Archbishop Cranmer produced a recent post likening the extreme devotion to President Trump found in some circles to a religious cult. For the avoidance of doubt, while I did not agree with the President on all points, I greatly admire him and consider that he was the best thing politically to happen to America since the advent of the Tea Party (not that I agreed with its entire platform or the simplifications its members were sometimes apt to make). For my American friends, I would also like to recommend this post on next steps. Back to Cranmer: as I read the article, I was struck by the deep need for belonging and community that causes some people to join cults and sects rather than more “mainstream” organisations.

As Christians, most of us are struck from time to time by the level of community we see in the Gospels, relative to our own lives. By this, I mean that most of us live ordinary lives with ordinary social relationships. These can, of course, be very profound, and my intention is not to suggest they are of lesser value (far from it). But when it comes to religion, most of us do not spend all our time with other members of church in the way that the Disciples did with each other and Christ when they travelled with Him in Judea, Samaria and Galilee.

In addition, most of our relationships are not entwined with the kind of Messianic expectation and fervour that characterises eschatological cults. Hope and despair are powerful forces, and entertaining them can cause significant changes in one’s behaviour. Furthermore, we also have damaged and unpleasant relationships in this life, ranging from low-level friction to much more serious conflict.

So we can understand, even if not ultimately condone, why people join cults and sects. We can see the appeal: unity, clarity, devotion, belonging, community, hope, vision, and support. Of course, there are also special communities that we would call legitimate, such as monastic communities. These communities remind us, perhaps in a fashion their architects did not envision, of the Age to Come. They are apocalyptic symbols of the changes that will one day come to our relationships when Christ returns, just as they are of the community that exists invisibly in heaven among the Church Triumphant, which eagerly awaits the resurection and makes intercession for the Church Militant below.

We find ourselves longing for the transformation of our relationships and wider society. There is so much evil and destruction in the world. Sin comes from within, like a miasmic wind blowing from the cavernous depths of the human heart. In fighting against sin and hoping for the Age to Come, we are apt to become cynical and hardened: grieved and angered at every disappointment, from the big ones in the political arena to the everyday struggles of church, home, and workplace.

I think it is also very easy to feel alone, especially in this period of lockdowns and “social distancing” (which always struck me as an oxymoronic phrase). We are blessed to have the twin communities of AATW and NEO, where conservatives like us can share our thoughts and feelings. We are also blessed with other forms of communication among friends for matters that are more personal. It is important that we keep these relationships going, because we need every kind of strength that the good Lord provides. We are a community and we need to keep saying that.

The days ahead are going to be very difficult and we are not necessarily promised an answer in this life. The living hope of Christ within us is ultimately founded on the resurrection of Christ and His saints, and the Age to Come.

The Seventh Trumpet will one day sound: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of His Messiah, and He will reign forever and ever.” Gloria Deo Omnipotenti: Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto – nunc et sempiternam, in saecula saeculorum. Amen.

Post script

I have recently been reading about the post-tribulational framework and may one day write about it when I have ordered my thoughts. For now, just bear that in mind if re-reading my previous eschatological posts, which are written from a pre-wrath perspective. The two view-points are actually fairly close (i.e. they overlap on a lot of points).

We cannot fathom the incarnation, what it meant for God to become man. One of the earliest heresies to emerge was docetism: the claim that Jesus did not possess a truly human body, but rather a celestial or illusory body and therefore that he did not truly suffer on the cross, but only appeared to. The Gospels and wider New Testament counter this heresy by repeatedly affirming the reality of the incarnation. Not only do we read about the feelings, experiences, and suffering of Jesus, we also see Him as an individual, not some generic human. He has particular friends and turns of phrase, particular moments of intensity, and a particular concern for His mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Sometimes, I think we forget the human nature of Jesus. In seeing Him in glory or as the familiar figure from Sunday school and illustrate bibles, we can lose that dimension of Him that is His individuality as a human being. This has an impact on our relationship with Him. When we see any member of the Trinity or God generally in generic terms, we can become detached and distant. God becomes merely a concept and we lapse into the well-meaning, bland “spiritually” espoused by so many people of goodwill whose ethics are so often good, but whose connection with God is less than what He desires.

