Sensory overload

Peterborough Cathedral sits splendidly in the middle of the city, a few footsteps from the main shopping precincts - unlike the equally splendid cathedral in my home city of Norwich, which requires just a little extra effort in a city that is surprisingly hilly, given its location.  I work sufficiently close to Peterborough to have the privilege of being able to call in before work, which I have started to do from time to time, sharing Morning Prayer with a small but friendly group of (mainly) clergy.

At the time it was built, it wouldn't just have been at the heart of the community, it would have been the very heart of the community itself, not least as it was a monastic institution and as such provided the basic socio-economic infrastructure of the surrounding area. In these days of commercial leases and shopping "experiences" it instead stands slightly aloof, as a place of sanctuary and refuge - not that it isn't busy about the business of doing so.

In my hand I have a device which will shortly enable this blog post to be available anywhere in the world in a matter of seconds. It also contains about 2,000 pieces of music, several films, and, if skilfully deployed, the sum total of all human knowledge acquired since the beginning of recorded time.  Sibelius? Swipe, click: Bob's your proverbial uncle. The Monet that just sold for £35m? There it is, for free - if a little less vivid and rewarding than the original.

A few hundred years ago, the churches would have been the only place where ordinary people could experience art or music of any great refinement, and they would have been taken aback at the architecture and stained glass of Peterborough, the frescos appearing in many Parish Churches before the Levellers (not the 90s folk band) whitewashed over them, and by the choirs singing plainchant, and later the magnificent Mass settings of the great European composers.  Now, impressive as it is, it's a bit old hat.

What is the church's unique offering in a world where the people suffer not cultural deprivation, but rather overload - and so much of it so puerile? I wonder if quiet, sanctuary, and humility are the church's USP to the world in this day and age, and whether it is through those lenses that they should see their mission. Not that I want to silence our excellent worship band, who lead us adeptly and movingly in worship every Sunday. Honestly! But they too prompt us to reflect and point us to God, and are not, unlike their antecedents, offering anything unusual or unique - making their task all the harder and their contribution all the more accomplished.

Marks of difference

I'm really looking forward to Ramadan. There's nothing inherently odd about that, but as a Christian believer in membership of a church which is in turn a member of the Evangelical Alliance, and having just enjoyed a bacon roll (settling my stomach after yesterday evening's cider), I think it probably requires a little of what we clumsily call "unpacking".

On the face of it, it's jolly simple. I failed to participate in Lent in any way, having just started a demanding job and suffering cumulative jet lag from repeated short trips from London to Hong Kong and back again. The annual spiritual discipline of self-denial and moral reflection has always been important to me, and so I felt this failure profoundly.

And so, with an opportunity upcoming to join a communal exercise which is essentially similar if a little more prescriptive, I thought it would be interesting to share with millions of Muslims in what is their holiest month, and perhaps their most famous religious practice. Though a key ingredient for me as a Christian would be missing - the culmination of the period in a (chocolatey) celebration of the fundamental achievement of my faith, the defeat of sin by the resurrection of the Messiah - consciously turning away from material preoccupations and rededicating my life to God is an exciting prospect.

But for many of my co-religionists, the idea of joining in an Islamic practice might be troubling at the very least, as it seems to defy commitment to the uniqueness of Jesus Christ.  "I am the way, the truth and the life" he says in our Scriptures, notwithstanding that those Scriptures for most mainstream Muslims form an earlier, inchoate part of "the Book" which they believe to be the revelation of God's self to humankind; a pearl on a thread alongside the Torah and the Qu'ran.

We can get fixated on difference. "Do not conform" warns St Paul, and there is a full spectrum of opinion on the manner and extent to which Christians and their churches should engage with the wider world.  It is a distinctive mark of the Jewish community that its members neither eat pork, nor mix diary produce and meat, whereas the Pagan cultures around used to boil young animals in their mothers' milk.  It is distinctive - certainly in Britain - that Muslims do not drink alcohol, though there are moral considerations of greater importance than merely appearing distinctive, just as in the Middle East there were health considerations related to eating pork, shellfish and dairy produce before the advent of electric refrigeration.

With what do we as Christians feel the greatest discord?  Some feel that other religions are more dangerous then apathy, as they do not seek to lead people to Jesus.  Some even feel that this is the result of a malevolent spirit.  However, I believe that the materialism prevalent in the world, and the selfishness that results, are by far the most likely factors to lead people away from God and from the mindful development of the human soul, and it is against these things that I would most like to establish points of difference.  I can therefore join in with the practices of a religion which professes to be seeking - and to be wanting to help people to find - the same God as my own, with far greater ease than I can walk through a shopping centre. Our Muslim cousins, and those of other faiths, share the same genes, and it would be well that we consider joining together in arguing against the godlessness of our age.