Sunday, November 13, 2016

It was...the Church wot won it??

So…it’s Donald! We’ve all been trumped by this one. A bitter and cantankerous man who appears to colour his hair with the urine of a farmyard animal just got elected to the most powerful office in the western world. This time last year Donald Trump was the joke story at the end of the news. Now he’s the joke story at the start.

I wasn’t as depressed by this news as I thought I would be. After Brexit there was part of me that expected it to happen, which probably helped soften the blow. On Wednesday morning my beautiful two-year old boy, oblivious to it all, repeated one of his favourite phrases a number of times: “It’s okay Daddy…it’s okay Daddy…it’s okay Daddy.” Then on Wednesday evening a group of children whom I’d spent several weeks preparing and rehearsing performed a Shakespeare play at our local theatre that was dazzlingly and movingly brilliant. All these things made me smile on a day that should have been truly miserable. More than this, I think I’d given myself a good talking to. After Brexit I was downcast and withdrawn. I’m determined not to react in the same way this time. Of course this outcome is very, very worrying and we’ve all got good reason to fear for the future, but if this is to be the challenge that my generation faces then bring it on. The cards have been thrown up in the air but the way that they land isn’t going to be random: let’s make sure it’s the hearts and diamonds that face up.

However, one aspect of this that really does trouble, infuriate and concern me is the role that the church in the USA played in this election. Analysis seems to show that about three quarters of evangelical, church-going Christians voted for Trump, and they were almost certainly influenced by a number of high-profile Christian leaders who openly supported him. For the life of me I cannot understand this, and whilst the vote to leave the European Union made me feel, for a time, ashamed to call myself British, Donald Trump’s victory makes me almost feel ashamed to call myself a Christian.

Almost. But not quite.

Because the reality is that I’m deeply proud of being a Christian. It’s the most important identify that I have. It’s just that it appears I don’t have a great deal in common with some who would give themselves the same label.

This is the way that I see it.

Being a Christian means being a follower of Jesus. And Jesus disturbed the comfortable and comforted the disturbed. Whenever he saw hypocrisy, oppression, arrogance or injustice he challenged it. When these qualities were combined with wealth, status and influence (as they so often are) he was particularly scathing. Any time that he met the marginalised and oppressed, however, he was kind, compassionate and loving. He ate in the homes of those who the religious authorities had declared were ‘sinners’. Arguably the most shocking aspect of his life was not that he healed the sick but that he associated with them. Spoke to them. Touched them. Gave them back their dignity and humanity. Before he left the world, he promised his followers that they would be filled with his own Spirit so that they could live life in the way that he did. The Bible is fairly clear about what the signs of a spirit-filled life are: love; joy; peace; patience; kindness; goodness; faithfulness; gentleness; self-control.

Now it’s not for me or any other human being to make a definitive judgement about the character of Donald Trump, but I don’t see evidence of any of these characteristics in him. It doesn’t matter what label he gives himself or what ‘tribe’ he chooses to identify with. A true Christian is someone who tries to follow the example set by Jesus. Trump, as far as I’m able to tell, does not. And any church-goer or church leader who makes out that Trump is the Christian choice has got it pretty badly wrong in my opinion.

In fact, the Church as a whole sometimes worries me – or at least certain factions (on both sides of the Atlantic) do. It worries me that the Church, like Donald Trump, has a tendency to pick on easy targets. It worries me that the Church, like Donald Trump, sees issues in very black and white terms and therefore feels qualified to judge, when the reality is that there are millions upon millions of shades of grey. That’s why God and God alone can judge. How good is the Church at speaking challenging and uncomfortable truths to those with influence and power who oppress and demonise the poor and needy? This is what Jesus did. I don’t see much of that going on today. At times it seems to me that, throughout much of recent history, the Church has understood that it should be taking a stand against something, but it is too frightened and too institutionalised to take on the real villains, so instead it goes after the weak and vulnerable: women; single parents; homosexuals; those who have suffered the pain and trauma of abortion. These are the very groups that Jesus himself would have broken bread with. I’ve been fortunate enough to attend caring and loving Churches throughout my life, and have witnessed, experienced and benefited from a huge amount of real Christianity in those congregations, but even so it depresses me that the only time I’ve ever heard a church leader pray for a specific outcome from a specific political vote was when God was asked to ensure that the bill to legalise homosexual marriage should be defeated.


