Keswick 2023.1 I’m probably beginning to repeat myself

This definitely isn’t the first time I’ve commented on the Keswick Convention (last year's posts begin here), and it probably won’t be the last. This is where we’ve spent a week each July for the last few years. Our motivations for coming here are multiple rather than single, and mixed rather than single minded. It is generally accepted that Keswick is pleasant and nestles in a spectacular setting (the English Lake District). It is only just “up the road” from where we live, so we don’t have to navigate the horrors of a summer airport or spend more than a couple of hours in a car. Even if there wasn’t a convention Keswick  would still be a popular spot (as it is for the forty-nine weeks of the year that the Convention isn’t on). There’s plenty of pleasant walks, water sports, tours (on and off of the water), interesting eateries and coffee shops, local(ish) literary history (i.e. William Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter) and much more besides. Nice place for a break. But we can enjoy all this and there’s the Convention too! Since 1875 it has managed to attract Christians from a range of backgrounds to spend time thinking about stuff that the culture in general long ago turned its back on. So it is an odd thing to sit in a big tent (physically as well as metaphorically) and engage in Christian worship and teaching on Saturday night and the following week.

Of course, while it should not be so, Christians are as fractious as is the rest of humanity. So there is quite a lot of contemporary angst around about the label “evangelical”, whether it performs any useful function and if so what that function is. Personally, if properly defined, I think it does continue to be useful because it is sadly necessary to qualify “Christian” which is used in many senses today well removed from what the word actually means (for which see Acts 11:26). Mind you “properly defining” evangelicals has always been a bit of a problem, or at least has been a problem since “evangelical” became a mainstream sort of a word in the 18^th century. In the 19^th century both Spurgeon and Ryle were involved in the definitional battle. More recently historians like David Bebbington have given it a good go (see his influential “Evangelicalism in Modern Britain: A History from the 1730s to the 1980s”) as well as those of a more theological stripe (a good recent example is Michael Reeves in “Gospel People”). The debate can become quite spicy, even when conducted by those broadly within the fold comment about the fold, and this brings me back to Keswick.

The Convention has been seen as being fairly influential at least on the British evangelical scene (parking for a moment the question of whether there is such a thing). So I was interested to come across a paper written by J.I. Packer entitled “Keswick and the Reformed Doctrine of Sanctification” published in 1955 (the full reference is at the end of this post). Packer, an Anglican, was prominent from the 1950’s right up to his death in 2020; along with Martin Lloyd Jones he did much to establish evangelicalism as theologically and intellectually respectable. He, along with Lloyd Jones and others like John Stott, completely transformed the context for those who came after. My generation, with an evangelical subculture already created, resources and popular-level (but challenging) books like Packer’s “Knowing God”, had it much easier than those who went before. But Keswick, or at least the theology Packer saw flowing from it, was problematic. The Convention’s speakers (or at least some of them) and its publications (or at least some of them) were related to a stream of thought in evangelicalism known by various names like “higher life”, “perfectionism” or the “holiness movement” (there are many others). If this sounds a big vague, then that is charge Packer himself makes in his paper, pointing out that until someone put down on paper exactly what “Keswick teaching” was, it had been difficult to pin down. This changed (at least in Packer's mind) in 1952 when Steven Barabas published “So Great Salvation: The History and Message of the Keswick Convention”.

With a forensic precision Packer sought to show how Keswick teaching differed from reformed orthodoxy. Reading his paper just under seventy years later, a number of things struck me. First, it is a bit of an unfair fight. I’m not sure that Barabas was claiming to do more than describe the Convention and some of those associated with it and explain, at a largely popular level, what had been taught there over the years. It seems to be more about the phenomenology than the theology (although there is a bit of that). Packer critiques the theology (to the extent it can be drawn from Barabas’ book) with a professional acuteness that it may not have been capable of bearing. What he often ends up criticizing is what he takes to be logical theological implications of what is written, rather than what Barabas actually wrote. Secondly, “Keswick theology” probably doesn’t name a precise entity (we’re back to labels and their meaning) even when some (like Packer in his paper) want it to. I’m assuming that Barabas must have been doing some distilling and summarizing of teaching that had not been static over the period from 1875 (and has continued to change). We (or rather Packer) end up operating on the assumption that this distillation produces a reliable product. Maybe it did (I confess I haven’t read the book yet), but the distillation was probably more to the level of a rough hooch rather than a fine malt. Perhaps there was a certain lack of precision that Packer filled in. It's a matter of historical judgement how sticky his charges were. Thirdly, one shouldn’t assume that Packer’s view was typical of even the reformed “end” of evangelicalism. At one point he tells us he finds it “surprising that a Reformed reviewer should find in this book ‘no basic discrepancy between the Reformed and evangelical doctrine and the message of Keswick’". In contrast Packer is clear there are several glaring discrepancies. These he attributes to an insufficient attention to theology.

