spirit. The Spirit meanwhile is the one who blows where she wills, the one who, while we've been presenting our logi-cal cases for faith, has been howling down the outside of the church building wondering when she's going to be let in.

I'm not sure what all this means, if anything. But it made me think. I think I'd better open the window. You never know what might blow in.

A Brief Theological Reflection

With all Beaker people gathered, an empty worship focus area.

From the back of the Moot House can be heard the sound of stomping. Turning around, the Beaker folk see that it is Morgwyn and Marston, wearing safety boots and yellow hi-viz. It's very important that it is yellow.

Morgwyn and Marston's Boots:  Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp.

They reach the worship focus area. 

They stop clomping.

They stare straight ahead.

Morgwyn, or as it may be, Marston: Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

Morgwyn and Marston: JURGEN MOLTMANN!

They exit.

Morgwyn and Marston's Boots:  Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp.

Casting Nasturtiums

I've picked up on Sally's comments about people heaping opprobrium, odium and Imodium on each other in an argument which appears to be over a book that hasn't been published yet.  I have to say that if Malcolm McLaren were alive to day he'd be impressed at the pre-sales that Rob Bell will have stacked up by now. A free publicity campaign on a grand scale. Not since Origen wrote his ground-breaking "The devil - is he really all bad?" has a book of popular theology caused such wild excitement.

We in the Beaker Folk are similar to what Sally has described. But, since arguments tend to break out at dinner time, we find that everybody starts throwing ladles around. And while sticks and stones may break my bones, ladles leave quite a nasty mark. Especially if you get the handle in your eye. Please don't try this at home.

Hate and Lust and Rock & Roll

I really wish Hnaef would stop bringing to me little gobbets of the Bible from the Anglican lectionary. Especially this morning. He's sat there over breakfast reading Matthew 5. Apparently if you even look in a lustful kind of way at someone you're not married to you are guilty of adultery. The Beaker Fertility Person we sat next to was full of it, of course. He said we may accuse them of lecherous and loose behaviour - especially of a full moon -  but turns out they're no worse than the rest of us.
Personally, given the numpties I'm surrounded with round here there's no danger of any lustful thoughts. Which brings me on to the other part of Hnaef's reading-matter. Apparently, if I regard the gullible wallies around me as fools, or insult them in any way, I'm in danger of Hell Fire. Which, to be fair, has given me a new determination. A new determination to keep on not believing in Hell.

Contention

Mrs Hnaef, reading the blogs over breakfast this morning, nearly spat out her organic FairTrade tea as she noticed a post on The Church Mouse blog. She gets on very well with the Archdruid, and was clearly very happy to see her getting coverage in a well-respected publication such as this, which I understand is read by a large proportion of the several dozen people Left Behind after the move to the Ordinariate. I assume she was happy. She didn't look happy. But she did immediately encourage me to "go out there and get yourself some media visibility, she's not the only one with a presence in this community, you know! If you're worth anything, you'll stand up and be counted ...", with a number of epithets that were troubling to me, some involving (somewhat ironically) comparisons with small rodents. Wanting always to do what seems best to my dearest - and valuing an easy life - I decided to embark on one of my successful and critically-acclaimed discussions on theology. But on what to theologise? What reflection should I seek? I looked for inspiration.

And, wonder of wonders, there it was, right in front of me, in the Morning Office: the second reading. Who, after an altercation with their dear wife, or a shin-kicking by their worship leader, has not been led to muse on the meaning of 1 Corinthians 11.2-16 (reproduced, of course, in the Authorised Version here)? Does this passage not tell us all we need to know about how churches - and other, less structured worship communities, of course - should conduct themselves? Spaul, as I believe he was known to his friends, has much to teach us about how we work together, who should do what, and other useful community-based instruction. And I, for one, take great comfort and instruction from that. In particular, I live by the very last verse, for I have no wish to be contentious. The Archdruid views contentiousness very poorly. Those who express thoughts - or are even suspected of thinking thoughts - which are lacking in contentiouslessness are gently encouraged - sometimes with metal toe-caps - to move from their state of contentiousnesslessness to a more holistic, tea-light- and pebble-centric view of the world. We, the Beaker Folk, live, in this verse at least, as Spaul clearly wished, and I am indebted to Mrs Hnaef for her loyalty and encouragement in helping me to express this important fact in a way that is both supportive and unchallenging, but still prophetic and enthusiastic, within the non-doctrinal belief system of the Beaker Folk behind and beneath our Great Leader, the Archdruid.

Notes and Queries

My responses to various pastoral and theological queries mailed in over the last week or two.

"Romantic Revival" - Yes, a certain vagueness is always worth seeking in spirituality. Remember, they'll never disprove your soul. On the other hand, you'll never weigh it, either.

"Calvin's Cousin" - No, you didn't have to fall down those stairs. You were carrying a trayful of mugs while bouncing on a pogo stick. I would blame your own stupidity rather than predestination.

"Scented Seasons" - Honeycomb, vanilla, lavendar, yes definitely. Almond arguable - you'd have to look into the cyanide risk. Bacon never.

