Remembering not to forget

Last night, at the close of Holocaust Memorial Day in the UK, I watched the film “Denial” again – it’s currently available on the BBC I-Player (which, unfortunately, is only available in the UK). It tells the story of the London deformation trial of Deborah Lipstadt, an historian, who defended a claim brought against her by a Holocaust denier. Some of the most moving scenes are when she visits Auschwitz, along with her senior and junior counsel, and some experts on the events that unfolded there. One of the experts suggests they walk the perimeter to get an idea of the scale of the place. Her senior council says he has already done that, and so they proceed to part of the complex where Jews were first undressed, and then led into gas chambers, passing pacifying signs saying they were on their way to the baths. Scale is an interesting idea in this context. What word is appropriate? Immense? Industrial? The physical and numerical dimensions of what was done, as horrific as they are, do not come close to encapsulating the events of the Holocaust. For while they reflect the evil intent of what occurred, and are the most accessible aspect of that intent, they do not come close to capturing the true ferocity of the hatred that was vented on ordinary and innocent men and women, boys and girls, the majority of whom were distinguished by one thing and one thing only – they were Jews.  

Others are much more qualified than me to attempt an explanation of that hatred. That there was an implacable, intense and fundamentally irrational hatred burning in the hearts of some of the perpetrators of the Holocaust is undeniable. Much ink has also been spilt on the mass complicity that was required to achieve their evil ends; the blind eyes and numbed hearts (and not all of them in Nazi Germany) that helped, or at least did not hinder, the venting of that hatred. That it grew from poisonous but relatively small beginnings, that it involved the crossing of many lines from the subtle to the gross, seems believable. Where it all ended up, in mass, organized, documented, industrial, attempted genocide, seems barely believable. That’s why it is important that we do not forget, that we do not let the events of the Holocaust become some kind of fantastic myth. There are those who would like it to be regarded in that way. In addition to being monumentally unjust, this would be madness, perhaps a madness that could lead to its repetition. There have, after all, been attempts to follow the same playbook.

It is a playbook that involves the “othering” of a minority. It is always easy to blame someone else for personal or societal ills. Having identified one group or another as a scapegoat, by caricature and innuendo they are made to be somehow less. First of all less than “us”; ultimately less than human. That makes their persecution all the easier and less troubling. This all has to be done in the abstract of course. It helps if “they” don’t really look like “us”. This is usually tricky because, when it comes down to it, we all look pretty similar. Hence the need for caricature, some of which goes beyond superficial differences like skin tone or facial appearance. But even although certain features or claimed attitudes and behaviors might be emphasized, it’s the depersonalized idea that is highlighted, rather than real individuals. It helps if the group in question can be segregated, lest “we” actually get to know some of “them”, for then the barriers might break down before they can be built up.  All of this takes effort. The tragedy is that humanity seems willing from time to time to make such an effort.

But for much of history it seems, Jewish people have been a particular target of such efforts. And there is no avoiding the fact that in my corner of the world those called “Christians” have occasionally been at the forefront of such efforts. While being called a Christian and actually being a Christian are two quite distinct things, it’s the irony that is so much starker than the distinction. You cannot begin to understand what a Christian is, even what the word entails, without an understanding and respect for the Jews and their history. A Christian is a Christ follower, and Christ is not a name, it’s a title. It’s simply the Greek way of saying Messiah, God’s servant promised in the Old Testament to His people the Jews. It is true that what divides Jews and Christians is a disagreement over the identity of the Messiah. But the debt that any nominal or actual Christian owes the Jews, and the obligations that flow from it, is incalculable.

