Science + theology?

A while ago I took to thinking about the area of study in which I am now engaged (theology), and also the area in which I had previously been professionally occupied (science). I suppose I conceived of these as two largely separable and separate fields. Sitting next to each other in the intellectual landscape, I suppose I would have expected to find a fairly well defined boundary between them. But because I am a realist (technically a critical realist), committed to a single , overarching and knowable reality outside of me, I would expect the boundary to be a fuzzy one, allowing friendly contact and interchange. If both represent valid pursuits, then they both deal with the same reality, although from different perspectives, using different tools. They are neither enemies or rivals. Admittedly, few scientists spend much time in properly theological reflection (except the ones who do), and there are probably more than a few who would deny theology any validity at all. But that has more to do with weaknesses in the education of scientists (at least in the Anglo Saxon world) than with any real problem with theology as a discipline. It has its problems of course, but validity is not one of them. However, it turns out that there may be a bigger overlap between theology and science than I had suspected.

I was alerted to this by having to critique a paper published in the Journal of Empirical Theology. Can there be such a thing I wondered. If theology is the study of an ineffable and inapproachable God, then it seems unlikely that empirical methods will have much traction. I am rather assuming that there are theologians (Barth perhaps?) who argue that when it comes to knowing anything about God, what is required is revelation not scientific experimentation. And while God’s self-revelation can be examined, debated and understood (and misunderstood), this is not a task that the methods of the natural sciences will be much help with. But theology (rather like science) is really not one single institution or discipline, with a single object of study from a single standpoint and a single set of tools. Given that things are believed about God (and indeed gods) by people, there are reasons for studying these beliefs, the people who hold them, and perhaps thereby discover things  about the God in whom they believe. In general, those who study people develop interests in the beliefs people have. So it is no surprise that tools have been developed to study such things, and some of these are thoroughly empirical.

Obvious examples are found in social and cognitive psychology, where many of the classic approaches found in other branches of the natural sciences, are used to study things like beliefs. The general approach can often be couched in classic hypothesis-driven terms (observation-hypothesis-prediction-test), using standard instruments and testing strategies to get at what is going on in people’s minds (or at least inside their heads). Religious ideas and beliefs might simply be seen as a subset of beliefs and ideas, examinable using exactly the same techniques. This is not a new idea; that religious belief was nothing special is a view that Scottish arch-sceptic and empiricist David Hume would have agreed with. Such investigations, undertaken from a standpoint of “methodological naturalism” generate explanations for the phenomena under investigation that do not invoke God, any more that I would have invoked His activity to explain the eye movement phenomena that I used to study. But then this doesn’t really sound like any kind of theology. And indeed it isn’t – it’s psychology.

As an aside, as a Christian believer, while I did not invoke the actions of God to explain the things I was investigating, I was well aware that He was not remote. He was as present in my lab as anywhere else; I am a Christian not a Deist. I was always quite comfortable with the belief that underpinning everything I did, indeed underpinning my very existence as well as that of the universe, was God’s power (revealed by writer of the New Testament letter to the Hebrews; Heb 1:3). But my job was to find immediate and natural explanations for what I was investigating, based on natural rather than supernatural mechanisms. My hypotheses were couched in terms of these natural mechanisms, and these were what my experiments tested, and what my theories invoked. But God and natural explanations are neither contradictory or mutually exclusive. They are different, and pertain to different levels of reality. But this poses a conundrum. I assume that there is an explanation that connects the power and working of the God who is spirit with the existence and maintenance of this universe which is material. I have no idea what it is, and my gut feeling is that even if God had revealed it I would not be capable of understanding it.

But back to empirical theology. There are models of belief and thought that originate within an avowedly theological context and use theological concepts. These are likely to be dependent, at least for the most part, on the revelation of God mentioned above. Empirical methods could, I suppose, be used to study such beliefs. But the methods themselves would have to be theologically informed, otherwise we’re simply back in the realms of psychology. This seems to be what goes on in what is called empirical theology. What I don’t quite understand is what it’s for. Mind you, that applies to a lot of science which is actually at its best when it is just about finding out stuff. It is only subsequently that it turns out that some of the stuff is useful or important or worth lots of money. There’s a lot of serendipity involved in even the hardest of hard sciences. There are contexts where finding how what and how people think is important. An example would be education where if you wanted to know whether a concept or belief was being adequately transmitted, then there are ways of finding this out in a rigorous manner. This is likely to be as useful in theological education as elsewhere. But is this really theology? Who’s to say. Defining disciplines is famously difficult. But I can conceive of investigating theological concepts and beliefs in a thoroughly scientific manner. Whether it ever is, is a different story.

