Category Archives: Church

the violence of endless growth

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Pretty much every year since moving Cumbria we have had snow in winter and noticeable season (albeit with a lot of rain), its a place where the rhythms of the land and the needs of our communities are so present. One thing that troubles me is how easily we absorb the logic of the systems of world around us, especially the relentless drive for endless growth, rather than the logic rootedness of place. In so we are complict in a kind of violence to ourselves, to others, to creation, and to the very systems we are part of.

Endless growth is not neutral, yet the capitalist system is built on the myth that endless economic growth is both necessary and beneficial. But when you look closely, this drive for perpetual expansion is about profit, not people or planet. It’s about extracting more, consuming more, and externalising the costs whether that’s pollution, exploitation, or the destruction of habitats and communities. The result is a world where the rich get richer, the poor and the planet suffers, and everyone is trapped on a treadmill, running faster but never really getting anywhere.

When we stop looking up and out, internalise the logic of growth, we start to measure our worth by productivity, by accumulation, by what we can consume or achieve. We become exhausted, anxious, and disconnected from the deeper rhythms of life. We sacrifice rest, relationships, and even our health on the altar of “more.” We do violence to ourselves, a slow erosion of joy, meaning, and peace.

Capitalism’s endless growth depends on exploitation. It treats workers, communities, and even whole nations as resources to be used up and discarded. The pursuit of profit means that people are paid less than they deserve, forced into precarious work, or displaced from their homes and land. The system is set up so that a few benefit at the expense of the many. As we buy into this we do violence to others; structural, systemic, and often invisible, but no less real.

The environmental cost of endless growth is devastating and it is plain to see in the wether patterns and ecology. Forests are cleared, rivers poisoned, species driven to extinction, and the climate disrupted. Capitalism’s need for continuous expansion leads to resource depletion and ecological collapse. We are literally killing the world that sustains us and calling it “progress.” we are complicit in violence to creation.

We are not separate from the systems we live in and these do not need to be violent. When we participate in the logic of endless growth, we perpetuate cycles and systems of harm. Our churches, our communities, and our institutions can become complicit prioritising numbers, budgets, and buildings over people, relationships, and the common good. This is violence to the systems we are part of, a corruption of what was designed and ordained  good and so it distorts our values and undermines our mission.

What if, instead of chasing endless growth, we embraced a different rhythm? What if we valued sustainability, justice, and care for one another and the earth? What if our churches became places of rest, resistance, and renewal, where we learn to live differently, to share what we have, and to challenge the violence of the status quo?

At its best in Cumbria the new ways of being church, gathering around campfires, sharing meals, listening deeply, and learning to trust something beyond ourselves, offer an alternative. We’re trying to let go of the need to fix everything, to control outcomes, or to measure our worth by what we produce. Instead, they’re learning to be present, to accompany one another, and to let our gifts emerge organically.

As we gather around the table, the campfire, or the Sunday papers, let’s flex the muscle of hope dare to imagine and live into that different future.

Why Bums on seats might really matter

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I keep asking myself: is the spiritual weather shifting out there or is it just me noticing new clouds? Years of following Jesus have taught me that what seems solid, settled, and “done” often isn’t. The tangled roots of faith are always wriggling, refusing the simplicity of census boxes.

We are pretty familiar with the idea of the Spiritual but not religious people but I have been following the Nones Project research from America that Toby Jones is involved in. If you squint sideways at it, there’s something of our own messy British spiritual landscape there. Especially when we dig into the Dones, those completely finished, and then the NiNos, the “Nones in Name Only” who are still whispering secret prayers, holding onto invisible strings, or turning up at a candlelit church despite claiming no religion at all.

But what does this really mean for us in the UK, trying to read the culture and context and wondering if the so-called “quiet revival” is just one more weather front that will drift off by Thursday?

The Dones sound like people I’ve met around the campfire, feet up, story shared. They’re not staging a protest; they’re just done. The chapter closes quietly. But if you ask where their roots go on a hard night, there’s often a thread leading somewhere, a family ritual, memory, old hopes still warm somewhere inside.
The NiNos I meet everywhere, The “I’m not religious but…” crowd. The ones who  can’t stand the boxes but show up for something real, a blessing in my garden, a  chat on a sofa in a high street, the kind activist or volunteer engaged but not sure why, often looking to belong. Linda Woodhead’s research says our own British “nones” are full of patchwork belief, doubt, ritual, history all looping round like strands of bramble and honeysuckle. Got to love an ecological metaphor!

