tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64403689380176691852024-03-13T18:59:06.983-07:00East End Sunday ServiceJoel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-13509452590835965782012-01-06T17:17:00.000-08:002012-01-12T11:25:30.050-08:00Goodbye God<div class="clear"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<center style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><img src="http://www.dvdtimes.co.uk/protectedimage.php?image=EamonnMcCusker/LifeOfBrian06.jpg_06112007" /></center><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Dear God </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">It’s been over a year since I wrote to you but as you know that’s because I don’t believe you exist. However I do firmly believe in the conviction of your followers and would like to thank all the Christians in the East End for being so welcoming to my agnostic quest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people who own your house are a very mixed bunch. After a year of Sundays I have met a far more diverse cross section of society than the entire nine years I have lived in London. So I have decided to end my blog with a letter to you so I could compare the initial intentions of my original letter to this week’s final conclusions. I guess you know it all but I will write it all down anyway so the reader gets an impression of my non-religious pilgrimage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The Failures</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The clear failure is that I still don’t believe in you and I have wasted an entire year going to church to find faith. In all honesty that was never the entire reason for embarking on my non spiritual journey. My hidden voyeuristic motivations were church architecture, London communities and multiculturalism. But that it has still been disappointing to see how much joy you give the people who do believe in you knowing it is beyond me. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Besides missing a service in August (due to the church being closed) I have adhered to all the commandments I set myself last January. Arguably my “<span style="color: #333333;">Third Commandment: One will always be honest about his or her reasons for attending the church service,” was considerably hard to implement. Often church members would take my silence as confirmation of belief. In conversation I would later inform them of my odd agenda and they would always smile. So many smiles all meaning different things, some not listening, some indifferent and some genuinely interested. Even I’m not arrogant enough to set about correcting everyone in the congregation that I was a non-believer but I am sure it would have made for funnier services.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Originally I was interested in engaging and responding to academic and atheist critics like Richard Dawkins, John Grey and Steven Pinker who have been critical of religion. Despite liking their literature it really lacks any understanding of people who go to church and more focuses on the dogma. Academia seems entirely interested in the general dogma of religion not realising religion adapts to individuals who form it (more on this later). I did wish to bridge the gap between the individual within the congregation and the rest of the church but sadly my egocentric writing style, my church hopping structure and my lack of time and dedication left me to fall short of creating an accurate, thorough and definitive picture of a modern church going community. Instead my writing did at times feel reductive, cheap, clichéd and recycled but I contest I have always remained honest despite my repetitive limitations. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Achievements</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ejba28Uvos/TYzzfJiHZdI/AAAAAAAAAHw/xAb6hYdcoqI/s1600/IMG_2790.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ejba28Uvos/TYzzfJiHZdI/AAAAAAAAAHw/xAb6hYdcoqI/s400/IMG_2790.jpg" width="265" /></a><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">My writing has improved vastly, in that I’m consistently still writing other material all formed from the commitment I gave my blog. I even flirted with the idea of writing a play based on my experiences from my blog and erase the elements I dislike most from my blog (i.e. me). The blog provided the opportunity not just to meet church communities from all over the East End but to learn the history of the area. My favourite story was the Clapton Messiah (see post-dated 18/05/11) but I have become generally impressed by how often the buildings outlived their original congregation (see again post-dated 18/05/11). Sadly even the old Lutheran church occupied by Pentecostal pensioners I visited in January (see post-dated 16/01/11) is now vacant. Witnessing and understanding the changing faces of the church community has made me appreciate how history is in a constant flux and how quickly the past is forgotten (especially in London) which has added personal value to my blog. My love for church architecture existed long before the blog and has continued to grow throughout the year but has become slightly eclipsed by my new fascination with the varying processes of religious worship. The East End churches contain so many different ways to worship God that it outwardly demonstrates religious differences through the performance of ritual instead of sectarian rhetoric.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christians are often portrayed as hugely self-righteous and dogmatic in the media (and these people do exist) but actually the majority I met were very peaceful and introverted, especially in regards to worship. Using the term Christian is too general. The biggest gift the blog has given me has been the opportunity to learn about the many different cultures and diverse people who call themselves Christians.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">A Church for Every Sunday in the Year</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">So as I tally all the churches, my church appearance table reads like this… </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">17 Anglican Services </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">8 Pentecostal/Charismatic Services</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">6 Roman Catholic services</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">6 Evangelical services</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">4 Baptist Services</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">3 Methodist Services</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">2 Orthodox (Greek + Georgian) Services</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">2 United Reformed Church</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">1 Salvation Army</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">1 Jehovah Witnesses</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">1 Unitarian Church</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">1 Quaker Meeting</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The table can be misleading as it inaccurately links the very different churches together because they share the same denomination. For example you can read my two conflicting posts on The United Reformed Church and see little similarities. One post concerns the small, white and contemplative congregation of the Round Chapel (posted 25/08/11) on Lower Clapton Road and the other a predominantly black and evangelical congregation (posted on 20/03/11) on Upper Clapton Road (both just a short walking distance from each other) they are culturally different worlds yet members of the same church and live very near each other. Most evangelical services can be mistaken for Pentecostal services as they are only separated by names and titles. Evangelists appear to be richer and more established than the more recent Pentecostal churches but the institutions differences in worship appear more cultural than religious. Also the Open Door Baptist church in Hackney (Posted 26/06/11) shared West African traditions of worship more commonly found in the Pentecostal church than in comparison to their Baptist neighbours in Victoria Park, Shoreditch and Stoke Newington. Not that any of the Pentecostal churches want to build bridges with each other, instead they appeared more interested in claiming that they worship the one true God. Many churches call themselves Pentecostal, Charismatic and Apostolic but few want to build a networked identity instead they prefer to remain small.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cultural divisions within the denominations really indicated how it’s the communities that form the church and not churches forming the communities. Religion in post-colonial Britain has not become a relic of the old empire era but seems to have been transformed as a vessel of empowerment for the dispersed Christian communities. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The Future</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">I am not claiming that churches are no longer used as oppressive institutions but the new influx of non-Anglican and Catholic churches seem to be community led rather than imperialistically driven. Anglican and Roman Catholic Church feel very separate as far larger institutions but are very different: The Anglican Church is one of the most liberal of the larger religious institutions in the world and has a huge cross section of high, low, anything goes forms of worship in comparison to the universal ritualised dogma of the Roman Catholic Churches. Yet even the Roman Catholic Church have been adapting to the changing communities in London with many services in Spanish, Portuguese and Mandarin to fit the influx of migrant worshippers. The central division in Christianity appears to be no longer a Catholic and Anglican divide but a small opposition of churches who citicise the Pentecostal/evangelical churches advocacy of the prosperity gospel. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The majority of the Pentecostal and Evangelical groups support the prosperity gospel in which financial blessing is the will of God, rewarding the rich and punishes the poor. It’s scary that it’s the poorest congregations (the majority which are West African and West Indian families) that follow this recent American interpretation of the Bible. I personally don’t have a big issue with Original Sin as a theological belief (often criticised by more liberal churches) but the prosperity gospel is far more damaging as it merges the material and theological world. The only time I have heard other churches speak against each other is concerning the prosperity gospel. Anglican, Baptist and Methodist ministers warned of the prosperity gospel telling their congregation not to look for reward from their faith. Personally I feel the prosperity gospel is a capitalist ideologue masquerading as religious belief and another example of how the changes in secular society have been mirrored in religion. Individualism has come to replace so many community based politics in our secular society that even churches have become more consumer/congregationally led in recent years.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">So Christianity is abandoning dogma for individualism and this is not necessarily a bad thing. Quakers, Unitarians, the congregation of the Round Chapel and some Anglican/Baptist services all appeal to members to form a more personal relationship with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moral dogma is in the decline in the white middleclass areas of the church but so are attendances. Despite my misgivings towards Pentecostal/Evangelical church’s prescription to the prosperity gospel, their worship is less formal and more joyous in the use of hymn and prayer. I never understood the concept of raising the spirit till I visited a Pentecostal Service and found myself dancing in the aisles attempting to bash a tambourine with a bunch of Jamaican grannies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The year’s highlight was discovering how Pentecostal communities raise the spirit by creating an amazing atmosphere thorough prayer and song unrivalled in the more established churches. Other churches may feel intellectually superior but if they want larger crowds they need to tap into the importance of communal euphoria that makes the Pentecostal Church the fast growing in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Religion’s adoption of more individualistic aspects of society is just another indication that Christianity survives not because it upholds traditions (as everyone claims) but because it adapts (rightly or wrongly) to the times. Don’t worry God you’re not going anywhere, as you well know more people believe in you than not and maybe we atheists/agnostics should look to why this is and the positives you bring into their lives. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">People go to church to reaffirm their identity with you and I have done the same. After weekly opposing the spiritual advances of your followers I can confirm I am forever a whimsical agnostic with passion for religious worship. The passion to embrace the unknown qualities of religious worship. Embrace the unknown pleasure within the silences of a Quaker meeting. Embrace the unknown communal joy of dancing with a bunch of strangers in a Pentecostal service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Embrace the unknown joy to give oneself entirely to a being that they cannot prove exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Thanks</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">This blog would not have been possible without the kindness of strangers. Here is a list of some of the amazingly warm people I have met.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The many translators of Ministere De La Parole De Foi Hackney, the all loving Andrew Pakula and the tribe of Unitarians of Stoke Newington, Johnathan, the quiet man amongst even quieter Quakers, the grand Irish croaking voice of Pastor Mackay, the evangelicals of Lauriston Church who tried to cure my cough, the history of the elder Baptist statesman John Taylor and his loving wife, the chalk and cheese Spitalfield’s double act of reassuring Reverend Andy Rider and his feverish curate Johnny Douglas, the large love of Reverend Justus, the peculiar story of Abraham, the heart-warming life of Old mockney Maureen (sounding more cockney than most), the congregation’s circle of love that filled the Round chapel, the enthusiastic (never blinking) eyes of Reverend Georgina of the Shoreditch Baptists, the liberal candour and intelligence of Reverend Dr Fiona Stewart Darling, the reluctant approval of Vanessa, the grand high Pentecostal mother of Hampden Chapel, the impassioned charm of Father Sakutombo, everyone at the Bethel Revival Ministry but particularly the stewardship of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>parishioners James and Derrick, the iron will of Pastor Patrick Yeboah, the peaceful and calming tone of Janet Buchan’s sermon, Pastor Brian Robinson, the whitest man in Hackney<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with blackest congregation, Father Midlane and his brilliantly befuddled manner,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the Bible guidance of Reverend Sylvester and the blissful isolation of the mad woman of St Barnabas, the open arms of the open door Baptist church during song, the regal majesty of Sister Woolcock, the incredibly helpful Reverend Richard Bray, the immaculate Heart of Father Tony and the old dears of The Sight Eternal Life Church,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the all singing all jumping all dancing congregation of Hackney Apostolic Church, well-travelled storytelling of Minister Adi, congregation of Michael Caine like Grannies of St Chads, the incredible histories of John and Evelyn of the Sally Army on Lower Clapton Road, Reverend Clark and his brilliantly theological sermon, my surrogate Methodist mothers of Dalston, Little Antoine for cheering up a boring Catholic service, all the clowns of United Benefice<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holy Trinity ,the great grand old women of Greek Orthodox church, Sister Blessing and her amazing kindnsess, Minister Sonny for still sending me his mini sermons as part of his Textministy for entire year and finally the relocated Pentecostal pensioners of the old Lutheran church who told me to please<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>come again for “some pure spiritual worship no strings attached.”</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">The only thanks left is to anybody who is reading this and to you God. Thanks for existing in so many others people’s lives without you none of this would be possible.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Amen to that.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Love </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Joel </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">(Prophet of Doom)</span></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-15518454054630880602012-01-01T09:42:00.000-08:002012-01-01T09:49:26.336-08:00St Marks with St Bartholomew, Colvestone Crescent, 25.12.11<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://s0.geograph.org.uk/photos/38/63/386321_06f22f8c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" id="il_fi" src="http://s0.geograph.org.uk/photos/38/63/386321_06f22f8c.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="640" /></a><a href="http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><a class="close_lk" href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/386321"><i class="close_btn"></i></a> </span><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Ring, ring, wake up, ring, ring, still still, ring, ring, must open eyes, ring, ring, come on ring,ring, it’s time to end this, ring, ring,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you just got to wake up, ring, ring, wake up one more time, ring,ring, wake up and let God into your heart, ring, ring, or at least turn up to church, ring, ring, come on it’s one final Sunday morning ring, ring, the ritual is almost over, ring, ring, wait a second ring,ring, it’s 9.45, ring, ring, alarm’s set for 10.00, ring, ring, phone, ring, ring, where’s my phone, ring,ring, body still slower than brain, ring, ring, oh shit ring, ring, Dad</span></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">After all my romantic planning I still failed to attend church on time and had to embarrassingly strut down the aisle half an hour late in front of the regular, loyal and dedicated congregation. My plan was that I would begin my blog with midnight mass and after a year of Sundays I would go to my final church service on Christmas Day. I felt that this plan had a natural symmetry that I had not created but adopted; like God had divinely designed the calendar for my own personal journey. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For full circular narrative closure my final service would again be attended by my Dad. Dad joined me last Christmas Eve and like the year before he was my driving chaperone for Christmas Day. The Family were not best pleased with my religious commitment infringing on our secular celebrations. So turning up late filled me with a double edged pang of guilt. Religious guilt for rudely turning up late for church on the Holiest of Holy days mixed with family guilt for dragging my Dad to London only to insult him by not attending a full service. Very rarely do I manage to offend theist and atheist from one visit. My circle was complete and I had not only managed not to learn anything but had forgotten basic courtesy in the process. The journey had been less a circle and more a four year old’s scribbled attempt to a draw a square. A well intentioned attempt to write something balanced that became inevitably lop-sided due to my naïve and excited personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Strolling into the nave late we were met by fewer stares than the average service. Our rudeness was a taboo that the Anglican Church had learned to tolerate during the Christmas period. The casual Christmas Christian was a scenario I should find comfortable but after the last year of pretending to be a devoted regular Christian it felt odd. I did not want to be tolerated but converted or at least be in the position to politely decline the congregation’s spiritual advances. Ironically, a more personal understanding of the church is lost at Christmas. The ritualised formality reaches a climactic saturation point on Christmas day. So much so that despite arriving late into the sermon it was unbelievably predictable and could be recalled in most priests’ sleep. One of Christianity’s biggest legacies to the atheist world is instilling a sense of duty at Christmas. For example my non believer Dad had driven to London to take his son home because no family should be apart at Christmas. Christmas may no longer be shared in church but a ritualised sense of duty and bonding is essential to the celebration. </span><br />
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<div class="std" id="ilat" style="width: 383px;"><div class="ilat_fn" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg"><span style="color: #1111cc;">st-marks-church-dalston.jpg</span></a><button class="gbil esw eswd eswh" g:entity="image:nqQr58ZEuWXLYM" g:imgland="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&tbm=isch&tbnid=nqQr58ZEuWXLYM:&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&docid=r4pBIQ3D4SADSM&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg&w=387&h=516&ei=c5cAT4uYKoKwhAfN48nGAQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=155&vpy=162&dur=440&hovh=259&hovw=194&tx=105&ty=211&sig=118274960574623424343&page=1&tbnh=103&tbnw=68&start=0&ndsp=25&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0" g:imgtbn="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQipG5M7WtEUEmTuLzO1ITiTKxMiAipHfmNer0yBnUY2zpiIPtELstVZJlEog" g:imgtitle="Image from moblog.net" g:pingback="/gen_204?atyp=i&ct=plusone&cad=S0&label=images_plusone" g:source="inline:images" g:undo="poS0" id="gbpwm_0" title="Recommend this image" type="submit"></button></div><div class="ilat_fn"><div class="esc slp" id="poS0" style="display: none;">You +1'd this publicly. <a class="fl" href="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&tbm=isch&tbnid=nqQr58ZEuWXLYM:&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&docid=r4pBIQ3D4SADSM&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-ma#"><span style="color: #3366cc;">Undo</span></a></div></div><div class="il_r" id="ilat_is">moblog.net</div><div style="line-height: 120%;"><a class="ilat_ham sl" href="http://www.google.co.uk/search?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg&w=387&h=516&sig=118274960574623424343&ndsp=25&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAESEgmepCvnxkS5ZSGvikEhDcPhIA&sa=X&ei=uZgAT_O9Lci2hQe2x7zPAQ&ved=0CAQQ0gU"><span style="color: #1111cc;">Similar</span></a> ‑ <a class="ilat_ham sl" href="http://www.google.co.uk/search?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg&w=387&h=516&sig=118274960574623424343&ndsp=25&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAQSEgmepCvnxkS5ZSGvikEhDcPhIA&sa=X&ei=uZgAT_O9Lci2hQe2x7zPAQ&ved=0CAUQrBE"><span style="color: #1111cc;">More sizes</span></a></div></div></div><div id="il_ic" style="left: 50%; line-height: 1px; margin-left: -199px; margin-top: -294px; position: absolute; top: 50%;"><a class="close_lk" href="http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston"><i class="close_btn"></i></a><br />
<div class="std" id="ilat" style="width: 383px;"><div class="ilat_fn"><a href="http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg"><span style="color: #1111cc;">st-marks-church-dalston.jpg</span></a><button class="gbil esw eswd eswh" g:entity="image:nqQr58ZEuWXLYM" g:imgland="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&tbm=isch&tbnid=nqQr58ZEuWXLYM:&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&docid=r4pBIQ3D4SADSM&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg&w=387&h=516&ei=c5cAT4uYKoKwhAfN48nGAQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=155&vpy=162&dur=440&hovh=259&hovw=194&tx=105&ty=211&sig=118274960574623424343&page=1&tbnh=103&tbnw=68&start=0&ndsp=25&ved=1t:429,r:0,s:0" g:imgtbn="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQipG5M7WtEUEmTuLzO1ITiTKxMiAipHfmNer0yBnUY2zpiIPtELstVZJlEog" g:imgtitle="Image from moblog.net" g:pingback="/gen_204?atyp=i&ct=plusone&cad=S0&label=images_plusone" g:source="inline:images" g:undo="poS0" id="gbpwm_0" title="Recommend this image" type="submit"></button></div><div class="ilat_fn"><div class="esc slp" id="poS0" style="display: none;">You +1'd this publicly. <a class="fl" href="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&tbm=isch&tbnid=nqQr58ZEuWXLYM:&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&docid=r4pBIQ3D4SADSM&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-ma#"><span style="color: #3366cc;">Undo</span></a></div></div><div class="il_r" id="ilat_is">moblog.net</div><div style="line-height: 120%;"><a class="ilat_ham sl" href="http://www.google.co.uk/search?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg&w=387&h=516&sig=118274960574623424343&ndsp=25&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAESEgmepCvnxkS5ZSGvikEhDcPhIA&sa=X&ei=uZgAT_O9Lci2hQe2x7zPAQ&ved=0CAQQ0gU"><span style="color: #1111cc;">Similar</span></a> ‑ <a class="ilat_ham sl" href="http://www.google.co.uk/search?q=st+marks+dalston&hl=en&biw=1366&bih=559&gbv=2&imgrefurl=http://moblog.net/view/882928/st-marks-church-dalston&imgurl=http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg&w=387&h=516&sig=118274960574623424343&ndsp=25&tbm=isch&tbs=simg:CAQSEgmepCvnxkS5ZSGvikEhDcPhIA&sa=X&ei=uZgAT_O9Lci2hQe2x7zPAQ&ved=0CAUQrBE"><span style="color: #1111cc;">More sizes</span></a></div></div></div>The biggest disappointment for me and my Dad was the rush of the ritual union especially when surrounded by such a distractingly eccentric church. Instead of the garish Christmas costumes found on the high street buildings, St Mark’s architectural garments were permanent lavish fixtures. The building felt dressed not built which befitted the church’s history. Built by Dove Bros of Islington to the designs of Chester Cheston in 1870, the imposing tower with gargoyles was added seven years later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The church’s first Vicar, Joseph Pilkington, described St Marks as brutally ugly and in his 25 years he added most of the interior adornments: the font, lectern, organ, intricate oak screen and mosaics, pulpit, tower, eight bells, barometer and a chiming clock, as well as stained glass windows. Of all the architectural embellishments my favourites were the gloriously decorated organ, the angel windows in the church roof and behind the altar the mosaic, with approximately 27,000 pieces depicting the last supper. Entering the nave we were ambushed by these permanent decorations, almost intoxicated by all-encompassing tributes to Christ. During the sharing of the peace I deliberately shook every congregational members hand with the ulterior motive of basking in the church’s design as I circled the entire nave. The church was the perfect tinsel to the occasion but at the top of the tree was my Dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Dad had been my unintentional motivator. The turbulent relationship he had with the church and his Reverend father had inspired me to dedicate myself to religious exploration. Church was not a part of my childhood and I can never remember my parents endorsing the positives of religion. My parents, far too liberal to prescribe to any dogma, especially any one linked to spirituality did not tolerate my religious exploits but accepted them and supported them despite lacking any religious belief themselves. Religion had become my rock and roll, a conservative opposition to my post rebellion generation. Yet my Mum and Dad’s hippy/punk parenting already had indoctrinated me with questioning all authority but accepting all individuals. Rebellion was pointless but revisiting my family’s cultural past (particularly that of my Granddad) created a connection formed through ritual. Anyone who has read any of my posts will know that I am a non-believer but hopefully will respect my commitment born out of a sense of ritual and duty in replicating a church going existence.</span><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">Ritual and duty can be daunting as much as it can be rewarding. From the strained faces of Christmas shoppers on Oxford Circus or the poorly hidden grimaces of a family dinner table on Christmas Day to the joy on the faces of giver and receiver by the Christmas tree and the laughter of a moment shared between loved ones. As the priest led some off key carol singing and missed a few lines, these lost lyrics were an acceptable sacrifice in a group ritual. The carol was no less sacred for being sung incorrectly as it’s made important by the number reciting it. Building a ritual and a duty is essential to forming any community and despite my lack of belief I will truly miss the structure that church has given to my life, a structure born out of a desire to understand why people believe something I cannot. As my dutiful Dad drove me down the M11 and I ritualistically wound him up, the similarities of family and church became apparent. To a Christian, Church is family, your commitment to God is unquestioning and helps form a loving bond with the congregation. Family bonds can only be maintained through a sense of ritual and duty. I can only understand the unconditional love a Christian feels to God as the one I feel to my family.</span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">PS</span></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif";">I did not want to short change St Marks by using this post as my final concluding entry. So next week after my first Sunday not going to church in a year I will nurse a new year’s hangover and set out to write my final letter to God. Return to Sender.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://moblog.net/media/s/t/o/stopped/st-marks-church-dalston.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div></span>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-36276677769437637852011-12-24T16:16:00.000-08:002011-12-24T16:16:32.755-08:00Ministere De La Parole De Foi Hackney (translates as Word of Faith Ministry) on Sandringham Road , 18.12.12<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e6qGMz1QJQ8/TmOvTJI4dOI/AAAAAAAAAig/GweYVvn8-_s/s1600/IMG_3073.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e6qGMz1QJQ8/TmOvTJI4dOI/AAAAAAAAAig/GweYVvn8-_s/s320/IMG_3073.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The more God’s will is translated for me the more confused I get. On my penultimate Sunday I deliberately chose a non-English speaking service so I could escape the moral contemplation of theology and indulge in the physical pleasures of worship i.e. singing, dancing and waving your arms around. One of my largest discoveries over the year has been to learn to appreciate the importance of singing, dancing and waving your arms around with a congregation of strangers. Dancing, singing and waving your arms around has become a cathartic ritual response to the blinkered moral musings of a number of sermons. However theology, morality and scripture are far more difficult to translate than the singing, dancing and waving your arms around. So when entering the Ministere De La Parole De Foi Hackney (translates as Word of Faith Ministry) on Sandringham Road I was looking forward to getting my gospel groove on and ignoring the daily dogma. In the past at the Greek and Georgian Orthodox churches I had the opportunity (due to the language barrier) of appreciating pure ritual over religious rationalizing. My hope was that the Ministere De La Parole De Foi would provide the opportunity to get lost in the music but I had forgotten that the Ministere De La Parole De Foi was a Western church and unlike Eastern Orthodox churches (who believe in the sanctity of the Holy Scripture) it was essential I understand the Lord’s Word whatever the language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cw3O0sev-Z8/TmOvT32a1jI/AAAAAAAAAik/KeEs1fWGtf4/s1600/IMG_3074.