The Sound of No Hands Clapping
February 5, 2011
The Affinity Conference in High Leigh was most enjoyable. All British evangelical life was there. And for me half the fun was catching up with stacks of old friends. Dan Strange, public theologian, began every paragraph with an apologetic `I am not actually an Anglican, although I do teach at Oak Hill,' and ended each with `I'm not really a theonomist, you know.' Numerous Welsh delegates turned every sentence into a question by closing with `isn't it?' Indeed, to hear some of the conversations was quite odd: `Dan, can you tell me the time, isn't it?' `Well, I am not actually an Anglican, although I do teach at Oak Hill. And did I mention that I am not really a theonomist?'
Then, there was Gary Brady, famous opponent of jeans, surprisingly sporting smart trousers and a pair of moth eaten gym shoes, apparently in an unsuccessful attempt to fuse Reformed Baptist theology, Welsh mysticism, and an emergent aesthetic. And, of course, I must mention Peter Naylor, already making excuses about the parlous nature of the Welsh rugby to me at Friday lunch, in a prophetic foreshadowing of the evening's triumph for the English boys at the Millennium Stadium. Frankly, there is nothing more heartwarming for an Englishman than hearing Welsh friends laying down an escape strategy even before the Six Nations have kicked off. Finally, there was Greg Beale, who took me out twice for a drink; and on both occasions then had to borrow money from me to do so because he did not have any British currency.
The only disappointment was the absence of Paul Levy; but, as he was not actually speaking, the word on the street was that he had taken the opportunity to go away for the weekend.
Seriously, the conference was probably the most helpful one I have ever attended. The structure (as outlined in an earlier blog by Paul) was great: speakers sent papers in advance; they introduced them briefly at the conference; the conference then broke into small groups for discussion; and then reconvened for plenary debate. True conversational theology: the speakers were respected as experts but not put on pedestals; the discussion groups, consisting of academics and pastors, pushed everything to its implications for the local church (so different to those scholars who blab on and on about community readings and churchly hermeneutics but who are never really involved in actual churches); differences were respected but not relativised; and good humour and thoughtfulness characterized everything. It was also good to be among men for whom the pastorate is an absolute calling. In Britain, there is no money or social kudos attached to being a minister. These men do it for the love of God and the love of their people. That is all.
And, just as a postscript: no speaker was applauded or clapped. As I said, there was no undue adulation of the speakers, no manifestation of the celebrity culture of the American evangelical world. The speakers were simply there to kick start discussion and offer specialist insight; at best, they were briefly first among equals at the start of the session; then they were simply among their equals. When I handed in my key at the end, the lady on the desk from Affinity didn't even know my name. Which is as it should be. Indeed, the dynamic of the conference was decidedly communal and corporate. It is a model that Americans might do well to emulate. The sound of no hands clapping has much to commend it.
Then, there was Gary Brady, famous opponent of jeans, surprisingly sporting smart trousers and a pair of moth eaten gym shoes, apparently in an unsuccessful attempt to fuse Reformed Baptist theology, Welsh mysticism, and an emergent aesthetic. And, of course, I must mention Peter Naylor, already making excuses about the parlous nature of the Welsh rugby to me at Friday lunch, in a prophetic foreshadowing of the evening's triumph for the English boys at the Millennium Stadium. Frankly, there is nothing more heartwarming for an Englishman than hearing Welsh friends laying down an escape strategy even before the Six Nations have kicked off. Finally, there was Greg Beale, who took me out twice for a drink; and on both occasions then had to borrow money from me to do so because he did not have any British currency.
The only disappointment was the absence of Paul Levy; but, as he was not actually speaking, the word on the street was that he had taken the opportunity to go away for the weekend.
Seriously, the conference was probably the most helpful one I have ever attended. The structure (as outlined in an earlier blog by Paul) was great: speakers sent papers in advance; they introduced them briefly at the conference; the conference then broke into small groups for discussion; and then reconvened for plenary debate. True conversational theology: the speakers were respected as experts but not put on pedestals; the discussion groups, consisting of academics and pastors, pushed everything to its implications for the local church (so different to those scholars who blab on and on about community readings and churchly hermeneutics but who are never really involved in actual churches); differences were respected but not relativised; and good humour and thoughtfulness characterized everything. It was also good to be among men for whom the pastorate is an absolute calling. In Britain, there is no money or social kudos attached to being a minister. These men do it for the love of God and the love of their people. That is all.
And, just as a postscript: no speaker was applauded or clapped. As I said, there was no undue adulation of the speakers, no manifestation of the celebrity culture of the American evangelical world. The speakers were simply there to kick start discussion and offer specialist insight; at best, they were briefly first among equals at the start of the session; then they were simply among their equals. When I handed in my key at the end, the lady on the desk from Affinity didn't even know my name. Which is as it should be. Indeed, the dynamic of the conference was decidedly communal and corporate. It is a model that Americans might do well to emulate. The sound of no hands clapping has much to commend it.
