Luke 21:5-19(36)

 "Teacher, when will this be ... ?" (21:7)

And the first thing Jesus says is telling us not to be misled. (21:8) In response, Jesus doesn't go into a discussion about the sign of the end. He does that next, but first, he tells his disciples not to be led astray. It is only after warning us not to be misled that Jesus speaks a little about the signs. (21:9-11; 25-28) And notice that when he does speak of the end how very general these signs are. Despite the tendency for some to equate a conflict or natural disaster with the end, Jesus makes it difficult to correlate events in history and the end by speaking in general terms of the end. But then he says,

"But before all this occurs... "

And he mentions two sets of occurrences to occur before the end, that is, they are not signs of the end. The first is persecution. (21:12-19) By the time of Luke, this has/is happening. And the other is the siege of Jerusalem by the Romans. (21:20. Compare Mark 13:14) Again, by the time of Luke this is most likely in the past. So Jesus is explicitly separating out these dateable events (persecution and siege) from the more generalised signs earlier mentioned. That these events have taken place strengthens the prophetic credentials of Jesus. But it also gives us an added warning against too easily correlating earth-shattering events in history, in our society, or in our lives with 'the end'. 

So what does Jesus recommend instead of being led astray? 
Do not be terrified … (21:9)
By your endurance, you will gain your souls… (21:19)
Do not let your hearts be weighed down with the worries of this life … (21:34)
Be alert at all times … (21:36)
Praying … (21:36)

A Certain Ruler (Luke 18:18-30)

 This certain ruler must have been quite excited when Jesus said, "There is still one thing lacking." Great, only one thing! After a life of disciplined obedience to the commandments, maybe the ruler might be able to work himself into eternal life?

This passage reminds me of Luke 17:5-6.  "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed ... (you could do the miraculous). Just that little bit of faith is all we need? Really? Surely we can do that. No, that's the point. We can't manufacture even that little bit of faith ourselves. It's a gift.  The 'one thing lacking' (Lk 18:22) in our passage also seems impossible. Yes, that's right. It is impossible for mortals ... but possible for God. It is a gift. Peter and the others have received the gift. (18:28-30) The ruler leaves despondent because he doesn't get it. An impossibility for him but not for God. (18:27)

The God of the impossible. By Luke 18, we are late in the Gospel of Luke, and Jesus is nearing his journey to Jerusalem, where he will be rejected and killed. And raised. The impossible is possible for God. In other words, it is all grace. Or, to use the language of the death and resurrection of Jesus, it is resurrection all the way through. God doesn't meet the little bit we have done (the mustard seed, the one thing) and top it up. It's grace through and through.

Pharisee and the Tax Collector (Luke 18:9-14)

 This parable is classic Jesus and stands as a warning to the critical spirit that lives in us and can take over if not combated. And it is entirely consistent with the biblical warning to beware the self-righteousness that can become the foundation of our identity.

This parable provides us with a classic example of finding a (false) identity by not being someone else. (vv 11-12) The Pharisee, critical of others, is grateful that he isn't a sinner like ... (See Phil 3:4-11)  And finding one's (false) identity isn't much better if it is found in one's own righteousness. And even if a sense of righteousness isn't accompanied by a conscious rejection of others, the rejection is there by implication. And some people internalise either criticism by others or the righteousness of others. Their identity of self-rejection is formed not by the God who redeems but by the criticism and/or self-righteousness of others. Whatever the case, these identities are all false. 

Imagine a society built on the Pharisee of this parable, where identity is formed and maintained by self-righteousness and criticism of others. It would be a burden because a false identity that needs to pull others down or needs to puff oneself up is like a drug and can never be fully sated. Such a society would eat itself in a flurry of criticism, self-righteousness, and virtue signalling. (Gal 5:13-15)

The sinner in the parable has a different foundation. He looks to God, the God who forgives and does not rely on the criticism of others or any alleged personal virtues. He looks to personal transformation. Imagine a society built on this foundation. It would be a society that builds up rather than pulls down. (1Thess 5:11) Inner change, not just thinking everyone else is the problem.  This is (part of) what we are called to be as church. Our foundation is Christ, the one who died as a victim of just such criticism and self-righteousness. We look to personal transformation (new covenant, the law written on our hearts) and bearing one another's burdens (Matt 11:28-30; Gal 6:2-3), not adding to the burden.

