Heroes, pedestals and worship...

It is perhaps remarkable that, as violent as the USA is today (both literally and metaphorically), there have been relatively few political assassinations in recent times. The same cannot be said of the 1960’s, a decade in which there were three key assassinations. In 1963 President John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas, and five years later his brother, Robert F. Kennedy, was killed while on the campaign trail for the presidency. But just a few months previously Martin Luther King Jr had been assassinated in Memphis, Tennessee. John F had already made a global impact by the time of his election, having been a member of both the House and Senate (and publishing a Pulitzer prize-winning book) before winning the top job in 1960. His early death probably helped to preserve his reputation, despite his involving the US further in the Vietnam conflict (which would become so divisive later in the decade) and authorising a number of CIA capers in Cuba. King’s violent and tragic death, April 4^th, 1968 (he had already survived a stabbing in 1958), and his involvement in the Civil Rights movement in the US (which included the soaring rhetoric of his 1963 “I have a dream” speech) have also served to preserve his reputation. But biographers, or at least competent biographers, seek to describe their subject as completely as the evidence will allow. And in a review of a new biography of King, I was struck by the comment that “Heroes are defenceless against time’s erosion” (DeGroot’s review of “King”, by Jonathan Eig, The Times, 20/5/23).

All men, even great men, are men. Or, if you prefer a non-gendered version, all human beings are human beings. This is hardly an original or earth-shattering statement. Indeed, it is simply a restatement of what J.C. Ryle, first Bishop of Liverpool, observed back in the mid-19th century: “The best of men are only men at their very best”. In his “Expository thoughts on the Gospels” he was discussing the tendency to put prominent people on something of a pedestal, and perhaps by implication to “worship” them. Certainly to pay closer attention to them than was merited. This is not to argue that there aren’t those to whom attention should be paid, whether in science, the arts, politics or theology (or wherever your interest lie). There will be those who have technical expertise who should be listened to, whose insights should be appreciated and carefully considered. Hopefully the recent madness of despising experts because they are experts and believing the sage advice of those who have no expertise but opine anyway, has passed or at least is passing. There will be others who because of other experience will have something to contribute to a particular debate or discussion. But no-one is an expert in everything; even polymaths have blind spots and other limitations. This is why it is unwise to take too seriously the metaphysical prejudices of eminent natural scientists, who become eminent largely by knowing more about less. They are entitled to their metaphysical views (and they all have them). But their opinion should carry no more weight than those of other non-experts in metaphysics. So it is worth paying a certain amount of attention to what is being said on certain topics at a certain time over a certain range to certain people. But the topics and range will always have limits.

And this bring us to the problem of those occupying pedestals. For we tend to attribute to them an expertise that is way too broad, insight that is way more penetrating that is likely to be the case, and authority that they probably don’t want and are not capable of bearing. Eventually they will topple or be toppled leaving us with conundrums. What of their cause (if they have one)? Is that inevitably tainted by the discovery that the leader of that particular cause was flawed (although probably no more flawed than the rest of us)? King’s great cause was the end of racism, a time he anticipated when character would count for more than skin colour. That is surely a worthy, if yet unobtained, objective. This seems to be a cousin of the issue of separating an artist from his or her art. This last weekend a protester climbed on to a statue outside the BBC which was created by the sculptor Eric Gill, and attacked it with a hammer and chisel. The reason was that Gill, one of the towering figures in British sculpture in the first half of the 20^th century, was guilty of incest and child abuse. Meanwhile, on planet evangelical, yet another UK leader is currently being investigated over allegations of abuse of those under his influence, and a former Archbishop has been forced to step back from his ministry because of alleged mishandling of another abuse claim. Can you separate the man from his theology?

What has disappointed here is not speeches, sculpture or theology, but the particular human beings involved. Because it turned out (or it may turn out after investigation) that they were flawed. But then we all are. That’s why pedestals of whatever kind are dangerous. Those specimens of humanity who occupy them will almost inevitability disappoint on some level or another, at one time or another. And there is definitely a temporal aspect to this that means that the human and flawed reality will always catch up with even the greatest of human, pedestalled heroes. Which brings us back to what Ryle was actually discussing. Pedestals make for idolatry, because those who occupy them, whether by accident or design, are usurping someone who most definitely should be “up there”. It is precisely because this is how human beings are designed (to worship) that pedestals exist in the first place. But Ryle’s point was that there is someone the worship of whom is entirely appropriate. It turns out that perhaps the most examined life ever lived, examined both by His contemporaries and by many since, has yet to be found to be flawed in any respect. Ryle was discussing Matthew 17:1-13 (page 209 of the James Clark 1974 edition of his “Expository Thoughts on the Gospels”), and his focus was entirely on Jesus.

