LITMIR.BIZ

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wise is to be foolish. The book ends with a short postscript on the blessing of birds.

      While I write, I call to mind the many women with whom I have done Bible study in different places over more than forty years. I hope that this book may also be of interest to, among others, students of theology, members of churches, those outside the church who may wonder about those of us who sit in pews on Sundays, and anyone else who may want to read about the blessings of a long life. I cannot help agreeing with a well-known Protestant theologian of the twentieth century, Karl Barth (1886–1968), who remarked: “The angels will laugh when they read my theology.” Doubtlessly this book will give the angels cause for laughter, while I hope that it will make theology palatable for interested readers. Throughout I am aware of two pressing needs in our times: the first is a political and social need for a more just and equitable society; the second is more inward and personal – it is a yearning for a deeper spiritual awareness. I believe that the God question is the same as the human question. All faiths have their origins in the human heart and in contexts that are at times overwhelming. I cannot separate these two intertwined needs.

      The phrase “the church” is fraught. Can any institution fully represent the man we know as Jesus? There is no one church, one tradition, one set of practices and characteristics. The use of the phrase “the church” is therefore rather sloppy, but it is intended to cover all denominations that are considered mainline. I am a member of the Anglican Church in South Africa. However, my experience of many different churches in different parts of the world has shown me that cultures, contexts, local traditions, personal tastes and desires all contribute towards a multitude of “flavours” even within churches with more formal frameworks. Institutions by their very nature have rules and regulations to ensure order. Churches have structures with which they operate, and within these structures hierarchies of authority are quickly formed. When I allow myself to dream of what the community of believers should be like, I know that I am in for disappointment. I understand the church as a place of plurality and inclusiveness, a place where people of all kinds are welcome and at home, because it is a place that is accepting, loving, serving, and exists by the grace of God in Jesus Christ alone.

      The ideas in this book do not purport to be original. It is impossible for me to say where they all come from. Throughout, I am in conversation with selected theologians, writers and thinkers across time, many of whom I acknowledge and often elaborate on in notes at the end of each chapter. Dates are given when a specific deceased person is mentioned for the first time in order to place her or him in an historical context. Contemporary writers and thinkers are not dated. The notes at the end of each chapter also flesh out borrowings mentioned in the text. Not every quotation is referenced. However, each chapter concludes with a list of works consulted, in the hope that some readers may find topics of interest to pursue further.

      I am not a biblical scholar, though I am aware of the pitfalls in using scripture to bolster arguments. My use of scripture throughout has been prompted rather by the way in which it is read in my Bible study group than by a more scholarly academic reading. All biblical quotations are taken from The New Annotated Oxford Bible, the Revised Standard Version (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991).

      I owe thanks to a number of friends: Geoff Quinlan, retired bishop for reading my manuscript and making many useful suggestions on how to improve it; Karen Sporre, professor of theological education at Umeå University in northern Sweden, who cast a critical and helpful eye on the structure of the book and the themes raised; Francine Cardman, professor of early church history at Boston College, for her incisive reading, her innumerable valued suggestions and for endless encouragement; Albert Nolan for agreeing to write the foreword despite a busy schedule; Denise Fourie for her many helpful suggestions and meticulous editing; and lastly, the women with whom I have done Bible study over many years. Unknowingly they have been my conversation partners throughout.

      Last, but certainly not least, to Laurie – my partner for fifty-six years – my thanks for your patient editing of many different versions of this work. If you had not on your retirement started writing your book, this one would not have happened. The book is dedicated to my five grandchildren for whom I pray for a better world, and in memory of friend and priest Luke Stubbs, who started me off on this project but did not live to see its completion.

      Works consulted

      Ackermann, Denise M., “Found Wanting and Left Untried? Confessions of a Ragbag Theologian.” In Ragbag Theologies: Essays in Honour of Denise M. Ackermann, Feminist Theologian of Praxis, edited by M. Pillay, S. Nadar and C. le Bruyns, 267-284. Stellenbosch: Sun Press, 2009.

      Dickinson, Emily. The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. Edited by T. H. Johnson. New York: Little, Brown, 1960.

      Goldberg, Michael. Theology and Narrative: A Critical Introduction. Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1991.

      Pillay, Miranda, Saroini Nadar and Clint le Bruyns, eds. Ragbag Theologies: Essays in Honour of Denise M. Ackermann, Feminist Theologian of Praxis. Stellenbosch: Sun Press, 2009.

      Robinson, Marilynne. Absence of Mind: The Dispelling of Inwardness from the Modern Myth of the Self. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2010.

      Sen, Amartya. Identity and Violence: The Illusion of Destiny. London: Penguin Books, 2006.

      Chapter One

      Surprised and blessed

      I remember that morning all too vividly. Sitting at the very end of the nave near the high altar of Canterbury Cathedral, I watched the bishops of the Anglican Communion enter and take their seats under the soaring, ribbed Gothic ceiling of that historic building. Clothed in robes of brocade, silk and even gold lamé, embroidered with indigenous themes, mitres on heads, among them a handful of women, they entered the cathedral with measured tread. I found myself straining forward as the doors closed slowly behind the Archbishop of Canterbury. What was I hoping to see? Then I realised and was surprised by the image that popped into my head. I was looking for “the man on the borrowed donkey”! Where, amidst all this pomp, was Jesus whom I had come to know and love, and who had changed my life?

      It was 1998 and I was accompanying Archbishop Njongonkulu Ndungane to the Lambeth Conference of the Anglican Church as a theological advisor. The phrase “the man on the borrowed donkey” has since that time been pivotal to my relationship with Jesus. It is an expression that has a touch of the comical, and that is laced with paradox and incongruity when it is used for the central figure of my faith. Jesus, whom Christians attest is the incarnation of the living God, had nowhere to lay his head, washed the feet of his disciples, and had to borrow a donkey for a bitter-sweet ride that ended on a cross. Jesus, who rode that donkey to a criminal’s death, appeared to his disciples three days later. The paradox of humility and power exemplified in his life calls me to account when I confront my own inconsistencies and wispy faith. It becomes my tool for understanding my life and for assessing my own conduct. It holds before me incomprehensible, all-encompassing love. It gives me hope. It never ceases to surprise me. It is the reality of grace at work in the world. And, as such, it has everything to do with being blessed.

      I first encountered Jesus as an historical person in a women’s weekly Bible study that I joined out of no more than a passing whim. Previously he had been a remote figure, largely limited to religious paintings and the illustrations in a children’s Bible – which I did not read. In the Bible study he came alive as we read the gospel stories together. As African New Testament scholar Teresa Okure points out, “The Bible is essentially a community book, written for people living in communities of faith […]. We need to read together to be able to help one another see with a new eye.” And this is what happened. In this group of very disparate women I could question, debate and ponder the relevance for my life of what I was reading. I could not fault Jesus, despite trying to. The more I read, the more I was drawn to the man at the centre of these biblical tales. I found that Jesus then is Jesus now. I was, and still am, challenged by his actions and by his relationships with those who crossed his path.

      I had read somewhere that C. S. Lewis (1898–1963), literary critic, essayist and Christian apologist, once said: “Jesus is either a liar, a lunatic or

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