Being at College Again

Is God Too Simple?

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I have often said that God is too great, too big, too complicated, for humans to understand. But I heard something this week that completely changes my view of this—I now think that maybe God is too simple for us to understand. Allow me to explain:

People have lots of different facets to their personalities. This results in different behaviours, depending on the situation—so they might be Mrs Friendly when they are in one group, Mrs Tense and Rude when they’re at the doctor’s, Mrs Shy when they apply for a job, and so on. I noticed this in myself when I was teaching. As a teacher, I never shouted—I barely ever raised my voice—a frown was enough to tell the class I was unhappy and I found a quiet ‘dangerous’ voice to be much more effective with 13-year-olds than shouting (because then they knew I had ‘lost it’). However, in the same period, I would hear myself yelling at my own children when they were being particularly slow/late/stupid. Because at home and school I was different people—and my own children’s behaviour affected me in a way that no pupil, however special, ever could. (If you ask my children, they will probably tell you they would have preferred to be spoken to like a cool teacher rather than a furious mother, but that’s not how life works.) My point is, we have different emotions, and they produce different behaviours.

When we think about God, we think about him in terms that we understand—so we attribute different emotions and behaviours to him too. However, perhaps this is misleading. Because if God is unchangeable, then perhaps everything he does is in one single sphere. He is always everything, combined. So we really should not differentiate between God’s love and his anger, or his joy and his justice, or his compassion and his punishment. Unlike us, perhaps God does not have different sides to his nature. He is not too complex, but rather so uniform, so simple, that he is beyond our understanding.

It was described to me as if God is light—a single stream of light—but we cannot understand that, so we only see God as if from the other side of a prism, when each light-colour has been separated. We can understand and talk about those single ‘colours’ but we find the concept of the whole light, being one thing all the time, too difficult.

There are perhaps echoes of this in Deuteronomy 6:4, ‘ יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵינוּ יְהוָה ׀ אֶחָֽד’ ‘YHWH, your God, YHWH is one.’ I am now wondering whether this is what the verse means? That God is not a complicated mish-mash of different moods and emotions and characters. He is simple, uniform—one.

Interesting idea, huh? Think about it.

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Pretending to be ‘At Cambridge’

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I went to the Society for Old Testament Study conference in Cambridge. It was excellent!

You may remember that in January I attended a conference in Sheffield, which was also good but this one was better. Perhaps it’s because I knew what to expect, or maybe because my general knowledge (and understanding of ancient Hebrew) has improved, and I found the papers much easier to understand.

I stayed in St. Catharine’s college—which is very pretty when you enter: an historic building for the porter’s lodge where I collected my key, a pretty square of grass surrounded by brick buildings within the walls, an old chapel. Then I walked past the green, to the new wing where the conference was held, and it all seemed rather less romantic—more functional than pretty. My room was in the new building, and it smelt of feet unless I had the window open, when it smelt of onions because I was near the kitchen. But it was warm, and comfortable enough, and it had its own bathroom (just—not sure I would have fitted in the shower if I’d been any bigger!) Best of all, a number of fire doors and insulated walls meant it was pretty sound-proof, so I slept well.

The conference was fully catered, and we ate together on long tables in the dining room. Some of the best chats were during meals, when I sat next to someone interesting and scholarly (almost everyone was interesting and learned) and I listened to their conversation. I didn’t say too much, because I didn’t have anything to offer, but their conversations were great fun! Was Esther written originally as a comedy? Is there enough evidence to support the idea of the Exodus ever happening as an historical event? What is the cognitive perspective of Ecclesiastes? All fascinating. It was tempting to record them, but I felt that might be crossing a line.

The meals were a bit ‘school dinners’ (Sheffield Uni had better ones). I did suffer a moment of guilt. We were issued with an electronic meal pass, and told that this allowed us one main, two sides, a drink and a dessert—anything else must be paid for. They told us that originally, all catered students were able to collect their food unsupervised, but apparently ‘some students’ would collect several main courses, and even go back to the servery two or three times to refill their trays, therefore it was now restricted. I had a horrible feeling that ‘some students’ might have included my sons at their own universities. I didn’t comment, and joined the other scholars who were shaking their heads in disapproval.

One afternoon we were invited to the Divinity College, where we were given wine, listened to a speech (a very clever one, of course) and then toured the library. I love libraries. One day I shall live in one.

The conference was fairly intensive, with papers read all morning and evening. Honestly, this is literally what happens—someone clever writes an academic paper for a journal/book, and then they read it, with questions answered afterwards. It’s hard to listen at first, but after a while you train your ears to concentrate, and what is read is usually fascinating. The questions afterwards are very clever, and show the depth of knowledge in the room.