Against this backdrop we have The Quiet Revival, where church attendance is quietly up. Are these young people supposedly filling our pews the NiNos nosing around the edge, curious and awkward, or are we witnessing a quiet boomerang, a returning of people who never truly left in spirit?

I wonder if we’ve got the whole thing upside down. Maybe the “revival” was always growing beneath our feet, wild, resistant, unplanned, like those pop-up spaces and listening benches I’ve found so beautiful in the mixed ecology. Maybe the really radical thing is learning to notice the gentle stuff instead of chasing the fireworks.

When I look back, I see it again and again: community is rarely tidy; the best spiritual wisdom comes from the edges, the in-between places, the unpolished questions. Perhaps we’re “human becomings,” as Pip Wilson said, meant to unfold in all our messy, glorious, uncontainable uniqueness. The language of faith is always more experiment than doctrine, more bless and release than possess and control, so we need great care for those now turning up.

Maybe we are not living through a spiritual comeback but people are opening their eyes to the quiet revival that’s been running, barefoot, in our midst all along, and only noticing it now there is some bums on seats. So maybe bums on matter if helps the church wake up to what’s been happening all along, and attune itself the gift these people are bringing. 

Re-enchantment

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This post has been sparked by a post from Andrew Jones (TSK) asking a question about the place and space enchantment may have now there are 3.5 billion online gamers, inhabiting mystical worlds. Yet when I questioned some younger people about the possible impact their response was they could see little connection as they inhabit many of these spaces and still compartmentalise life. But perhaps they underestimate the pervasive nature of culture because a quick glance around their rooms will often reveal that the icons of the virtual space make it into the physical one.

Many psychologists and philosophers argue that modern life is increasingly defined by fragmentation and compartmentalisation. Our days are still split into work, leisure, family, and digital selves, each with its own codes, expectations, and emotional boundaries but this is somewhat weakening with the rise of side hustles, and a rejection of unfulfilling work. Division allows us to manage stress or trauma by separating conflicting experiences and identities, but the same process can lead to a sense of internal discord, draining energy and making it difficult to pursue a coherent sense of self or purpose. Alasdair MacIntyre argues that this compartmentalised existence is not just a personal phenomenon but a cultural one, where society struggles to articulate a unified vision of the good life. Instead, we float between roles and obligations, rarely integrating them into a meaningful whole.

Against this backdrop, a hunger for re-enchantment has emerged. As our lives become more mediated by screens and routines, many seek a renewed sense of wonder and belonging through nature, which accelerated through the pandemic, and saw a surge in people rediscovering wild spaces, gardening, and outdoor rituals. This movement is not just about environmentalism; it’s about reconnecting with something larger than ourselves, finding awe in the living world, and feeling rooted in a cosmos that is alive and mysterious. But whilst it offers a counterpoint to fragmentation and invites us to experience wholeness, presence, and meaning will compartmentalised routines still be the norm.?

As mentioned by TSK nature is not the only realm where re-enchantment is unfolding. Online games, especially role-playing and massively multiplayer worlds, have become fertile ground for the growth of alternative mystic narratives. These digital spaces often blend myth, prophecy, and magical systems, creating modern mythologies that echo ancient spiritual quests. Games like Skyrim and Mass Effect draw on the hero’s journey, offering players a sense of agency, transformation, and connection to the transcendent. Perhaps such games are acting as the unconscious wells of religion that Mircea Eliade alludes to in The Sacred and the Profane.

Perhaps the dual movement towards nature and towards digital myth reflects a deeper shift in how people approach spirituality and here’s a few things worth noting if we are seeking to understand how this may shape our missiology:

  1. it’s a spirituality that often is increasingly individualised, shaped by personal quests for meaning rather than institutional doctrines.
  2. nature-based practices and online mystic narratives offer opportunities to integrate fragmented parts of the self, whether through mindful presence or immersive storytelling but only often temporarily or still in a compartmentalised way
  3. maybe community can form in digital and real-world communities form around nature practices
  4. providing belonging and shared purpose outside traditional religious structures remains important to people despite rumours of the quiet revival (3.5 billion is a big number!)
  5. The search for spiritual practices, whether rooted in nature or narrative, can offer a sense of coherence and say a lot about the chaos so many face.

