“Was Jesus a Jew?” (and other matters)….

I would like to stress that the above question is not mine, but one that was put to me this week. It was not asked by someone trying to be smart or make a point or start a debate. They simply did not know the answer and were curious. Being unclear about Jesus origins is perhaps forgivable given centuries of (mainly) European “Christian” art that has tended to portray Him as relatively light skinned, with shiny hair and a very well trimmed beard. Centuries of creating Him in our own image, in the same way that fallen humanity always does with God. The question cropped up in the context of a conversation about Christmas as we shared our mutual dislike of many of its contemporary features. Although this was, and for some of us still is, an opportunity to celebrate the incarnation of the second person of the Trinity (the Word being made flesh as John puts it), Christmas has all but completely morphed into a secular celebration of general niceness, bonhomie and wistfulness. And in this form it is built around various myths.

I am fairly sure that my friend is sure that these myths are myths. Small children, should any be in the vicinity, should perhaps be ushered out of the room at this point – you have been warned. But we all realise that the idea that the presents that appear on the morning of 25^th December, often laid under a fir or pine tree (whether real or synthetic) are not placed there by a stranger in a red suit and white beard on the basis of merit accumulated in the previous twelve months. He who shall remain nameless (but about whom many a parent lies to their offspring) is made up, as is the historical hinterland often attributed to him. Other inventions that appear at this time of year include three wise men and inns with sympathetic inn-keepers but no room. Given the accretion of this mythology, and the widespread Biblical illiteracy that is a feature of the culture, it is not really a surprise to find doubts arising about that other central figure of Christmas, and still the star of many a school nativity, Jesus.

Of course one can investigate who Jesus is, and I would argue that any educated person should. A sensible place to start would be the Biblical accounts of His birth. But here we find something that seems rather strange (as well as lots of things that are contested). Only two of four Gospel writers (Matthew and Luke) include birth narratives in their accounts at all. Mark (who was probably first to produce a Gospel) and John (who probably wrote after the others) both begin their accounts with Jesus’ baptism, when he was aged approximately 30. The most detailed birth narrative occurs in Luke, but he provides almost as much detail about the birth of Jesus' relative John the Baptist (whose birth we never celebrate). And yet for two or three months of every year, thanks to the relentless focus of advertisers and media, you might think that Jesus’ birth is a key event we should focus on. Apparently this was neither the view of 50% of the Gospel writers or, for that matter, the early Church.

For the first two or three centuries of the Church’s existence, more prominence was given to Jesus' baptism (celebrated in the Feast of the Epiphany in January) and His death and resurrection (celebrated at Easter – in spring, and for a while a literally moveable feast). In part this was because birthdays in general were yet to take on their modern significance. So it took a while for consensus to emerge as to when Jesus was born. And at the time there were much more important issues that had to be settled. Besides, precise dates were not much of a thing in the ancient world. So initially, estimates of His month of birth ranged from November to March. Only gradually was December 25^th adopted (at least for liturgical purposes) in part so that a celebration of Jesus birth might displace more dubious pagan celebrations.

Perhaps this Biblical and early Church disinterest in focussing on Jesus birth was also because while it was obviously necessary for what came next, and while it was surrounded by a number of heavy hints as to His significance, it was in some ways profoundly ordinary. And concentration on it, to the exclusion of the rest of what we’re told about Him, runs the risk of “perpetual baby syndrome”. In our minds He forever remains a cute and suspiciously quiet (according to “Away in a manger”) infant. Yet beyond his birth we need to understand the life He led, what He said and did, and not miss the significance of the death He died. However you view these things, cute would hardly be an adequate description. What He did outraged and astonished in equal measure. What He claimed, explicitly as well as implicitly, needs to be carefully weighed. For these are not mere matters of the historical record. The critical call that Jesus made (and makes) is not so much that we must reckon with His birth, but that His life and death having continuing personal as well as cosmic significance. And of this is validated by His resurrection perhaps the most significant event in history, at least so far.

Questions like the one my friend was asking can be answered. We can certainly establish where Jesus was born, and the circumstances surrounding His birth. We can be sure of His ethnicity (He was a Jew), and His heritage (with regard to His human descent He was from the tribe of Judah, though the kingly line of David), and see how his coming fulfilled ancient promises and patterns. I contend that none of this is myth, nor is it merely history, and all of it is significant. By all means enjoy contemplating His birth, but don’t get stuck.

