EDUCATION FOR THE THINKING CHURCH

In this essay, I take up the implications of a critical and exploratory model of faith for the ministry of teaching and the practice of adult Christian education in the local church. The first section outlines a picture of the church as a learning environment. The second indicates some important aspects of what this means for the church as a community. The third illustrates the case from one particular instance, namely that of liturgical education and development.

i. The church as a learning movement: ‘listening not debating’

Within the educational dimension of the church’s life, the expectation of deference to experts on the part of the untutored has been traditionally as strong as anywhere.  To this day, despite the widespread presence of house groups and the popularity of study courses in Christian basics such as Alpha and Emmaus (which of course themselves employ contrasting educational models), it is still not uncommon to find two things.  In some parishes, people continue to say ‘we do not like “groups” - we don’t want to have to say anything - we’d rather come to a service or meeting and just listen’.  In others, groups do exist but on closer examination turn out to consist mainly of a monologue of input from a group leader who possesses ‘the knowledge’.  I do not say this in any way to disparage the lay people in these situations, but to point out the inherited model of the educative dimension of church life which has so profoundly shaped their expectations and fears in this area.

From the base communities of Latin America through the experimental ‘cell church’ models now beginning to spring up closer to home, the small group as the prime locus of adult Christian education - ‘formation’, for those who prefer a term with a more holistic spiritual feel to it - is universally affirmed.  Behind it there lie a number of basic convictions which are crucial to the church’s vitality as a living and growing organism.  Firstly, spiritual and Christian growth and development is a matter of life-long learning.  Secondly, such learning is not individualistic but takes place within the corporate exchanges of church fellowship life.  Thirdly, the learning process is not one of the top-down delivery of information but consists of reflection upon experience in the light of the shared story (tradition), and vice versa.  Fourthly, the concept of truth which such an educational process is designed to pursue is neither hierarchical nor already fully known, but democratic and eschatological. This last point requires closer examination.

A hierarchical model of truth is one which posits a stream flowing from its ultimate source with God, down through such mediations as Scripture and tradition, to be handled and dispersed by those duly trained and steeped in these resources, down to the waiting faithful.  In the Roman Catholic Church, there is the teaching magisterium: in the Church of England, perhaps, the bishops and parish clergy together possibly with trained people like Readers. It is possible in principle with such a model that the truth may have been fully revealed, although most would agree that we still have a part of it to learn: the revelation is all there in the sources but we have not yet grasped all of it.  One consequence of this model is that trained experts are needed, not only to facilitate the educational process, but to guard and hand on the educational content.  Another is that the establishment of the truth on a particular matter can legitimately be settled by debate, on the assumption that if contrary cases are presented and arguments urged, the one which is ‘right’ will be determined by people who are sufficiently appraised of the facts and suitably qualified to make judgments.  It follows that those who are not part of the process need only wait for an authoritative pronouncement: ‘the Church ought to give us a lead’! 

An alternative position is taken by Eduard Schillebeeckx in his discussion of ‘Towards Democratic Rule of the Church as a Community of God’  (Church: The Human Story of God, chapter 4). The Holy Spirit, he says, is at work ‘generally and specifically in all the people of God and in a specific ministerial way in the official activity of the church leaders’ (p. 220). The leaders who hold a teaching office must not overlook what Schillebeeckx terms the various ‘mediations’ of the work of the Spirit, ‘above all the mediation of the structured people of believers themselves, here and now in the stream of time’  (p. 221).  Thus ‘the democratic participation of everyone … in a theologically responsible way … must play a role at precisely this level.’  This implies that synodical structures which offer a kind of token representation and access to debate are not enough: only the full recognition of every congregation as a learning community making its contribution to the totality of the quest for, and journey towards, the whole truth of God, will do.

There are echoes here of the ‘discourse theory’ of truth propounded by the German philosopher Jürgen Habermas. Habermas posits the ‘ideal speech situation’ as a scenario in which truth would infallibly be attained by all participants in a discourse having freedom to place propositions on the table, so to speak, completely uninfluenced by prejudices, external constraints, vested interests, distortions of communications and so on.  In reality any actual situation of discourse or dialogue can only ever approximate towards this idea: hence it is indeed, in theological terms (which Habermas does not employ), something ‘eschatological’.  For this reason these are precisely the conditions for which Christians must strive, and the ‘ideal speech situation’ provides a model for educational activity within the church community.