The bible speaks pretty directly to the tension between fragmentation and wholeness. Deuteronomy 6:4-5 calls for wholehearted love, echoed by Jesus as the greatest commandment, urging integration, and reiterated by Paul reiterates this vision in Colossians 1. Where fragmentation divides, the biblical narrative points to a God who unites.

So whilst we will only be able to read the impact of these culture shifts retrospectively the juxtaposition of fragmentation and re-enchantment is shaping a new spiritual landscape. Where compartmentalisation divides, re-enchantment, through nature or mythic play, offers the promise of wholeness. In seeking out the enchanted, whether under open skies or in digital realms, people are crafting new ways to be spiritual: ways that are imaginative, inclusive, and deeply attuned to both the wounds and wonders of modern life. And If this is the work of the spirit how do we join in?

Believe less and be more?

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Alastair Macintyres death in May, made me revisit some his writings, many would say After Virtue is one of the most important books around ethics but tbh it’s a heavy tome. A few years back I started wondering if there questions to be asked OF the way and questions to be asked ALONG the way. Macintyre raises great questions of the way, the how, the who, and how we inhabit the story, that are really important for the mixed ecology of church. He would particularly challenge and resist its reduction to a managerial and technological mechanistic solution. Probably arguing that the goal is not to balance liberal and conservative forms, but to recover the narrative unity and purpose of the church’s life.

“We can only answer the question ‘What am I to do?’ if we can answer the prior question ‘Of what story or stories do I find myself a part?’” (After Virtue, p. 216) In a world where church structures often feel like they’re either fossilizing or fragmenting, the tension between what/how we know and what we are becomes stark. For decades, ecclesial debates have circled epistemological questions: How do we define church? What doctrines must we uphold? But what if we’ve been asking the wrong questions? What if, instead of fixating on knowledge, we grounded our understanding in being, in an ontological telos that shapes our purpose from the core of our relational existence?

Epistemology vs. Ontology:
• Epistemology asks, “How do we know what we know?” It’s concerned with beliefs, justification, and the mechanics of knowledge. This translates into doctrinal checklists and boundary-setting.
• Ontology asks, “What is the nature of existence?” It’s about being, the essence of a thing or community which for the church is ultimately a person Jesus. Our exsistence is to be found in Christ and our telos (purpose) stems from these roots, shaping our growth and  fruit.

The problem arises when churches prioritize epistemological gatekeeping (Do you believe X?) over ontological formation (Who are we becoming?). When our primary question shifts from identity to ideology, we risk reducing the Body of Christ to a set of propositions rather than a living, breathing participation in God’s mission. The Cost of this when churches fixate on epistemological certainty, can be to
1. Split over boundaries: Endless debates about who’s “in” or “out” based on doctrinal nuance. 2. Stifle emergence: Prioritize preservation of existing structures over adaptive innovation. 3. Lose relational depth: Reduce discipleship to an assent to particular ideas rather than transformation into Christlikeness. 4 Reach for simple solutions and think there’s a silver bullet answer.

This is why I would argue in part why the church always was and will be a mixed ecology and therefore any expression of mixed ecology requires an ontological foundation. A tree cannot thrive if its energy goes into policing its leaves rather than deepening its roots. So the ontological roots of the mixed ecology approach starts with being, not knowing and would include,
• Telos as trajectory: The church exists to become the Bride of Christ (Eph. 5:27) to be a body of many parts, a people shaped by love, justice, and kenotic service.
• Essence comes before expression: Forms of church (inherited, emerging, etc.) are secondary to the imago Dei etched into our collective DNA.
• Relational ontology: As the Trinity exists in perichoretic communion, the church’s being is fundamentally interdependent, the vine and other biblical metaphors.