Middle Anglicanism (Part 1)

I grew up in what I call Middle Adelaide Anglicanism. This church is what I call Middle Adelaide Anglicanism. There are still lots of churches like this. And not just in Adelaide, all over Australia Anglican churches and Anglicans would see themselves as in the middle, or perhaps moderate. 

'Middle' doesn't mean grey, doesn't mean wishy-washy. The middle isn't defined particularly by the content of the belief held. You can find the exact content of belief in the middle as you can on the edges and extremes. This is very important: the middle isn't defined particularly by the content of its belief. I can hold the same beliefs as a sectarian on the edge of Anglicanism, and yet still be counted as Middle Adelaide Anglican. 

What puts a church like this in the middle and not on the edge or the extremes is humility and patience with our failings, combined with a willingness to be with those who might hold differing views within the recognisable Anglican Church. We seek our unity beyond particular views of purity. Our unity lies in Christ, and we negotiate that in faith knowing that our knowledge is partial, and this changes how we interact with each other. Discussion and argument, as well as listening, occur in the middle. And the middle can resist the sectarians, with all the force of persuasive speech and theology, and a good dose of common sense. 

 So if we can't distinguish the extreme by content, then what distinguishes the edge from the middle? Here are my suggestions of characteristics of the extremes no matter the content. 

 1. A tendency toward name-calling of all kinds against those who are not pure enough. 

2. The strengthening of the 'tribe' via the rejection of others and, therefore, a tendency toward fragmentation. 

3. An intolerance toward dissent and a willingness to silence opponents. 

 4. A lack of imagination to be able to see nuance and complexity, and a preference for 'you are either for us or against us.' In a similar way, sectarians tend to use universals (terms and phrases applying to more people than just their group), define these universals in their own exclusive manner, then exclude everyone else from being included in the universal. (It's a an old trick.)

5. A lack of humility coupled with self-righteousness, often cloaked in the particular language of morality used by that particular tribe. 

 Notice there is nothing in the list that is content of belief. It's a list about sectarianism that crosses all lines of particular beliefs. I say this because of the news this week, picked up by newspapers and inflamed by commentators of the other extreme, that a formal avenue of fragmentation has now been constituted called The Diocese of the Southern Cross. As I understand it, it will provide for those who consider themselves situated in an impure geographical diocese, a means to align themselves with the self-proclaimed purity of the self-designated Diocese of the Southern Cross. It is, as the Primate has said, the beginnings of a new denomination. The issues have been simmering for decades now. The break has come over the issue of same-sex marriage and the blessing of such.

The trigger, it would seem, was the recent General Synod where insufficient purity was displayed for those intent on breaking away. Mind you, the definition of marriage remains unchanged for the Anglican Church of Australia. Marriage is still defined as between a man and a woman. And yet, here we are. 

However, I wouldn't want anyone to think that I believe the sectarian puritans are to be found in only a single manifestation. In the way these things always operate, puritans are to be found opposing each other. Holding diametrically opposing views in terms of content but united in their dismissal of each other. This is how this works, with both sides gaining oxygen from their opposition to the other side. And you could be forgiven for thinking that the identity of each is to be found in that opposition, despite denials to the contrary. Of course, both extremes will say that they are the faithful ones. That's the point for them. They will use different language, of course. One side will talk about being 'godly' in a way that (ironically) fractures the Body of Christ, while the other side will talk about 'inclusion' and 'justice' in a way that (ironically) excludes those who are not pure enough. Neither side seems to notice the irony in both their positions. 

 When I was ordained the factions in the church were seen (mostly) as helpful because they provided a balance within the church. A grudging acceptance that the particular focus of a faction could benefit us all. But that seems to have passed us by, at least for the moment. 

And here we enter the missionary ground for Middle Adelaide Anglicanism. We live in a sectarian age, and a church that can model and teach how to avoid sectarianism has a mission within the church and the world around. Plenty of people have seen through the sectarianism (wherever it is found, and there is plenty around, and not just in the church) but don't know what to do. Some join the edge because of similarity in belief. Some join one of the edge factions because they find some affinity but are alarmed by the perceived extremism of the opposing faction. Whether people join an edge group or align themselves with such a faction in some way, the point is to remain in the middle. (Remember, the middle is not about unanimity or purity of belief.) Let's not naively be pulled into the full agenda of the faction. (It's fine to do so, but let's all show a little more discrimination than that.) Let's practice grace toward those who disagree, even if (you believe) they don't. 

