Tag Archives: st augustine

Into Culture: Kingdom Justice?

Earlier this year, I delivered a paper entitled Kingdom Justice? at the Anglican Network of Intercultural Churches conference. In it I argued that justice is never acontextual, i.e. justice is always shaped by the culture and context in which it is pursued, but this is rarely acknowledged when discussing various topics of social justice. I was invited to revisit this thinking at a recent Deanery Synod. On the day of the Synod, however, the resignation of Justin Welby, the first Archbishop of Canterbury to step down from office, shifted the conversation. His decision came amidst mounting pressure over the Church of England’s failure to adequately address historic abuse cases and embed a robust safeguarding culture.

My original paper attempted to challenge the cultural assumptions underpinning how we interpret and pursue justice. It must involve asking whether our understanding of justice is embedded in a shared set of values and narrative and is able to deliver meaningful and transformative change for all people involved rather than privileging simplistic solutions that risk compounding harm rather than addressing its roots.

Yet, I became increasingly aware of the abstraction of this argument when juxtaposed with the visceral pain of safeguarding failures. Calls for justice are never merely theoretical; they always emerge from deep wounds, institutional betrayals, and a pervasive sense of disillusionment. Augustine’s engagement with the Donatists in his time offers surprising and provocative insights into this particular, contemporary crisis. His theology compels us, both critics and defenders of the Church, to think more deeply about the naure of justice, evil, and the redemptive possibilities of grace.

In the recent debates around safeguarding in the Church of England, justice continues to solely be shorthand for accountability, transparency, and the punishment of wrongdoers. These are, of course, essential elements to consider as any just response, yet, as I argued in Kingdom Justice? and based on Augustine’s well argued definition, justice is deeply relational, concerned with restoring right relationships with God, others, and creation. It is also profoundly contextual, shaped by the realities and shared values of the community in which it is enacted.

This contextual nature of justice is often overlooked in Western culture, where justice is increasingly framed in legal or transactional terms. The predominant response to the Church of England’s safeguarding crisis from all sides of the debate reflects this assumed framing, emphasizing retribution and systemic reform. While necessary, these responses risk being insufficient as they fail to address the deeper causes of harm or offer a vision for healing and reconciliation. They can also fall prey to a simplistic view of evil that locates the problem in a few bad actors and/or outdated policies, rather than recognizing evil’s insidious presence in disordered systems, relationships, and values.

In Augustine’s day, the Donatists were deeply concerned with the holiness of the Church, insisting that it must remain pure and untainted by association with sin or compromise. They rejected the authority of bishops who had lapsed under persecution, arguing that their actions invalidated the sacraments they administered. Augustine countered that the Church is a corpus permixtum (a mixed body), inherently flawed yet sustained by God’s grace. He warned against the Donatists’ purity ethic, arguing that perpetuated the fractures in the Church’s unity and denied God’s transformative power of grace. Prioritising and pursuing purity through exclusionary action often results in embedding division and relational breakdown rather than discovering the healing that Jesus embodied and revealed.

Modern parallels to the Donatist instinct are not hard to find. The increasingly urgent demand for a ‘pure Church’, free from scandal and compromise, in its various and competing guises, seems obvious. Survivors of abuse, advocates, and disillusioned laity have seen firsthand the devastating consequences of institutional failure. Their anger at the Church’s hypocrisy is righteous, and their calls for justice are urgent. Yet there is also a risk in framing the Church’s failings in purely moralistic terms, as if the removal of corrupt leaders or the implementation of perfect policies will restore its holiness. Our approaches, unintentionally, replicate the Donatist impulse, seeking purity through exclusion rather than transformation.

Complicating this dynamic further is Western culture’s dominant concept of justice, which often equates it with punishment. In safeguarding, this can translate in different ways to a focus on identifying perpetrators, removing them from positions of power, and preventing future harm. While these steps, again, are crucial, they do not address the underlying systems and cultures that have allowed abuse to occur in the first place. They have also repeatedly left survivors still feeling unheard and unsupported, as justice becomes procedural rather than relational.

Guide Nyachuru, one of John Smyth’s victims

Augustine’s understanding of evil offers a counter-narrative. For him, evil is not a force in itself but the distortion or absence of the good. This means that evil cannot be discussed as some thing that can be dealt with directly. Addressing it can only involve restoring what has been lost or broken. In the context of safeguarding, this suggests that justice must go beyond punishment to include processes of healing, reconciliation, and the reordering of, what Augustine called, ‘disordered loves’. For Augustine, Church unity was not an excuse to overlook sin but the context in which sin is confronted and transformed. The Church must resist the cultural tendency to scapegoat individuals, recognizing that abuse distorts and disintegrates relationships throughout the society/community in which it occurs. True reform, therefore, only comes through a shared commitment to repentance, healing, and renewal; a process that will be slow, painful, and profoundly relational.

This is a different way of addressing the safeguarding crisis in the Church of England. Rather than seeking justice through punishment and purity through exclusion, Augustine prescribed an intentional mending of the specific trust and relationships that have been broken. He engaged the Donatists with intellectual rigor and pastoral sensitivity, hearing their pain and acknowledging the validity of their concerns while prophetically reminding all of the vision of the Church as a community of forgiveness and reconciliation. Similarly, the Church today must create spaces where survivors, clergy, and laity can engage in honest dialogue without fear of defensiveness or retribution, working together towards our shared hope. Independent safeguarding oversight bodies are essential, but they must be integrated with theological reflection to ensure that accountability is paired with grace.

The safeguarding crisis reveals a distortion of priorities, where the Church has too often valued reputation over truth, and institutional preservation over the care of the vulnerable. A commitment to reordering these loves must begin with a cultural shift—embedding safeguarding as a theological and missional imperative rather than a bureaucratic necessity.

The safeguarding crisis confronts the Church of England with its deepest failures, but it also grants us a great opportunity: to embody a justice that is neither transactional nor retributive, but profoundly relational and redemptive. This is not an easy path. It requires the Church to walk the way of the cross, acknowledging its sin, bearing the weight of its failures, and trusting in the redemptive power of Christ. But it is the only path that leads to true justice—a justice that heals wounds, restores relationships, and reflects the love of God in a world desperately in need of hope.

Into Culture: Tale of Two Cities

In my reading at the moment, I am currently inhabiting two vastly different worlds: one, the dark, Gothic corridors of ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ by Victor Hugo, and the other, the contemplative and theological depths of ‘The City of God’ by St Augustine of Hippo. At first glance, these two texts seem to come from different places; one a romantic novel from 19th-century France, the other a theological treatise from 5th-century Rome. Yet, as I delve into the opening chapters of both works, I am struck by a common thread: the place of the arts in society and how they are used by seemingly competing visions of our world.

I have also been thinking again this month about the architectural design of Bradford Cathedral and how, I have been told, Edward Maufe, the architect who designed our East end, wanted to articulate a coming together of the mundane and the sacred. The West end was to be experienced and understood as a convening space for the whole of Bradford society. The East end would be the focus of sacred worship. Whether that is true or not I don’t know but there is a strong architectural difference between these two spaces in our Cathedral.

The interplay between these two spaces is characterised by St Augustine as two cohabitating ‘cities’; the City of God symbolising the divine, eternal order and the City of the World symbolising human civilisation with all its flaws. I want to examine briefly the more nuanced interaction between these two ‘cities’ to see if there is something fruitful to be found for us at Bradford Cathedral to offer our city as we head into 2025, where Bradford will be UK City of Culture, as well as other Cathedrals as they wrestle with the stewardship of their own sacred/secular space.

