I am child of an urban estate and a priest on an urban estate. Thus this paper is at one and the same time an attempt to make sense of Christian sacred texts on largely white outer council estates and an almost cathartic exercise as I explain my own relationship with the Book that enabled me to escape from an estate. Thus, there are two narratives which dance around each other as the paper unfolds, sometimes touching, and often not. The two stories are namely, how are the Scriptures to be used to bring shalom/wholeness to contexts both personal and corporate to those living on outer council estates; and secondly, my own relationship with the working class identity in which I was, for the most part, formed. All theology is of necessity personal; this endeavour is more personal than I thought when it was conceived. The additional piece of biographical information that may be worthwhile is that I am a biblical scholar, holding a New Testament Ph.D. who is slowly learning to be a practical or pastoral theologian.
It is as a biblical theologian that I was introduced to the works of Liberation theologians such as Gustavo Gutierrez and Leonardo Boff, and became acquainted with Gerald West’s Academy of the Poor; and with them notions of doing theology with those who might be deemed to be on the margins.[1]
The Joseph Rowntree Foundation in its report on white working class neighbourhoods made the following conclusions which I trust serve to underline the fact that such estates/areas are usually both on the margins as well as their communities marginalised. The report notes that those interviewed spoke of ‘low self-esteem’, a perception that they were not ‘listen to’; yet bound together with the values of ‘hard-work and reciprocity’ and a ‘commitment to the place in which they live, even if no one else is’.[2] It is interesting to note that policy makers and media commentators acknowledge the former rather than the latter. Much more could be said in terms of under-achievement at school when compared to more affluent areas, as well as reduced life-expectancy. Such features, deemed increasingly to be product of poor life choices seem to be the hallmark of poverty, both economic and asparational, which can be passed down the family line, even to the third and fourth generation to throw in a biblical allusion.
It was through engaging with the contextual theologies of Boff, Gutierrez, Rowland and West and experiencing ministry in such places are part of my own training for ordination that I have felt it appropriate to minister on urban estates, firstly in Gloucester, then in Cumbria – on the west coast, and now, more latterly in Birmingham. Indeed, I have suggested elsewhere that to be a contextual theologian; one who bridges the gap between the stories of the scriptures and present day context is a, if not the, primary function of the ordained minister.[3]
The current Ordinal read out at the ordination of Priests would seem to bear this out
With all God’s people, they are to tell the story of God’s love. They are to baptize new disciples… and to walk with them in the way of Christ, nurturing them in the faith. They are to unfold the Scriptures, to preach the word…and to declare the mighty acts of God.
Wesley Carr long ago insisted that offering good models of theological praxis to people was ‘the basic activity of everyday ministry’.[4]
The context of the urban estates does however present us with a number of challenges prior to asking how the Scriptures can be used well. Firstly, it has been noted that there can be a greater dissonance between church and those who might be described as working class than with other sections of British society. Grace Davie writing in 1994 noted: ‘The discrepancy between believing and belonging… is at its sharpest in urban working class areas. Here belief persists, but the expected reluctance to practice religion is compounded by a further factor, a mistrust of institutional life of whatever kind, the churches included’.[5] My own observation based on three different contexts over the last decade is that, belief has diminished as much as belonging. This is true even within the urban pockets of Cumbria, where between 65-70% of babies are baptised.
Secondly, in common with English culture as a whole, the connection between the storylines of holy writ and those both inside and outside of the life of the Church grows further apart. This means that there is a substantial difference between the communities in which I am seeking to serve and those who (say) West was working on the margins of post-apartheid South Africa. This is demonstrated in his observations concerning ‘re-membering the Bible’. Observing that the sacred stories are not neutral; having been used to oppress as well as liberate the Black majority, West goes on to say how the normal models of liberationist exegesis were subverted by illiterate working class poor, who developed a playful and loose interpretation of the Scriptures, which placed their experiences in front of the biblical text. in the South African context, the Scriptures and their stories were known and experienced (even if negatively); for the most part within our context; the narrative of the Bible is unknown, thus making it highly unlikely that Britain’s poor would be able to improvise when interpreting the Scriptures. To improvise, as in the musical genre Jazz, necessitates some understanding of the contours of the story, rather than particular sound bites. Thus, those on our estates do not believe, belong nor necessarily know intellectually and/or emotionally the sacred narratives which, for many, help define what it mean to be a Christian community.