On one day though, there were no afternoon papers, and most people went on a tour of Ely cathedral. I opted out (I knew my brain would be tired) and instead I rested, then met family in the city for a drink. Cambridge is such a pretty city. Though at this time of year, with students returning, you need to be careful where you walk. There is a lot of vomit in Cambridge.

Dipping into the academic world is very tempting. It doesn’t feel like ‘real life,’ but is slightly removed, only brains and conversation matter. I would love to stay part of that world a little longer, though I’m not sure if all the time in the world would be enough for me to catch up with some of those brains.

I returned home to grumpy chickens, a bored goose and a house FULL of spiders. I realise this is the time of year when spiders mate, but honestly! My house must be the spider equivalent of ‘Club 18 – 30’!

Thanks for reading. Enjoy your week and take care.
Love, Anne x

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Dead People and Names

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I think there is little in life as thrilling as applied knowledge. To learn something new (like a language) is interesting, but when you manage to say something in that language and they understand you — wow! That’s exciting! I have found my Master’s course has given me lots of these moments, and the latest source of pleasure for me is a book by John H. Walton — Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament. Allow me to share the excitement with you.

The book basically explains that unless we understand something of how ancient people thought, we cannot properly understand what they meant when we read the Old Testament. For example, if I ask you what the Old Testament writers say about Artificial Intelligence, you will reply that they had no knowledge of computers, therefore although we can possible use some of the principles set down in the OT and apply them to AI, they did not explicitly write about those things. Their understanding differs from ours.

The two examples I want to tell you about in the ancient world are: what meant something existed, and why having lots of descendants mattered.

In the ancient world, material things were not as important as they are today. Today, we know something exists if has a material form (and some people struggle with the idea of God because there is no material form to rely on). But not so in ancient times. In those days, something existed if it had a name and a function. Therefore believing in several gods was normal, as long as they all had a name (Sun-god) and a function (there was sunlight). Try to remember that:  having a name, and a function, meant that it existed—it was real.

Now we move to their understanding of what happened after death. They absolutely believed in some sort of existence after death, but it was very different from our own view (much of which comes from Plato, who taught about spirits leaving physical bodies and living a spiritual life). In the ancient world, they believed in a vague existence in an altered dimension to the physical world, in a place called Sheol. (Note: ‘Sheol’ and ‘Hell’ are not the same thing.) They believed that life in Sheol was affected by life on earth; life was sustained in Sheol by what happened in the world of the living. People in Mesopotamia and Egypt underwent certain rituals to enable the life of their dead ancestors—providing them with food for example. One important ritual involved ‘remembering’ the dead—talking about them, recalling the things they did before they died, somehow maintained their existence in Sheol. To be forgotten was the worst thing that could happen. Community was hugely important, and community included ancestors who had died (therefore asking ancestors for help was part of normal life).

Now, the Hebrews (who wrote the Old Testament) had variations of these beliefs, but we can see overlaps with their thinking. They too wanted descendants. I had previously thought this was so their children could care for them when they were old, but this doesn’t explain why several generations of descendants would matter—a belief that they would remember them after death makes sense in this context. (There is a text, which I cannot find, where someone explicitly says ‘I have no descendants to remember me.’ If you find it, please send me the reference!) Walton makes the point that the thinking of the Old Testament writers was much closer to the thinking of people in ancient Mesopotamia and Egypt than it was to the thinking of the New Testament writers (and far removed from our current ideas about things). If we understand this, it helps us to better understand what they wrote.

All very interesting, but the best bit comes when it’s actually applied. This happened this morning, as I drank my coffee and read a section of Genesis. I’m currently in the Italian Alps, and using a little book of devotions each morning, which I don’t especially like (I don’t like being told how to react/feel in response to what the Bible says). This morning’s passage was Genesis 16, when Hagar has run away from Sarah and God has spoken to her. In verse 13, Hagar says: ‘Then she called the name of Yahweh who was speaking to her “the one who sees”…’ (My translation of the OHB Hebrew.) This ties beautifully with the first thing I told you: Something existed if it had a name and a function. Hagar was accepting that God was real, thus she gave him a name and a function—God saw—‘seeing’ people was part of God’s identity.

The passage also says that God promises Hagar more descendants than she can count (verse 10). Again, if we apply our knowledge of what that would mean to Hagar, it would mean that after her death she would have numerous descendants to remember her—which was hugely important in the ancient world. This woman, a mere handmaid, rejected by her mistress, would be remembered forever, even after death.

I found reading this chapter with the understanding I have acquired about the ancient world changed my understanding—which I think is pretty exciting! I am loving being able to learn. I will tell you more in other blogs. 