Hugo begins his story, not with the titular hunchback, Quasimodo, but with a scene set in Paris’s grand cathedral, Notre Dame (arguably a major character in the book) during the Festival of Fools. In these opening pages, we are introduced to the clash between the religious order represented by the cathedral and the chaotic, almost carnivalesque atmosphere of the festival outside. Here, art is both sacred and profane, elevated and debased, reflecting the dual nature of humanity itself.

Similarly, Augustine, in the opening books of ‘The City of God’, discusses the dichotomy of the two cities: the City of God and the City of the World. For Augustine, the City of the World is marked by its temporal, fleeting nature and its inclination towards sin and self-glorification. Yet, even within this human city, Augustine acknowledges the presence of art, culture, and human achievements, which, though marred by sin, still bear the potential to reflect divine truth. In the early chapters, he argues that the polytheistic worship and rituals of the Graeco-Roman world which heavily influenced and controlled the public performances and artistic artefacts is more to be blamed for the fall of that civilisation than the acceptance of Christianity into their cultural milieu.

Bradford Cathedral aspires to be a beacon of spiritual and artistic expression amidst the bustling life of our city. Its walls, filled with history, uniquely tell the story of the whole community and its faiths. Just as Hugo uses Notre Dame to symbolise the connection between the sacred and the secular, Bradford Cathedral serves as a constant reminder of the spiritual heritage and the rich cultural tapestry that defines the city of Bradford. It is a space where the divine meets the everyday, and where art, I aim to show, can serve as a bridge between the two.

In reflecting on these two great works, it becomes clear that the arts have always occupied this central place in human society. They are a means through which we explore our relationship with the world around us, with each other, and with the divine. Whether in the grand architecture of a cathedral, the lively performance of a play, or the quiet contemplation of a painting, the arts offer us a glimpse into the deeper truths of existence.

Hugo and Augustine remind us that the arts are both a gift and a responsibility. They have the power to inspire and uplift, but also to distract and lead astray. As we engage with the arts, whether as creators or as audience members, we must do so with a sense of discernment and purpose. We must strive to see beyond the surface, to seek the truth that lies beneath, and to recognise the metaphysical fingerprints, whether good or bad, in the works of human hands.

In a world that often seems consumed by the immediate and the material, the arts call us to remember the eternal, to lift our eyes towards the heavens even as we walk the streets of our earthly city. They remind us that we are more than the sum of our parts, that we are creatures of both body and soul, and that in every brushstroke, every note, and every word, there is the potential to glimpse the divine.

The opening chapters of ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ introduce us to Pierre Gringoire, a struggling playwright whose dramatic piece is set to be performed during the Festival of Fools. Gringoire embodies the romantic ideal of the artist: impoverished, passionate, and slightly out of touch with the mundane concerns of everyday life. His work, a Mystery play titled ‘The Good Judgment of Madame the Virgin Mary’, is meant to be a serious, thoughtful exploration of divine justice. Yet, it quickly becomes evident that Gringoire’s high-minded artistic vision is out of sync with the boisterous, irreverent mood of the crowd.

The Flemish visitor, Jacques Coppenole, crystallises this disconnect when he dismisses Gringoire’s Mystery as a waste of time, preferring the spontaneous entertainment of the festival over the playwright’s carefully crafted narrative. Coppenole’s comment is not just a critique of Gringoire’s play but a broader statement on the role of art in society. To Coppenole, the art that matters is the art that entertains, that is immediate and accessible. Gringoire’s highbrow ambitions are lost on a crowd that craves spectacle, not contemplation.

Hugo uses Gringoire’s predicament to illustrate the fragile place of the artist in society. Gringoire’s struggle to have his work appreciated reflects a larger struggle between different conceptions of art: art as a serious, almost sacred endeavour, and art as entertainment, something that should delight and distract. Hugo’s portrayal of Gringoire is sympathetic but tinged with irony; the artist is seen as a tragic figure, striving for an ideal that the world, in its indifference or ignorance, fails to recognise.

Augustine, too, is concerned with the role of art, but his focus is on the potential of art to lead people away from God. He acknowledges the beauty of the arts but warns against their capacity to distract and mislead. For Augustine, the highest purpose of art is to direct the soul towards the divine, not to entertain or merely please the senses. In this light, Gringoire’s predicament can be seen as emblematic of a deeper tension: the artist’s desire to convey truth and meaning versus the public’s desire for amusement.

I find myself caught in this tension. I, obviously, tend towards the Gringoire/Augustinian direction but we at Bradford Cathedral must constantly navigate the balance between art as sacred and art as entertainment. I return, again and again, to my reflections on the Empty Space and how we might make meaningful and prophetic contributions to the cultural narrative of our city whilst having to ensure such endeavours provide us with, understandably necessary, financial return. Like Gringoire, I must remember that there is no measurable point in expending time and money in creating a statement if no one is going to hear it or it leads to the closure of the means to share it.

Gringoire’s failure to connect with his audience is not just a personal failure but a reflection of society’s failure to appreciate the deeper value of art. The public’s preference for the rowdy, unrestrained entertainment of the Festival of Fools over Gringoire’s thoughtful play mirrors the City of the World’s inclination towards the immediate and the material. It is a reminder of how easily society can overlook the things of true, lasting value in favour of the fleeting pleasures of the moment.

Both Hugo and Augustine recognise the profound impact that artists have on society. For Hugo, the artist is a visionary, someone who can see beyond the mundane realities of daily life and capture the essence of what it means to be human. The artist is both a creator and a communicator, someone who bridges the gap between the sacred and the secular, the eternal and the temporal. Through their work, artists invite us to see the world anew, to recognise the beauty in the ordinary and the extraordinary in the everyday.

Augustine, while perhaps more circumspect, also acknowledges the power of the artist. He understands that artists have the ability to shape the minds and hearts of their audience, to lead them towards truth or away from it. Augustine calls for artists to use their gifts wisely, to create works that not only delight the senses but also elevate the soul. For Augustine, the ultimate purpose of art is not self-expression or entertainment, but the glorification of God.

In the end, both Hugo and Augustine challenge us to consider not just the place of the arts in society, but the place of society in the grand, divine tapestry of creation. Gringoire’s plight is a poignant reminder of the fragile position of the artist, caught between the demands of the world and the pursuit of a higher ideal. His failure is not just his own but a reflection of a society that has lost its way, that has forgotten the true purpose of art. Yet, even in this failure, there is hope. For as long as there are artists like Gringoire, striving to build, create, and imagine, we can participate in the ongoing story of the world, a story that began long before us and will continue long after we are gone. In this, the arts are not just a reflection of society—they are a bridge between heaven and earth, a testament to the enduring and transcendent nature of the human spirit…

… how can we translate that value to also be financial? Answers on a postcard and sent to Bradford Cathedral, please!

Into Culture: No Bad Parts

I remember reading ‘Falling Upwards’ by Richard Rohr many yers ago after recommendations by a few people. I read it with high expectations. I was not only disappointed by the end but unusually suspicious by its general thesis. There was lots in it that resonated and some ideas that, despite some sense of dubiousness, I wished, maybe even hoped, were true. In the end, however, I was not convinced. It lacked, to my mind, evidence to back up conclusions that overstepped the capability of the writer or the field in which it was written. It attempted, unsuccessfully, to provide a holistic narrative that would lead to perfect healing and utopia. It was a helpful story but one that remained unsubstantiated.

What made my response to the book more unsettling was that my negative response was, as suggested by the thesis itself, precisely the thing about me that needed the most healing. In other words, the fact that I questioned the premise of the book showed that the premise was right. When I found myself in this particular thought loop I became aware of the almost cult like thought pattern/methodology. Intrinsic to the thesis was the inner-rationale against any criticism or questions.

