By Keith Griffin

In thirty years of parish ministry what I valued most of all was the freedom to work across a whole range of different spaces, whether at worship, in the community, or directly involved with people’s lives at times of joy and sadness. However, another part of the story was knowing that I occupied a defined role as a Church of England clergyman. I wore a collar round my neck and had an obligation to be in church every Sunday subscribing to specific language used in the liturgy, creeds and prayers. Sometimes I pictured it as though I was inhabiting a particular room down a long corridor in a large country house. Now that I’ve walked out of that room I’m noticing other corridors and new rooms, some of which I always knew were there. There’s also space to enjoy what’s outdoors. But I’m also discovering corridors where doors to new spaces of meaning, faith and belief fly open with incredible ease. It really can be simple to say Yes to that Someone we like to call God, especially if we look a little bit more closely at what’s going on around us, and encourage others to do the same.

So, for instance, at the Thursday market I bump into one of my former parishioners who retired in the last year or so. In a brief chat about his new circumstances he mentions that he misses all the connections which he was part of while at work. Colleagues, business acquaintances, and days filled with enquiries, phone calls, emails, or catching up with others about families, football or the latest film. That’s my list, not his, but what he said indicates what we all know concerning our need of other people. But can we take it a step further and see how living as relational beings connects us with the nature of the divine? The more we open ourselves to others, the more we open ourselves to God.

A friend messages me from many miles away and his opening words are, “Highlight of the holiday. We were in the sun room this morning...” When I got to this point I was certain that what he was going on to say would be something related to nature. I was right – he’d seen a red squirrel. When people start to push on the doors outside of standard creedal beliefs you can guarantee that animals, birds, and the natural world will show up. For some of us there’s a whole theology around enjoying dogs and cats as members of the family, even noticing how they can act as our teachers and spiritual guides. In recent years some have embraced Forest Church. It builds on the previous point: relating to others, and in this case outside of human categories, with creatures and creation. Autumn colours under a crisp blue sky... isn’t it easy to believe in God?

I remember talking with a woman in her seventies who explained that although she was able to envisage Jesus as her friend, when it came to God she struggled with feeling afraid. For her, God was frightening, and I’m sure the same is true for many others. We use the word “Almighty,” framing God as supremely powerful and all-knowing, but there are two original words in the Hebrew: “Shaddai” and “Sabb-oath”. The meaning behind them is not very clear, with “Sabb-oath” relating to hosts or counsels (Lord of hosts) and “Shaddai” meaning shelter, or the one of the mountains, or the many-breasted one. There’s something here about sustenance, nourishment, sanctuary, fertility, and nothing about a supremely powerful being. The story goes that the Greek translation from Hebrew came up with “pantocrator,” all-sustaining. However, in the fourth century, when Jerome was working on the Latin he opted for “omnipotens” – unlimited power and authority - and so “almighty” is what made its way into our creeds and prayers. 

It could be our good fortune to live in age when we can acknowledge our need to travel on a different road. A road which tunes us in more deeply to how Jesus changed everything and also what other cultures have to offer. Once we unpick what theologians are saying they too can help us in the right direction. For instance, Paul Tillich connected God with the human search for meaning and depth in ordinary life. God not as a separate being in the universe, but Being itself. Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer of Mezbizk, the founder of Hassidic Judaism, spoke of a spark of the divine in every moment, every action. There is Karl Rahner, who saw God as the source of our searching, our yearning, our drives and our dreams. Also, Ilia Delio, who writes, “The self-emptying of God in the incarnation calls for belief in God beyond God, a God who is not ‘above’ but the excess of being itself… a God who gives up being God in order to become God in us, with us, and for us.” Soon, we might begin to hear people saying, “Yes, I see what you mean. Is it ok to believe that?” Or, “I’ve felt something like that for years, but never been able to articulate it.”

As with so much in life, it all comes down to love. Things brighten up when we begin to see religion as something which encourages us to love the world, as well as God. What if we move on from the story of a fallen, failing, toxic world and embrace the other narrative at the beginning of Genesis where we read that, “God saw that is was good”? From there, it’s not that far to being able to show our friends and neighbours that God is waiting for us in everything we love. For too long it’s been all about locating the divine within specific religious buildings, communities and narratives. Religion at its worst has been insular, oppressive, hierarchical, and even corrupt, but forces we’re encountering in the present day are saying, Enough is enough! I want to trust that God is inviting us into a better tomorrow, where the structures will be more horizontal than vertical, we’ll be less dependent on institutions, and increasingly welcoming to a diversity across boundaries of gender, age, nationality, and race.