This is perhaps made more acute for white working class people on outer estates; they increasingly (in general) have no positive story to tell and just as importantly told about themselves. Such an observation is borne out for several reasons. Firstly, many working class communities were formed around industries that have long since disappeared; and with their disappearance has been the perhaps inevitable decline of some of the social apparatus which held such groups of people together, whether that be social clubs, unions and indeed chapels. Secondly, it would be a considerable mistake to believe that those living on estates are a homogeneous group. There will inevitably be a mixture of those who have lived there since the houses were built, and will remember the halcyon days of community events to those who newly arrived. Peppered throughout will be a number who wish to move, usually to ‘better themselves’. Hanley writes, ‘A population that is constantly trying to move on… will never settle down and build the kind of community that is strong enough to withstand economic and social shocks’.[6] With the decline of the economic powerhouses that contributed to their living together, working class communities have lost the overarching story that held them together. One of my childhood memories as of the demolition of the estate in which I was born, and the seemingly forced separation of my friends as we were flung into different parts of the city coupled with the disappearance of employment for my father’s generation.
This has (thirdly) led to a political or media led classification of such in demeaning and mean-spirited ways, which have included terms such as ‘underclass’ and ‘chav’, being used to described those dependent on benefit. This observation was is not only popular with Janet Daly and Peter Mandelson, but expressed by Philip (Y7 pupil at BGS); ‘those who are poor deserve to be; they just do not help themselves’.
The Stories of Scripture as Redemptive acts
The stories of the Scriptures can have a formidable effect on individuals. Indeed, it has been my experience that individuals when introduced to timeless stories can be liberated in profound ways. An immediate example is the story of Carmel who when introduced to stories of humanity being made in the image of God from both Genesis and the Psalms blossomed in quite a profound way. A woman in her early 40s who had suffered low self-esteem since childhood suddenly saw a chink of light. It is not because of biblical examples that she suddenly learnt to ride a bike, got a new job or had confidence to read in Church, the change was much more profound than that; however, as she acknowledges herself the stories gave her a new story to live by.
The Psalter can be used effectively in groups. It is easy to see why, for ‘down the centuries the people of God have found in the Psalms the language of praise and complaint, trust and doubt, petition and thanks, which have nourished their relationship with God’.[7] The Psalms, as Walter Brueggemann has shown, have the ability to both orientate and disorientate the worshipper. In both, Matson and Maryport, small groups of (usually) elderly believers have discovered that they are able to express their sorrows and woes, joys and delights, and the sometimes dreary monotony of daily life through engaging with the Psalms. As sometimes arthritic hands have used play-dough to make incarnate what they are feeling the Psalms have come alive. Each model, simple yet intricate in design, brought much to life, from Sylvia’s praying hands; representing the agony of unanswered prayer or Syd’s trowel representing his commitment to building community went far beyond what a simple word-based study could have achieved.
The spectrum of the Psalms from thanksgiving to lament enables a kaleidoscope of emotions to be released. Whilst, as a parish priest, I am involved in a collision with the Psalms and their writers on a daily basis; the introduction of some of the not-so-nice, and therefore not-so-safe, Psalms can be eye opening and risky. When people are allowed to hear these ancient texts; I am never sure where the journey will take us. More often than not it is to a place where there is open and honest acknowledgement that life is not nice; and that the God of the Psalmist inhabits the hard places rather than changing them. Redemptive acts are not always comfortable or immediately obviously salvific.
Billy was 11 years old when I first encountered him. He was in and out of school. Billy indulged in some inappropriate behaviour, and therefore has had a number of exclusions. The SENCO at his local school acknowledges that he needed specialist input, as did the learning mentor. The social services were involved with the family as were Banardos, in seeking to provide parenting training. A statement was applied for half way through his reception year, was granted at the end of Y5. Billy came from a broken home, where he is repeatedly told that he is useless. The local PCSO believed then that if Billy followed the trajectory his life seemed to be heading, then he was likely to be in and out of custodial institutions.