This month I read ‘No Bad Parts’ by Richard Schwartz. I finished the book with some of the same feelings I had to ‘Falling Upwards’. Both books, I feel, indulge within the popular therapeutic deism of our age and culture. Along with this is a subtle form of cultural arrogance that often accompanies progressive, post-Enlightenment ideas, particularly in the field of pschology and other metaphysical subjects. I want to briefly use the perspectives of St Augustine and the wider Augustinian theological tradition to critique IFS, particularly on the nature of the self, sin, and the path to spiritual wholeness.

‘No Bad Parts’ acts as an introduction to the concept of Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy, which posits that our self is made up of innumerable parts who can act in ways that harm us and others. IFS suggests that these parts should be shown love and be embraced rather than rejected. Schwartz’s central argument is that our healing and wholeness comes from understanding and integrating all aspects of the self, even those that seem negative or harmful. Like Rohr’s book, I am on board with this basic paradigm and can see lots of potential. I believe most of what Schwartz’s proposes to be beneficial and can see many connections with other reading that I am doing on unity within Trinitarian theology. There are, however, some places where, I think, he overstates his case and fails to back up anecdotal and experiential claims. The ease with which these aspects of his work are slipped in and established as ‘key’ makes me wary. It’s like a salesman who offers you a solution to your problem and, just as you sign up to the programme, slips in, “And, of course, we’ll need to amputate your legs but you’ll hardly notice they’re gone.”

But even as I characterise Schwartz’s work in this negative way, I notice that this response is explicitly named as proof that the system works. This is, in the schema of IFS, a protector ‘part’ trying to hinder the unburdening of an exile and thus obstructing healing. Despite there not being any ‘bad parts’ there seems to me ‘misguided behaviours of parts’.

Your inner world is real. Parts are not imaginary products or symbols of your psyche; nor are they simply metaphors of deeper meaning. They are inner beings who exist in inner families or societies…
Richard Schwartz, No Bad Parts: Haling Trauma and Restoring Wholeness (London: Vermilion, 2021) p.209

This claim is made with only, albeit supposedly significant, anecdotal evidence rather than empirical evidence. This, interestingly, is named by Schwartz in the final page as the kind of controlling thought that an ‘inner critic’ uses to protect an exile and not allow Self to lead.

I’ve found and worked with several parts of myself – the one who uses my father’s voice to hector me about how unscientific all this is…and the one who still doubts the reality of the inner world, despite decades of evidence.
Schwartz, No Bad Parts, p.214

Again, I am not here to attempt to discredit the benefits and efficacy of this therapeutic approach but there is a lot resting on a metaphysical framework that is seems enticing and exciting and yet lacks any rational attempt at setting out its reality. There is ample use of scientific concepts and words that echo the overriding image that is the basis of IFS but it still lacks direct neurological and psychological grounding. Much is left to trust in Schwartz’s interpretation of his experience with clients working on this approach.

Even his worthy efforts to synchronise his theories with spirituality follow the same trajectory: it all sounds good, plausible and full of potential and then it takes an ominous turn for me (or a part of me) and I’m left uncertain about where it went wrong. Schwartz clearly tries to engage with Christianity but mostly the contemplative tradition and fails to address any of the long theological tradition. Much more is made of Buddhist spirituality which is understandable as this tradition is, essentially, atheistic/agnostic to a particular deity or god and, therefore, lacks any theological coherent narrative. Schwartz repeatedly names the possibility of a god that he refers to as SELF (distinct form the Self of the human person) but this is not an essential element to the healing process.

What IFS lacks, in my opinion, is an explicit, systematic theological and moral framework within which it operates. Without this, the whole process, well meaning and desirable as it is, becomes open to charges of moral ambiguity and inner confusion. IFS relies upon a lot of preconditional moral beliefs that are not explicitly acknowledged or are left unjudged by client and therapist. By using words such as ‘good’ and ‘bad’ and identifying parts that are acting in particular ways and judging them in need of healing all requires a framework that is lacking. There is a risk, therefore, that without a therapist who leads your interactions with the parts you can become stagnated in the process and behaviours are rationalised rather than resolved.

St. Augustine also believed in the intrinsic goodness of creation, including the human self, as everything created by God is fundamentally good. However, he also emphasized the presence of sin and the flawed nature of humanity due to original sin. Augustine and the later tradition that was inspired by his theological writing, talked about sin as a ‘disintegration’ of God’s good creation. They talked about the effects of sin as being a ‘disharmony’ and the role of spiritual renewal as a re-integration, re-harmonising, re-uniting. While Schwartz sees all parts of the self as valuable and in need of integration it stops short of true inner unity, or oneness, due to Schwartz explicit lack of mono-mind thinking. We are to remain internally multiple but constantly striving towards peaceful cohabitation. Augustine on the other hand promotes the idea that we are singular in our identity and that integrity is a form of unity, devoutly to be wished.

For Augustine, sin is also a deviation from God’s will, and the path to redemption/healing involves confession, repentance, and the grace of God. He believed that true healing comes from aligning oneself with God’s will and seeking His forgiveness. Schwartz’s approach focuses on internal psychological processes without necessarily invoking the need for divine intervention. IFS suggests that self-acceptance alone is sufficient for healing. Augustine, however, would argue that without divine intervention, our efforts remain incomplete. It is through God’s grace that our wounds are healed, and our true selves are restored.

Hugh of St. Victor was a medieval theologian whose work on spiritual formation expanded Augustine’s concept of ‘disintegration’ of the self. He suggested that sin divides the inner and outer world into conflicting parts. The work of reformation is, literally a re-formation of that which is disintegrated. There are clear resonances with the experience of Schwartz and his clients. Hugh goes on to emphasise the importance of contemplation to further understand one’s self but, diverging from Schwartz, he specifically calls us to look for the Divine Form as the goal of our own unity. He argues that the ultimate goal of understanding the self should be to better know and serve God. IFS, in contrast, risks fostering a form of self-centeredness if not given a more robust teleological/eschatological goal or model.

The interest in the work of Schwartz, Rohr, Jordan Peterson and many others shows an appetite for the metaphysical elements of our culture. The purely materialistic philosophies which have held power over the West for a century or more is beginning to crumble and become dissatisfying. There is an increasing desire to ‘re-enchant’ our world. The study or understanding of metaphysics, however, has been so long abandoned that in its rediscovery we remain relatively naive in our grasp and use of it.

If you listen to the language and tone of cultural discourse in recent years you will notice how much of the discussions slip easily into the metaphysical realm. Words of wisdom just need to sound nice without any deeper coherence put upon them. This where populism has grown from; the inability to critique metaphysical ideas and analyse them sufficiently. Take the US election as an immediate example. Gone are the policies and economic decisions that are needing to be made. Now the electorate are being placed within a cosmic, apocalyptic battleground. This has more of the Hollywood blockbuster than serious discussions as to the legalistic programme needed to maintain society. The debate has been firmly planted in the realm of morality but without establishing the foundations and rules as to how to navigate such a world. This use of metaphysics lacks the traditional rigour and protection from pure fantasy and speculation.

The danger, of course, is that we mistake metaphysics with fiction and we enter the metaphysical realm and lose any connection or relationship with the physical world. Metaphysics is only useful if it informs and strengthens our understanding of the physical world and we can only really harness the true power of the metaphysical if it also is shaped and understood through the physical world. The divorcing of these two realms leads to disconnection and confusion. My theological forebears, such as St Augustine and Hugh of St Victor understood the need for the careful rigour of ensuring that what is experienced is understood through reason and logic.

Our culture has lost that rigour. As we reopen the metaphysical box and find enchanting things within we’re in danger of going too far wishing things into existence and place our hope in things which are not real, true or beneficial. As we dabble in these non-materialistic elements of our experience and go in search of the long lost moral framework that brought stability to our life together, we need to re-learn how to handle such things and to measure them and test them for truth. If we fail to take that task seriously we will find ourselves lost and trapped in an inner world, separated from reality, further disappointed and disillusioned.