I hope you enjoy something today too. Thanks for reading.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

Does God Have a Name? And Should We Say It?

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When I started to learn Hebrew, I was introduced to ‘ketiv qere’ in ancient scripts. As I have explained before, Hebrew words have a basic 3-letter root, and a group of people (the Masoretes) added dots and dashes to represent verbs, so people remembered how to say them. However, some words were written (ketiv) one way, but should be said (qere) differently—so they added the wrong verbs. Therefore, God’s name, written YAHWEH,[1] has the verbs for ADONAI, so when people saw the word, the would say ‘Adonai’ even though the letters are YWH. As my Hebrew lessons continue, whenever we read YHWH, we say ‘Adonai,’ as a sign of respect. But should we?

In most English Bibles, whenever Yahweh is translated, they write LORD, all in capitals. So we continue the tradition even in Christian churches; the name of God is rarely said.

Where did this idea originate, and should it continue? I have been reading a book on the subject by Andrew Case,[2] and I will give you a brief summary. He begins by quoting Clines, who states that, ‘The personal name of God is Yahweh. It is a foreign name, quite un-English […]’ and he suggests that perhaps for that reason alone ‘[…] the name Yahweh must be preserved—lest it should ever be imagined that God is an Englishman. He is a foreigner now to every race on earth. The very awkwardness of addressing a God whose name is not native to one’s language in itself alerts us to the alienness of Yahweh to every god created in our own image.’[3]

To begin with, Yahweh is introduced by God,[4] and is used by the Old Testament writers. All the early books use the name freely,[5] sometimes it was even used as part of a greeting,[6] and it was used in oaths.[7]

This changed in the book of Amos. There was a terrible punishment, many people died, and they declared that they ‘must not mention the name of the LORD!’[8] However, this was not a new ‘rule’ it was more that they were so traumatised, so worried the same thing might happen, that they dared not approach God or even say his name.[9] Case suggests that due to this fear (which sounds a bit superstitious I think) they started to use alternative names for God, avoiding saying Yahweh.

The use of Yahweh in oaths/contracts was also banned in the Talmud. (The Talmud is the written form of all the verbal laws the Jews had, with added explanations so they were clear.) The Rabbis disliked that a written contract would one day be rubbish, and therefore banned the use of Yahweh on written contracts.[10] Case notes that this, and a later ban by the Essenes (who probably wrote the Dead Sea Scrolls) does not give a reason—they don’t say it is out of reverence for God’s name. However, it seems likely to me that this is the reason, as unlike in the Amos example, no other reason seems logical.

The Essenes then began to eliminate the name from their copies of manuscripts, sometimes putting symbols or dots in place of the letters. As I have written before, we don’t have any original manuscripts for our Bible, we have used various manuscripts (copies of copies of copies…) which means anything ‘corrupted’ by the Essenes (an early sect of ‘manuscript copiers’) continues today.

This continued to when the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Old Testament) was written. Case (who is himself a Bible translator, so speaks with authority) suggests that when the Septuagint was written, they were so indoctrinated with the idea that they must not say the name of God, that it influenced their translations. Therefore, for example, the passage in Leviticus that says: ‘The one who blasphemes the name of Yahweh will surely be put to death.’[11] was translated in the Greek as: ‘The one who names the name of the Lord will surely be put to death.’ There seems to be no other reason for the change, as all the copies we have of the Hebrew use ‘blaspheme’ so it appears to be a deliberate change by the translators. (My understanding is that this happens a lot with translations—there is rarely a word-for-word equivalent with different languages, there is always a choice as to which word best fits the meaning. If translators hold a particular belief, it would be natural for them to use a word that upholds that.)

Case suggests that the Masoretes (who wrote the Hebrew version that I use) copied the convention of the Septuagint, and so added the vowels of Adonai to YWH. He also discusses how, over time, people would have begun to read this substitution as a name. Therefore, although people read ‘kurios’ meaning ‘the Lord’ in their Greek versions, after a while they would think of ‘Lord’ as a name, not a title. (Which probably most English speakers do today, when they pray to ‘Lord’ they are possibly not thinking of it as a generic title, but as a term specifically for God.

This is interesting, because his next point refers to the church in New Testament times—did they return to using Yahweh to address God? Well, no. Case says this is probably because in mixed Jewish/Greek congregations, the disciples were challenging all sorts of traditional thoughts, and challenging the idea of not using God’s name was probably a step too far. (Which to me, suggests that perhaps it is not important.) However, he does make an interesting point when he refers to the bit that says Jesus has ‘the name that is above every name’.[12] This ‘name’ suggests Case, would have been understood to be Yahweh. He thinks Paul was quoting from Isaiah 45:23, which uses ‘Yahweh’ but Paul has changed it to ‘Lord’ because that is the Greek custom. Case also points out that ‘Jesus’ in Hebrew is from ‘Joshua’ meaning: Yahweh is salvation.