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cw3O0sev-Z8/TmOvT32a1jI/AAAAAAAAAik/KeEs1fWGtf4/s320/IMG_3074.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like most churches with lavish names in East London, Ministere De La Parole De Foi Hackney has humble surroundings. Positioned just off the Kingsland Road High Street its heavily decorated open front window stands out from the surrounding Christmas displays of Argos, Tesco and Boots. The church’s dramatic and colourful emblem is too extreme for any shop sign, peering out down the road it’s a symbol that demands attention from all, not just local shoppers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arriving late to a packed room, the congregation stared at this lone white faced intruder and slowly made space as they realised that I had not mistaken the ministry for the pound shops further down the road but was here to join the worship. The congregation, predominantly from Cote D’Ivore and The Congo, went across various generations and classes as illustrated by their fashion. Some dressed in African traditional clothing, others wore more expensive smart suits and long regal dresses,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>while the younger generation where noticeably more casual in their attire wearing the latest designer labels. At first I could feel their eyes on me and a mixture of French and English whispers at my arrival before one of the many large mothers of the congregation came to question me. Warm and friendly she quickly adopted me and grew concerned that I needed a translator. I declined out of politeness but she reassured me she would find one. Appreciative of her charity I was yet to realise that one altruistic act was going to affect the entire service. After a quick hymn I sat unaware that my translator had taken to the stage and would devotedly attempt to articulate the minister’s rhetoric in the most dead pan pigeon English voice.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unintentionally my visit had prolonged the service running time all in an attempt to save me, ironically the only person that didn’t want saving. The trick of Christianity is that you can’t be cruel to people who are so kind. No matter how much I protested to the translation I would have been perceived as an ungrateful guest in need of saving. So I stayed, sat speechless and smiling in appreciation of the service and attempted to decipher the nuances of my translator’s audio commentary.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Most of the translation was unnecessary, even with my D in GCSE French could tell that “gloreux” was glorious and “benis” was bless. The congregation also seemed more interested in singing, dancing and waving their arms around with a live drummer, keyboardist, bassist and three female singers often undermining the clergy. Even the guest minister opened his sermon in song and throughout the majority of the service most of the testifying was accompanied by a gentle humming bass and slow melodic piano playing. The fusion of music and preaching coupled with my own audio commentary caused a confusing cacophony that was intoxicating but shallow. The commentary was a constant reminder that I did not fully understand the Lord’s Word and missed a morality hidden between the French and English words. My separation was not simply spiritual but essentially social. The minister would have his devotees in rapturous laughter but my translator looked lost to explain the comedic elements of The Book of Romans in French. Culturally the gulf between me and the congregation had never felt so big ironically due to the attempt to bridge an understanding between us both. I was apprehensive to draw conclusions from the unfinished sentences spoken within the sermon yet I realised projecting a personal interpretation onto open ended dogma is an essential element of religion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">From my hazy impression I took away some worryingly so called “moral truths.” The minister claimed that “It’s a sin to do nothing,” like “not have a job,” “be single “and “not supporting ones family.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was unaware that these mini sins were in the Bible regardless of what language it may have been written in. However I did not feel I could trust myself, let alone the church’s moral agenda as it all seemed lost in translation. Religion can be dangerous as the scriptures can lend themselves to egocentric interpretation, be it my own or the minister, or translator, or that edition of the Bible. Writing about being confused is very difficult as you attempt to articulate the unarticulable (which is not even a real word) but through the ritual of my blog I have been forced to retrospectively form opinions in an attempt to discover my own gospel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The result is never the truth but a translation that inevitably loses the nuances, complexities and reasons behind a church’s belief. My accounts are just another layer of confusion to add to the mountain of personal delusions that masquerade as theological musings but at least you know not to trust the translator. Personally I am looking forward to not thinking so much and I will finally get a chance to cut loose to sing, dance and wave my arms. </span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-1289726926561293042011-12-18T15:08:00.000-08:002011-12-18T19:02:25.117-08:00The Newington Green Unitarian Church, Newington Green, 10.12.11<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a7/Unitarian_chapel_newington_green.jpg"><img alt="File:Unitarian chapel newington green.jpg" height="480" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a7/Unitarian_chapel_newington_green.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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In 1967 The Beatles broadcast a performance of "All you need is love," into 26 countries watched by 400 million viewers, creating a global profile for the hippy movement of late 1960s. Long before Beatles, hippies and bad fashion it was the Christian radicals of the 1700s that pioneered such humanist values and in particular the non-conformists of Hackney. <br />
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The non-conformist movement of the 1700s was Britain’s original Christian counter culture. They believed that liberty, freedom and equality were essential values of the Bible that had been lost under the oppressive dogma of the Catholic and the Anglican churches of the time. <br />
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Visiting the Newington Unitarian Church built back in 1704 I stepped on to the grounds that were not just the longest practising non-conformist church in London but also one of the most historically important churches outside the Protestant/Catholic hegemony. In these walls the role of Christianity drastically changed from being an oppressor to a liberator and even now the current Unitarian service has developed away from the religious dogma of so many churches into a diverse community with a shared sense of spiritualism. The service did not mention God, Jesus, and The Holy Spirit but did allude to the concept of a shared higher consciousness. The congregation were not asked to simply pray to God, but were given the choice to pray, meditate or reflect on ones thoughts. We had no Bible readings or scripture heavy hymns instead non-religious fables and speculative stories were used in the sermon and the music was a collection of organ reworkings of pop classics and gospel songs focusing on the need to change society through love. How had this church become so politically correct? Was it so politically correct it was blasphemous? And had I found the first church that would accept me as a voyeuristic agnostic and not see me as a potential convert? All these questions raced through my head and led me back to the history books. <br />
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The Newington Unitarian Church only stands out because of its age, lacking the gothic architectural glamour so common in the Anglican churches of 17 hundreds. An almost square building, its modest front entrance was decorated with understated Tuscan pillars, a small pediment and low key arched windows. Inside the tiny church is a collection of wooden pews, boxes and a gallery that makes the space feel not cluttered but close; The miniature size unavoidably but pleasantly smothering you with its presence. Sitting in the boxes I found it impossible not to contemplate the legacy of the church’s past congregation.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c5/Richard_Price.jpg" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="File:Richard Price.jpg" height="300" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c5/Richard_Price.jpg" width="240" /></a>The Newington Unitarian Church history of radicalism began in the 1700s when Newington Green was an agricultural village outside the city of London. After The Restoration of Charles II many non-Anglican church groups faced persecution. Non-conformists found refuge around Newington Green in which alternative theological and political ideas could freely circulate. Alternative education establishments were formed by Non-conformists named Dissenters Academies, creating the only alternative non-Anglican higher education. Most notably the Newington Green Academy is praised for its intellectual aristocracy and for propagating new ideas from The Enlightenment. By the late 1700s Newington Unitarian Church became the haven for political and social reform under the leadership of preacher Dr Richard Price (looking very stern in the far right). Price was a republican, <br />
libertarian and supporter of the French and American Revolutions. Enormously influential, Price gave counsel to the founding fathers of America, Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, and Thomas Pain and was a mentor to Mary Wollstonecraft (a key founder of feminism). Price died before Newington Unitarian Church could practice non-Trinitarian worship publically (After the government Act of 1813) but many history books have vaguely described his beliefs as "Unitarian,” due him criticising the claim that Jesus had eternal existence. After Price’s era the church continued to propagate liberalism within society, many of the congregation were abolitionists, supporters of the suffragette movement and campaigned against the legal persecution of Jews in the1800s. I have become particularly interested in how the Unitarian Church, from its radical roots, has continued to adapt The Bible so it challenges the inequality within society instead advocating the status quo.</div><br />
In recent years the church has continued to challenge institutionalised inequalities in our society by supporting gay marriage. In March 2008, Newington Green Unitarian Church became the first religious establishment in Britain to stop any weddings at all until all couples have equal marriage rights. The current incumbent minister Andrew Pakula stated that the same-sex couple "are being treated like second-class citizens when they are forbidden to celebrate their unions in a way that heterosexual couples take for granted." Andrew Pakula is sweetly small, warm and charismatic New York Jewish man who has been Minister of Newington Green since 2011, Pakula, like Price, shares a belief in equality but I wonder would Price recognize the origins of Pakula’s liberalism as his own? Unitarian faith more than any other strand of Christianity seems to have helped develop society for the better and in doing has developed itself away from the Holy scripture and towards promoting a shared social consciousness. In the development of the Unitarian faith God has not been lost but he now shares the throne of omnipotence with Buddha, Shiva, Allah and many more. <br />
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So what is Unitarianism in the modern world? The You Tube videos below give you a general impression.<br />
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A key facet I personally took from Unitarianism is the rejection of the concept of original sin and the conscious decision to not ask the congregation to believe in something they know not to be true and respect their individuality. So this Sunday was a service without communion, sharing the peace, liturgy and Bible readings and instead new rituals replaced them from the reading of a poem, lighting of a candle, shared prayer/mediation/contemplation, a sermon on the importance of hope and individuals sharing the highs and lows of the week. The general atmosphere was like a group therapy session except nobody had experienced a real trauma (to my knowledge) but that did not stop people from "sharing," and nor should it. It was refreshing that a service was dependent on the congregation’s participation and lucky that they were an affable bunch. Personal stories ranged from the touching to the slightly mundane but at least everyone felt they had something to say and more importantly people wanted to listen. Oddly this inclusive environment did leave me in limbo as I did not feel I had anything to "share."<br />
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The lack of scripture and context led to words being debated instead of parables. We were asked to contemplate the meaning of "hope," and I imagine other services may debate the importance of "tolerance," "freedom," "equality." The problem with the lack of context means the debates become hugely personalised which is good but does lead to the parishioner being unchallenged in their views. The congregation were asked to write down a subject on a postit which they had lost hope in and then decorate the nave with their reflections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I and the incredibly warmed hearted elderly woman sitting next to me both felt we had never lost hope in anything on principle but after longer consideration I could use the exercise to cathartically express my feelings. I wrote "I hope I don’t feel guilty." I found it strange that in a church environment that did not believe in original sin and advocated the acceptance of all I would feel so guilty but I did. I felt I was not participating to the extent I should and no longer had the excuse of being unbeliever.<br />
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The reason for myself loathing is that I don’t go to church for myself, I go because I am interested in people and enjoy meeting people who hold a different theological perspective, these people fascinate me and asking to look to myself I was caught off guard. My views on spiritualism had been defined in opposition to the people I had met over the last year but when asked to form a belief without countering my experience I was lost.<br />
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The Newington Unitarian Church was built in opposition to corrupt religious institutions and continues to advocate equality but when you do feel free and have nothing to oppose, what are you left with? I have never viewed life as a struggling trial that leads to heaven and have been critical of religions that advocate this perspective but faced with spiritual freedom I can see the comfort. I would like to think "All We Need is Love," but love means many things to many people and the cost of love can be great. The highest praise I can place on The Newington Unitarian Church is that in the more modern and liberal era it continues to ask questions than provide answers and for a church that’s hugely refreshing.<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-86404190974590560842011-12-11T08:12:00.000-08:002011-12-11T08:12:23.936-08:00Quaker Meeting, St Mary's Community Centre, Daniel Defoe Road, 4.12.11<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hi,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Consolas; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh </span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">my names Joel (hand out)</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Consolas;">um</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">this is my first time </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Consolas;">righ</span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">at a Quaker meeting</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Consolas;">No, its jus </span></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ohh sorry! </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Consolas;">It’s very hard to transmit absence</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Personally I blame Gareth, not because I blame him for most things but because he was my Quaker chaperone. Gareth is a great friend and has Quaker ancestry. In recent ventures to Quaker meetings he has continued a family ritual that stretches several generations, symbolically and spiritually bonding with his ancestors. To my knowledge this was my family’s first Quaker service and my ignorant entrance was hopefully forgiven in keeping with the Christian spirit. Despite my presumed forgiveness my noisy introduction did haunt my one hour silent service. In particular Jonathan, the Quaker elder’s mystic explanation “It’s very hard to transmit absence” kept echoing in my mind. To people as ignorant as me let me explain the structure of a Quaker service. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Quakerism is a Christian movement which stresses the religious doctrine of priesthood for all believers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My non theist translation is that they believe we all have a personal relationship with God and have the ability to preach the Good Lord’s Word. In comparison to the other churches they deconstruct the classic hierarchal Church system for a more democratic forum called Quaker Meetings. Quakerism dates back to late 1700s and was established by the Religious Society of Friends in England but quickly spread across the rest of the world, most famously in North America, East Africa and India. Naturally the international spread of Quakerism led to fragmented forms of worship and practices. However, often worship can be split into two distinct practices, the programmed and the unprogrammed. The majority of Quakers (predominantly outside the UK) practice programmed worship. Programmed worship consists of prearranged hymns, Bible readings, guest sermons and planned silences. The minority of Quakers (predominantly from the UK) practice unprogrammed worship. Unprogrammed worship is based in silence. The silence begins when first the person sits in the meeting and ends when one person from the group (more often an elder) shakes the hand of the person to their side leading to everyone finishing the meeting with a handshake. Such a fine and proper way to bookend the worship, you can tell the movement started in England. In silence one is supposed to communally connect with God and free their mind of all other distractions. However the group mysticism is intended to be practiced within the everyday. Quakers are most famous for their pacifism, opposition to alcohol and political activism. In comparison to other Christian groups who deliberately avoid politics unless politics infringes upon their faith it is vital for a Quaker to understand God in a modern world and not just wait for the afterlife. However the Stoke Newington Quakers of St Mary’s community centre on Daniel Defoe road camouflaged their evangelism within the silence making for my most quintessentially English service so far.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IbC9g3zB7j0/TYz3VaZnudI/AAAAAAAAAUc/SfQQV1Gssz4/s1600/churches+096.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" mda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IbC9g3zB7j0/TYz3VaZnudI/AAAAAAAAAUc/SfQQV1Gssz4/s320/churches+096.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">From my opening brief and awkward conversation to the long shared silence that followed, a particular type of Englishness hung in the air. A type of Englishness that belongs to the middle classes, comedy sketches, afternoon tea, the south, BBC period dramas and Gardener’s World . The only other words spoken before the meeting descended into communal quiet was when Jonathan politely hushed a fellow friend (all Quaker’s refer to each other as friend) who was making tea in the nearby kitchen warning in a stage whisper “meeting comes before tea.” The mannered telling off in the calmest voice was so brilliantly formal it could only be spoken by an Englishman. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As the group gradually entered the silence I began to see the unspoken acceptance of each other within the confines of a formal setting as a national treasure. Unlike other loud and theatrical evangelical groups or the more established dogma of Catholic and Anglican churches Quakers seemed to realise that the best way for everyone to get along was to abandon the majority of ceremony and obey a few simple rules so the individual can form a personal understanding of God within the silence. Everybody was so polite and respectful of each other’s silences that no one told the woman who continued to drift in and out of consciousness to actually wake up. Some unwritten rule seemed to be unspoken within the group which allowed the woman to snore her way through the majority of the hour undisturbed. It would just not have been the done thing to wake her and who could say she was not having a spiritual moment within her slumber. After the meeting and several cups of tea and biscuits with my new best friends I felt entirely at home. The group were your typical liberal middle class Guardian reading, Radio 4 listening, east Londoners who preferred thoughtful contemplation to impassioned prayer. At the beginning of my journey this group would have filled me with self-loathing but now with only three Sundays left of the year I felt a sense of comfort in the familiarity. No longer isolated from my non theist perspective, the Quaker meeting provided me with the opportunity to digest my relationship with God in silence, I only wish I remembered what I’d thought.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I could communally share the voice of God or the light (common Quaker explanation for spirit) I had to shed my surroundings. I had to not only let go of the physical world of St Mary’s small and drafty hall but also mentally clear out my thoughts to find an inner period of calm in which God/light can enter. Physical clearance proved troublesome and mental clearance almost impossible. First, the physical distractions became mental as I listed the clutter in an attempt to discard them but instead my list accentuated their existence. Oddly the absence of hymns, prayers, sermons and testimonies seemed to root me in the physical world as my list built to a rhythmic pattern in my head. The absent beat went something like this </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A 30 second blast of heat that is heard more than felt and 2minutes cold to keep me awake, vase of flowers on a table with bunch of books, sound of traffic in the distance and hum of mowing from outside, why is the chair next to me smaller than the rest, another woman enters no one looks her in the eye, is the tea lady asleep?</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And another 30 second blast of heat that is heard more than felt and another 2minutes cold to keep me awake, are those flowers dying or is it for show, Bible, Quaker Bible, Qu’ran, Quaker Bible, next week could I bring my own literature? Sound of traffic is even further in the distance and the mowing has stopped, maybe the small chair is for a small child, I’d hate for a child to be better behaved than me, thinking how I do, another woman enters room, remember not to look her in the eye, I think the tea lady’s now snoring so definitely asleep.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again a 30 second blast of heat longer than the one before which continues to be heard more than felt and now 4 long minutes of cold to keep me awake, the flowers are definitely real so why has no one watered them? Are they are a spiritual statement I am not getting? Next week Steinbeck, Tolstoy, Hughes and Auden will lay on that table, I still can hear traffic or is it in my head maybe I am struggling because the mower is back and closer than before, the chair is not for a child or a colouring in book would be on the table, the small chair must be for someone who is not here, who is not expected to appear, at least not physically, God most likely, another man enters, we have another man entering the room, it’s no longer just me, Gareth or the older guy, no this guy is the older guy, that other guy will have to be renamed the other guy, don’t meet his eye that would be double standards, this is not the place for double standards, well she is clearly snoring and no one is going to say anything, especially me.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe this 30 second blast of heat will be quicker, maybe it will make me hotter rather than hurt my ears, the cold cannot be quick, the time quadruples under such low temperature, as four minutes stretches into 8, hot and fast offset by cold and slow, the flowers need to be changed, how can you make a statement through the symbol of something dying, should I pick up the Bible? Might get my mind back on track, it’s too late now, it would just send a clear sign I am not thinking about him, as for the Qu’ran that would just be dismissed as a desperate attempt to make a loud first impression, I would read Steinbeck, can you read atheist literature at a Quaker meeting, not just traffic but the sound of parking, parking will help me chill out, with the mower finished I am bound to drift off and hear the voice of God, I am sitting next to his chair so if he does arrive I will<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>have the best seat in the house regardless, however we are full now, so anyone arriving late is going to have to sit down in that incredibly small chair and look like an adult with special needs kept back at primary school, but no one is entering the room, the room is definitely spiritually full yet it only contains six women and four men but anyone adding to the collective might tip me over the edge, I mean how are you meant to forget more than ten people? Everybody needs to sit still so I can forget them and concentrate on our collective, conscious prayer, I am so glad no one can hear my thoughts, I would really ruin everyone’s experience, maybe they can sense it, no I look calm and collected, might even pass for spiritual, I feel confident I am going to look them in the eye and then<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>when they look into my eye they are going to see nothing because my mind is elsewhere, my mind is traveling on a different spiritual plain, yes I can just leave without moving, just don’t fall asleep like the tea woman, her snoring has really held you back, it would be inconsiderate to fall asleep not that anyone would wake me, maybe I am asleep, no I can feel the cold, need<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to consider consciousness, remember your absent and present at the same time, absent and present.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the repetition of my thoughts built a rhythm to reach a euphoric point of silence in which I don’t remember what I was thinking but I was pretty happy. The nearest epiphany I reached was pondering my silent and strange happiness. So I decided to contextualise my experience in broad terms. First, I concluded that a society which is a literature culture writes down what makes one happy in the hope that others might understand, but the limitation of words leads to dogma and misunderstanding. In our visual culture we communicate through images so our concept of happiness is more a feeling, a recording of a moment, making our idea of happiness more fleeting and less theoretically obtainable but at least less dogmatic and dangerous. So my silent happiness, happiness at the absence of everything was an isolated sense of euphoria. A happiness which cannot be recorded with words. A happiness they can’t captured from a photograph. A happiness that many call God. A happiness that I personally find impossible to explain.</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QkC4q5Zp6rU/TYz3UTj8YUI/AAAAAAAAAUY/SQ_jfAHO8ZU/s1600/churches+095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" mda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QkC4q5Zp6rU/TYz3UTj8YUI/AAAAAAAAAUY/SQ_jfAHO8ZU/s400/churches+095.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-15078318571050404352011-12-04T07:17:00.000-08:002011-12-04T07:17:01.957-08:00Evangelical Reformed Church, Laureston Church, 30.11.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GTCmIqF0z5Q/TYz2r51XDbI/AAAAAAAAARM/W8AXQwVblfk/s1600/churches+047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="266" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GTCmIqF0z5Q/TYz2r51XDbI/AAAAAAAAARM/W8AXQwVblfk/s400/churches+047.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">After 47 Sunday services my agnostic faith had begun to fatigue. Not in my mind but in my body. Inflicted with a seasonal cold and cough with aspirations to degenerate into a fever I sought solace in the Evangelical Reformed Church on Laureston Road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After weekly witnessing devout but decrepit bodies summoning the spirit to go to church I had no choice but to leave the confines of my bed for a so called better life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Speechless in fear of the cough within me I sat to the rear of the nave hoping to go unnoticed. Luckily, the restrained and equable congregation respectfully left me to stew in my sickly sin. Unlike the singing and dancing of previous evangelical episodes, all theatrics were reserved for the Northern Irish guest Pastor Samuel Mackay Desperate for the routine ritual to remedy my poor health I was instead treated to a sermon heavy service in which Pastor Mackay provided a lesson in the power and poetry of religious language. My vulnerable state became enslaved to Pastor Mackay, who at the height of his power almost exorcized the sickly and sinful ailments that plagued my body. Physically drained I felt spiritually vulnerable, easy prey for Pastor Mackay, passion to bully me into belief.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pastor Mackay was not a handsome man. Youth looked forever absent from his face. Pale, balding, portly, bespectacled, he had no physical reasons to be confident. The charisma, the charm and passion were clearly sent from his great Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Preaching to a predominantly black congregation, Pastor Mackay’s rough Belfast accent crackled across the nave. Fire and brimstone rhetoric of the old homeland clogged up his throat and transported his followers from South Hackney to Northern Ireland. It was not just God’s Bible that had given grace to his gruff voice but the church created an environment so his words would echo across the hall with glorious gravitas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The church’s exterior suited his small but commanding stature: the late Victorian modestly sized building reached for the heavens with small but defined architectural features.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two extremely pointy spires stabbed the sky with spiritual importance while a large arched front window opened itself to public and potential converts. Originally built by Congregationalists in the 1800s the church has sustained a still feeling of suspense when entering the nave. It was an unknowing suspense like waiting for something intangible, ethereal or predictably something God like. The atmosphere did not transport you back in time like older churches but more created a feeling of stasis outside time which could only come from a building that has been undisturbed from renovation. Waiting filled the anteroom, the belfry, the cloisters, the nave, the surrounding gallery, the sanctuary, and any unseen room or crevice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amongst this wait came Pastor Mackay standing firm in the pulpit surrounded by a collection of dark varnished wooden pews, stairs, tables, chairs and Holy folly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pastor Mackay was a king overseeing his kingdom or somebody more prophetic, regardless of the title he was a great orator. Very few priests actually use the pulpit but Pastor Mackay had a traditional and conservative personality that was entirely comfortable with being placed on such a high pedestal. Standing only just below the large but fairly quiet antique organ his voice could not be dwarfed by anyone except God. