Tolerance is Not an Option

The Scottish Government is considering a change to hate crime legislation in this country. That they are consulting extensively on it up and down this land – even in extremist Stornoway – is surely an encouraging sign. I wasn’t able to attend the consultation, being one of those subjugated Wee free women, but I have every faith that the Men in Black would have filed into the town hall, banged the table, shouted ‘Kenneth Street says “no”!’ a good few times, and generally held up the stereotype to which our national (and sometimes local) media so loves resorting.

Knowing my place (the kitchen) does not, however, prevent me from having concerns about the proposed overhaul of laws relating to – in particular – hate speech. While I wholeheartedly agree that such behaviour has no place in a civilised society, I worry that lowering the threshold on what constitutes, for example, hostile language, will criminalise people who are actually motivated by love.

Not two weeks ago, I saw someone, commenting on a Facebook thread, in which she was outraged at a minister saying that we are all sinners. She denied her own claim to that title, saying that she had never done anything wrong in her life. A remarkable paragon, indeed, but a sadly mistaken one.

Being a sinner is not like being an organ donor, or a contributor to your employer’s pension scheme: there is no opt-out. Read Genesis 3 – it’s all in there. Nor is it anything to do with whether you remember your mother’s birthday and hold the door open for old ladies. I have never murdered anyone, nor stolen from them, nor plotted the overthrow of a legitimate authority (unless you count the Kirk Session); but I am a sinner.

It’s important that this exercise fully takes on board the fears that Christians have, because we already know where the wilful misunderstanding and hostility of other people can lead. Before any individual, or government makes the grand claim that they are tolerant of Christianity, I think they should be aware of the challenges with which it will present them.

‘Tolerance’, originates from the Latin ‘to bear’ or ‘to endure’. However, it has become a word much associated with our liberal, anything goes society. People ‘tolerate’ what they cannot approve. You can say with impunity that there is no God, that those who believe in Him are fools (or bigots); and you can rewrite His rules – so what if He created them male and female, there is no gender. In fact, so what if He said ‘you must not kill’; we have the means to terminate life in the womb and if that life is going to inconvenience someone by seeing the light of day . . . well, it’s intolerant of anyone to try saving it.

You see, I don’t think that you can ‘tolerate’ the Christian faith. It is founded upon a Man who is a polarising force – you are with Him, or against Him; you are lost, or you accept salvation; you belong with the sheep or the goats; you are bundled as chaff and burned, or taken safely into His storehouse as wheat.

Christ will not allow us to tolerate Him. And when I say ‘Him’, I mean that to include His Church. Those of us who love Him and follow Him, and have founded all our hopes upon Him . . . we are members of His body. Strike at us, and it is actually His wounds which bleed.

If you change the law of this land so that a minister preaching the Gospel faithfully can be accused of using hate speech simply because you don’t being called a sinner, you are placing many souls in jeopardy. He is a Christian, called by God to spread the saving truth, because faith comes by hearing. Stop his mouth and you are building a dam against rivers of living water. It is not the preacher of the Gospel you offend, but Christ, who IS the Gospel. You are keeping the lifeboat at bay for yourself, certainly, but you are preventing others from climbing on board as well.

On a personal level, I fear what this kind of legislation might mean for my blog. In the past, writing on attempts to change the Lewis Sunday, I was accused of stirring up hatred, bitterness, and even racism. I examined my own heart, and I scoured what was written, but nowhere could I find what offended the unbelievers.

What offends them, of course, is love. The preachers of tolerance claim to embrace all kinds of love. But they do not actually see the only love worth having when it is held out to them. Believe me, I understand: there was a time when I couldn’t see it either.

And this is where the whole edifice stands or falls. Christ is calling to every one of us to either take His side . . . or move aside.

A ‘tolerant’ society does not understand that the Gospel was made to be offensive. It does what our government, our society and – increasingly – even our churches – will not do: it calls us out on our bad conduct. But we live in a world where words like ‘good’ or ‘bad’ have virtually been excised from public discourse. We are wise in our own sight, and we have turned away from God.

Regardless of what laws a godless country might pass, followers of Christ know what they must do. I don’t want to be tolerated; I want to be heard when I say to people dead in sin as I once was:

‘Come, see a man who told me all I ever did. Can this be the Christ?’

