SalvationsSongs

pride & prejudice

2012-01-29T16:49:00.000Z

The wonderfully exuberant Archbishop of York has a couple of pieces in today's Telegraph. I was alerted to them by his twitter feed:

Gave Telegraph a wide ranging interview http://tinyurl.com/7jlekdm & http://tinyurl.com/83222dm Hope people read full interview not just the headlines.

One of them is about the church's response to the government's proposals for gay marriage, & the other is about his current trip to the West Indies. In the second there is a comment which I feel reflects on the first, though they are not ostensibly linked.

Let's do this bit by bit. The first piece tells us that the Archbishop is against changing the law on marriage; it isn't the State's job to interfere here. Marriage is between a man and a woman. For a prime minister to think he can alter this is for that man to become like a moral dictator. Not that he's against change - he points out that the bishops in the House of Lords did not try to stop Labour introducing civil partnerships in 2004, giving homosexual couples improved legal rights, and adds that his stance on marriage doesn't mean he wishes to "diminish, condemn, criticise, patronise any same-sex relationships because that is not what the debate is about".

In the other article we read:

The Archbishop said he never encountered racism from fellow clergy in his rise through the ranks of the Church of England.

Here's my reflection.

I am quite astounded Dr Sentamu never experienced open racism from clergy in the C of E. I'm sure it exists. I'm sure of this not because I think clergy are evil, but because bad attitudes are carried by good people. We fail unexpectedly. Without realising what we just said. That he never suffered from such prejudice is amazing. Wonderful.

Unfortunately, I worry that his article & the views he expresses within it means that any gay clergy reading it couldn't offer the same life story "I've never experienced any homophobia from clergy in the C of E". Not because I think the Archbishop is evil or bad, but because bad attitudes are carried by good people. We fail unexpectedly. Without realising what we just said.

You see: I have to differ with Dr Sentamu - it is absolutely the State's job to set the rules around what constitutes marriage. It always has been. For us in Britain, this has been confused by a remarkably strong Christian heritage and a remarkably strong National Established Church. But the State sets the rules. The current rules around marriage are set by Parliament, and have been for - well, pretty much for ever. Even the bits that reflect what we do in church, including the C of E are set by Parliament, though the exact liturgies are brought through denominational committees. Still, they have very strict rules surrounding them. C of E (and bizarrely Church in Wales, disestablished Anglican ministers!) are public registrars for the purposes of marriage, according to law as established not just by Synod but by Parliament. This has always led to tensions: for example, when the church doesn't know how to deal with divorced people, but the State says they may re-marry, what do we do? Answer - eventually go the State's way. In flat contradiction to the plain reading of the Bible & hundreds of years of history, to which the Archbishop appeals in the Telegraph.

Marriage may well be ordained by God. But it is governed by the State, and if he doesn't understand that, he needs to go back to college. This is a compromise situation, and always has been for the C of E. If you don't like it - tough.

Given that, I'm afraid the next step in the argument is frighteningly simple. Are gay people people? Are they as human as straight people? Or do we live in Nazi Germany and have second class humans wandering around after all? Because if everyone is actually human, then everyone gets the same deal whether we like it or not. The same rights, the same taxes, the same vote. And, actually, this is FUNDAMENTALLY CHRISTIAN. God loves people. Sinners as much as saints. Jews as much as Gentiles. Women as much as men. Slaves as much as free. Straight as much as gay. There are no second class human beings.

Christians should be at the front of any queue where there are human rights of equality being fought for. Even if we don't like what the results of that fight will bring. We do it because we love people, because Jesus died for all. Even for me. To do anything less is to fail in the great command - Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and your neighbour as yourself.