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A great speaker can get you so lost in the language that you become so impressed you don’t really care about the speaker’s point. TV personalities, politicians and Priests are all guilty of speaking with style to disguise their lack of substance. Not that all TV personalities, politicians and Priests are great speakers, most are sound bite bores but a chosen few have an elegance of elocution that provoke great reaction by saying very little. Pastor Mackay was not only a great speaker but perpetuated the cultural legacy of the Holy Irish man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A religious figure of Old Testament testosterone he mixed words taken from the scripture with out dated language to create a non-existent nostalgic grace. In describing early passages from the Book of Joshua he used some stereotypical but no less powerful religious phrases: “Righteous Wrath of God,” “Calvary Cross,” “The Blood That Cleansed The Blind,” and my personal favourite “The Tale The Tongue Cannot Tell.” These words wore me out and wrapped themselves around my ears that I became so enraptured at the poetry of his performance leading me to completely forget about the Book of Joshua.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the overt violence of his words these strangely opaque but didactic statements are to be cherished, just maybe not worshipped. But I fully understand how such powerful imagery from one man’s mouth could inspire such worship. I would be a fully-fledged fan of Pastor Mackay’s passionate poetry if I could discover its source: The Book of Joshua, Jesus or God. Predictably Pastor Mackay’s powerful imagery did not provoke my spiritual side but instead stoked my cynicism.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Book of Joshua is mainly concerned with the history of the creation of Israel and documenting some pretty savage tribal politics but Pastor Mackay managed to centre on the more palatable opening verses of God’s instructions to Joshua instead of the familiar Middle Eastern conflict.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leaving the more factually grounded history for universal spiritualism is essential for any priest yet often the priest will use the language of the Bible to create phoney authenticity to his words. The very specific struggle of the Israelites became comparable to the everyday struggle of the congregation so that the romantic rhetoric enriched the dull drudgery of modern day life. Amongst all the energy, eloquence and entertaining theatrics Pastor Mackay just wanted everyone “To let Jesus into our hearts,” without even telling us who, why or where. Preaching to the converted naturally breeds complacency but within the predictable praise my body had a violent reaction. The overpowering word play, the suspenseful atmosphere, the calm congregation, something tickled my throat and my cough erupted. Hoarse heckling from the back of my larynx bounced back off the walls of the nave and caused a non-protest to the weekly dogma. As Pastor Mackay encouraged us to get close to Jesus I was wheezing between my knees hoping my badly behaved body was caused by infection and not some unknown demon hidden within me. I tried as best I could not to distract others from Pastor Mackay’s words but charitable Christians are forever looking for a cause. Handkerchiefs, water, Bibles were passed to me but I could not stand the embarrassment and had to leave. Despite the kindness of strangers the word of God did not fill me with pride but persecution and my sickness felt like a strange pagan karma. I did not deserve such charity because I was not one of them I had not let Jesus into my heart and as result I had the flu. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Retired and rested I realised I did not need the kindness of strangers as it did not fulfil my narrative. Much as I had appreciated Pastor Mackay’s word play, the church’s subtle and suspenseful atmosphere and calming congregation that filled it, I desired the role of the outsider. Like the Pastor Mackay I use language to create my own world. However Pastor Mackay wants you to join him in his world for one giant liturgy while my world wants to create the image of an outsider looking into another world he feels he does not belong to. His language continues a tradition of colourful conformity and dramatic dogma while my language is limited in so many ways it can only come from my dyslexic brain. Opposition is where I feel most comfortable despite Pastor Mackay’s promises of eternal salvation. My problem is that I have yet to know from what I need to be saved except the common cold that plagues my body. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-7589024890207274292011-11-27T09:38:00.000-08:002012-01-04T03:52:13.388-08:00Stoke Newington Baptist Church, Stoke Newington High Street, 20.11.11<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pmearvEyehY/TYz3F59Z0qI/AAAAAAAAATc/1gFTatuymp4/s1600/churches+080.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pmearvEyehY/TYz3F59Z0qI/AAAAAAAAATc/1gFTatuymp4/s400/churches+080.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The economic apocalypse is nigh. Don’t fear war, pestilence, famine and death but instead run to your Bible and pray to stop the rise of cuts, inflation, unemployment and debt. Not that all cuts are bad cuts, some cuts can free communities from needless bureaucracy. Inflation is also fine as long as it remains low and stable in conjunction with the rate of employment. Unemployment would not be the end of the world if you have a good welfare state providing financial and social support. Even debts can be solved by low interest bank loans. No, the economic crisis is not comparable to The Book of Revelation as the international news media would like you to believe but this Sunday even God became victim to the global recession.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cZAVEpdd45M/TYz3Gv4mZDI/AAAAAAAAATg/elHJpQscCyM/s1600/churches+081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cZAVEpdd45M/TYz3Gv4mZDI/AAAAAAAAATg/elHJpQscCyM/s320/churches+081.jpg" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God and money have an odd relationship, all men are created equal in the eyes of God but money is often how we attempt to measure a person’s worth outside the dogma of religion. Money is a value system formed long before science knocked religion off its creationist perch and is the longest provocateur to religion. Christianity sees money as an essential tool in spreading the Lords Word but Bible is not so kind towards money. Money appears in the Bible as the tool of the oppressor and the religious prophets are far poorer and humbler in their existence. For example: Jesus is not a rich man- it's essential that he gave everything to the poor and the needy. The majority of non-believers criticism of the church is that they take money from the poor and sell them hope through the promise of heaven.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Non-believers feel uncomfortable at the site of wealthy churches and often think would Jesus approve of such extravagance. So when I arrived at the modest stone face of the Stoke Newington Baptist Church and entered the fairly rundown interior of the nave my heart lifted that this was a church rich in ways not so obvious to the eye.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The church was filled with understatement; a modest altar, a very low tech projector and a small stained glass window marked the sanctuary out from the collection of black chairs that filled the nave. A few religious decorations hung across the nave’s walls, leaving the colours of beige, brown and cream to blur into one nondescript glow that was strangely affecting. This corporate like conference room had been spiritually converted and despite the placidity of its design it had risen to a higher purpose. The lack of grandeur and glamour did not indicate a lack of care from the congregation but mere signs that life took precedence over material spectacle. The environment should not have been inspiring but the large mixed congregation led by Pastor John Taylor generated a community atmosphere not found in the architecture of government buildings. The service’s ramshackle beauty was typified by the church band, an odd collection of saxophonist, keyboardist, Organist and Violinist; who naturally struggled with some hymns until the late entrance of the resident drummer; a young black kid no older than 14 with low hung jeans, baseball cap and Nike raincoat and who acknowledge nobody as he waltzed up to the kit before he began to pound the drums mid hymn. The music should not have worked, technically it did not work but you could not fault the harmonious joy the audience and band shared. The humble and modest yet still joyful and triumphant congregation of Stoke Newington Baptist Church had spirit for these economically tough times but I was yet to learn the precarious practicalities of their situation.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Pastor John Taylor carried a statesman like air of importance when he spoke with a realist’s modesty. His untypical sermon was not concerned with the spiritual transformative love of Jesus Christ but the practicalities of the church’s annual budget and outlining the amount that would be apportioned for Christmas giving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps the sermon lacked the romanticism of the Holy Scripture for the majority of the congregation but I personally found his speech enthralling as I discovered how the church spends its money. The most heart-warming aspect of the church budget was learning that alongside the money given to the Baptist Union, Christian Fellowship schemes and International aid was the name of one family household who needed help after falling victim to hard times (to one of the economic four horseman no doubt).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charity within a community is something so rare to in fragmented London it</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> filled me with early Christmas cheer. However after Pastor John Taylor asked the congregation to discuss with him during the break any issues some may have, he returned from the break stating no one had talked to him. I guess the community trusted their pastor as they were far more familiar about the church’s spending and would prefer to sing, dance and praise the Lord than worry about how the collection plate is spent. It’s rare that a Church would be so transparent with its budgets yet Pastor Taylor was keen to indicate that the annual micro budget was necessary to contextualise the larger economic problems facing the Baptist Union. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Just like businesses, nations and continents, churches are economically failing. This year the Baptist union ran approximately one million pounds over budget, it can sustain the same deficit next year but if the Baptist Union funds don’t improve in 2013 it realistically will see churches close down and subsequently merge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A symbol of the economic decline is the Baptist Times (running since 1855) which will be discontinued this year as it loses the church money. Like secular forms of the print industry whose economic interest has declined due to the digitalisation of the media, the Baptist Times is not a viable source to spread the word of God. The prospective changes facing the Stoke Newington Baptist Union did not seem to worry the congregation. A large portion of the congregation were from Africa and particularly Angola, and some elder members had the sermon translated into Portuguese. The congregation were very helpful in explaining that the church had once been predominantly white but in recent years Pastor John Taylor had shared the pulpit with an Angolan minister. As time passed the Angolan minister returned to Africa but the influx of an African congregation survived and integrated. Services went from being held in English and Portuguese to just English. Arguably the unison between the elderly white church members and the new African arrivals is not simply a spiritual meeting but one that is economically formed through globalisation of the 1990s. The church in many respects has already proved its ability to adapt to a changing economic environment so why should they not believe the congregation can overcome such future struggles. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The central reason for the congregation’s resolve is that they have faith in a higher power and The Rapture is a far scarier prospect than the current global economic downturn. Secular society could easily dismiss such faith in higher powers as blissfully ignorant but maybe we should look at ourselves and our own ignorant faith we have put into the financial market. In the most simple and reductive explanation to our current economic crisis<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would state that the crisis in the US, UK and rest of Europe is born out of the ability to trade off debt through credit that is supplied by banks under the guise that the company/country/continent will make a future profit. Clearly the global economic system is not that simple but neither is The Bible which is far more publically renounced than our global financial market.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The market and the Bible claim to be based on truth, their power comes from a faith based language in which words only have importance if you believe in them. Borrowing and lending is a part of human nature which has offered a practical solution throughout history in building trust within communities (like loving your neighbour or treating others how you wish to be treated) but when you enter the world of derivatives, futures and hedge funds you are creating a language and belief system to legitimise an impractical monopoly. I don’t believe that derivatives, futures and hedge funds are a real solution to our economy but are a fiction that has been given political currency and have been used to enslave the many by the few. Take the last sentence and replace the words, derivatives, futures and hedge funds with the words God, The Holy Ghost and Jesus Christ and you would replicate the a typical criticism the church receives within an atheist media. However God is not making me redundant, The Holy Ghost is not reclaiming my house and Jesus Christ comes for free. To be religious you have a choice but we have no such choice in belonging to our current Capitalist society, we are told this is truth and we must accept. Not even God can escape the four horseman of cuts, inflation, unemployment and debt but at least his followers can sing and dance waiting for a better life. Congregation's belief can make even a small church made from a pile of stones as rich as the kingdom heaven.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VXimZr9uw20/TYz3H3ldeDI/AAAAAAAAATk/D81u6YFyC0U/s1600/churches+082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VXimZr9uw20/TYz3H3ldeDI/AAAAAAAAATk/D81u6YFyC0U/s320/churches+082.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not wanting to patronise the reader but please see below for my biased definitions of derivatives, futures and hedge funds: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A derivative is a contract for payment between two parties that is a dated transaction and has no independent value but whose price is derived from an underlying asset (commodity, stock or share). Controversially a derivative has legal exemptions (in the US) and is an attractive proposition in extending credit despite the value of derivatives fluctuating based on the market. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A Future is a future contract for payment between two parties for a specific asset of standardized quantity and quality for a set price, with delivery of the asset occurring on a future date. In the future the asset may have lost or gained profit so it will always be gamble for the buyer and the seller and never a fair trade. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A hedge fund is a private pool of capital managed by an investment advisor. A hedge fund is only open to investment from accredited or qualified investors. Hedge funds look for trends in the global financial market to trade and their activities vary but they would not be as powerful if derivatives and futures did not exist. Arguably derivatives and futures can be used to counter balance the risk of trading, hence the term “Hedging,” in which the fund has the opportunity to make money from money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Personally all of these financial tools have no grounding in reality and merely make money from money or makes money from the belief people have in money, like gambling without the sport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-27785202277234088502011-11-19T18:41:00.000-08:002011-11-19T18:41:03.550-08:00St John on Bethnal Green, Cambridge Heath Road, 13.11.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zzdJHON_p4Y/TYzzg5CfJJI/AAAAAAAAAH4/0aqBryzsHfo/s1600/IMG_2792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zzdJHON_p4Y/TYzzg5CfJJI/AAAAAAAAAH4/0aqBryzsHfo/s400/IMG_2792.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A minute’s silence outside the Bethnal Green library took the length of an entire sermon. To be fair to that elongated minute it took several minutes beforehand for the parade of clergy, Territorial Army, Royal Marines and Navy, Her Majesty’s Air Force, the Metropolitan Police, St John’s Ambulance, several cadets, beavers, cubs and scouts, plus one peroxide blonde widow dressed in all black, several tearful families and the rest of the congregation to walk respectability down Cambridge Heath Road. Respectability does not rush and nor do most people on a Sunday when confronted with a memorial parade. My sympathies were with the regular congregation who with a sermonless service had to seek solace in the silence. The annual invaders had taken over the running of the church like their compatriots throughout the country, an institutionalised occupation not to be confused with the current protests that surround St Pauls. The price of the Anglican Church’s wealth is that once a year Jesus, The Holy Spirit and God himself are held hostage by the dead who had defended their names (despite most likely not believing in them). A week not for moral, theological, or metaphysical questions but instead an exercise in obedience masquerading as an act of remembrance. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A remembrance of people we had largely never met. The worship was such pure ritual and routine it could easily be mistaken for a military operation. A vast array of distinguished uniforms filled the nave which made the priest’s attire seem normal but the collection of camouflage was not an adequate distraction to my own questions. Ironically the one minute silence seemed to speak to me more than the familiar fifteen minute sermon. Within the spiritual void or the moral vacuum that was the silence I came up with my own pacifist plea for the pulpit. Following in the footsteps of my God serving Granddad who always resented remembrance Sunday here is my sermon on the silence I respectfully observed but cannot agree with.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A minute for who? And why not an hour? Who decided a minute for mourning was an adequate time to shed your tears? If we are remembering people we have never met why should I only remember those who have fought for the British forces? Is remembering something that you have never experienced a charitable lie? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But my questions feel like half formed sentences leading to their own answers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The minute is for the men and women of the British Armed Forces who died serving their country as well as the families and friends who have lost those close to them. It has to be a minute as an hour might allow the death toll to rise as more veterans, soldiers, cadets, scout, cubs and beavers could die. A minute is deliberately too short to shed any tears, so the minute becomes an annual symbolic medal that reaffirms British reserve when faced with such ritualistic tragedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s expected that we only remember our own but I cannot forget the pictures of the non-partisan burnt, dissembled, and dead bodies of Libya, Iraq, and Afghanistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My problem is that as a charitable lie our Remembrance Sunday is limited by locality and not generous enough to pay tribute to the dead enemies who are born from outside our shores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Clearly I am a lost liberal caught in a cloud of jingoistic nationalism that has grown to a more epidemic fever in recent years. Conduits to this rise of military nostalgia is the Sun newspaper’s Help for Heroes campaign, the influx of reality TV and documentaries on our Armed Forces and the PR<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>mourn machine that was Wootton Basset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A new season is upon us and this year the poppy has grown beyond its natural environment into the world of marketing. Forget the token paper flower or even the metal badge, we are pollinating the internet with our poppy idents, branching out into poppy car bumpers and branding any public services with poppy insignias.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grief is ubiquitous in our consumption and it threatens our sense of reality by becoming a token of the everyday. The silence and the signs assume our support for human sacrifice but such tragedy does not need to be tolerated. The entire media campaign finds the pacifist within me can only feel numb with anger. Anger reserved for the accusers who claim that I am being deliberately difficult, disrespectful and different in my choice not to wear a poppy on my jacket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who see my belief as apocryphal, arrogant, and antagonistic and are not willing to believe that it’s a thoughtful, considered and genuine response. Peace is only a pose in these people’s eyes and hypocrisy is natural. Who would want to see the popular poppy as a direct support to the unpopular wars in which our troops die? The Royal British Legion does great charitable work in helping the lives of troops and their families but it is still guilt money to the larger evil of war itself. If I am going to wear a symbol to commemorate those who have died in unnecessary violent conflicts then my symbol should unite all divisions because only in death are we all equal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OrhcgEqSDzA/TYzziTGHuiI/AAAAAAAAAIA/5vK9ZekLGbI/s1600/IMG_2794.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OrhcgEqSDzA/TYzziTGHuiI/AAAAAAAAAIA/5vK9ZekLGbI/s320/IMG_2794.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am all for freedom and ridding the world of tyranny but before we choose to save others we must emancipate ourselves from nationalism and we can start with the poppy. The Poppy has become a prisoner of war it does not belong to us or those who died on the battle fields of Bazra, Belfast or even Flanders. Long before mechanized warfare between nation states the poppy was a symbol of sleep, death and remembrance bound to no particular country, continent or history. Now the poppy seems to have been appropriated by the British and to a lesser extent its old colonies of Canada, Australia and New Zealand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alternatively we have the Peace Poppy, the white paper poppy that I spent two hours searching central London for to no avail. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The peace poppy is the pacifist’s attempt to fit into Remembrance Sunday it’s the sort of politically correct trite that appears clumsy but is well meaning and far more Christian in spirit. Why are Peace Poppies unpopular? Because peace is unpopular, unpopular because it does not make money and sadly wars do. Wars make a lot of money and and they also make lot of pretty paper red poppies. For some, war is to be supported but for others it is merely to be observed and there is no better way to observe the cost of war but in a silence that is shared with those not willing to be quiet. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Searching in the silence for some meaning I looked outside my obedient group, past the berets, caps and helmets I spotted a young quiet Muslim girl dressed in black from head to toe with only her enquiring face exposed. She was respectful and interested as her eyes inspected the parade on display. Observing a military Christian rite you would expect her to feel isolated but in the silence her presence became an acceptance or blank canvas for me to draw on. It would be wrong to presume all the thoughts that remain unsaid and to place my anger within her mouth. Anger at wars I had not fought in, anger at people I had not met and anger at myself for not succumbing to a sense of national pride: an anger that was only relieved by the remembrance of the dead being disturbed by the sound of the living. A silence unravelled by the sound of Sunday shopping, broken by the sound of congested traffic and then decimated by the earth shattering sound of sirens. Even in that minute of silence an ambulance sped down Cambridge Heath Road, followed by two police cars and one motorbike and it finally dawned on me that tragedy takes no time so we best make the most of the minutes that we have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-47125857720259802842011-11-13T15:12:00.000-08:002011-11-13T15:15:42.382-08:00Christ Church, Spitalfields, Commercial Street, 06.11.11.<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d0/Ch_ch_spitalfields.400px.jpg" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="File:Ch ch spitalfields.400px.jpg" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/d/d0/Ch_ch_spitalfields.400px.jpg/413px-Ch_ch_spitalfields.400px.jpg" width="220" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This Sunday is my birthday or last Sunday was my birthday (if we go by the post date) and I gave myself a little present by going to my favourite church in the East End, Christ Church Spitalfields. An unoriginal choice, the church has rightly been heralded as one of the most beautiful religious buildings in Europe. The building is a symbol of the changing face of London’s East End. The church was originally built from 1714 to 1729 based on the designs of Nicholas Hawksmoor. Hawksmoor was under the government incentive to assert an Anglican dominance over the migrant sections just outside the city (particularly French Protestant Hugenots). However the church’s restoration from 1976 to 2004 mirrors the gentrification of the area from East End slums predominantly inhabited by low income migrants to commercial buildings that currently house one of the most powerful financial sectors in the world. Anglican dominance seems to have survived in the form of commercial gentrification, not that the Anglican church appear to be very pleased with the banking world if the current St Pauls Occupation is anything to go by. A church with such history is hard to comprehend and that is not even considering its stunning architecture or the actual church service. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The congregation seem very proud of the building’s history but they don’t let that distract them from God. Self-consciously the church rector Andy Rider and curate Johnny Douglas mentioned the church’s fame as a tourist site and the need to remind outsiders that the building was still a practicing church. One of the gentleman mentioned this directly after I had informed a lady from<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the congregation of my agnostic pilgrimage, and that is was my birthday and how I had decided to reward myself by visiting the most architecturally beautiful church in London. As soon as my materialism had been mentioned within the service my weekly dose of guilt ran riot through my head. What was the true way to experience Christ Church? Not finding answers within the service like most believers, I took to the atheist’s bible, the Google search engine. My online discovery was that Christ Church has its very own Holy Trinity of websites, three very professional sites that explore three very different aspects of the building. They are listed below in order of importance (according to Google)</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 20.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Father: The Friends of Christ Church, A website dedicated to the restoration of Christ Church of Spitalfields. http://www.christchurchspitalfields.org/v2/home/home.shtml</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 20.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Son: Christ Church Spitalfields Venue, A website that markets all the venue potential for renting the church for private events. http://www.spitalfieldsvenue.org/node/1/</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 20.25pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Holy Spirit: The actual Anglican Church website dedicated to promoting the Word of God (Google clearly has no religious bias). http://www.ccspitalfields.org/</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt 2.25pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All of these websites are very impressive and are highly informative within their own fields. So impressive that it made my weekly blog entry even more irrelevant. It would be wrong to compare them and grade them but I was hard pushed to find a better way of illustrating the many dimensions to this geometrically astounding church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the beginning there was The Father (God) but in the history of Spitalfields the oldest building of Christian worship still practicing is Christ Church. The restoration that has returned the Church to its original form was led by “The Friends of Christ Church.” The group are affiliated with the church but are also separate body and did campaign with the Hawksmoor Committee in the 1970s to stop a <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">wholesale demolition of the empty building—proposed by the then Bishop of Stepney, Trevor Huddleston. True to form the Anglican Church later saw the opportunity </span>“The Friends of Christ Church” presented and they began to work together. “The Friends of Christ Church” of Spitalfields started in 1976 and has raised and spent £10 million on an award winning restoration. The restoration was a long and patient process that was hugely praised for its attention to detail in recapturing Hawksmoor’s original design. The whole building restoration spanned from 1976 to 2004 and “The Friends of Christ Church” continue to raise money with the hope of restoring the 1735 organ. The website is great in exploring the history of the building and providing a context to the wonders that surround me. Anyone who has visited the church and was inspired by its beauty should visit the site but it does not speak for the building today and its modern use as a Church but also as a venue. </span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1f/Christ_Church_037.jpg" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="File:Christ Church 037.jpg" height="320" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/1/1f/Christ_Church_037.jpg/450px-Christ_Church_037.