There is further evidence that ‘Lord’ was substituted for Yahweh when Jesus quotes Deuteronomy 6:5 in Mark 12:30. He changes ‘You shall love Yahweh your God’ to ‘You shall love the Lord your God’ and he also adds ‘with all your mind’. Case thinks this is because the ancient Hebrews thought that everything was decided by the heart, whereas in Greek thought, there was a disconnect between heart and mind (so loving Yahweh with all your heart was insufficient, they needed to engage the mind too). Jesus therefore ‘tweaks’ a quotation, so the people understand the meaning of the quote. Thus ‘Lord’ is a substitute for ‘Yahweh’. Every time the early church read ‘Jesus is Lord’, they were really reading ‘Jesus is Yahweh’ which was completely radical!

My main concern when reading Case’s argument, is that he refers to ‘the personal name’ of God. Yet the name that was given, Yahweh, was NOT really a ‘personal name’. It’s a verb. The verb ‘to be’ which in the tense given means that God told Moses: ‘I will be whatever I will be.’ This, I feel, is more of an evasion than a name, more a telling humans that they cannot sum up God in a name, they cannot label him. The Old Testament writers took this verb and used it as a name. Should we copy their example? I guess the difference is that they were Hebrew speakers, so although they used the verb as a name, they would ever be aware that it was really a verb. We, however, see the word only as a name. Which potentially has dangers, but I’m not sure. Maybe it only has power. Maybe it has both.

[1] In case you missed my earlier blog: When the German theologians wanted to write this (Yahweh written with Adonai vowels) they ended up writing ‘Jehovah’ because ‘Y’ sound is written ‘J’ in some languages. Therefore, when you see the name ‘Jehovah’ you are reading a German attempt to write a wrongly-written Hebrew word, not a name that ever appeared in any Bible!

[2] Andrew Case, Pronouncing and Translating the Divine Name יהוה (UK: Independently Published, 2020). Although self-published, Case references his sources appropriately, and therefore is considered reliable to cite.

[3] David Clines, Yahweh and the God of Christian Theology: Theology Volume 83 (Sage, 1980)

< https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/abs/10.1177/0040571X8008300503&gt; p.324.

[4] Exodus 3:15.

[5] Psalm 135:13.

[6] Ruth 2:4.

[7] 1 Samuel 14:45.

[8] Amos 6:10.

[9] Suggested by Douglas Stuart, Hosea – Jonah: World Biblical Commentary (Dallas: Word Incorporated, 1987) p.364.

[10] Michael L. Rodkinson, The Babylonian Talmud: Original Text, Edited, Corrected, Formulated and Translated into English (Boston: The Talmud Society, 1918).

[11] Leviticus 24:16.

[12] Philippians 2:9 -11.

A Week of Milestones

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Hello, hope you’ve had a good week. Mine involved a crossing a few hurdles—nothing massive, but some were quite significant.

Firstly, my daughter moved into her new house. This feels very significant, as it’s unlikely that she will ever live with me again. She sold her flat a few months ago, so she and her fiancé moved in while they were between houses. I was hoping it might take longer than it did, but this week they completed all the legal stuff, and on Tuesday we visited their new house. It’s very nice, but I don’t envy them having to unpack lots of boxes and learn how to use new boilers and appliances. Moving is never fun. I will miss them.

The ducks also moved home. They are now fully feathered, so I started to put them on the pond (gradually, so the old ducks don’t panic and fly away). Each day, there was one less than I had put there the day before. It’s possible the fox was taking them, though it felt weird that it was only one each time—as they usually copy the established ducks and move to the island for the night. It’s also possible they have flown to another pond. Or are hiding. If they return, I will let you know.

It does mean I have an empty cage, which is very nice. Ducklings are mucky animals, and make a soup with anything they can reach. I cleaned out the cage, added some clean straw, and planted grass seed. Hopefully by the time Goose and chick are big enough to be outside, it will have some grass.

Roommates, if not exactly friends.

I have put the chick in with Goose. This is a risk, as it might get trampled. I have joined them for short periods, and watched, and a couple of times the chick was stepped on (much squealing) but nothing dangerous (like its head) so it survived, and is now alert to clumsy goose feet. The chick is completely desperate to be with the goose (it thinks it’s her mother) and was in danger of being hurt by trying to squeeze though the bars. It was actually in one of those plastic laundry baskets, within the goose cage, so close to goose, but safe. The clothes basket was left here by one of my moved-out offspring, so I hope they don’t ask for it back any time soon as it’s now rather grubby. Anyway, the chick is ecstatic that they are now together. The goose ignores her, because Goose thinks that I am its mother, and only wants to talk to humans—but it tolerates the chick, and I am still hopeful they will become friends. Maybe when they move into the outside cage.

