14 April 2014

Thinking biblically about Scottish identity: some resources

A couple of years ago the Scottish Evangelical Theology Society held a conference entitled, ‘A Godly Commonwealth? The Gospel and Scottish Identity’. With the referendum on Scottish independence approaching, they have now made the talks from that conference available as mp3s or pdfs. Their hope is that Christians will use this material as they think and pray about the ethical, moral and theological implications of independence.

SpeakerTitleMP3Bulletin PDF
David FergussonChristian Scotland: A Theological-Historical OverviewFergusson MP3 (38.4 Mb)SBET 31.1 (2013): 19-32
Jamie GrantA Biblical Basis of NationhoodGrant MP3 (40.4 Mb)SBET 31.2 (2013): 115-26
Panel*Scottish Nationhood: Personal PerspectivesPanel MP3 (42.0 Mb)
Dewi HughesMaking Sense of Being Welsh (Finlayson Lecture)Hughes MP3 (42.1 Mb)SBET 31.1 (2013): 5-18
Angus MorrisonChristian Witness in Postmodern ScotlandMorrison MP3 (29.3 Mb)SBET 31.1 (2013): 43-60
Doug GayIs a Christian Vision of Scottish Identity Viable in the Early 21st Century?Gay MP3 (40.4 Mb)SBET 31.1 (2013): 33-42
* The participants in the panel discussion were: John Mason (Scottish National Party), Michael McMahon(Scottish Labour Party), Rose Dowsett (Chair), Graeme McMeekin (Scottish Liberal Democrats), and Murdo Fraser (Scottish Conservative Party)

13 April 2014

Poem for Palm Sunday: ‘The Donkey’ by G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

06 April 2014

Poetry for Lent 5: ‘Ecce Homo’ by David Gascoyne

Whose is this horrifying face,
This putrid flesh, discoloured, flayed,
Fed on by flies, scorched by the sun?
Whose are these hollow red-filmed eyes
And thorn-spiked head and spear-stuck side?
Behold the Man: He is Man’s Son.

Forget the legend, tear the decent veil
That cowardice or interest devised
To make their mortal enemy a friend,
To hide the bitter truth all His wounds tell,
Lest the great scandal be no more disguised:
He is in agony till the world’s end,

And we must never sleep during that time!
He is suspended on the cross-tree now
And we are onlookers at the crime,
Callous contemporaries of the slow
Torture of God. Here is the hill
Made ghastly by His spattered blood

Whereon He hangs and suffers still:
See, the centurions wear riding-boots,
Black shirts and badges and peaked caps,
Greet one another with raised-arm salutes;
They have cold eyes, unsmiling lips;
Yet these His brothers know not what they do.

And on his either side hang dead
A labourer and a factory hand,
Or one is maybe a lynched Jew
And one a Negro or a Red,
Coolie or Ethiopian, Irishman,
Spaniard or German democrat.

Behind his lolling head the sky
Glares like a fiery cataract
Red with the murders of two thousand years
Committed in His name and by
Crusaders, Christian warriors
Defending faith and property.

Amid the plain beneath His transfixed hands,
Exuding darkness as indelible
As guilty stains, fanned by funereal
And lurid airs, besieged by drifting sands
And clefted landslides our about-to-be
Bombed and abandoned cities stand.

He who wept for Jerusalem
Now sees His prophecy extend
Across the greatest cities of the world,
A guilty panic reason cannot stem
Rising to raze them all as He foretold;
And He must watch this drama to the end.

Though often named, He is unknown
To the dark kingdoms at His feet
Where everything disparages His words,
And each man bears the common guilt alone
And goes blindfolded to his fate,
And fear and greed are sovereign lords.

The turning point of history
Must come. Yet the complacent and the proud
And who exploit and kill, may be denied–
Christ of Revolution and of Poetry-
The resurrection and the life
Wrought by your spirit’s blood.

Involved in their own sophistry
The black priest and the upright man
Faced by subversive truth shall be struck dumb,
Christ of Revolution and of Poetry,
While the rejected and condemned become
Agents of the divine.

Not from a monstrance silver-wrought
But from the tree of human pain
Redeem our sterile misery,
Christ of Revolution and of Poetry,
That man’s long journey
May not have been in vain.

05 April 2014

Poetry for Lent 4: ‘Pied Beauty’ by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Glory be to God for dappled things –
     For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
          For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
     Landscape plotted and pieced – fold, fallow, and plough;
          And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
     Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
          With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
                              Praise him.