To read "the bishops in the House of Lords did not try to stop Labour introducing civil partnerships in 2004, giving homosexual couples improved legal rights" as a positive should stick in any Christian's heart as total failure. If people have poor rights, we don't STOP THEM BEING IMPROVED. We fight for them until they have everything they could possibly want, until they are truly equal - even if we don't like the results of the fight. We do it because we are called to love. Presenting the sentence at the top of this paragraph as a positive is, I am afraid, being guilty of casual, unintentional, but definite homophobia. It is precisely to "diminish, condemn, criticise, patronise any same-sex relationships" and that is exactly what the current proposed change in legislation is looking at putting right - because the status quo fails to take seriously that here are people not being treated as equal people. As less-than.

I don't care if the church has gay bishops. Couldn't be less bothered. But I do care that her leadership understand that all people are people, all are loved by God, and that whatever our doctrine and standards are, we have a God who loves all and who has charged us to do the same. Offhand remarks that build cast-iron policies which confirm the reduction of some people to a less-than status when placed next to their neighbours will not do. Will not do.

I am sure the Archbishop will never read this, but here's what I would say to him: genuinely I am thrilled you were spared being subjected to racist prejudice as you worked through the C of E. Now, please understand there are others who suffer prejudice and are treated as second rate in our churches and in our land because of their sexuality, and for many other reasons, and please don't merely 'not stop them' having a better lot. Please, with your history, please be at the forefront of fighting for their equality, even if you don't always understand them, just because they are people.

I can't help feeling that if we truly do this as a church, we will make so many friends that our doors will be beaten down by people wanting to know why we care so much.

gratitude

2012-01-11T20:13:00.001Z

So I am in Wengen for a week, enjoying perfect snow and now wonderful blue, sunlit skies. My gold skis are shining brightly as they speed over the white expanse, and I am having a great time.

Today was especially wonderful.

I spent the day with Sheridan & a group from the DHO (Downhill Only Club) as we explored the Murren side of the resort. In all honesty, I have never really enjoyed skiing on this side of the mountain, but I'm prepared to accept that this prejudice comes from my early days on skis and bears no relation to rationality. Now, I simply don't know these parts, and so I avoid them.

However, a day with Sheridan guiding us around is always a pleasure, and although the first couple of runs made me go, "Oh yes, I remember - DHO speed. Fast;" I soon forgot that I'd had to find an extra gear and just enjoyed the flow.

Of course, the highlight of this side of the mountain is the Schilthorn, famous as Blofeld's lare in On Her Majesty's Secret Service. I've often been up on the cable car, enjoyed the view from the restaurant at the top - and caught the cable car down. I've never skiied it before. But today was the day. Dressed in black, with my trusty Volants on my feet, I was ready. Ready as I'd ever be.

Of course, I had no idea that the top of the run, the scary bit, was not simply very long and very steep - but also in the current conditions covered in moguls. Bumps. Requiring a particular skill some of you will have, but which is only occasionally something I possess... and then seldom beyond a certain degree slope. This was way beyond that degree. Mercifully I had amazing friends from the DHO to guide me down, and though I took a couple of tumbles (one rather spectacular) and would score zero points for style, I made it. There was a moment I felt I'd lost my head battle and could have cried when I looked down and felt that I'd travelled miles and there seemed to be the whole slope still ahead of me, but then I actually started to enjoy the experience. Earlier, I'd been working my hardest to appear to be a decent skier as I was travelling with everyone and thus not quite relaxing; now I really could not pretend, I failed again & again & began to just be and be myself and enjoy the whole darned show. It was - exhilarating. Totally beyond me, and totally wonderful. Stuck on a mountain with no option but to keep going, I guess I had to trust the skill I had (small measure) and the people I was with (wonderful, just wonderful) and I suddenly loved it. Amazing. All my natural reserve let go for a moment. The sun, the beauty, the wonder - the stillness of the Spirit holding me and keeping me safe. Awesome.

I should have been exhausted. I was. I am. But I kept going & we skiied for ages afterwards, and actually I felt like I could have carried on.

Perhaps it was the remnants of a dream I had last night still easing their way into my subconscious.