So what does this mean in practice if we take this ontological approach seriously.
1. A shift from “What do we believe?” to “Whose are we?”
Ground identity in belonging to the open handed welcoming Christ rather than ideological alignment.
2. A shift from preserving structures to nurturing life
Just as ecosystems adapt to environmental shifts, churches must prioritise vitality over validity. The rise of FXs and Save the Parish at its best reflects this organic impulse.
3. A shift from outsider status to living incarnation
An ontological telos frees communities to experiment, fail, and iterate. The focus shifts from “Are we right?” to “Are we alive?”

Perhaps  the church’s crisis is not a lack of answers but a forgetfulness around our sense of being. When i advocate for a mixed ecology, i hope I’m pointing to a deeper truth and that our forms must flow from our ontology. We are not called to be curators of dogma but cultivators of divine life rooted in Christ, branching into the world’s fractures, and bearing fruit that whispers of a Kingdom not yet fully seen.

Scaling Deep – the place of lived experience in real change

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As I reflect on the journey of Fresh Expressions and the broader movement for systems change over the last ten years in Cumbria, it’s too easy to point to growth which to be honest is a pretty shallow measure of numbers usually driven by institutional anxiety. I think it is better to talk about scale. There is a great article a friend Katie sent me https://systemsanctuary.com/scale-deep that has been really helpful in my thinking as I prepare to move on. The language of scale isn’t just about getting bigger, it’s about how change spreads, embeds, and transforms. Drawing on insights from the systems change field, particularly the work referenced in the Systems Sanctuary paper, we can distinguish three distinct types of scale: scaling out, scaling up, and scaling deep

Scaling out refers to replicating and spreading innovations across new communities or contexts. In the context of the church, this looks like launching more Fresh Expressions in different towns, villages, or networks, essentially multiplying what works so that more people can benefit from it.

Scaling up is about influencing policies, structures, and systems to support and sustain change. For the church, this means embedding the principles of Fresh Expressions into diocesan strategies, clergy training, and church governance. In other words, it’s about changing the “rules of the game” so that the whole system supports and nurtures innovation.

Scaling deep focuses on transforming cultural values, relationships, and ways of being. This is about changing hearts, minds, and everyday practices. In the church, scaling deep means shifting the culture to be more open, inclusive, and embrace more of the lived experience of those it is serving.

These three forms of scale; out, up, and deep, work together to create lasting systems change, but it is scaling deep that ensures the change is truly embedded in the life and culture of the church. Research shows that large-scale, lasting systems change requires a combination of all three types of scaling. Scaling out ensures more people benefit, scaling up makes change stick but scaling deep is what transforms the culture and relationships at the heart of the church. It’s about changing the stories we tell, the ways we relate, and the values we embody, especially for those who have experienced exclusion or trauma.

Those who know me well, know that my upbringing was far from straight forward, and my lived experience of ACE’s will always play a role in how I look at the world, and work in systems.  A few years ago I noticed this can play out in two ways. One where the institutions remain in a role of an abusive parent who fails to listen and change or a healthier way where the institution can embrace the gift of trauma informed practice and someone’s gift of resilience and stickability in the difficult space of the institution to help bring real change. I have to say on the whole my experience with the church in Cumbria has been good but there have been far more difficult times when my bounce back abilities have seriously waned. What kept me going and sane in those times were the pioneer and and fx networks and systems within the system that had been trauma-informed, nurtured deep belonging and spiritual transformation because they are made up and for those who have been on the margins. As I wrote in the poem a few weeks ago They are the muscles of hope not wishbone or whisper, but sinew and tendon that flexes beneath the skin with every reimagined dream of a better world

I guess my question, concern and challenge as I leave is have we scaled deep enough at leadership levels and who and how will the voice of the margins be brought to the centre. I was so privileged to usually have good relationships with senior leaders and until our structures more recently changed be in right meetings at the right times to bring the my lived experience and that of our pioneers to the table.

Too often, organisations treat lived experience as a box to tick, a story for the annual report, a voice on a panel. But centring lived experience is not about tokenism; it’s about transformation. When people with lived experience are involved early and meaningfully in decision-making, service design, and governance, the work changes. It becomes more responsive, more just, and more effective.

This requires trust, time, and a willingness to be changed by what we hear. It means building relationships, closing the feedback loop, and being honest about the influence that lived experience will have on decisions. I think institutions also need to be honest about potential risk it is to the individuals contributing and the damage that could be caused.