Love; joy; peace; patience; kindness; goodness; faithfulness; gentleness; self-control. Which people do we know who genuinely try to live up to these ideals? Which church leaders, and which church congregations, demonstrate a commitment to them? And which political candidate demonstrates them? Because he, or she, is the one who truly deserves the Christian vote.               

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

On scepticism, grammar schools and segregation

I think it's always a good idea to interrogate what you believe. To challenge it every once in a while, step back from it and view it with the scepticism of a detached critic.

It's certainly the approach I've tried to take with my Christian beliefs. In my early twenties I had a bit of a crisis of faith, and seriously considered rejecting it completely. I remember praying at the time that God would give me passion and conviction only for the truth; not for what I'd been told as a child, not for the preferences and prejudices of the culture and people that I'd grown up with. Only for the truth. I remember as well coming across a number of people at the time who were intelligent, well-informed, well read and passionately anti-religious. I remember late night debates with one individual in particular who, on more than one occasion, I was convinced was on the verge of punching me. The fact that he was a martial arts instructor and had previously worked as a bouncer made the stakes feel a lot higher. 

It was quite a difficult time for me personally but it helped me to realise a few things that have been hugely important in the years since. I learnt that my beliefs stand up to the most intense scrutiny and are entirely defensible intellectually. I also learnt great respect for those who reject them. They, too, are often whole-heartedly committed to finding the truth and just because the conclusions they've drawn are different to mine, it doesn't mean that I can't welcome, appreciate and honestly engage with their doubts and challenges. Hopefully they would feel the same way about me. 

So what of politics? 

I don't like the Conservative Party. 

That doesn't mean that I dislike people who vote for them, or even those who openly champion them. I have friends and family who are members and I know that they're honest, good and kind people. I do disagree with them however, because I've only ever rejected what the Conservatives stand for. It seems to me that they prioritise the creation and accumulation of financial wealth above everything else, and I can't get behind an ideology like that. 

Maybe I haven't challenged myself enough on this though. Maybe I haven't opened myself up to the level of private and public scrutiny that has been applied to other areas of my life. I couldn't begin even to pretend that I'm the most well-informed of political observers and in all my views and beliefs, political or otherwise, I try to remind myself of the undoubted certainty that I could be wrong. Maybe I only think of the political right in the way that I do because of my family background. Maybe it's because I want to impress and get a pat on the back from the people I look up to. Maybe the social media echo-chamber has indoctrinated me to the extent that I've started to think of my opinions as merely common sense, when in reality they're anything but. 

There is some truth in all of these maybes. I have found it encouraging and affirming in recent weeks, however, to be able to articulate another reason why I don't like the Conservative Party. It's to do with grammar schools. And it's to do with segregation. 

More specifically, it seems to me that the Conservative Party like segregation. 

They seem to champion it quite often, and they seem to thrive off the tension that it creates. Public Sector vs Private Sector. The Young vs the Old. Strivers vs Shirkers. The Deserving vs the Undeserving Poor. Us vs Them, again and again. And it seems now that Theresa May wants to introduce (or rather re-introduce) another form of segregation: grammar-educated vs non-grammar educated. 

The various attempts at window-dressing can't do anything to disguise the fact that if selective secondary schools were to become the norm across the country then our children would effectively be segregated at the age of 11. In theory it sounds like a bad idea and in practice we know it is. Any number of studies have shown that the grammar schools of the past did very little to improve social mobility. Teachers do all that they can to avoid labels and divisions in the classroom, because it helps both to encourage the less-able and challenge any comfortable self-satisfaction in the brighter ones. Making division and labelling fundamental to the whole school system is not going to take us to a good place. The champions of the idea don't see it that way, of course. Some of them have good intentions which, I believe, are misguided. Some of them merely see another chance to reinforce their own authority through yet another form of segregation and the inevitable tensions that will result.  

Of course, I could be wrong. And even though I spend my working life trying to help the very kids who are likely to come off worst in all of this, and even though I find it very hard sometimes to detach myself from the emotion and frustration of it all, I'll try to stay sceptical.            


Friday, June 24, 2016

Dear Maria

Dear Maria

First of all, sorry for calling you ‘Maria’! I can’t use your real name as people might then be able to identify you, and as the conversation we had this morning was a private one, that wouldn’t be fair. I’m not sure whether or not you’ll get to read this one day, but I hope I’ll be able to find ways and means of communicating it to you over the weeks and months ahead.

