London Calling

The "pilgrimage" portion of my sabbatical took me to Paris, Geneva, and Edinburgh. I am capping that with a week in London with my wife Liz, who joined me in Edinburgh. Technically, this is vacation, not pilgrimage, and London was principally my wife's interest, not mine. Nevertheless, it is enlightening to follow eleven days in Scotland with a trip to "jolly" old England.

First, it is apparent that the Scots are far more concerned with the English than the English are with the Scots. Perhaps it is that London is such an international city that its sense of "Englishness" has been lost, or at least muted. It could also be that it is like many rivalries I have known, in that it is lopsided in intensity (the WSU - UW rivalry is one such I have known).

Nevetheless, we have enjoyed some amazing days, some just "thrown together" serendipitously. Worship on Sunday in St. Paul's Cathedral was amazing. It is one of the most elegant pieces of architecture I have ever seen, and undoubtedly the finest architectural work in London, if not all of Europe. The worship was a sung Eucharist using the work of Michael Haydn, younger brother to Franz Joseph, with orchestra and guest choir. The music was wonderful, although the finest voice was that of the presiding priest who sang the liturgy. An excellent sermon was offered contrasting the feeding of the 5000 with Herod's banquet, although amid all the splendor and majesty of the cathedral, it was a little hard to hear the priest remind us that Jesus refused the people's attempt to make him king because he was humble. Seems there was a disconnect between gospel and setting.

The highlight so far for me has been the British museum -- in particular the Assyrian bas-reliefs of Sargon II, and the cuneiform tablets of the Epic of Gilgamesh and other ancient Near Eastern texts I had to study in OT 01. I had a bit of guilt over cultural imperialism and the British arrogance of removing cultural artifacts of such significance from their places of origin. But they probably would never have survived in Baghdad or Tehran, so I can get over it.

Today we visited Bath (former residence of Jane Austen, my wife's idol), and got a taste of VERY old England. The abbey has been a site of worship since 614, and the Romans settled there at least five centuries before that, and a Celtic shrine before THAT. The visit reminded me of another pilgrimage:

Whan that aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of march hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(so priketh hem nature in hir corages);
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;

And specially from every shires ende
Of engelond to caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

I never thought I would find Chaucer relevant!

Thanks for reading... I may have one or two more posts before retuning August 1.

Catching Up

With the arrival on Friday in Edinburgh of my wife Liz, the "pilgrimage" part of my sabbatical has become less about "reflection" and more about "renewal." The rain has continued, with little interruption. Even with umbrellas and rain jackets, we have gotten soaked at least three times. Now I know why the Scots have such a reputation for dour and gloom.

Sunday, we worshiped at the Cathedral of St. Giles here in Edinburgh, where Knox was pastor after the Scottish revolution, and where a full-size statue of him is to be found. It was a rather un-Knoxian service. The preacher followed the lectionary (rather than preaching through books of the Bible as Calvin modeled), and even then, since the lectionary "had nothing in it" (!), deviated to discuss the feast of Mary Magdalene in a sermon that was virtually pointless. We then partook of Holy Communion, gathering around the table in shifts to receive the loaf and

common cup. As I have worshiped in gothic and romanesque cathedrals, I understand why Protestants (especially Reformed Protestants) have gravitated to simpler, auditorium-like worship spaces. While the cathedrals are beautiful visually and provide beautiful acoustics for acapella singing or acoustic instruments, it is virtually impossible to hear the spoken (or preached) word in them.

On Monday, the best weather day, we enjoyed a side trip to Perth, an ancient capital of Scotland, where in 1559 at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, John Knox preached his famous sermon "On Idolatry." The result was that the people became so taken up that they ended up stoning the priest and stripping the sanctuary, nearly destroying it. As time went on, the church was divided into three sections, with a different sect utilizing each portion. The cathedral has since been restored to its earlier design, although, as in most Scottish churches, attendance is abysmally low. The pastor serves a yoked parish with a church in Dundee, and only a portion of the sanctuary is used for worship.

Our host and guide on Monday was Ian Scott, a local artist and the father-in-law of my cousin David Saperstein. He provided local color and insight. We also went to Dunkeld, on the river Tay, where the cathedral is located in one of the most picturesque settings in all of Scotland. As in Perth, the preaching of the Protestant message led

to an uprising of disastrous proportions, and the cathedral has not fully recovered. The incitement to violence that was caused by the preaching of the Reformers causes me to wonder how much of the preaching was truly motivated by theology and how much by politics.

