Reimagining Discipleship: Loving the local community

Introduction

Contagious goodness

‘We are a Christian country,’ declared the Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, David Cameron. He was not the first to make that statement. When Bede wrote The Ecclesiastical History of the English People in the eighth century, England could hardly claim to be ‘one country’, one people united by customs or religion. Yet Bede wrote his history to persuade his readers that faithfulness to the Christian God, solidarity with our neighbours and personal moral behaviour are woven together. God, Bede claimed, has particularly called this nation to be distinctive in service and behaviour, to be united together and followers of Christ. Since then, bishops, politicians, playwrights, architects and monarchs have rallied followers beneath the banner of being a Christian country, with rhetoric that often falls somewhere between wish and nostalgia. Today the claim is battered by statistics and suspicion. Most surveys can be used to challenge this claim, with barely three million regular worshippers in Christian churches each Sunday out of a population of 60 million. And the claim to be a Christian country is suspect for it sounds exclusive, as though the phrase were a sharpened tool being prepared to damage some (as yet unspecified) group.

Yet many people find themselves somewhere between an intuition that the claim has been historically true and an aspiration that one day it will be more evidently true. How can we, in our day, make these claims more real? One of the necessary tasks is to reimagine Christian discipleship. Most spiritual approaches identify discipleship as involving basic ingredients such as personal belief, Bible reading, attending worship and ethical behaviour. All of these are vital but the missing ingredient is how disciples relate to others. In particular we can imagine discipleship in fresh ways if we concentrate on how disciples do things on behalf of others.

‘On behalf of’ is an important but dangerous phrase. The Jubilee Sailing Trust is a charity that arranges adventurous sailing expeditions on tall ships for mixed crews, some of whom have physical disabilities. The physical challenge of enabling a sailor who spends much of her time in a wheelchair to take a full part in these expeditions is huge. No less significant is the challenge of how members of the crew relate to each other. The basic rule is: ‘Do not offer to do for others what they can do for themselves.’ That example reveals just some of the dangers implicit in this phrase. One person can let others off the hook by doing things on their behalf; this behaviour disables, demotivates and infantilizes. Also, the one who is always keen to offer help, to accept extra duties, can end up taking on too much responsibility. These are some of the most obvious dangers as we explore the idea of disciples living their faith on behalf of others.

A positive anecdote about this concept comes from the experience of a senior church leader from this country who attended a conference in the Soviet Union during the 1970s. This was a time of great suspicion, both of western leaders and of western Christians. The bishop knew that his every movement was being watched. Even at the formal dinner at the end of the conference, the bishop knew that his words were being recorded by the microphone hidden in the flower arrangement in the centre of the table. While the first course was being served, as the waitress lent over the table to place a dish in front of the bishop, she whispered, ‘My grandmother goes to church.’ Her grandmother clearly was of an age that she was no longer vulnerable to losing her job through attending worship. But the waitress was in reality quietly declaring to the bishop her own faith. She could not say so explicitly, nor could she attend worship publicly for the fear of retribution. But the grandmother was actually living her faith in public on behalf of all the family. That is how it is with many people today. Recently a national survey showed that 70 per cent of British people considered themselves to be Christian, yet a considerable number of these neither believe in God nor ever attend church worship. Secular commentators puzzle on this, declaring that the people who reply to the survey in this way are illogical or stupid. But these communities are missing the power of ‘on behalf of’.

There are many who, when confronted with the question, ‘Do you believe in God?’ will feel most comfortable answering, ‘No’. They will also deny attending worship. Yet many – according to this poll, 70 per cent – want to be associated with the Christian ethos of this country, a Christian foundation for moral behaviour, churches being a focal point for communities, Christian charities running services for their neighbourhoods, and the vicar being a respected figure who can speak up for the locality. If all this is kept in focus, being a disciple has to be imagined as an exciting, responsible adventure. My discipleship involves me in being the public face of profound things that are going on in other people’s lives. Being a public disciple can be the way that allows others to take their first step of faith; it can be that others are saying, ‘You lead, I’ll follow’, or ‘You put into words what I but dimly feel’. When disciples are bold in their use of symbols, when they create ceremonies for moments of national celebration, when they worship in a way that makes sense to those unschooled in the Christian dialect, then they are putting on a divine play for which there is an eager audience. The church is a theatre of meaning, and all actors need to keep in mind that the audience matters far more than the actors themselves. The connection between theatre and church, with disciples being public actors for the faith, is a theme that surfaces throughout this book.

So, the first part of this book will explore some of what is involved in living the faith publicly on behalf of others. The title ‘vicar’ comes from the word ‘vicarious’, meaning that others are intimately and necessarily caught up in what the vicar does. Some fresh imagination is needed to see that all disciples are to some extent vicars. Being a vicarious disciple can involve you considering, ‘Who do I go to church on behalf of? Whose lives and concerns come with me as I attend worship myself?’ Though discipleship is a deeply personal matter, actually our church buildings are vicarious places too. So we need to consider how we order our living and our buildings so that others can have the access they need to the God who does not belong to Christians alone.