Also, this was the week that I completed my dissertation proposal. This has been very stressful. I am not a planner, I am a ‘sort-it-out-when-it-happens’ person. I am very good at reacting to situations and averting disaster, not so good at sitting down and planning what chapters will be in a research project, and how I will find the resources for intelligent-sounding citations and (horrors!) writing a timetable of what I will do between now and April 2024. But it’s done, submitted, finished. I can now start the fun part of actually doing the research and reading some of those fascinating books.

I actually have bit of a problem with books, as I have developed attachment issues. I borrow a book from the library, spend hours reading it, enjoying the greasy pages and absorbing the words, feeling the weight on my lap as sip coffee and make notes…and then it ends…and I am supposed to return it to the library. But we have bonded. The book has become part of the fabric of my day, and I don’t want to abandon it to the unloving shelves of a dark library. So I renew it. Even though I have read it, made notes, finished with it—I renew it. I’m not quite sure how many times I can renew books, but I suspect I shall find out fairly soon. I do sometimes buy a copy to keep, but they’re not the same, they have shiny pages and they’re often too large, and they tend to cost a fortune (and sometimes the number of books arriving in the post is commented on). Maybe I will fill the now-empty duck cage with books that I have smuggled into the house. I can keep them in the grubby laundry basket.

Sadly returned…

Hope you have a great week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

A little social interaction before the ducks moved out.
Anne E. Thompson
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The Baal Cycle — a story from an ancient world

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The Baal Cycle

Here is an ancient story, from Ugarite, a civilisation that has lots in common with ancient Israel. The characters of the story are referred to during the Old Testament, because this is a tale the people would be familiar with—you might have noticed references to Baal, this is his story:

The Canaanite’s God, El, created all things. He is an old man, with a long white beard (he sat on a throne, not a cloud—but the description sounds familiar…) There is a Heavenly Realm, and El makes Yamm the king of all the gods. Yamm is a seven-headed sea dragon, known for his pride and creating chaos, sometimes called ‘Lotan’ (There is bit of a fuzzy divide between gods and monsters in some of these ancient stories. I guess they were trying to represent the things they didn’t understand with images/stories.)

Two other gods, Athtar and Baal resent this, and Baal threatens Yamm.

Baal is a young god, the son of Dagon, and his wife is Asherah (a name you might also recognise from the Old Testament).[1] He is a warrior god, he often brings thunder and lightning, and is in control of both fertility and rain. (This is particularly interesting in the light of the OT story in 1 Kings 18.)

Baal goes to Kothar, who is the god of skill and wisdom, and asks him to make two magical clubs. Baal then uses them to crush Yamm. He’s helped by his sister, Anat.

So we have Baal—thunder and lightning, defeating Yamm—chaotic sea. Baal is less chaotic than Yamm, so this is seen as a good thing.

They have a feast to celebrate (as you do) and Anat goes to ask El if they can build a palace for Baal on Mount Zaphon. Kothar (the god of skill and wisdom—remember?) helps to build the palace.

When the palace is complete, they invite Mot, the god of death to visit. (I find this is interesting, as ‘mot’ is the Hebrew word for ‘death.’) Mot says he will come, but to devour Baal, not to celebrate. Baal is defeated and killed (but not permanently, so don’t make a cuppa just yet). Anat (the sister) then fights Mot (because this is what sisters do when their younger brother is beaten up) and she manages to get Baal’s body. She kills Mot, and scatters his body to the birds (though he pops up again later, so this bit is a little confusing). During this battle, Athtart, another sister (obviously one who doesn’t like Baal so much) tries to make one of her sons king, but they all fail.

Baal and Mot then fight again (don’t ask me how, it seems ancient gods didn’t really stay dead, even when fed to the birds). Baal is declared the winner.

*****

I don’t feel the story has much traction as a bedtime story, but I found it interesting to see where some of the beliefs about Baal and Asherah came from. They pop up a few times in the Old Testament, because people tried to worship both them and God. The story seems strange/weird to our modern minds, but I guess the stories from every religion seem strange when you’re new to them.

[1] 1 Kings 14:15.

Thanks for reading. Hope you have a great week.

Take care.
Love, Anne x

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When a Leader is Corrupt

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There is speculation in the news today about the leader of one of the big Christian outreach organisations. It looks as if the leader did dodgy things with young men, which if proven, I guess will negatively impact the organisation. My question to you is: Does the moral life of a leader affect their past work?