All of this is history of course, and is no less interesting for that. Packer’s analysis is acute and well worth reading and reflecting on. His real target is a creeping Pelagianism that always worth guarding against. But I think that there is probably also a bit of straw-mannery going on too. Acute theology and heart-warming Bible teaching are not antithetical. Indeed you probably can’t have the one without the other, even if the Bible teaching wears the theology lightly. Popularity isn't everything, but it probably is significant that all these years later, here we all are (several thousand of us) in Keswick for the Convention again. I probably won’t agree with everything I hear, and yet it will warm the cockles of the heart. So, at the risk of repeating myself, I say: "bring it on"!       

Packer, J. I. (1955). “Keswick”, and the Reformed Doctrine of Sanctification, Evangelical Quarterly: An International Review of Bible and Theology, 27(3), 153-167.

Keswick 22.2: Picture language

Cooler on Wednesday in the big Keswick Convention tent. So cool, that Alistair Begg had donned his jacket and tie once again for the morning Bible Reading. Tuesday and Wednesday we looked at the pictures that Paul painted for Timothy that he might understand who and what he should be. Not painting by numbers, but painting with words. Two millennia later, the same pictures remain helpful. That’s because as Paul wielded the brush (or rather the pen), he was doing so as one entirely shaped and sustained by the eternal artist (author). We had three pictures on Tuesday, and three on Wednesday. Anyone interested in the details can get access to the talks via the Keswick Ministries website. But here are some highlights from the first set of three.

On Tuesday we thought about the devotion of the soldier, the discipline of the athlete and the determination of the farmer. These pictures still work because we’ve all been reminded recently about aspects of all three, and how much they all matter. There is, after all, a war raging on this continent which is global in its impact. On one side of the conflict there are lots of resources in terms of men and material. And yet, because of the quality of the soldiers opposing all of that force, and because of their bravery and discipline, there has been success in slowing the advance of the enemy. Such qualities may yet turn the invaders back. A conflict, the outcome of which seemed inevitable when it started, could now tip either way. But the point is that discipline is vital for victory. The picture holds true, and lessons can be drawn.

Just yesterday, a UK athlete, Jake Wightman, won a gold medal at the World Athletics Championship. To do so, he had to compete within the rules. Some have won, but have been stripped of their prize because they broke the rules. Some even don’t get to compete because they break the rules. In fact rules are absolutely necessary if there’s to be a meaningful competition in which people are able to express themselves freely. It seems a contradiction, but rules are actually liberating. Such expression takes devotion, discipline and serious application. Wightman himself said after his run “I have given up so much to get to this point, such a lot of things sacrificed….”. But, it was all worthwhile (although his was a reward  that will soon fade.  

And then there’s the farmer. As food prices soar, both in the UK and internationally, we’re all coming to appreciate more the importance of farmers. Not for them the glory of the smart uniform or athletics vest, not for them the parade or the packed stadium shouting their name. Just a boiler suit, and dirty finger nails, and hard graft. There’s a glamour about the soldier and the athlete that’s absent from the farmer’s experience. Maybe that’s the point of the picture. There might be a harvest to enjoy, but there might not be; farming is a risky business. But the farmer will work on regardless. Determined. Persevering. Sometimes life has a plodding quality. Maybe for most of us, that’s what it’s like most of the time. Fine.

As a friend of mine used to say - don’t be afraid to plod.

Keswick 22.1: Baton passing for beginners……..

It’s July, it’s hot (record-breaking hot), and it’s time for the Keswick Convention once again. Today (Monday) was the first day of this year’s Week 1 “Bible Readings”. The theme of the week is “Grateful” and this week’s messages will be from 2 Timothy, delivered by Alistair Begg. And I’ve already been amply reminded of lots of reasons to be grateful.

Some of these are to do with my own past. In listening to the Begster (as a friend of mine called him recently - I would never be that cheeky), I was reminded of seed-sowing, mind-shaping experiences of student days in the Christian Union in the University of Glasgow. In fact I last heard Alistair Begg in the Queen Margaret Union common room (actually just a big beer-stained party space) in the early 1980’s. The older I get the more I appreciate those far off days when with a group of like-minded and like-aged individuals started to grow up – a process that continues. Home and family provided a good foundation, but it had to be built upon. A whole range of speakers at CU “teaching meetings” and a network of Christian friendships provided both means and materials. That is now 40 years in the past. I have no doubt that there are those who do not look back so fondly. For me it may only have been a stage but it was no passing phase. It was critical.

