The fullness of truth

Before I begin, I should point out that I'm not claiming that the title of this post represents the exact nature of the content! I don't claim to know everything or even the nature of such knowledge, as will become clear.

The articles that Andrew and I have posted over the last few days have led me to re-examine my own spiritual journey, and to consider my relative position within the whole of God's Church. I was not brought up in any particular denomination; various members of my family have, at various times, been Anglican, Methodist and Roman Catholic. My grandmother was a Methodist, and as a result I was educated at an independent Methodist school where I participated fully in Chapel life through the choir there. However, in common with most rural areas of England, village life was largely centred on the Anglican church (incidentally, a beautiful Norman Church, pictured) and therefore I was also involved there in both worship and social life. I also had a strong interest in Roman Catholicism; despite the lack of opportunities to experience Catholic worship, I was able to attend Mass on some occasions, more so once I had a Catholic girlfriend in the years before going to Oxford.

In many ways, I still feel that the Anglo-Catholic Church of England has much to offer. I also feel a strong affinity to the liberal Methodists. As much as the Church of England has been described as "the Conservative Party at prayer", so the Methodists in England were closely aligned to the old Liberal Party, who fought throughout the nineteenth century for social justice, and particularly the abolition of slavery. My great grandfather was a Methodist preacher and also a member of the Liberal Party. In the early 20th century, Methodists (through the social democratic Fabian Society) were instrumental in founding the Labour Party, of which I am a member.

Unfortunately, both the Anglican and Methodist communions in England have moved away from liberalism in favour of a somewhat less appealing ontology. Firstly, when I was eleven, our Anglican parish priest retired and was replaced by a young Australian named Ross. He was a well educated man, with whom I got on well and had many lengthy discussions about our Faith. However, he, like many Anglicans, was of a much more Evangelical persuasion than the traditional Church of England. As a priest, he was naturally somewhat retiscent about overtly stating his position for fear of losing people; but it was clear where his sentiments lay. One of the assistants he brought in claimed "There is no Church of England. Everyone here is a Free Evangelical". Worryingly, the church became associated with a number of radical groups who distributed literature claiming that "homosexuality is a cureable disease", and who sent teams of volunteers to set up a "Free Church" in Belgium with the aim of "converting" Catholics to "the true faith". There were some other more sinister events, which I will not write about here in order to preclude further damage to the individuals involved. The invasion of the doctrines of the Christian Right, largely from the United States, was irresistible - virtually all the Anglican churches in Somerset subscribe to this point of view - and this was enough to put me off.

Things were not much better in the Methodist world. Despite running a large network of schools, the Methodist church in England is sadly dying out, with dwindling congregations and, as a result, a large number of buildings being sold off for private development. When I was thirteen, my school appointed a deputy head who was also of the Christian Right. In his first address to the School, he claimed that "AIDS is God's punishment for homosexuals". Oh dear. Whatever happened to the liberal tradition of Methodism?

It was around this time that I realised that, for all its faults, the Roman Catholic church is the best, if imperfect, home for my exploration of the Faith. Whereas my Anglican vicar was assuredly telling me that "all Muslims will go to Hell unless they become Christians", the Catholics were pointing out that in fact we worship the same God. Indeed, to return to the title of this post, while we may not be able to understand how, all religions express some part of the fullness of truth. We, of course, believe in the central truth of Jesus as Lord, and his great sacrifice to save us all, but this does not preclude the possibility that other religions can teach us about other aspects of truth. The Bible is the primary source for our Faith, but it is the perfect word of God viewed through the imperfect lens of humanity; it is not exhaustive, nor is it to be taken literally, word for word, as some of the Right would claim.

So, when I first attended Oxford in 1999, I took the decision to become a confirmed Roman Catholic. Sure, there are some aspects of Roman Catholicism with which I cannot agree, but I think it's important for those of a liberal persuasion to stick around to protest those. You might argue that I could have equally stuck with the Anglican or Methodist churches and fought for my beliefs, and I did try for several years, but I found myself unable to compete with the resources that were being brought in to defend a very Conservative, literalist view of the Bible and of faith in general. Jesus may have told us that the two greatest commandments were to love the one true God and to love your neighbour, but in the eyes of many "Free Evangelists", the (disputable) Old Testament prohibitions of homosexuality and immorality in general were a lot more important, even if it meant not loving your neighbour.