I want to finish by raising a growing concern I have on the sheer number of people who are caught in conspiracy theories. Indeed this way of thinking is so insidious that I regular find myself uncertain as to what I think I know is real or fiction. The media has no interest in promoting the important, nuanced work of teaching metaphysics to their readership. The act of persuasion now lacks the basic framework of philosophical debate involving logic and reason. Instead of discussion and discovery of truth we have linguistic and rhetorical trickery that baffle and confuse. We do not encourage each other to judge/discern the difference between right and wrong, true and false. In our post-modern, subjective culture if you can imagine it, it is real. As I say, this is the soil in which populist, extremist ideologies grow and flourish. It is in this morally ambiguous, untestable environment that the vulnerable, the busy and the fearful are abused and led into their own intellectual prisons which we call ‘cults’.

This week alone I have had five conversations with visitors in the Cathedral all of which have quickly entered into metaphysical discussions where my conversation partner has tried to persuade me of a reality which is unmeasurable and unprovable. There is a growth in this form of gnostic knowledge; you either know or you don’t. I have remained unpersuaded and when I pose alternative interpretation of events they have looked at me with pity as if I lack the gift to see. On two occasions I have felt confident enough to name the illogical aspect of their argument and have encouraged them to be more precise in their disputation to persuade me. This has caused them to become more agitated and aggressive and, on one occasion, I have been blamed for the change in the tone of our conversation. Ironically, of these five conversations, in three of them it has been insinuated that I am ‘far right’ and in the other two I have been called ‘woke’. I guess that shows I am in the middle!

What I am seeking to highlight is that this unfamiliarity with the discipline of metaphysics has opened us up to a cultural destructive emphasis on vacuous rhetoric and misuse of imagination. Schwartz’s work in IFS is, I believe, a genuine, benevolent attempt at bringing peace and healing to people specifically to the kind of people I encounter visiting the Cathedral. There are elements of this therapeutic approach that I think have merit and could prove to be healthy and real. At this stage, however, the manner in which it is written about by Schwartz feels too speculative and confusing. The lack of foundational proof of the reality of parts, for example, means that IFS moves, in my mind, to be positive thinking adjacent rather than engaging in rational and reasonable exploration of the complexities of non-material reality.

I for one would rather seek unity in the One who reconciles all things in Himself. That story has been tested over centuries of theological thought. I’ll stick with Augustine for now: thank you.

Chapter 1.v Be willing to hold all things in common…

Let those that have property in the world, as they enter the monastery, be prepared to willingly hold it all in common.

It would be amiss of me not to mention, for those of you who have not been reading the poetry I have published over the last two months, that on Friday 6th July my wife, Sarah, died. Words still cannot express the devastation that I am still experiencing. The vast abyss that now characterises my inner life and the challenges I face in the chaos of my external life is exhausting and often overwhelming. I have had no inclination to do anything and continue to struggle to know which direction to move in. Slowly, however, I am becoming accustomed to this new state of being. The wound is slowly scarring and I am daring to look forward to the day when I can, like all scars, speak of healing, hope and God’s redemptive power… that day is not yet nor on the horizon, but it is a whisper of a future I cannot see but trust will be.

I start by talking about my lack of motivation in part to explain why reflecting on how the Rule of St. Augustine speaks to the strategy and structure of the Church has been far from my mind. I share my current situation, also, to say that it is in this context that I pick up the Rule of St. Augustine and continue to read on the importance of sharing property and possessions if a community is ever to share one heart and mind. This current verse is paired with the next which is its reverse, ‘Those that have no property in the world must not, in the monastery, look for those things that, outside, they were unable to have.’ I did consider putting the verses together and tackle both simultaneously but decided against it. I chose not to for the simple reason that the next verse is accompanied by further, significant teaching on ‘frailty’ and the state of poverty itself. Although I will touch on this subject here I want to say much more about it than can fit into this post.

From the outset I need to be upfront on my own particularity: I am middle class. I come from a relatively wealthy family; ‘comfortable’, we would say. I can count on one hand the times when I have experienced personal poverty in regards to possessions/material wealth and so this verse is clearly speaking to me and those in my economic bracket. It needs to be said as well that the Church of England is almost totally made up of people like me. Yes, there are wonderful exceptions, but the clergy and, therefore, bishops are mainly replicas of me, economically speaking. This verse, therefore, speaks to the Church of England. As I stated at the beginning of this series, I am interested in how the Rule of St Augustine speaks not primarily to me personally but to the wider Church as I ask how we might ‘monasticize first the clergy, by imposing on them a standard of life previously reserved for monks, and then the entire world.’ (Giles Constable, The Reformation of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) p.6)

When I came to my current context there was a clear intent to reach out to the estate which constitutes over half of our parish. This estate, like the one in my last parish, is not large nor does it have the levels of depravation seen in other parts of the country but it still has its profound issues with poverty. “Why,” I asked myself, “if there is such a desire to serve the estate, are we not encountering the people of that estate very often?” Like my previous parish there was a conscious effort to reach out and ‘impact’ the estate but nothing seemed to be making a difference. I battled with this missional confusion for many years. It was not until I started reading the testimonies of the Oxford Movement’s slum priests and their spiritual descendants who served in my very parish context that I realised the problem. It was not about them, the situation or the model. It was about us.

It is too easy to subtly and unconsciously slip into doing things for or to ‘the poor’. When we talk about reaching out it can, due to our deep-seated fear and insecurities, be changed in our mind to feel we are called to reach out to ‘them’. We should not berate ourselves too much, however, as this is understandable but we should name it and face the truth. Since this realisation I have been deliberate in talking about becoming a ‘church of the poor’ not just for the poor. This means that we are to seek not to offer aspirations of material and cultural wealth, to merely alleviate financial difficulty but to seek to be transformed, ourselves, in order to have relationship with others. In this way we become more like the Christ presented by St. Paul in Philippians 2:1-8 and 2 Corinthians 8:9, who gave up the riches of heaven and became poor in order to have relationship with us.

How, therefore, do we become poor whilst also seeking to help the poor?

There is a story in the gospels of Jesus being asked by a ‘certain ruler’ what did he need to do in order to inherit eternal life. Jesus responds by listing some of the Ten Commandments (interestingly he does not list them all but, I would argue, he lists only those that legislate human relationships: adultery, murder, stealing, lying and honouring our father and mother. For more on this and the rest of the passage listen to my sermon on it here.) to which the ruler responds, “All these I have kept since I was a boy.” Jesus replies, “You still lack one thing. Sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” There are several things I struggle with in this passage but I want to name just two of them: 1. Sell my property to whom? and 2. Who are the poor?

Buying and selling is a transaction where two parties agree on the relative value of certain items in order to give a fair exchange for them. When Jesus suggests the ruler sells everything he has this would require the ruler to give measurable value to all the items he he has and find someone who could give him the equivalent in return; most likely in currency (gold, silver, etc.) This is an important exercise for us all to do. What value do we give to the things we possess? What are we investing our time and money in? The gospel writers, at this point tell us that the ruler went away sad because he was ‘very rich’. He may have quickly totted up a handful of items and gave them significant market value and that would require the ruler to sell the property/possessions to another rich person. Consider the next step though. After exchanging these items for money Jesus suggests giving it all to the poor who will then use that money to buy similar items that had been sold from other people: the rich. Certainly the ruler would become poor but it would not deal with poverty itself. It will not help the poor in anyway it will only help the rich. The poor would no doubt struggle to purchase the same items at the same value, the rich would be seeking to make a profit from the purchase and so will sell it for higher value. Jesus isn’t attempting to solve the economy of the time but is talking about a personal response to wealth and where this particular person invests value. Selling everything and giving to the poor is not a catch all command. I am not suggesting that it is not a good thing to be challenged to do but we underestimate the deeper lesson being taught here.