This morning, Alistair Begg mentioned in passing his friend Eric Alexander. The Rev Alexander, who retired from ministry in the Church of Scotland some years ago, in my day was something of a hero to many of us. A faithful and gifted preacher of the Word of God, and a man of faultless courtesy, he and his congregation in St Georges Tron in the centre of Glasgow provided a spiritual home to many of my contemporaries. He also figured in an early Keswick I attended, again in the ‘80s. There have been so many of these figures. I attended a memorial service for Peter Maiden yesterday in the Keswick tent. I suppose those whose formative days are today will have their own heroes, models and influences. But today the subject of baton passing was definitely front and centre.

This is one of the big themes of 2 Timothy, a parting letter from Paul to his young (or at least younger) associate Timothy. There is truth, ‘sound words’ to be guarded. Believing this truth, teaching it, obeying it, living it, would be costly. It would entail suffering because to live in this way would inevitably evoke opposition, and that opposition would bring pressure. To resist that pressure would involve cost and suffering. Paul endured suffering, and invited Timothy to share in it. This all sounds a bit grim. And it would be if we were talking about suffering for a philosophy or creed. But the Gospel is much more than that. Much more than a set of human propositions. It is both a person to whom we are drawn and united, and the truth that reveals that person. Paul calls it the “testimony about our Lord”. It was transformative in Paul’s life, and in Timothy’s. But would it, could it, survive the passing into history of the likes of Paul and the other Apostles?

This was Paul’s concern. He would tell Timothy (I’m assuming we’ll come to this later in the week) to pass it on to faithful men and women. Others who, having been called and transformed, would themselves pass it on, unaltered and untainted (otherwise it would not be the Gospel). Paul need not have worried, indeed he probably didn’t. He had both conviction and confidence. Not in himself, and not even in Timothy. He reminds Timothy (I’m fairly sure this was ground they covered many times) that the resources available to accomplish this task were primarily not human but divine. The same God who authored the Gospel (Paul calls it the “Gospel of God” in Romans), provided the resources for its preservation; the “spirit of love, power and self-control”, the Holy Spirit who through His indwelling would empower Timothy to guard the good deposit. This is hardly surprising given that the Gospel is God’s rescue plan for sinful, fallen creatures, initiated in eternity past, with an objective in eternity future. Its execution is not likely to want for resources.

But Paul’s letter to Timothy was written a long time ago and long way away. How is it all going? Well, Timothy found those trustworthy men and women, and then they, in their turn, found others, and so on down the years. All the way along there were probably those who fretted that things were so bad that the whole thing was running into the sand. But eventually the very same Gospel was entrusted to the likes of Alexander and Begg, who have spent their lives doing exactly as Paul instructed Timothy. It happened again, today, in a big tent in Keswick. I owe a great debt to the likes of them, and many others. In a sense that same message has been entrusted to me.

Many thanks. Now to pass it on. 

Life in the pandemic XXIX Keswick in the transition…

Once again, for the second time in the pandemic, we have made our way to England’s beautiful Lake District, to the market town of Keswick. The scenery is undoubtedly spectacular, the weather tropical (this year at least), and the town itself charming. These would all be good reasons to spend a week’s holiday here. But that is not primarily why we’ve come. As regular readers (and you know who you are) of this blog will know, we are here for the Keswick Convention. For the last few years this has become part of our summer routine. I noted before that it might strike some as an odd way to spend a summer week in the 21^st Century. It is “old fashioned” in the sense that it has been running for over one hundred years, and some of the first attendees would be able to recognise what is going on. It would also strike some as old fashioned in that the subject matter has remained constant over that period. Yes, there have been changes in style, and some in format. But at its core, the key activity is the straightforward explanation of chunks of a very “old fashioned” book – the Bible. And there remains that same conviction – that the reason this is worth doing is that we are listening to God, whose Word this is (again, a very “old fashioned” notion).

There is of course one big difference this year. We are still in the midst of a global pandemic. Not that this is Keswick’s first pandemic, having survived the 1918 Spanish Flu. Last year, while we still came to Keswick (to walk and read), there were no meetings, although there was an online offering. But this year, once again, several thousand gather twice a day, for the morning “Bible Reading” and the evening “Celebration”. There are the now familiar markers of the pandemic – testing and masking. But transition, as well as virus, is in the air. On the first Monday of the first week, the legal restrictions introduced in England (mandatory mask wearing and restrictions on the numbers able to meet either indoors or outdoors) were removed. One of the most onerous restrictions on Christians meeting together was also removed. For fifteen months or more, we haven’t been able to sing together. So last night we sang for all we were worth. But this is transition, so we sang behind our masks. It was still worth it.