Is it a human condition to doubt that we are loved, or does no-one else struggle with this? In my former life as a vicar, people often told me how much I was loved. I never believed it. I felt I was loved for my role, for what I brought to the parochial table. For gifts (gladly) offered, and for time (gladly) spent. The confusion of the professional & personal "me" is always a difficulty for a pastor. It is easy to accept the good one does (and also the good one does not do) and to acknowledge it as service. It is hard to feel loved simply for being oneself, as it is so hard to divorce the actions of the role from the simple person inside. So (I am guessing like many people do) I chose to accept the kind wishes given as professional regard. And park it as such under "not quite personally relevant".

And yet last night, from nowhere, indeed if anything against my experiences of the previous day where I had received an email whilst on holiday which had stressed me and which had made me feel small and unloved at first, before trying to respond in a way which might be more helpful (though didn't deal with my own feelings) - from this place I had a dream where someone I do not know, a person called Paul, offered to do a small task and did it to show me I was loved. The task was inconsequential. My reaction in the dream to being told why it was happening was extraordinarily emotional.

Because - I felt loved. Genuinely. Not for what I do, or for a role I inhabit, or a task I fulfil, but I felt loved. Me. This was done for me. I awoke and wondered at the power of this thing. This simple act revealed a love I talk about all the time - how God loves us, me you, each and every one of us; and yet I have seldom felt the truth of that love as I felt it in that moment. A person I had never seen did a small act that made the power of God's love overwhelm me. I was loved.

And then I had a glorious day. A gift. An exhilarating time. Safety in extremis. Beauty and majesty all around me and kind people and glory.

So perhaps the remnant of the dream took away fear, and replaced it with something else -

Gratitude. Felt in my sleep, deeply, and on the mountainside, wonderfully.

something true

2012-01-01T15:01:00.002Z

I’ve been considering my New Year’s Resolutions. And, knowing myself to be as frail as the next man, and as liable to failure as to success, this is more of a prayer, but -

Lord, you say “Don’t judge lest you be judged, and that by the same standard you foist on others”. Well then, make me more judgmental this year.

Make me judge people kindly, that when they come to judge me I might receive a bit of undeserved generosity from time to time.

And when people sin against me, let me judge them with forgiveness. Just in case, when I make a mess, they might make the same call over me.

When people are wasting my time Lord, let me judge them worthy of grace. Worth a bit more time, just because. It’s a gift. And whenever I presume upon somebody else too much, may this gift come home to roost.

When I’ve had enough of someone Lord, may I grant them another chance. Chances are, I’ll need to feel the merits of this one pointed back my way more than once in the twelve months ahead.

And when I see someone whom I don’t like, may I judge them worthy of being loved. Goodness knows I don’t like myself sometimes, and I pray that others may find me lovable when I am being particularly - you know, me.

When the temptation arises to use people and love things, so that life is easier & I can get on and do well, may I judge people to be priceless and things inconsequential. May I judge my path to be no greater than anyone else’s. May I weigh truth and eternity in a moment and remember that you are always here so that I can rest easy and never worry - and in doing so remember always to love my neighbour. For then perhaps I will have been someone who has seen something true with your eyes, and just maybe I too may be judged a human being, for a moment reflecting what it is to be made in your image, loving you with my heart, soul & strength.

Yes Lord. This year, make me more judgmental. And may I remember this prayer and dare to live it out.

preach it, ma'am!

2011-12-26T14:01:00.001Z

It's been an interesting Christmas on TV! Obviously I loved Doctor Who, but something else remarkable happened: The Queen has been asserting herself as Supreme Governor of the Church of England, and giving her clergy at large a fine example of how to preach on major festivals. The Christmas Day royal broadcast has been a staple of our national diet since 1932 when Rudyard Kipling (who of course is most famous for such immortal lines as "I want to be like you-oo-oo, oobidoo") wrote the first one for George V which began with the words "I speak to you from my home and from my heart".

