Wednesday, 6 October 2010

Green Bell


I grew up in the south of England and went to my parents’ Baptist Church. You could say I was a southern Baptist. I grew up, therefore, thinking that I was a miserable sinner destined for hell; that God was pretty angry with me, but thankfully Jesus had stepped in between me and God to sort things out. Don’t get me wrong here: the church was full of wonderful people who knew deep down that God was love, and I have a deep respect for my old friends and for the heritage from those years. I suppose the problem for me was that what I saw in the love and dedication of my early friends didn't seem to correspond with the theology that was being preached.

In my childhood, therefore, I was anxious to please God — perhaps even to placate him. I often asked myself the question: ‘Can I do that?’ — a question which meant both am I able to do that, and do I have permission to do that. I always questioned my ability to do anything. After all, I was a miserable sinner incapable of doing anything right. And as for permission: clearly God had the veto on most decisions, and because British Standard Evangelicalism was pretty clear about behavioural norms, in most cases the answer was a firm ‘no’. In my early years I therefore developed a pretty negative view of life, and was inadvertently (to use a phrase coined by Francis Schaeffer’s son Frankie) ‘addicted to mediocrity’. I gave up on most big projects before I’d even started, was convinced I was fairly stupid, and avoided big challenges, assured as I was of certain failure.

I live now in an entirely different place — Ravenstonedale in the beautiful Upper Eden Valley near England’s Lake District. We are surrounded by fells, dales and becks (as we call the hills, valleys and streams in this part of the world). The nearest fell behind our house is called Green Bell: it rises to 605 metres (that’s just under 2,000 feet for you old fashioned people and Americans). In the five years we’ve lived in the area I’ve never climbed it. Until Monday, that is.

On Monday I started work in my study as usual. For the last two weeks I’ve been writing a lot, pretty much non stop, so when I sat down on Monday morning my bum said to me (if you’ll excuse the image of a talking bum): ‘You’re not sitting on me again for another day! — you need to get out more!’ And as it was a nice day, the thought came into my head — why not walk up Green Bell?
So I asked myself the familiar question: Can I do that? Am I able? Do I have permission? In my childhood, the immediate answer to both latter questions might well have been ‘no’, but not now. Yes, it’s a steep climb and a long walk (I ended up walking eight miles or so), but I can do it — I’m not dead yet! In fact I’m reasonably fit. And yes, it is Monday and I’ve got work to do, but why not?

That walk up Green Bell on Monday, giving me exhilarating views of the Howgill Fells and a perspective on my village I had never before seen (a lesson in itself) was a strong metaphor for my changed attitude to life. I no longer ask ‘Can I do that?’. Now my question is: ‘Why should’t I do that?’

4 comments:

  1. Hello John, thanks for this post. I can find myself in that. Take care and God bless.

    Milan Kramolis

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  2. Glad you enjoyed it, Milan. You can do it!

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  3. One of the less valuable legacies of some aspects of modern evangelicalism is an inconsistent theology of grace. We are saved by grace - God's free unmerited favour in Christ. But then it seems we are expected to be sanctified by law. True enough, Jesus and the NT writers talk about appropriate behaviour, some of which is absolute (we don't lie, steal, murder etc) and some of which is good advice if we all want to get along together (if you invite a consciencious tea-totaller to dinner, keep the wine in the seller).

    But the defining principle in our behaviour is not law - a list of stuff I should and shouldn't do - but grace. It's grace that teaches us what to say no to, grace that equips us for service, grace that gives us the confidence to live holy and productive lives before God, and grace that makes us what we are.

    Grace changes the rules of the game from what I have to do, to what I want to do. Luther supposedly put it in these terms: "Love God and do as you like" and Tree63 "..whatever you want I want it to."

    Grace changes the question from asking where the boundaries are to what has Christ set me free to be.

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  4. Thanks Geoff. I like the idea of keeping the wine in the seller ;)

    Grace, as you rightly point out, makes us what we are - gives us freedom to live. I like the quote from Luther.

    Seems to me there is a real need to dismantle the 'law' that is holding so many Christians I meet in impotent bondage.

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