An interesting little book by David Lochhead, The Dialogical Imperative, SCM 1988, works this out in relation to inter-faith encounter, but his analysis can be applied to educational processes within the churches more generally.  He distinguishes five models or ideologies of encounter, or lack of it.  ‘Isolation’ means the message is ‘here is the truth, and we aren’t actually interested in any other positions’.  ‘Hostility’ says ‘there are other views on this, but they are quite wrong and must be opposed’.  ‘Competition’ says ‘there are other views which may have something to be said for them, so we must prove in the market place that our view is best.’  ‘Partnership’ means that ‘there are positions which differ from ours but we have plenty in common and it will be best to concentrate on that’.  But what Lochhead means by ‘dialogue’ comes closest to Habermas’ ‘discourse’.  He has an instructive description of the ‘dialogical relationship’ (chapter 13) as essentially of the essence of an open, honest, trusting, self-giving, ‘I-Thou’ relationship:

‘A dialogical relationship does not happen easily.  It is a precarious relationship, vulnerable to being converted to monologue without notice.  On both sides there must be a will to dialogue.  Yet even more than will is required … As Buber says, the I-Thou relationship requires both will and grace. Christian discipleship … involves a call to unconditional openness to the neighbour.  Our difficulty … is with the ambiguity of our lives, not with the ambiguity of the call.  The call to dialogue, to open, trusting and loving relationships with the neighbour, is clear and unambiguous.  Dialogue needs no justification outside itself’  (p.  81)

This is an attractive and challenging description of the educative or formative process which will be taking place as a regular, integral part of the common life of the church. However, as an educational model it cannot stand alone but must be related to the nature of the church’s life as communion, or fellowship, to which I now turn.
ii. The church as community: unity versus tribalism.

The second area I wish to examine here is the nature of the assembling or conjoining together which constitutes the fellowship unity of the people understood theologically as the Body of Christ.  ‘Community’ is a famously slippery concept, but what do we mean by attempting to characterize the church as somehow communal, relational, inter-personal, corporate, in its essence?  How does all this ‘translate out’ into the concrete reality of the congregation?  The first and most emphatic criterion for this, as set out for example by Jurgen Moltmann in The Source of Life, is unity given in diversity.  Within the context of the Christian church, there can indeed be no other kind: ‘What is given to all believers together and equally is the gift of the Holy Spirit … what belongs to each and every person individually and uniquely is different, and varies’ (p. 56); ‘it is only the complex diversity of gifts and energies which makes a living and viable unity possible’; or else, ‘people who are no different from each other will become a matter of indifference to one another’ (p. 59). Worse still ‘every limitation by way of an imposed uniformity in ideas, words and works is tedious for the congregation, bores “outsiders” and is anything but inviting’ (p. 60).  However, from the point of view of a clerically-dominated institution, this would be more convenient, and easier to manage ….

The point is that the Church is perpetually tempted to espouse a false notion of unity.  Moltmann recognises this when he distinguishes different bases for fellowship (p. 89).  Fellowship may spring from shared concerns as in a working party, a pressure group, a sports club; or from a shared lifestyle or indeed simply from close proximity, or from likemindedness.  But what if the fellowship of the Holy Spirit brings people together who do not share any of these bases: people who are simply unlike each other in every way?  Then ‘the Christian congregation is a matter of trust’ (p. 99).  The Spirit’s forging of a relationship is designed to create the conditions in which ‘we can open ourselves and trust ourselves to other people.’  And ‘we only achieve sustaining trust in other people when we know our own weaknesses and accept the weaknesses of the others’.  The achievement of unity in fellowship at this level is costly, involving the endurance of pain and the resolution of conflict.  But what is taking place theologically is this: ‘the congregation represents God’s fellowship with human beings in the Holy Spirit, and the fellowship of human beings with each other within this divine fellowship.’