Personally, I comfort myself with the thought that although it’s almost Christmas, Easter is just around the corner.

Just for tonight….

This blog is time limited. By the time you get round to reading it, it may well not be worth reading (if it ever is). I have been inspired to write it by three coinciding occurrences. The first is the noise outside my study window. It is the evening of the 5^th November, and Scousers really, really, like their fireworks. So, this time of year (and actually over several days), all the bangs, booms and whistles mean that it sounds like warfare has broken out. It hasn’t of course. Note that this is in no way to minimise the experience of those elsewhere on this continent who tonight will attempt to go to sleep knowing that what they are hearing nearby is the sound of actual war. Fortunately for us the noise is a reminder of violent times mercifully far in the past, not the sound of ongoing hostilities. There was a time when a subset of a subset of a disaffected political and religious minority attempted to blow up our Parliament. The issues were settled, or at least became less resonant, a long time ago. Now November 5^th is just an excuse to let off fireworks and build bonfires. In comparison with those former times the political issues that divide us now are relatively trivial. Politics still has its plots, but they don’t involve gunpowder and nobody dies. I for one am grateful; I’m assuming none of us would want to go back.

Meantime, on the other side of the Atlantic, US citizens (or at least a sizeable proportion of them) are carrying out that most basic of democratic obligations, to vote in an election for those who will hold power and make and unmake laws. Unusually at the moment no-one knows what the outcome will be. The opinion polls in the critical states have been statistically tied for weeks. Just like the system of elections here, US system, while imperfect, is basically sound. Everyone knows (or at least could know if they paid attention in the civics classes they have to take in school) how the system works. If someone thinks a rule has been broken, or a shortcut taken, if they think that their side has been egregiously disadvantaged, then they have one of the most active legal systems in the world where issues can be aired and examined. For every presidential election (and for many others) both major parties in the US stand up large numbers of lawyers and observers, and complaints and legal action can mean the campaign continues long after the last vote is cast. But usually the issues are settled, a winner emerges, and life moves on. That is until recently.

I have no vote in this particular election. I am an observer from afar. Like many Brits, I have a real liking for the US. But in last the few months we have seen the return of the great narcissist who has managed to appeal to a sizeable minority who feel they have no stake in the “system” as it is. Together they have constructed their own reality and sealed it off from any semblance of the “real” world. Admittedly cause and effect are difficult to discern in this context. And of course the idea that there is a real world has been hotly disputed for a considerable period of time. But a relatively new, popular form of social-media stoked nihilism has allowed one Donald J. Trump to compete for, an occasionally attain, political power. He talks to minority and “for” them. He has no liking for the “system” (“them”, “the deep state”) and claims that “it” knows this and has targetted and persecuted him. He claimed that he won last time out in 2020 but “it” stole the election from him. His supporters believed him then and do so now. When the issues were actually investigated (and there were issues) it quickly become clear that “the great steal” was a fiction. In court after court, when legitimate legal means were used to claim and highlight important irregularities, they mysteriously disappeared. He then famously use illegitimate (and potentially illegal) means to orchestrate a riot during the certification of the election result in Congress, a riot which ended up costing lives. The various constitutional mechanisms prevailed and Biden won, Trump lost. His actions around January 6^th 2021 continue to be the subject of legal action (which he will no doubt put a stop to if elected). Over the last four years he has suffered other legal setbacks including being found in a civil action to be a sexual harasser (we already knew from his own lips that he was a misogynist), and being found guilty of violating New York State campaign finance law, with other cases pending or at earlier stages. Yet by their votes his loyal supporters, who think this is all evidence of persecution, might well provide him again with the attention, position and prestige that he craves. Let us hope they only seek to do this with their votes. If again Trump loses narrowly (Biden’s win in 2020 was far from a ringing endorsement of his policies), it will not take many of his more intemperate followers, perhaps again roiled up by the type of wild accusations that are currently appearing on his social media accounts as I type, to cause real difficulty. Here in the UK we navigated a peaceful transition of power earlier in the summer (reflected on here). Our politics has by and large banished violence to the very fringes to the extent that it hardly figures at all at a national level. We can but wish the same for our US friends. In a few hours we will find out.