We’ve only reached the transition of course, and the pandemic is still with us. But it is perhaps time to reflect on what it might have taught us about ourselves. There have been, and will continue to be, dark days. Lives have been lost, families have been bereaved. Many others have been scarred by the experience of days or weeks (or in some cases months) of hospital treatment, gasping for breath. And not just scarred in their memories. We’ve yet to see the full impact of long Covid, a condition that will afflict hundreds of thousands in the UK alone. But we go on, because we have to. However, for the Christian this is (or should be) about much more than biology, medicine and politics. When the media talks about lessons to be learned, what is usually meant is how governments and health systems have coped with a pandemic; what was done well, what was done badly. An examination of these issues is clearly worthwhile And in the same vein all of us can perhaps reflect on how we responded, following guidelines or otherwise, wearing masks, getting vaccinated and the like. But this is thinking at  a particular level. And if it’s the only thinking that’s going on, we’re likely to draw only partial conclusions and learn partial lessons.

It has always seemed folly to me to draw direct lines between awful events, even big ones, and the judgment of God (discussed previously here). I don’t have the insight of an Amos or Jeremiah. But the pandemic is an event of global scale. It might, and probably will, be explained eventually by things like human skulduggery, incompetence, and individual and collective stupidity. But the ability of a virus that, while not benign is certainly not the most dangerous, to bring complete global dislocation must at a minimum say something about the basic fragility of modern life. Indeed, the pandemic has surely alerted us that to the fact that some of the most welcome aspects of modern life have amplified the dangers posed by the virus itself. International air travel, a boon to education, commerce and leisure in recent years, has facilitated rapid, global spread of the virus and its variants. The internet and social media, which have so improved communication and information transmission, have been used to transmit conspiracy theories and vaccine scepticism, depressing take-up in some quarters, with the attendant increased risk to health and life. Yes, science and technology have provided remarkably effective vaccines in a record short time, and this has saved lives. But the basic point stands – modern life is fragile, more fragile than we realised, and perhaps in some ways more fragile than in the past.

The virus is one evolving global tragedy, but it come at the time of of another - climate change. The UK Met office issued its first “extreme heat warning” this week. This follows record hot temperatures in North America, and freak summer floods in continental Europe. These events have either cost lives or are projected too. This is on the back of other disturbing evidence of the climate change scientists have been warning about for decades. The human cause of climate change is much less disputable than the proximate cause of the pandemic. Over decades rather than years, we face the severe consequences of what we have been doing to the planet. The scale of the action required to mitigate the effects of these action has begun to foment protests. But there is no sign of most of us really getting our heads round what is required to avoid what is coming. Much of this can be understood in (far from simple) naturalistic terms. Models can be built. Projections made. But are there deeper lessons?

For what its worth, here is my tentative thinking so far. The Bible closes with the book of Revelation, in which, among other things, a series of disasters is described. I had always thought of these as occurring over short periods of time, with a purpose that was quite obvious to those experiencing them. As a reader of Revelation I know that they serve to demonstrate to the whole of humanity that ignoring God, rebelling against Him, and living without reference to Him is self-defeating and ultimately only leads to unescapable judgment. Unfortunately, this isn’t the lesson that is learned from those suffering them. However, Revelation is highly symbolic and there is nothing in the text that demands that what is outlined occurs over short periods. So could infolding disasters like the pandemic and climate change, be two such calls to reassess where we stand in relation to the God who created the world that we are despoiling?

We appear to be in a transition out of the pandemic at least. The practical, political and medical lessons should all be learned. We’ll see if they are. But the clamour and rush for a return to “normality” should not drown out deeper lessons that could be, and perhaps need to be learned.

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.

What an odd thing to do on a Saturday night…

Here I was sitting in a tent on a Saturday night. Perhaps in and of itself not that odd I’ll grant. But it was a rather large tent, holding about two-thousand people. Fair enough, not unknown in the summer, even in the UK. After all, there seem to be more and more festivals popping up all the time, many of them involving tents.  But here we were on the cusp of the third decade of the twenty-first century, thinking about words written in the first century; seeing in those words something of relevance to the present day (and indeed the future). Nor was this a gathering of crusty old enthusiasts, a wistful looking back by a bunch of old hobbyists to a bygone and much missed era. No, this was about now. Finding in those words direction for living now, with an orientation towards an event yet to come. Much about this is really quite odd in today’s terms.