A tale of two cities…

Edinburgh and London, September, 2022. The first has been sombre and restrained, the second has been brighter. The one has welcomed the arrival of the late Queen’s mortal remains to lie in state before heading south. The other filled with people looking excitedly for a glimpse of the new King as he takes up the responsibilities and burdens as head of state, even while grieving the loss of his mother. So many emotions, and a number of contrasts.

As so many have noted in these days, Queen Elizabeth II was (as we now have to get used to saying) a remarkable woman and a remarkable sovereign. Having lived one of the most scrutinized of lives, she is no less scrutinized in death. From the announcement of her passing at around 6.30pm on Thursday 8^th September, cameras were trained on the gates of Balmoral (where she died), as well as following all the intricate actions that seamlessly accomplish as well as evidence the succession. On Sunday the coffin containing her remains, draped in the Scottish Royal Standard, was driven from Balmoral to Edinburgh, with a helicopter filming from above. This had the added benefit of demonstrating again the impact the Queen’s death has had on so many. Throughout even relatively sparsely populated sections of the Scottish countryside, ordinary folk made their way to stand by the side of the road and pay their respects. By the time the cortege reached Edinburgh, where the route included the Royal Mile, ending in Holyrood Palace, the crowds were six or seven deep on both sides of the road. The quiet, respectful murmur of the crowd was interrupted by a wave of equally respectful applause.

Scotland, it is claimed, is unsure of its place in the state of which the Queen was head. She had made no secret of her love for Balmoral and its setting. It was where she spent her last days on earth. Just last week, in the first time for a long time, a departing Prime Minister had to make his way there to resign, and the newly elected leader of the largest party in the Commons had to make her way there to be offered the position. The Queen’s relationship with the locals around Balmoral was a warm one, and they and many others made their way to Balmoral’s gates to make their feelings clear. It is notable that the Queen rose so high above the political arguments over independence. Of course she inherited the crown of Scotland by right, independent of her status in the rest of the United Kingdom. She was a direct descendant of James VI. But given the level of political argument over Scotland’s status, one referendum behind us and perhaps another one to come, the affection in which she was held by Scots was amply demonstrated by the crowds. There will be many a Scots tear shed when, shortly, she leaves Scotland for the last time. Whether her departure will mark a turn to a republican frame of mind remains to be seen.

Meanwhile, over the weekend, the events that confirm the accession of the new King continued to unfold back in London. For the first time we were all able to see the meeting of the Privy Council as an Accession Council on Saturday. Over previous centuries this had only been witnessed by Privy Councillors themselves, and then only by relatively few. Now, millions of us could observe the inner workings of the British constitution. Again Scotland loomed large. King Charles III will take a number of oaths at the time of his coronation. But long before that he has already taken an oath to “inviolably maintain and preserve the settlement of the true protestant religion as established by the laws made in Scotland”. This is part of the constitutional settlement that brought about Union in 1707. In what is seemingly becoming a secular state, this must have bemused many of his subjects, including Presbyterians back in Scotland who seem to have little notion of what the “true protestant religion” actually is.

Today (Monday) Edinburgh witnessed the solemn sight of the Queen's coffin, with the Royal Family walking close by, being taken from the Palace of Holyrood, to lie in St Giles Cathedral. The new King joined his grieving family there having completed another key ceremonial task back in London. Both the Lords and the Commons have met to allow their members to pay tribute to the Queen. All of the speeches were personal, many of them were moving. One thing that was striking was the number who highlighted the Queen’s personal faith in Christ. While this has been observed by all, it is clearly more meaningful and personal for some. Those who were not just subjects of Her Majesty, but fellow believers with her, were able to bring a special focus to her faith and witness pointing out that hers was no mere formal or official religion. She bore a personal commitment to a King higher than herself; this was what had liberated her to perform her duties in the way that she did. I have no way of knowing the extent to which these speeches, just a small subset of so many being made across the world, will have an impact on the King. But today all of Parliament, along with the King and his Queen Consort, gathered in Westminster Hall to hear the Speakers of both Commons and Lords remember the Queen and express condolences to the King and the Royal Family for their loss. It was a reminder of both the public and personal. We have all lost a Queen; Charles has lost a mother.