Bishop Peter Selby, in his book BeLonging: Challenge to a Tribal Church, SPCK 1991, uses the terms ‘ethnic’ and ‘ecclesial’ to describe these contrasting understandings of unity.  Ethnic or tribal unity is achieved and maintained by means of the esprit de corps of those who belong.  This can manifest at different levels in the church: in the small congregation which insists, ‘we are a very friendly and close little fellowship here’, where ‘close’ in practice means ‘closed’, as well as in the large and thriving evangelical church which attracts people from miles around on the basis that all carry the same card, in doctrine and churchmanship.  In the first case, newcomers cannot break in at all; in the second, they are welcome as long as they hold the right views.  Peter Selby himself applies his argument to the level of church leadership: ‘Among the most dangerously half-true understandings of the role of bishops is that they are to be the focus of unity in the Church’ (p. 59) While acknowledging the source of this view at least partially in the Gospel value of a ministry of reconciliation, Selby goes on to warn: ‘the concept of the focus of unity is also capable of exploitation under the impulse of tribal self-defence’ (p. 60). This occurs when values such as ‘keeping everyone together’ ‘loyalty to the church’, ‘seeking workable compromise’, are seen as primary goods in themselves because, ultimately, they will preserve the institution against harmful dissent and the erosion of its assumed powers.

Ethnic unity, therefore, will always give expression to the instinct for self-preservation.  In the end it’s ‘us’ or ‘them’.  But ecclesial unity is a living denial of the very principle of ‘us’ and ‘them’: which is to say that it is eschatological in nature.  Selby puts it like this (pp. 63-4):  ‘What always threatens to turn the unity that is focused by bishops and lived out in the Church into a mere ethnicity is the loss of the painful sense that the unity in which we are called to live is always in some sense ahead of us.  At the point when unity is a matter of satisfaction rather than of desire, we face the threat that is will be a unity based on the kinship we have already discovered rather than on the adoptive and gracious act of God.’  Too often churches are astonishingly complacent about themselves: there is little motivation for change because there is little critical dissatisfaction.  This is a mark of a tribal form of unity: ‘for those who have forgotten what it is to be longing for what lies ahead and is better, all that matters is to hold on,’ whereas ‘ecclesial living only makes sense when there is some desire for a new kind of future to be called into’  (Selby p. 70)

But the ‘new kind of future’ will mean a radical deconstruction of inherited institutional models in order to free the people of each worshipping community to ‘be church’ in a manner appropriate to who and where they are.  An American critique of ‘church marketing’ (Philip D. Kenneson and James L. Street, Selling Out the Church, Abingdon Press 1997) has argued that one characteristic way in which churches try to respond to current pressures on their survival, namely to identifying their ‘market’ of potential ‘consumers’ and researching carefully what they need to do to tailor their ‘product’ to the market, is deceptive in leading precisely away from Gospel values.  It amounts to a sophisticated form of tribalism over again, while allowing many clerically-dominated structures to remain in place by re-casting the clergy as the ‘experts’ in market research, product design and customer services!  The segmentation of church life along lines of age, class, gender, ethnicity or any other divisor which might provide a handy tool for marketing strategies is invidious.  Even in a relatively ‘benign’ form, e.g. the local church which appeals particularly to what it defines as ‘local people’ (‘people like us’), it can be a way of suppressing dissent, avoiding the tackling of prejudices, and thus falling short of true koinonia in the Spirit.

On the other hand, the congregation that has the liberty to ‘be church’ is much better placed to handle diversity in unity than the institution is likely to be. An example of this is the attitude of the Church of England towards gay people, among both lay people and clergy.  The Church appears institutionally paralysed over this question, at least partly due to the deficient view of episcopal (collegial) unity which Bishop Peter Selby warns about: as long as there exist conflicting opinions strongly held, within the House of Bishops as elsewhere, no ‘firm lead’ can be taken since unity or an appearance of it must be maintained.  The fears are understandable at one level especially when bishops are liable to have their ears bent by powerfully anti-gay lobbies which may well have strong representation among some of the most flourishing and affluent churches of their dioceses.  Nevertheless, what is being preserved is still ‘tribal’ rather than ‘ecclesial’ unity.  Meanwhile (although I would not wish to be complacent about this), there is evidence that many local congregations are taking a far more relaxed attitude towards their lesbian and gay members, and indeed to gay or lesbian clergy including some who may be living in committed relationships with partners. 