At college, we have read the work of many theologians, and more than you might expect, were involved in some sort of dodgy sexual behaviour. They either assaulted their students, or were unfaithful to their wives, or were accused of abuse. This is not a current a thing—I’m talking about centuries ago. Some of the theology still taught today, was first introduced by men (it was always men in the olden days) who were later accused of improper behaviour. Does it matter? And why?

More recently, we studied the work of John Yoder, who taught about servanthood, and following Jesus’ example in caring for the downtrodden and oppressed.[1] All good stuff. But then, it was discovered Yoder had sexually harassed more than a hundred women. Do we ignore this? Absolutely not. Do we ignore his teaching? That is the tricky part—because what he taught was good. (Not all of it, but much of what he said was good.)

Rembrandt

The Return of the Prodigal Son by Rembrandt (Image taken from internet, so more a sketch than a painting, but you get the idea.)

Today, we were studying theology in art, and we read a book by Henri Nouwen,[2] who was deeply affected by Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son. As he sat and stared at the painting, Nouwen was emotionally touched, and through the painting he drew closer to God, understanding God’s love in a whole new way. So is the painting good? Undoubtedly. Therefore does God use the work of Rembrandt to further his kingdom? It would seem so. Was Rembrandt a good chap? Well, he wasn’t exactly faithful to his wife and seems to have had a complicated sex life! But does the life of the man nullify his work?

If you look at the work of Aimee Semple McPherson, you become even more conflicted. This was a woman who attracted a huge following in Los Angeles, built a temple and a radio station and took Pentecostal spirituality to masses of people. Did she preach the message of God? Yes, and hundreds of people were touched by the message and grew closer to God as a result of her work. Does her ministry sometimes resemble a religion of her own? Yes—and she was accused of some dodgy stuff in her personal life too. But again, does the woman nullify the work?

My own view is very conflicted. Personally, if I felt a leader/minister/vicar was morally suspect, I would not feel able to work with them. Anyone who lies to their spouse is unlikely to be honest to their congregation. I think the integrity of a person’s life matters, and TV evangelists who seem more interested in earning high salaries, or famous preachers with massive egos, are not people who I trust. And yet, contrary to all that, I notice that sometimes, God uses those people to further his kingdom.[3]

What if…a psychopath managed to do something good. Can psychopathy ever be a strength?

The life of the speaker does not always nullify the message. Sometimes, God uses the narcissist, the psychopath, the egotist. Maybe starting a new organisation, ‘thinking big’ and not being distracted by all the potential problems, needs a certain personality. And maybe those personalities are more likely than most of us to then screw up spectacularly—because we all mess up, and someone who does big things maybe messes up more. I guess the essence is this: God can use anyone, good or weak, and God’s work is always good. But the extent to which a leader’s failings then nullify their work—this I don’t know. It’s a tricky one.

This is an important point for those who have suffered abuse. I imagine that when you see good work being done, then you would worry about threatening that by bringing an accusation against the leader. Yet clearly, looking at the past, this should not be a factor. The work of God continues, people are helped, even when/if the leader is removed. A dodgy leader should always be removed, otherwise the cycle of hurt continues—amazingly, it seems that this doesn’t mean the cycle of their work stops.

Thanks for reading.
Hope you have a good week. Take care.
Love, Anne x

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[1] Samuel Wells, Introducing Christian Ethics, (Oxford, Wiley Blackwell, 2017) p. 222.

[2] Henri Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son (London: Darton, Longman and Todd, 1994).

[3] This theme was explored in Clara, A Good Psychopath?

Talking with a Coptic Christian

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As I told you in my last blog, we have been studying spirituality around the world. In our lecture, we spoke to a Coptic Christian from Egypt. ‘Coptic’ is the type of Egyptian writing that came after hieroglyphics, and became the language of Egypt, and therefore the language of the early Christians—people like Origen & Co. The chap we spoke to, spoke to us in English. Not much has been written in the past by Coptic Christians, and we were told that this is partly because it was a difficult place to be a Christian. He spoke about the ancient church in Alexandria, commenting that, “We produced more martyrs than books!”

He explained that the Coptic church is known as the church of the people, and it works with the poor people in Egypt. He said that Christ was found with the poor people, and that is where their focus is. Later, I asked him about all the money, and gilt and splendour, that I had seen in the Coptic churches in Cairo. How does that tally with their aim to work amongst the poor? He told me that it generally is the poor people who provide the money for the beautiful churches, that they want to contribute, to show how much they value God. He also said that in a country where they are the minority religion, it is very important to have a ‘presence’ and to be seen. It would be easy for the media to discount them, for governments to say there were no Coptic Christians—harder to do that when there is a stonking great temple in every city. This is something I hadn’t considered (it’s very easy to judge cultures before we understand them).