Consider. It goes without saying that, notwithstanding centuries of European art, Jesus was a Jew, as were the twelve Apostles (thirteen, including Paul). It’s a profoundly odd view that says this is all just historically contingent and accidental detail. This was God’s choosing and doing, and is therefore significant. The New Testament story of the Church, post the pivotal events of Pentecost (itself a Jewish feast not a Christian invention) begins with Jews, who initially made up the overwhelming majority of Christians at the beginning. As Jews, they saw their new-found Christian faith a fulfillment of, rather than a repudiation of, what their Old Testament (simply “the Scriptures” to them) taught, and had taught them to expect. Indeed this belief was firmly based on what Jesus Himself had taught them; He had taken two of them to task for not taking their Scriptures seriously enough (you’ll find the story in Luke 24:13-35). Even when a parting of the ways came, with some elements of organized Judaism opposing the growing Gentile church, Paul reminds particularly Gentile Christians that they have been ingrafted into “the nourishing root of the olive tree” (Romans 11:17) and not to be arrogant or proud where God’s ancient people were concerned. Paul had a burning and intense desire that his own people might come to recognize Jesus for who He was, and that there might be no division between Jew and Gentile.

In early Church history there were those who sought to divorce Christianity from its Jewish roots, notably Maricon and his followers. But they were quickly identified as not teaching Christianity at all. There is also still a popular idea that the Bible somehow teaches two Gods opposed to, or at least different to, each other: the Old Testament nasty God, and the New Testament fluffy one. But this can only be maintained by not reading and taking seriously what the Bible, Old and New Testaments actually teaches. For my own part, I do feel debt to those Old Testament saints, the likes of Abraham, Moses, Samuel, David, Elijah, Nehemiah, Malachi, and many more beside. And not as just figures from someone else’s ancient history. They tell me about me, and us about us. Without wanting to be proprietorial about it, I do feel that I belong to them and they belong to me, and that we all belong to Christ. That even today some of their human descendants should be identified and abused for simply that reason (i.e. that they are Jews) is both appalling and revealing. We dare not forget where it can lead.

Life in the Pandemic IX: Non-convention(al) Keswick

Keswick without the convention, isn’t quite like Anfield or old Trafford without the fans, but there are similarities. The buzz of coming together with thousands of others with a common purpose is hard to beat. It taps into our basic constitution as social beings. But here we are in a pandemic. And one in which, when the threat has loomed large, that collectivist instinct has come to the fore. Ironically we’ve banded together against the common invisible enemy, by hunkering down in our separated households. Of course, there has been technology to help us out. And indeed in a few days’ time there will be a “virtual”, technologically delivered “Keswick”. But it won’t be the same, will it?

By now many of us are used to existing on a diet of Zoom or Teams meetings (other video conferencing technologies are available), some small and some large. We’ve delivered or listened to seminars, asked or answered questions, met, discussed and made decisions. In other words we’ve done most of the things we’d normally do, just in a slightly different way. There have been differences of course. Online meetings probably require slightly more concentration, and seem to be more draining. Many of us have had to catch up on the etiquette (or netiquette) of the online world. And how quickly the media and politicians learned that it was important to sit in front of an impressive, well-stocked bookcase, particularly if the occasional, significant title was turned face on to the camera.

For months now, church too has been online. All the familiar elements are still present: notices (of course), hymns and songs, talks for children, sermons for adults. There have been some advantages of “doing” church this way. No one can see you turning up late. No need to skulk at the back if you are, or make your way to the only available seats (which are always at the very front). No need to dress up (or down). The guitars are always in tune, the singer/singers always on key. And if the sermon is a bit boring, no one can see you scrolling through the Facebook feed on your phone. Or even getting up and going to make a cup of tea. Or (perish the thought) switching off and opting out (if you “turned up” at all).

The objective in coming to Keswick at this time of year is precisely to turn up at the big tent and do many of the same things mentioned above. I know that to some this will seem like a strange way to spend a holiday (something I’ve written about previously). But the Keswick Convention has, for a very long time, provided Bible teaching to a high standard and fairly relaxed worship in a beautiful setting. There’s always the opportunity to dip in and dip out, and intersperse the teaching with other elements of the British summer in the Lake District (walks and ice cream in the rain). And of course conversation with like-minded others – fellowship. This year we’ve had the rain, and we’ve had the ice cream, the surroundings have been beautiful, but we haven’t had the teaching, reflection and fellowship. And it makes a difference.