The bible speaks of friendship with God and Christ referred to His disciples as His friends. Thinking back on my own spiritual condition (this is not the forum to go into detail, however) and the remote methods we currently use for holding church services and bible studies, I am struck by how easy it is for church and our individual lives to lapse into a kind of two-dimensional form.

So often I take a broad view of things, necessitated by studying and understanding various aspects of Scripture. But we are supposed to have a personal relationship with Christ and the foundation of that is getting to know who He is in all aspects of His character and life. Prayer is one part of that, but so is looking with fresh eyes at the accounts of His life found in the Gospels.

Looking at them again, I see a man who wept when Lazarus died, who felt compassion for people who had been ostracised, and who used harsh language against religious hypocrites and spiritual tyrants. This Jesus is not some generic human but someone who was hungry at a particular time in history after fasting for forty days; and who grew up in Egypt and Nazareth. He was fond of John, His friend, and entrusted him with the care of His mother, Mary.

This is a real person and it behoves me, at least, to think about that more often.

Jess asked this question some time last year, and it has haunted me ever since. Prompted as it was by the strictures of our current woe, one possible answer was “social interaction.” Although many of us, working remotely as we are, do have plenty of “contact” on a daily basis, talking via Teams, Zoom, or some other remote platform is just not the same. Indeed, reflecting on a telephone hearing I attended on one matter, I am struck by how awkward it was because the Judge and counsel could not tell when each had finished speaking (I was a silent participant on mute, merely there to listen).

I suspect we all vacillate between stoicism and acknowledging our emotions. On the one hand, many of us do not feel entitled to complain. Those of us who have been working remotely since March last year, without being furloughed, have had work to keep us occupied and salaries to keep us provisioned. Those of us in good health (perhaps immune from having contracted the disease earlier) are faring better than those at risk, those suffering from the disease (or slowly recovering), and those suffering from other medical conditions. Remote working also has the benefit of avoiding the expense and time lost in commuting (not to mention all the annoyances and infection risks caused by crowded vehicles and compartments in an age where the social contract is dead or on its deathbed).

Against such a backdrop, our elders and ancestors would tell us to “count our blessings”. All good things come from God, so Scripture tells us. Accordingly, we should thank Him for all the good things that He showers upon us – whether we deserve them or not. Those of us who do not espouse a sacramentalism of the kind found in High Churchmanship can also be thankful for communion conducted in our homes or via Zoom and other such platforms. Jesus lives in our hearts by His Spirit and is present where only two are gathered in His name. Even for those who are sacramentalists, missing the eucharist as conducted by a priest, they can know Christ’s comfort through prayer. If we are to put any stock in the revelations given at Fatima, we should also consider that times such as these might be intended for the purification of our faith. Even without relying on those revelations, such a conclusion can be drawn.

But we are social creatures. We miss being present “in the flesh” and the comfort that comes from touch and other senses. While we are physically apart, we cannot offer those physical tasks such as childcare that help those whom we love.

We in this community are blessed. We were a virtual community before this crisis hit, and so we were able to continue as such. We have offered comfort and support to one another amidst depression, insanity, upheaval, and all the other turmoils of these times (for which I am thankful). I am grateful to Jess for her compassion, to NEO for someone who understands and respects my political and patriotic beliefs, to Audre for her good humour, and to Scoop for his respect for my eschatological convictions (which have a great deal of meaning for me). Chalcedon is also worthy of special mention because, among his many other good qualities, his time in various churches means he understandings something about where each of us stands and can therefore empathise with us. This is important in a multi-denominational community and also important in the context of debate and enquiry where we find ourselves asking questions and seeking answers (and sometimes not receiving them).

These days, I have a lot of questions. Sometimes I think, perhaps drawing on the Book of Job and the early chapters of Romans, it is not given to us to have all of those answers. When I taught Philosophy, I covered the soul-making theodicy of John Hick. While I would not necessarily offer a blanket endorsement of that system, he does make a number of interesting points. Part of our answer to “What are we living for?” is probably, “To grow a soul, to become human as God intended humanity to be.”