The ruler’s initial question betrays his individualistic vision of the life of faith: “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” For this ruler, the life of faith is a private individualistic endeavour which does not impact other people. Eternal life is another possession he can have. Others can also have it but he doesn’t need to share it. The pursuit towards eternal life, for Jesus, is a shared journey; we inherit eternal life. That’s why, I think, Jesus only mentions the social commandments. To tackle this problem Jesus begins to prod the rich ruler towards the heart of his personal issue. This command to sell everything is about his attitude to those possessions, the value he invests into them and the lack of value the ruler truly gives to the pursuit of eternal life. Selling our possessions doesn’t solve economic issues. Our current economic issues are symptomatic of our messed up value system. Consider briefly the hierarchy of financial value we, as a society, give to different jobs. Or consider what we as a society spend our money on and why. Buying and selling only ever benefits those who control the value system of the society in which they operate. For the ruler, as with us, we must begin to enter into a new value system.

The second concern, who are the poor that Jesus speaks of, may seem pretty obvious but let us ponder the question further.

When the rich man sells everything, he no longer possesses anything. All he has at this point is a pocketful of cash and no pockets because he has sold all his clothes! Where is he going to live? What is he going to wear? Makes me think of this great sketch by Richard Herring and Stewart Lee.

When the ruler gives money to the poor he is handing over his only possibility of survival. From that day on he will be reliant on the generosity of other people giving to him. He is entering into the life of poverty where he can no longer afford to be alone in the world. ‘The poor’ to whom he gives his money may be some of the people he will rely on and so he will return to them and beg for some of the money back. I wonder how he might phrase that request for alms. Maybe he will give his money to some distant poor who he won’t encounter again and, therefore the people to whom he goes to beg from will not know his situation nor his history.

The reason I am investigating this aspect of the story is to draw our attention to the final bit of Jesus’ suggestion, “Then come, follow me.” This is the only real answer to the ruler’s initial question. How do I inherit eternal life? Firstly I do not inherit eternal life but I share in the inheritance of eternal life given to those who pursue it together with one heart and mind. The way we inherit eternal life is by following Jesus, drawing close to him, relying on him to lead and direct our every thought and choice. The rest of life is given its proper value through the lens of Christ. If we look at the world without that lens we misvalue everything and we struggle. Jesus challenges the rich ruler as he should challenge us on our value system.

Since Sarah died I have spent time sorting through her possessions. I have had to make decisions on what I should keep and what should be given away. In order to decide what goes where I have tried to ask myself, “why did Sarah buy this?” This is trying to discern what value did Sarah give to the item and what new value do I give to it. There have been some items I couldn’t get rid of quick enough, mainly because Sarah bought them during one of her many fads/short lived hobbies. Others I got rid of because I was never going to use them, e.g. toiletries and make up. Most of her clothes were given to her friends and the rest given to charity shops for other people to enjoy (I have kept some items for the time being to act as mementos as I continue to grieve and say goodbye.) Most items, however, I have kept because we shared the. They were no longer hers or mine but ours. There are lots of things she bought for herself but I have used so often that I consider them mine. There are items, like her craft equipment, which I may use once in a blue moon but I am not sure where to put them or send them to.

St. Augustine commands that those with property and possessions, earthly riches are to be willing to hold those things in common with the community. To become poor, in this way, is to re-evaluate the riches we have. To consider that what we possess in earthly things is of little value compared with the goal of our true pursuit. To hold things for usefulness but to share out that use to others. In this way we continue to enter into the mindset we discussed last time.

So abundant was the outpouring of spiritual grace in the Early Church, that not only were the faithful content with little, but they esteemed it joy of the highest kind to feel that they had nothing of their own. “Having nothing, yet possessing all things” (2 Cor. 6:10)(Hugh of St. Victor, Explanation, p.12)

In Hugh of St Victor’s commentary he suggests there are ‘two things we must renounce for God’s sake: the right to possess and the wish to acquire.’ (Hugh of St. Victor, Explanation, p.13) By being willing to sell everything we have if necessary is a process of letting go of our right to possess anything at all. Giving that money away is relinquishing our capability to acquire new things. For the rich ruler this impacts not just his earthly life but his eternal life too in that he must let go of his right to possess eternal life through some moral superiority of fulfilling criteria and relinquishing his capability of acquiring eternal life through his own strength, rather relying on others to inherit it with him.

To monasticize the clergy and indeed the whole Church, therefore, begins by intentionally re-evaluating our values and our assets, both earthly and spiritual and ensuring that we prioritise all these gifts in proportion. Selling and buying only benefits those who control the value system, so how might we be a church of the poor whilst helping the poor in times of great financial crisis? I suggest it is about offering an alternative value system that judges the poor to be poor. St. Augustine is inviting us to consider that we let go of our sense of entitlement to value and possession and to see them as gift and then to relinquish our desire to invest value in objects rather than relationship. When we prioritise the relationship with brothers and sisters in pursuit of following Jesus then we receive back infinite value which possessions never return. This is the first step to growing a unity of heart and mind.

Therefore our Lord says in the Gospel: “Every one of you that doth not renounce all that he possesseth cannot be my disciple” (Lk 14:33). And again: “If any man will come after Me, let him deny himself” (Lk 9:23). The first of these divine utterances refers to earthly goods: the second to the will. For it is not enough to give up exterior possessions, unless we cut off all interior concupiscence as well.(Hugh of St. Victor, Explanation, p.13)

Chapter 1.iv Each one receives whatever they have need of

Do not call anything your own, but hold all you have in common. Food and clothing will be distributed to each of you by your superior, not equally to all, because you do not have the same strength, but to each one according to their needs.

Most of the first chapter of the Rule of St. Augustine centres on the sharing of property between members of the community. We will explore this across the next few weeks as we go through each verse. I want to focus this time on the issues of equality and equity within verse 4 to set us on a particular course of interpretation for the coming verses. A point must be made now, however, that will feed through the next few weeks’ reflections but is important to make now: sharing possessions is essential if we are going to share our lives.

In order for persons to give, they must have. I suggested last time that,

Mutual Flourishing will never work when the focus is to ensure our own flourishing but rather when we begin to sacrifice our own flourishing for the sake of someone else’s. My most powerful relationships are the ones forged in the crucible of radical, risky self-denial when we dared to decide to outdo each other in love and honour and thus dismiss our own compulsion to look after ourselves first. It is when we have served one another, not looking for our own needs to be met but to meet the needs of the other, that our needs do indeed get met and, often, I have found that my perceived needs were not needs at all but wants. It is in this mutuality of love that I have found peace in being gifted the care and wisdom of others over my limited understanding of my own requirements.

This form of relationship is indeed risky and is entered into with great daring! For it to take root in reality and for us to really rely on others in community we must trust that there is mutuality in sharing; otherwise power is abused and the will to give is eroded and ultimately lost. In order for persons to give love/trust, they must have love/trust. The sharing of heart and mind will cost us heavily as we sacrifice our own will for the will of the community. None of us can jump from isolation and self-reliance to mutuality and trust in community. The sharing of possessions is a good first step towards this ultimate goal. Those who can be trusted with little may be trusted with more.

The owning of resources and means of attaining resources is a position of power. This position becomes increasingly valuable when resources are seen as scarce or hard to come by. In abundance individuals are allowed to graze freely for themselves as the impact on the wider society is not felt in the short term. When there is much to go round, each individual can own equally as much as everyone else; the aim is to ensure everyone has the same amount of resources as others. When the resources become harder to come by, that freedom to take and have whatever we desire is challenged and we move into more legislated distribution. In more meagre times, the management of materials is an imposition which, if we have experienced the benefits of bounty, we may balk at. In these stricter times, society can’t ensure all the same stock. Decisions must be made, therefore, as to who needs resources and who can do without.

