I've done lots of writing these past years as a theological student, so the blog kind of stopped. My writing needs were getting regular fixes in the form of theology essays.
Then I was ordained. And I wasn't sure what I was allowed to say! I don't want to say something stoopid that becomes a barrier to ministry with people on the ground who think differently to me. And so many of the anecdotes I could use ... well, locals wouldn't be hard pushed to work out who I was talking about - my first funeral, someone driving me crazy ...
Recently, a friend suggested maybe I was being a bit too risk-averse in not writing. So, I'm back at We're Not in Kansas Toto with fear and trepidation. I mean, what if a prospective employer googles me?!
Five years ago, I published my first post about looking through cookery books. But I didn't really start blogging to tell the world what I was going to eat that week. It was a toe in the water.
I called my new blog 'We're Not in Kansas, Toto'. I can't remember where I heard it, but it obviously meant strange territory.
Which it was for me. After three decades in evangelical free churches, I'd ended up an Anglican. I was so surprised myself that I had to write about it. Because writing is how I sort out my thoughts.
How did I end up in the enchanted land of Anglicanism? It coincided with an illness. With coming home to Ireland after a spell in Bolivia. And crucially, I think, with turning 30.
Life was different, compared to those heady uni days of Christian Union, youth fellowship and Delirious?. My younger self would have recoiled at the grey I was starting to see.
Becoming Anglican later in life seems to be a well-worn path. Fernando Ortega did it. So did Miroslav Volf. T. S. Elliott and John Donne. Madeleine Albright. When I was in ministerial training, maybe a quarter of ordinands had started off in another tradition.
What attracts people? I'm sure that in many cases disappointment with other churches is one reason, but there are positive factors too.
The economy of words. OK, so the first time I went to Morning Prayer and was handed two books, a news sheet and psalm sheet, I thought there were lots of words. But they were good ones. Carefully weighed, crafted, and selected for worship that morning. And interspersed with silence. And responses for the congregation. With very little 'OK, folks, so, yeah ...' type talk.
The drama. The movement, sounds, light, colour, fabrics and textiles. The appeal to the senses and the imagination. They convey something about the 'strangeness' of God.
The scripture. Three readings plus a psalm. The prayer book that just oozes scripture in every line. The rigour of working through the whole Bible every three years.
A woman priest. The open-ended sermon that stimulated me to keep on thinking instead of tying it all up for me. The mix of ages. The lack of cool factor, or any attempt at it. The bishop who wasn't there but could reign in any maverick preachers or dodgy theologians.
A strange new world, but oddly comforting. A world where I've become increasingly at home.
No comments:
Post a Comment