Then the King was on his way to Edinburgh from London for another procession, more ceremony, further words of remembrance and condolence. Then the Queens coffin will leave Scotland for good, and head to London to lie in state before the funeral next week. The divided focus on two cities, will again be concentrated in one place. The past will give way to the future. There are new memories to be made, and a new reign will unfold. But even in an age of rampant materialism and naturalism, the usually unseen hold of the unseen has been laid bare. Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, moved to tears by the death of someone who was inevitably remote from most, bereaved by the loss of a near stranger. And those invisible cords of history that makes a nation out of a people, have been revealed for the strength that they provide even if they are poorly understood and appreciated. A whole hidden world revealed, if only temporally.

It turns out there more to life than meets the eye. We’ll all be praying God save the King, as He surely did his mother.

Methodological musings

Summer is nearly over, school exam results are in, and the traditional English pastime of agonizing over the education system is in full swing. As the days lengthen and the temperature (hopefully) drops, I have to return to thinking about my little part in the great educational adventure (the masters programme at Union Schoolof Theology). Having completed a bunch of modules last year covering a range of topics, this year I am about to embark on the research methods module and then my dissertation. There are those who insist that we’ve all moved on from the days when Theology was taken seriously as an academic subject. I suspect some lurk among my former scientific colleagues. Mind you, they would probably also hold the same view (although only ever very quietly articulate it) of sociology, political studies, poetry, swathes of psychology, and other oddities. In fact, if they but knew a little bit of history (another subject area with dubious credentials) they would know that this is a very 19^th/early 20^th century view of the academy in which only science provides truthful and therefore useful knowledge. Everything else is “nonsense”; useful only in so far as it is mildly entertaining.

Before coming back to the issue of theology specifically, it’s worth just making a few rejoinders to this sort of (admittedly minority) view (see also here). The first thing to note is that scientific approaches have only ever applied to a fantastically narrow sliver of life and experience. To claim that only those things which can be measured and weighed, parameterized and counted matter, leads to an extremely impoverished view of life that no one could, or ever really has, held. To dismiss the warmth of human relationships, the beauty of sunsets, the evocations of great music (whether Elgar or E.L.O), is to dismiss the sort of thing that makes life liveable. None of these things can finally be reduced to numbers without missing something both important and wonderful. The view that only the measurable is knowable is only held in seminar rooms, and while having arguments. Then its proponents return to spouses and children and talk of love and affection (presumably genuinely), or go out and enjoy a good meal, and do not feel in any way that these are nonsense experiences that are to be dismissed.

And the notion that science is somehow self-sufficient, never requiring insights from other disciplines, is a peculiar kind of intellectual arrogance not worthy of the first-year undergraduate flushed with A-level success, who has yet to learn of his true ignorance. Where this type of attitude (articulated or not) persists among professional scientists (and where it does true professionalism and rigour are undermined) trouble is usually not far behind. You might think that clear thinking is a hallmark of science, but the literature is replete with counter-examples that a mildly competent philosopher or historian of science would be able to supply. Confusion and conflict over no more than poorly defined categories and misnamed concepts is far from unknown.

It is the philosophers of science (rarely scientists themselves) who have had to tackle how scientists actually think when engaged in effective science. Most scientists find that doing stuff is complicated enough without thinking too hard about it. In my experience it is not uncommon to bumble about in mist before finding a sensible approach to a problem. Activity rather than cool, dispassionate thought is often the preferred approach. The highly sophisticated, specialized and technical nature of most contemporary, professional science has exacerbated rather than moderated such tendencies. And all of this is prior to the really big elephant now sitting right in the middle of science’s front room – integrity. “Ethics” is not science (like epistemology it is a sub-discipline of philosophy), but “ethics” are now one of science’s big problems. This is perhaps inevitable where things like careers, salaries, and economic exploitation of scientific results are to the fore. All research costs money, and the money is usually someone else’s. This brings inevitable pressures and temptations. Things are further complicated where science and political controversy become entwined as in current debates around vaccines and climate change. Science is far from the clean, cool, rational, straightforward, always successful enterprise that some would have the non-scientist believe.