 As one approaches the edge, the stronger the characteristics of sectarianism appear. But extremes live in us all. There is a discipline that needs to be learned to heal the tribalism in us. There is a discipline that needs to be learned and practised to avoid being sucked deeper into the vortex of sectarianism, tribalism, and puritanism that is sweeping the Western world, including the Anglican Church. A traditional church knows this. It is what we have been doing for a long time. Come to a traditional church and expect to rub shoulders with people who hold different opinions than you. Come and learn to seek a higher unity than unanimity of opinion. So let us continue to practise this discipline of middle Anglicanism in humility and with a desire to live the truth of the Gospel in our lives, and through our discipleship offer a path different from the sectarianism of the age.

Trinity Sunday Year C (Part 2)

In our baptism, joined in hypostatic union with the Son who stood abandoned for us, space is found for us to regain our identity as children of God, united with the Father through the Spirit.

The Gospel of John can seem a bit confusing at times. It's because the language reflects the union of the three figures of the divine story, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. (You can think of God as a story or a movement of love, into which we are inducted through baptism, sharing in God's life.) Take todays' Gospel reading:

He will glorify me because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you. (John 16:14-15)

The three - Father, Son, and Spirit - are so intimately connected to one another that to speak of one leads to the others. None can be cut off from any other. Today, the Spirit reveals Jesus, but everything that the Father has is Jesus' also, so all are present in the revealing of the Spirit. But notice that in their mutual presence none of the three loses their particular identity in their union with one another, while, on the other hand, never falling into a crass individualism. Indeed, the more the Son is the Son - that is, deepening his relationship to the Father- the more he is the Son in his identity as Son. (One reason why the naturally relational language of Father/Son in trinitarian language won't go out of fashion.) This is personhood, not individualism, and without the great sea of undifferentiated being in the background for us to be dissolved into. Personhood implies identity and relationship.

Made in this image, we reflect God in our inter-personal nature as human beings, for others are always present to us, one way or another. When we receive another person others are also present with us, at least in some manner, or perhaps a variety of ways. This mutual presence to one another is a common human experience hinting at the fullness of our being and our lives, and the whiff of the future blessedness of creation. (The experiential antonyms of mutual presence are also common: loneliness, despair, anxiety, revenge, murder, self-loathing, self-conceit, etc.) 

Here we meet also a trinitarian basis for forgiveness. And I am not talking about the forgiveness that we receive upon repentance - most of us can offer that kind of 'forgiveness', at least sometimes. Instead, I am talking about the asymmetrical, pure forgiveness of God. (See here.) In forgiveness, the Father refuses to lose the other (the sinner) and the Son restores to us our true identity as children of God. (Rom 8:12-17) In the Son's abandonment on the cross and in his resurrection and ascension, we can never be lost. God remains present to us, even in our human weakness, failure, and sin. (Romans 5:6-11) 

This is why I have difficulty conceiving of hell as popularly understood. We are never alone, even the damned. In the abandonment of the cross, this holds true, especially so for the abandoned/damned.

Trinity Sunday Year C (Part 1)

Readings for Trinity Sunday (Year C)  Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15. 

‘He will glorify me, because he will take what is mine and declare it to you. All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.” (John 16:14-15) 

 The strange language of the Gospel of John: the three – Father, Son and Spirit – are interconnected in such a way that if you talk of one, it naturally leads to the others. So today, the Spirit comes and will take what is Jesus’ and declare it to the disciples. So if they have forgotten anything, the Spirit will teach them. But then, immediately, Jesus says that all that the Father has is his. Therefore, if the Spirit declares to the disciples what is Jesus’ then the Spirit will also be declaring what is the Father’s. 

The three are so closely connected that we speak of the union of the three. And before we get bogged down in working out the apparent complexities of the Trinity, let’s catch one of the practical and simple implications of this language. Wherever God is, there is Jesus. So you can trust Jesus. And the gospels tell us that this union is not after the resurrection, but speaks of who Jesus is all the time. So you can trust what he says and what he does. Giving yourself to Jesus is to give yourself to God. The salvation that is won in Jesus is God’s gift to us. 

