Disciple is just another word

It’s become very fashionable to use the language of “disciples” and “discipleship” to encourage commitment. I think it was David Watson (God be good to him) who really got the trend going. 

And I’ve got nothing against it as one term among others. Well, I should think not, I hear an imaginary interlocutor (possibly you, dear reader) mutter. How could anyone object to such a biblical term?

I don’t. What I do object to is the seeming assumption it is a better term than any other for real Christians. You see, it’s one of the often uncommented-on aspects of the language that it’s not used in the New Testament outside of the gospels and Acts. Paul doesn’t say “disciple” even once.

Perhaps – just perhaps – it was too attached to the idea of an immediate personal following, a class, a school, of a particular teacher easily to make the transition from those who followed Jesus in the flesh to a more generic use. Perhaps it was too clearly about being “a learner”, “a pupil” or “a student” to work as a more generic term for Christians in all contexts.

Whatever the reason, that absence of the word from the letters should at least give us pause in using it as anything more than one useful term among others. I’m all for emphasising life-long learning as a Christian calling, I’m not even averse to making people think by speaking of guru Jesus.

I just think there are more ways to think and speak about being a Christian, many of which may be just as valuable.

Valete, discipuli.

Should the C of E renew a permanent diaconate?

I was fascinated to learn form Rhoda Hiscox’s now out of print history of Reader ministry in the C of E that before the Archbishops settled on reviving (a version of) the office of Reader, the Church was debating whether it needed a lay ministry or a diaconate. That debate has rumbled on over 150 years, occasionally breaking out in a new proposal to revive a permanent diaconate, often by ordaining all Readers as deacons.

I blogged last week about Readers, but I want to follow it up with a few thoughts about deacons. I should say, here, that I mean deacons as in one of the three generally recognised orders of the Church, not the johnny-come-lately version innovated by Baptists. (I have heard some people talking about “lay deacons” but that seems to me such an oxymoronic non-starter that I’m not even to bother to go there.)

I think it’s a bad idea. myself, to make all Readers deacons, not least for the arguments in favour of having lay theologians. But I think it quite likely that some probably are called to something more like a diaconal ministry and that we would do well to try to renew such an order.

Most discussion of the diaconate is bedevilled by the language, because early Christians borrowed the everyday language of service for a range of activities, because the language of servant has often historically been used to disguise the language of slavery in biblical translation, and because the idea of servant-ministry has become a fashionable way for those who hold power in the church to pretend they don’t.

Something of this confusion can be seen in, say the letter to the Romans as translated by the NRSV.

1. Paul, a servant (δοῦλος – slave) of Jesus Christ (1:1)
2. We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us … ministry, in ministering (διακονίαν ἐν τῇ διακονίᾳ – transliterated diakonia – 12: 6-7)
3. [the state] is God’s servant (διάκονός – transliterated diakonos) for your good (13:4)
4. Christ has become a servant (διάκονον – accusative of diakonos) of the circumcised (15:8)
5. our sister Phoebe, a deacon (διάκονον – accusative of diakonos)– of the church at Cenchreae 16:1)

The English word servant translates (1 & 3/4) two different Greek words, and the Greek word group διάκονός / διακονία is translated by three different English words: ministry / servant / deacon (2 & 3/4 & 5). It is not exactly clearcut when and where the general idea of service indicates a more specific activity, or even a specific role, although it appears to do that in the case of Phoebe.

The most that can be said is that there is a general idea of service, which may sometimes seem to mean all “ministry” (as in 1 Cor 12:5 – “varieties of services (διακονιῶν), but the same Lord” ) and sometimes a very specific role as in the case of Phoebe, or indeed the church leaders at Philippi (“the bishops and deacons” (διακόνοις – Phil 1:1).

More influential for later understanding of the office of deacon is the story given of the selection of the seven in Acts to assist the apostles (Acts 6:1-6). The ministry to which they are appointed is to “wait on tables” – διακονεῖν τραπέζαις (6:2) so that the apostles are free to pray and preach. Whatever that expression means exactly (some think it might mean a form of banking), it is clear that it is about the distribution of the community’s resources to those in need.

(It’s worth noting at this point that most people regard this as well rooted in historical sources, precisely because the story reveals a picture of the early church divided in very specific ways along language-group – and possibly cultural – lines despite Luke’s editorial interest in a portraying an generous communism.)

It is the grounding of this ministry as one which both supports the apostolic ministry, and is rooted in the practical administration of charity and social service, which gets taken up into later understandings of the diaconate. It chimes with the general semantic field of the diakonia / diakonos word group, it allows quite a nice fit between the double description of Phoebe as both deacon and benefactor (patron – προστάτις), and it seems to gain some direct apostolic sanction from the story Luke tells.

Obviously the history of the office has developed rather differently, making it little other than a probationary year for the priesthood. But when debates come round about renewing the diaconate, it seems to me that this conception has something to say to the present situation.

I should pause, of course, to note that the other feature of the Acts narrative is that at least two of the seven take their newfound recognition well beyond waiting on tables. Stephen and Philip seem to be carrying out a form of work which is indistinguishable from that of the apostles.

Perhaps that’s always a feature of ministry that might make one a little suspicious of talk of a permanent diaconate – a phrase last in wide circulation trying to disguise the parking zone for women waiting for the Church to make up its mind about whether they could be priests. And one suspects that if the priesthood were open to them as married men, a great many of the permanent deacons in the Roman church would seek it.

If there is to be a renewed diaconate, then perhaps one which focusses on the work of practical service is a way of giving it some clarity, as well as some biblical roots. It is different from the priesthood in its focus while still needing to be representative of the whole Church’s ministry, and equally different from the role of teacher and lay theologian that I was exploring for Readers.