"Droytan Porslaw" - Well, some people - even relatively sane ones - would argue that the Book of Daniel was written during the Babylonian Exile. Others would place its authorship in the Maccabean period, as a series of inspirational stories for the Jewish people undergoing persecution. I would say we can all have a profitable debate here, and the second group may not all be "fit for the lowest circle of hell" as you suggest.

"Lonely Bunny" - yes, a habit of kicking small woodland mammals will make most women go off you. I have traced your IP address, and the RSPCA will be round later.

"Sad Scouser" - Man City are trying to buy the Title, just as Chelsea did. So I'd suggest rooting for one of the two well-run North London clubs, or failing that you're just gonna have to swallow your pride and hope M****  U**** do it. I know, I feel your pain.

Drayton goes ballistic

Drayton's been a little hyperactive today.

As our resident fundamentalist he's always liable to get a bit hysterical. But today he announced that most Christians in England belong to one of two types of heretic. Drayton being Drayton, he therefore decided he was going to do something about it.
He's spent the afternoon going round estates in Milton Keynes, knocking on doors and demanding of the inhabitants to tell them whether they're Arians or Docetists. Most of them told him they were Church of England. so now Drayton's decided that most Christians in England belong to one of three types of heretic.

Something serious

Sometimes among the drivel and chaos that drives the "real" world you have to read something that is truly serious.

These days I mostly do this via my long and tortuous journey through Kelly's Early Christian Doctrines. But this once, I'd like  to instead recommend this seriously good post on Jerusalem and remembrance by my nearly-neighbour from across the county boundary, Bishop Alan.

Squirrel Theologian (2)

In addition to the Wodewose's earlier comment on the subject of squirrel theology, it's worth pointing out that red squirrels, being cuddly and British, are Arminian. The gray squirrel, on the other hand, is an invader from the United States that just wants to take over. Needless to say the grays are Fundamentalists.

Squirrel Theologian

Blog search terms are one of those things that keep many bloggers happy long into the night - sad, lonely characters that they generally are. And the searches for "gibbon moon" that occur on this website keep the Archdruid amused in an ironic kind of way, revealing as they do a combination of scientific interest and half-heard terminology.
But the blog search term "squirrel theologian" is of quite gem-like value in my opinion. To be fair, the Beaker Folk's number one on Google rating is fair enough, in the light of this posting. But who in their right mind, at half past 10 on a Monday evening in Belfast, types the words "squirrel theologian" into Google?
It being Belfast also gives me pause to ask - Protestant or Catholic?

Teaser Tuesday

This came from Scatter Cushions.
The rules are:Grab your current read.Let the book fall open to a random page.Share with us two (2) 'teaser' sentences from that page, somewhere between lines 7 and 12.You also need to share the title and author of the book that you’re getting your 'teaser' from .. that way people can have some great book recommendations if they like the teaser you've given!


"If Jesus Christ, then, consists of"two substances".... what should we say about them?  Tertullian has the distinction of being the first theologian frankly to tackle this issue."


[Kelly, JND 1985 - Early Christian Doctrines 5th rev ed.  p 151]


Strangely appropriate to the time of year.  And it was this or "Barcoding - getting it right".

The difference between one and three

Thoroughly enjoying the great JND Kelly's Early Christian Doctrines.
Just reached that exciting part where the Romans start to get into Monarchianism while the East start to flirt with extreme trinitarianism - trying not to topple over the edge into tritheism.
Trifling hair splitting?  Or something really important?

Monotheism - the belief there is one God.  A belief that if you had more than one god, one must surely have been there first, so the other could be created.

Trinity - belief that God comes in three Persons.  Not totally independent persons like a human "person" - not the atomized, community-less "persons" of modernism, the captains of their own souls and correspondingly shoddy, lonely and isolated.  But three Persons in community, self-giving, eternally sharing, forever loving.

Somewhere between those two in tension is where the Church (mostly) drew its line.  Not one God with Jesus the unlucky bloke and the Spirit a nice feeling or inspirational miasma.  Not three gods squabbling, fighting and challenging for priority - and begging why not four, or five, or three thousand.

Three persons - one God.  Mathematical nightmare,basis of being, challenge to our world.

An order for Theological Reflection

The sound of footsteps is heard, growing louder, echoing down the Corridor of Uncertainty.  The Procession for Theological Reflection enters the Moot House from the Corridor, and advances to the Worship Focus (a large mirror*)

The procession consists of:

Tea Lightifer

Bearer of the Staff

First Reflector              Second Reflector

The First and Second Reflectors are clad in their shiniest hi-viz, and also hi-viz trousers, for maximum reflection.


The Bearer of the Staff bangs the Staff three times on the floor.

First and Second Reflectors:  Jurgen Moltmann!

[Or, as it may be, Elizabeth Schussler Fiorenza; Karl Barth; or Søren Aabye Kierkegaard)

The Procession turns round, and exits via the Corridor of Uncertainty.  The sound of echoing footsteps is heard dying away.

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* We use a Large Mirror as the worship focus as a reminder that, used without care, discipline and challenge, Theological Reflection will reveal one thing only - oneself.