A blind haircut

I had my haircut today.

For me, having my haircut is an extraordinary event. For I am quite blind and have to take my glasses off when I sit in the chair, and so my experience of having my haircut is seeing a blurry figure dancing around slashing at my head with a pair of scissors.

It's also an extraordinary event because I get to see (in a metaphorical sense - remember the glasses are still off), the response of the hairdresser when I tell them that I'm a church minister. There's always a longer-than-average pause. I'm tempted to try out some different occupations on hairdressers just to see what gets the longest pause, but I fear I wouldn't be able to carry on the conversation in good faith when they ask me how I got into taxidermy.

The pause today was followed by 'oh, I'm not religious in any way. I'm really not religious at all. I've never really been to church'. We then spoke about all the churches she'd been to in Europe, and I tried to think of a way of explaining the gospel through reformation church history (but I find it hard to think quickly when I can't see clearly - remember, the glasses still off).

Later in the conversation we were talking about what a nice town Methven is, and how she likes it much more than Ashburton (Ashburton (or Ashvegas as it's known in our house) is the major town in mid-Canterbury). As we were talking about why it is that Methven is nicer than Ashburton, she relayed to me how a friend suggested to her that its because Ashburton has a major train track running through it, and that train line carries all the good energy out of the town. My hairdresser wasn't willing to rule that possiblility out.

And I realised that while I might be sitting there blind as a bat because my glasses were off, she was blinded in a far more terrible way. For the god of this age has blinded her eyes to the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ (2 Cor 4:4). The idea that a train track can carry good energy out of a town is entertained, but there is a refusal to go to hear how God carried her sins to the cross.

Individualism and Relativism

By God’s grace, over the past few weeks I’ve been able to spend some time with a few people under 30, chatting to them about the gospel. I’m sure this comes as no surprise to anyone who does this regularly, but being the minister of a congregation where the average age is a bit more than 30, I’ve been struck by how closely individualism and relativism are tied together. Let me unpack that a bit more.

There’s no doubt that the majority of people in our society are individualistic. The primary unit in which they think is themselves. This is not to say that individuals do not see themselves are parts of communities, or of larger groups, rather that the base unit in which they think is them-as-an-individual. I would suggest that as you rise in age in our society, individualism generally decreases (I’m talking very broadly here), and also that individualism also decreases (in terms of how predominant it is in people’s thinking) as you move in distance away from cities – country folk appear to be less individualistic than city people.

There is also no doubt that relativism is our new creed. I’d be a rich man if I had a dollar for ever time someone says “we’ll that’s good for you, but for me…”. Again, I think there is a relationship between age and geographical location and relativism, but I don’t think it is as strong as what we observe in individualism.

As I’ve been observing this, I’ve been asking myself which one leads to which. Does our sense of individualism lead us to relativism, or does our adherence to relativism lead us to individualism. At this stage in my thinking (which may change!) I’m not sure that this is the right question to ask. For it seems that they are inextricably linked. They breed and feed off each other.

For if the base unit of thinking and identity is the self, then any external demands on that (such as an objective, absolute truth) immediately (or at least potentially) threaten the self which you are. And if there is an absolute out there, and I adhere to it, then my identity is formed not so much in relation to myself (as the individual) as in relation to it, and those others who adhere to it. Similarly, if my belief and value system are of my own selection, I am not tied to anyone else (necessarily). I am free to be me, and if I want to be joined or in relation to another, that is my free choice - it is not of necessity.

I wonder, too, if these factors sit very close to the heart of sin. Don’t hear me wrong – I’m not saying that to think of oneself as an individual is sin – the Bible clearly calls on individuals to take responsibility for themselves (although it also calls on them to take responsibility for the collective groups of which they belong, but that’s another story). However, when you think of the fall, both individualism and relativism seem to come into play. Humanity’s decision is individualistic. It was a choice to promote the individual (man and woman) over the community (man and women in relationship with God). It was a choice to relativise (through the serpent’s help) the word of God. ‘Did God really say…’. It was a move from absolute to choose your own adventure. Of course there is a lot more going on in the garden than this – my concern is to observe that individualism and relativism are Siamese twins – they are, I think, organically joined together.

And of course the gospel deals with both. For in the gospel our identity is created not in relation to ourselves, but to Jesus. We are His. United to him and the Father by and with the Spirit. We are united to each other by that same Spirit. We are, to borrow a phrase, beings in communion. And this communion and community grows out of and is formed by the absolute gospel. Jesus is Lord.

Maybe we should change the gospel...

In The Genius of Luther's Theology by Kolb and Arand, the authors suggest that we should primarily understand 'gospel' in terms of promise:

'While "good news" provides an etymological translation of euangelion (gospel), it runs the risk of being viewed primarily as information about yesterday's events. Like a newspaper, it deals with past events, in this case, the past events of Jesus's earthly life. But when that happens, faith can be seen as little more than a form of intellectual activity, what the reformers criticized as historical faith. Such faith cannot by itself save since even the devils believe that Jesus died and rose. By itself, the biography of Jesus is not yet gospel. It becomes gospel when it grasps the sinner with the promise that Christ lived, died and rose "for you!" and "for me!" and "for us!"' (p.42).

I am not sure about the idea that the NT is only gospel once it 'grabs' someone - I think in itself it is a promise from God. However, I do think this emphasis on promise is helpful. Later on the authors note that:

'A promise without faith accomplishes nothing, But faith without a promise has nothing to which it can cling. For Luther and Melanchthon, the promise of new life in Christ and faith in that same promise were corollaries. A promise by its very nature seeks a response. [...] At the same time, Luther stressed that trusting the promise is not an accomplishment that we can claim for ourselves. On the contrary, faith is the work and gift of God, who justifies a person by giving faith to that one. To that end the promise of the gospel itself creates and sustains that which it seeks: faith.' (p.45)

I like this idea of relating the gospel and faith as promise and response. It helps tie faith to the gospel, rather than have it as a free-floating virtue. Modern culture loves the idea of 'faith' - one (obscure) example that springs to mind is the Prince of Egypt cartoon that (more or less) faithfully renders the story of Moses and the Exodus. However, the big lesson is that you have to have faith - but faith's object is never proclaimed. However, if we think of faith as response, to say 'you just have to respond' immediately begs the question 'to what?!'