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="fullImageLink" id="file" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Like Our Father who gave us his Son, Christ Church’s restoration has born a new generation in the church’s life. The church has always been a house of God but now like Jesus it’s taken god’s house out to the heathens. Unlike Jesus, Christ Church Venue management are less interested in selfless acts of charity but instead motivated by commercial profit. “Christ Church Spitalfield Venue” is an architecturally pornographic website gratuitously selling the beautiful building for multiple functions, “where every event becomes a unique experience,” (to quote the website). You can choose your venue location. The nave is presented as the essential luxury, described as an “oak panelled hall, with Purbeck stone and a ceiling of flowers, each one unique.” You can expand your event to the gallery that has a capacity of 125 and has an Entertainment licence or you could decide just to rent the old Vestry room located in the tower with<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“ spectacular views down Brushfield street to the city,” ideal for those intimate corporate meetings. The site suggests renting the church for an event, corporate meetings, public events, music concerts or theatre or even the traditional wedding and baptism. Don’t worry about all the other amenities as the site offers various different catering and choice of lighting production for your event. Christ Church is the modern Anglican building like a rundown school that’s become a specialist Sports Academy who rent their equipment for commercial gain outside the building’s day job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite being extremely accurate and calculated in its descriptions of Christ Church’s “unique” architectural worth the website does predictably lack a soul. A soul I hoped to find through visiting the congregation. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Holy Spirit comes from the people within the church and it’s the job of the believer to keep it alive, so it would be a disservice (excuse the pun) to review the Church’s website in drawing conclusions about the congregation. People may provide the spirit of the Lord but a certain place will attract a certain congregation. The congregation appeared to be from richer, more educated and from more middle class stock than churches that are housed further from the city. It was not money that made an impression on me (despite sitting in a £10 million restored Hawksmoor nave) but creativity. The modern Christian hymns had an evangelical vibe, live bands putting Bible stories to the melodies of Snow Patrol, Cold Play or some other mediocre, inoffensive rock band. The atmosphere was impressive in comparison to the more rigid sung Eucharist practiced at more high Anglican churches across the East End and Communion was replaced by a community lunch. The congregation felt like a modern Christian community and was led by the rector Andy Rider, who carried the air of a man auditioning for Songs of Praise as he welcomed people to “join him in exploring the character of Jesus and partaking on a journey to see God in the everyday.” Andy’s casual but considerate English demeanour was countered by a passionate, in your face, Irish curate, Johnny Douglas. Johnny had the demeanour of a stand up, so articulate he verged on the poetic, his sermon creatively digressed until it felt like one man’s theological monologue written for the stage. Impassioned personalities are highly seductive and ultimately disappointing when you realise that for all Douglas’s dramatic and complex word play he was simply praising his love for Jesus. I was impressed by the service but like the websites it fell short of describing my love for Christ Church. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My love for Christ Church is ethereal, over the last year if I have learned anything from going to church is that love for a Christian is a belief that is only explained as a feeling despite the Bible’s attempts to articulate its meaning. So a part of me knows I will spectacularly fail to explain my love for Christ Church in this remaining paragraph and it will remain an elusive and private pleasure. To experience any building one should visit but hearing other perspectives can still enrich ones impression. So here is my web testimony, I would not call it a poem, musings sounds too high brow, I think pretentious drivel is more an accurate description but what do you expect when a man with an insufficient vocabulary is faced with a building of such magnificence.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C5FQ64ORr3Y/TYz2SJsq3UI/AAAAAAAAAPE/7SgyguyDeSY/s1600/churches+014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C5FQ64ORr3Y/TYz2SJsq3UI/AAAAAAAAAPE/7SgyguyDeSY/s640/churches+014.jpg" width="425" /></a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">GODS HOUSE</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The door drags you into its depths</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While the spire stretches for the sky</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It appears to looms over you yet leans away</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Heaven should not be this hypnotic</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Such seduction feels almost satanic</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A Contorted Christian</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The building simultaneously rises as it falls</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The higher my head goes up the lower it sinks</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Eyes caught between cocoons of time</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">God’s country knows no borders</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As a Greek pediment perches on a collection of Tuscan Columns</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This bricolage bastard is from Venice, Paris and Athens</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An architectural migrant from the many motherlands</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It marks where old countries end</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And new ones are born</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Born from the bones of the old</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">They have call it “British Baroque,”</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sounds so stupid it must make sense</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not a sense that can be explained in a sentence</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or the sense that helps you see, hear, smell, taste or touch</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But the sense that helps form the sensual</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sense taken from sensational</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A sense caught between senseless nonsense</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like Christ in a Church.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-66286929456836821882011-11-06T13:25:00.000-08:002011-11-17T18:44:19.570-08:00Shiloh Pentecostal Church, Ashwin Street, Dalston, 30.10.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pc0oy0kVsZA/TmOvO6K7Q9I/AAAAAAAAAiM/O_Q3TXZ6tp4/s1600/IMG_3068.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" ida="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pc0oy0kVsZA/TmOvO6K7Q9I/AAAAAAAAAiM/O_Q3TXZ6tp4/s400/IMG_3068.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Ok here is something a bit different. I have been getting a bit bored of the sound of my own writing (but I still love an oxymoron). So I have decided to write a piece of fiction inspired by my visit to Shiloh Pentecostal Church on Ashwin Street . None of these names in my post are real people and some information has been altered to avoid upsetting certain people. Most of what is written is a white middle class agnostic boy’s fantasy about an elderly working class West Indian Christian woman. Hope it’s not as portentously offensive as I first feared. Pray for me.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sister Seymour don’t smile! So say the children. The pearls of her mouth stay hidden when the children use such poor grammar. A steely stern face with a square jaw and beady eyes are set in a forever frown, unforgettable in her expression and inquisitive of others. An aged beauty queen, she wears her maturity proudly but stiffly, her captivating appearance demands attention but her temperament will turn to anger at those who stare. Once pretty but now glamorous, she is an icon mistaken for a relic by those outside the church walls. Casting a stretching shadow from such a small stature, her presence is as far reaching and powerful as her frame is thin and frail. The children don’t know why they are scared but they are, maybe it’s because Sister Seymour asks so many questions without speaking a word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What reasons can be read from those wrinkles? Who got the goat of the God fearing Gran? And why should the children share her scorn? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So much time has passed Sister Seymour that she is destined to be late. Feet, ankles, calves, knees, thighs are all set to slower clock hands than life itself. Luckily Shiloh Pentecostal Church’s sole purpose is to elevate oneself outside time and bask in God’s loving grace. Shiloh’s pure spiritual worship is not restricted by the routine rituals of other churches. God is never late the congregation are always early and Sister Seymour follows the Lord so devoutly that she perpetuates his poor time keeping. Straddled between the wooden stair bannister and her elderly companion Dorothy for support, Sister Seymour makes her entrance an hour into the choir’s rhythmic heavy hymn harmonies. Leaving the stairs Dorothy takes all her weight only alleviated by handshakes and hugs that shepherd Sister Seymour to her seat. Everyone knows that without Dorothy such an entrance might not have been possible, everyone knows except Sister Seymour.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dorothy don’t complain, Christians can’t or shouldn’t. Dorothy knows it will be her time soon, to be the weight that all good Christians must carry. Sister Seymour is not grateful because it is Gods will, Dorothy, Kima, Sister Clarence are all part of God’s chosen few. No hindrance it should be an honour. The Lord is repaying her for 70 years of dedication to spreading his good word but also the millions of escorts she facilitated that saw the elderly West Indian Christian female community of east London be transported from their humble houses to his glorious home. Not that Sister Seymour dislikes Dorothy she finds her company comforting, it’s just that Dorothy is twenty years younger in age and thirty in spirit. Dorothy dresses like a good Christian woman, wearing a bright blue patterned headscarf and matching dress that covers her knees and shoulders offset by a regulatory plain beige raincoat. The blue is a bit too strong on the eyes for Sister Seymour who prefers conventional black and white dresses and wears a large brown cloth hat instead of a head scarf. No Dorothy is definitely the image of Pentecostal purity but she has a tendency to hurry and hassle and sometimes fuss and fight with others, always with opinions that need to be heard to be validated. Sister Seymour reasons that this is due to her spiritually searching; that Dorothy is slightly unrested and insecure in her soul; She will come of age, Sister Seymour knows this to be true and like her she will be more spiritually at peace. Eventually Dorothy will abandon her dynamo dancing for a slower and more constant form of spirituality but for now she must enjoy her senior youth. Sister Seymour does not need to search for God she knows he is here in her and she won’t let him leave. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A Christian circus of celebration or “a carnival to life,” as one past pastor once described Sunday worship. It still entertains, fascinates and touches Sister Seymour but now she knows how to appreciate God in his many images and not just through her own connection. God is most gratuitously on show in the feverish dancing that fills the nave, arms waving, bums waggling; such infectious celebration makes the congregation conduits to the Holy Spirit. For a time she thought God needed her groove and her spirit would be lacking if she constrained her celebrations but she has become wiser to his ways. Cathartic cries from the congregation in response to the choir chimes are essential to church but they no longer hold the key to Sister Seymour’s faith. She can sing him in silence and knows he will hear. Not that the sight of such ceremony does not stoke her heart and give hope for God’s future when she is gone. Raised as a good Methodist girl she remembers coming to this country and it taking years for others to let her celebrate God’s loving grace as she had back home. Joining the Shiloh Pentecostal church in 1978 she recalls the long road to acceptance that led to the regular Sunday serenade of God’s good work in a chapel that the congregation could call their own. Moving into a new building filled with discarded wooden pews from other churches the congregation believed they could never have been richer but now they have a full band, large choir, live PA system, overhead projector and further plans to add a lift to tackle the outside stairs, as well as HD plasma screens for hymns, readings and sermons and even plans ea new vestry. The church has learned that God’s loving grace knows no financial limit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time has taught Sister Seymour that such material wealth should not cocoon the church and all new found riches bestowed on the Sunday service should be balanced with preaching the good lord’s word in the pouring wet cold outside Dalston Kingsland’s Shopping Centre on a Saturday.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nwZT7I6Y0Ug/TmOvSAT4zOI/AAAAAAAAAic/suQ4f1phB0c/s1600/IMG_3072.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" ida="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nwZT7I6Y0Ug/TmOvSAT4zOI/AAAAAAAAAic/suQ4f1phB0c/s320/IMG_3072.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Others have been and gone but their faces live on in the families that still go to Shiloh. The cycle of Christian learning is passed down through generations. Many would not remember the conceiving of Kayla, the sweet and attentive usherette whose father was the scandalous Derek but Sister Seymour knows all. She was pleased to know, that such a sweet natured girl could come from the neglectful nurture of an often absent father. Age had given her a better perspective of God’s work so she had grown silently tolerant to people’s inadequacies especially the well intentioned. Recent young pastors pleased her but no longer seduced her like the preachers from her past. The young faced, fine dressed and some called handsome preacher from Antigua was such a man that might once have had her swooning in the aisles but he is but a boy to her old eyes. Like the others he too was learning. Last week’s sermon was far too long, the reading could have been paraphrased, the jokes at his wife’s expense were not suitable for a Sunday and the young pastor was yet to learn how to climax a religious rant into an uplifting halleluiah. All these points can be improved once given the time but time cannot save “the broken,” and time has not yet begun for “the reborn.” “The broken, and “the reborn,” are Christian infants and the church’s essential charity cause.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bessie Walcott calls them “the broken,” but Sister Seymour has learned how cruel and unchristian such gossip and name calling can be. True they are on the fringes of the church community but they are God’s children and Sister Seymour in her later years has found more hope from “the broken,” than from the self-declared saved. Positioned at the back of the nave behind the sound desk “the broken,” are not united by one disability but have been victim to the devil’s many afflictions. Some medical, others mental, but none spiritually disadvantaged. Joy cannot be broken it can only fix one’s soul, so when watching the collection of life’s casualties find such pleasure Sister Seymour almost has reasons to smile but she saves that for the yet to be “reborn.” </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The children are clustered in the church corner to the right of the sound desk just in front of “the broken.” More often silent than singing, any non-Christian sound would rightly be scolded by a stare from Sister Seymour. As a self-declared grand high matriarch, her role to rule with an iron fist that is never raised makes her a passive dictator. Only through obedience and discipline can children be reborn to a Christian life, like the disadvantaged their struggle is far more honest to Sister Seymour’s eyes. Not that all the children listen, a broken window in the church nave indicates that few delinquents venture into the church except through chucking stones. The ones who are willing to be taught the trials of life through the cold face of Sister Seymour will gain her approval but it will not be recognised till she feels it’s deserved. The longer the wait the better has always been her reasoning; a few times she let her expression succumb to a smile which caused the children to shout with joy at her amazing pearls on display. A smile is free but does not need to be cheap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her own wait has been long and she feels better for it, she is ready herself to see the smile of God and she can feel his mouth creasing at the prospect of welcoming her to heaven. Church quickly taught her that the joy of God is a loud and wondrous thing but only through life has she gradually learned that it is also contemplative and silent. Some spiritualism is so hard to describe it can only exist though an absence, like a face without a smile.</span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-842410074068394312011-10-30T12:48:00.000-07:002011-10-30T12:50:40.416-07:00St Annes, Underwood Road, Tower Hamlets, 23.10.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WzmgC__Bprw/TmOvdv9msnI/AAAAAAAAAjQ/iHJzj3uLW2k/s1600/IMG_3085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" ida="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WzmgC__Bprw/TmOvdv9msnI/AAAAAAAAAjQ/iHJzj3uLW2k/s640/IMG_3085.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are all starving African children in need of spiritual nourishment according to the Reverend of St Anne’s Roman Catholic Church. Inspired by the latest Oxfam poster campaign with its images of impoverished children our Reverend drew an unintentionally offensive and grossly insensitive comparison to the real famines within the developing world and the plague of atheism in our own. I like a creative metaphor or an exaggerated analogy but the Reverend’s use of Oxfam’s startling images of poverty to sell his God instead of raising funds was beyond opportunistic and verging on the exploitative. Should I expect better from the Catholic Church? They did manage to colonise half the world in the name of charity. I think my shock came when it was declared that this Sunday was Mission Sunday but the service lacked any clear charitable aspirations. The only form of social outreach advocated by the Reverend was that members of the congregation should invite a stranger to church. The Catholic church seemed to think that as long as everyone repents we will not need to raise money to fight the famines, floods and plagues of Armageddon because we will all be safe in heaven. Christianity is so entwined with charity it can be hard to distinguish the churches who really want to help and those who actually need help (i.e more recruits).</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christians want to save people but also many outreach programmes are not interested with ramming God down ones throat instead are wisely more concerned with force feeding the needy with something more essential, like hot food. Fine examples of Christian outreaches in East London that do more practicing than preaching are: The Whitechapel Mission Church established in 1876 as a soup kitchen for destitute lads but has developed into a Methodist outreach programme that provides domestic facilities for the homeless; showers, clothes, counselling, postal address, legal advice, everything but a home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Similarly Acorn House is a rehab centre run in the grounds of and by the parishioners of St Leonards of Shoreditch. Also St John at Hackney turns the church’s the grand oval nave into a winter night shelter from October to April. I have been less impressed by the Alpha Course or Street Pastor programmes which are not geared to a specific local community or church but alternatively run on a more corporate level with cost charges for their volunteers. The larger corporate outreach programmes seem to focus on the needs of the volunteers over the needs of the client and therefore appear tokenistic not fulfilling a Jesus Christ level of masochism. It’s essential that Christians give back to society but it seems a never-ending debate on what is the most appropriate form of charity. Catholics have obviously decided that the only thing we need to give is the word of God and here lies the accusations of corruption, greed, and hypocrisy.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A Catholic service is an exercise in obedience but also a charitable act. When the congregation pray for forgiveness and receive the Holy Sacrament the congregation are playing a well-rehearsed role of guilty sinner seeking mercy and love from The Almighty. The ritual cannot be changed as it determines the relationship of power. Unlike the more celebratory evangelical services that raise the Holy Spirit, the Eucharist’s set formula creates a clear separation between God and his followers. Catholics hold the most rigid of church services and clearly see the body of Christ as all the food you need to eat on this Earth which would be admirable if the Roman Catholic Church was not the richest in the world. Not that you need to travel to the Vatican to see the hypocrisy of the Catholic Church even in the low, run down areas of London’s East End, you can see wealth peppered around the antique like architectural beauty of St Anne’s of Bethnal Green. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hRVFn7-1_3A/TmOvZlnvDUI/AAAAAAAAAjA/WfDMS2xWsA0/s1600/IMG_3081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hRVFn7-1_3A/TmOvZlnvDUI/AAAAAAAAAjA/WfDMS2xWsA0/s400/IMG_3081.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9fditcBRGwY/TmOvb3ryXHI/AAAAAAAAAjI/5jGpHZ9nUl4/s1600/IMG_3083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9fditcBRGwY/TmOvb3ryXHI/AAAAAAAAAjI/5jGpHZ9nUl4/s320/IMG_3083.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I counted 38 stone statue angels in varying sizes within the nave, 24 rogue heads overlooking the arched windows, approximately 12 Marys carved from the finest stones, 44 candle sticks, 36 golden and 8 iron, a blinding number of lights, 14 potted plants, a marble gothic altar of saints and angels and a hoard of adornments so luxurious I could not imagine their names. All of these treasures were contained in a 1850s chapel made out of Kentish rag stone with a large rose window over the rustic wooden front door. Every brick and piece of stone inside and out you wanted to smash to see if it was filled with gold. The buildings collection of timeless religious paraphernalia made it feel outside clear modern economic distinctions. Call it age, maturity, history, the church’s opulence felt priceless or is it? A listed building with various antique decorations gave the impression of something greater than grandeur, a place of divine spiritual significance however that’s what the Catholic want you to believe when in reality the church and its many treasures could be used to raise funds for more worthwhile causes. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Reverend seemed to forget that Jesus did not require followers by preaching that he was the son of God but by performing acts of charity that provided for others and did not benefit him. Arguably the wealth of a church depends on the faith of its followers and despite the grandeur and glamour of Catholicism its money is non-transferable to charity, yet there is no larger or more powerful religious institution in the world. I find it sad that in the poorest areas of the world many will swallow the word of God because they are hungry for food but in the richer society we eat the poor as if they are food in the hope it will bring us closer to God. We eat them as news stories for our papers and TV programmes, as charitable causes for our outreach programmes, and as illustrative victims for our own agenda. We never eat them for who they are but for who we want them to be.</span></span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-29295155008332614002011-10-23T01:54:00.000-07:002011-10-23T01:54:49.446-07:00St Peters of Bethnal Green, St Peters Avenue, 16.10.11,<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ai3WStBpJw4/TYzzb86k-9I/AAAAAAAAAHg/ZRm-JpxEXOw/s1600/IMG_2786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" rda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ai3WStBpJw4/TYzzb86k-9I/AAAAAAAAAHg/ZRm-JpxEXOw/s400/IMG_2786.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week I have not had the time for God or God’s not had the time for me, therefore I decided to attend a short but sweet Anglican service at St Peters of Bethnal Green. The Anglican Church specialises in keeping God alive in the lives of people who would normally not have much time for him. Forever modernising to keep their traditions current, the Anglican Church contains some of the most progressive thinkers but also the most dwindling number of followers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In contrast to the more recently formed American Pentecostal church who specialise in conservative rhetoric and raising the Holy Spirit, the Anglican Church offer liberal contemplation with a modern makeover. A key facet of being a modern liberal Christian is seeing God in everything you believe to be good. God does not simply exist in the scriptures but also in all of life itself; it takes effort to justify this perspective, an effort I just don’t have the time for. Christians take God from The Bible and relate him to their lives and in doing so they contribute to his creation and development, this is not blasphemous because The Bible and the Anglican Church wants them to do this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Reverend Adam Atkinson constantly switched from appearing sincere to smarmy so that you expected he was a politician in a previous life. An Average looking, white, short, male with glasses he was so physically unassuming you were shocked at his lucid and easy going public speaking manner, he was the quintessential priest next door, the good neighbour. Eager to promote a God that can be the be all and end all for his entire congregation, his sermon took the first Bible reading from the book of Isaiah chapter 45.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This verse has liberal emphasise on God existing in all things, being the creator of good and bad instead of separating morality into two distinctions of the devil and God himself.</span></div><sup>7</sup> I form the light and create darkness, <br />
I bring prosperity and create disaster; <br />
I, the LORD, do all these things. <br />