And just as all this was going on, one of our TV networks made the West Wing available for streaming again. I have made no secret in the past about being a fan. In Episode 3 Toby Zeigler is to be found complaining about a lack of basic decency in politics. If only he knew. The odd thing is that many of the views held by the snappy talkers in the Bartlett West Wing are actually not particularly in tune with my own. This fictional administration was probably well to the “progressive” left of my own thinking. But then they were all decent, humane and reasonably competent. And the man at the top had a moral compass that pointed in an acceptable general direction. As golden ages go, it was civilised, witty and… golden. It was fiction of course. In the real world (that again) there has never been a golden age and if we ever get to the sunlit uplands we’ll claim we’re greatly disappointed. Or at least that’s what a sizeable proportion of us will say because we’ll have found other things to moan about.

Aha! The fireworks are all but silent. Hopefully all will also be (relatively) calm on the other side of the Atlantic. Not long now.

Truth and trousers...

Spurgeon (as he makes clear) was actually quoting a popular proverb when he said in one of his sermons “A lie will go round the world while truth is pulling its boots on”. Personally I prefer the version that replaces boots with trousers (it alliterates better). So pervasive and noticeable are the presence and power of lies, that essentially the same thing has been often repeated. Some trace it back to a comment by Virgil in the Aeneid (Book 4, line 174 - ‘Rumour, than whom no other evil thing is faster’, written about 25BC) , but in reality the problem of lies goes way further back than that. As recorded in Genesis 3:4, God (who cannot lie) had said X, the devil, represented by a serpent, had said Y, Eve (with tragic consequences) went with Y. Words have meaning, meaning drives behaviour, behaviour has consequences. Lies (essentially ‘wrong’ words) usually have bad consequences. But while lies are obviously nothing new, what is new (or at least newish) is their increased speed and greater range.

We need to look no further for examples than the online purveyors of conspiracy theories and other assorted lies. Alex Jones, the Infowars founder and fast-talking online host, used his platform to repeat again and again that the 2012 Sandy Hook Elementary School mass shooting, in which 26 were killed (20 of them children) was a hoax. To support this assertion, he made up various supporting claims. These lies had real-world effects on those impacted by the shooting, prompting them to take him to court in civil actions. And it turns out that truth, a bit like gravity, has a way (usually) of eventually asserting itself. Jones’ claims, or more specifically the harms caused by them, were examined by two juries of his peers, one in Texas and one in Connecticut. Having calmly considered the evidence put to them in a court of law (albeit in civil rather than criminal courts), with all the rhetoric and bluster that Jones and his ilk routinely employ stripped away, both juries found Jones and his claims not to be credible and awarded substantial damages against him. It is revealing that while the Connecticut verdict was being read out in court, Jones was online mocking the jury’s decision and seeking to continue to make money from his lies (something he was particularly good at). To date, the plaintiffs in the Jones cases have yet to see much in the way of hard cash. He has sought to exploit various legal means of avoiding responsibility (or at least avoid paying out to the victims of his lies). But over a relatively short period of time his lies reached millions, compounding the distress of those who had already suffered at the hands of a madman with a gun. Sadly, his lying ways, and his use of the combination of the internet and lies to make money, both continue and have spawned (or at least emboldened) a number of imitators on this side of the Atlantic.

