Tom writes:
“The lyrics are about what’s going on these days. Everything is crumbling apart but this is trying to keep a bit of faith.”
So said Doves’ guitarist, Jez Williams, about the track ‘Kingdom of Rust’ in an NME interview at the release of the same-named album in 2009. I don’t know about you, but I sure feel like that quote could have been uttered yesterday! Maybe that’s why great music is timeless.
It has always been one of my discomforts with the language of faith that we seem so easily to slip from the language of trust into the language of knowledge. We ask people whether they know Jesus as their Lord and Saviour, we sing that we know our Redeemer lives, we declare our understandings of scripture and human behaviour and divine nature as self-evident fact.
This year is the 1700th anniversary of the First Council of Nicaea, which produced the earliest edition of what we now refer to as the Nicene Creed. Given the way some Christians speak, you’d be forgiven for thinking that such a creed was a series of knowledge statements, and yet it isn’t. The phrase we Christians repeat time and time again as they recite the ancient statement is “I believe…” Creeds are statements of belief, of faith, of trust. God, as Creator, is ineffable, unknowable, to the creation and its creatures – including us. Indeed, an argument for the incarnation is that if God the Creator desires us to know the divine then it needs to be done on our terms, as part of the creation, because creatures cannot know anything beyond the universe within which we live. And so God comes to us as a human being, a creature subject to time and place – thereby experiencing the limitations that we are subject to while also enabling us to know what God is like in a tangible manner.
Yet even in the context of the incarnation we face the challenge that as human-beings subject to time and space we cannot know Jesus in the same way that his mother, disciples, and others present in 1st Century Judea knew him. We must rely on the writings of the generation that followed, the wisdom of saints both ancient and modern, and what we take to be the moving of the Holy Spirit in our lives. And note, I say “what we take to be”. I cannot prove the existence of the Holy Spirit. Yet I very happily declare in the creeds that I believe in it. I have faith in it. I trust in it.
When I look at the world today, I wish I knew, in empirical, factual terms, what God was up to, that somehow or other I could prove that the evil at work today was on a losing trajectory, that undertaking certain actions would guarantee the lifting up of the lowly, the feeding of the hungry, the healing of the sick, and the freeing of the oppressed. But that isn’t the case. Instead, this poor creature that I am is required to have faith, to believe, to trust. And so that’s what I do, even when it takes every fibre of my being to offer up even a single drop of the faith I know I need…
“…I know it takes an ocean of trust
In the kingdom of rust”
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