Yet, in conversation with Billy it is clear that he is bright and articulate; and wants to get a ‘good job’, but thinks that his chances of getting one are pretty slim. Billy expresses these things a little differently. They are slim because no one in his family has had a job to his knowledge. That is to say neither his parents nor grandparents have had employment within Billy’s lifetime. His imagination of the possibilities that life might have for him is therefore stunted. The story of Billy’s family can indeed be told as one in which no one works, and a dependency culture has been created. Billy’s story can also be told as one where he has been let down repeatedly by those around him: family, education and social services.[8]
I got to know Billy through a lunch-time club, which for half-term explored the theme of forgiveness through the use of DVD, clips both the Miracle Maker and Toy Story, and some of the Parables of Jesus. His response to the messages of grace were deep and emotive; ‘it is too bloody stupid to be true’. Yet, there was a beginning for Billy, to the point where he is predicted to get 5 A-Cs in English and Maths; and hopes eventually to move away from the estate in which lives. Billy’s earthy response was echoed by one of my Cumbrian Churchwardens who when after a sermon I gave on the Parable of the Lost Sons, commented: ‘the problem with grace is that you never know where it will lead; I would have put him in the coal shed’. I have deliberately rendered the choice of his language more monochrome than the technicolour he used.
Such an observation does underscore the fact that many within our churches as well as those outside are not familiar with the overarching message of the Bible. The Bible can be used well with individuals, and portions of the Scriptures can be utilised effectively in small groups. A cogent example of this was an Advent study on the Revelation, where as a result of looking at the demands for justice in the text, a Fair Trade stall was established that still is in existence several years later.
Notwithstanding these important individual stories, it is true that within the biblical narrative as a whole, there is just as much interest, if not more, in acts of redemption that transform communities (and even nations) as there is in individual salvific acts. The grand drama, that has been brought to fore by biblical scholars such as Brueggemann and Wright speak of the story that weaves Hebrew Bible and New Testament as an overarching meta-narrative involving creation, exodus, exile, restoration and incarnation.[9] Within the Old Testament, some of the Psalms were a re-enactment of the creation narrative; binding together communities as their sense of nationhood developed and contributing to their sense of hope in the exile. , Faithful Jews re-enact still today the story of the Exodus, as a present reality. Within Christianity, there is a collision between individual salvation and cosmic renewal, which has been played out by theologians from Paul through the Fathers, Reformers and into the present day. The use of story as a source of liberation and hope is well-known within all forms of theology.
The Church on estates does have an opportunity to share its story, and to contribute to weaving new stories of hope, inclusivity and generosity. This is because it is there. The Headteacher of one of my secondary schools, who happens not to be a person of faith, cherishes the relationship her school has with the church, for there is a mutual recognition that in an area in which unemployment is embedded within generations, hopes are often crushed and esteem brittle; local church and school can be the constants who are working for the common good. Organizations may come in and have brilliant short-term impacts, but are perceived not to say. The contribution of the church to the school is articulated through governance, mentoring, intervention work, reading with pupils, creating a public space for pieces of art to be displayed, telling local stories and speaking with a local dialect. Schools in deprived areas, of necessity, have to create a bubble away that is distinct from the local area; the Church need not do so. However, this flags up a particular problem with telling the stories of Scripture on estates, churches are often enclaves; hidden away from the rest of the community.
Sylvia of St Faith’s: ‘I come up the hill to get away from the estate with its fighting and greyness, St Faith’s is beautiful. I want to keep it that way’.
Tracy of All Souls: ‘We have tried and tried, but they do not come. I like my faith and my church as it has always been’.
Daphne of StChad’s: ‘We are prepared to change, but slowly. Most of us work and give and give some more in order to keep things going. I think I will be long gone before the families return to Church’
Creating new stories: narratives for redemption
The first step in using the scriptures well is for local churches to rediscover their own story through engagement with the biblical stories and the narratives of the communities around them. Too often churches can be perceived as either creating an oasis of colour amidst the monochrome of daily existence, hence Sylvia’s comment or have held periodic raids proclaiming faith only to retreat with one or two additions to their numbers. Whilst this may be a huge caricature of both catholic and evangelical attitudes to their ministries; there may well be a grain of truth within it. Local churches in working class estates are not to be blamed necessarily for being enclaves, they have seen other ‘third sector’ organisations decline and disappear; for example social clubs, shops, community groups; thus to focus on the divine drudgery of keeping going can consume all the energy key individuals and church congregation have. However, it is my experience that by doing two things over a committed period of time that the local church can engage with the community; celebrating its story, namely, rediscovering what the church is for (an inclusive community where stories of redemption are heard and lived), and persuading church communities that there are gifts to be given (and received) by engagement with the wider estate. For me it has always begun with sharing the stories of the Scriptures of those who come to worship; with no specific methods of exegesis, but simply telling the stories again and again.