The event was of course the first evening session of the middle week of the Keswick Convention. Since 1875, Christians from a variety of denominational backgrounds have met in Keswick to hear Bible teaching. The speakers too have always been drawn from a range of backgrounds. However, at its heart has been the conviction that the Living God speaks through a book (the Bible), and so the “Bible Readings” (daily Bible-based talks often covering a single book or section of the Bible) are one of the main aspects of the convention.

Even among Bible-believing Christians, Keswick has not been without its critics. In the early days, in the late 19^th Century, it was treated with suspicion by some evangelical leaders. More recently criticism has come from the “reformed” end of the evangelical spectrum (eg see this from Kevin DeYoung). Much of this will seem overblown to your average convention goer today, who is happy to listen to a range of Bible teachers who take Scripture seriously and want to explain it simply. What’s odd is that this is still going on at all.

The culture around us is in a state of continual flux. Different movements and ideas wax and wane. On one reading of history, Christianity has been in terminal decline, at least in Western Europe, for a while. That of course was part of the great modernist project. Religion in general, and Christianity in particular belonged to humanity’s adolescence. With the arrival of the enlightenment and the achievements of science, it was time to grow up and move on. Poor modernism. It’s death was declared by the post-modernists. Then it transpired that postmodernism was a bit of a dead end, and it went into decline. In the religious sphere there was the rise of the “new” atheists. But even their demise has been announced (although they may be unaware of this).  

I first came to Keswick when I was a student. Back in 1985 (34 years ago!) a bunch of us were here when Eric Alexander taught at the Bible readings on 1 Corinthians (I still have the book somewhere). I was back last year to hear Chris Wright on Micah. In the world I grew up in as a student, Christians in general were to be tolerated, and the Bible-believing fundamentalist sort were to be pitied. But thousands of the latter type gathered at Keswick every summer. The culture in the UK has moved on. Those pesky fundamentalists are still around, but now they have to be kept out of the public square, or maligned in the cyberworld, because of their dangerous multiphobic views. But here we were in Lake District, in July, listening in a tent, on a Saturday night, to prescient warnings about such circumstances, written originally by a guy called Peter in the first century.   

This would all strike the average person as odd if it struck them at all. After all,unless you knew about the Keswick convention, you wouldn’t know about it! But think about it. The Bible is a book that has been maligned, slandered, criticised, censored, banned, misinterpreted, mistranslated and mishandled for as long as it has been around. Yet, somehow, it remains potent. I suppose you could try to make the same observation about the Quran (although it’s a relatively youthful 1400 years old) or the Communist Manifesto (somewhat out of fashion currently). And there are other books and scriptures that have their adherents. I don’t find those alternatives persuasive. I do find the Bible persuasive. It presents a coherent account properly understood of the God who is there, of His rescue mission to and for humanity, and of the demands He has on my life now. In my own local Church (Bridge Chapel in South Liverpool), its message struck a couple of individuals last Sunday with such force and vitality that the direction of their lives has been altered. They are different to me, with different backgrounds and personalities, yet somehow the message of the Bible spoke to them the same way it speaks to me. And now we now share in the same central relationship, and the same living hope that here in Keswick we were considering last night, from the first letter of Peter to a bunch of first century, first generation Christians, that he called exiles.

The people Peter wrote to were seen as odd. In their own day some called them “evildoers” (1 Pet 2:12) and they were slandered (1 Pet 3:16) and maligned (1 Pet 4:4). In contemporary non-Christian and anti-Christian writings, they were called everything from cannibals to subversives to atheists! You’ll find examples of similar things (and worse) in the Twittersphere and on the interweb. Perhaps soon we'll find the same types of charges being made against us in the non-virtual, non-cyber world. But then Jesus was seen as odd, very odd. I’m happy to share that oddness, and was happy to think about it last night in a tent at Keswick. 

Which is, when you think about it, a bit odd. 

Unless it isn’t.  

Keswick IV Downs and ups with Micah

It's been a down and up week with Micah, although an up and down week at the Keswick convention. Let me explain the last, first. Approaching any big occasion one's been looking forward to for a while, there's naturally all the anticipation of what's to come. It's not just Keswick. The US Society for Neuroscience meeting is in November. Abstracts were initially submitted in May! All that time looking forward means that by the time I pitch up in San Diego I'll have a real appetite for the smorgasbord of Neuroscience that will greet me. Mind you after five days of posters, talks and symposia, I'll probably be ready to expire.  Towards the end of the convention of course, there’s that feeling that what was being anticipated, is now past. And it’s on to the next thing. Another observation:  in spite of what will be an intense and stimulating few days, I will be intriguingly unchanged. That’s hardly a surprise. It’s not really the function of science to change lives in fundamental ways. That’s the point I was making at the beginning of the week in Keswick I.