There is something here about the Christian worshipping community, in fellowship, taking authority with full authenticity on the basis of its own experience and recognition of the common life of agape in the Spirit, and allowing that to take precedence over institutional timidity and the bullying tactics of vested interests. Such a community has the capacity for learning, for growth, in a way that the one founded upon a tribal model of unity does not.

iii. The church at worship: the declericalisation of liturgy

In this section I take the specific example of liturgy and worship as a test case of the ‘Thinking Church’ model of education here set forth. The discussion is set in the context of a church in which lay people are increasingly expected to participate in the planning and leading of worship. It is instructive to observe how the Church of England, for one, has handled this. Here, though not of course only here, the way in which worship is ordered liturgically, led and presented is a matter of legislation.  As Stephen Sykes and others have insisted, Anglican identity and Anglican doctrine are liturgically maintained and expressed: lex orandi, lex credendi.  This gives rise not only to much synodical discussion of detail but also to an immense reliance upon liturgical professionals.  Historical scholarship about worship, ancient liturgical texts, rites and ceremonies is accorded an influential place in the decision-making process.  Authorised liturgies need to be ‘correct’: in line with mainstream catholic tradition, doctrinally orthodox, biblically sound.  There is a high price to be paid for this: the removal of the voice of authentic worship expression from the direct control of the people, as what is permitted is given back to them only after it has passed through the hands of the experts.

An apt illustration of this is the form for ‘A Service of the Word’, authorised by General Synod a few years ago and now incorporated into Common Worship: Services and Prayers for the Church of England. The rise in recent years of non-eucharistic all-age worship or ‘Family Services’ as a main Sunday service in many parish churches on at least one Sunday in the month, and the decline of Morning Prayer as a suitable liturgical format for such services, had led to concern about unauthorised liturgies being cobbled together ad hoc.  Services were increasingly led by lay people, neither clergy nor licensed persons like Readers.  The institutional response to these developments was to conclude that dangerous imbalance or even unintentional heresy was likely to occur.  Control needed to be reasserted.  Those who were responsible for planning and leading such worship needed, at the very least, ‘guidelines’ to ensure conformity with standard liturgical requirements.  The result was (originally) the slim booklet A Service of the Word.  It contains a brief and simple outline for an order of service, a fairly sparse selection of texts which may be used for certain parts of it, e.g. ‘Affirmations of Faith’ in place of a Creed, and extensive instructions about how to use it.

One inevitable outcome of this provision was to make illegal at a stroke very many ‘Family Services’ and the like which actually were entirely orthodox and over time provided a balanced liturgical diet, but which on any one occasion did not ‘conform’.  Perhaps a service would contain no creed, or equivalent; or no collect; or would include several times of prayer of various kinds but no address; or would be led by contributions from several people with no one obviously ‘presiding’.  The move was a classic instance of how a clerically formed and dominated church responds to a perceived threat of lay independence.  (Of course, such services are often both designed and led by clergy too, and some clergy are very ready to sit lightly to official decrees about liturgical correctness: my point is only that the perceived need to issue such an authorised outline at all reflects an important aspect of the mind-set of the Church at institutional level.)

This may be set by contrast alongside some plangent observations about worship by Jürgen Moltmann in his collection, The Source of Life, SCM 1997, in a fascinating chapter entitled ‘Charismatic Powers of Life’.  He is asking what it is about Pentecostal worship, and speaking with tongues in particular, that is so compelling.  His observation is (p. 61): ‘Our services in the mainline Protestant churches in Germany offer a wealth of ideas in their sermons, and have wonderful chorales.  But as far as personal forms of expression go, they are poverty-stricken, and offer no chance whatsoever for spontaneity.’  By contrast, many black Pentecostal congregations experience worship as an energizing and deeply personal articulation of who they are, with one another and with God.  It is an alternative culture, and language and semiotics of worship to that which we have inherited: for example, Moltmann sees speaking with tongues as ‘the beginning  through which a powerful experience of the Spirit loosens the tongues of people who have been dumb, so that they can express what moves them so much.’  And ‘these are personal expressions of a personal experience of the Spirit which exalts the people who are touched by it.’