 And the Spirit. You can trust the Spirit, for the Spirit speaks (of) Jesus, and what Jesus has is the Father’s. To be in the Spirit is to be in the Father and the Son. To receive the Spirit is to receive the freedom of the Son, the freedom of the children of God who cry out ‘Abba’ – a cry of intimacy and love. There is nothing complex about that. It is the simple message of the gospel. Jesus is the salvation of God, and to receive this salvation is to be part of the love the Son receives and gives to the Father. 

 And if we are in Jesus, then our destiny is to be with Jesus, wherever he is. And he is with God. And so our final destiny is, likewise, to be with God. But not just our final destiny. For if we are in Jesus, and Jesus is in God now, then we are in God now. We don’t have to wait. This is the work of the Spirit. Jesus has departed, but the Spirit is given to us, who makes Jesus known and present in us and for us. Our final destiny is true right now. This is part of the meaning of Jesus as the way, the truth and the light. He is not just the destination (the Father, or heaven maybe), but is also the way there. And we are on the way now. We are not alone. (Or as John’s Gospel says, we are not left orphans.) And this is intimately tied to mission. In the NT our inclusion in God results not in a passive enjoyment of our relationship with God, but, in the confidence and strength of it, going out into the world. ("As the Father sent me ..." John 20:21)

Kids' Talk on the Ascension

 Today the kids and I talked about the Ascension. I had two questions.

1. Where is Jesus?
2. Where is God?

I started with the kids. They were unsure. So we wandered around the congregation a bit and asked some people to find some answers. We had a variety of answers, ranging from 'everywhere'; 'in heaven, although heaven isn't really a place like we usually think of a place to go'; 'seated on the right hand of the Father'; and thinking of God as a sparkle to be discerned in the darkness. All good answers.

I said to the kids that I don't think of 'where' is God or Jesus, but who is with God or Jesus. So, where is Jesus? Jesus is where God is. So where is God? Where Jesus is. And where are we? With God and Jesus in the Holy Spirit. 

Let's Not Reduce The Ascension

It is common for people to give up on the Ascension. ("Where did he go? There are just planets and stuff 'up' there.") But we could let the Ascension speak out of a thicker sense of reality than that, and not dismiss the ancients as pre-secientific simpletons and drongos. (For those reading from a non-Australian background, 'drongo' is an Australian term for 'fool'.)

Thirty years ago I tried a spiritual experiment. I rose early each day for three months and meditated for an hour. At the end of the three months I experienced a deep silence for a couple of seconds until I tried to claim it ("I've done it!"), and then it was gone. I describe it as a deep silence, but that doesn't do the experience justice. It was deeper than that, but I can't really think of a better word than silence to describe the experience. Undoubtedly bits of wires stuck to various parts of my head might have told us what was going on in my brain at the time, but that wouldn't suffice as an explanation or even complete description of the experience. (Reductionism in the guise of a complete explanation is like that: inadequate.)

Maybe 'ascend' is like 'silence' above.  Maybe 'ascend' is a good word for something much deeper and more profound than is captured by the common use of the word. Yes, Jesus ascended, but that just doesn't capture the experience. It was much more than that. Way deeper than just 'up'. 
Is Jesus ascending and therefore leaving us? Yes. And is ascension also creation being drawn into God? Yes. Such that now the presence of the God who is present to all creation (i.e. transcendent) is now imprinted with the death and resurrection of Jesus. Ascension is just as much about ascending away as it is about ascending into, about Jesus' absence from us, as our journey with him.

"I will not leave you orphaned. I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me ... I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name ... " 

And here is an Ascension kid's talk for church.

And here is a poem on the Ascension, from Barb, a local Anglican priest.

Deeper into Sin to be Freed from it.

Walking the way of the cross during Easter is traditional. You can do it in Jerusalem (the via dolorosa), or closer to home you can do it at your local church. We are invited to 'walk' the path of the saviour each time we read the story from Gethsemane to tomb in dramatic form. I like the latter best when we (the congregation) take all the parts other than the role of Jesus. We walk the road from Gethsemane to tomb not out of guilt and as an excuse to self-recriminate. Nor do we grovel as we walk in a religious version of a show-trial. Nor is the journey an occasion of (inner) chastisement leading to catharsis, like some kind of pagan festival. We walk as sinners, sinners who know they need a saviour. It isn't hard to know our need: one only has to look at the newspaper of history, or one's own heart and experience, to see the universality of sin and our need to be saved from it.