The Queen this year grabbed Christmas by the throat, clearly being irritated by the media spotlight on the new-atheist front & the general smugness of the Guardianista set, and told us quite clearly that:
1. Christmas is a Christian festival
2. We all need saving - from ourselves sometimes
3. Christianity is about forgiveness
3. Philosophers are all very well but God sent us a Saviour which is better (goodness, was that her obit for Christopher Hitchens?)
4. We can have the life he came to offer us right now
5. Here's a prayer from a carol - pray it with me
6. I wish you all would, because it's what life is all about.

Of course, she did it in a wonderfully gracious & Queeny way, and it starts at about 4'55'' on this video:

In many ways, just reading the text makes it even more clear. Preach it, ma'am, preach it. As Greg Downes wrote on his Facebook page:

"When I heard this I thought Her Majesty should lead a church -then I remembered she did! Would that all her Vicars could communicate with her gracious conviction, loving faith and gentle boldness..."

The BBC also broadcast a lovely musical offering, A Musical Nativity with John Rutter. That link probably only works in the UK, and I expect for a limited time. It's a programme of JR's music & other Christmas carols tracing the Christmas story, and it is beautiful. Do take the time, it is well worth it. The presenter at one point tries to get Rutter to admit he's something of an agnostic (a reasonable well-known fact, despite the words of his carols which are beautiful and often very faithful). Rutter deflects her admirably. There may be a current trend for everyone in the media to poo-poo faith, but he does nothing of the sort. The Church has nurtured him, and he cannot imagine life without its services and liturgies and traditions. He "struggles signing on dotted lines" was his rather gracious way of putting his position forwards.

John, I think HMQ might be ringing you...

In case you can't watch the whole of the programme, here's a clip of King's Cambridge singing the first carol he wrote, at age 16 (spit):

Merry Christmas

2011-12-21T22:33:00.003Z

I don't know if you've caught the second season of Rev, the BBC2 comedy? The first season, it seemed to me, often went for the easy joke; the second season has gone for the longer reach, the character situation, and has felt much better for it. Earlier in the run I posted about the hilariously unrealistic vision of the uber-pastoral bishop who swept in to sort out a meta-crisis. Just when he was needed. Unasked. With perfect insight.

Not exactly my experience of reality, though it's what we all hope happens - and I think I've had excellent bishops.

The series finished this week with a seasonal episode looking at the bleaker side of Christmas. Adam, the vicar, does his best to do good to all, whilst all around him everyone else does their best to confound him. The resident alcoholic gives him a black eye; the midnight mass crowd go wild; the old lady he wants to visit dies whilst the archdeacon delays him, pointlessly, again; his father in law bullies him and his wife with no regard for the work he is doing or the stresses he faces.

And at the end, something wonderful occurs. As he gathers a disparate group of people around a table for Christmas lunch, ostensibly for the poor and needy, but infact seemingly for everyone we have seen in the series (all poor & needy?) it turns, briefly, ever so briefly, into a glorious tableau of the Last Supper around the enormous turkey ready before them.

All that pain, all that struggle, all that effort and service - becomes beautiful. A masterpiece. And seen and noticed by nobody there. Only by us, the observers granted, for a moment, God's-eye-view of what is happening.

Matt, my faithful Springer, sitting on the chair by the tree in the photo for you at the top of this piece, is, I expect, enjoying his last Christmas with me this year.

Today we went to see Roger, our new vet.

Matt has been shivering a lot at night; he's been restless in the evenings; and he has started to have the occasional little accident indoors. Wetting the floor a little. This happened about a year ago, and it was an infection; a few tablets & it cleared up. I took him to the vet in the hope that this was what we were seeing again; another infection. Instead, I received what no pet owner wants to receive - that sad look that medical practitioners give when they have no good news left.

Matt's kidney disease has progressed. There is no infection. There is no further treatment. He is being brave. We are not quite at the end. We are on the road there. There are further signs to watch out for. Who knows what happens next?