The other day I was sitting in a café and observing the people around me: the young artist meeting the proprietor to ask whether she could display her work there. A young man was working, tapping away on his laptop. There was a local photographer showing his work to a friend. A group of young retired folk getting together to enjoy one another’s company. While sipping my coffee my WhatsApp pinged and it was a friend in New York sending me a video clip from a concert she had attended the night before. I got chatting to a lady I remembered from the church lunch group I was once a part of. On a previous occasion I spotted our local MP with a group of colleagues discussing their latest project. I’m sure you’ve been there too! Maybe you see a woman showing a friend on her phone a video of her granddaughter learning to play the piano. As I sat and looked around, in the midst of so much friendship, connection, creative energy and human flourishing I felt like I was on sacred ground. I couldn’t help but think… how easy it is to believe in God.

By Paul Booth

Much of the Christian Church worships Jesus. Nothing odd there, you may say. ‘Catholic’ manifestations of the Church venerate the ‘host’ - “this is the Body of Christ” - whilst the Charismatic Evangelicals put Jesus front and centre. 
 
But when I read the Bible, I see little if any evidence of Jesus saying “worship me”. Rather, he appears consistently to direct his disciples and followers to worship God, often referred to as his ‘heavenly father’, or ‘Abba’. 
 
It is true that Jesus does sometimes receive worship from others in the New Testament. For example: 

• Matthew 28:17 – After the resurrection, “they worshipped him.”
  
•  John 20:28 – Thomas declares to Jesus, “My Lord and my God!” 
  

 
Such moments are not invited or demanded by Jesus, but neither are they rebuked by him. 
 
This is significant. In Jewish tradition worship is reserved for God alone. Although Jesus’ teachings, actions, and acceptance of worship strongly imply his divine status, Jesus never says the exact phrase “I am God; worship me”. 
 
There are verses which suggest that Jesus himself maintained a posture of reverence and submission to God the Father. We call that worship. Jesus worshipped God!  

• John 4:22 – Jesus says, “You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know,” indicating his own worship of God.
  
• John 5:30 – “I can do nothing on my own… I seek not my own will but the will of him who sent me.”
• John 20:17 – After the resurrection, Jesus tells Mary Magdalene, “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” 
• And Philippians 2:6 reminds us of Jesus’ humility:
• ‘Who, being in very nature God,
• did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant.’

 
Yes, Christians believe in the divinity of Jesus - but that is in the context of The Trinity, never as a separate entity. There is no remit to ‘de-construct’ the Trinity into its constituent parts, like some modern chefs do to lemon meringue pie or Black Forest trifle! In his excellent little book ‘Practising the Presence of God’, Brother Lawrence addresses God as ‘they’. God in relationship. I find that really helpful, and a welcome alternative to the ubiquitous ‘Him’ which still abounds in Christian circles. 
 
So, if Jesus did not call us to worship him, what did he call us to? Jesus invited people to:

• Follow him (Luke 9:23)
  
• Believe in him as the way to God (John 14:6)
• Love and obey him (John 14:15), but always in the context of glorifying God the Father. 

Paul is part of The Annunciation Trust

I think that you can make a good case for Jesus being feral. If feral means that something/somebody has returned to a natural state from one of captivity or domestication, then I reckon that Jesus fits. Consider this:

1. Jesus stood deeply within a religious tradition but stood back from it, and challenged it,
2. He did so as a result of his direct experience of God Who called him at his baptism.
   
3. His ministry was nourished by time spent in prayer, and his ongoing relationship with God
4. God continued speaking directly to him through his observations of everyday life
5. When he preached, he rarely began by quoting Scripture, preferring to speak from his experience of life.
6. He left his home and family, had nowhere to lay his head, and was dependant on the kindness and generosity of others. He had no institutional support, rather he trusted that the God Who had called him would look after him
   
7. Angels supported him throughout, after his baptism, and in human form through Martha and Mary, Joseph of Aramathea, Nicodemus, Simon of Cyrene, the man who lent his donkeys, and whoever lent him the use of an upper room etc

 
I think that you could make a similar case for Paul, Francis, and other significant religious teachers. We don’t think of them as feral because they went on to claimed and honoured by institutional religion.
 
Moreover, I sense that we are all called to become, to some extent feral, but that we are fearful of it.  We prefer to remain in a child-like state of dependence on authority figures rather than grow into spiritual maturity. Religions tend to encourage this, making simple things complicated.  It’s a matter of power I suspect.
 
My experience is that a loving God has already given us most of what we need to know about God and life; most people have some spiritual experience; prayer is as natural as breathing, and we are better at it than we think. If we learn to pay attention, God will teach us what else we need to know through our everyday experience of life; and angels frequently appear to support us on our journey.
 
But feel free to disagree.
 
[cf The God you already know edited by Roy Gregory and Henry Morgan]