Tuesday included a pilgrimage of a more traditional sort: a hike up Arthur's seat, the mount which overlooks Edinburgh. Arthur's seat is a "high place" of ancient significance, going back to pre-Christian days. We took the "long way" to the top, passing the Salisbury crags and ascending a rather steep stairway before the final ascent. There were many others on the route, despite the weather. On the way down, we stopped at the ruins of an ancient abbey overlooking the palace of Holyrood. It was good to engage in some more strenuous "pilgrimage" activity.

Today is a quiet day; tomorrow a tour of lochs and castles. The pilgrimage portion of my sabbatical is nearing an end. I will need to take some time to reflect on how this experience has changed me, and how it has enhanced my understanding of the cultural, theological, and historical background to our Presbyterian system of government. We leave Edinburgh on Friday and spend some time in London before heading back to the States. Thanks for reading!

A Pilgrimage to St. Andrews

Today I embarked on the first of my Scotland side-trips, a pilgrimage to one of the centers of Christianity and Presbyterianism in Scotland: St. Andrews. Named for the patron saint of Scotland, the city is perhaps best known as the birthplace of golf. It is coincidental that I made my journey while the British Open was being played (at Turnberry, on the other side of the island), and I did make time to visit the Old Course at the Royal and Ancient Golf Club (just visit, not play).

But today was a day of providence. First, I managed to find the bus to St. Andrews just in time to board it - the Edinburgh bus station is not easily located! Second, as I was leaving the parish church where Knox served at pastor, I noticed on the signboard that their "Associate" was Dr. Ian Bradley. Turns out he is the author of the book on Pilgrimage that I have been trying to track down since February. Although I missed meeting him, I was directed to a local bookstore where I was able (finally!) to obtain a copy of the book (signed by the author, no less). Third, while I was taking pictures of the old St. Andrews cathedral (now in ruins) in blowing rain by the North Sea shore, something blew onto my camera lens. Don't know what it was, but it looked like mud. Not having any cleaning materials with me, I stopped in the city museum as to where to find a camera store. A passerby overhearing my conversation informed me of the only store in town with a camera specialist. I managed to find him and my lens was cleaned at no charge and with no damage. Anyway, I will remember St. Andrews for two things: providence and rain.

People have been coming to St. Andrews on pilgrimage since the tenth century. The cathedral ruins are impressive - at one time it was the largest building in Scotland. It lies at the site of the first Christian worship in the region, and where a monastery was established in the eighth century. The cathedral was begun in 1158 and dedicated in 1318. It was over 350 feet in length. In St. Andrews, young John Knox, a student at the university, was mentored by George Wishart, a proponent of Calvinism, in the 1540s. Wishart was burned at the stake in St. Andrews (which has an abundance of martyrs in its history), and Knox preached at Holy Trinity Parish Church in the center of town briefly before being taken as a French galley slave. He vowed to preach there again, and did, in 1559 upon his return to Scotland.

The rain, the wind, and the cold prevented me from making more of my time in St. Andrews. It is a place to which I should like to return, in better weather, for a more extended time of devotion and exploration.

Edinburgh, Where the Fires of Hell Almost Sound Comforting

I have now transitioned from Calvin to his disciple John Knox in my "polity pilgrimage." Edinburgh is the birthplace of the Reformation in Scotland: the ancient and present capital, a sacred site for Presbyterians the world over. It is also miserably wet and cold. Maybe it's just the abnormal weather we are experiencing, but in the first two days of my visit, it has rained no fewer than ten times. Not just sprinkles, real rain. I suppose it's actually a good thing. A heat wave would make the city unbearable as it is in the midst of a sanitation strike (technically a slow-down). That's Calvinist Providence for you! Edinburgh lacks the excitement of Paris or the gentility of Geneva. It has the capacity to evoke a gothic perspective; not surprisingly, it is the location in which J.K. Rowling conjured up a world of wizards and magic.