As a minority church in the country, their ‘outreach’ has to be different than in Western countries. They strive to do everything well, to live their lives authentically, and to work honestly. This is the way they hope to be noticed, and for people to be attracted to their church. (I think that in an Islamic country, you are not allowed to speak with Muslim people about your faith.) This tallies with what we saw in Cairo, where the Zabbaleen people (who are Coptic) collect the city’s rubbish, and are known for doing it better than anyone else.

When asked about people converting to Christianity, he said that they would only want people to do that who are sure they want to follow Jesus, not because they have been ’persuaded’ into it—because converting from Islam means risking so much.

He showed us his ‘Book of Hours,’ which is a tiny book of Psalms. They read it at regular intervals throughout the day—like when they wake, at mealtimes, when they go to bed. I thought that was a good practice to copy, it’s hard sometimes to even think about God during the day, even, ironically, when studying for an MA in Theology. My Muslim friends are currently fasting during daylight hours for Ramadan, and I admire their determination and wonder whether we have grown too ‘soft’ in our Christian churches. Sometimes a routine/discipline is a good thing. He also spoke about the monastic tradition. He likened this to the Bible story where Moses is praying while Joshua fights a battle. He said the monks are the ones praying, and studying Scripture, aiding the Christians who are outside the monastery. Most people go to the monastery for retreats, when they join the quiet contemplation for a while and learn from the monks (and share with them what is happening in the world). It’s different, but I can see how it would work.

As I said on Monday, we only had one seminar about global Christianity, but even the little we covered challenged some of my preconceived ideas. Churches in different countries need to find the best way to do things within the culture they live in. Often, this will be very different to how we do things in the West.

Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good week.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.

anneethompson.com

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Global Christianity: What Does It Look Like?

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One of my lectures this week was about Christianity around the world. It was only one lecture, and really it could be a whole course, but the little we covered was very interesting. We read various articles by author’s of different nationalities, and it was clear that their Christianity reflected the culture they lived in.

One example was the work of Sadhu Sundar Singh (1889—1929 ).[1] He lived in India, and you could hear chimes of the Indian culture in his writing—which was beautiful. He wrote that God is in everything, and unless we ‘see’ God in the natural world, we cannot fully appreciate what we have. God is reflected in creation. He wrote that prayer prepares the soul for God’s gifts, and we shouldn’t be praying in order to ‘get’ things. When we approach God in prayer, our thirst is quenched. He painted a picture of God using examples from nature.

At times, it was fairly close to pantheism (the idea that God is everything, and everything is God—which is roughly the teaching of the Hindu religion). But he didn’t actually say that, and instead gave an example of a sponge being filled with water—the sponge and the water are intrinsically different substances, but one is able to completely absorb the other.

His title of ‘Sadhu’ means ‘holy man,’ and he taught many people. There are stories that he left society and went to live in a cave, and he is still there now, waiting until the world is ready for him to emerge. Other reports (I suspect more reliable) are that he died in 1929.

We also read some of Richard Young’s work, about Christianity in Africa and Asia.[2] He writes about the role of ancestors in China. He suggests that the spirit of ancestors should be regarded as a force—either to help in the Christian journey or to flee from their influence—but they cannot simply be ignored. Chinese people cannot be expected to suddenly think ‘with a Western mind’ when they become Christians.

I’m not sure what I think about this. However, I do wonder if there is an example in the New Testament. If you read the Gospels, there were an awful lot of evil spirits/demon possession. And in today’s society, there seem to be less. I do not actually know anyone who has been possessed by evil spirits—do you? Yet we read of the disciples encountering such people regularly. Were they just unlucky? Or are we not noticing? Or, is it possible that those people were not possessed by spirits, they were simply ill, and erratic behaviour due to things like epilepsy was wrongly attributed to evil spirits? In which case, it is interesting that Jesus did not correct the wrong assumption. He met the people within the culture/thought-context of the time, and he knew that if he told the person they were healed, but ignored the ‘evil spirit’ then they would continue to suffer—because placebo is very strong, and a belief in an evil spirit would be enough for them to continue to suffer. Therefore, in kindness, Jesus did was what necessary, he appeared to ‘cast out’ spirits, so the person would be healed. If I am correct, then what Young suggests would fit with this example. Sometimes we expect people to change who they are before they can come to God, but this is a human requirement, not a Godly one. If God wants to change them, that’s his business, and that will happen later.