Book of Isaiah, Chapter 45, Verse 7.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zfnhUHeC0ew/TYzzbGeMypI/AAAAAAAAAHc/069XvTEr61Y/s1600/IMG_2785.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" rda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zfnhUHeC0ew/TYzzbGeMypI/AAAAAAAAAHc/069XvTEr61Y/s200/IMG_2785.jpg" width="133" /></a><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">The congregation of St Peters appeared to have found god in all things and achieved Atkinson’s mission to contemporise Christianity. The service begun with a few Christian pop hymns led by a young resident singer song writer, had an interval which consisted of a Facebook montage celebrating a year of Atkinson’s leadership set to a ska soundtrack and concluded with a Bible reading from the stylish all black cover of the New International Version Bible. The covers only text was a black letter acronym “N.I.V” that looked more at home in the Death Metal section of HMV than in the house of God. Disregarding all the fads and fashions that were incorporated into the Sunday worship, the most impressive monument to God was the building itself. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Nestled on St Peter’s Avenue, the church is surrounded by small flats and a school placed in the centre of the square. Its modest flint exterior is powerful for its unusual location and is an understated but confident structure. Unlike Hawksmoor’s baroque churches that demand your attention or the post WW2 churches that look to a new egalitarian Christian building, St Peters was built in the 1800s but defies its origins. St Peter’s would be more fittingly placed on the rural broads of East Anglia than in the centre of multicultural East London. The building has had many renovations but no restoration, like the congregation the building attempts to combine the old traditions with a modern slant. The triangular peak to the spire is so basic but executed so well it does not need the architectural complications of other churches. I cannot see god in the trendy bible covers, Christian pop hymns or Facebook montages but I can appreciate the longevity of God’s people in the unique architecture of St Peters. </span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ujhDt9LyScY/TYzzYnsABdI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/N5kCA71S8S8/s1600/IMG_2782.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ujhDt9LyScY/TYzzYnsABdI/AAAAAAAAAHQ/N5kCA71S8S8/s320/IMG_2782.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">Reverend Atkinson was not merely interested in appropriating Facebook, pop songs, and trendy book covers or even celebrating the church’s architectural history, his reading of the Book of Isaiah was asking for the congregation to find God in other areas of their own lives. An important facet of Christianity is it offers individuals the opportunities to personalise God to their own interests thus taking part in his creation and here lies my problem.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am currently in the middle of the London Film Festival working as a Box Office manager working for 10 to 13 hours a day, thirteen days straight. Most of my job is dealing with the mass selling of tickets but the few upset individuals who are unhappy with my service will be the people I remember. I do not want to find God in my work, amongst ticket requests, full inboxes, pointless meetings, customer complaints, technical difficulties, disgruntled colleagues, unnecessary stress and general monotony. I like my job but it’s not a religion and I do it for the money not the love of cinema (which I have always had).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am resigned that I will never find God in church but Atkinson did make me realise that I can find my God in what I do. I can find a spiritual sense of self and integrity by exploring my own interests and through these interest I can feel closer to life, predictably for an agnostic these moments are fleeting and therefore more resonant.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">So this is my week’s montage of flickers of godliness: Unfinished sentences that make sense in my head but I cannot read from the page, cycling through the park on a cold crisp sunny October day, singing along to a brass band cover version of Sexual Healing while still in my dressing gown, watching old regulars at work fall asleep on the foyer’s sofas as life continues around them, only awake for cinema but <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>asleep during real life, the hundreds of epiphanies I have between my head touching the pillow and falling asleep (not that I can remember them), a nice cup of tea, dancing in the shower to Funky Good Time, laughing and not being able recall the joke. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">God is created by people and that is why he is powerful but I will not be limited by the belief in one God. The book of Isaiah wants you to think of all the infinite possibilities God has created but ironically one of those possibilities is a world without Bible, the Church and even him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-38878566993360518422011-10-15T18:50:00.000-07:002011-10-15T18:50:27.191-07:00Our Lady Immaculate Catholic Church, Limehouse, Commercial Road, 9.10.11.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/brCnq5VUBDk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Comedians love to take the piss out of the Catholic Church. Catholicism is one of the oldest comedic targets. Only Judaism has sourced more comedy (yet most Jewish jokes are made by Jewish comedians and are often in relation to their race rather than faith). Not that the Catholic Church would give three Hail Marys for the humorous views of a bunch of heretics. The Catholic Church has survived many reformations, sectarian violence and religious wars so a few jokes are not going to hurt them. When you are as old as the Catholic Church it must be hard not to laugh at the criticism and controversy you cause. History has taught the Catholic Church to never take its persecutors seriously and remain defiant of all political attacks. It’s not the rich, beautiful, Baroque buildings of Italy that tempt atheist tourism that have kept the Catholic Church popular it’s the blind faith of its internationally poor and impoverished followers. Doug Stanhope’s joke takes two stereotypes and merely indicates the hypocrisy of history written by the victor that mirrors my own reactionary views towards the Catholic Church. The Catholic Church might not care about their past but atheists and agnostics do, and history not faith has fuelled a divide between the two. Regular readers will have noticed I am more a fan of the jubilant services of the politically right wing Pentecostalists than the routine ritual and religious dogma of a Catholic service. If I am going to worship with groups I politically disagree with I would rather sing and dance than reluctantly join a chorus of whispers disguised as prayers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Aware I should leave my conservative comfort zone this Sunday I visited Our Lady Immaculate Catholic Church on Commercial Road. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A4ggisfRMkI/TYz4v6sa3tI/AAAAAAAAAb4/T6CdkY4OXWQ/s1600/churches+208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-A4ggisfRMkI/TYz4v6sa3tI/AAAAAAAAAb4/T6CdkY4OXWQ/s320/churches+208.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I may not be fan of the Catholic Church but arriving at the service I was shocked at the large, culturally and ethnically diverse congregation. Our Lady Immaculate was a very popular woman and I had to sit in the balcony to get any view of the service. The narrow building had unbelievable depth once inside, that its tall exterior hid from the outsider’s eye. Built in 1934 the church appeared like a giant chimney on the busy main road but inside the sparkling candle lit nave was most heavily adorned by people of all colour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we all trawled through the routine prayers and hymns which I could surprising mime correctly without looking at the pamphlet, my eyes were distracted by the congregation. Chinese, Punjabi, Tamil, Italian, Polish, Peruvian, South American, West Indian, Nigerian, Ghanaian, Irish, Philippinoes and cockneys. This was a proper East End congregation, migrants from all over the globe united by Europe’s most popular religious export. The more liberal minded Anglican Church would be envious of such diversity; Stanhope had correctly stated the Catholic Church “is more popular than ever.” The global cross section of the congregation was neatly explained by Reverend’s sermon based on the reading of Jesus’s parable from the Book of Mathew Chapter 22. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the parable a “certain king” made a supper to celebrate the marriage of his son and invited many to come. Sadly the “certain king” was not that popular so his invitation was rejected by some and his servants beaten by others (the Biblical era was far more brutal than the simple online world of Facebook).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Angered, the “certain king” retaliated on his rude invitees but also instructed his servants to invite everyone across the land to come, calling for the “the good and the bad” to attend. At the wedding banquet the King discovered one man not wearing the traditional wedding garment as was the custom; unconvinced of the man’s excuses he banished the man from the wedding. Jesus ends the parable with the warning that “many are called but few are chosen” (Mathew 22.4) which adds a lot of gravitas to a really shit story. The parable is very a simple story to highlight that God welcomes everyone but one will only be accepted into heaven by following God through the teachings of Jesus Christ. In the Bible Jesus uses the parable to have a dig at the Jews who will later betray him but the Reverend was using the parable in a larger modern context. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pzYyrk64O2o/TYz4t9M6V1I/AAAAAAAAAbo/f7XD_2x1OTI/s1600/churches+205.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pzYyrk64O2o/TYz4t9M6V1I/AAAAAAAAAbo/f7XD_2x1OTI/s320/churches+205.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Reverend reminded the congregation that all are welcome but some of us are just “sleep walking” through the service. I am unsure what the Reverend wanted from his congregation, the diverse group all found Christ in different ways and are unified through the church but what does he see as an adequate understanding of Jesus Christ. Catholic services provide a ritual unison but I have yet to experience a sermon which actually specifically questions ones existence towards God (which is so common in the Anglican Church). The sermon seemed to merely prey on the fears of the congregation that they are not Christian enough without indicating what it is to be Christian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the Reverend wanted the congregation to awake to spiritual investigation he needs to find better parables. I am not “sleep walking” I would actually describe my experience as attempting not to daydream of God by battling with the rhythmic rituals that bombard you throughout the service. I think the lack of depth of the sermon was typical of the church’s need to appeal to such a wide audience but what the sermon lacked in spiritual depth the ritual enriched. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rituals can be seductive; it’s so easy to be a slave to the sacrament rather than question the repetition and routine. Conformity is a comfort and the group prayers that I once found scared me I now find a hugely reassuring feature to my week. It is easier to sleep walk in a crowd at a Sunday service than it is during a mid-week lone confession. Looking over the large congregation from the balcony it was touching to see the same text spoken so many ways, some mime the words, others are brave enough to mutter, rare solitary shouters lead the service, mothers are often too busy orchestrating their children and some singletons blindly smile as they speak the text in their head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the ritual attempt to build unity no ritual can ever be the same and are forever different but they do legitimise the ridiculous. Staring into the sanctuary I was amazed at the grotesque grandeur and glamour. Black and white marble squared floor separated the masses from the holy area. The white and egg shell marble altar had three levels; the top level burned in hope of the heavens with six candle sticks; a congested central level consisted of two candle sticks separated by four potted plants and a heavily adorned holy box; while the lowest level was decorated with shimmering tea lights. The sanctuary shone with wealth like a nouveaux rich house except this brick had been bought by some seriously old money. The grandeur of the sanctuary and the mutters of the mass ritual are instantly recognisable but that does not make it any less ridiculous.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Catholic Church’s success has been built on conformity. As long as the majority don’t see hypocrisy in the Sistine Chapel and hilarity in the Holy Communion it will remain a social norm and comedic target. I can’t help being the comedian (despite how unfunny I am) it’s an essential default when faced by such mass approval so as to demonstrate your own individualism. My comfort are the jokes that attack such powerful establishments, comedy is essential in highlighting the silliness and corruption of institutions and Doug Stanhope’s brash manner might have attacked the political hypocrisy of the church but you can equally laugh at the ritual. In contrast to Stanhope I have posted a Dave Allen sketch which is 30 years older. The sketch appears very innocent but at the time it was far more mainstream and controversial than Stanhope. What like the sketch it is a comment on religious ritual, except this ritual is simple to understand and therefore far less ridiculous. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
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</div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-383064085998563692011-10-09T16:23:00.000-07:002011-10-09T16:25:37.328-07:00Christ Apostolic Church, Mount Bethel, Kingsland Road, 2.10.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8n4ZDNiO_4c/TYz0Se6y2SI/AAAAAAAAALs/MuCuAMubAmc/s1600/IMG_2850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" kca="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8n4ZDNiO_4c/TYz0Se6y2SI/AAAAAAAAALs/MuCuAMubAmc/s400/IMG_2850.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When attending church I am always looking to connect with another member of the congregation but often find myself projecting my emotions onto the innocence of children. Children are blank canvases on which adults can paint the gaudiest sentimental portraits and I often seek solace in their vulnerability in the hope that it mirrors my own. Everything seems new to a child and every week a church is another new experience for myself. Arriving at Mount Bethel on the Kingsland Road I was ignorant as to the history of the large brown brick church complex and the cultural history of Christ Apostolic Church, so in some respects my initial impressions were as innocent as that of a child. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mnDgqvaW7gw/TYz0WeA_LTI/AAAAAAAAAMA/BuNsy2eFVhM/s1600/IMG_2854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" kca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mnDgqvaW7gw/TYz0WeA_LTI/AAAAAAAAAMA/BuNsy2eFVhM/s320/IMG_2854.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To my naive eyes the CAC seemed a highly privileged congregation in comparison to the other Western African evangelists of east London but I was yet to learn that the building’s grandeur was a product of over thirty years of hard work and determination. I had yet to read how the CAC UK branch had been founded in January 1974 by (church declared apostle) Ayo Omideyi in a Finsbury Park bedsit. From these humble beginnings the congregation moved to 52 Priory Street before they rented Campsbourne Baptist Church in 1976 until the congregation grew in size and wealth so that they could own their own building on Haringey Road and finally buy, renovate and refurbish Mount Bethel on Kingsland Road in 1980.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The building and refurbishment is very impressive and was not fully completed till 1989, pictures of the renovation can be found on the website (<a href="http://www.cacbethel.org/">http://www.cacbethel.org/</a>). My other blind spot was that the church founder Apostle Ayo Omideyi had died earlier in the week. Throughout the service the congregation spoke of their love for “Papa,” (who I now realise was Omideyi) and his enormous power, so powerful that I mistook their memorial testimonies as prayers for salvation to The Almighty. Only after the service did I learn the reason for the very long emotional outpouring of the congregation. Not that the service was all doom and gloom, it did feature the amazing Bethel Gospel Choir, some less amazing karaoke African hymn singing and a lot of dancing. Only during the testimonies was I alienated by the intensity of the hysteria (that I now know to be grief) and took refuge in the unimpressed, uninterested and unamused children of the congregation. Some of the children even took refuge in me.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X7FUFhz041U/TYz0VgerCJI/AAAAAAAAAL8/EahRdzA91kM/s1600/IMG_2853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X7FUFhz041U/TYz0VgerCJI/AAAAAAAAAL8/EahRdzA91kM/s320/IMG_2853.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Walking down the central aisle of the large nave that separated the congregation into male and female it was startling to see the left hand side filled with rows of women stretching to the back of the building and the right hand side containing about 8 rows of predominantly young boys and the occasional male chaperone. Maybe it was the constant prayers for “Papa” but the congregation was clearly missing father figures and two sweetly spiritless boys’ sick of the predominantly female singing celebrations took an interest in me. Tired and doe eyed they moved close fast, travelling three rows by the end of one hymn with the prime purpose to stare at the young white intruder. The innocence of their inquisitive looks was caught in the depths of their eyes but they carried an apprehension to talk to me directly. Not wanting to break any etiquette or code I continued to attempt to partake in the service. They stared at me as I sung, stared at me as I danced, stared at me listening, stared at me staring. The most magical moment was during the final prayer in which with my head down I opened my eyes only to be peek a booed by my young tormentors. The tables had been turned. Bored with their own Sunday worship the two had taken voyeuristic interest in the uninvited documentarian. For once my connection with the children of the congregation was not built on my own projections but common and mutual intrigue with each other born out of boredom with the service. Ironic that their constant observation led me to try harder in prayer, singing and getting closer to God in comparison to them distancing and distracting themselves from their families, friends and God. Not all children are caught in a general malaise towards God some really go for it and therefore they are a little less interested in me, especially the young men who have father figures who forever hang over their shoulders. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My shadows were dressed in replica England football shirts and appeared parentless within the male contingent and with no Sunday school they had made the church their playground. In comparison an extremely smartly dress boy stood forever at the front, suited and booted in his lavish Sunday best he was the only replica of the father who stood over him. Dressed in a black pin striped waist coat to match his jacket and trousers the boy was overly adorned and had to remove his three pieces as his dancing grew more erratic. When the boy ran the risk of getting over excited his father would offer his hand to hold, so he could guide the youngster to a more stable and accepted rhythm and channel his high spirits in the correct manner. The older generation bonding without the use of bible but through dance had created a more primal, physical and ethereal legacy of which only the initiated would understand. Oddly the boy’s celebration was not without criticism as during end of a hymn and the start of a testimony the boy had some trouble with silencing his tambourine. The general glares and mimed shshing produced such a collective invisible punch that the child’s expression was like he had been slapped across the face. Like me he seemed hurt by the hypocrisy that one minute he had been told to wobble and wail with all the spirit in his soul and next minute he had been told to stay still and shut up. Soon that anger turned on itself and the boy looked guilty as the group had decided he was, the episode was a tough lesson in religious education. Only the innocence of a baby can be forgiven for such disruptive behaviour but in the context of the congregation’s joyous singing of you could hardly hear them cry. </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The male contingent of the congregation was a flock of young boys with a few old shepherds but on the other side of the congregation was a sea of women with babies strapped to their bellies, breasts, bottoms and anything that hangs out. Women out wailed, whooped and worshipped their offspring who seemed muted by the noise their mothers generated. At one point two ladies contested the lyrics to a Cameroonian traditional song and almost came to blows for the ownership of a lone microphone, in this all female face off one lady had an oblivious baby strapped to her back peacefully disinterested during the entire argument. Eventually the pastor had to calm both women down by saying in English but in the thickest West African accent “Behave.” The congregation treated the altercation like a scene from a panto, laughing at the drama and mockingly taking sides but I was more fascinated by the baby who seemed to not notice the fuss. Quiet, during an all chanting Christian conga across the nave, silent, as the women competed for a microphone during a karaoke hymn sing along and asleep during the loud but incoherent sermon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All my inability to engage fully with the service seemed to be reflected in the small bundle of boredom attached to the loud lady’s back.</span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It got me wondering when does a child begin to realise the morality of Christianity? Surely if you’re born into a church going family the religious dogma and strange celebrations will be your first impression! I can’t help but imagine that you would be scared of God throughout your childhood until you were able to reach your own adult understanding of Christianity, even then when your faith has matured your religion would still hold the secret to your nightmares. The fire and brimstone, the crucifixion, the concept of hell are the nightmares of adults but they are seeded within us as children. I felt I was encouraged to be discouraged away from religion; my father particularly did not want me to suffer the <span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">conscience-stricken </span>he felt Christianity instilled within him as a child. Children will never be the key to understanding religion but they will always be a way of connecting with the congregation, my ignorance gaining acceptance through their innocence.</span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-62954135213842620952011-10-02T14:04:00.000-07:002011-10-02T14:04:14.059-07:00St Paul and St Jude Parish, Mildmay Grove, 25/09/11<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W598vJnPwVU/TYz28L6fz7I/AAAAAAAAASk/y92vd2qvNTA/s1600/churches+067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" kca="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W598vJnPwVU/TYz28L6fz7I/AAAAAAAAASk/y92vd2qvNTA/s400/churches+067.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RT_iNm6I_Wg/TYz27N_yfHI/AAAAAAAAASg/sFoacYdpRrg/s1600/churches+066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every week I commit sins and cause offence, this can be an intentional or an unintentional act, the only difference this week is that I broke one of my very few rules by mistaking an Islington church for Hackney parish. St Jude and St Paul is a gorgeous late 1800s church with Kentish ragstone rubble, Bath Stone and a roof of Welsh slate forming an exterior that nestles on the quiet corner intersection of Mildmay Grove. A little lavish construction with a particularly stunning spire: in retrospect the building screams Islington for its understated wealth and not to be mistaken for the larger churches of Hackney. My pschogeographical senses should have served me better but boundary maps are never clear as definitions in your mind. Ironically I learned far more about the personal lives of this small Islington congregation than I had of the many local Hackney residents I had visited in over the past few months. The reason I was able to familiarise myself with the congregation was that I had stumbled across St Jude and St Paul’s Back to God Sunday Breakfast. Back to God Sunday Breakfast was an opportunity for regular church members to invite friends and family back (or for the first time) to church by sitting down at tables and eating breakfast interspersed with some Bible readings and hymns. For once my agnostic ignorance was in a forum in which it was instantly forgiven. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RT_iNm6I_Wg/TYz27N_yfHI/AAAAAAAAASg/sFoacYdpRrg/s1600/churches+066.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kca="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RT_iNm6I_Wg/TYz27N_yfHI/AAAAAAAAASg/sFoacYdpRrg/s320/churches+066.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The only person disappointed for mistaking Islington for Hackney was I as it exposed my ignorance but in the past I have often disappointed others without even making mistakes. My naïve agnostic ramblings have a tendency to cause offence (in a couple of weeks I will compile a list of some of criticism I have received) but as early as February I had fears that my blog could be misinterpreted. Reverend Jane Thorington Hassell at Victoria Park Baptist church outlined this fear when she described her frustration at the rise of new age spirituality mixing religions “buffet style.”Hassell’s criticism of other religions seemed to relate to my own worst fear that my blog merely reduced the churches I visited into consumerist products. The only way to tackle such a fear is to deal with it head on and this week’s service provided the opportunity to write the remainder as a culinary review of St Jude and St Paul’s Back to God Sunday Breakfast.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The majority of the congregation were eating food that looked like themselves, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, nieces, nephews, uncles and aunties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tables appeared to be segregated into friends and family which left me on a table of a random collection of individual cuisine not atypical to the entire congregation, however all tables were joined in feasting on the largest meal of the morning, Reverend Justus. A mandatory dish, Reverend Justus was the meal that no member of the congregation could turn down or even ignore. His stature was as large as his name but behind his huge round belly and glowing black face was a very soft and sweet voiced personality. Everyone enjoyed eating Reverend Justus because he was so well cooked judging by his sweating brow and stains across his shirt. Justus rushed around the nave conducting hymns, greeting members, listening to testimonies and orchestratingBible reading. I have never seen somebody large be shared so quickly amongst the congregation. After a bite of Justus you could not help but feel satisfied that you had just tasted a fine long standing St Paul and St Jude staple. Perhaps he was a little too much to chew on and could have been little less bland but like any good carbohydrate dish his dense texture was the foundation to a larger meal and his presence gave you a huge amount of energy for the remaining service. Justus for one Sunday morning had become the sacramental wine and bread that the entire congregation shared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The sharing of Justus brought a ritual unison to the congregation but my own personal menu choice was a rare and exotic dish named Abraham. The origin of Abraham’s distinct flavouring is hard to place! On the surface he appears like a regular black male in his 30s dressed in an ill-fitting but smart suit for Sunday worship. Only after playing with my food and talking to Abraham did I learn that he was born in Sierre Leone (unlike anyone else in the congregation), raised in Liverpool and commuting to London visit his Muslim mother but yet following in the spiritual footsteps of his dead Christian father. The more I gnawed away at Abraham the more I learned about his culturally rich life; now working in music PR but also helping church music get off the ground, he was a 21<sup>st</sup> century Christian entrepreneur. At times his spice was too overwhelming and you had to take a few seconds to digest before you could enjoy Abraham’s company. An endearing image was his lone swaying and singing to pop church anthems that left the majority of the congregation comatose. Abraham was that rare meal that you are conscious you may never have again so you bask in the enjoyment so much more. A childlike enthusiasm trapped in a 30 year old body he left an infectious aftertaste in your mouth, wet and wanting more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The palette can get too overwhelmed when visiting church, for all the intoxicating and rich flavour of Abraham it’s important to have a sober tonic to bring balance to ones meal. My palette cleanser came in the form of Nick and Shell, individually they may have more zest, smack, bang or kick to their personalities but together they nullified my spiritual taste buds. Nick and Shell should have been the culinary equivalent of a hot comforting Shepherd’s Pie because they were getting married in the very church we sat in but it was apparent they were not regular members or Christians and looked slightly horrified at the idea of meeting other congregational members at the Back to God Breakfast Sunday celebrations. I do appreciate the dedication of people who want church weddings but are not Christians yet are prepared to jump through certain hoops but this Anglican ritual would not be found in the more evangelical Baptist, Methodist and Pentecostal churches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arguably they might have been equally unimpressed by me, as I fully explained my project they seemed to understand the purpose but not the point. I, like them could not provide any spiritual nourishment instead our familiarity bred contempt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nick and Shell acted as a lemon garnish to my main meal, providing a bitter punch that complimented the more exciting dish.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My final course at the St Paul and St Jude café was an old favourite, a traditional meal that might have been forgotten with the influx of new and exciting foreign tastes but Maureen was old fashioned cockney cuisine. More fish and chips than eels and mash, this parish was Islington not East London after all. Maureen had been coming to St Paul and St Jude’s since the 80s and was incredibly knowledgeable of the area and its local churches. The conversation was overly familiar as we listed the Christian tourist sites of Christ Church Spitalfields, Stoke Newington’s long running non-conformist church, St Leonard’s musical productions and spoke of the history of migration of the East End from the 17<sup>th</sup> century Hugenots to the modern Bangladeshi community. The conversation was ideal comfort food, like warm cod and chips the taste was a reassuring experience and one to be repeated.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maureen was the most satisfying meal of the morning but at the end of the service I was inexplicably touched by the announcement that Susan a congregational member had passed away last Tuesday in Homerton hospital. Looking across the nave I saw mainly blank faces but amongst them you could spot a the trickling of tears fall down a select number of elderly faces and no face shone more from the reflection of wet face of Maureen standing beside me. I almost choked on what I had eaten, to see the emotional concern on her face I felt sick with sadness. It was not my intention to come and feast on the emotion and honesty of others when I began my pilgrimage but it would be dishonest to not admit that every week my voyeuristic, parasitic tendencies feed off the spirituality of others because I lack the belief to create my own.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-75844623082995595252011-09-25T15:02:00.000-07:002011-09-25T15:11:49.020-07:00Clapton Park United Reformed Church, The Round Chapel, Glennarm Road, 25/08/11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ThTIBaML8c4/TYz4Bu-QHFI/AAAAAAAAAYE/8TqqHefL7Ho/s1600/churches+150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="425" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ThTIBaML8c4/TYz4Bu-QHFI/AAAAAAAAAYE/8TqqHefL7Ho/s640/churches+150.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Some churches in the East End dominate the imagination; they cannot be ignored and are an essential motivation for my agnostic pilgrimage. The Round Chapel of Lower Clapton is one of those churches. Built in 1869 by Henry Fuller, the building is the architectural crown to the non-conformist churches of the East End. The exterior has Romanesque styling with round arched windows and octagonal towers on each side, yet inside the large interior is designed like a Victorian theatre with tall iron arches framing the surrounding aisles. Like the non-conformist movement the Round Chapel is a mishmash of styles, the foundations undermine the hierarchal structures of traditional church architecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The horse shoe shaped front entrance merges the nave with the sanctuary and forms a coliseum styled auditorium. Hackney Christian history is full of non-conformist celebrities Daniel Defoe, Issac Watts, Mary Wollstonecraft all worshipped in Hackney and the borough is home to the non-conformist burial grounds of Bunhill Fields and Abney Park Cemetery. The Round Chapel along with the beautiful Union Chapel (sadly in Islington) are both the most grandiose non-conformist churches in London but now seem destined as music and theatre venues. So I was deeply saddened to discover the large Round Chapel was empty on my arrival. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The gardener informed me that the Nigerian church that had been using the chapel had been kicked out for not paying the rent despite the collection plate being full every Sunday. Not wanting to be deterred by the gardener’s cynical explanation I investigated the side entrance and was pleasantly surprised to discover a small but very welcoming congregation belonging in the Unitarian Church housed in one of the side rooms to the chapel. The Unitarian Church seemed not bothered by the grandeur and decorations of the Round Chapel and had instead chosen the more intimate surroundings for this very diverse family orientated congregation. At first I was disappointed but I soon realised that the diverse ages, races and backgrounds of the congregation actually created a very informal Christian community that entirely continued the progressive forms of worship of Hackney non-conformists of old. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The atmosphere that the congregation generated was not as aggressive as Pentecostal services but was equally life affirming. The entire congregation appeared peacefully calm but not insular and glowed with warm smiles. Church has a habit of creating the most welcoming strangers but this congregation seemed genuinely at peace with their faith and less concerned with saving my soul. Many factors contribute to create a good communal atmosphere. The warmth of strangers is an essential element to an inclusive atmosphere but it is little aspects that make your heart rise. The rustling of children in the aisles, the spiritual sincerity of the singing, the soft and contemplative voice of Reverend Elizabeth Welch’s sermon, an incorrect Bible reading that caused communal<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>laughter instead of embarrassment, the understanding and accepting smiles on hearing about my project. All of these small aspects contributed to one of the most enjoyable services I have attended since I started my journey in January.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The congregation seemed to have abandoned the dogma and dread found in some services for a spirituality based on empathy and a love for life. For once I did not stare at any architecture or clap enthusiastically to the Redemption Hymnal to have a good time instead I was intrigued by the structural foundations of this informal worship.</span><br />