I'm still a committed Roman Catholic, but equally I can feel comfortable in "true" Anglican or Methodist settings. Yes, the RC Church has its fair share of illiberal views, but it is acceptable to disagree with them as many Catholics do, and your own point of view will be respected. Compassion and hope are the core of our beliefs, not an irrational loathing of those who are deemed to transgress. Most importantly, the other great teaching of Jesus that we should not judge others lest we be judged ourselves is taken seriously, whereby while the Church will seek to discourage practises it finds sinful, it will never condemn an individual for engaging in them; the individual's humanity, and our duty of compassion, override any sense of moral superiority.

Well I seem to have rambled on about this for long enough now. I hope this post provides an idea of where I'm coming from - I'm still not sure myself so I wouldn't be surprised if those reading weren't either.

Van the Man

Following on from Andrew's post about John Donne, I have been moved to say a few words about Van Morrison here.

In many ways, Van Morrison has been my guru throughout my life so far. Growing up, my parents listened to virtually nothing else - they own every single one of his albums, on vinyl of course, and these were played at every social occasion and (on tape) on every car journey. There are many reasons to love his work, but here are just a few.

Firstly, the quality of Morrison's music is undeniable. His work is not readily placed into any particular genre, although his main influences are clearly blues, jazz and soul. The music is instantly recognisable in a way that hardly any artists today can claim. Need I say more?

Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, is the spiritual journey that Van Morrison has taken us on. Brought up in the Church of Ireland (post-disestablishment, the remains of the Anglican church in Ireland which retains much of its original Catholic heritage while being obviously Protestant), Morrison has also been keenly interested in Celtic mythology and religion. Much of his lesser-known work, particularly the albums Inarticulate Speech of the Heart and Avalon Sunset, deal with his fascination with ancient Celtic culture and mythology. This is a subject particularly close to my heart, having grown up in the County of Somerset, where the Isle of Avalon is located (much of Somerset, being mainly below sea level, consisted of several small islands until it was feasible to drain the area in the 17th Century). Avalon is believed to be the location of Jesus' visit to England; Joseph of Arimathea is said to have planted his staff in the ground, for it to grow into a tree which remained until it was uprooted during the Civil War. See
Glastonbury for more on that.

The most refreshing thing about Morrison's interest in Celtic mythology, however, is that unlike the majority of quasi-hippies who hang around Glastonbury promoting their fake potions and phoney religious views, he has remained true to the Faith. Indeed, the Celtic aspects of our heritage has only strengthened his beliefs. The 1991 album, Hymns to the Silence, reaffirmed Morrison's Christian ideals with versions of Just a Closer Walk with Thee and Be Thou my Vision (a hymn based on a traditional Celtic tune), as well as original compositions which glorify God in a relaxed, unpretentious manner. There are many Christian bands and artists who, with varying degrees of success, seek to advance their faith through music; Morrison, however, is best described as a musician who is also actively Christian rather than a Christian musician. Many of his fans do not share or even know of his faith, yet it is difficult to see how anyone could hear Whenever God Shines His Light on Me and not be moved (despite featuring Cliff Richard).

In short, Van Morrison as philosopher, poet and musician, represents my own upbringing (across the Catholic/Protestant divide) and ultimately the essence of the Celtic/Christian tradition that forms the basis of the culture of the British Isles. If anyone can be said to be raving on in the footsteps of John Donne, Van Morrison must surely be a candidate.

[As a postscript, Morrison now lives in Bath, the opposite side of Avalon to my family home. Recently, he is reported to have walked into Harpoon Louis's, a bar in my home town of Taunton, carrying a guitar, sat down in the back room and played a two-hour acoustic set, all without announcement or even speaking to anyone. If only I had been there!]