The challenge is to keep scaling out and scaling up, but never at the expense of scaling deep. There is another blogpost needed here because the funding in the CofE is mainly oriented towards scaling out and as I say that’s a pretty shallow approach, but also it’s one that in the long term threatens real systems change. Only by listening to and centring the lived experience of those on the margins can we hope to nurture a mixed ecology of church that is truly renewed, inside and out.

Towards an Entangled Ecclesiology

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Following on from the post on Hopium which seemed to get a lot of traction I wanted to revisit and update the series of posts I did on rethinking church nearly 20 years ago as so much of theology has shifted.
The church, as we have inherited it, is a curious organism. We gather, we sing, we listen, we disperse. But beneath the surface, a tension still simmers when not masked hopeium.  A innate sense that the forms and definitions we cling to are no longer fit for the world we inhabit. As I wrote years ago, western Christianity’s subcultural weakness is not simply a matter of style, but of substance—a deep-rooted commitment to evolutionary tweaks, wrapped up in the idea of progress and an unconscious bias shaped by capitalism. So revolutionary re-imaginings are not given the space needed for real change. We are, perhaps, rearranging the furniture in a house whose foundations are already crumbling.
We have mistaken the kingdom for the church, and in doing so, we have shrunk the wild, inclusive, boundary-breaking movement of Jesus into something manageable, measurable, and ultimately, exclusive. The “mustard seed” has grown, yes, but what has taken root in its branches is not always shelter for the world’s birds, but often a haven for scavengers. The vultures of our own dualisms, our own need for security, our own reluctance to let go of the white make sky god reside in our branches and we welcome them both knowingly and unknowingly.

Our inherited dualisms—sacred/secular, worship/life, activity/being—have split us down the middle. We “worship” in buildings, but not in workplaces or wild places. We “pray” at set times, but not in the ongoing, messy encounters of everyday life. The emerging church, for all its creativity, often risks being a new style in an old paradigm—mission-flavoured rather than mission-shaped, to borrow George Lings’ phrase.
What if, instead, we took seriously the call to a holistic, post-dualist faith? What if, as eco-theologians remind us, the whole earth is full of God’s glory—not just our sanctuaries, but the soil, the rivers, the market stalls, the digital commons? What if, as Donna Haraway suggests, we are and always were already entangled—human and non-human, sacred and profane, church and world—in a web of becoming-with?

Let’s risk a new definition: Church is not an event, nor a building, nor a set of beliefs. It is a way of being and living—a series of chaotic but intentional encounters with God, with one another, and with the world. It is a porous, processual, ever-unfinished community, founded on the holistic teaching (and wild example) of Christ.
This kind of church is less about “services” and more about service; less about “worship” as a genre, more about worship as a posture of life. It is a community where everyone’s gifts—however secular or sacred they may seem—are welcomed, reflected upon, and woven into the shared story. It is a space where buying a fairtrade banana, tending a garden, or protesting for climate justice can be as much worship as singing a hymn, if done in love and for the flourishing of the other.

Donna Haraway’s call to “stay with the trouble” is deeply resonant here. Church is not about escaping the world’s mess, but about inhabiting it more deeply, more compassionately, more creatively. We are, as Haraway puts it, “companion species”—not just with each other, but with the more-than-human world. Church, then, is an entangled, ecological community: a place where we learn to be human together, in kinship with all creation.
Eco-theology reminds us that the redemption of all things is not a distant hope, but a present calling. The church is not a bunker against the world, but a compost heap—messy, generative, full of potential for new life. Our worship is not just liturgy, but liturgy lived: in acts of justice, care for the earth, radical hospitality, and the ongoing work of reconciliation.

So what might this look like in practice? Imagine a group of people—some committed, some curious—gathering, walking, sharing meals, tending gardens, reflecting together, acting together, welcoming the stranger, making space for lament and joy. Leadership is facilitative, not hierarchical. The process is open-ended, responsive to the Spirit, and always in conversation with the wider world. An invitation not a blueprint. As with all living things, church must be allowed to grow, adapt, and sometimes die, so that new life can emerge. We need the courage not to simply shift to new wineskins but a paradigm shift to wine bottles, such is the change demanded by the context 20 years on from when I first wrote.