On the 22^nd May 2017, 22 people at an Ariana Grande concert in the Manchester Arena in the UK were murdered in a terrorist bomb explosion. Many others were injured, including Martin Hibbert who was paralysed from the waist down and his daughter Eve who suffered brain damage. But Richard Hall, a former engineer and TV producer who claimed he was acting as a journalist, believed (as he told a court) that there “was no bomb” and that “no one was genuinely injured in the attack". So he took it upon himself to track down survivors, seeking to interview and video them, in a bid to show that the (true) narrative of a terrorist bombing causing loss of life and severe injury was a “lie”. He streamed and sold various DVD’s and produced a book promulgating his “theories”, seeking to monetise them. The Hibberts (again, not the state in the form of the prosecuting authorities) brought a claim of harassment against him, and last week a judge found in their favour (the full judgement is now available online here), saying among other things that Hall’s “course of conduct was a negligent, indeed reckless, abuse of media freedom”. Hall had treated the statements of witnesses, experts, authorities and indeed courts “as of no value”, and in the name of “journalism” invaded the privacy of the Hibberts causing distress. Hall was not only found to have harassed the Hibberts, but, the judge said, should have known as any ordinary person using common sense would have known, that he was distressing them. The case has yet to be settled, and it will be interesting too see what the judge considers the proper level of damages to be. But in the time that Hall’s offending videos have been available online (and his DVDs and book are still available through his website), tens of thousands (or more) have seen his material, again multiplying the distress of those already scarred by the bombing itself. The actual numbers of those engaging with Hall’s version of reality (actually an unreality) are unknowable. But the harm that he perpetrated, or at least a small proportion of it, was revealed in the legal proceedings. If this judgement is the turning point that some analysts have suggested, maybe accountability has arrived at last, and truth, rather than lies and conspiracy theories, is making a comeback. We shall see.

Of course there has always been one place to find truth, indeed the truth. The trouble is we tend to find it difficult to identify truth even when it is standing right before us. How else do we explain Pilate’s famous question “What is truth?” when it, or rather he, was standing right in front of him? It is almost as though humanity is conditioned to prefer lies. Hence Spurgeon’s contention, now amplified by modern technology.

The fall and rise (ups and downs) and rise…….

While it is not inevitable, life can be a bit of a downer. And no matter how far we rise, what is inevitable for each and every one of us is our eventual mortal demise. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Which is why, by and large, we don’t. In this culture we usually neither think nor talk about death. And when it arrives, increasingly ways are found to avoid, or at least distract us, from “it”. More than a few daytime TV ads offer alternatives to “trad” funerals. Funded (probably) by your over-50’s life insurance policy (so you needn’t worry about being a “burden”), one can now opt for a “direct cremation”, and your loved ones can remember you howsoever they wish (or not), without any “fuss”, and certainly without reminding themselves of their (or your) mortality.

But on my morning walk this morning (nothing excessive, just to the paper shop), I happened to get thinking about a number of folk that are no longer with us. Some were people that I didn’t know personally. This was prompted in part because I watched the “Concert for George” recently. Organised by friends and colleagues of George Harrison, former Beatle and devotee of eastern mysticism, Harrison grew up about a mile from where I’m typing. Despite prodigious talent, worldwide fame, a considerable fortune (his estate was worth about £100M when he died), and the love and affection of his family and many friends, it’s not clear he was a man who really found what he was looking for. He died in 2001, in a house belonging to someone else, albeit surrounded by his family and Hare Krishna chants. After his death his family released his final “message to the world”: “Everything else can wait, but the search for God cannot wait, and love one another”. It was to George’s credit that at least he had been looking.

Another recent reminder of life’s biggest reality has been the sudden death of Alex Salmond. This is a name known to everyone in Scotland, most people in England, and not a few beyond. He was a former First Minister of Scotland, leader of the Scottish National Party (and beyond that Scottish nationalists in general), and general pest and thorn in the side of UK governments of every political stripe. He died last Saturday from heart attack, having made a speech, far from home, at a conference in North Macedonia. While a man with many political opponents, the subsequent tributes have shown that he was much respected and had many friends across the political spectrum. I have no idea what his opinions were on religious matters. Interestingly, he one described himself as a “Church of Scotland adherent”. So, not a believer, not a Christian, not even a Presbyterian, simply an “adherent” of one of Scotland’s mainline, and declining, protestant denominations. I’m not sure I really know what that means. Maybe that was the idea. He famously fell out with fellow nationalists in the Scottish Government, was subject of various inquiries, and was cleared of criminal charges (including charges of rape and sexual assault). While found not guilty (and “not proven” on one of the charges) by a jury after only six hours of deliberation, the trial did reveal patterns of behaviour that even his own defence counsel accepted might be construed as “inappropriate” (while falling short of criminality). But the trial, and the political and governmental machinations that surrounded it, revealed an unpleasant side to Scottish political life at the highest level. This has probably contributed to the demise of Salmond’s former party, the SNP. And while he was, and obviously felt, vindicated by his criminal trial, he was still seeking legal redress at the time of his death.

