Sunday 23 October 2011

Reformed or dissenting?

I’ve been thinking the past week about “Reformed identity”.  I went to Synod determined to keep quiet (except when asked to speak) and enjoy retirement in the pews – but just because you don’t have a vote and a role to play doesn’t mean you don’t feel for people.

Wasn’t it a bit rough, after all the work that had been put into sharpening Vision2020 for Northern Synod, for it all to be put on hold? I can see that the document we were given had its shortcomings, but its authors seemed  ready to listen and to amend it. If you’ve been working hard on something like this, having it sent back must seem discouraging. Hardly the way for us to get the best out of people!
The most focused criticism I heard was over this issue of identity: that while we say plenty in general terms about needing to know who we are, we need to be more specific about being Reformed. But I wonder how much the members of synod gathered at Wideopen could have told us about what Reformed identity means to them. I’ve never been too sure what it is: if it has to do with the Bible at the centre of everything, and valuing a learned ministry – well, we’re mostly using the same lectionary week by week as the other Churches around us, and their preachers and  worship leaders (not noticeably less educated than ours) will be relying on the same resources as we all do.

Either we’ve lost what is distinctively Reformed, or we’ve valued it and commended it so well that it’s somehow found its way into all the Churches. Or perhaps a bit of both?
There are other aspects of our identity, though, that we seem to forget about altogether. 1662 had just the briefest of mentions last Saturday – a single line in one of the written reports, vainly hoping that someone might notice the date next year. Fifty years ago when we were celebrating the 300th anniversary of the Great Ejectment (which now seems to have been domesticated to the Great Ejection), I don’t recall any concern about Reformed identity, but plenty of discussion about what it meant to be a Dissenter.

Granted that things have moved on (fifty years ago we couldn’t even receive communion in parish churches, though ironically our forebears had suffered for choosing not to), and granted that taking a stand on simply being against something or being different sounds far meaner than taking pride in being Reformed,  I fear we are missing out on a very significant part of our identity by neglecting this historic perspective.
Congregationalist and Presbyterians, good Reformed church people, wanted to be part of a Reformed Church of England, but in all conscience felt that they could not sign up to the settlement of 1662. And they paid the price for their non-conformity. I suspect that for many of us, if we’ve thought about it at all, there will be rather different issues today that would make it difficult to throw in our lot with the established Church – but I at least would not want to accuse my Anglican brothers and sisters of being insufficiently Reformed. And I’m sure there’s more than enough variety of practice and opinion to suit God’s good purposes in both our camps.

Meanwhile, if the poor Mission Executive members now have to reflect on our Reformed identity, could they also spare a thought on what it might mean today to be a Dissenter?

John Durell

(former synod clerk and ecumenical officer)