To some extent there’s been the same sort of process with Keswick. A long period of anticipation, and then the convention week is over. Even if it was good as anticipated (and for me it was better), there’s the obvious down as the week comes to a conclusion. But the nature of the content means that there’s something else going on too. Because this was also about life and how it’s meant to be lived.

Some of what Micah’s had to say has been pretty grim, and that continued in the final session this morning.  We heard about the total breakdown of a society that for generations had turned its back on God.  Violence and corruption commonplace, and a total breakdown of trust; trust in leaders, trust in religion, even trust within families. It didn’t happened overnight of course, it evolved and emerged over centruries. But it happened. And the only thing left was to wait for the judgement that would come. Not that it was expected. In fact it was denied. Things were the way they had always been weren’t they? All these blood-curdling warnings of prophet after prophet, and what had happened? Nothing. So much for the judgement of God. Micah didn’t live to see the fulfilment of his prophecy. But he knew where to place his confidence, and, as hard as it was, he knew he had to wait. This was all a bit of a down.

In a way we’re still waiting of course. We can look back to some of the events that Micah looked forward to, primarily what God did in His Son, Jesus. But with Micah we continue to look forward to a final vindication that Micah talks about at the very end of his book; this was the up. Micah would wait for his God. But can God be relied upon? Here we have some advantages over Micah. God’s got a good track record of keeping promises.  Bible history maps out promises of judgement – kept; promises of restoration – kept;  the promise of His ultimate answer to human sin and rebellion - kept. There promises that are still to be kept. Some will argue all this is a nonsense. But they have a track record too. Because they taunt the believer, as they did in Micah’s day and throughout history, with things like  “where is your God”?  We were reminded that Peter tells hard-pressed Christians in his day that the same taunt will mark the “last days”. So much for judgement. Things are just fine, and we don’t need your God. Peter makes the point that they misconstrue patience as slowness or absence. Actually what God is providing is an opportunity for those who don’t believe to change their ways before it’s too late. Yet more evidence of God’s grace and patience. So we ended the Bible readings on a definite up.

So things to think about.  Circumstances in “Christian” Europe may be grim, and they may get grimmer. The kind of elite corruption Micah talks about, is currently a fixture on the popular agenda. The tax-dodging of corporations and oligarchs are complained and campaigned about . Concerns about self-serving political elites lead to popular discontent if not outrage. But this drives popular discontent that manifests itself in responses that potentially make things worse (Brexit and Trump?). Intellectual and religious corruption mean that some of the mechanisms that might have led to corrections in the past no longer seem to operate. Indeed they make their contribution to the downward spiral. And in all of this God and His truth are marginalised, if considered at all. Are we in a downward death-spiral, or can the trajectory be changed? More importantly in a way, what does the remnant, that dwindling band of believers, do in such circumstances?

We do what Micah did. We wait.

Keswick III An apology to Micah

It turns out that Keswick has been a brilliant place to sit out the heatwave currently afflicting the UK. Today is the only day it's been really hot here, and it's probably nearer 25° as opposed to the 35° being experienced "down south". We've been enjoying our riverside walks to the tent in Skiddaw St where the Bible readings on Micah have been taking place. We're not quite done yet; there's one more to go. But I feel I owe Micah an apology.

I've never viewed the Old Testament as an irrelevance, as just the prelude to the interesting bit. There are lots of reasons for this, but here's one. At the end of his Gospel Luke records an encounter between Jesus and two of his former followers. That's how they would have though of themselves I suppose, because they though Jesus was dead. And they were probably fairly fearful they might be next. Jesus, who initially is unrecognised by them, walks alongside them as they head away from Jerusalem. They're pretty depressed, and probably grieving. After all, their leader and mentor has just been executed. As they new well, the Romans knew a thing or two about executions and dead men stay dead. Hence their general state of depression. The problem was that Jesus was no failed insurrectionist, or teacher of novel ideas swept away by accident or miscalculation. And the evidence? The resurrection of course. 

One of the intriguing things about this whole incident in Luke 24 is that the two disciples actually knew the key facts about the resurrection. They'd been told that the tomb where Jesus' body had been left was empty. They'd even heard that some of their number had been told that Jesus was alive. But of course, all of their experience told them this could not be true. He was dead. So they had headed off down the road, disconsolate. But Jesus of course wasn't dead. And as He walks with them he does something very interesting. It's also interesting what He doesn't do. He doesn't show them his wounds (as He did with Thomas) to identify Himself. Nor does he do a miracle to impress them. Instead, He conducts a Bible study, concentrating on all those bits of the Bible I find obscure and difficult to understand: the Old Testament, including the law and the prophets. For all I know he even did a quick tour of Micah. The point He was making was that it all spoke about Him. His approach, exposing people to the Old testament Scriptures as a way of encountering Him, proved to be a lesson that really stuck with the early disciples. When Peter gets the chance to talk to a vast crowd a short time later, what does he do? He preaches from an obscure corner of the Old Testament, the prophecy of Joel. I have to confess, given the opportunity to address a vast crowd about who Jesus is and what He's done, I probably wouldn't have done the same. But I might now be tempted to turn to Micah.