In the village of Flimby, which is an ex-mining village on Solway coast, between Maryport and Workington, there was a faithful congregation of between 18 and 22. After 2-3 years of telling stories of that became known as stories of outrageous grace; particularly the Parables, and allowing people to tell their own stories and have them cherished and valued, the congregation were persuaded to hold two events. They began to grow in confidence that they had a story to tell. Such endeavours revolved around a simple approach of, ‘this is how it was, what does it mean’. The people of a small village church with the odd formal academic qualification between them ‘began to grow in grace and learn to be God’s people once again’ to quote the Easter Eucharistic preface.
The first was to host an art exhibition in October 2008 entitled Hungry and Thirsty displaying the work of Gloucester based artist, Paul Hobbs[10]. The exhibition attracted 422 people through the doors of the building over the course of 8 days. Adults and children alike were captivated by art work that touched on issues that related to them. One in particular, “where has my daddy gone” touched on “absent fathers”, which was particularly poignant on an estate where the local school statistics suggested 35% of its pupils had little or no contact with a male role model. Church members gently stood to one side, sharing stories of hope like the Prodigal son, demonstrating what they thought God as Father was like. This was not evangelistic in any conventional sense, but did proclaim good news that life had the potential of being different.
The second event was a photographic history of the village. Members of the congregation and community gathered photographs. The result was an exhibition that told again the story of the village, and with that the church community visibly saw that their own story was intertwined with that of the wider community.
In Bartley Green, there has been a re-discovery that gifts are received and shared. This was enabled in part by looking at stories of the Bible, following carefully through a short series entitled; Jesus: portrait of outrageous grace; but also through encouraging people that they could make a difference, and remaining with them whilst they began to do it.
Part of the learning to share gifts has been learning to share sacred space. The church does not have a monopoly on trying to be heralds of good news. Over the last 3 years, acts of witness around Remembrance Sunday have grown significantly. This is in large part because of the local schools coming together to remember. In 2011, 300 primary school children walked in silence with wreaths from one church to another in order to pay their respects. Another attribute of this has been to rediscover the theology of the nave. In times past, the nave in the church belonged to the people; therefore we have watched people grow by exhibiting art work, as well as welcoming others to provide displays.
The second step is to keep telling and re-telling the story of the scriptures, even when numbers do not increase. Redemption does not follow a particular course, nor does it necessarily mean an increase in numerical worshippers. Only when a story is told over and over again will it be possible for it to be owned and shaped. Just as the Passover Haggadah has shaped the nature and meaning of Passover, churches on estates need to find ways of making the stories their own. They need to become a people who lament, celebrate; can be frustrated, confused, angry, irritable and filled with wonder; capturing the emotional and spiritual pathos of the text.
To do this, there is no substitute for three particular movements to take place; willingness to theologically resource an area (this will call into question how ordination training is currently done), a commitment to celebrate the achievements of people; and a dogged determination to remain in a place; so that place, as well as people, might be redeemed. For only people who are committed to the place will be able to challenge injustice and allow more than individuals to fly.
The third step is to ensure that the stories people tell are their own, rather than solely that of the story-teller. This is something that I find particularly difficult. There is no doubt that within my own biographical narrative the bible was a key component for me moving away from an estate and (to my mind) blossoming. I therefore tell its stories in a particular way. The stories need to live themselves in order to become incarnate in the lives of others. Only then will such texts become redemptive; rather than medicine that temporarily can alleviate pain.
[1] Theology of Liberation (London: SCM, 2001),
[2] White Working Class Neighbourhoods, November 2011
[3] ‘The Priest as Theologian’, JATE
[4] W Carr, Handbook of Pastoral Studies (NPLC, London: SPCK, 1997) 120
[5] Religion in Britain since 1945 (Oxford: Blackwell, 1994) 106
[6] L Handley, Estates: an intimate history, (London: Granta Book, 2007), 218.
[7] E Lucas, Exploring the Old Testament: The Psalms and Wisdom Literature, (vol. 5) (London: SPCK, 2003), 1.
[8] Sadly, Billy’s story is not unique. The Children’s Society report A Good Childhood all too easily chronicles the inequalities in wealth, wellbeing and opportunities suffered by a growing number of British children. The report’s conclusions that poverty in childhood is directly linked to achievement and wellbeing in later life should not surprise us.
[9] N T Wright, New Testament and the People of God, (London: SPCK, 1993) 216-221
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