<span style="mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Non-conformist movement of the late 1600’s has changed a lot to keep its independence which is typically ironic given the movements name. The Unitarian Church is the result of a union between the Presbyterian Church of England and the Congregational Church in England and Wales in 1972 and has formed subsequent unions with other non-conformist groups but not the more established Methodists, Baptists or the Sally Army. The union of the churches represents a less hierarchical system to Anglican and Catholic churches and the structure enables various churches to remain independently run following the traditions of Presbyterian and Congregationalist churches. Presbyterianism is traditionally run by church elders and Congregationalists have the most democratic of religious structures. The informal and inclusive feel of the service did seem to indicate that every member was involved and took pride in the running of the church, the parishioners seemed more active than passive. The structure dictates that the congregation are essential to the decision making and therefore more involved in the form of worship. The hymns felt like a mishmash of Christian cultures and the personalities within the congregation did not seem dampened by the structure of the service but enhanced. One gentleman with a rich voice sounded like Pete Seeger singing an African Traditional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The more democratic structure seemed to accommodate many aspects of the Christian faith but coincidentally the sermon focused on a guest speaker who was actually from another inter-denominational church group known as the Street Pastors. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Street Pastors is an inter-denominational Christian group who voluntarily patrol the streets with the aim to respond to “urban problems.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what an “urban problem,” is but I presume that the majority of urban problems is drunken behaviour and attending to people alone in vulnerable situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The organisation was formed in London in 2003 by Reverend Les Isaac, Director of the Ascension Trust as a way of tackling crime by building relationships with the community that the police were unable to build. There is now over 150 Street Pastor projects in Britain and over a dozen international schemes. To enrol as a street pastor you must be a Christian, receive extensive training and pay £300 fee. Some of my left leaning Christian friends would say you do not have to pay to do God’s work but that is not to diminish the work the Street Pastors do. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Street Pastors were introduced into the context of the service as a possible solution to the Hackney riots. Talking to the very happy clappy congregation who did not seem to have a single aggressive bone in their collective body I was concerned that sending these sweetest of Christians out onto the East End high streets of Booze Britain was like sending lambs to their slaughter. My initial apprehensions were slightly quelled when the Street Pastors spokesman outlined the actual work they do across the night. They claim statistics have shown that their mere presence has decreased crime. Street Pastors most common activities is collecting bottles or broken glass, handing out flip flops to barefooted ladies and attending to drunken casualties. No doubt they are a positive force and being an inter-denominational church group I cannot see the organisation being used for Christian recruitment. Instead the organisation seemed to provide the opportunity for the more masochistic Christian personality to outwardly pursue caring for one’s neighbour. Personally I don’t think you can beat a soup kitchen, hospices and the night shelter as the most useful forms of charity; however Street Pastors appear to be a more sexy form of Christian outreach appealing to the more action man personality than the Florence Nightingale wannabe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disregarding my petty criticism it was touching to hear accounts of a Street Pastor’s night’s work. I just could not imagine any of the congregation on the streets at night. </span></div><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The most pleasant aspect of the Round Chapel congregation was their infectious passive enthusiasm that I felt would be tainted by drunken abuse if they took the form of Street Pastors. Street Pastors are a crusade orientated Christian venture that has been designed to provide a practical solution to anxious Christians in need of saving someone but the Unitarian congregation did not seem to have any anxiety or fear within their faith. After stumbling across this small Christian community I wanted to protect their innocence but then who am I to protect anyone? I am sure the Round Chapel congregation would battle vigilantly with East End nightlife with hugs and kisses, prayers of forgiveness and beautiful renditions <span style="background: yellow;">of cum-bay-ah </span>but did not feel in the spirit of the Unitarians. Caring for one’s community is essential to leading a Christian lifestyle but it cannot simply determine ones faith because surely faith must be self-sufficient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The current congregation have moved away from the showy nave of the Round Chapel and have collectively created a unique church community that is not defined by the opinions of people outside the church walls but those within it and far better for it.</span><br />
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</div></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-13923120315488615122011-09-18T12:13:00.000-07:002011-09-22T16:39:57.374-07:00St James The Less, St James Avenue, 11.09.11<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pkb37vzwO6U/TYzzytp93MI/AAAAAAAAAJM/I66Obi4ywEs/s1600/IMG_2812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rba="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pkb37vzwO6U/TYzzytp93MI/AAAAAAAAAJM/I66Obi4ywEs/s320/IMG_2812.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0cm;"><span style="color: #303d45; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Church can often be predictable as it’s a routine exercise in a weekly ritual. At many services I look to the sermon for variation and difference but this Sunday was different; predictably different because this Sunday was the tenth anniversary of World Trade Centre terrorist attacks. So even the sermon was predictable but ironically the ritual was not. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0cm;"><span style="color: #303d45; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not a fan of the media’s recent fascination for nostalgic trauma surrounding its coverage of the 9/11 anniversary. It’s not healthy to give one day so much historical significance as it makes all the other days, weeks, months of the last ten years less important. The criticism I will level towards Christianity’s reaction to the 9/11 anniversary is symptomatic of a larger cultural problem. I am not so much Christian bashing but culture bashing.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0cm;"><span style="color: #303d45; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was seventeen when the attacks took place and ever since that historical day the shadow of the World Trade Centre was cast over my generation as a symbol that we would never be as lucky as our parents. According to politicians, the media and religious groups our innocence had been lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The World Trade Centre attacks were a tragedy but it was made to mushroom and symbolise a tragic decade not just one morning. Thank god for the financial crisis in 2008 which was at least a genuine global crisis caused by the greed of millions of people and not a bunch of plane hijackers forcing their religious ideologues onto an unsuspecting world. The global financial meltdown could not compete with the spectacle of the 9/11 blockbuster despite directly affecting far more people across the globe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My anger is that 9/11 was as important as the West made it and they made it into the event that defined my generation without even asking. 9/11 heralded not only the theoretically unwinnable war on terror but a template for 24 hour event news coverage, the slow disintegration of civil liberties, the halting of global migration, a rebirth of political apathy for another generation, international polices that were based on fears not facts, the rise of islamphobia, the expansion of surveillance culture and the decline of multiculturalism. All these currents were not created by 9/11 but were given political credibility and cultural legitimacy. I feel fraudulent in taking part in any ritual surrounding 9/11 as the ritual perpetuates the myth that this event was more tragic than any other international crisis including the wars it unintentionally helped create. Why be so hung up on such trivial ceremonies I hear you ask? My main reason is that church has taught me that ritual is far more powerful than we like to think.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-82y5-oF4_qA/TYzz0AFv0XI/AAAAAAAAAJU/6k1EZO06a2I/s1600/IMG_2814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rba="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-82y5-oF4_qA/TYzz0AFv0XI/AAAAAAAAAJU/6k1EZO06a2I/s320/IMG_2814.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0cm;"><span style="color: #303d45; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Despite my cultural apprehensions towards the remembrance of 9/11 I had made the romantically contrived decision to visit St James the Less on St James Avenue just next to Victoria Park. St James was a C of E church with a very polite and respectful congregation, typically full of passive smiles that were friendly but not intrusive. The site was ideal for the act of remembrance as it not only once housed a large wooden war memorial for the Great War 1914-1918 (which was moved to Sewardstone Road) but also had been reconstructed after damage during the blitz in 1944.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike ground zero the church site had been saved and rebuilt yet only the grand 1840 tower remained. Similar to St George of the East but less magical, St James gave the impression of existing in two time zones. The ability to link the past with present is the central crux of remembrance making the building apt for this week’s Sunday Service; the architecture providing a larger unspoken context to the sermon. Surrounded by such history I felt the effects of 9/11 should be refreshingly lost amongst so much historical tragedy but the service bowed to the societal obligation to galvanise the anniversary in a Christian context. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0cm;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #303d45; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">In the wake of 9/11 George Bush Junior did a lot of damage to the international reputation of Christianity, his war mongering was unfortunately full of crusader imagery and his jingoism firmly based on the American religious right’s international perspective that Americans are God’s true people. Not all blame can be lodged at the American Christian right in recent years it has been revealed that Tony Blair also used God to absolve himself of the sins he committed post 9/11. To the Anglican Church’s credit they never stood in favour of the War on Terror and have never been caught in the religious hatred spouted by other churches that openly attack Islam. Anglican priests seem well versed in providing a sober Christian voice when faced by international and sectarian disputes. Always quick to dispel any vengeful or righteous religious language found in the Old Testament in favour of Jesus’s belief in the power of forgiveness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sermon predictably provided personal accounts of victims of September 11<sup>th</sup> but the soft voice of Reverend Logan was careful to pray for the remembrance for all that had been killed in Afghanistan and Iraq. Reverend Logan’s words reminded me of the newspaper articles I had been avoiding all month. The impassioned but mannered speech was a crowning moment for a cathartic closure to anyone who had lived the last ten years like they had been trapped by events of one single day or anyone who had been reading the newspapers for the last month. The planned hysteria was given a refreshing twist with the remembrance service replacing the Holy Communion. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0cm;"><span style="color: #303d45; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Entering St James the Less I was given the option of a stick or a stone as I collected my Bible and hymn sheet. It was not explained if the materials would be used for violent heckling or religious ceremony but I presumed the later. As we reached the end of the service Reverend Logan asked every member to come forward with their stick and stone and light a candle and place the item by the altar. The stick or the stone should represent a person you have not yet forgiven who you would like to, personalising the theme of forgiveness from the sermon into the ritual. I was impressed by this postmodern approach merging the personal with the political through the doctrines of Christ. I am sure some atheist critics would pettily argue that comparing the forgiveness of a terrorist from 9/11 to forgiving a teenage daughter for not cleaning up her room represented a skewed morality but I am even more cynical. I could not think of anyone to forgive, all I could think is who would forgive me for the empty gesture of placing a rock by the altar with no one in mind.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 5pt 0cm;"><span style="color: #303d45; font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t forgive anyone because I don’t know any better. I don’t have a belief that creates a dynamic in which people need to be forgiven. I see forgiveness as an emotional response not a social, political, theological or spiritual act. If you forgive everyone you forgive no one. Why not pride myself on having integrity and the ability to have empathy so you can understand people and their decisions. No one knows the exact reasons why Mohammed Atta decided to crash a plane into the World Trade Centre but we can attempt to understand by placing ourselves in his situation. Just like many people claim to understand (not agree) why George Bush launched a so called moral crusade on terrorism. Understanding is not forgiveness as it does not offer a conclusion; instead it’s an on-going process that hopes to dissolve such power dichotomies. I feel guilt for not caring enough about 9/11 or other global crises, guilt is always a feature when visiting church or writing my blog but do I want forgiveness or do I want to be understood?</span></span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-43565356504212424892011-09-11T17:51:00.000-07:002011-09-15T16:44:43.673-07:00Shoreditch Baptists, Hackney Road, 4.09.11.<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XYYOtxh8pcQ/TmOvWDMCvoI/AAAAAAAAAiw/3AcL26Ao2iY/s1600/IMG_3077.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" nba="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XYYOtxh8pcQ/TmOvWDMCvoI/AAAAAAAAAiw/3AcL26Ao2iY/s640/IMG_3077.jpg" width="426" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Sitting on the central aisle in a non-descript nave which is modestly decorated with neutral colours and a collection of crucifixes I listen to a middle aged, slightly balding man strum away at an acoustic guitar. The gentleman was sweetly lost in the moment as he led the morning hymn aided by a projector, a few zealous singers and the obliged mutters of the remaining congregation. The Shoreditch Baptist Church’s hymns were not to my taste, the congregation and the general mood was similar to the diverse congregation and placid hymns of Victoria Park Baptist Church and</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"> in contrast to the more joyous less structured hymns of the predominantly Ghanaian congregation of the Open Doors Baptist Church. Some Baptists know how to boogie and get their gospel groove on while others prefer to sway to Christian pop anthems. Housed in a modest building, the Shoreditch Baptists are planning to move to a larger church in the New Year but their temporary building had an understated charm. My favourite feature is the high antenna placed above the entrance with a crucifix positioned on top, this understated adornment had a tokenistic quality in its feeble attempt to compete with the city's skyline and rise to the heavens. The building and music may not have brought out the Holy Spirit within me but it did get my mind working (not all churches have achieved this). I didn’t find God but I did have an epiphany (maybe for Christians all epiphanies are sent by God) but I imagine their God would not have approved of my epiphany. I realised that for me to personally find God the superficial reception of worship does matter. It’s a general preconception that obtaining a religious or spiritual experience is rising above the material world and experiencing a bigger state of consciousness, yet surely our environment does matter or we would have never created church. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">I don’t like modern Christian hymns! I cannot think of anything more off putting to becoming a Christian with the exception of more serious deterrents such as religious sectarianism, institutionalised homophobia and general right wing rhetoric. Besides the key disgraces of Christianity peppered throughout history my modern pet hate is the pop tinged Christian hymns that take a lyrical inspiration from The Bible and apply it to the melody of a below par Beatles song. My dislike is merely a superficial prejudice that has no moral agenda but I could attempt to create one such is my hatred. I do like hymns. After leaving many Pentecostal services I have been ecstatic with joy at the singing and the dancing of the service which has even led me to buy gospel music and read the Redemption Hymnal in solitude. The passion I have for Pentecostal hymns by comparison to Baptist pop anthems is purely cultural. Caribbean Pentecostalists are my favourite singers; the music seems sparser lending itself to more varied rhythm and experimental vocal range similar to genres of Reggae, Soul and the Blues. In comparison to my passion for the Redemption Hymnal I have fostered a hatred for Christian pop hymns influenced by mass culture's stadium pop market of Take That, West life and reality TV stars. In conclusion the material worlds of my musical tastes have an enormous influence on how close I feel to God and it also produces a lot of guilt. Guilt as the congregation of Shoreditch Baptist Church was no less welcoming than the Pentecostal congregations I had visited. Forward and friendly with smiling faces from a wide variety of East End society I felt like I would love to contribute more to the celebrations but I could not get my Godly groove on. Luckily the service seemed to address our superficial barriers towards God with its advocacy of The Alpha Course. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The entire service was dedicated to the selling of The Alpha Course as a tool to recruit new members to the church, to renew interest in lapsed church members and to cultivate the Holy Spirit in its current congregation. This week's Bible readings and Sunday sermon were put on hold, so guest speakers from Victoria Park Baptist Church could sing the praises of The Alpha Course. So what is The Alpha Course? Personally I feel its Christianity’s attempt to rebrand itself away from the material criticism I previously mentioned. Like all so called progressive Christian movements it’s interested in modernising Christianity so it paradoxically remains the same but also relevant to the everyday. I think it’s important I differentiate how the speakers described the Alpha course, how Alpha sells itself, and then provide my own humble opinion but before all that let’s have some facts from Wikipedia.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Alpha Course was founded in the 80s and fully formed in the early 90s at the Holy Trinity Church Brompton, Rev Charles Marnham, Rev John Irvine, Rev Nicky Gumbel and Rev Sandy Millar all played pivotal roles in developing and revising a 10 weekly session course to evangelise non-believers. By 2008 over 33,500 courses were offered in 163 countries by Anglican, Presbyterian, Lutheran, Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, New Church Movement and Orthodox churches, even Roman Catholic Churches. The course aim was to find a universal way of teaching about God that did not exclude any Christian doctrine but brought them all together. Despite not including Baptism or Communion The Alpha Course does not discourage these forms of worship. The courses 10 weekly structure are based around an “Alpha Meal,” held in the evening from which group's discuss various issues surrounding Christianity. Each week has a topic, talk and perhaps a DVD viewing. Sample titles from Alpha Course are </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">How Can I fill myself with Holy Spirit?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">How Can I Resist Evil?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Why and How Should I tell Others?</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The titles are predictably vague and all-encompassing but not your regular light evening dinner conversation. The Alpha Course has developed into a brand and now specialises in certain target groups offering courses for Youth Alpha, Student Alpha, Senior Alpha, Alpha in the Workplace, Alpha in the Forces, Alpha in Prisons. Alpha has drawn criticism from far right evangelical groups claiming it’s not clear enough in its definitions of sin and disapproval from less evangelical Christians upset by the Charismatic slant of the course which advocates speaking in tongues and healing through prayer. Regardless of the criticism the Alpha course is unquestionably successful. I don’t want to personally criticise a course I have not taken part in but I was interested in the disparity between the flashy website and our guest's pitch. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The three guests were all very friendly, articulate and passionate in their praise of the Alpha Course but they did not have perfect teeth, dressed like they were in a catalogue, or in aged their twenties unlike the below advertisement. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/CPF9yWZ4KhY?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">Our guest speakers provided a lot more information and did not seem to forget to mention God, Jesus, The Holy Spirit and Christianity which is oddly absent from the above video. Rebranding often means to target a product at a younger market. When targeting one of the oldest texts in the world you think it would be wise not to leave out The Holy Trinity? Or at least include Jesus Christ. But these words bring up past associations that Alpha does not want to colour its young audience’s minds. Instead of the crucifixtion hanging above your head in an old nave the advert's church is presented like a late night canteen styled as a high class night club. At least the flashy advert informed you of the Alpha structure of a free dinner and discussion as well as indicating that an informal conversation about the bigger questions of life can be as placid and boring as the most trivial table talk. Predictably the advert misses the personal stories that the visiting advocates chose to share. The church's guests all talked on the key experiences they have gained from doing the Alpha Course. One middle age gentleman spoke of the joy he felt when he convinced and bared witnessed to a non-believer's spiritual awakening and another young lady from Italy talked about how the weekly meal provided a structure and community when moving to an unknown and uncaring London. A sense of togetherness was clearly the key attribute of the Alpha Course’s success, a success I attribute to the dinner table.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;">The Alpha Course takes two key timeless features of human life which have been the foundation of society long before Christianity, the contemplation of our existence and people coming together to sit down for a good meal. Add a Christian agenda to this old paradigm and advertise the course as a new and modern lifestyle choice and you have the unintentionally ironic Alpha Course. I am not criticising its content but merely the structured style of its presentation. Naturally sceptical I have concerns that the so called informal structure that consists of first timers, regular members and then organisers arguably forms a hierarchal dynamic in an unassuming environment. I am not interested in criticising the inner workings of the Alpha Course but I am interested in how the course reflects how self-conscious Christianity has become. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; mso-hyphenate: auto; mso-vertical-align-alt: auto; text-autospace: ideograph-numeric;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The incredibly warm and welcoming Reverend Georgina said it was important that non-believers "do not perceive us Christians as geeks,” and another guest talker said she regretted evangelising with a microphone outside a supermarket because she appeared like a nutter (her words) and that she was now grateful for the Alpha course as it gave her the opportunity to evangelise through a more socially acceptable forum. I like geeks and I like nutters much more than I like people in adverts with shiny teeth as I feel a geek and a nutter carry more truth and sincerity. I am not going to condemn the Alpha course as mass culture's answer to Christianity. After all Christianity strives to be the mass culture of the lord however people do not want to belong to a mass culture. People like to pride themselves on their difference. I have a feeling that like the hymns from Shoreditch Baptist church the Alpha course would leave me numb and unable to move closer to God. Christianity will continue to rebrand itself in a hope to reach a greater audience but I am not interested in that God, instead the God I seek is romantically hidden in the fragmented sub cultures of our consumer led society. Not to be found on a supermarket shelf but outside being rejoiced by a nutter and a Geek in the store's car park.</span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-GB;"></span></div></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-37237642383648789042011-09-04T10:11:00.000-07:002011-09-15T15:51:40.678-07:00Lost Pilgrimage, 28.08.11-02.08.11,<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.thoughtforchange.com/30-thoughts/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/frissell-toni-man-carrying-cross-berlin-october-1961-175x175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" id="il_fi" src="http://www.thoughtforchange.com/30-thoughts/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/frissell-toni-man-carrying-cross-berlin-october-1961-175x175.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cH3a_U1kLWA/TYz43_zjriI/AAAAAAAAAcg/PQtQ2OJVpE8/s1600/churches+218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FSQOgwjGB7g/TYz42DF5U3I/AAAAAAAAAcY/oPxyWnmEd5c/s1600/churches+216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">week I said I wanted the journey without the destination but after only one week I already regret those words. This week has been one long journey with no destination in sight. I did not even find a church that would be open to be a suitable destination instead I was met by metaphorically and physically closed doors on several attempts. Reduced to spiritually scavenging I have been desperate to find an occasion to embellish and canonize, but this week's events have been too worthy of such exaggerated platitudes or too obscure to document. So how did I get so lost….</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FSQOgwjGB7g/TYz42DF5U3I/AAAAAAAAAcY/oPxyWnmEd5c/s1600/churches+216.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-FSQOgwjGB7g/TYz42DF5U3I/AAAAAAAAAcY/oPxyWnmEd5c/s320/churches+216.jpg" width="213" xaa="true" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Sunday I set out on my weekly quest to discover another unique East End Sunday Service, this morning I was particularly excited to have a sneak inside the German Roman Catholic Church in Whitechapel. Ever since my first visit to Whitechapel road I had been caught in the shadow of the large bell tower that hovers over the road’s only park. The tower carves a uniquely sharp shape into the skyline. Its narrow design houses three large bells, stacked above one another in single file. The modern blocked bricks and long escalation always reminded me of a large factory chimney converted into a belfry, a post-industrial church. When I discovered the church was German it confirmed the tower's efficient elegance. The tower has a striking starkness but up-close the texture of the building is really intriguing. The blocked bricks have a computer cubed design with coloured stone tinting that adds some decorative character to an abrupt, firm, modern building. The large wooden carved entrance has an unnecessarily blocked cross pattern which hangs above the door creating an impression of unknown historical era; an age that combines futuristic and medieval design. The church entrance seems old and new at once, like a past age's concept of the future but not a future that belonges to the present. A more romantic future!<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Romantic because this concept of the future is so far away it lives in the past. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--iY6FcY1MlI/TYz46rmzvEI/AAAAAAAAAcw/CMZ-cXi0kUY/s1600/churches+221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--iY6FcY1MlI/TYz46rmzvEI/AAAAAAAAAcw/CMZ-cXi0kUY/s320/churches+221.jpg" width="212" xaa="true" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RSm19Xz8GnI/TYz422jY1iI/AAAAAAAAAcc/VmFzhSGFBHA/s1600/churches+217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RSm19Xz8GnI/TYz422jY1iI/AAAAAAAAAcc/VmFzhSGFBHA/s200/churches+217.jpg" width="200" xaa="true" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As you can tell by my wild waffling, I was very excited to look inside the German Roman Catholic Church and see what other old futuristic adornments I might discover inside the church’s nave. I had been so careful not to miss the service that I had translated the lone sign outside the church with the help of (the atheist's God) Google. The sign clearly stipulates that the service is held at 11 AM on Sunday of the 2<sup>nd</sup>, 4<sup>th</sup> and 5<sup>th</sup> week of the month (and it was the 4<sup>th</sup>). So when I discovered the doors to be shut I panicked because my agnostic pilgrimage was not my only commitment on that day. Later in the early afternoon I had to commit the sin of going to work on the Sabbath, so with two hours before the start of my shift I had very little time to rectify the situation. Sweating and cycling while wearing a suit I made a dash to the nearest churches in a hope of a short but spiritually uplifting Sunday service. My first would be destination was St Peters, a sweet village style church nestled in the centre of a ringroad of small towerblockes but when I arrived the congregation were taking communion, ironically the only part of the Eucharist I don’t partake in. Back on my bike I rode to St John on Bethnal Green but had to circle the scaffolding only to arrive at the hidden side entrance and see parishioners sit down for tea and biscuits. Theatrically renouncing my godly commitments I accepted defeat but romantically returned to the German Roman Catholic church in hope of some answers. My answers came in the form of a sweetly smiling, meticulously dressed German family of four who reassured me I had correctly translated the sign. I was too angry to call the telephone number provided as I felt my agnostic woes had already been predetermined and I would have to consolidate myself with a weekly evening prayer meeting. Like the sweetly smilng, meticulously dressed German family I had been victim of my own casual commitment to church. