 ‘Christianism: A crude political ideology and the triumph of empty symbolism.’ (Ben Ryan)
The UK has spent decades sleepwalking toward secularism, where faith has been driven relentlessly into the personal-private sphere. Now we're waking up to something very different. A muscular version of Christianity is re-emerging, not as a spiritual faith but as a political identity. It’s a re‑branding of national belonging where being 'British' feels increasingly identified with being ‘Christian’. I'm not talking about the gospel of Jesus Christ or about spiritual renewal here. I am talking about identity politics. It’s about casting Christianity as a default badge of belonging and using that badge to redraw the boundaries of who counts as ‘us’ vs ‘them’. Anxiety and frustration are fuelling that shift in the face of mass migration, cultural disruption and a fear that who ‘we’ are is slipping away. ‘Christian’ is being used increasingly as a political brand. Once any religion becomes a marker of national or cultural identity, it becomes a de facto test of belonging. Tests always leave people, the ‘others’, outside. It chips away at the humility and compassion that are, for followers of Jesus, core to their lives. Religion becomes less about conscience or community and more about raw power. For Christians who believe authentic faith should question power, who see gospel values as both universal and counter‑cultural, the appropriation of Christianity into nationalism feels like a dangerous distortion. Jesus said, ‘Love your enemies’ (which suggests there are those we may rightly regard as enemies). True faith lays in reaching out in love – not in alienation or conquest.
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 ‘If you don’t risk anything, you risk even more.’ (Erica Jong) I ran a vision and team development day yesterday for a group of inspiring Christian leaders. Their chosen venue was a football stadium (a new experience) that looked quite breathtaking for someone like me who doesn’t know the first thing about the sport. We grounded the day in a specific spiritual account, then used Appreciative Inquiry to discover, dream, design and decide in relation to it. One of the themes that emerged was, in a social and geopolitical context marked by increasing anxiety, how to avoid manifesting an anxious presence too. After all, the leaders in the group are working in the same contexts and subject to some of the same stresses and dynamics as people living in their wider communities. I was reminded of BANI – brittle, anxious, non-linear and incomprehensible. I glanced out of the window and noticed emblazoned above the stands, ‘Our Loving Devotion Guides our Livelong Dream’ and, beneath that, four short banners that repeated one simple message: 'Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing. Fear Nothing.' Love is an antidote to fear. One participant said: ‘What am I willing to do, that others may know they are loved by God?’ That's a courageous question.  ‘Sometimes it takes a natural disaster to reveal a social disaster.’ (Jim Wallis) I didn’t sleep well last night. This time, it wasn’t fake news. Typhoon Tino hit hard and battered central Philippines, leaving at least 188 people dead and thousands of others’ fragile homes and livelihoods shattered. It came on the back of a 6.9 earthquake in the same region just weeks ago that left at least 74 people dead and countless others injured or without homes. Jasmin called me from within the Signal 4 storm itself last night, just before the power cut off. Wind and rain were lashing at her windows, along with windswept objects crashing against the glass. Trees outside were uprooted violently and thrown to the ground. She looked anxious and I felt terrified. The deep flood waters that followed have left much of the area underwater. Thank God, she managed to message me this morning with snapshots of the devastation outside, yet her family safe on the inside. We had prayed hard last night – Jasmin with faith and me in near desperation – and I had a mysterious dream of Jesus alongside her there, reflecting a supernatural biblical account of Presence and survival in impossible circumstances.  ‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.’ (Ambrose Redmoon) I don’t know if I’d be brave enough. Heading out into the mountains to reach the poorest and most vulnerable is a noble task, not least to demonstrate to those who feel vulnerable and abandoned that they’re not alone, not forgotten, and that someone sees them. One little girl galvanised Jasmin’s determination. She had messaged her Dad, pleading for him to find a way to get to her. She felt scared. He was some distance away in a city, working in a school in a low-paid job, trying to earn enough money to send her and her family emergency supplies. Yet she wanted him there beside her, to feel safer. The recent earthquakes in the Philippines, along with on-going aftershocks some 3 weeks later, have left their family home in ruins. Now living under a tarpaulin in the pouring rain, this girl has, thankfully, salvaged a solar charger which has given her enough power to charge up her cell phone. Her Mum is doing what she can to share their dwindling supplies of rice with others trapped in similar circumstances in their remote vicinity. Mudslides and sink holes make reaching them treacherous. Mountain tracks swept away or blocked by fallen trees and debris make a difficult journey almost impossible. Jasmin can’t read a map and a wise friend cautions her about the risks. I ask her, ‘How will you find your way through the jungle, across such impassable terrain, to reach them?’ I know that, in Jasmin’s mind, I’m asking the wrong question. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to go with someone who knows those mountains?’ I sense my questions are falling on deaf ears. I’m talking about logistics, safety and other rational considerations. Jasmin ‘s first priorities are love, faith and a yearning to be-with. She wants to make real the presence of Jesus, to be alongside them in situ, to see and hear first hand what they need.  ‘My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds.’ (Steve Goodier)