Perhaps more poignantly, he was speaking in Macedonia about democracy. But it was democracy that had delivered his most stinging defeat (while also bizarrely marking his biggest achievement). He successfully persuaded the Cameron UK government to hold a referendum on Scottish independence, and even got to choose the question on the ballot. And yet the people, by a convincing margin (much wider than in the Brexit referendum), rejected his view and voted to remain part of the United Kingdom. If all political careers end in failure (to misquote Enoch Powell), then you might have thought that to come relatively close to achieving a lifetime goal, see it dashed democratically by your own people (he was a nationalist after all), and then watch its likelihood recede even further because of the missteps and incompetence of your successors, would have been crushing. But by all accounts Salmond remained up for the struggle. Not “no” for him. He was ready to go again. But then he unexpectedly ran out of time. There are many who are shocked, and are left reflecting on the meaning of it all. One wonders how long it will be before their minds return to mundane and mortal matters, and they avert them once again from what is perhaps the most pressing of issues.

But I’ve known lots of others, not superstars or elite politicians, who have looked (or indeed not looked) and found the answer to our obvious mortality. And it is certainly not to ignore it. Over the years we’ve had various Bible study groups meeting in our home. And, over the years, some of the folk who we met with weekly, have died. In a number of cases I still walk past their former homes; I’m often reminded of them. All of them have left a gap of course, particularly for their immediate families, but also for that wider circle of which we were a part. And, along with their families we have grieved. The experience is inevitably difficult and challenging. And yet the folk I’m thinking of were Christian folk. I don’t mean that in the sense that they belonged to a certain culture, attended particular meetings, assented to particular religious propositions. What I mean is that they actually knew someone who had died (in a particularly gruesome manner), and yet returned shortly thereafter to life. When he eventually left our immediate vicinity he promised that he had not merely escaped death, but had overcome it. His claim was that those of us who knew him would be beneficiaries of what he had accomplished and share in this victory. Because of the culture that we are now all embedded in, this all reads like bizarre nonsense. Mystical and mysterious at best, deceptive and dangerous at the worst. But that is more apparent than real. What I have seen is the transformative power of the life and death of Jesus Christ time after time, in part if not yet completely.

Thinking about the moment of death is, I think, no more attractive to the Christian (the “Christ follower”) than it is for anyone else. And yet, emptied of its power to terrify and paralyse, death and its aftermath do bear thinking about. Because after the inevitable fall (if fall it is), there is now for those in Christ an equally inevitable, but much more comforting, rise in prospect. Thinking about life and death needn’t be any kind of a downer.

Not “vs” but “and” (so get over it).

I still occasionally come across talks entitled (to give but one example) “Religion vs Science: Can the two coexist?”; as of writing, the YouTube snippet of this lecture I stumbled upon had racked up 1.2M views. This title is fairly typical of a way of talking about science (somehow defined) and religion (somehow defined) that sees them as typically and inevitably in conflict. In its strongest form this conflict thesis is ahistorical (and in some cases anti-historical) taking this to be a steady state. It is the way things are now, and essentially the way they have always been, and it is the way they must always be. In its weaker forms there is often some acceptance that while this may not have been the way things were at some time in the past, the relationship inevitably developed into one of conflict and conflict is now the only possible way to describe the interaction of science and religion (or faith) by anyone who is in any sense mature in their thinking. This is so misconceived that it is difficult to know where to begin in refuting it. But let’s begin at an obvious place which will come as no surprise to any regular reader of these posts (you know who you are!).

The idea of an inevitable clash has been constantly undermined by the large numbers of serious people who, both now and in the past, have happily combined both a commitment to science (some at very exalted levels) and religion, specifically Christianity. My suspicion is that if you were familiar with Indian science you would find devout Hindus who were scientists, and in other parts of the world devout Muslims, similarly active in science. But I will stick with what I know best, and that form of religion that arguably played a vital role in the emergence of what we might call the experimental sciences. Because, as it happens, I am one such example.