We are living in a time of ecological crisis, social fragmentation, and spiritual longing. The old paradigms are failing us, and the world is groaning for communities of hope, justice, and deep belonging. The church, if it is to have a future, must be re-formed—not just in style, but in substance; not just in structure, but in spirit. (I’ll write some more on this after reflecting on Alasdair Macintyres death and revisiting his approach to virtue ethics)
But for now Let us, stay with the trouble. Let us risk the chaos of true community. Let us become, together, the community the world needs—entangled, embodied, and ever unfinished.

The grace space between the Rock and the Person

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It’s that season where newspapers tell us stuff we already knew and there is a subsequent flurry of activity in faith based circles. This time is was The Times telling us Britain is no longer a Christian country, say frontline clergy. The article is behind a paywall but a summary with a couple of links is HERE.

In the accompanying flurry of radio interviews, articles and comments much attention is paid to How things are done and depending on your perspective, the same old arguments about the how get rolled out. Now Im starting to sound grumpy mainly because entrenchment gets us nowhere.  Perhaps one way forward is to think why are we in these trenches in the first place and I think that much of it is do with the Epistemology and Ontological approaches to church and faith and truth that I discussed in the previous post. Language is going to fail me so Im going to play with metaphor to try and find a more spacious way forward.

In one trench you have epistemology and we wave the flag of Jesus the Rock. Here we know what Jesus looks like, and like a rock it never changes. They are steadfast, predictable, weighable, and known, and when we look we see the security and shelter on offer. The truth is at hand but it’s held closed.*

In the other trench is ontology and we wave the flag of Jesus the Person. Someone like anyone who grows, eats, drinks and someone who learns and changes. They are prone to unpredictable stories, and when we look into their eyes we see we are all on a journey to the deep unknown. The truth is at hand and it’s held with and open palm*.

And like in wars of old, neither side makes any progress whilst the world looks on unable to comprehend why either side is so dug in the first place. But between them is a field a space where grace and love can model something else to the world. Its hard to imagine, impossible to describe but the deeper magic that rises up as each side climb out of their trenches, kick a ball around, exchange gifts and really encounter one another, yet it is something of beauty that the whole world recognises, longs for and is drawn towards.

Like the temporary Christmas truces during the war we catch these glimpses of beauty. These glimpses are fleeting because not because we resist change but because we resist loss and when you’re dealing with something as fundamental as the nature of truth people feel they have an awful lot to loose.  Yet we know these grace spaces when we see it, we catch these thin places out of the corners of eye, they serve as new banner to rally under but for something for lasting to be embraced we will need to clamber out the sides of those muddy trenches, take the risk of those first hard yards towards the other. Falteringly  step beyond the graves of heroes of bygone eras and enter the grace space. But to stay there we will need to let the grace space invade our very being, and do the soul work that these genuine encounters demand until we learn that neither truth needs the upper hand, and the kin-dom is so much more we can imagine.

 

*See Graham Adams Holy Anarchy “Truth-in-Hand. Grasped. Contained. Sufficient” p38 “Truth-in-Process. truth as event, conversation, an ecology of potential, attentiveness, the making possible of greater empathy.” p39

 

Explaining Church as way of being with AI’s help

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I recently did a podcast for Youthscape which timed in well with a lot of thinking I have been doing recently about the nature of church. my amazing friend Paul Rose gave some great thoughts that’s set my mind going on why knowledge (epistemological) based approaches to defining church are such a stumbling block. I think much of what I was arguing for in Here Be Dragons was a more ontological approach but At the time I hadn’t really encountered enough embodied theology and practice to start to frame it well. As Rachel and Martin said I use a lot of long words I thought I might just explain the ontological approach a bit more here. And then I thought as it was youth focussed and I’m into co-creation why not use the latest tech to help. So  I asked ChatGPT Ai to write it for me in the style of Sunday Papers blogpost and here with a few edits is what was created.

I think my shift reflects the growing interest among theologians and religious scholars in the use of an ontological approach and towards a deeper consideration of the fundamental nature of reality, and a rejection of the dualistic thinking that has long dominated Western thought. Part of what we learnt from being and doing church young people and Flow was we needed a different embedded joined up approach, and this was where we were heading in Here Be Dragons with sobornost.