Yesterday, I visited the two main centers of Presbyterian history here in Edinburgh: the John Knox house, on the Royal Mile next to the old city gate; and St. Giles' Cathedral, where Knox was the first Protestant minister. As was the case in Geneva, Edinburgh seems almost apologetic for their Reformer. The John Knox house carefully balances Knox's history with that of John Mosman, a goldsmith who later owned the house and was loyal to the crown during the Scottish revolution. Granted, Knox lacked the intellectual rigor of Calvin, and was considerably less restrained than his mentor. But a local bookstore boasts a series on famous Scots and there isn't a single volume on Knox. Perhaps it reflects the pervasive secularism of the city.

Knox, it seems to me, is a classic "second generation" follower of a charismatic leader. Like the Apostle Paul, the Caliph Ali, or even Brigham Young, Knox brought the passion of a "true believer" to his defense of the cause. His fire-breathing sermons seem perfectly suited to a city where heat may be a greater necessity than light.

John and Vincent

Basel, Switzerland sits on the Rhine where France, Switzerland, and Germany meet. It was an early refuge for Reformed Protestants, and continued to have significance to our day, largely due to the work of twentieth-century reformed theologian Karl Barth, who was born in Basel, and lived and taught there most of his life.

John Calvin and his colleague Guillaume Farel took refuge here after having been expelled from Geneva in 1538 over a fight with the city council. (The presenting issue was the use of unleavened bread in the Lord's Supper, although there were longstanding larger issues such as the power of excommunication.) Calvin soon received an invitation from Martin Bucer to pastor a church in Strasbourg, so Calvin's stay in Basel was brief.

Basel was part of my itinerary from the start, but all the more so once I discovered that the Kunstmuseum in Basel was hosting a major exhibition of landscapes by Vincent Van Gogh. I have had a great attachment for Van Gogh's work, since having read Lust for Life in tenth grade. In 2000, I even took my kids out of school to drive 1200 miles so as to attend the Van Gogh exhibit in Los Angeles. The Basel exhibit was strong - over 70 Van Goghs - although it lacked most of the iconic Van Gogh landscapes. Even so, his work was faithfully presented, and the passion and intensity of his art was evident.

Van Gogh is a fitting companion on my pilgrimage. He was the son of a Dutch Reformed pastor, and even tried to launch a career in ministry himself. He was too much of a non-conformist to fit into the strict Dutch church culture. During a missionary stint in a poor coal mining town, he insisted on sharing the lifestyle of his parishioners, which meant abandoning the privilege of the manse to live in squalid conditions.

Nevertheless, Vincent's faith permeates his work, even during his decline into mental illness and ultimately, suicide. His final painting - now believed to be "Daubigny's Garden" - is a theological treatise on his looming death.

The oval planting at the center of focus is framed by three objects: the woman, the cat, and the gate. The woman in black (Daubigny's widow?), possibly signifying death, is approaching. The cat in the foreground, roughly sketched in black, almost with the appearance of afterthought, is an odd insertion, and is a symbol of impending doom. It is headed toward the white gate. The red roses at the gate connect visually with the church - a symbol of faith - which stands in the distance beyond the walls confining the artist. It suggests that the gate is leading to the church. It's not wise to read too much into the interpretation, but the implication here is that even as he contemplated death, Van Gogh found himself both separated from and drawn to the source of his faith. I'm sure his catechesis in the five points of Calvinism, including unconditional election and the perseverance of the saints, were not far from his thoughts.

I don't know the full extent to which Calvin (or more likely, Calvinism) influenced Van Gogh. I do know that both have deeply influenced me: Calvin by his rigorous intellect, realism about the human condition, and emphasis on divine grace; Van Gogh's by his intense sense of longing and dislocation, and his almost desperate attempt to hold the world and his faith together.

Sunday, I rest (the idea of six hours round trip on trains to the Alps is more than I can bear). Monday, I follow Calvin's student John Knox to Edinburgh and the Scottish Reformation.

A Memorable Birthday

Today (July 10) is the 500th anniversary of the birth of John Calvin. The big event today was the highlight of the city of Geneva's Calvin 09 yearlong celebration: the service commemorating Calvin's birth, held at St. Pierre's Cathedral. Political and ecclesiastical dignitaries spoke; three international choirs sang; a dialog sermon was issued between a local Reformed woman pastor (a welcome change) and Setri Nyomi, General Secretary of the World Alliance of Reformed Churches (based in Geneva).