I confess that during my career I was never particularly publicly prominent, I never chaired august scientific institutions, I influenced not one decision of national or international scientific public policy. But I was clearly a professional scientist, trained the way scientists are trained (a first degree in Physiology, PhD in Neurobiology, various postdoctoral jobs in other people’s labs), did all the things scientists do (as evidenced by the expected publications, many of which can be search for on the web and are open access), progressing as scientists progresses (I won a Welcome Trust Vision Research Fellowship earlyish in my career, set up my own lab, subsequently obtained substantive University posts, was a trainer of other doctoral scientists, etc). Yet I am also a Christian, and of kind some find to be most objectionable, variously labelled fundamentalist, evangelical, Bible-bashing and so on. It is true that occasionally a few other scientists tried to convince me of some basic contradiction between the two designations “scientist” and “Christian”. But a moment’s pause always demonstrated that the problem was with their definitions and modes of thought. Usually either their understanding of what science is and how it works was lacking (a surprisingly frequent occurrence even among scientists), or their familiarity with Biblical Christianity was low or non-existent. Caricatures of both science and Christianity are not hard to find and with them apparent contradictions and conflicts. But on closer inspection these turn out to be more apparent than real.

Note that I am not making the reverse mistake of claiming that it is impossible to find some who say that they personally find that there is a conflict between science and Christianity (like the lecturer mentioned at the outset), or that there are no examples of those who were “keen Christians” who report “losing their faith” because of science. What I am claiming is that there is ample evidence that this is neither necessary nor inevitable, and that I, with others, constitute that evidence. Because I have always worked in universities, I have always lived in University towns, and worshipped in churches found in such places. So it is perhaps not a surprise that there were always others around, who were educated to a similar level in science (although not always working as professional scientists) who like me found no obvious conflict in our personal thinking. There might be parts of the country where such creatures are thin on the ground. But I am neither rare or special. In my current church (which is admittedly large by UK standards, and is in a city with several universities) I can think of several science PhDs, across disciplines. Such is the contemporary scene I survey. But the reality is there have always been those who quite happily combine science and faith, without compromising either.

The historical situation is perhaps even clearer than either my personal case or the more general contemporary picture. This is slightly more contested ground, but those doing most of the contesting are often ignorant (sometimes wilfully so) of the actual history. Professional science as we know it today is a 19^th century development, but it emerged from 17^th century political, religious and philosophical ferments. Of particular interest are some of the key early players, particularly those who championed “experimental”, as opposed to “rational”, science. Experimental science in England (often called natural philosophy at the time) was actively promoted by such figures as Sir Francis Bacon (1561-1626), leading (at the time of the restoration of the Monarchy) to the establishment of The Royal Society of London in 1662. What is interesting about Bacon, and some of his acolytes like Samuel Hartlib (c. 1600-1662), is not merely their Christian sympathies, but the distinctly Puritan and Calvinistic framework that they operated within. This was even detectable in later characters like Robert Boyle, John Locke and even Isaac Newton (although Newton was famously heterodox in his theology). It was not merely that many of these men were shaped and educated in a world dominated by Protestant Christianity; many were themselves ardent believers (although by no means always Puritans), who saw in science as much as a theological exercise as anything else. Those named are not isolated examples; they could be multiplied. No conflict here then, at this early stage (at least not between science and religious belief).

There is another interesting historical example of peaceful coexistence worth noting: “The Declaration of Students of the Natural and Physical Sciences”, 1864/5. The date is significant. Signed by 717, including 66 Fellows of the Royal Society, this was a response to the furore that had raged following the publication of Darwin’s “Origin of the Species” in 1859. The Declaration made clear that the signatories regretted “..that researches into scientific truth are perverted by some in our own times into … casting doubt upon the truth and authenticity of the Holy Scriptures”. This made no sense, because “physical science is not complete” (nor it might be added is our understanding of God’s revealed truth). Contradictions between science and the Bible should be left “side by side”, and ultimately would be reconcilable because there is only one world, and ultimately one source of truth (ie God). If (or when) we find contradictions between scientific and Biblical views, the problem is likely to be in either the evidence (which is only ever partial) or our interpretation of the evidence (which can be no more perfect than we are). But the wider point to be made here is that at a key juncture in the 19^th century, the notion that there was a necessary conflict between the two, was by no means the only, or perhaps even a majority view among scientists.

So can the two, science and religion (or faith, or belief) coexist? Personal, contemporary and historical considerations suggest that they have, they are, they can and they will.