Peter, Pascal, and I

I

All dreams led back into the nightmare garden
Where the great families who should have loved him slept
Loving each other, not a single rose
Dared leave its self-regard, and he alone was kneeling,
Submitting to a night that promised nothing,
Not even punishment, but let him pray;
Prayer bled to death in its abyssal spaces,
Mocked by the silence of their unbelief.

From Pascal, by W. H. Auden

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FOFOMO

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The third discourseman

FOMO, or the ‘fear of missing out’. It’s a word I’m sure many of us know, and a feeling almost all of us do. It manifests itself in many ways: the indecision until the very last minute, just to make sure you don’t make plans before something better comes along; the sadness or frustration or anxiety when your friends are all at an event you either weren’t invited to or couldn’t make; the sense that there must be more to life than what you’re getting right now, that maybe there’s something you’ve missed or overlooked; the fear of dying or growing old before you’ve achieved the things you want to and reached the milestones you dream about. FOFOMO is not a typo. It is the ‘fear of the fear of missing out’, the fear of FOMO. Let me explain…

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Conservatism ≠ Democracy

Following the UK’s recent National Conservatism Conference, several commentators highlighted how out of touch the conference was with the national mood, as if to be ‘out of touch’ consigns a movement to history’s dustbin. Never mind that the average journalist doesn’t quite represent the everyman either, or that most popular intellectual movements begin life on the fringes, I think conservatives lose by believing that democracy is an end to pursue in itself. Although conservatism seeks the best for the people, that does not make it democratic, and may even put it in tension with it.

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Staying put, being strong: or, reading the Bible with cultural sensitivity

If the Bible is our only resource for theological reflection, and especially if we read it as a treasury of proof-texts and kitchen-calendar verses, then we will read it to support the version of Christianity we already believe. Now, there are limits to that, as anyone who’s paid attention to the remarkably frank confessions of eisegesis amongst the English bishops of the present debacle may have noticed. Some theological and ethical positions self-consciously fly in the face of the clear testimony of scripture, and their acolytes can either undertake the theological equivalent of an undersecretary to the treasury ‘answering’ a question on LBC, or else (as seems to be happening today) ‘fess up to their agenda. That’s not the kind of culturally-specific reading of scripture that I’m getting at. I am referring to something more subtle, less insidious, but still damaging.

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Just an ordinary means of grace kind of a guy

We’ve decided it’s time for a revival. Change is in the air; the prayer meeting is well attended, and now we’ve begun an additional, fortnightly meeting praying more specifically for a great moving of the Spirit. And it seems the time is right. People are disillusioned with where the ideals of secularism have left them. The occasional minor celebratory has been converting to some form of the Christian faith. Mass attendance is up at the local Roman Catholic Church. So we club together – us and a few other churches, with representatives from the Christian Unions and a few charities – to seek the Lord’s help in what might be done. Plans are made and strategies are drawn up. A lot of time is spent thinking over our name, and designating someone with skills in graphic design to do the logo. We settle on a shortlist of two: Kingdom Renewed Ministries, and Renewal Gospel Partnership. The meeting is adjourned so members can prayerfully think it over. We’ll come back together to vote on it next week.

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A quiet mountain

It’s been a long time since I wrote on here. Sorry. The truth is, I’ve had the heart for all the usual thinking (and even writing) that goes behind the articles that end up gracing these pages, and I’ve even written a few. But something has stopped me actually exposing them to the world. It’s not that I don’t want my words to have the kind of permanence that publishing them inevitably creates. It’s more the opposite, actually: I fear the transience, the elusiveness, of digital thought. It’s like it doesn’t exist, somehow.

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Meandering Musings on the Death of My Pet Hamster

The smell of a recent rain. The beams of light bursting through the chinks in the foliage, bringing slender yet strong illumination to my path. The breezy whistle of wind ambling through the trees alongside me. The canal on my right, at first glance calm, still, silent. Yet on further inspection, teeming with life. Insects. Fish. Birds coming to land on the bank, or gliding serenely along the surface. Life! Such are the simple, yet profound joys of a brisk walk on a crisp Spring morning. Wrapped up heavy in my coat, I make my meandering way along the path, delighting in the aimlessness of it all. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Nowhere to be but where I already am.

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