All of this is not merely a matter of observing the interesting differences between cultures, but indeed a matter of life and death.  In a different chapter on ‘The Fellowship of the Holy Spirit’, Moltmann identifies the twin movements of ‘gathering’ and ‘dispersal’ as the essentials of the church’s life.  Neither can thrive without the other.  And so what takes place in the ‘gathered’ moments is vital to mission, outreach and service.  Moltmann maintains that ‘the long-standing clericalization of Christianity has deprived people in the church of their maturity and responsibility’ (p. 95).  In the case of the gathering for worship, clericalization has stifled initiative and self-awareness of people as ‘church’, effectively quenching the Spirit.  Moltmann therefore says (p. 96): ‘If Christianity is to become aware of what it is, we must abandon the pastoral church which takes care of people … instead, we have to call to life a Christian community church … More and more Christians are coming to think it important to take over their own lives, to act on their own responsibility, and to experience life in God’s Spirit for themselves … getting up and saying ‘We are the Church,’ so that they can play a part in determining the form the church takes, and no longer simply say Amen to priestly services and ministrations’.

Returning to the issue of worship, the breaking of the clerical (and professional) stranglehold in this area will release untold confidence in people to be, and to become and to express, their true selves under God within Christ’s Body in such a way that their worship, so far from being an alienated and disconnected observance, will be a vital telling of the story amidst God’s story in a way which dances with the uniquely distinctive life of every congregation.  I would end here with a whole paragraph from Moltmann which is worth quoting (Source of Life, p. 62):

‘The awakening of personally experienced and personally expressed faith seems to me to be the charismatic experience today.  The fact that our congregations listen to sermons but are hardly capable of personal testimony paralyses Christian life and reduces it to silence in encounters with people of other religions.  Many Christians are quite content to belong to a church, to ‘go to church’ occasionally, and to agree by and large with the church’s doctrine, even if they don’t know very much about it, and it doesn’t mean much to them any more. With us the charismatic experience begins with the new self-confidence which lets us say ‘We are the church’.  Before the mainline churches, the bishops and the synods quench the unfamiliar spirit of the charismatic movement, they should concede to God’s Spirit the liberty to awaken men and women, to bring congregations to life, and to seek for forms of expression which are newer than the traditional liturgies. If our bodies become ‘the temple of the Holy Spirit’ (2 Cor. 6:9), a new body language develops which puts us on the move.’

It may sound as though this is a belated recognition and recommendation by Moltmann, or indeed by the present writer, of charismatic worship. The point, however, is a little more subtle. In the first place many congregations have yet to come alive in their worship in anything remotely approaching this fashion, and this is not a ‘churchmanship’ issue.  Often there is very little expectation by church communities that ‘we can really put ourselves and our story and our identity into this.’  What is being said here by no means implies uncritical endorsement of all that goes on in so-called ‘charismatic’ churches.  Large eclectic congregations can lack precisely that sense of corporate, relationship-based being that is the true characteristic of the Spirit.  ‘Charismatic’ worship can become highly formalised according to an unwritten liturgy.  Some ‘charismatic’ churches are highly dependent, in fact, upon a forceful leader who is ‘charismatic’ in Max Weber’s sociological sense.  None of these features sits easily with the approach being presented here. The point is not that what has come to be recognisable as a ‘charismatic’ style or culture in worship is necessarily desirable, but that worship in whatever style needs to be an authentic expression of the common life and faith of the worshipping community offering it. It should not be only a performance of a text supplied by the experts and endorsed by the institution. And the best way to ensure that local Christian people can design, enact and experience such worship is not via more legislation, but via better education, in the fullest sense sketched out in this essay.