Imagine there is a harvest of 1040 units of wheat, and each unit of wheat is able to feed a person for a week. The community consists of 100 people. There is ample in that harvest to give to each individual double portions for each week of the year. Despite the person only needing 1 unit they can own 2 units, if they desire and it is the agreement with others. Now imagine that the harvest yields the same amount (roughly) each year for a decade or so. The members of the community will get used to having access to 2 units of wheat each week. Then the harvest only yields 520 units of wheat. This still ensures each member can have their 1 unit of wheat and survive. Some will complain that the life they were accustomed to is no longer around but there’s still enough to feed everyone. There may well be conversations about how to ensure fair distribution but there is enough for everyone to have their basic rations met. Now imagine that the harvest only yields 260 units of wheat! This means that there is not enough to ensure everyone has the 1 unit a week to feed themselves. It is in this situation (presuming no saving has taken place) that some will go without at some time. How do you choose who gets what?

The above picture of a two-dimensional community who only eat wheat helps us to open up a conversation on the difference between equality and equity. When resources are scarce the distribution of them becomes significant in the survival of the community. Sharing equally, giving everyone the same amount of resources, is fine when there’s enough to give basic necessity but when there is not enough, sharing equally is not good as everyone will suffer due to no-one getting their basic amount to survive. The people who burn off energy to attain the resource (net givers) may require more than those who do not (net receivers) in order to survive and potentially return the yield to abundance later. This, however, means that some who are unable to work don’t get to survive.

There is a famous image of the difference between equality and equity which shows three people of different heights trying to watch a baseball game over a fence. In the picture of equality they all stand on the same size box meaning that the shorter person cannot see the game and the medium sized person can only just see the game. In the picture of equity the taller person doesn’t need a box, the medium sized person requires one box and the shorter of the three needs two boxes to see over the fence. This is helpful to separate out the problem we faced with the wheat-eating community above and can be distinguished as ‘equality of opportunity’ and ‘equality of outcome’. Equality of opportunity ensures everyone starts the race at the same time. Equality of outcome ensures everyone finishes the race at the same time.

Equality of opportunity, where everyone receives the same, seeks to create a level playing field but it fails to take into consideration particular needs and the advantages/disadvantages each member has. It is unfair that the tall person gets help when they don’t need it and the same amount doesn’t even help the shorter person to see the game. Equality of outcome, seems much fairer on the face of it as it ensures everyone ends up with the same amount and that all advantages/disadvantages are actually eradicated. It is still unfair, however.

In the pictures, height is the deciding differential factor; height, therefore, usually represents pre-conditioned wealth or social status, but what if it represents talents/strengths, skill/experience? If you were to look at the image from the other side of the fence you’d see all three persons as equal in talent/strength without being able to acknowledge the help that one had particularly received. Imagine you were the tall person and you had worked hard to get that tall (the analogy breaks down, I know, but stay with me!) but then another person who had it handed to them on two boxes was praised equally for the results, you’d consider that unfair. It would affect how much you were willing to work if, the distributers of the boxes were going to ensure everyone ends up being seen as the same. This is the issue that arises when we reward all players of games equally whether they won or not.

I have been reading a fascinating book by Simon Sinek called, ‘Leaders Eat Last: why some teams pull together and others don’t’. This book explores the natural hormones that made our primitive ancestors survive and thrive in the wildernesses of pre-history. Sinek suggests that a balance of, what he calls, ‘selfish hormones’ (Endorphin – the pain-masking hormone and Dopamine – the goal achieving hormone) and the ‘selfless hormones’ (Serotonin – the responsibility hormone and Oxytocin – the relationship hormone) ensures we experience happiness and success. Serotonin is released when we are thanked/praised for efforts made or for good behaviour. In the example of equality of outcome, the reality is that the tall person who contributed the most on their own will not be given the relative praise they are due and thus will not receive enough serotonin to make it worth while. They will ask, “Why did I bother contributing all that when my colleague did little (excuse the pun) and was praised just as highly?” The shorter person, however, receives a great kick of dopamine as they have achieved something but it’s short lived and relied on unfair help. Sinek argues that the environments we live and work in effect our hormone release and we must remain aware of what hormones our culture is encouraging to be released in us. Our current culture runs on the release of dopamine, the quick fix of achieving at any cost. In pre-history, this hormone ensured the cavemen (and it was men) went out to hunt for food. In modern day we are rewarded for reaching goals and targets but this means that we seek to achieve to the detriment of other people; this makes us highly competitive and individualised. Whilst we continue to seek the kick of dopamine, the most powerful of our hormones and the hormone connected with addictions of all kinds, we will not begin to counteract the painful effects of the negative hormone cortisol, our internal alarm system.

When we experience trauma or pain our bodies learn to associate certain stimulus with pain. Thus when we experience those stimuli again our bodies release another type of hormone called cortisol which puts us on our guard and triggers our ‘flight’, ‘flight’, or ‘freeze’ responses. This is called ‘being triggered’. When you hear a noise in the night or you suspect someone is threatening you your body release cortisol to ensure you are alert. Cortisol, if not used/burnt off, sits in your body and does great harm to our internal organs. Our bodies are like a smoke alarm which can detect smoke but can’t differentiate between the smoke of a fire or the natural smoke created when cooking bacon under a grill. It will release the same alarm (cortisol) whether there is a real danger or not. If we imagine danger we get the same injection of hormone than when there is real danger. If our bodies release cortisol unnecessarily the hormone that counteracts it and hinders it from doing damage, is oxytocin (the relationship hormone). Oxytocin is released when we feel safe and protected within a group or community and the hormone that encourages us to seek out oxytocin? Serotonin. The importance of trust within an organisation cannot be overstated. It is the ‘circle of safety’, the feeling that others will ensure you not only survive but thrive, that will encourage and inspire you to co-operate, collaborate and to innovate to ensure the success of the organisation and, only then, your own success.

The main problem, however, with the illustration of the three spectators of baseball is that it presumes the three individuals a)need to see the game and b)need to see the game at the same time. What if there was only one box and not three? Not everyone could be able to see the game. The shorter person would not be able to even if they had one box because they need two boxes to see but the medium sized person would be able to benefit. Under the rules of equality of outcome, however, none of the people could watch the game as the taller person would be encouraged to stoop down to be of the same height as their shorter counterpart.

We are, in our highly individualised society, starved of oxytocin and addicted to dopamine. We are also riddled with cortisol as we continue to live stressful, anxious and paranoid lives. In this environment we have learnt that, in order to feel happiness, we must get that addictive high of the quick-release but short lived dopamine by fulfilling our goals and attaining what we value in our society; material wealth and power. When these are in short supply then we fight for them rather than consider the seeking out of the slow-release but long term high created by serotonin or oxytocin. When the three persons watching a baseball game begin to invest in relationship and start to consider themselves as a community, they would be able to collaborate, co-operate and ensure those of them who needed (not just wanted) to see the game could and they would no longer need to compete against one another for the resource of boxes and then the whole would benefit from the watching of the game.

St. Augustine, in his sermon on Psalm 132, writes,

If each person owned and held his own goods for himself alone, then he would have only his own. But when you share your own goods in common, then the goods of others become your goods too.(St, Augustine, Exposition on Psalm 132, cited in Tarsicius J. Van Bavel, The Rule of St. Augustine (London: Darton Longman and Todd, 1996) p.50)

If we can begin to see ourselves not as isolated individuals but a part of one body in unity of multiplicity, then we can begin to share out the resources attained by the community in a way which benefits the whole not just a few. When the body receives nourishments from food it distributes the necessary items to the correct part of the body but every part of the body benefits from the nutrition. In this way sharing becomes a way of eradicating need but not just by satisfying that need.