We also spoke to a Coptic Christian from Egypt—but I’ll tell you about that in my next blog. Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a great day. Take care.
Love, Anne x

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[1] Sudhu Sundar Singh, At the Master’s Feet, (Edinburgh: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1922).

[2] Richard Fox Young, ‘Christian Spirituality in Africa Asia, Latin America and Oceania’, in Author Holder (ed.), The Blackwell Companion to Christian Spirituality, (Oxford: Blackwell, 2011).

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What is an ‘Evangelical Christian’? And Are You One?

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What is an ‘Evangelical Christian’?

A Church — Not necessarily an evangelical one, I have never been inside.

Before I went to college, I would have described myself as an ‘Evangelical Christian.’ Now I’m not so sure. To be honest, I didn’t really know what the term meant—I assumed, as it contained the word ‘evangelical’ it meant that the person thought it was right to ‘evangelise,’ in other words, to tell other people about God. However, depending on who you speak to, it means different things. And sometimes it’s used as an insult in the Christian world. Shocking! Or maybe not…

There is a handy (if not scintillating) book that defines what ‘evangelicalism’ means, using seven points.[1] If I am honest, I have been aware of these within churches I have attended, and they’re not always good. What do you think?

  1. Conversion. To be a Christian, evangelicals tend to emphasis a moment in time when you committed yourself to God. They talk about ‘repenting of your sins’ and ‘changing direction’ and asking God for forgiveness. I too think this is an important step, though I’m not so sure it happens only once, and certainly not necessarily at the start. I also don’t think there’s an ‘in’ and an ‘out’ and until you have ‘prayed the prayer’ you are definitely in the ‘out’ club (if you see what I mean!) Things are fuzzier than this, in my experience.
  2. Assurance of Salvation. This means a belief that Christ becoming human, living, dying and rising again is all that is necessary for salvation. It slightly contradicts point one above (in my view). Now, being sure you have been accepted by God is important, but I’m not sure that everyone gets there all at once, in a single leap. Nor am I sure that we agree on what ‘salvation’ is. People talk about ‘going to Heaven when I die’ but (as discussed before) that’s what Plato taught, not the Bible. Again, I think things might be fuzzier than sometimes presented. I also worry that ‘assurance of salvation’ is most often used to point a grubby finger at the person who we are ‘sure has not been saved’! Comments such as: “Oh, he was ever so kind, and he’s not even a Christian you know,” tend to be revealing.
  3. Biblicism. Evangelicals tend to say they believe the Bible is the ‘Word of God’ and available to everyone, but then go to great lengths to explain every contradiction and to teach things the way they believe them. Whilst they might be right, they might also be wrong, and maybe a little more caution is called for. It’s easy to find verses in the Bible that support your beliefs. The KluKluxKlan did it, so did the fascists. I think that using the Bible to learn who God is, is great. I think using the Bible to make rules for other people is not so great.
  4. Prayer. Evangelicals believe that prayer is important—both private prayers and prayers in church. The early evangelicals taught that prayer should come ‘from the heart’ (which I agree with) and therefore pre-written prayers, and especially liturgy, are not really prayer. (This part I disagree with.)
  5. The Cross/Penal Substitution. This goes back to point 2., that Christ died to save us from our sin. This is a huge concept, and I don’t think we really understand it, so I won’t comment. I do believe Christ died, and I do believe that somehow that repaired the relationship between God and us. But I don’t know how exactly, and I am suspicious when others seem very certain about concepts which seem to me to be beyond human understanding.
  6. Holiness. When we are saved (see point 1.) it will affect the way we behave. The ancient Methodists believed it was possible to become sinless. The ancient Baptists believed holiness should be pursued through behaviour. In the 1870’s the Keswick Convention was set up, to try and decide this issue. They stated that ‘sin is perpetually counteracted.’ (Keswick is also home to an excellent kitchen shop, which is unrelated.) All I know is, I am not perfect, some terrible people do some really good things, and some apparently ‘holy’ people do really bad things.
  7. Mission. After conversion (see point 1.) a Christian will be dedicated to God’s service, hoping to convert others. Sometimes this can feel like ‘scalp-hunting’ if done badly. At best, it’s the sense of having something special and wanting to share it with others.


Unfortunately, the Church is made up of humans, and none of us get it right. God is very patient with us. I find it helpful to step back, and look at what defines the things I believe, and then to decide whether they are really the things I believe, or if they are simply unquestioned teaching.

[1] Peter J. Morden, ‘Evangelical Spirituality’, in Andrew Atherstone and David Ceri Jones (eds.)  The Routledge Research Companion to the History of Evangelicalism (London: Taylor and Francis, 2018).

Thank you for reading.
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