Let's get physical
MORE than 20 years ago, during my stint as head of religious
broadcasting at the BBC, I was invited to lunch by a senior
executive of the Gallup polling organisation. I know there is no
such thing as a free lunch, but there are some that you do not pay
for; so I accepted, wondering what on earth he wanted to talk
about.
In fact, it was a recent attempt by his researchers to establish
what Anglican bishops believed about the resurrection of Jesus,
which was currently in the news. They had put the same question to
every bishop, and wanted a "Yes" or "No" answer: "Do you believe in
the physical resurrection of Jesus?" To their astonishment,
virtually every one of them refused to answer the question as
posed. The problem was the word "physical".
I enjoyed pointing out to him that, in doing so, they were
simply being faithful to the teaching of the New Testament. "Flesh
and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God," St Paul wrote. Jesus
was "put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit", St
Peter said. "Physical", I told him, was precisely the wrong word.
If the researchers had asked: "Do you believe in the real (actual,
visible, historical - choose your own word) resurrection of Jesus?"
they would have got some positive answers.
I recalled that lunch long ago when I was filling in the
Church Times questionnaire last month, and confronted
exactly the same dilemma. In response to "Jesus rose physically
from the dead" I - an orthodox Christian with a high view of the
scriptures - felt compelled to respond "Disagree".
Physically? Spiritually, surely; and infinitely superior,
better, more glorious and real for that. Or have I completely
misunderstood 1 Corinthians 15?
Music and movement
NEXT month, on 6 and 13 October, the BBC will be broadcasting in
its Songs of Praise slot the finals of a nationwide
competition for gospel choirs. A friend of mine is in one of the
choirs in those finals, and I was invited to watch their dress
rehearsal. The members are, on the whole, middle-aged,
middle-class, and white. So it was reasonable of their conductor to
point out that this was for television, and that how they looked
and moved was almost as important as how they sang.
Their reaction took me back about 26 years, to a television
series presented by Libby Purves. She did the job splendidly, we
all felt, but to my astonishment (I am a radio man at heart) the
entire discussion at the programme review board the next week was
about whether she should wear her glasses.
"Man looks on the outward appearance," the prophet Samuel said.
Nothing changes.
Movers and shakers
MY FRIEND's choir - made up of 80 per cent ladies - soon got
into the serious issues that this raised. They were wearing
fetching black dresses, with attractive blue scarves. Should they
throw the long end of the scarves over their left shoulder, or the
right? Or wear them, stole-like, draped down the front? Back and
forth the issue went, cogent arguments being offered for each of
the positions. An hour later they finally reached agreement, but I
cannot remember what it was.
Then they started on movements - arms, hips, heads, open hands,
closed hands - and finally practised doing them together. In their
ranks, there were not, to be honest, a lot of natural movers and
shakers, and those who were, felt that they had to make up for
those who were not. Visually, it all fell a bit short of the London
Community Gospel Choir, but I have to say they sang beautifully.
May substance triumph over style.
Hellfire in Tuscany
THIS summer's holiday was a hot one, centred on Pisa in Tuscany.
Next to the Duomo, and near the Leaning Tower, we found the Campo
Santo - a burial place, since the 13th century, for the great and
good of Pisa, or at any rate the rich and influential. Its most
striking feature is the giant medieval murals.
They represent in rich and fearsome detail the most powerful
incentive to piety that the Church has ever possessed. They depict
the residents of Pisa going about their everyday lives, while
around them lurk the demons of hell, and over them soars a
witch-like figure wielding a scythe. The cavernous gates of hell
are open, and the fires well stoked. Woe betide the reckless, the
feckless, and the indifferent.
I could not help contrasting this unambiguous, if crude approach
with the namby-pamby "Back to Church Sunday" soon to be upon us.
"Back" to church? Most of them were never there to start with.
I accept that the fires of hell are out of date, and probably
inappropriate; nowadays, we would rather attract people to Christ
with the promise of salvation than terrify them into his arms with
the threat of hellfire. Nevertheless, perhaps a contemporary
version of the Pisan shock-tactics (something urgent, colourful,
and disturbing, making the point that faith is not simply a
lifestyle choice) might be an interesting change from coffee,
lemon-drizzle cake, and Graham Kendrick.
Canon David Winter is a retired cleric in the diocese of
Oxford, and a former head of religious broadcasting at the
BBC.