It may be that some of those currently carrying out the ministry of Reader should indeed be ordained deacon, recognising that this is what they really see their ministry as. It may equally be in the future that some who would otherwise end up, almost by default, as priests, in fact recognise that their calling is for the church, but not necessarily within its sanctuaries, and have a better and less frustrating option.

And, no doubt, whatever system we try to make work, there will always be the Stephens and Phillips who break out of it. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong to try to have a sense of what the core calling of any particular order of ministry might be.

Ministry: why bother with (lay) Readers?

I noted a few tweets last night around lay ministry and in particular the place of the Reader as a licensed lay minister in the Church of England. I have, as it happens, also spent quite a bit of time recently visiting other dioceses and looking at what they are doing regarding their training of Readers, and giving this what passes in my mind for thought.

For those outside Anglican circles, I should probably draw your attention to this page explaining that

Readers are lay men and women, from a wide diversity of occupations and backgrounds, who recognize a call to serve God and his world through the Church of England. They work in a variety of roles and situations across the Church, being authorised by the Church of England to preach and teach, to conduct or assist in conducting worship, and to assist in the pastoral, evangelistic and liturgical work of the Church in the parish or area where they are licensed.

One of the problems facing anyone trying to say anything coherent about either lay ministry in general or Reader ministry in particular is that they have grown in a disorganised, haphazard manner, not helped by the inability of the Church of England to agree much about any theology of ministry, lay or ordained. Like the Ordinal’s descriptions of ordained ministries, the one above tends to the functional compiling of job lists rather than attempting to define the core.

Essentially the mid-19th century resurrection of a minor order from the early church as a lay office focussed on reading the lessons in church services, and reading services of prayer, together with the Scriptures accompanied by an explanation on various mission contexts outside the churches. (All services were read, not led in those days.)

The former role eventually became eclipsed by widespread literacy allowing almost anyone to have a go, whether they made the Scriptures intelligible or not (quite often “not” as far as I can see). The latter role has constantly struggled against the Church’s centripetal obsession with its own navel. Both have been affected by the mid-twentieth century’s invention of every-member ministry, itself another example of the church’s inward turn: deprived of relevance in the real world, everybody imparted a great deal of self-importance to the roles they played in church.

The main place where baptised people exercise their share in the priesthood and ministry of Christ is in their daily lives, and only then in bringing those daily lives into the assembly of prayer and worship when Christ gathers his people together. Within that assembly, it is quite right that people contribute according to their gifts, but that does not mean everything has to be called a ministry.

We have gifts that differ according to the grace given to us: prophecy, in proportion to faith;  ministry, in ministering; the teacher, in teaching;  the exhorter, in exhortation; the giver, in generosity; the leader, in diligence; the compassionate, in cheerfulness. (Rom 12:6-8)

Here “ministry” (διακονία) seems to have some kind of technical meaning of (social?) service, rather than a generic meaning of “action for / to others in God’s name / service”. Certainly this is what the later developed office of deacon pointed to. “Every member ministry” in that light is simply a mischaracterisation, although one that could claim some readings of 1 Corinthians 12 in its support.

Against that backdrop I do want to argue that there are some things which should be seen as specific ministries, which are best seen as lay in character, rather than needing ordination. (And no, they don’t need to appear in one of St Paul’s lists, which are illustrative, not exhaustive.) Evangelist is one, but the ministry of Reader is another. I don’t think it helps to subsume all such ministries under the currently fashionable name “Licensed Lay Minister” – at least one diocese is using that officially sanctioned name change effectively to abolish distinctive offices.

What is it, then, which is the core of a distinctive lay ministry of Reader? There seems to be a centre of gravity, as it were, developing among those providing training for this ministry. The core business of Reader ministry is that it is to be a “lay theologian” (a calling traditionally recognised more in the East than the West).

The Reader reads both the sacred text and the texts of contemporary culture (and if we are to believe the cultural theorists, everything is a text) and ponders how to bring them into a helpful and intelligible conversation. That will certainly include a preaching ministry and a teaching ministry, but also a role facilitating local churches to develop their vision for how to live out a life of faith, hope and love that is authentic and truthful to where they live and to the inherited tradition of the Church.

Being lay is a significant element in reading the scriptures from within daily work and life, not as words only for the gathered assembly, but as words for the dispersed assembly. That, it seems to me, is a challenge and a vocation worth being called a ministry, and honoured as one. If it might seem a bit scary both to many clergy and many existing Readers, it nonetheless, I think, answers to one of the Church’s most pressing needs, and explains why the Church needs to restrict it to those who have committed themselves to being trained for it as the Church’s ministry and not simply their own.

Can the ordained worship God?

I notice that David Green said:

The elephant in the room for many leaders of worship (whether ordained or otherwise) is that when you are planning and then trying to lead your people through the journey of the worship, conscious of newcomers and guests, let alone children, keeping one eye on the clock, and another on whether dear ol’ Flo has pocketed her wafer rather than consuming it again, it’s very hard to retain a sense in your heart of worship and the presence of God.

He was picking up on this older post by David Cloake, which said:

As a priest, I either preside or I worship – the two rarely overlap

I confess that, while I sympathise with the practicalities being discussed, I am almost entirely unpersuaded by the argument. It is not just that there are a range of practical tips for gaining space for personal engagement with God (and 25 years experience says there are) in the performance of liturgical presidency. It is also that this “conundrum” seems to me to suggest an understanding of worship as a human experience of God.

I wonder, say, how such an understanding might relate to the idea of priesthood as majoring on the kind of rush-hour chaos of animal slaughter which characterised the Passover in the New Testament period.

I wonder also whether the way either David sets the question up depends on an assumption that worship is defined by what the worshipper experiences, rather than what the worshipper offers.

I am just asking, but it seems to me that those are rather important questions.