It's been amazing (except it's not really) how bang up to date and relevant Micah is.We've had the abusive elites in Micah 3, exploiting those weaker than themselves just because they can. This leads to what Chris Wright rightly called a kind of "social cannibalism" that consumes the consumer. Are we not concerned about elites in our day? Mind you, that doesn't get the rest of us off the hook. Perhaps we get the leaders we deserve by not thinking critically about so many of the little choices we make every day. Of course, Micah was largely ignored in his own day. Everything was basically fine wasn't it? Religious leaders were able to claim with apparent impunity that God was fine with what was going on. Except He wasn't, and judgement was coming. The creeping injustice, the toleration for what was wrong being called right, the religious syncretism that sought to keep the Living God in His place, in His box, and out of the public sphere. It wasn't doing in any damage was it? Things just kept going. And for those with a continuing pang of conscience, there was always temple, always religion, always more ritual.   

Except as Micah points out, God had shown what He was looking for. It wasn't more and more sacrifices. It wasn't even ultimate sacrifices. In a startling pointer to Jesus' future mission (and Micah prophesied the site of His birth), Micah says God doesn't want the sacrifice of their fistborn(s). Why? Because it was going to take the sacrifice of God's firstborn to clear the debt we have all incurred. But in general God had been consistent and clear in what He requires. As Micah 6:8 makes pithily clear (and as Jimmy Carter quoted in his presidential inaugural address) God requires us: "..to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God."  This was no radical departure, this is the whole teaching of the Old Testament. The rituals and sacrifices had their place, but it was limited. And they provided no answer for habitual, continuing, rebellion against God. Of course few were listening in Micah's day. Few may be listening today. Shortly after Micah, it all came crashing about the heads of leaders and people. They had persisted in going their own way. 

There it is in Micah. A warning to me, to us. It was there all the time. The bad, the good, the ugly and the best. 

Sorry I wasn't listening Micah.

Keswick II: What’s Micah ever done for us?

Like the Romans in the eponymous Monty Python sketch, it’s sometimes only when a question is asked that answers start to pop into your head. I admit this question is not very likely to pop into many heads. After all, the Micah in question came from a fairly obscure and long-forgotten village/hamlet/probably-not-as-big-as-a-town in ancient Israel, and lived an awful long time ago (born around 740BC). And of course his book is tucked away in a corner of a bigger book many would consider, for all practical purposes, to be entirely irrelevant to life in the 21^st century. To be honest the question only occurred to me because Micah is the subject of the morning Bible readings here at Keswick. Shame on me it turns out. Yes, Micah was written a long way away and a long time ago, yet front and centre there are themes that resonate.

Just a couple to mention. The first is the silencing of preachers. My view is that what Micah had to say is of lasting, global significance. Many take a different view. That’s fair enough. But in Micah’s day, Micah was told to shut up. He was told that what he was saying was not a suitable subject for preachers. In the immediate context, he was warning of disaster because it turned out that God was not indifferent to what was going on in Israel and Judah. But many in Micah’s day were comfortable. At least the comfortable were comfortable, and they didn’t want their comfort being disturbed by some shaggy preacher, who originated from a nothing family, in a nothing part of the country. It wasn’t that they necessarily had no time for religion and indeed preachers. But they had to be the right sort of religion and the right sort of preachers. Preachers that preached about nice things were particularly welcome.

My observation, for what it’s worth, is that both tendencies are among us today. On the one hand when preachers take up what the Bible has to say about issues that cut across and challenge the culture, they are told to shut up. If not quite literally silenced, moves are made at least to drive them from the public sphere. Perhaps the consequences are currently not that dire in the scheme of things – yet. But maybe a time is coming, when livelihoods and then liberty and finally even life will be on the line. On the other hand, the flip side is that preachers who preach “nice things”, may well do very nicely. In our time there’s the prosperity peddlers of course. God wants only good things for us; believe hard enough, give plenty (to the preacher usually), and all will be well.  This despite the fact that Micah and others from Jeremiah to Paul and indeed Jesus Himself, all seem to have experienced something very different to health, wealth and prosperity. Then there are those who are just generally “nice” (remember the Royal wedding?). That seems to be fairly acceptable. Nice, preferably short and quick homilies, so general and vague as to be interpretable as meaning almost anything, that will do very nicely thank you. And finally, just go with the culture, reinterpreting the Bible for our times so it’s “relevant”. The bits that are clearly unacceptable to the postmodern post-Christian mind just ignore. Then we’ll be able to preach what the culture at large considers acceptable. Tell them what they want to hear. The result? Well in Micah’s day (or shortly thereafter – he was a prophet after all) first Israel (the ten northern tribes) and then Judah sleepwalk into disaster.