Hugh of St. Victor, in his commentary on the Rule of St. Augustine discusses the New Testament’s description of the Early Church as a community where ‘there was not a needy person among them.’

So abundant was the outpouring of spiritual grace in the Early Church, that not only were the faithful content with little, but they esteemed it joy of the highest kind to feel that they had nothing of their own. “Having nothing, yet possessing all things” (2 Cor. 6:10)(Hugh of St. Victor, Explanation, p.12)

He goes on to differentiate between want and need,

In this matter, then, regard must be had, not to the desire of the flesh, but to each one’s natural constitution. The satisfaction of the desires of sensuality involves much more than bare necessity. So that under the precept of providing what is needed for everyone, the practice to be adopted is that the flesh be nourished in such a way that it may be fit to give its due service, and on the other hand, that it be kept under so that it may not proudly revolt against the spirit.(Ibid.)

I don’t believe that the Christian community in Acts 4 all had abundant resources and no need, rather, I interpret it as the community found satisfaction in what they shared and understood that all available resources were available to them and each was given resources according to their need. I am often reminded, when we pray ‘give us today our daily bread’, of Shane Claiborne’s teaching on this phrase.

…we are to pray this day for “our daily bread.” We are not to pray “my daily bread,” as if I can separate my own sustenance from my brother’s or sister’s…”our” means “us”. We are not to pray for our daily steak, but for the simple nourishment of bread. We are not to pray for tomorrow’s bread or next week’s bread…just today’s.(Shane Claiborne and John M. Perkins, Follow Me To Freedom: leading and following as an ordinary radical (California: Regal, 2009) p.156)

To counteract our competitive, consumerist and individualised society the Rule of St. Augustine, and the monastic life in general, challenges our personal understanding of what we need and what we deserve. It raises our heads from the scarcity of our solitary possessions set in the story of seclusion and exposure to the sustainable setting of shared social safety. We must, if we are to enter into this united life of simplicity, look carefully at the cultural environment in which we live and ensure that it encourages the balanced release of the all four happiness hormones and that includes oxytocin – the relationship hormone.

Why is it so difficult for sisters and brothers to be of one heart? Because they are struggling among themselves for possession of the earth…They must strive after possessions that cannot be divided, then they will always be of one heart. For what is the reason that discord arises among sisters and brothers? What is it that interferes with love? All people have indeed come forth from the one womb. Why, then, are they not of one spirit? For what other reason than that their spirit is concentrated upon themselves and everyone is mindful only of his own share.(St, Augustine, Sermon 359,i-ii, cited in Tarsicius J. Van Bavel, The Rule of St. Augustine (London: Darton Longman and Todd, 1996) p.51-2)

Chapter 1.iii Being of one heart and mind in God

Before all else, the reason that you are gathered together is that you live in harmony in one house, being of one heart and mind in God.

In an introduction to the Rule of St Augustine, Tarsicius J. Van Bavel OSA suggests,

Pachomius, Basil and Augustine all laid great stress on community life. The reason for this was that they were convinced that the orientation to one’s own self and individualism formed the greatest obstacle to the realisation of the gospel.

For those who have been reading my blog for some time will not be surprised to hear that I agree wholeheartedly with Pachomius, Basil and Augustine. It is the pervasive perversion of the gospel by our increasingly narcissistic culture that must be addressed before all else and it is this which Augustine (after some short preliminary sentences) begins his Rule.
Chapter 1.3, quoted above, is filled with ‘oneness’; the community is gathered ‘as one‘(tr. together), to live in ‘one spirit'(tr. harmony) in one house being of one mind and one heart in God. This oneness, however, is rooted in reality of plurality of persons within community. This is not about being single or unique, cut off and divorced, as if we are to achieve some atomised autonomy; rather the complete opposite. The oneness Augustine is alluding to is a simplicity of life, for him, achieved only in community. In his sermon on Psalm 4, Augustine concludes,

…singleness is observed among the saints: of whom it is said in the Acts of the Apostles, “and of the multitude of them that believed, there was one soul, and one heart.” (Acts 4:32) In singleness, then, and simplicity, removed, that is, from the multitude and crowd of things, that are born and die, we ought to be lovers of eternity, and unity, if we desire to cleave to the one God and our Lord. (St. Augustine, Exposition on Psalm 4,x)

It is in sharing a single-mindedness in God which is the source of unity. We are to, if we are to achieve the oneness expressed in Acts 4:32, cast off the multiplicity of this world, all things temporal and transient and seek the eternal, the things of our totally united, one God. It is the trinitarian unity that is our goal not some individualised peace.

This touches on an important lesson I continue to learn in our current debates on unity within the Church. We have adopted the language of tolerance which is a poor attempt at unity. Tolerance asks us to accept the presence of difference as a necessary price for peace but fails to demand the movement into true relationship with another. Tolerance says, “You’re ok as long as I don’t have to interact with you.” Tolerance keeps difference at a distance, small as that may be. Peace, the kind given by God, brings difference into a unity. This is impossible for us humans to achieve because we are hardwired to self-protect. Tolerance is an outward peace; we are to seek an inner peace of perfect unity.

In another sermon, this time on Psalm 132, Augustine observes,

Only those in whom love for Christ is perfect truly live together in unity. For those in whom love for Christ is not perfect may well live together, but they are unpleasant, troublesome and rebellious… Many sisters and brothers in religious communities are like this; only to outward appearances do they live together. (St, Augustine, Exposition on Psalm 132, 2 and 12, cited in Tarsicius J. Van Bavel, The Rule of St. Augustine (London: Darton Longman and Todd, 1996) p.44)

It is not sufficient for Augustine for people just to live together side by side sharing an outward life together. If there is not a shared conviction that they seek to be united in mind and heart then there outward unity means nothing. Hugh of St. Victor suggests, ‘it is of no avail that the same walls encompass us if difference of will separate us.’ (Hugh of St. Victor, Dom. Aloysius Smith (tr.), Explanation of the Rule of St Augustine (London: Sands and Company, 1955) p.3) Our attitude to difference in the church interests me immensely. We seem to use the celebration of difference as a form of ‘get out of jail free’ card. This is not to say that I dislike difference or believe it should be eradicated; no. We do, however, too often claim ‘the celebration of difference’ when we feel the challenge to engage with it in our inner life. In celebrating it we hold it up as an object outside of our heart. We can continue to be us, separate from the other without any compulsion to relate intimately with them. Our celebration avoids the discomfort that should compel us to love as Christ loved us, at great cost.

This causes me to speak briefly on ‘Mutual Flourishing’.

I serve a parish in the diocese of Sheffield which, last year, was gripped by fierce division over the appointment of +Philip North as Diocesan Bishop. +Philip North is a traditionalist bishop who does not agree with the ordination of women. How would a Diocesan Bishop preside over the ministry of the Church in communion when they do not recognise the ordained ministry of nearly half his priests and deacons? As people protested and everyone shared their opinion, demanding one thing or another, a conversation on the 5 principles of mutual flourishing arose. It seemed that these principles, the single piece of legislation which enabled women to be ordained into the episcopacy, was good if it achieved the desired outcome (women flourishing as bishops) but when the principles impacted us negatively (those who disagreed were allowed to flourish) we began to question their validity.

I don’t agree with +Philip North on the issue of the ordination of women. I need to say that in case I’m pigeon-holed! I did, however, support his appointment and was willing to work with him in discovering with the whole Church how we worked towards ‘Mutual Flourishing’. I was deeply pained, therefore, with the way in which he was treated and the way in which many brothers and sisters spoke to, and about, one another. It was clear, throughout the sorry process that our love for Christ was not perfect. The form of political discourse that now runs rampant within God’s Church is unbecoming of the Bride of Christ and destroys her unity with each manoeuvre made by opposing polemical forces. For me, again and again, it is not the legislation which needs the work but the inner hearts and minds of Christ’s disciples. Our outward unity (the little scraps that remain) means nothing if we are not intentionally seeking an inner unity.