The service, while obviously conflating civic and religious perspectives, was a welcome change from the Calvin 500 conference worship services of the past week. The Korean choir sang a moving version of "O Happy Day," a djembe punctuated the rhythm of various African songs by the Madagascar choir, and an English-language hymn written especially for the occasion was introduced. Throughout the service, a giant, inflated representation of the earth floated in the midst of the giant cathedral, reminding us of the worldwide communion of the church and the worldwide impact of John Calvin.

Now it is clear that the Genevans (among others) have mixed feelings about their most famous

local icon. Much of what was said (about 3/4 in French, the rest in English) seemed to apologize for Calvin as much as to celebrate him. While I thought they overdid the apologies and seemed to bypass Calvin's doctrine of election in favor of a broadly ethical application of "the sovereignty of God" I did not mind it so much having heard a chorus of voices lauding Calvin's doctrine the previous five days.

On a personal note, when I arrived, I inquired if there was a delegation from the PCUSA in attendance. As there was none, I offered myself as the official representative of our denomination. (I checked this out by phone with Gradye Parsons, who said, "Represent away!") This had two specific benefits: I was seated with the "invitees" closer to the action where I could see what was going on (and photograph it discreetly); and I was able to enjoy a reception dinner in the nearby city park (where the wall of the Reformers is located).

While participating in this service was not on my original itinerary, I am glad I did. It seems a fitting celebration on my pilgrimage, which continues on Monday as my pursuit of Calvin yields to the pursuit of Knox in Edinburgh, Scotland. Tomorrow, I take a train to Basel, where Calvin and Farel took refuge before Calvin went to Strasbourg. There is a bonus there: the local museum is hosting a major Van Gogh exhibition. On Sunday, I will try to go to Interlaken and enjoy a sabbath (in my sabbatical) in the Alps.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

Attending any conference is a mixed bag: some presentations that look enticing in the schedule turn out to be duds; others that had no apparent appeal are gems. The Calvin 500 conference is no exception, although on the whole it has been a disappointment.

The best part of the conference (apart from Geneva itself) has been the keynote addresses each day. They have uniformly been the best presentations, from John Witte's "Calvin and the Law" -- which managed to outshine the preceding paper on Ecclesiastical Discipline by several magnitudes while covering the same territory and much more -- to Bruce McCormack's rebuttal to a revisionist trend in Calvin's soteriology that did not only rebut, it "kicked butt." The other papers (for a total of five each morning) have ranged from tedious to mildly interesting. However, ramming 150 people into a poorly vented auditorium with bad acoustics to listen to someone READ a paper in what is obviously a foreign language to them is an effective remedy to insomnia. The forty minute length of each presentation, without any opportunity for discussion or engagement is both bad planning and bad pedagogy.

The worst part of the conference, in my opinion, has been the evening worship, in particular, the preaching. Not only are all the preachers male (there was one female paper presenter), they all come from the same narrow branch of evangelical Calvinism. They claim to be "biblical preachers" but their sermons show almost no evidence of exegesis. They are so similar, in fact, that two sermon texts are even repeated among the fifteen preachers (three a night x 5 nights!).

And now to the ugly. The sermon Tuesday night by Steven Lawson, "Sr. Pastor, Christ Fellowship Baptist, Mobile, AL," was one of the most egregious abuses of the pulpit I have witnessed. Titled, "Guarding the Gospel," it was an inflammatory call to religious militancy. Change a few words, and you might think it was a fatwah being preached by a leader of the Taliban. A few notes I took when I wasn't stunned into paralysis:

"Anyone who rejects (here followed a long list of "fundamentals" including)... the Virgin Birth... Penal Substitution (atonement theory)... and physical bodily resurrection shall be accursed."

"It is better to consign them to hell now before they lead others astray."

"We should be appalled that this city of Geneva has become so immoral... that America has become so immoral... that so many mainline denominations have deserted the gospel..."

"The hottest place in hell is reserved for false teachers, who preach another gospel and point others to a way that does not lead to heaven..."

"You cannot please God and please Man (sic). Man-pleasers do not call anathemas on teachers of false gospels. If you please God it doesn't matter whom you displease."

"We should have the sword in one hand and the gospel of truth in the other."

I can smell Servetus burning.

One more observation: the organ in St. Pierre is a magnificent instrument, and the organist (I don't know the name) is a brilliant musician. Shame on Calvin for having demolished the original organ and on his followers for waiting 201 years after his death to restore it!