He requires of you an answer. As CS Lewis said, ‘Love Him or hate him, Jesus forces that choice upon you’.

Tolerance is not an option.

 

 

 

Hold Your Tongue and Shame the Devil?

I have loved my denomination with an irrational affection which mimics what I feel for many human beings. Overlooking obvious faults, chuckling at foibles which irritate others, and even adoring the very character flaws which may repulse less tender onlookers,it’s only ever been the Free Church for me. Give me psalm singing, give me the blue book, give me the envelopes for the collection plate, and give me 1843.

But, my goodness, give me also a mind open enough to admit that NONE of those things are a substitute for a right relationship with Christ. And to admit that nothing is more important than that His salvation should reach the lost – by whatever means He chooses. It is, after all, in His hands, and by His design; not ours.

Last week, while I was halfway across Europe, a dream came to fruition on the lawn in front of Lews Castle. It was not my dream to begin with, but the vision of somebody who loves music, and who loves the Lord. When he first painted a word picture of how this evening would unfold, I was captivated by it – ‘people gathered together for praise . . . a single voice singing ‘Amazing Grace’ . . . hymns . . . praise bands . . . and the crowd dissipating to the strains of a lone piper, playing again, ‘I once was lost, but now am found’ – the heart’s cry of every saved soul, and their deepest desire for those they love.

That this idea came from  someone who thought that ‘Bangor’ begins, ‘oh, didn’t we have a lovely time the day we went to . . . ‘ just made it all the more winning. We are not all the same, and we do not all value the same things; but we are one in Christ, who loves us equally, and who gave Himself for the strummers of guitars, as much as for the hummers of psalms.

An old minister once, saying grace before a meal, was almost inaudible to his companions. ‘I didn’t hear a word of that’, one of them complained when he had concluded. ‘It wasn’t to you I was speaking’, came the swift reply. And so it is with worship- it’s for God, and Him alone.

Except, that’s not entirely true. It is also for us to find pleasure in worshipping Him. What does psalm 100 say – ‘enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise’ – but come to Him with that joy already in your heart and upon your lips. Glorify Him and enjoy Him forever. Anywhere and everywhere.

The more I go on in the Christian life, the more I realise its semi-solitary nature. Yes, the fellowship of God’s people is there as an encouragement but, I am bound to say that it can be equally dispiriting at times.

If I listened to the criticism, to the whispers, I would be far from lifted up by my fellow Christians. I have recently joined those legions who must be pilloried by their own for committing the heinous crime of organising worship in a tent. Faith Mission, Billy Graham, Grace on the Green – you name it, if it’s happening under canvas, these folk are opposed to it. And not so mindful of my feelings as a fellow Christian – a relatively new one at that – that they are prepared to pull their punches.

Some, recently, did not want people praising God in a tent when they could (should?) have been doing it in a church. Personally, I think He can receive all manner of worship simultaneously, wherever it emanates from – a cathedral, a marquee, a hovel, a ditch, a hospital toilet.

That last one, I can testify to. Let anyone – deacon, elder, minister, even – tell me that God grades our petitions according to where we are, or what we’re wearing, and I will call them false. I prayed more fervently in the Bethesda Hospice shower cubicle than ever I have in the Free Church. God met me there too, without a doubt – and yes, He answered my prayers.

This week, I have had to ask Him to answer prayer again – and it’s not so very different. I need grace not to say what’s on my mind, not to walk away from the whole sad and sorry denominational mess that we’ve created. Novice I may be, and whipping-boy for all the more ‘seasoned’ Christians, but I am going to stop the self-censorship right here, and ask my questions. How else is a new girl to learn, after all ?

Why is a prayer meeting in a church better than praise in a tent? How is it folk can come together to worship in the town hall, but not in one another’s churches?

And, doesn’t your Bible teach you about dying to self? Mine does. I’d rather hold my tongue than hurt another Christian, or harm the cause. Maybe I’ll grow out of that, though. One day, when I find where in the Apocrypha they’ve hidden the Book of Denominations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not to be Read by Unbelievers

We were all gathered together in the church hall, when the minister picked up the microphone, fixed us with his most intimidating gaze, and asked, ‘who reads the Bible on an electronic device?’