Hugh of St. Victor writes,

For what chiefly conduces to concord is that each one study to do the will of another unto good, rather than his own. This is the sign of great humility… if I seek my own will and another is intent upon following hers, forthwith divisions arise and quarrels, anger and dissensions spring up, all which are the works of the flesh.(Hugh of St. Victor, Explanation, p.4)

As Christ’s Church we must seek to learn, in humility, what it means to work towards other people’s flourishing. Mutual Flourishing will never work when the focus is to ensure our own flourishing but rather when we begin to sacrifice our own flourishing for the sake of someone else’s. My most powerful relationships are the ones forged in the crucible of radical, risky self-denial when we dared to decide to outdo each other in love and honour and thus dismiss our own compulsion to look after ourselves first. It is when we have served one another, not looking for our own needs to be met but to meet the needs of the other, that our needs do indeed get met and, often, I have found that my perceived needs were not needs at all but wants. It is in this mutuality of love that I have found peace in being gifted the care and wisdom of others over my limited understanding of my own requirements.

This unity of mind and heart, for Augustine, repeatedly is stated as being ‘in God’ for it is in true relationship with him that we have access to the eternal unity of his very being. It is in the way the Trinity interact with one another that we are to be shaped. Perfect love is modelled in the self giving of each person to the other. Each receives honour from the others and, in their difference, unity in love is outpoured.

This is the kind of love that the world so desperately needs to see and know. It begins, not with those other Christians understanding and growing in love, but me. The judgement which I pass on those mistaken Christians who selfishly push their own will on to others, demanding to be heard and to have an impact, must be turned and used to remove the log of pride which blinds me. I must set my will on seeking the growth and flourishing of my brothers and sisters and trust that the Lord will honour my attempts at love and surround me with a mutually loving community. This community must, therefore, be intentional at sharing this single-minded will to be formed into the likeness of Christ, the image of God, Trinity in unity. Without this unity as the epitome of life the rest is useless.

Since the Psalm says, “Behold, how good and how pleasant is it, that brethren should dwell together in one”, why then should we not call Monks so? For Monos is one. Not one in any manner, for a man in a crowd is one, but though he can be called one along with others, he cannot be Monos, that is, alone, for Monos means one alone. They then who thus live together as to make one man, so that they really possess what is written, “one mind and one heart”, Acts 4:32 many bodies, but not many minds; many bodies, but not many hearts; can rightly be called Monos, that is, one alone (St. Augustine, Exposition of Psalm 133,v)

Monasticize the World

I read a quote recently which struck at the heart of my thinking and its implications for the Church and the world.

There was a common concern at the time, and especially in the period from 1100 to 1160, with the nature of religious life and the ideal of personal perfection. A set of values as well as a way of life, embodied in various institutions, was at the heart of the movement of reform, which can be seen as an effort to monasticize first the clergy, by imposing on them a standard of life previously reserved for monks, and then the entire world (Giles Constable, The Reformation of the Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996) p.6)

I found the quote in a book on the theology of Hugh of St. Victor who was a canon regular in Paris during the twelfth century renaissance. Canon Regulars are priests who live together and follow a common rule and share their property in common. Most, but not all, follow the Rule of St Augustine written during the fourth century over 100 years prior to the Rule of St. Benedict. Carolyn Bynum, in her article on the spirituality of the Canon Regulars saw these priests falling between the clerical reforms of Pope Gregory VII and the Cistercian reforms of monasticism taking place at the same time. This movement saw a shift away from the monastic ideals of shared property and common life to embrace a more pastoral and evangelical ideal. Bynum distinguishes three characteristics of the canonical movement:

a conviction that contemplative action is superior to the purely contemplative life.
an emphasis on preaching.
a renewed emphasis on sacraments and history.

Hugh of St. Victor is a fascinating writer whose work centres on the theme of reformation, both personal and ecclesiastical. Again and again he writes on our need to seek God’s restoration of our nature from the fallen state that we find ourselves and to allow God to build within us a dwelling place for Himself. For Hugh this was an ordered and systematic work of prayer, study and active service. In his time the Church needed a total structural overhaul and Hugh saw this starting with a disciplined life of learning and teaching within the Church. Discipleship was an ordered way of life aimed at creating people who participated in the wisdom of God.

I am an ordained priest in the Church of England serving in a parish with a history with The Company of Mission Priests. This is important as this parish has a history of ‘monasticized’ clergy who took the service of those suffering in poverty seriously. I have been asking myself what it might look like to return to that form of ministry. I have been exploring and studying the New Monastic movement for many years, with a particular interest in the historic examples of how the monastic tradition has led the Church through renewal and reform in the past. I have a deep sense of vocation to a form of monastic life but, being married, I am limited in the way I can engage in this vocation through traditional paths. I have explored tertiary and oblate schemes as well as dispersed new monastic communities but it is the sharing of common life that is at the heart of my calling. A deeply sacramental model of parish ministry and a commitment to a social gospel, particularly in areas of deprivation, is emotionally demanding. I often feel alone in the pressures of living with such immediate and unavoidable pain and suffering. I have been praying for a community to share with me in this radical and sacrificial ministry. I am not alone, either. I have a few ordained friends who are crying out for a life of living and working alongside others, sharing the joys and struggles of ministry among the most needy in our society.

I also have a particular focus on reformation and restoration within my ministry. At this time of ‘Renewal and Reform’ I often ask myself how much are we genuinely seeking to listen to the monastic tradition as our forebears did (often after a struggle!) Hugh of St Victor’s methodical approach to the construction of an inner Ark to house the presence of God and to his commitment to the monasticizing of the clergy and, indeed, the world strikes me as deeply important and relevant to our urgent need at this time.

Whilst I served my curacy I reflected on the Rule of St. Benedict, asking myself what it might look like to live out a Benedictine life in the parish context. Many people found these reflections helpful and interesting but by the end of the project I was more convinced of my monastic vocation and, therefore, more grieved by the lack of community to share my life with. Having now moved to a new context and started a new ministry, I am returning to those deep questions of what it is God is calling me to. My journey in Parish Monasticism? was a personal one, asking questions of the individual things I could do to engage in this monastic spirituality. I am now asking more structural questions and the increased urgency for reformation causes me to think beyond the personal and seek to challenge the Church wider to take seriously the fading ‘fad’ of new monasticism.

Renewal and Reform are not new to the Church of Christ. We would be foolish to miss out on Hugh of St. Victor’s extensive writing on the subject. I want to start to explore this theme using the Rule of St. Augustine which he lived under and used to shape his life and of which he wrote an excellent commentary/explanation on. The Rule of St. Augustine is small treatise on the life within community but it is, compared to St Benedict’s later Rule, relatively bare on details. Augustine rather uses it to flesh out his major theological themes in lived relationships. Hugh and Augustine share many ideas and concepts; they share a love of urban environments, a distress at the fallenness of humanity and an appreciation for the beauty of order. I hope to sit with them both and listen to what they teach. As I learn from them I hope to pass on the wisdom and thus embrace a more canonical approach. Bynum observed,

Canonical authors see canons as teachers and learners whereas monastic authors see monks only as learners. (Carolyn Walker Bynum, “The Spirituality of Regular Canons in the Twelfth Century”, Jesus as Mother: studies in the spirituality of the High Middle Ages (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982) p.36)

Once more unto the breach, dear friends. I pick up the Rule of St Augustine this time and, rather than ask ‘Parish Monasticism?’, proclaim ‘Monasticize the World’. I do hope you will join me.