People who are reading this probably won’t know who you are, so I suppose I should introduce you. You are a girl who I teach at school. You are a bright, brilliant and kind pupil. Some time ago your family made the difficult decision to move to this country from Romania, where you were born. I know that they’re so proud of you! All of the staff here at school are proud of you as well. You are a credit to yourself, to our school and to your family. I look forward to our little chats every day because I know you’ll make me laugh! When I first started teaching you, I remember thinking that you looked permanently terrified. Now you’re full of confidence, and it’s sometimes hard to get you to stop talking! This is the best thing about my job; getting to see children like you grow, change and become more confident in themselves. Thank you for being you!

I’m sorry that I couldn’t answer your question this morning. I tried to, but I just mumbled and didn’t really say anything very helpful! There were two reasons I couldn’t answer it. The first was that I genuinely don’t know: I don’t think anyone does at the moment. The second is that your question upset me. I know you didn’t mean to! Your question wasn’t bad or unkind. It was a good question and I’m pleased that you felt able to ask me. But it still upset me. After I’d tried to answer it, I had to walk out of the classroom for five minutes because I was so upset. And that’s because it’s not a question you should have felt the need to ask.

I wonder if you remember what it was? I know I’ll remember it. You came up to me quietly, first thing this morning, looking a bit terrified like you always used to! And you asked me this:

“Mr Shepherd, what will happen to me and my family now that Britain has left the EU?”

Now please don’t ask me to remember what I said back to you! I haven’t got a clue. It wasn’t worth remembering anyway. But I’ve thought about it a little bit since and although I still don’t know the answer, these are some of the thoughts that I’ve had.

I don’t think you need to worry too much. I hope and pray that nothing will happen to you and your family and I don’t think anything will. I can’t be certain of this and I’m not going to make any false promises, but I think you’ll be okay. This country should be a welcoming and friendly place for people like you and your family. It probably won’t feel like that any more. It probably won’t be like that any more, at least for a while. I’m so sorry that you and the people you love are probably going to feel insecure, unwanted and maybe even threatened. I really, really hope that it won’t last and I promise you that you’ll always feel secure, wanted and safe in my classroom.

I don’t know why Britain voted to leave the EU but I can make a few guesses. The people who voted for this are not bad or stupid, but for a long time they’ve felt let down and betrayed by the people who are in charge of this country. Promises had been broken and lies were told over a number of years, so lots of people got very angry and they used this vote to show their anger. The really sad thing is that the people who told them to vote to leave the EU are the same people who lied to them! They’ve been told by some very powerful, very rich and very selfish people that the immigrants in this country are to blame for all the problems. People like you! Doesn’t that sound crazy?! They don’t know you and your family. They don’t know that your Dad works really, really hard and that you’re now really scared he’ll lose his job. They don’t realise how much you’ve given to this community, this city and this country. Not just by working hard and paying taxes but by being such lovely people.

I wonder if that might be the problem? They just don’t know you. They believe the things they read and the things they’re told about you, but they’re not lucky enough to get to know you and your family, to work with you every day. They’re mostly good people who love their families and want what’s best for them, but because they don’t know you they see you as a threat. I’m sure they’d change their minds within five minutes of meeting you!

The weeks and months to come – maybe even the years – will not be an easy time for this country, and they probably won’t be an easy time for you. But you know what I think the best way of dealing with it is?

Just keep being you.

I remember reading a book once that said everything human beings do and say is motivated by one of two emotions; either fear or love. And love is stronger. I think that many of the people who voted Leave in this election did so because of fear. I’m sure that you and your family might feel a bit frightened now. But try not to be. Of course you need to be sensible and you need to look after yourself, but try not to let fear tell you what to do, where to go, what to say or even what to think.

Because when people get to know you, they won’t be frightened any more. I was frightened of teaching before I started working with you. Because of some of the experiences I’d had in the past, I was really scared about coming back into the classroom and having to face some of the problems and difficulties again. But you changed that, you and all the other children that I teach now. You stopped me from feeling frightened, and you can do it for other people too.

As your teacher, there’s not a lot I can do to make things easier for you, but I’ll do whatever I can and if ever you need to talk…well, you know exactly where to find me! And the next time you ask me a question (and knowing you you’ll have asked me another seven by nine o’clock on Monday morning) I promise to give a better answer!