Merry Christmas.

Yet in the pain, the struggle, the effort perhaps there can still be something beautiful, a work of art. God's-eye-view, if I may be granted sight of it. The incarnation, Christmas, the way God enters this world and takes on every painful, glorious, earthly part of our experience speaks of him owning every bit of this. Fear. Loss. Grief. And with them, love, hope, trust. Gratitude for time together not bitterness for its ending, however and whenever that may come.

Life is a gift, and its fulness brings joys and sadnesses, but what is the alternative? Inaction, stultification, fear of leaving the room for what may happen next, the closed heart that never feels in case what it feels is painful. We should not be so foolish as to seek nor as to relish pain; but when it comes, Christmas tells us we have a Saviour who knows its bite as well as we do, and more. And he holds our hands, wipes our tears, speaks his peace until we rest within. To live is to love is to trust is to believe is to hope is to look up when we have been cast down and know - know - the whole picture beyond our seeing may yet be somehow beautiful. After all the pictures point us to an innocent young girl bearing the Messiah. A carpenter raising a King. Shepherds greeting a Saviour. Wise men worshipping the Author of all wisdom. Creation gathered in a stable. Truths beyond mystery, things seen but not understood, known but not fully recognised.

And the echoes of it in my small corner, with tears reminding me that the colours of this day will also work their way into that greater, living masterpiece. God with us: even here, even now.

Merry Christmas.

ever rolling stream

2011-12-18T19:13:00.000Z

So here he is. My successor. The future unveiled! Peter Lewis, vicar of the Vale of Neath parish in Llandaff Diocese has been appointed to St Catherine's in Pontypridd.

An excellent appointment! Peter & I were contemporaries in Oxford as undergraduates, I think have both enjoyed time in Aberystwyth, and I have seen his work in the Vale of Neath and been impressed by it no end. He is a deeply committed man of God, and he and Martine will be wonderful servants for the community of Pontypridd.

I left for all sorts of reasons. High on that list was the very strong sense that I had done what I was supposed to do, and that I needed to go so that someone else could come and take the church on in ways that I could not. Peter is such a "someone else". He will build on what has happened over the last eleven years, but will take things as the Lord leads him, and will bless both the church and the community as he does so. He has an enormous heart to reach out and draw people to faith, and the way he stood up and spoke out for a community this year during the Gleision Colliery tragedy showed his calibre.

His involvement with New Wine Wales has been excellent, and I am glad of that too. I remember him as a fine flautist - and I am sure he will encourage the growing band of enthusiastic musicians who are gathering together at St Catherine's.

I did not speak to anyone, suggesting they should apply for the job, after I left or whilst I was preparing to leave. If I had done so, Peter would have been at the top of my list. Not because he would copy me - far from it. But because he is strong, godly, obedient and faithful. Such a man will bless any community. I am thrilled he is going to Pontypridd. Praise God!

501

2011-12-18T16:44:00.000Z

A hospital appointment, a road trip, a funeral, a pint in the Bunch, supper with the Shadow Treasury Secretary and lots of Beethoven. It's been an eventful day or two.

The road trip was, of course, 500 miles there & home to John Murphy's funeral, which saw me back in Pontypridd, back at St Catherine's, back in a dog collar in front of a congregation. That in itself would have made the old man smile his quiet, knowing smile.

I spoke at the service, and really I'm not going to go over what I said. It was lovely to see all kinds of people there, and to say brief hellos. There were all kinds of people not there in a way that reminded me of an old preacher's tale. The question goes, "Have you heard of Albert McMakin?" and unless you know how the story works out, the answer is usually no. So then there's a second question: "Have you heard of Billy Graham?" and here, even these days, the answer is usually yes. Albert McMakin was the guy who drove Billy Graham to the tent meeting where he was converted. The guy who invited him to go there. No Albert, no Billy.