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Church does a great job of loading you with blame even when you don’t go. Yet some of my friends who are Christians don’t go to church but clearly feel akin to church more than I. The answer is, as it is every week, faith. My friends with faith don’t go to church as they don’t seem to care about missing the ritual of the service, because they already have an instilled notion of belief within them. As for me I don't have it so easy. I am just letting myself down, my friends could be letting down the Almighty but naturally He would forgive them, yet I will not forgive myself. The agnostic church goer can’t help but see a Sunday Service as a duty and I am sure I am not the first church goer to feel this. Church is another commitment, along with work, blogging and any other activity you pursue to make your life more interesting than it is or hopefully was. I need my Sunday Service far more than non-church going believers, maybe that’s why everyone goes to church because they don’t feel Christian without going. In comparison to me who does not feel like an agnostic until I do go to church.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On Sunday night I was no longer worried as I had several spiritual ventures floating around my head. The first suggestion struck me when I was cycling down a grotty alley and saw a poster so unique to my interests it was like it had been delivered by God. The cheap religious imagery and the text was divine material for the blog. The text starts with large letter heading </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Singles Prayer Seminar.” The smaller text is listed below in snippets was full of the most intriguing dilemmas facing Christians love</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uXk8YbnQSG4/TmOvgqKzRLI/AAAAAAAAAjg/ImWFDKqpWb0/s1600/IMG_3089.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uXk8YbnQSG4/TmOvgqKzRLI/AAAAAAAAAjg/ImWFDKqpWb0/s320/IMG_3089.jpg" width="320" xaa="true" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Have you been single for too long?</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Is your marriage failing?</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Have you been separated from your spouse or partner?</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Do you experience disappoints in your relationships?</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Do strange beings appear in your bed to have sex with you?</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>Then you need this programme without fail.</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The poster is like any other dating agency advert with the exception that it has more of a focus on the negative aspects of realtionships and sells itself not as an enterprise but as a counselling service. Despite not having a girlfriend I thought this was a step too far in my secular exploration of Christian lifestyles. Cowardly I reassured myself that it would be misleading to any Christian I met male or female at “Singles Prayer Seminar,” not because I was not single but they might think I have a rescue complex. Not that the event was too Christian or too secular to warrant a blog entry but it was out of keeping with my interests. Instead of looking at the benefits of a Christian dating agency I looked to the more famous Christian enterprise, the soup kitchen. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CuWRLSFub40/TYz4zahyPFI/AAAAAAAAAcI/0bxJcXr_KLU/s1600/churches+212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CuWRLSFub40/TYz4zahyPFI/AAAAAAAAAcI/0bxJcXr_KLU/s320/churches+212.jpg" width="213" xaa="true" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Whitechapel Mission Church is not simply a soup kitchen but was established in 1876, overseen by Methodist preacher Thomas Jackson , its aim was to clothe orphan and destitute lads but has developed over time into a outreach community project. Whitechapel Mission provides breakfast, showers, post office for the homeless, benefit advice and counselling, the organisation is an archetype for Christian charity. Observing the breakfast it felt intrusive unless I was to take part and volunteer, which again I could not do due to my work commitments. After a brief chat with a volunteer I felt despite the name of charity being Christian it was not a church. I had just glimpsed into a world which actually practiced the words of Jesus but did not overtly preach them. The subjects were not all Christians and it was not fair to write and comment on a non-devout congregation, instead I was watching a cast of unknowns act out the morality of the new testament. I feel guilt when I go to church but nothing in comparison to the guilt I felt leaving Whitechapel Mission Church, as I made my exit I was so ashamed I said goodbye to no one. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I decided to console myself with a morning mass at St Annes and was not as frustrated as I had been five days earlier when I was greeted by closed doors. Arriving at another unwilling destination it seemed clear that no matter how expansive my study of Christian life may grow it was ultimately limited by me. Not due to a lack of faith just due to a lack of time. No one has the time to fully explore the diversity of what it means to be Christian in the modern world. Nor is it adequate to reduce Christianity to merely going to church. Church is a comfort, an environment in which you can feel closer to God and reassurance to me that you I don’t need him.</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cH3a_U1kLWA/TYz43_zjriI/AAAAAAAAAcg/PQtQ2OJVpE8/s1600/churches+218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-3256474328945033532011-08-28T12:15:00.000-07:002011-08-28T12:15:37.084-07:00St George in the East, Cannon Street Road, 21.08.11<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/St_George_in_the_East_Church,_East_London_-_geograph.org.uk_-_185691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400px" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/72/St_George_in_the_East_Church%2C_East_London_-_geograph.org.uk_-_185691.jpg" width="271px" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week I went back to the beginning, back to the moment of inspiration, back to the feeling before I made up reasons to begin my blog. So what led me to embark on the decision to give up my Sunday morning lay in and spend time with good Christian folk? The inspiration was predictably the east end churches of Nicholas Hawksmoor and particularly his church St George in The East. I am not proud of my unoriginal choice of architectural muse but Hawksmoor and St George in The East opened a love in my heart for architecture. Walking through the large doors in the spring of 2009 I did not realise it would lead me to an interest in theology, local community and east end migration and that these themes would become tenants of my very own blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On my first visit I was too busy falling in love with the time shifting architecture. I should also celebrate the work of Arthur Bailey as well as Nicholas Hawksmoor, as it was Bailey who was the architect who rebuilt the inside of the church in 1964 after the nave had been destroyed during The Blitz in 1941. The reason I attribute so much importance to Bailey is I first became enchanted with the building when I stepped into the nave and had the idea that I had been transported from a building built in 1729 to 1964 in the spring of 2009. The concept that architecture and particularly London architecture could create a sense of time travel got me to read the works of Ian Sinclair, Peter Ackroyd and Will Self but this was merely my blog’s inception. Eventually I became more interested in the congregations I met, my lack of faith and the morality of the weekly sermons than writing a piece on church architecture, yet despite these new interests my love for St George in the East has grown and developed like the building’s history. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://www.stgite.org.uk/library/colinbrooking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148px" src="http://www.stgite.org.uk/library/colinbrooking.jpg" width="200px" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oddly my mum and aunt have unearthed some ancient family history in the last year that binds me to the original congregations of St George in The East.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My 5<sup>th</sup> great grandfather Alexander Ray was baptized in the church in 1744 and </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">later baptized his daughter Susannah in 1768, who later married Thomas Walker in the church in 1800 and then subsequently christened their son Thomas Dixon Walker in 1802 on the same grounds. My distant relatives were mariners of Stepney and Wapping which back then would have been the busy regional dockland entrance to London in comparison to the present densely populated urban landscape which houses rich bankers and poor Bangladeshi migrants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do sometimes find ancestry a nauseating self-indulgence but knowing that my relatives and I shared a love for the same building makes the time travel feel more real and unattainable. Unattainable, as my love for the 1964 nave is not the same building in which my relatives were married and christened. I guess time attempts to erode everything and that is why unearthing family history becomes so magical. My personal history with St George in the East is not unique but merely another example of how the building has changed with its congregation. Many writers have commented that Hawksmoor’s large looming churches in the east end were built with the intention to instil authority over the new migrant underclass (some my relatives were Huguenots) but another reoccurring facet of Hawksmoor’s architecture is its diverse Baroque style, which celebrates different forms of worship throughout the ages. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://www.stgite.org.uk/library/towerandflag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200px" src="http://www.stgite.org.uk/library/towerandflag.jpg" width="133px" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">St George in the East’s history is unbelievably vast and the church’s website is like an online library dedicated to a single building. In comparison to other Hawksmoor church’s websites, the flash graphic design of Christ Church at Spitalfields website or the user friendly format of St Anne's, St George's is more interested in historical substance than online style. The website is a sprawling labyrinth of information and a testament of love to the church’s history. A catalogue of links feature information on <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">the changing developments of the parish parameters through the ages, Hawksmoor’s original construction of the rectory and his unrealized plans to create a “primitive Christian settlement,” a historical account of the ritualism riots of 1859-60, a brief history of “St George in Ruins,” a prefab church built in 1943 situated in the ruins after The Blitz and a complete chronology of the architectural developments of the interior, the exterior, the tower, the crypt and the surrounding garden.</span> The overwhelming amount of information indicates the unbelievable changes the church has gone through long before The Blitz. The website correctly attacks guide books that claim you only need to appreciate Hawksmoor’s exterior and not the Bailey interior. I would support the argument and claim that the modifications made to the building before and after The Blitz actually reflects Hawksmoor’s original architectural intention. Hawksmoor was striving for a new primitive form of church that combined many past spiritual architectural designs; you can see Roman, Greek, Egyptian and Gothic influence in the architecture of St George's; the most obvious example being St George’s “ pepper pot” tower decorated with six Roman circular sacrificial altars . St George’s overall style with its use of arches and columns is also reminiscent of a Jewish Temple (see picture).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In short <img border="0" height="125px" src="http://www.alexandria-louisiana.com/images/postcards/jewish-temple-1-lg.jpg" width="200px" />Hawksmoor was forever interested in combining different forms of architectural worship from the ages and St George's unlike the restored Christ Church and St Anne’s has adapted and changed throughout the ages. Luckily for me the adaptations of Christian life and worship were the subject matter for this week’s sermon. </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?imgurl=http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3240/2362144146_6cde0e0409.jpg&imgrefurl=http://www.flickr.com/photos/stevecadman/2362144146/&usg=__E-TxTa_BVr9h6fHx4qX3BAJbWHs=&h=500&w=375&sz=124&hl=en&start=6&zoom=1&tbnid=BpdGuCCNMiZThM:&tbnh=130&tbnw=98&ei=jpFaTp-JNY3t-gaj4rGLDA&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dst%2Bgeorge%2Bof%2Bthe%2BEast%26um%3D1%26hl%3Den%26sa%3DN%26tbm%3Disch&um=1&itbs=1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img height="130px" src="http://t2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSHl7TUs4_SfS2V-jVLrSb2vwW8aS688TKzlxSRwxnDJJ8lTlLmlQswolSg" width="98px" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The visiting Reverend was Dr Fiona Stewart-Darling whose sermon focused on the book of Romans and used later passages of the book to outline the unique adaptability of Christianity. Stewart-Darling indicated how Christianity unlike other religions such as Islam and Judaism does not adhere to strict laws and rules to display ones faith but instead bases its faith on the transformative love of Christ. Key passages in Romans support this notion, Romans 13:10 <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">"love worketh no ill to his neighbour: therefore love is the fulfilling of law." Unintentionally her sermon’s pleas for pluralism and acceptance within Christianity can be found in the church’s diverse architecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The large rear glass wall allowed light to flood into the 1960s nave and brighten the white and yellow walls but the same light had passed though the grand baroque exterior, two eras of Christianity living as one. It is ironic that before the later section of the book Roman’s which calls for the transformative love of Jesus the earlier passages have been interpreted as homophobic and Zionist. Talking to Reverend Stewart Darling after the service she was quick to point out and unprovoked that the homophobic and misogynist aspects found in the King James Bible had now been correctly removed in the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible. Reverend Stewart Darling was passionately liberal and inspiring in our brief chat. She outlined how aspects of Christianity seem old fashioned and conservative but was merely the example of the gospel being corrupted by its time and circumstance. A good modern example of misguided religious education was that she supported Church schools but not Faith schools as she believed in religious choice not dogma. I agreed with everything that came out of her mouth but I felt that the certain negative aspects of religion should not be forgotten or edited out because one should recognize the other despite its differences. My reasoning was once again entirely influenced by the surrounding architecture. </span></span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">St George's embraces so many eras of Christianity yet seems entirely current due to the very fact it’s a product of many times. Unlike the historical fully restored churches you do not feel transported back to a specific era but instead on a constant journey through time, a journey that is the present because it is so clearly formed by many pasts. I don’t want a definitive God, I don’t want the correct reading of the gospel, I don’t want a fully restored building I want the journey without the destination. The power of St George's is it makes you constantly think due to its astounding history, a history so vast that when you return you never come to the same conclusion. I always find myself caught in contemplation still changing my perception of what a church can actually be. The power does not merely come from the preservation of the land since 1729 from but from the land and building's ability to change and adapt to think outside one time.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.alexandria-louisiana.com/images/postcards/jewish-temple-1-lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-853369564481054202011-08-21T05:54:00.000-07:002011-08-21T05:54:56.511-07:00Hampden Chapel (Assemblies of God), Lauriston Road, 17.09.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CQL8kVdh3Dk/TYz0cKv-xLI/AAAAAAAAAMg/ZK-VldUthqM/s1600/IMG_2862.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" qaa="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CQL8kVdh3Dk/TYz0cKv-xLI/AAAAAAAAAMg/ZK-VldUthqM/s400/IMG_2862.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week Hackney fell from grace due to the London riots, Hackney was quickly rebranded from being the celebrated official Olympic borough to being declared an “unofficial war zone” (to quote the right wing zealots of Sky news). Similarly I fell from grace in that I was on holiday last Sunday and had to pay my penance by attending a midweek prayer meeting with a bunch of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pentecostalists in Hampden Chapel. Neither events are worthy of a comparison to Adam and Eve’s fall from grace but the word grace is the subject for this week’s post. An elder from Thursday’s prayer meeting informed me that the word grace appears 170 times in the Bible but after researching I discovered that the notion of grace is one of the most divisive concepts within Christianity. All Christians agree that grace is a spontaneous divine free gift of favour and love which God provides to his followers and it is essential in the salvation of all sinners, however some believe grace can only be sacramental (Catholics) whilst others claim grace is universal (most Protestants), then we have groups who believe grace is predetermined (Calvinists) in contrast to Christians who feel its earned (Baptists). Personally I see grace as a feeling of love and favour and Hackney has definitely lost a lot of love and favour with the rest of England in the last week. Unlike decent council housing, social mobility, employment and a fully integrated community, grace is only dependent on one’s relationship with God and hence is not worth the comparison. If grace is entirely based on a believer’s relationship with God it limits the experience of love and favour to the individual yet I weekly visit church communities who generate a sense of love and favour amongst each other. In light of the recent events, I saw Hampden Chapel’s history as a testament that grace is obtained though the creation of a community of worship.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hampden chapel was built in 1847 and has a large mansion like entrance so common in Victorian public buildings. Originally built by the Baptist church under the leadership of Reverend John Hillman a pupil of the “prince of preachers,” C.H. Spurgeon (one of the most influential members of the Baptist movement of the 1800s) it was later sold to the Pentecostal Church in 1927. In contrast to the grand structure and magisterial entrance the nave was alarmingly modest with only a light brick crucifix marked on the back brown brick wall being the noticeable decoration. Hymns were sung from an overhead projector and the microphones used for hymns, prayer and testimonies had an old fashioned hum from a crackling amp that filled the half empty room. The church may have started life as a lavish building but the current congregation (predominantly elderly) had a far less materialistic view of Christianity. The congregation had not fallen from grace but had realised that all they need is a bible, some hymns and each other to worship the “lawd.” The contrast to a change in attitude toward material wealth was also documented in old photos depicting a brief history of the church. Currently the church feeds the homeless on Saturdays and Sundays but in photographs from the 1940s you can see a very smartly dressed congregation posing with a portable gramophone player decorated with the inscription “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from all sin.” I am sure a tramp would appreciate a hot meal over the sound of a crackling choral piece on vinyl, yet ironically I am sure we had more homeless in post blitz London than we do now. The longevity and history of Hampden Chapel helped put the “unprecedented riots,” (another Sky news lie) into perspective and led to the appreciation of the durable nature of religion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arriving to at a midweek prayer meeting I was vigorously interrogated by my hosts which made me feel at first unwanted but later more appreciated. The church, currently without a pastor, was reliant on its elders to run the service. The main reading was led by the extremely wise looking Vanessa whose reading focused on the subject of grace. Vanessa had a sophisticated quality to her bible readings, a light Caribbean accent that spoke the Queen’s English with exceptional poise and clear articulation, you could have closed your eyes and felt you had been transported to an elocution lesson from Victorian England. Not only could age and maturity be heard in her voice but unfaltering faith that made every word seem so important. It was to her credit that her religious rambling which took a variety of quotes that mentioned grace from the Books of Timothy, Thessalonians, Titus, Corinthians yet never appeared unfocused. One of my pet hates during sermons (more often by evangelists) is the orator’s decision not to focus on a specific chapter but to stitch together a sermon by focusing on one word or theme that recurs throughout the Bible. I object to the need to create a Meta truth and simplify a highly complex book by linking sound bite quotes. My objection to this course of sermon is it mirrors mass culture’s inability to think and consider the nuances of subcultures and its need to reduce everything to a more simplified format so to patronise us into all sharing the same opinion. Despite my lack of love for Vanessa’s format I was transfixed by her reading on the subject of grace. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For Vanessa grace was the immeasurable gift of life that God has given us all and that we only need to accept for it to become a predetermined constant. Essentially her sermon was a plea to accept the life god has given us. Vanessa’s grace only had reward for those who believed and she knew I did not which created a far more interesting dynamic in our conversation in comparison to more regular Sunday conversing. I would see grace in the love and favour I feel from strangers I meet every Sunday but for Vanessa grace can only be given by God in your relationship to God and had nothing to do with anyone else. No one in the congregation that supports you, no minister who spiritually saved you, no family members; grace could only be achieved by you and God. I found this view too individualistic and while I don’t strive to achieve a state of grace like the majority of Christians I feel it’s important not to ignore the communities formed by celebrating God. Ironically, despite Vanessa’s firm belief in an isolationist salvation she was clearly loved and respected by everyone, every member seemed to talk to her, seek her approval, ask her advice, she was the queen of Hampden Chapel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though I did not agree with her I felt a desire to please her and gain her respect but I just fell short of her grace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The reason I fell short or the reason I wanted her approval was that my main concern this week was to appreciate and be appreciated by the community where I live. The riots have been blown out of proportion and are being hijacked by politicians and media to garner fear for their own means which is destroying any sense of communal self-worth. I did not want to believe you can achieve grace through praying alone because at the moment I really needed to believe in people praying together as a community.</span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-20125273409818067242011-08-15T16:20:00.000-07:002012-01-03T07:16:00.623-08:00Hackney Methodist Church, Mare Street, 7.08.11<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5xj_4ZyWUb4/TYz0a16j4KI/AAAAAAAAAMY/mAznpDgMmUU/s1600/IMG_2860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5xj_4ZyWUb4/TYz0a16j4KI/AAAAAAAAAMY/mAznpDgMmUU/s320/IMG_2860.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How many ways can you worship God? Each week I discover another Christian community who celebrate Jesus in their own unique and personal way but this week I found a church that conducts three different Methodist services on the same Sunday. What makes these services so different yet belong to the same doctrine? Hackney Methodist Church advertises 10.00AM Morning Worship (Quieter Service), 11.00AM Morning Worship, 2.00PM Zimbabwean service. Sadly my planned Christian marathon did not live up to its masochistic expectations (eventually being reduce to the average one service per church) instead the Sunday was eclipsed by the charismatic personality of Father Sakutombo. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JNrMXmNNpfA/TYz0Y3hk2lI/AAAAAAAAAMM/1TZ-L3Ixgfw/s1600/IMG_2857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JNrMXmNNpfA/TYz0Y3hk2lI/AAAAAAAAAMM/1TZ-L3Ixgfw/s320/IMG_2857.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My expectations were quickly quashed when I arrived at 10.00 AM to find the doors closed. Arriving on time and discovering a church is closed is always disconcerting, several times I have panicked and immediately set off to what would be my closest back up church. I used to have a romantic and naive hope that all church doors are forever open but this year I have been continually disappointed to find them closed. Loitering outside closed church doors does make you feel very odd and strangely criminal, like you’re going to commit a spiritual burglary on a faith that should not have been closed off from you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After panic my next emotion is blame, often directed at myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked myself is there a Christian holiday that no one has told me about? How ignorant could I be of the Christian calendar? Could the first Sunday of August traditionally represent God’s day off?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A non-Christian holiday for Christians! It would make sense that God would get sick of every holiday being about him. My realistic fears are that I have chosen the day after the congregation were celebrating a late night vigil, or are on their annual visit to Clacton on Sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now my experience has taught me not to panic and expect that the majority of non-Anglican and Catholic services start at least half an hour later than advertised. So I stood around till 10.45 until I learned that the “Quiet Service” was so quiet it did not exist. Luckily I had a backup service at 11.00 (which predictably did not start till 11.30) and would then go on to the Zimbabwean service (the climax to my Sunday).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Disappointingly the Zimbabwean service had to be cancelled due to Father Sakutombo’s other commitments; luckily Father Sakutombo would be taking the regular service. Although I was unable to go to the three planned services, the shared key element besides God, the Holy Bible and the church building was Father Sakutombo. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Father Sakutombo was not the greatest spokesman in the world, he did not give the most clear bible readings, his sermon was at times erratic, almost incomprehensible and you were never sure if he was conducting the service or the service conducting him. Regardless of these superficial and technical faults he was an absolute pleasure to be in the company of and the entire congregation clearly loved him. The loud cackling laugh, the spontaneous singing, the incredibly wide smile and his infectious sense of joy which led to an eccentric sermon was clearly the source of his faults and his success. Born in the Zimbabwe but moving to England in 1970s Father Sakutombo candidly said that his recent success with the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zimbabwe Methodist community had come with recent migrations due to civil unrest in their homeland back in early 2000 to the present. Father Sakutombo clearly stated that though he and the Zimbabwean members of the congregation were Methodists their service was not separated purely for language purposes but had clear culturally specific rituals that would not be found in the regular Methodist service. Interestingly Father Sakutombo when reading from the Methodist book of worship appeared to be reminding himself and the Zimbabwean contingent (the majority of the congregation) of the standard formula to the Methodist service. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Luckily the Methodist church really prepares its congregation by handing out the Book of Hymn and Pslams , Good News Bible and Methodist Book of Worship. Certain congregation members used the books with noticeably more energy and dedication than your average weekend worshipper. In particular a very sweet faced but linguistically struggling male was still looking for the correct page number to partake in a communally read prayer but when he eventually reached the page he could only shout the final word “Amen.” Not all congregational members struggled with the language barrier and the congregation appeared very culturally mixed. Noticeably a recent female graduate gave a clear Bible reading from the Book of Zephaniah (even priest’s struggle when reading aloud Old Testament passages) and talked of her charitable plans to work in Malawi. Despite the wide variety of personalities within the congregation it was the Zimbabwean contingent that dominated my attention and particularly the ladies fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three rows of ladies dressed in white cotton dresses and blue head scarfs were off set on the other side of the nave by a smaller group also dressed in white dresses but with satin white cloth hats. I wanted to know the reason behind the different uniforms but my English reserve held me back. I presume the separation was of family or maybe of certain regional differences but could not be sure. Both these female groups appeared to struggle with some hymns yet when the collection plate was passed both groups spontaneously began to sing an old traditional tribal song and the room came to life with dancing and music. Hackney Methodist Church’s culture clash within the service provided some of the most sweetly surreal church moments of my agnostic pilgrimage.