At its heart, an ontological approach to the church emphasizes the importance of being and existence, rather than simply knowledge and understanding. While the epistemological approach tends to focus on the intellectual aspects of faith – what we know, what we believe, and how we come to know it – the ontological approach looks beyond these cognitive processes to consider the very nature of the church itself, and the role it plays in the world.

One of the key benefits of an ontological approach is that it allows us to move beyond the limitations of language and conceptual thinking. Too often, our understanding of the church is shaped by our attempts to put it into words – to define it, categorize it, and understand it within a particular framework. However, this can often lead to a narrow and limited understanding of what the church really is, and what it can be.

By adopting an ontological approach, we can begin to see the church as a dynamic, living entity that is constantly evolving and changing over time. Rather than trying to pin it down with definitions and concepts, we can appreciate the church in all its complexity, and recognize the many different ways in which it can manifest itself in the world.

Moreover, an ontological approach to the church allows us to move beyond the traditional boundaries of religious affiliation and denomination. Rather than seeing the church as a set of beliefs or practices that are unique to a particular group, we can recognize that the church exists in many different forms and contexts, and that it has the potential to transcend the divisions that often separate us.

Of course, an ontological approach is not without its challenges. It requires us to embrace uncertainty and ambiguity, and to acknowledge that our understanding of the church will always be limited by our own experiences and perspectives. However, these challenges are precisely what make the ontological approach so valuable – by embracing the unknown and the unknowable, we open ourselves up to a deeper and more meaningful relationship with the church, and with the divine.

In conclusion, the adoption of an ontological approach to the church represents an important step forward in our understanding of what it means to be religious and spiritual in the modern world. By focusing on being and existence, rather than simply knowledge and understanding, we can move beyond the limitations of language and conceptual thinking, and appreciate the church in all its complexity and diversity. So let us embrace this approach, and open ourselves up to a deeper and more profound experience of the divine.

The Ai bit ends here.

once the podcast goes fully live on the site I might say a bit more why I think how the epistemological approach showed up in the podcast discussion and how it can inoculate us from change.

 

Holding and being held – setting out

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Ive been thinking about writing again recently but struggling because the medium of writing does not model the message of what Im hoping to write on. Whilst it feels indulgent the only way I can approach the task is in a collaborative ethnographical way probably starting with me. This is because the topic i want to explore is how to find a deeper spirituality that thrives through the interconnectedness of all things and how this helps us find our place in the ongoing journey of change. There is some deep embodiment involved and to borrow from Donna Haraways work on chthulucene explore how the interconnectedness and entanglement of all things facilitates a deep rooted, earthed spirituality that enabled me to “stay with the trouble” in the past and sustains me towards the future.

Staying with the trouble for me is about staying on the edge and recognising that change, creativity and the generative possibilities for systems change come from here. This is being fuelled by two places. Firstly it was sparked through the practice of being on the edge and finding G-d was always beyond what I thought, and discovering a more embodied way to connect with this through Flow, Mountain Pilgrims etc. Secondly it is only more recently that I have begun to find a language for what Im sensing and this is coming from ecology (thanks to Strands and Haraways work) and Christina Cleveland’s work on liberation. These two spaces of language and experience have started to give voice to what I reaching for when I spoke about “feeling my forward”, church as part of the deep magic, calling the walls to dust, the heretical imperative etc. but I still find myself running out of words hence the difficulty in returning to writing.

Sophie Strand uses the word “Sympoiesis” to describe how different organisms and entities come together to create and sustain complex systems and ecologies. It is a collaborative and dynamic process of co-creation that isn’t driven by central control, and thus it challenges both hierarchical and reductionist approaches. When we start to join the dots between this and non reductionist approaches to ecclesiology that I think we see clearly through the use of metaphor when discussing church in the bible, we start to enter a space where the trinity, the church, humanity and the planet are caught up in a sympoetic dance towards what Martin Luther King describes as the arc of world leaning towards justice and love. Then this is where I start to run out of words again, so I resort to image/metaphor but our challenge is to inhabit a space that is less boundaried and this means we inevitably stay with the trouble. So all I can imagine as such a space is walking in Rumis field out beyond the ideas of right and wrong where we meet Jesus who is both the ground on which we walk, the wheat we run our hands through and the centre to which we journey.