I purchased Philip Plyming’s book, Being Real, soon after it was published in 2023, and then I took it with me on retreat around a year ago. I’ve just taken it with me on another retreat, only to find that the book that was being read over mealtimes was none other than … Being Real, by Philip Plyming. I took that as a hint that maybe I should actually read it this time!
Philip Plyming has been Dean of Durham since 16 September 2023. Prior to that, he had been Warden of Cranmer Hall in Durham since 8 May 2017. I mention the dates specifically because I was there on both occasions. I trained for ministry at Cranmer Hall between 2016 and 2019, and Philip arrived at the end of my first year. During my final year, I worked closely with him as one of the first pair of co-producers for the Talking Theology podcast, which he hosted, and which was launched in 2019 (I even get a mention in the book’s acknowledgements). Philip was a great support to me as I found a curacy in Durham Diocese, and as I found a post in the diocese as a vicar, and he was kind enough to attend my licensing service just over a month before he took up his new post in Durham Cathedral.
Being Real is about The Apostle Paul’s Hardship Narratives and the Stories We Tell Today. The book had its genesis in the author’s doctoral research, and then developed for over 20 years since that research began. It’s about Paul’s letters to the Corinthians, and it’s about today. There are striking parallels between the two.
The story of Corinth was ‘a story of success’ (p. 23): ‘financially driven and shaped by self-promotion, physical success, image and approval’. In fact, ‘The stories being told in Corinth bear remarkable similarity to the stories being told in our social media world today’ (p. 25).
The young Christian community in Corinth was still living within this story: ‘they were more Corinthian than they were Christian’ (p. 30). This is seen (for example) in the divisions within the church, and in the way they were beginning to look down on Paul as someone who simply didn’t look very successful. Once again, there are similarities with our own day and age. In many churches today, ‘the culture of the church is shaped by the values of the surrounding area’ (p. 37).
This brings us to Paul’s so-called ‘hardship narratives’. This is the name given to six passages in Paul’s letters to the Corinthians in which Paul speaks quite openly of his own hardships: physical, emotional and social (1 Corinthians 4:9-13; 2 Corinthians 1:8-11; 4:7-12; 6:4-10; 11:23-33; 12:7-10). This is a particular feature of 1 and 2 Corinthians. What is the reason for that?
Paul emphasised his hardships in his letters to the church in Corinth because of the cross. For Paul, the cross wasn’t simply an event in the past; it was also a pattern for the present (e.g., p. 57). The message of the cross was diametrically opposed to the values of secular Corinth: ‘because of the cross of Jesus all concepts of divine wisdom and strength need to be redefined’ (p. 60).
It is worth noting in passing that this makes sense only if you have quite a rich theology of the atonement. If Jesus’ death was just an unfortunate episode at the end of his life, or an inconvenient detour on his journey to glory, then there’s no reason for the cross to have enduring significance as a pattern for the Christian life. That can only be the case if Jesus’ death actually accomplished something. This is hinted at in the book:
Because he was utterly convinced that God had been powerfully at work when Jesus died on the cross – paying the price for sin, defeating death, conquering evil – Paul was able to see God at work in his own cross-shaped places of physical, emotional and social suffering (pp. 114-5).
What does it mean to say that God was at work in Paul’s suffering? This is where the resurrection fits in. For example, in 2 Corinthians 4:7-12, Paul speaks about ‘experiencing both the (crucified) death and the (resurrected) life of Jesus at one and the same time’ (p. 69).
This is not Good Friday one day followed by Easter Sunday some time later. This is Good Friday and Easter Sunday happening at the same time.
These are stories of a life patterned on the cross of Christ and empowered by Christ’s resurrection life. Into Paul’s Good Fridays the power of Easter Sunday breaks through (p. 70).
Moving into the present, social media means that we are ‘constructing and curating stories about ourselves … more than ever before’ (p. 76). Very often this is a matter of ‘looking good and being liked … it’s all about the positive impression’ (p. 81). For Christians, there is the added dimension of the way in which people share their testimonies, which tend to have ‘a trajectory towards the positive’ (pp. 86, 91).
What happens when we view our stories through the cross?
We will end up talking more about our own weakness and more about God’s resurrection power.
We will model a dependence on God rather than an image of self-sufficiency.
We will nurture a reputation as a faithful disciple – with all the costs that brings – and not necessarily a successful one.
We will model joy as something that can be held on to through the tears and not just through a broad smile.
We will point to the Jesus of Good Friday and Easter Sunday as God’s good news for a hurting world.
And we will encourage more people than we might have thought possible.
Paul’s shared story of the cross can be ours too (pp. 129-130).
There is lots of helpful advice about how to do this, and various pitfalls to avoid. We need to be wary of oversharing, which can turn into emotional manipulation and an appeal for sympathy (pp. 121, 124). And the stories we share need to be stories of God being at work, not simply stories of things going badly.
What might that look like? Something like this:
‘I thank God that even though this week has been hard, I have been given strength to keep going.’
‘I don’t find it easy to keep hopeful, but I keep looking to Jesus as the one who can handle my fears.’
‘I’ve got some things badly wrong this week, but I am grateful that Christ offers me more compassion than I often show myself’ (p. 126).
Speaking in this way points to a life that is patterned on the cross of Jesus, but simultaneously empowered by the resurrection of Jesus. (The book has several real examples of this kind of thing.)
Being Real is a very helpful book, and well worth reading.
A few reflections.
It would be easy to go against our culture’s obsession with success by simply trying to tell stories about how rubbish everything is. But this would be a mistake. First, it isn’t true: there are always good things going on that we can be thankful for. And, second, such stories might display the pattern of the cross, but they don’t display the power of the resurrection. It’s perfectly appropriate to be honest about how bad things are in many contexts. But the stories we share deliberately in a public or semi-public way should be stories that point people to Jesus, crucified and risen.
As a vicar, I’m conscious that, as well as sharing my own stories, I also find myself ‘constructing and curating’ stories about my churches (not least because I have recently resurrected the Facebook pages for my two larger churches). What kind of stories should I tell?
I want them to be positive stories, on the whole. But is that just an example of buying into a culture that values the appearance of success?
Many churches are very small, with ageing congregations, dwindling resources, and demanding buildings. There are good news stories to be told in those settings – of conversions, new initiatives, special services, and the like. But what about the more challenging stories? How can we tell stories of the decline or even the closure of churches in a way that points not only to the cross of Christ, but also to his resurrection power? Many churches have closed in recent years, and – unless there’s a miracle – many more churches will close in the next few decades. That clearly sounds like a story of weakness and failure. But could it also simultaneously be a story of resurrection power?
This book has certainly encouraged me to start looking more carefully for God at work in unlikely places:
God is fully present in times of brokenness and his resurrection power can be fully at work within them (p. 104).