So in the complicated and nuanced world we all have to inhabit, studies of other aspects of existence have their place and I assume require an appropriate toolkit, some knowledge of the past, and strenuous efforts to discover and apply new knowledge. There is a right way to go about science, or rather right ways – it’s not as methodologically monolithic as you might think. And I’m assuming the same applies in a discipline like theology. There is even an interesting overlap in methodology, in as much as reasoned argument has the same characteristics across disciplines (a philosopher could give me chapter and verse on this). Coherence will be good and contradiction bad. Claims will be testable and tested against evidence. Interestingly, while the main object of study in theological investigation is different to that which I studied previously, there is again an overlap between my former and future efforts. If the object of study in theology is God (the only real and true one I mean), then there is a problem because there is a sense in which He is unknowable. And yet He has revealed Himself in a number of ways. Of prime importance is Scripture, the book of His words, and His primary method of self-revelation. But then we have His created order (including ourselves) – the book of His works. And that’s what I’ve been studying for all these years. In studying them, I have been studying Him.

But I take it that given the centrality of Scripture, this will be a prime focus of theological research, and therefore theological method. This raises a bit of a conundrum as far as research is concerned. The Bible has been an object of study for a long time. In my former existence a premium was placed upon revealing new things. Admittedly where I managed this, the things that were revealed were only of interest to me and a tiny handful of other people. Had they not been revealed the world would have continued spinning on its axis. But they were, in their way, novel. But is theological research about finding out new things about God in Scripture or do we know everything about Him we need and are able to know? Research would then become a matter of rediscovering the thoughts of others, a sort of history. I can see the value in this, but is it all there is? Or are there new things to be discovered, articulated and applied? I am already aware of two theological tribes which take two different, and opposing, positions on this - constructivists versus conservatives. No doubt there are others I’ve yet to encounter.

The inventiveness of humanity and the productivity of science and technology do occasionally throw up genuinely new issues which require theological reflection. One example would be nuclear weapons which placed the means of planetary destruction in human hands for the first time. A current example would be the current controversy over gender, what it is and whether it is fixed or fluid; such questions would simply never have occurred to previous generations. But is this fundamentally about generating new truth, or applying old truth to new issues? Novelty may not be as novel as it first  appears. And if some claim is made that a really novel theological truth has been discovered, is this a good thing or simply danger sign?

These are the questions to be batted about next week. Some hard thinking to do. It’s unlikely to be dull.

Messiness and main things

It can be very easy to fall out with people, something all human beings seem to have a talent for. Sometimes religious people in general, and Christians in particular (particularly those at the Protestant/Evangelical end of the spectrum) get singled out for being key exemplars of this propensity. Given that, it is worth pointing out that the Monty Python joke about “splitters” has much more to do with politics than religion, suggesting that this really is a human, not specifically Christian, frailty.

Unity is of course important. In philosophy it has been a matter of debate from Plato and Aristotle forward. In politics, it is valued because of the perception that people don’t vote for divided and disunited political parties (a rule most recently restated by Nadhim Zahawi, Boris’ final chancellor). More importantly for me, it is enjoined by the Psalmist  (Ps 133:1 – “how good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell together in unity”) and prayed for by Jesus (John 17:21 – “..that they may all be one..”). But unity is one of those odd things that while important, is not really of value in an of itself. Just as faith can only ever be as strong as its object, so unity is only of value where there is something (or someone) to unite around. This brings us back to splitting.

One of the accusations constantly thrown at the Reformers in the sixteenth century was essentially that they were “splitters”. They were introducing division into the church that had no business being there. The point was often made that it would not end well; once a splitter, always a splitter (partly the Python’s point). It was predicted that once the split had occurred from Rome there would be other splits, until the whole reforming project ran into the sand. Where previously there had been glorious unity under Rome, there would be all these fissiparous protestants, both defacing the beauty of the church, and generally causing lots of trouble. And it did rather look like this for a while. Except for a couple of things.