There was an awkward silence. People tried to avoid his eye. I sat, rooted to the spot in terror, thinking, ‘so this is how it ends’. In my paranoia, I even wondered whether he would be able to tell me for a Kindle-user, just by looking. ‘Put up your hands if you have the Bible on an electronic device’, he ordered in his most threateningly reasonable tone. Still, no one moved. None dared.

And then it happened. A miracle. In the finest ever ‘I’m Spartacus’ move, his wife raised her hand. The whole atmosphere changed in an instant, and suddenly hands were in the air all over the room.

I held my breath. What would happen? Surely this show of defiance could not go unpunished. Yet, what could he do when his own wife had openly admitted to using modern technology herself?

Finally, he spoke.

‘I see’, was all he said.

And then I also saw. Sitting there, with a wireless microphone in his hand, he could hardly castigate his congregation for indulging in the odd Bible app. Especially when his own household was patently guilty of making forays into the modern age.

I wondered whether this was history in the making, a momentous event that would be recorded forever as the night the Wee Frees in Stornoway were finally forced into the 21st century.

But then I remembered – no, of course, that could not be. It had already happened . . . sometime around the end of 1999, I think.

However, it is important to be fair. People cannot help conceiving ill-informed ideas about an organisation that is secretive, and a closed shop. Besides, if it seeks to exercise power and control over an entire community, surely its leadership could be more transparent, less misogynistic,kinder, less controlling . . .

That same day, the membership had been told not to read anything written by me, and not to show anything written by me to others. The decree was issued online with no right of reply, and with an Orwelllian postscript that it would be removed from view in due course.

Who did this, you ask – the Moderator, surely would be the only one with that level of power. Or maybe the Presbytery – was it them? Surely no individual minister would be so egomaniacal as to exert his authority in this way . . .

Oh, you mistake me; I’m not talking about the Free Church. My local elder used to visit the house once a month to check the contents of my bookcase, right enough, but they’ve reduced the visits now to three-monthly. I cunningly hid all my offensively heretical books behind the Diary of Kenneth MacRae and Leabhar Aithghearr nan Ceist, which seemed to satisfy him.

No, it isn’t the Free Church telling its members what to read and what not to read. The organisation which seeks to ban certain writers, and to control what its membership looks at online is not the repressive Wee Frees; it’s the tolerant, welcoming people ‘of all faiths and none’ Western Isles Secular Society.

Yes, like a tinpot dictator, one of their administrators has prohibited my blog from being read by WISS members, or shared to the group.

The reason, of course, is that the last time it was dragged back there, the unruly hordes picked over it and in a frenzy of hatred, unwittingly revealed their true colours.

I was variously described as ‘disgusting’, ‘rude’, ‘racist’, ‘spiritually immature’, a ‘zealot’, ‘an embarrassment to the fellowship of the church’, and an egomaniac in pursuit of martyrdom.

Officially, they must not read it, speak about it or do so much as coimhead an taobh a tha mi because I am an intransigent troll.

But, in reality, they must not read it because there’s a danger in being exposed to the truth. Some things are only recognised as broken when they are held up against the light.So, it is safer to preserve them in darkness.

The secularist response to that blog has made me pity them more than ever. Though they hissed and spat, and even tried to use Scripture against me, it isn’t me they fear at all; it’s Christ.

He is so inconvenient, shaking the foundations of their fictional world. And because they don’t want Him, they attack any who try to speak about who He is and what He’s done. They won’t silence Him, though. If Christ intends that any or all of that Society should hear Him and bend the knee, then hear Him and bend the knee they shall.

It shouldn’t surprise me that the Western Isles secularists have obeyed this edict not to read my work; these are the same people who want their own children ‘protected’ from the Bible because it doesn’t tally with their world view. If they are prepared to attempt silencing the voice of God, I can hardly expect special treatment.

Let me not, though, hear any further suggestions that they are the voice of reason and tolerance, over against the oppression and control of the Free Church.

One has afforded me a voice; one has silenced me. The leaders of one have encouraged me to think for myself; the leaders of the other have suggested that I am incapable of such a thing.

They don’t want Truth. Pilate asked what it was, even as it stood before Him; they are not prepared to risk Christ getting that close.

One day, I hope they’ll be grateful that it was never up to them.