"Everyone suddenly burst out singing": turn to God - rejoice in hope - "Turn to God - Rejoice in Hope": Unfolding the Eighth Assembly Theme

Ecumenical Review, The, April, 1998 by Flora Winfield

Because I cannot hope to turn again

Consequently I rejoice,

having to construct something

Upon which to rejoice

T.S. Eliot

Ash Wednesday, 1930

What does it mean to turn and rejoice? If, at this moment, in this place, we want to search out the evidence of divine activity in the created universe, to find God at work, in order to "turn to God", where should we direct our attention? It may be that in many people's lives and experience, in many places, the marks of God's loving action in the human community seem hard to identify; and there it is a tremendous act of faith, of wilful construction, to turn to the God revealed in scripture and known in tradition, experience, reason and relationship. So, what does it mean to turn to God in this context -- in very-late-twentieth-century Europe, in the closing years of a millennium, and at the end of a century which has been as no century has been before, a century of martyrs, of wars, of genocide and of change, change which may -- but it is not yet clear -- become transformation?

In this context the churches face a profound challenge: to "turn to God" in a way which speaks of the hope of the resurrection and yet does not deny the unspeakably, unimaginably dreadful, deliberately brutal reality of much of this century. Optimism is not enough: this context, as does the human condition throughout history, demands a faithful, truthful theology of sin, if our theology of rejoicing is not to seem naive, foolish and vain, crying "peace, peace" to those in anger, pain and guilt.

So turning to God must, first of all, be an act of repentance. And in order to make this repentance in a truthful and credible way the churches, as well as calling on society to reflect on its fallenness, must also come face to face with the painful reality of their own complicity with, and sometimes participation in, the brokenness around us. We must be prepared to ask how far our divisions, as churches, are those of doctrine, and how far they reflect the dividedness of the human communities in which we are set. And we must be prepared to ask whether we have failed to respond to God's call to be agents of healing and reconciliation in a divided world.

In the English context the ecumenical divide is located not only between, but across, the churches: common strands of evangelicalism, charismatic renewal, liberalism or sacramentalism are found in almost every denomination; and in addition to the historic doctrinal divisions, and to these "common strands" which link those in different traditions but may divide those in the same church, there are also complex patterns of division which reflect the divided nature of English society. The clarity of these divisions has been somewhat bluffed by increasing mobility and rapid social change, but the English churches still bear the marks of our division by social class: in one rural-industrial village, where a mine was once the main employer, those who live to the west of the railway line are still largely Anglican and employers, while those to the east of the railway tend to come from Methodist backgrounds and, if in work, to be in low-paid jobs. In rural areas, communities may continue to identify themselves as "church" or "chapel"; these are divisions largely determined by history and social class, although the decline of rural free church participation, with the closure of village chapels and a retreat to market-town centres, is changing these patterns of denominational loyalty. In many instances the closure of a village chapel means the disappearance of its remaining congregation, whose existence expresses loyalty to the buildings and the community established by great-grandparents and which cannot simply be translated into a twelve-mile drive to another "parish" on Sunday mornings. In other situations chapel-goers have become part of the parish church congregation, bringing with them traditions of personal commitment and faithfulness -- vivid hymns, attention to scripture and rigorous preaching which enrich and renew the lives of the congregations of which they become a part. But these situations are generally those where good relations of long standing between church and chapel already existed, and they reflect a certain courage, which should not be underestimated, on all sides to break down barriers of class and culture.

In England, churches have also reflected the racial divisions of our society. When people came here from the Caribbean to work in the 1950s and 1960s they were not made welcome here in those churches from which they came. As a result many people moved from the Anglican, Methodist or Roman Catholic traditions in which they had been brought up, to found or join new churches, which often reflected particular elements of those traditions, and where the congregation and leadership were black. Often these congregations met as "tenants" of white congregations, using their buildings for worship at different' times, and relationships between "landlords" and "tenants" have not always been good. In recent years, many black-majority churches and councils of churches have become members of the ecumenical structures, both locally and nationally, through Churches Together in England. Their contribution to the English ecumenical scene is greatly appreciated, but tensions and divisions remain, not only for those in black-majority churches, but also for black Christians worshipping in the "historic" churches. The story of black Christians in England in the last 50 years is not one in which the English churches can take much pride.