The unity of Rome was both around the wrong object and was in part illusory. The human institution of the church, with its accretion of prelates and both extrabiblical and unbiblical ritual, with its devotion to international politics and political rather than spiritual leadership, had moved so far from the church as instituted at Pentecost as to be unrecognizable. It had become a barrier to the saving truth of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, not its doorway. Even so, even Luther recognized a high threshold for secession, and his original intent was reform rather than schism. That door, if ever open, was swiftly closed against him. In any case, Luther faced a situation in which no-one was entirely sure what the truth really was that everyone was supposed to unite around. He was active during a period of theological pluralism, when even for key ideas (including some that would become hotly contested like justification) the right line was often ill-defined. The production of Erasmus’ new translation of Scripture, a great improvement on the Vulgate, had the effect of showing up that in certain areas what had become accepted truth was far from it. The institution, when challenged, reacted with hostility. A split became both inevitable and unbridgeable where truth was defined by God in His Word, as opposed to a human institution.

And while it still looks to some that chaos was the result, chaos that is still with us, this is surprisingly deceptive. That central role of Scripture as defining truth has another important aspect to it. Some things are both true and necessary – get them wrong and the consequences can be eternally disastrous. Deny them, and the outcome is likely to be as unpleasant. It is clear that Jesus is not just a great teacher or prophet, but God and man. As hard as this is to get our heads around, undermine, redefine or deny the truth of who Jesus is, relegate the truth of His life, death and resurrection to opinion, and the Gospel is emptied of its transforming relevance and power. This hypothesis has, as it happens, been tested in contemporary Europe (including the UK) and North America, and the results may be clearly observed. However, it is less clear whether it is necessary for Christians to meet at 10.30am every Sunday morning, sit in wooden pews and sing songs written prior to the nineteenth century only accompanied by a pipe organ. In the New Testament there is teaching about some of things we should do as Christians, and in some cases the way in which we should do them. But there is surprisingly little practical detail, leaving ample scope for a legitimate spectrum of practice. This has not prevented some Christians from falling out over details that Scripture simply does not supply.

John Newton, former trafficker in human slaves, writer of “Amazing Grace” and latterly Church of England vicar and rector wrote “If a man is born again, hates sin, and depends upon the Saviour for life and grace, I care not whether he is an Arminian or a Calvinist.” I think Newton puts it rather well. Essentially he was saying that we should keep the main things the main things, and not fall out over the other stuff. And this was the genius of the eighteen century revival and awakening. Even though there were fallings out, and the big one was the Calvinist/Arminian division between John Wesley and George Whitefield (the one referred to by Newton, and one that still exists today), there was an underlying unity in the Gospel. Even the division between Wesley and Whitefield should not be overstated; they found a way to work if not together then at least with a degree of harmony. Wesley famously preached Whitefield’s memorial sermon in 1770.

Of course there will always be a legitimate debate about what the main things actually are, and where the border really is between main and secondary issues. I think Newton summarises them well. There are primary issues, those necessary for salvation, and then there are secondary issues. We can debate these, and perhaps we should, but we should not be falling out about them. Because some have fallen out about them in the past, we find a range of different groups, and it can all look a bit messy. And yet I have always found so much in common with fellow believers in, and followers of Jesus, that there has always been a degree of unity for all to enjoy. This unity, based on God’s Word, is the sort of thing experienced at places like Keswick.

Keep the main things the main things and it turns out things are not as messy as they first appear.

Keswick 22.3: Beyond the big tent…..

The Keswick Convention for us is over, and we have moved on. Indeed, we have moved north on our summer road trip. We spent a good part of today wandering around Edinburgh, our former home. When we first married, we settled here. In driving in to the city we made a short detour to drive past our first flat. Two of our children were born in Edinburgh (one studied here and hasn’t yet left). Even when stuffed with summer tourists it is a beautiful place. And, as we are obviously north of the (currently fictional) border, it was the Scottish edition of the Times that we bought today. Scotland these days is said by some to be a fairly Godless place. The national church, as opposed to the Church, is in rapid, if not yet quite terminal decline. Government here, particularly its Green Party element, is relentlessly secular. And yet today I found two church stories in the Scottish edition of the Times (unfortunately behind a paywall, otherwise I’d provide links to the stories). For different reasons, neither of them is particularly encouraging, at least when taken at face value.