Here is someone worthy of hero worship. Because He is worthy of worship. 

It’s Christmas on Sunday…….

You wouldn’t think it was that big a deal that December 25^th happens to be a Sunday. And for most of the planet’s 8 billion inhabitants it probably isn’t. Many will neither recognize or celebrate Christmas regardless of when it falls, including those with no Christian interest or history, and those who as a matter of their atheistic principles will not want to have anything to do with it (and quite right too). After all, the (nominal) Christian world only makes up about 30% of the world’s total population. Within that 30% one might reasonably expect that Christmas falling on a Sunday would not lead to any dramas. However it turns out that there has been a bit of a tiz going on. Apparently, because it is Christmas day some places of worship (I hesitate to call them churches) have cancelled their services. While the debate probably started on Twitter (don’t they all these days?), and spread to the “Christian” press and websites (e.g. see “The Christian Post”), it eventually reached the New York Times, hardly an evangelical rag.

I should mention at this point that I have skin in this particular game. I come from a theologically fairly conservative background, and remember at least one childhood Christmas that fell on a Sunday. Because of my aged state I’m afraid I can’t remember the details of that particular Christmas day. But I do remember having the distinct impression that this was a Sunday to be spent like every other Sunday. Same meetings (with perhaps the exception of the Sunday afternoon Bible class), same content. Jesus' birth may have been mentioned, but only as the necessary prelude to His life, death and resurrection. The world may have been celebrating with its trees and tinsel, but that was nothing to do with us. There was also perhaps a touch of if the world was happy we had to be miserable. None of us can entirely escape our backgrounds, so I still find myself in two minds about all the Christmas hullabaloo (ie the trees and tinsel) and still sometimes find myself wondering what it has to do with me.

As an aside, there are those who end up in roughly the same place but come at it from the opposite direction. Self-confessed “cultural Christian” Poly Toynbee, likes goodwill, the idea of the poor inheriting the earth and the way “the stable stands for the homeless and refugees”. The rest of it (by which I think she means biblical Christianity) she finds “loathsome”. And so she should too. The theology of carols (like “veiled in flesh the Godhead see”) should strike her as bizarre. And there are all sorts of reasons to be appalled at a Saviour born to die on a cross (a “symbol of barbaric torture”). Christmas comes with “religious baggage we should shed” she says. Although one might be forgiven for pointing out that this confuses carts and horses - without the religious "baggage" there would, of course, be no Christmas. Her main motivation, though, appears to be that she wants religious opposition to the “right to die” removed. It is far from clear that is a sure fire way to ensure goodwill to all men. Time will tell. But certainly I can see why, from her point of view, there are logical reasons for a degree of ambivalence about Christmas.

But for me there is no ambivalence that applies to Sundays. I know what Sunday is about. Albeit the English name goes back to pagan times, it’s clear what Christians are to make of the first day of the week. It is the day on which our priority is to come together to focus on and remember Jesus. Maybe Greeks have the right idea (and not for the first time), naming Sunday “Κυριακή”, which is derived from “Κύριος” Lord. The Lord’s day, one that affords that opportunity for fellowship with other believers, with Jesus “in the midst” (as He put it Himself). A weekly opportunity to be provided with fuel for our living as we take our minds of our twitter and RSS feeds and fill them with His word. All of this is mandated; it marked the early Church and should mark churches today. So, on the one hand a (Christmas) day of ambivalence and on the other a (Lord’s) day I’m fairly clear about. Seems like a no brainer as to which should have prominence when the two coincide.

We would, in any case meet as a church on Christmas day, not something I have ever found a chore. But it did lead to a degree of mental and chronological confusion because it meant that a Monday, Tuesday or whatever would end up feeling like a Sunday, without actually being one. At least this year there will be no need for such dissonance. It will be like killing two birds with the one communal stone. This helpful aspect aside, it does seem strange to me that some who claim to be Christians seem keen not to meet, and the suspicion arises that it being Christmas day is an excuse not a reason. A bit like those who think that things like cup finals in which their favourite team is playing is a reason not to meet. This is to put church on the level of a hobby or diversion; it’s really not. This coming Christmas Sunday those of us who followers of Jesus have an extra reason to be together (not a reason for not gathering) to focus with others on what, or rather Who, really matters. And indeed not just His birth, as remarkable as that was. But on His life, death, resurrection, ascension and return.

It was, after all, the Saviour, Christ the Lord, that was born, not just a baby.