A crowd always does make a difference. From the mob in ancient Rome requiring bread and circuses to keep them pacified, to the torch-wielding faithful of the Nuremberg rallies, crowds have always been more than the sum of their human parts. The strange, sometimes scary, dynamic of crowds has long been an object of study. Le Bon’s theories from the late 19^th Century are still quoted today. He wasn’t very impressed with crowds. You can find a whole Government manual on how to deal with crowds prepared by the Emergency Planning College (part of the UK Cabinet Office). More trivially, crowds can do some things better than the individuals that comprise them, particularly where expertise plays no particular role. If you have a glass jar full of jelly babies, and ask people how many there are in the jar, the answer averaged over many individual guesses (ie the answer of a crowd) is more likely to be accurate than most of the individual answers. This advantage is dwarfed by the more familiar disadvantages of crowds and their effects on the constituent individuals. People do and say things in football crowds they would never think of doing standing as an individual in the middle of a street. And crowd (or mob) justice is of course, rarely justice at all.

Christian crowds are, at a minimum just that – crowds. At least in history, apparently Christian crowds have been just a capable of excess as any other kind. They are composed of human beings with all the peril that can bring. But precisely that observation shows why they are also important. Human beings are designed to meet and act together. For a Christian crowd, while there obviously are activities to be avoided, some are certainly to be engaged in. Learning together, being taught in a crowd, is something that Jesus Himself was interested in. He taught crowds, and indeed cared for crowds, and was interested in crowds, as much as He was also interested in and taught and cared for individuals. And it seems that while He dealt with and interacted with individuals, it was also often with a view to  teaching a usually much larger group that was looking on. The idea of the gathering is fairly basic to what’s going on in much of the New Testament.

A crowd of course can be any size beyond a minimum, and the minimum appears to be quite small (3?). Even to the smallest crowd, Jesus promises His presence (Matt 18:20), where He is the purpose of the gathering. And many of the things He expects us to do as churches (a name for a particular kind of Christian crowd), are expectations of us as churches, not just individuals. So while we can, and should, pray on our own, we are expected to pray together. While we can read and learn on our own (and should), we should be doing these things together, and indeed publicly. While I can sing on my own (and that’s the way most folk probably prefer it), I’m expected to gather with others to sing. Indeed, I’m supposed to sing to (at?) others, as they are enjoined to sing with and to me (Col 3:16).  We are to benefit from being together and doing things together. Some of this will be the common the benefit of the crowd, plus an awful lot more. But for months now we’ve been prevented from doing these things together, corporately.

It has been entirely legitimate for us not to meet in person for a period, partly because the Civil authority has told us that we can’t. And we understand their pandemic-related reasons for doing this. As in other areas of life, we have turned to technology, and been grateful for it. But it is not the same. Even outwith the pandemic, there has been the occasional suggestion that we don’t lose much by not gathering physically; that we can do Church “online”. This is misconceived at best. Technology has its benefits as a short-term, emergency, fix. But, fundamentally it doesn’t meet that requirement of meeting together that the New Testament is clear about (Heb 10:25). Listening to sermon online is just not the same for either preacher or congregation as joining together in the shared experience that we normally experience (see this post along the same lines). That personal, face to face, together in a crowd meeting, seems actually to be necessary for the stimulus and encouragement that we all need. 

Fuss about nothing, you might respond. After all, there is a sense in which we meet with Jesus remotely! It is only in one sense though – unlike you and me, He isn’t limited to a particular location. That said, we don’t “see Him now” (1 Pet 1:8). But of course our hope is that one day the situation will be transformed and we really will see Him, and be with Him, collectively. Is anyone seriously going to suggest that as good as things can be here and now (and Peter says that even in current circumstances we can know “joy inexpressible”), it won’t be better then?

So hopefully, one Sunday soon we’ll be back together the way we should be. And hopefully, by this time next year, we be gathering in Keswick for the 2021 convention, much as we've enjoyed just rain and ice cream this year.