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The ying to Father Sakutombo’s loud and joyful yang was the quietest congregational member, an American pianist who I never learnt the name of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without the piano she would have been invisible, only noticeable for her silence. Yet the piano made her personality fill the room. The use of the piano in a service provided great novelty and classical tone to the old Methodist hymns which were predominantly written in the 1800s for an organ. The strangest moment came during the communion in which the music partnered with Sakutombo’s strong, sharp east African accent created a mismatch of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christian cultures. The communion transformed the fairly nondescript room into a magical shared space that reflected the Christian cultural lineage from the original evangelical Methodist hymns of the 19 century England to the present globalised multicultural urban Christian existence. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">There seems to be no end to how many different ways you can worship God and I should never worry that people may run out of original ideas to celebrate God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s more important than different forms of worship existing is that they also co-exist and may even create new forms of Christian worship together. Father Sakutombo’s ability to bring the congregation together led to one of the most unexpectedly rewarding services. A service that made you feel happy for the variously conflicted ways people worship God and the culture it creates. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">PS </span></div><span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">Apologies for the late post but I have been away this weekend on my holiday and was unable to access the internet. It has not been easy to go to church mid-week due to the recent riots but hoping to have a post ready for this Sunday. Thanks for all the calls, emails and texts concerned with my wellbeing but personally I feel the riots in Hackney have been totally sensationalised. According to Sky News I have been “living in a war zone,” over the last week which is total rubbish. Week in and week out I highlight how friendly and forthcoming theresidents of Hackney and Tower Hamlets are and I feel upset that the media, the government and the police are exaggerating the problems within my area. I am not supporting the rioters or claiming that a serious crime has not been caused but the my personal view as a resident of the east end for 9 years is that people are not in fear of each other but in fear of the police. I personally blame the government and the media whose heavy handed approach has empowered the few over the many.</div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-26789003109320451292011-08-07T06:44:00.000-07:002011-08-21T06:02:27.988-07:00The Bethel Revival Ministry International, 2-4 Crown close, off Hackney Wick, 31.01.11<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7aGi1udCyDM/TYz4ZNgjDEI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/CFpRxacday4/s1600/churches+178.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7aGi1udCyDM/TYz4ZNgjDEI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/CFpRxacday4/s320/churches+178.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Church is all about commitment and dedication so I decided to put my agnostic faith to the test in a masochistic act of self-indulgence. This Sunday I awoke at 6.45 in a rural camp site just outside Didcot in Oxfordshire after a heavy night of fun with the knowledge I had to return to my home in East London and get to a service for 12.30. After one car journey, two trains, an underground diversion, a final bus journey and a cycle ride I made my commitment and sat in the foyer of the Bethel Revival Ministry smugly shattered. My body may have been present in the foyer but my mind was very much asleep. Every time I closed my eyes for prayer I was comforted not by the voice of God but by the future promise of sleep. My semi-comatose condition would have been well hidden in a more sedate service of Anglicans and Catholics but instead I was in the presence of an all singing and loud praying joyous bunch of Ghanaian evangelicals. This week’s Christian community must have judged my unenergetic worship as an act of rudeness or worse a symptom of my lighter skin colour. I pride myself on being a very unrestrained Englishman and I did not want to be passively repressed in my participation in the service’s loud singing and dancing, however I did reassure myself that I was justifiably tired because of my travels. Ironically, my tired and over-travelled state was actually surrounded by the friendliest, most forthcoming, energetic and inquisitive congregation I have yet to visit and who had culturally and historically travelled far further than me to worship God in Hackney.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bdhhy9_Z5QM/TYz4Zo5LJ_I/AAAAAAAAAZ8/gQGXzWoS1XA/s1600/churches+179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Bdhhy9_Z5QM/TYz4Zo5LJ_I/AAAAAAAAAZ8/gQGXzWoS1XA/s320/churches+179.jpg" t$="true" width="213" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Bethel Revival Ministry International has a short but rich history, founded in 1974 by a Christian housewife named Sister Alice Newman after she was visited by God, who told her to give up her work as a hairdresser and go preach the gospel. As Sister Alice grew a predominantly Ghanaian congregation the church moved from Stoke Newington to Leyton and finally to their current building in Hackney Wick. The new building has a modern design with modest church attributes of an arched wooden door, three sets of stone arched windows and a gable roof. Lacking the romance of age, the modern building felt well-loved in its smart presentation and slightly odd with its architectural spiritual aspirations. The cost of the newly built church was clearly paid by the celebrity of Alice’s fame as a Christian healer. Visiting and healing people in Holland, Italy, Pakistan, India, Belgium and Germany as well as establishing permanent ministries in Vicenza in Italy, Accra and Kumasi in Ghana and more others around London. Alice was clearly a Christian celebrity appearing on Revelation TV (Christian digital channel) and the writer of three books “God Comes When Everything is Hopeless,” “Your Weapon is Your Prayer,” “Overcome Your Enemies with Prayer,” but Alice was not noticeable by her absence. Despite The Bethel Revival Ministry International being her spiritual home Alice was on a mission back in Ghana, not that I would have realised about her fame had it not been for the highly informative congregation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To view the creation of the church as one woman’s journey would be wrong and meeting the congregation it was clear that the highly diverse group of Ghanaians had travelled “near and far,” to come and worship in Hackney. “Near and far,” is the staple response I have received from many West African Christians when I ask if the community are local, it’s a sign that they understand that the congregation are not local but they lack the information, interest or English language to explain from where they have come. Three congregational members particularly demonstrated how “near and far,” the church had travelled and informed and guided me through the service.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">On entering the lower ground floor foyer of the church I was greeted by James, a smartly dressed and smiling man but very gentle in his manner in comparison to the more extrovert parishioners. Walking in a room of loud spoken prayers can be daunting to someone lacking sleep and energy so I was grateful for James’s thoughtful introduction. James was linguistically neither “near or far” he spoke clearly and definitively in a Ghanaian accent but could not make leading statements and appeared to be restricted to answers rather than questions; or he was being a polite host and I was being a rude inquisitive guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite a slight language barrier he was desperate for me to understand his speech and punctuated every sentence with his pupils, his eyes constantly staring into my own as we talked as if some non-verbal truth would pass between them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was James pointing at the various shrines of Alice’s international philanthropy in the lower foyer that informed me of the churches origins. James was a big Alice fan. James clearly believed the sentiments of the Bible and The Holy Spirit would translate any misunderstanding. As James contributed to the service with a reading and testimony he did shout in praise of God and reminded those that merely attending church does not absolve you of sin (he had just been talking to me after all) but his mild manner did dissolve and his voice and body shook with excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The public religious out pouring was inoffensive with no direct target but the congregation’s own self-evaluation but his change in manner was an indication of how the gentlest of men can achieve a sense of righteousness through religion. Fascinating that the most vocal and lucid of speaking came from when he recited and talked on the Bible as if God gave him the confidence to speak out. In comparison to James’s few words but kind spirited personality was the well-spoken, deep voiced and eloquent Derek.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I did not notice Derek’s arrival until upstairs at the start of the service when he introduced himself. A large man in his 40s, neatly dressed but not suited like most men of the congregation, he wore thin framed glasses that superficially added intellectual gravitas to his smart casual appearance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Derrick guided me through the redemption hymnal, translated the parts of the service in Twi and explained certain rituals. Not that he had to explain much, the majority of the service was the standard evangelical mix of testimonies and sermon intercut with songs. The most impressive aspect of the service was the singing and the acappella caller response relationship between the pastor and the congregation. The congregation had such a great rapport with their pastor, forming a raw vocal harmony. None of the singing was staged for certain stars (with the exception of the pastor) so the singing had a very inclusive feel in comparison to other evangelical services. The singing, dancing and praying of Derek I took to be far more introverted and a sign of a more English formal manner. Derek waved some arms and praised aloud “thank you Jesus,” but he did it with a far more reserved manner. On my travels I have been grabbed, shook, pointed at to praise the lord by enthusiastic congregational members so I was grateful for this unassuming chaperoning. In comparison to James we hardly made eye contact but we did do a lot more talking. Yet I did not get a good impression on what Derek was like until he translated for me the other congregation member’s testimonies. When translating a lady’s testimony on returning to the UK you could hear a sense of pride in his voice in helping build a connection between me and her. Derek had been visiting the church since 1993 when the church was based in Leyton and during his translation I realised not only his religious dedication but also his dedication to Ghana (his homeland) and his people. Like any good translator he merely relayed the speaker’s words and within the lady’s testimony he and her help summed up my impression of the church. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">If Derek was from “near,” then the lady speaking as loud as her green, black and yellow dress was definitely from a “far.” On returning to the UK she wanted to thank the congregation for looking after and supporting her daughter in her absence as she tended other family needs back in Accra. As her voice trembled with emotion in a language I did not understand I could at least sense the gratitude in her face as Derek told me how her other family members missed the congregation back in England. Declaring the church as her family it became clear that church did not only provide a religious identity but a cultural one that helped sustain and support its members in our recently globalised world. I have never been a fan of nationalism but comparing my own pathetic sense of pride at arriving at church after a six hour journey I could understand the national sense of pride built on migration that bound The Bethel Revival International Ministry. The church may have been founded on one woman’s religious revelation and healing abilities but it existed in the many journeys of a wide variety of Ghanaian Brits who had live in London and have travelled from “near and far.” </span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-42755378343688811072011-07-31T09:20:00.000-07:002011-07-31T09:20:09.513-07:00Christian Life Family Church, Somerford and Shacklewell Community Hall, Shacklewell Road, 24.07.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PiUeJH_jWes/TYz3NADQFEI/AAAAAAAAAT4/q4ipql3opt8/s1600/churches+087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PiUeJH_jWes/TYz3NADQFEI/AAAAAAAAAT4/q4ipql3opt8/s400/churches+087.jpg" t$="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week I was disappointed by the spiritually reflective but restrained ritual of the Anglican Church. Despite the well intentioned sermon on religious tolerance I felt the transformative nature of Christianity was absent from the service, but the Anglican church has no need to transform or challenge the establishment. When a religious institution has the majesty of St Pauls and some of the most beautiful church buildings in the world, the wealth of one of the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>richest countries and a great history of inspiring highly celebrated works of literature and art you can understand why the church might grow conservative in its evangelism. No need to rock the establishment when you are the establishment. Other churches have less and therefore must believe in more and that’s why I chose to visit the Christian Life Family Church based in Somerford and Shacklewell Community Hall just in the centre of the Somerford estate on Shacklewell road. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-joeNz4DvqQo/TYz3L5HiHmI/AAAAAAAAAT0/n2cYe3XqEDQ/s1600/churches+086.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-joeNz4DvqQo/TYz3L5HiHmI/AAAAAAAAAT0/n2cYe3XqEDQ/s320/churches+086.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Located in the back roads of Hackney away from the richer surrounding areas of Dalston and Stoke Newington, the community centre might only be a short distance from Kingsland Road/Stoke Newington High Street but the convoluted pathways form an isolated maze of alleyways and cul-de-sacs so the people from the estate don’t fully mix with the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>gentry. London’s windy roads create a subliminal sense of segregation and safety yet appearing integrated. It’s a trick that modern cities are unable to replicate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So despite its very short distance from the richer and historical churches of Stoke Newington the poor surroundings of Somerford and Shacklewell Community Hall felt far further. To even call the small modest construction a hall was to embellish its humble architecture, so to call the hall a church was to aspire to see God in one of the most depressingly uniform of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>buildings. No cloisters, no arches, no stained glass, no pillars, no steeple, no tower, just a concrete rectangluar box with windows that could not fully open. Inside no sanctuary, no nave, no altar, no font, no pulpit, no pews, no organ, no crucifixes, no bible quotes, no bibles. Just four rows of chairs, a few tambourines, one pair of congas and a Perspex transparent lectern decorated with dust stains, a small crack and the faded red text declaring the box sized room a “Tower of Refuge.” I found the room beautifully bleak and was comforted by the congregation’s aspirations for spiritual transcendence because for all its unimaginative design this building was being used to celebrate life in the form of Christian worship. The church in the congregation’s eyes was far bigger and all-encompassing than the dimly lit depressing room we stood in. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The reason behind the congregation’s acceptance of such a squalid building was necessity and experience. Pastor Patrick Yeboah who led the service informed me that the entire congregation was from Ghana with the exception of one Nigerian and that the congregation had started in Dalston Methodist Church (which I visited in February) but had moved to the community centre in 2003. A modest ministry had a skeleton attendance. At the start of the service the room contained only the pastor, me and one lady but as the celebrations began the worship magically raised the attendance to 12 people by the services’ final blessing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Christian Life Family Church are a part of the larger organisation, Rhema Christ religious network, which are based in South London but appear to have pop up ministries across London with ties to West Africa. Rhema Chist seemed to be a very niche organisation with its congregation members reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">from The Holy Bible Illustrated for People of Colour</i> and singing religious harmonies like tribal folk songs without hymn books and very little musical accompaniment. In short the congregation did not go to church they brought church to the community centre in their strong belief in the transformative spirit of God. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">From the opening prayer Pastor Patrick Yeboah and a single lady with a large voice started the service and managed to create an amazing atmosphere to transport you from the most mundane surroundings. Leading caller response prayers intercut with singing and spoken aloud testimonies to god the entire room was filled with a large vocal range of West African accents. The squeaky pitches of excitement offset by low baritone calmness had a raw quality only musically supported by the rattling of tambourines. Anyone looking into the room would have been scared off by the cacophony of noise but to be inside the room and feel the atmosphere being generated was electrifying. Never before did I want to talk to god than in that single moment and never before had I realised how impossible it would be for me. The ability to create such emotion through stating ones monologue to God was inspiring because I am unable to do so myself. Luckily my own tokenistic out loud testimonies to God were drowned out by the raucous hiss of the tambourines. The tambourines created a sound level for the congregation to rise above and achieve a sense of liminality by calling out their open testimonies to God over a din of noise. I could feel my body elevate and feel free by the noise generated by the congregation achieving a pure sense of euphoria but no illusion to God or perhaps I did not recognise the euphoria as God. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ultimately the Christian Life Church ritualistically create an electric atmosphere of spirituality through a very informal manner that separates them from the more formal routine of the Eucharist in the Anglican and the Catholic Church. Maybe Anglican and Catholic services once had such raw energy and have now grown old and tired? My feeling is that the energy generated by Christian Life Church is built on the desire to transcend due to their less privileged situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet is blind belief all you need to be a Christian? Pastor Patrick Yeboah’s erratic sermon could have been improved by imitating the more bible centric and structured sermons of the Anglican and Catholic priests. The service spanned<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>four hours and we did not have one bible reading and not even a few quotes, instead we had a heavy use of a nonsensical metaphor that sounded like it was quoted from a business self-improvement class. Patrick Yeboah declared to the congregation to “Run your Own Race.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Obviously you can’t “Run your Own Race,” if he had told the congregation to “live your own life” that would have made sense but the statement “Run Your Own Race,” is nonsensical and paradoxical. A race must include a minimum of two people by stating you only have to beat yourself you create a masochistic personality<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>who never gets the relief of winning or losing but are constantly preoccupied by a race that knows no end (until they die and meet God). To illustrate his point, Yeboah related his business idiom to inaccurate descriptions of ancient history (wrongly declaring Richard the “lionheart” beating the Romans because he ran his own race) and worrying opinions of global development (America broke free from the British Empire and is now most the developed country in the world because they ran their race). The most upsetting statements were not misinformation but the claim that you should not sympathise with others just “Run Your Own Race.” All of a sudden last week’s Anglican Church’s sermon on tolerance provided a good Christian tonic to the well-meaning but paranoid sermon of Pastor Yeboah’s plea for individualism. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The question is raised “Can the energy of Christ Life Church be married to the more reflective sermons of the Anglican and Catholic Church?” I don’t think they can because I think the energy of Christ Life Church but also the negative misinformation comes from its transformative nature. The Christ Life Church is still growing and has very few institutions therefore it lives more in the minds of its congregation. In the minds of the congregation it can transform and it can raise the spirits in any building but it can also change the bible’s morality to more personal fantasies. Christ Life Church is created by its ritual it does not have grand designs and large pillars to hide behind instead the ritual makes the building. The ritual is in the transformative practice of the congregation but the church felt like it was not fully formed as if it’s running a race against itself with no clear end in sight. </span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6440368938017669185.post-3032491490376281762011-07-24T07:08:00.000-07:002011-07-24T07:08:22.330-07:00St Pauls West Hackney, Stoke Newington High Street, 17.07.11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uHRZ3vkvYL8/TYz3KPV48mI/AAAAAAAAATs/lrnBibHKfVs/s1600/churches+084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uHRZ3vkvYL8/TYz3KPV48mI/AAAAAAAAATs/lrnBibHKfVs/s400/churches+084.jpg" t$="true" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Christians don’t go to church for a once in a lifetime experience but I do. I go to a different church each weekend hoping to have a spiritual epiphany or at least learn something new. My choice to visit a different church each weekend entirely misses the point that going to church is a communal ritual not an individual journey of self-discovery. Not that going to church does not help form ones identity but it is an identity that is intrinsically linked by weekly visits to a community. In earlier posts I have commented on my voyeuristic and isolationist position in relation to the congregation which has so far defined my identity throughout my blog but this week I grew indifferent (which is generally not in my personality). I don’t like being indifferent, I feel I lose my sense of self-worth. When I ask myself “Why indifference,” I naturally conclude that it was because “nothing happened,” but nothing is always something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The word nothing is merely used by people to explain that they don’t have an opinion on the something that happened. So when I say “nothing happened,” I mean that nothing changed me and therefore my feeling of nothing is ironically the presence of everything being familiar. So what nothing happened at St Pauls of West Hackney Church on Stoke Newington High Street?</span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FlUeg6Ame3c/TYz3I1P0gcI/AAAAAAAAATo/eqTpsJNZynY/s1600/churches+083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FlUeg6Ame3c/TYz3I1P0gcI/AAAAAAAAATo/eqTpsJNZynY/s320/churches+083.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Nothing took many forms. It took the form of a recognisable 1960s modest church building. Nothing was the Byzantine interior design that created an intimate forum for worship, very similar to St Paul on Bow Common and St Michaels of All Angels on Landsdown Drive. Nothing was the Christian Liturgy from the Lord’s Prayer to the the sharing of the peace finishing with Communion and final blessing. Nothing was the typical urban multicultural congregation: young families with kids playing in a crèche behind the sanctuary during the service, the older families who seemed to be missing some relatives, the single women who run the church and the elderly who fill the majority of the pews. The only oddity was a young couple who it later transpired were soon to be married confirming themselves as another cliché. All these people are not the stereotypes I described and do have unique personal stories but it is their exterior familiarity that limits my interest and that is because the service allows me to be disinterested. Engaged in a ritual rather than seeking spiritual fulfilment I fall into the routine boredom of the Eucharist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike the aggressively passionate evangelicals, the institutionalised passivity in the Anglican Church leaves me to be who I am and not to be spiritually transformed or challenged. The curate, Janet Buchan’s (who conducted the service at St Michaels and All Angels in January) sermon encapsulated the modern Anglican Church message of tolerance and passivity.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The church deacon Janet Buchan was so pleasant and unassuming, tiny in size with giant smile and breathy voice which would be at home on Radio Four. Janet based her sermon around a passage taken from Mathew Chapter 13 “But he replied, “No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.” Jesus’s parable is a clear statement on the virtues of tolerance that understands that Christians must allow other walks of life to co-exist. The final line indicates that heathen existence is not be judged by Christians on Earth but in heaven by God. Janet Buchan elaborates on the parable that despite the best intentions of certain moral crusades you can sometimes blindly cause offence. In many respects the sermon indicates the pitfalls of evangelism and religious extremism and the general notion that one should not judge as God would. The sermon was not interested in the sins outside religion but sins within religious institutions. Buchan’s thoughtful sermon indicated the Anglican Church’s highly self-conscious identity and its desire to be accepted as a modern and liberal institution. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I found the sentiments unchallenging and uninspiring as they merely replicated my own sense of morality. In this respect my feeling of nothing was agreement. The liberal plea for democratic tolerance and understanding was echoed in the pamphlet. Every word of the liturgy, every word from hymns and every word of Bible readings were included. At the back of the pamphlet was an advertisement for a Farmer’s market held in the church, public information on plans for a new Sainsbury’s shopping centre (whose mere presence was an indication of opposition) and an advertisement for a comedy fundraising event at the Bloomsbury Theatre (whose headline act Stewart Lee has been famously boycotted by the Christian Right for his comedy musical Jerry Springer The Opera back in 2006).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of these announcements at the back of the<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>pamphlet bred familiarity and chimed with my own personal interests and therefore I felt nothing. But how has the Anglican Church become such a liberal centre of Christian philosophy in comparison to other churches I visit? My simple answer is it is due to need a need to address the rise of criticism religion has experienced by science.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Religions in recent years have taken a critical battering by science.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You would think science had something better to do like find the cure for cancer, develop an infinite power resource, or feed the world but instead science seems to have retreated into kicking the morality out of religion. Below I have attached an extremely good video from the Guardian that sums up morality without God. I think the video articulates the obvious shared set of values held by most agnostics, atheists and some theists. The Anglican Church is such a liberal body and self-conscious of social developments that I am sure they will have accepted the benefits of this no god centric morality. Unlike the Catholics and Evangelical groups I expect that the Anglican Church welcomes a more plural perspective of morality and may even have been humbled by the recent developments in social science. I think the video brilliantly articulates the predicament of the liberal Anglican Church goer as they find themselves in a world dominated by scientific thought over religious scripture.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/T7xt5LtgsxQ?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The video does have its problems. For one I reject the notion of human progress, as it creates a concept that countries are developing for the better and that the most developed societies (the UK) have utopian ideals. I accept that certain societies are victims of a lack of education and good governance but surely all societies have their benefits. To hold up a so called developed society such as the UK as the promise land is a fallacy. Ironically in its projection of a superiority complex onto the lesser developed countries the video displays how the scientific study of society replicates Christianity’s Western bias.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>History has shown that democracy existed long before Christianity and Ancient Greece but in tribal cultures in Asia, Africa and America. Similarly long before the homophobia of Christianity we have historical records of homosexuality existing in every continent on the planet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also the belief that racism was prevalent in the past is a fiction, racism has developed in time through science and economics, and we have little proof of racial segregation and persecution being as common in societies until colonialism. My point is that scientific ideals risk replacing religious ideals as proponents of power in a global hierarchal system instead science should merely reveal universal morality and separate it from religion.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The other key problem with the video is its need to define scientific morality in opposition to religion and therefore it misses the non-moral benefits of church. The video indicates how morality does not need religion but it importantly does not outline why people don’t need religion. The Anglican Church should take comfort that morality can be handled by the scientists and they can focus on the pure celebration of the Holy Spirit. The belief of the unknown and the communal raising of a shared consciousness are beyond the scientific realm and it is the central reason people go to church. The Anglican Church should focus on recognising Grace, God and the glory of the unknown in our lives instead of defending itself against the modern world. If church merely replicates the morality that I and fellow agnostic/atheists share then it is being made redundant by social developments in modern society. When I go to church I don’t want to feel nothing, I want to be challenged, I wanted to be inspired, I want questions not answers and therefore I want religion not science. </span></div>Joel Pullinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07136192060156643171noreply@blogger.com0