People these days recoil from the term 'sinner'. In my experience, they cite either the self-recrimination that has gone with 'sinner' in the past, a self-recrimination aimed at controlling 'the sinner'. Alternatively, some people cite the way 'sinner' has been used to point the finger at others, with 'sinner' in this version of history partnered with judgementalism. 

Ironically, a culture that has given up on 'sin' and 'sinners' is captive to the very consequences it wants to avoid. Denying the universality of sin/human failure - that is, pretending that there is some part of me that is quarantined from the imperfect world I have grown up in - makes those very consequences more likely. In naivete about the world ("Let's all just be kind to one another" or "Why can't people just love each other?"), to extreme narcissism (think identitarian politics), and then onto scapegoating and cultural polarisation (think social media), we have core features of the contemporary cultural landscape.

Instead, Christians walk the via dolorosa as sinners in need of a saviour, and a saviour appropriate for our mutual sinfulness. Walking the via dolorosa as a sinner is, ironically, to get off the see-saw of self-recrimination and criticism of others. Walking the way of the cross with the saviour also brings with it freedom, and should make us more difficult to control through guilt. 

Why is this? Mostly because we are loved, that's the point of the whole Jesus thing. And as beloved, we don't have to hide from our sin. We can receive the salvation of the saviour. We don't have to be in the centre of the universe: we can let God be the centre and receive God's love and forgiveness, renewal and freedom.

 God's way of dealing with human sin is to go deeper into the human predicament by being a victim of sin. And we must go deeper into our sin by acknowledging our need for a saviour. This is the path that yields genuine repentance (not guilt), and we emerge with a new empathy for the human condition, which we share.

John 12:1-8 Mary, Jesus, and that Perfume

 “As the best thing is love itself, not the benefits which it confers, there must be no censure of its lavishness as disproportionate.” (William Temple, Readings in St John’s Gospel, p. 191.) 

 Imagine your brother has just died and three days later Jesus turns up. Jesus does miracles. “If you had been here he would not have died.” (Jn 11:32) That’s Mary of Bethany. She then goes off to mourn at the tomb. Jesus follows and raises Lazarus from the dead. 

 When Lazarus died, Mary did not fully comprehend the significance of Jesus, and especially, the meaning of his death. She understands that Jesus has the power to perform miracles. She does not yet understand Jesus fully, though. She will witness the miracle of the raising of Lazarus, and then understand the miracle as a sign pointing to the meaning of the death of Jesus.

 Fast-forward to the anointing, and Mary now understands. She has seen Lazarus raised from the dead. Her brother is alive once more. Later, when Jesus is at table in her house she does not come to him to acknowledge the miracle as such. The miracle is a sign of something greater. She now understands the miracle as a sign, and she is the first to come to this understanding of the death of Jesus in the Gospel of John. This is why she anoints Jesus for his death. The miracle brought life where there was only death, and as a sign the raising of Lazarus points to the life-giving death of Jesus. The death of Jesus will bring life, eternal life, and the Spirit welling up in the heart of the believer. (Jn 7:37) Where there is death, now there is life. (Jn 12:23-24) The cross will not have the odour of death, to be imprisoned behind a stone (11:39). Instead, his death will have the aroma of extravagance and life that fills the house and will not be contained. (12:3 and 20:1)

John 12:1-8 is the gateway from the public ministry of Jesus (of signs pointing to the meaning of his death) into the narrative of the Passion, that is, the death and resurrection of Jesus. It can be read profitably with John 11. (See Jn 11:2) This larger chunk (from 11:1 – 12:8) retains a focus on the death of Jesus throughout. It begins with the raising of Lazarus, and continues with the plot to kill Jesus. (11:45-53)  Ironically and unknown to him, the high priest, in justifying the plot to kill Jesus, speaks the truth about the significance of Jesus’ death. (11:50-53) They will kill him to eliminate him, but Jesus will go to his death as the one sent from God to unite all the children of God. And then there is the duplicitous Judas, who will betray Jesus. (12:4-6) 