On page 5 is a story about Destiny Church, described as “an American evangelical church”. Destiny Church and Ministries was founded in Glasgow around 1990. Its belief statement on its website certainly declares that it teaches everything you would expect in an evangelical church, with a few additions. It falls into the charismatic camp, with the expected prominence given to teaching about the Holy Spirit, and an attachment to claimed miracles such as healings. In the past it has had associations with “prosperity gospel” teachers such as the appropriately named Creflo Dollar. It has now suffered some splits and defections, with complaints about financial irregularities and exploitation of members being made to the charity authorities in Scotland. Hence the story in today’s paper. I have no notion whether there is any truth in these accusations, and I have no particular criticism to make here of Destiny. I happily confess I know little of them. However, even taking a sceptical view of some of their own claims, they provide evidence that parts of the Church are apparently far from in decline. Exactly how authentic the churches in Destiny’s network are, time (and for that matter eternity) will tell.

Then a little further on (page 23) I encountered the headline “Secular Scotland feels little need for God, warns Kirk moderator”. This is a story about the Church of Scotland’s continuing decline and indeed its own narrative of that decline. It has recognized this formally in as much as it is in the process of rationalizing (i.e. reducing) its number of parishes and posts. The incoming moderator, writing for next months “Church and Life”, is to claim “Christendom has gone” and that Scots live in a culture “that feels little need for God”. The quotations are those that the Times’ journalist has seen fit to include in the story of course. Presumably the Times has seen a copy of the Church and Life article, rather than itself claiming any prophetic insight.

I suppose that the Moderator might claim he has been misquoted. We’ll see. But it is true that there is an ongoing debate within the C of S about its decline and what it is to do. A blog post which is also quoted in the article, authored by one of the Church’s academics, gives a flavour of aspects of the ongoing discussion. The blog post focusses on how the human institution that is the C of S should organize to survive. But nowhere does it engage with the C of S’s central problem. It ceased believe and preach what was supposed to be, and historically was, at its core – the Gospel of Jesus Christ. To conclude that the C of S’s decline means that there is no appetite for the Gospel it has refused to preach is bizarre. Destiny’s story, at least in part, provides evidence to that end.

It was not really the detail of either story that caught my interest. It was that firstly both appeared at all. Again, this rather counts against the idea that there is no interest in such things here in Scotland. I assume that the newspapers, here as elsewhere, only devote column inches to what they think their readers, or at least reasonable proportion of their readers, will find interesting. The Times apparently thinks that news about Christian churches falls into that category. Admittedly you could see both as fairly depressing, and a sign of a secular media taking the opportunity to paint Christians in a poor light. But secondly, beyond the immediate contrast between the two stories themselves there are a number of other contrast that should be pointed up. And this is where Keswick is relevant.

All last week we had the confident presentation of a Gospel and its impacts based on the authoritative Word of God. The confidence was not based in the talents of speakers like Alistair Begg (a Scot as it happens) or the other main speakers, one of whom, David Gibson, is based in a growing church in Aberdeen which, while presbyterian, is not part of the Church of Scotland. These men, and others, were both confident and competent. Not in their own talents, but in the Word that they preached. Now of course the audience they were preaching to was self-selected (although in Week 1 it has a distinctly Scottish feel). Many of us were there precisely because we shared the basic presuppositions of those who were speaking. No surprises there. But we have all now dispersed, some us to that part of the UK which it is claimed “feels little need for God”. As for ourselves, we’re only visiting. But many others love and live here in Scotland. And they are no doubt back with a spring in their step, and I hope a renewed ambition to share the Gospel that the Church of Scotland is so singularly refusing to share.

In the big tent as Keswick, over three summer weeks, there will be full hearts and occasionally damp cheeks. It will be warm in more ways than one. It’s an atmosphere where it’s easy to be a Christian and committed to the Gospel. It may be harder beyond the tent, but this is where the Gospel is in desperately short supply, and therefore where it’s desperately needed.

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.