The other thing that sticks out is the way the powerful exploited those without power simply (so it seems) because they could. There were apparently no internal restraints on their behaviour, and because they were powerful there were obviously no external constraints on them. Exploitation was all they thought about. They went to sleep at night scheming and this was what gave them a spring in their step come the morning. The consequences for those they exploited was of no concern to them. And it looked like they got away with it. Except of course they didn’t. Their success was illusory. Kind of raises the question as to what really counts as success and what matters.

So, not very far in to Micah, and it looks like there are connections to be made between Micah’s world and mine. I accept it  might not be about roads, education, viaducts and, erm, the wine, but Micah’s may well do me some good.

Keswick I: Science and Micah?

Time for a summer break. We decided this year we’d spend part of it at least in Keswick in the English Lake District. It’s a beautiful part of the world only a few hours’ drive from where we live. Sharp little hills interspersed with dark stretches of water (the eponymous lakes). Some of the lakes are big, famous and busy (like Windermere), others are small and quiet. It’s all so picturesque that it’s a UNESCO World Heritage Site, on a par with the Grand Canyon or Machu Picchu. So here we are for a week.

Mind you, welcome as the grand vistas are from the windows of our rented cottage, they are not really why we’re here. We’re actually here for the middle week of the Keswick Convention. Founded in 1875, this has remained a theologically conservative Bible teaching jamboree, now spreading over three weeks of the English summer. For many who will be here, the centre of activity is the morning “Bible reading”. This year, during the middle week, these will concentrate on what many would consider to be a particularly obscure bit of the Old Testament, the book of Micah. So why “holiday” here rather than on a nice beach somewhere? And how does any of this sort of thing square with my day job?

First of all the Bible reading bit. Yes, reading the Bible, listening to bits of it being explained, thinking about and discussing it, is different to reading the latest research on behavioural inhibitory control (one of the things I’m currently working on). It’s certainly different to reading my own tortured prose as contained in the latest manuscript we’ve submitted for publication (hopefully to appear soon in Experimental Brain Research). But science is what I do. The Bible is much more about who I am. It’s not that the two don’t intersect and interact. Some have argued that these are such separate spheres that there can be no points of contact. But that is not a sustainable position (and neither is it an intellectually honest one). Apart from anything else the, Christian who is also a scientist must be a point of contact between the two.

It’s the Bible that shapes (or should shape) me the person. Funnily enough this has an impact on how I go about the science I do. When I seek to bring to my professional life qualities like honesty and integrity, I do that because those values stem from my faith and are shaped by what the Bible teaches. Note that I’m not claiming that if you have no faith you can’t behave with integrity and honesty; just that such commitments in me flow from my faith. My commitment to science as a way of finding out about certain processes also flows from my conviction that underpinning those processes is God’s power (something I learn from the Bible). By studying them, I’m learning more about Him. This is my version of Kepler’s famous “thinking God’s thoughts after Him” comment.

Flowing the other way, the intellectual rigour that is developed by a training in science (critical analysis, weighing of evidence etc), is helpful when thinking about the Bible. Basic rules of interpretation and analysis apply. I don’t mean it’s a scientific text making scientific claims; it’s not and it shouldn’t be treated as such. But it still has to be approached with due and thoughtful care.

So here we are thinking about Micah. I don’t expect to learn much here this week that will help me understand the pattern of inhibition errors we observe in the eye movement task we’ve been using recently to study healthy ageing. But it’s quite possible that I’m going to learn more about me and how I should be living. Because standing behind the Bible, even the bits I find obscure (like Micah) is the same God who underpins the universe I study in the lab. He is not the distant God of the Deist, a God who stands at an infinite distance as a largely passive observer. He is the intimately involved God, interested in and active in this world, who speaks though His Word, shaping thoughts and lives. That’s why I’m happy to be here this week. I don’t usually get this much time to listen and think (and in such pleasant surroundings). I might even be tempted to comment here the odd thing that I pick up in Keswick about Micah.