Sunday 23 December 2012

15 ...and another thing ...

A friend remarked the other day how nativity plays (in schools) had changed over the years, and were now pretty much unrecognisable as such. I have even heard of an octopus featuring in a recent nativity play! Whatever is going on?
I suppose this sort of thing is in the name of inclusivity. It set off two trains of thought .....
It is of course a multi-cultural society that we are part of today. And multi-faith! And some of our schools have an increasingly large proportion of non-Christian and minority-group raised children. And it stands to reason that schools have no wish to prevent any child participating in an end-of-term production. But at the expense of distorting a well-loved, traditional story? Surely it would be better to learn about other cultures' traditional stories, and to learn respect and acceptance of all the diversities of culture and faith in modern society. Surely better than this constant 'dumbing-down', lest some-one might be offended!
And what  of including everybody? Well, the nativity story does not specify numbers of shepherds. Or stars. Or angels. There is no mention of octopi.

My second train of thought went something like this: it seems almost as though we are ashamed to have a faith! Stastitically,apparently now there are fewer people declaring themselves to belong to the major religions, yet alone the Established Church. But, if Mental Health experts are to be believed (and I see no reason to doubt this), a great proportion of the population is still searching for spiritual enrichment: something that used to be 'provided'by one's faith in God (of whichever religion).
Personally, I have often found the atheist stance rather arrogant. It seems to be built on a certainty, and the suggestion is that scientific knowledge will ultimately provide us with answers to all our questioning and searching. That is all very well. I once tried to learn physics. Very early on, it became apparent that much of the 'facts' were actually 'faith'(which, as we know, means 'hope', or 'trust'), not certainty, which I had been led to believe. This was a leap of faith too far for me, and I made  no further progress.
Soon after the stroke, the doctor in charge of my care was showing me the angiograms (X-rays of blood vessels) of my head and neck. The clot which had caused the stroke could clearly be seen (or rather its effects on the surrounding tissues). If it had come to rest a millimetre further on, I would not have survived. The doctor turned to me  and said 'somebody up there was looking after you!'. I nodded in agreement. But neither of us meant that literally. Neither of us thought of a man (or of an angel), sitting up in the sky and looking down deciding that I should live. (Some people would consider it pure chance that I survived)
Similarly, many folk have suggested that I should have turned my back on The Church, as I had the stroke during a Mothering Sunday Service. 'How could God let that happen, especially in His own House?', they say. Well, I don't believe He did, but that is a theological discussion for another time and place!

So,  where did these trains of thought end up? Nowhere really; they just went round and round. But 'on the journey', my conviction was reinforced that whatever one's faith, it remains a mystery that should be cherished and celebrated, and respected by all.