The earthquakes that shook the Philippines recently shook me too, albeit on the other side of the world. On hearing that her parents’ simple home made from timber and corrugated iron had collapsed, one young woman trekked there from a city with emergency supplies of water and food. I try to imagine what that must feel like. News reports had shown that one family’s home nearby had been buried by a landslide triggered by the earthquake. Only their baby survived. This young woman didn’t know what to expect. Mud tracks were blocked by fallen trees and communications were down. Still, she persevered. On approaching what had been a village, desperate people pleaded with her with open hands for some drinking water. What a terrible ethical and emotional dilemma to face. To save her own family or to save these strangers? (I feel sure I’d prioritise my own loved ones, then try to learn to live with the guilt as well as I could). Thank God, she found her parents alive, living alongside others under makeshift tarpaulins. Pouring rain at the wet tail end of a typhoon hadn’t helped. People were forced to lift their few salvaged possessions as high as they could off the ground to keep them dry, then to sit on the muddy ground, clasping their knees, until it passed. This determined young woman, she herself poor, will head back again this week armed with faith, hope and love – and all the supplies she can muster.  ‘Let nothing frighten you.’ (Teresa of Ávila) A powerful earthquake struck the Philippines this evening, breaking roads and causing chaos. Traffic stopped abruptly to avoid falling down deep cracks and buildings creaked under the stress and strain. People raced from their homes in case of collapse and ran into the streets. Jasmin was falling to sleep at the time, was shaken awake when she felt the house move, and quickly grabbed her daughter from the shower to get outside. It was when the earth stood still again that she noticed she was wearing only a nightdress and her daughter only a towel. Venturing cautiously back inside, they peered carefully to see if there was any damage to the walls or to the ceiling. It means sleeping downstairs tonight in case of shuddering aftershocks. I was struck again by Jasmin’s calmness, her trust in God in the face of danger. She inspires me.  ‘It's not how much we give but how much love we put into giving.’ (Mother Theresa) ‘I don’t own a purse because, with God’s help, I give everything away.’ As this humble Filipina revealed a rare glimpse of this personal dimension of her life of faith, I was struck by how she said it with absolutely no air of virtue-signalling. It was so matter of fact, as if speaking a self-evident truth for all followers of Jesus, everywhere. It challenged me as I glanced at my own wallet on the table. I’ve never met anyone so principled. I mean, it’s one thing to share from the edges of our excess wealth. It’s quite another thing to be very poor and not to cling on hard to the little we have. Yet I’ve seen her live out this faith, day after day and year after year. It’s humbling and inspiring and I’ve never witnessed so many miracles as those I’ve seen God work through her. True faith = love + trust.  ‘What have you set in motion? You are meant to be. Others you do not know depend on the fruit of your actions.’ (Christopher Chapman) I find that quite breathtaking. Like the butterfly effect, ‘the idea that small, seemingly trivial events may ultimately result in something with much larger consequences’ (Nathan Chandler), it suggests that our everyday actions – or our inactions – can have ripple effects that lay far beyond anything we ourselves could have imagined, known or understood: geographically and generationally. I like Christopher Chapman’s framing of this in his book, Doorways to Hope. He proposes that, in God’s mysterious eternal plan, we each play a significant role – whether we can see it or not. The question it points back to us is, ‘How are you willing to live your life?’ I want my being and my every doing to make a positive difference for the poor and most vulnerable people in the world. This makes my every decision an act of faith, imbued with a spiritual-existential dimension. It provides a sense of meaning, of purpose, that counters despair.  ‘Sometimes I arrive just when God’s ready to have someone click the shutter.’ (Ansel Adams) I was completely blown away this Easter weekend by a presentation by world-renowned Peter Caton: a ‘documentary photographer with a social conscience’. I found it incredibly inspiring to see a follower of Jesus using his gifts and talents so powerfully on behalf of the poor and most vulnerable people in the world. This was faith in action, love in action, hope in action. As Peter shared brief glimpses of his experiences over the years, ranging from gruelling days spent in crocodile and mosquito-infested waters in South Sudan to precarious hours in harrowingly dangerous refugee camps in Somalia, I felt myself gripped by his resilience and courage. I was moved and impressed by Peter’s personal ethics and humility too. He has no interest in parading himself before the world’s media. Instead, his goal is to raise awareness of the plight of those living, surviving, sometimes thriving in some of the most challenging of circumstances imaginable, to engender action. He always asks permission first, explains exactly how photos will be used, and avoids insensitive or intrusive images of distress. He builds authentic, caring relationships and takes his striking pictures from low-down, looking up at his subjects to preserve and reinforce a sense of human dignity. Peter calls each person by their name. Respect.  ‘If you seek me with all your heart, I will be found by you’, says the Lord, ‘and if you seek yourself you will find yourself – but to your own undoing.’ (Thomas à Kempis) Valentines Day seems like an appropriate occasion to write on the theme of love. While the origins of the event have become misty over time, St Valentine was murdered, by most accounts, because he refused to give up his faith in Jesus, in God who is love. This example of self-sacrifice, like that of Jesus before him, is a hard act to follow. I’ve decided to reflect on a prayer attributed to St Francis, another remarkable example of self-sacrificial love, which draws on Jesus’ and St Paul’s teachings in the Bible, and to use it as my own prayer for today: ‘Make me a channel of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me bring your love. Where there is injury, your pardon Lord. Where there is doubt, true faith in You. Where there is despair in life, let me bring hope. Where there is darkness, only light. Where there is sadness, ever joy. Oh Master, grant that I may never seek so much to be consoled, as to console. To be understood, as to understand. To be loved, as to love with all my soul. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned. It is in giving to all that we receive and in dying that we are born to eternal life.’ |
Nick WrightI'm a psychological coach, trainer and OD consultant. Curious to discover how can I help you? Get in touch! 
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