The second part explores the issues of responsibility that were identified in the example of the Jubilee Sailing Trust. It is easy to shy away from responsibility today, given the fear of being blamed, being taken to court or being criticized in the press for not achieving the highest standards. Yet disciples have also to avoid the trap of taking on too much responsibility. This is partly a matter of their own welfare; moral burnout is common enough. But disciples also want to show their readiness to accept responsibility in ways that encourage others to grow in responsibility themselves. The Christian tradition’s emphasis on affirmation, God delighting in us, gratitude, forgiveness and hope combine to form a positive environment in which many virtues can grow. Any disciple will want to consider how to create conditions so that others can flourish too, even if they do not explicitly join in with our enterprise of faith.

The third part looks at the consequences that flow for the church from vicarious discipleship. If we are truly to rejoice in the two-way flow of energy, ideas and possibilities that come from living on behalf of others, the church has to be honest about being a place that listens, hears and responds. We can’t do that if we imagine that the truths of God have been completely revealed, and must remain unaffected and unsullied by those who want to hear them. It is helpful to see the Bible itself as well as the Christian tradition as records of listening and exploration. We can then be involved in the sort of listening that changes us so that we see more of God’s truth.

It’s not easy being a Christian disciple today. The context in which we live is not particularly receptive to some of the values that Christians hold dear. Fragmentation of family, community and national life make it hard to develop lives founded on respect, faithfulness and generosity. Moreover, it appears that there are forces at work in society that explicitly undermine the foundations of Christian living: disrespect for commitment, a perpetual challenge to authority, and protective selfishness. But then these forces make life difficult, say, for those who try to run a charity, a lunch club for the elderly or a Saturday football team. Finding volunteers and maintaining enthusiasm is hard work today. Yet it is hardly an easy time for businesses either. Even though a chief executive has some control over the working lives of those employed, building teams and creating high standards of behaviour (internally and with customers) is still not easy. So I have little time for the lament, sometimes heard today, that Christians and the Church are living in particularly difficult times.

We can, of course, turn this around. Acknowledging that we all face the same sort of challenges in our working, community and leisure lives, we can seek to identify what resources Christians have that can be specially helpful in these trying times. These may be resources from our history, or from our belief, or from the attitudes that mould our behaviour. By focusing on the bright moments (however dark the surrounding sky may be), Christians can not only develop a positive attitude towards being in the Church today but also be models of hope in their other spheres of activity: their working lives, and in their own neighbourhoods. There is a line in the hymn ‘For all the saints’ which is easy to apply to oneself when the surrounding mood is grim:

        we feebly struggle, they in glory shine.

It’s easy to feel that the grass is greener everywhere else. This book explores how Christian discipleship can be distinctive and inclusive, and how we can make particular contributions to building strong communities wherever we are.

Much of this exploration is applicable to individuals as well as to communities. Here I emphasize that the buildings we inhabit, the responsibility we shoulder and the tradition we inherit are best viewed as corporate aids to good and gracious behaviour. I largely use through this book the word ‘disciples’ to refer to those who are trying to live in accordance with the teaching and beliefs that they uphold. ‘Disciples’ emphasizes that we are learners and that we are learning from and with each other. ‘Disciple’ is a more inclusive term that ‘Christian’ for there are many who want to live the sort of life they know is right, yet for whom the term ‘Christian’ is an aspiration rather than a current reality.

On 29 July the calendar of the Church of England asks us to commemorate Mary, Martha and Lazarus, companions of Jesus. We know Martha typically as the busy one, to be admired for her practical service (provided it does not become either an expression of self-importance, or a way of avoiding deeper matters). We know Mary as the reflective one, to be admired for her devotion (provided it does not become parasitic on, and dismissive of, those who are practically helpful, or a way of expressing self-importance). What about Lazarus? How do you imagine that the conversation between Jesus and Lazarus went after supper? Lazarus invites Jesus to come up on to the roof in order to enjoy the gentle breeze before dusk and grunts, ‘So?’ Jesus, recognizing his friend’s invitation and allowing himself to carry the baton of the conversation first, describes the hedgerows that he passed today, and the birds he saw. He notes there hasn’t been much rain (even Jesus will talk about the weather sometimes), but that they have nearly finished the new bridge across the stream, just outside the village. Peter, Jesus laughs, always the one for the big gesture, nearly fell off the bridge. ‘I love him but …’ (maybe you can work out how Jesus finishes that sentence). Lazarus asks whether they have all got over James and John’s rather arrogant comments, knowing that Jesus was troubled by this and had not yet worked out how to deal with it. After a pause, Jesus tries out on his friend a new parable, as he is not quite sure whether he has got the end right. Lazarus, knowing that Jesus likes a bold response, says that the end is right but that the middle section needs work: it’s not yet scratching where the very itchy disciples really need it. After a bit more storytelling, Lazarus says he’s getting cold, but hesitates to move immediately. For Jesus still finds it hard to confide: and then the words come, ‘I’m frightened; I know something big is coming but can’t quite see its shape.’

You and Lazarus will know what a privilege it is to be involved in such a conversation which is gentle and spacious, leaving both people in a better place. You will know that, as you compose this scene, you can hear both what you want to say to, and what you want to hear from, God. A Jesus figure who is unable to converse and work out the next step alongside others is as unhelpful as a tutor who knows all the answers. Believing that Jesus had a great imaginative capacity may be as important as our being imaginative with the story of Jesus. Retelling a parable can involve so much more that merely recasting it in modern terms. For the stories no longer belong to Jesus alone; he gave us characters and situations that can fuel and guide our imaginations. As we create, we have to remain aware of the issue of faithfulness: how faithful are we to what was said then and what needs to be said now? This book is partly written to encourage imaginative response in discipleship, when