Much love,       Mr Shepherd

Saturday, June 11, 2016


“Now. What I want is Facts. Teach these boys and girls nothing but Facts. Facts alone are wanted in life. Plant nothing else, and root out everything else. You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them.”
These are the opening words of Charles Dickens’ novel, Hard Times, spoken by the school superintendent Thomas Gradgrind. I first read this novel at a time when the abuse of our education system by Michael Gove and the coalition government was at its most aggressive and zealous, and these opening words summed up perfectly the misguided thinking that had formed the new national curriculum that was being imposed upon the nation’s children. But that’s another story! In more recent times, as I’ve watched, listened to and read the narrative that has unfolded around the EU referendum debate, I’ve had reason to reflect upon these words again. 
There has been a demand, almost a hunger, for facts and information throughout the campaign. “How can we possibly know whether to vote leave or remain without reliable facts?” has been a very common feeling expressed in different ways by many people. This is entirely understandable, of course. Whenever we make big decisions in life we want to be fully informed. We want to know as much information as possible so that we can objectively make the best choice. Or at least the best choice as far as the available facts can guide us.
I’ve become less and less convinced, however, that this chasing after solid, reliable, objective fact is the right attitude to take when deciding how to vote in the referendum. The vast majority of us rely on high-profile politicians and/or the media to present the ‘facts’ to us, but they are the most unreliable of sources: most newspapers in this country are owned by wealthy individuals who present ‘facts’ in such a way as to pursue their own selfish agendas; the BBC has to be seen to be giving equal coverage to both sides of the debate, so it is obliged to give air-time to the most recent arguments from both the Remain and Leave camps, even if that most recent argument happens to be total nonsense; and of course the ‘facts’ that are presented to us by most senior politicians are so tainted by spin and personal ambition that we can’t even begin to rely on them.
It seems to me that the vast majority of independent, reliable and informed voices within the worlds of finance, public service, science, the arts and politics are encouraging us to vote Remain, and that is something we should take very seriously. No sooner has one of these voices told us that we should stay in the EU, however, than the Leave side tell us that they are unreliable, they can’t be trusted, or they’re out to get us in some way. I personally find it hard to believe in quite so many conspiracy theories, but we know nonetheless that organisations and individuals can be corrupt, spiteful or just plain wrong. So who to believe?  
The problem with our endless demand for fact goes deeper than this, though. I suspect that when lots of people say “I just want to know the facts before I decide,” what they actually mean is “I want to be absolutely certain before I decide.” And chasing certainty is like chasing the wind. There are very few, if any things in this life that we can know with absolute certainty. The Bible teaches that ‘faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see’. In other words, no human being – no matter how intelligent or well-informed - can rely either on their own senses or their own intellect to be absolutely, one hundred per cent certain of anything! This is especially true when it comes to the results of a political vote, because we’re expecting ourselves to be able to foresee the future. Nobody can say for certain what will happen as a result of this referendum. There are risks if we remain part of the EU and there are risks if we leave, because we live in a risky, uncertain world.
So how to decide? If we can’t rely on facts, what can we rely on?
For me, it comes down to instinct, really. Of course we must listen to what various different people have to say, and we must take their arguments seriously. Of course we must consider and weigh up the evidence as it is presented to us, and do our best to make an informed decision. But when I go to the ballot-box on June 23rd, I’ll be relying as much on my instinct and gut-feeling as on anything else. And ever since this whole debate started, this is what that gut-feeing has been telling me:
By voting to remain in the EU, we are making a choice for co-operation, a choice for friendship, collaboration, and unity of purpose with our closest neighbours. It is a choice that has, on the whole, kept Europe peaceful and prosperous for the past seventy years. It is a choice that sends the rest of the world a clear message that, despite the inevitable frustrations and failures, we want to work together to try and tackle the biggest problems that we face.
Or we can vote to isolate ourselves. We can vote to reject collaboration and friendship with our neighbours, and instead set ourselves up in competition against them. And as we make a conscious choice to stop seeing those nearest to us as friends and instead start seeing them as rivals and competitors, it seems inevitable to me that tension and hostility can only increase. And I think there’s too much of that in the world already.
I’ve taken in quite a lot of the facts in this referendum debate. But rather than relying on them to inform how I vote, I’ll be guided primarily by my feelings about the type of world that I’d prefer to live in.