 Mapped over this focus on the death of Jesus is the movement of Mary from tepid, half-understood faith, to a disciple who comprehends. She anoints Jesus for his burial, having kept the perfume for this day of symbolic burial. (12:7) She has not anointed Jesus as king/messiah (see Mark 14:3-9), but in a similar fashion to the way in which Jesus’ washing of his disciples’ feet is symbolic of a total cleanse (13:8-10), this anointing speaks of future embalming. (R.H. Lightfoot, St John's Gospel. A Commentary, p. 236)  This anointing is not a symbolic purification of Jesus. Soon, Jesus will symbolically purify his disciples as he washes their feet, but Jesus does not need purification, he will purify others (cf. Hebrews) and is therefore worthy of this great act of extravagance and love.  “She responds to his self-giving love by giving her all, giving herself in a beautiful, foolish and scandalous way.” (Jean Vanier, Drawn into the Mystery of Jesus Through the Gospel of John, p. 206)

Is it all over for the traditional church?

 We are living through an intense period of cultural self-flagellation, or, in other words, a cultural moment of criticism (directed at self and others), purges, confessions to all manner of 'sins', and virtue signalling. The gospel speaks directly to such cultural moments with its message of grace not works, universal sin, forgiveness, beauty and goodness (not perfection). But that is for another time. 

This cultural moment has played into the general collapse of confidence within traditional churches, at least amongst more traditional Anglicans in Adelaide. It is not uncommon to hear people say, dejectedly, that traditional Anglican churches will disappear in the next few decades, or that we will be gathering together in house churches like the first Christians, or something similar. And this is sometimes coupled with a confession of failure or inadequacy, for 'sins' past or present. (The 'sin' of liking traditional worship is common, as though that is, somehow, the problem.) This is not helped by prominent church management/growth material which is, if not explicitly, at least implicitly contrary to or ignorant of the strengths (and possible futures) of traditional churches. (Ah, for the day we have a church survey sensitive to the gifts and future of traditional churches!) 

Does it need to be said that reading the future through the lense of past and continuing decline misses the part human innovation plays in all our personal and corporate futures? Apparently it does. Traditional churches, contrary to the propaganda, are good at innovation precisely because they understand the base they spring from and to which they return. Moreover, one should not confuse traditional with being moribund. The stability provided by knowing where you come from (part of what it means to be traditional) and being familiar with your strengths to be reenvisioned and, at times, redeployed, will bear fruit in a culture doing its best to flatten people out. 

The task for the traditional church is not to drop the ball, and certainly not to give up, just as it is not to try and recreate the past. There will be a few traditional churches that can have a future through nostalgia, but most will find a future that is genuinely traditional, engaging, and faithful.

The task, then, is not to abandon the tradition but instead to tinker with how we deploy our resources in being traditional, helping those seeking depth and purpose to find a home in our congregations. Let's be nimble enough to be able to use in our traditional churches the church resources not particularly suited to us, yet still helpful and that at times make us feel a little uncomfortable about our lack of imagination.

That is, perhaps, one plea I make to leaders and clergy in traditional churches, and to congregations from whom support must come for traditional churches to have a future. We need to be more nimble with our use of and familiarity with the tradition as we mould a future, nimbly integrating insights and experience that will help us. 

Another important aspect of leadership in traditional churches is to fireproof the future of our churches. This is not building walls to keep out the world. This is about a sensible evaluation of our structural weaknesses (e.g. expensive property costs, smaller congregations) and determining how best to gather current resources and deploy them for the future so that our churches do not physically collapse. It is going to become harder and harder for congregations of historical, substantial suburban churches to be able to afford the major costs of roof restorations and replacement, for example. Redeployment of resources for the future while attending to the exigencies of discipleship-making now requires nimble leadership and wisdom from congregations.

In all of this, we shouldn't be surprised that traditional churches have declined in congregational numbers and place in society around. The cultural shifts that are accelerating have been going on for a long time. We can make some pretty good, broad-brush predictions about what future conditions for traditional churches will be like. Not only can we think about fireproofing our churches, but know the desirability of traditional churches re-establishing their presence in their local community (beyond fundraising and serving without explicit witness), while creating new, and honing existing, pathways for people to enter the world of faith.

I haven't mentioned God in all of this. So, before someone comments saying we should trust God, I remind you of the joke of the guy sitting on top of his house while the floodwaters rise, rise, and rise. The plank of wood floats past, the boat comes past, the helicopter (you can string it out for as long as it takes to make the point) ...