Fr Matt's Blog - reflections on Church, life and books

- A review of Jonathan Chaplin and Andrew Bradstock’s book ‘The Future of Brexit Britain:  Anglican Reflections on National Identity and European Solidarity’ (SPCK, 2020). In late 1997 I attended a book launch event at Waterstone’s bookshop in Croydon. The launch  included two historians, Peter Hennesey and Brian Brivati in conversation. Hennesey had just  published a book on the workings of the British Constitution, Brivati a biography of former Labour  Party leader Hugh Gaitskell. The question under discussion was whether it is possible to write a true history of the present? I can’t remember what the outcome was, but as I read Chaplin and Bradstock’s book about Brexit and the future of Britain, I am left with the question as to whether  one can write a theology of the present? In one sense one can, or one can at least seek to understand the present through a theological lens.  The church calls this process theological reflection, though as has bben pointed out recently, theological

We all, I am sure, have our favourite Gospel. For some it will be Matthew, where Jesus is the man of the fulfilment of history and Biblical prophecy, one in whom the pieces of the of the Old Testament jigsaw come to fulfilment. Others will favour St Mark, with his action packed, breathless life of Jesus, where Jesus only stops to pray, eat, or sleep. Then there is the mystical Gospel of St John which links eternity with human history, a gospel in which earth reached up to touch heaven, and heaven reaches down to earth.   My favourite Gospel is that of St Luke. I like Luke because he is a compassionate storyteller. The Jesus we meet in Luke’s Gospel wis one who links human life into the story of God. From Luke we get our best loved parables, those of the Lost Son (the Prodigal) and the Good Samaritan, stories of a God who comes alongside us when we are in need. A God who hitches up the skirts of his robe and rushes out to meet us with joy, even when we feel at our worst.   But L

The theological implications of Harry Potter have been a source of interest to me for a very long time, since my father introduced me to the books in 1999 in fact, when he said that they were Marian, because of the way in which Lily (Harry’s mother)   helps save her son through the sacrifice of her own life. However, I now actually think the Marian link with Lily is slightly off the true: Mary is in Catholic the mediatrix of salvation, through her salvation comes. (She is, to draw from St Irenaeus and St Paul the second Eve, the counterpoint to the second Adam, Jesus.) But Mary herself is not the saviour, rather she is the signpost who points always away from herself and to her saviour. And whilst Jesus receives his humanity from Mary, this form a part of the economy of salvation, but does not represent its whole. Lily though is a pattern of action for Harry, because she lays down her life for his, and he will for others. Lily then represents a type of Christ, as does Harry, as I shall

 One cannot fail to notice the shift in seasons that has taken place over the past couple of weeks. Gone are the early mornings and long, lingering evenings. Now it's dog walks in the gloaming, and the central heating being switched on. Autumn it would seem is upon us. Autumn is not just a meterological season, but also one of the spirit and soul. Human beings are, after all seasonal beings. In the autumn we move into a season of reflection and remembrance, just as in Spring we move into new life and resurrection, so earlier evenings, lingering mists and damp weather that keeps us indoors leads to a spirit of introspection. In autumn we move into a season of remembering a remembrance. And this is reflected in our liturgical year. First comes All Souls and Saints, times to remember those whom we love but see no longer, and those whose lives have revealed something to us of God. At All Saints we call to mind those Saints and saints who are no longer remembers, and those who the Churc

Readings at Mass: […] The LORD your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with flowing streams, with springs and underground waters welling up in valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land where you may eat bread without scarcity, where you will lack nothing, a land whose stones are iron and from whose hills you may mine copper. You shall eat your fill and bless the LORD your God for the good land that he has given you.  Take care that you do not forget the LORD your God, by failing to keep his commandments, his ordinances, and his statutes, which I am commanding you today. When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them, and when your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold is multiplied, and all that you have is multiplied, then do not exalt yourself, forgetting the LORD your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery

'But I say to you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your father in heaven.' - Matthew 5.44. 'When they go low, we go high.' - Michelle Obama, 2016. Schadenfreude, it's the delight we take in the misfortune of others is a delicious and tempting, if destructive mode of thought. Which of us after all in their darkest moments does not take illicit delight in imagining the downfall of their foes? But however tempting schadenfreude is, it is an ultimately destructive mode of thought. Perhaps not destructive for those whose downfall we seek, but destructive for us as we lose a part of our humanity, as we take delight in the pain of others. But as Christians we are called to pray for those who trouble us, not curse them which is what Schadenfreude ultimately is. - I am writing this having read this morning that Donald and Melania Trump have tested positive for Covid-19. As soon as it read that news my Facebook feed was awa