When I left in July I received so many public thank yous. But the families who benefit from the children's work at St Catherine's should know - without John Murphy, that wouldn't be happening. The older people enjoying St Caths Plus should know - without John Murphy, that wouldn't be happening. The members of the congregation who have joined the church since 2000 all ought to understand - without John Murphy, St Catherine's would be very, very different. He's the guy who made sure I went there in the first place. Who made sure I stayed. Who encouraged me, gave me ideas, smoothed the way with everyone so that every early change took root. He prayed and he enabled and he listened to God so that what we did worked. It was nice that people said nice things about me; but without John, I couldn't have begun to enjoy eleven of the best years of my life or help St Catherine's live a little.

Every vicar needs a John Murphy. And every John deserves to be remembered. Part of me saw all those who had come, and part of me was very aware of all those who hadn't - because they didn't know him, or know how much they owed him. No matter. Least of all to John - he is with those who have gone before, and many will join him, and he has his eyes full of the Saviour he longed to see.

Road, trip, - Hospital appointment? Oh yes, I have this thing on my back which needs sorting out; the consultant was very encouraging. The appointment was on Thursday morning, before I set out. "There are 200 ways of dealing with this; which means none of them work. We can do it, but it will come back. Does it hurt?" Stupid question. I've had it for ages. I'm only bothering him now because it has got past the live with it stage. "OK, I'll sort it then." So an op, and a general anaesthetic to boot in late January. Hooray. It's good to have something to look forwards to in the New Year...

A pint in the Bunch of Grapes with Mark. He tweeted rather nicely - Beer, and desserts, and nothing has changed. @salvationssongs http://twitpic.com/7u2ics
Indeed, nothing. General, gentle chat over a fine pint. Though I'd forgotten that this close to Christmas the normal quiet of a Friday afternoon in the Bunch is replaced by the aftermatch gatherings of office party lunches.

And supper with Owen & Liz Smith & family. Even simple food on their table tastes like heaven. Jack & Issy are well on their way to becoming fine pianists, and are making excellent use of my old Bentley. Owen & I may have also found his local and enjoyed a pint or two there... I am thrilled he is enjoying life in Parliament, and am sure he will make his mark on the Shadow Treasury team. If only he could find someone as left wing as he is...

And lots of Beethoven. Following a review in the Telegraph, I downloaded a complete set of Beethoven symphonies by the Gewandhausorchester Leipzig & Riccardo Chailly. There are moments I would like a touch more hushed awe, but this is Beethoven with added wow factor. It is probably twenty years since I last bought a complete symphony set (and that was a CD release of an old George Szell set to go with my Beethoven-light Richard Hickox discs that I recently discovered don't play anymore) and I have to say - I don't remember Ludwig being this exciting. Who knew? I am listening out of order (one, two, three, four, seven, nine so far) and Nine is awesome. But all have been exhilarating. Genuinely awesome musicmaking, with a wonderful resonance in the recorded sound. Ah but then it's Decca. Good old Decca; they know how to do these things properly.

And they have made a nice contrast with the Christmas music I always have on - lots of John Rutter (either singing John Rutter carols, or doing nice a capella stuff), and a mix of Diana Krall & Harry Connick Jr who both have bothered to put some of their very best material on their Christmas albums. Who would do that? Why? DK's Christmas album may be her very best; HCJ's Jingle Bells is a jazz joy. And both contrast with the awesomely awful Michael Buble's Christmas album. Oh my word. I am a Buble fan. But words fail me here... Who is responsible for the car-crash recording of Santa Baby? Who failed to say, "Err, Michael, there's a really good reason this song is only ever sung by a girl..."? And for sheer ineptitude of diction, technique & audible insincerity his Ave Maria is possible even worse. Mr Buble might possible 'ave Maria, along with Mandy, Martha, and many of the other girls waiting outside in the queue; as for singing the Ave, I'm not so convinced from listening that he does this so often. This disc rates right down there with Kiri Te Kanawa singing Michel le Grand. Though, to be fair, I am judging both against their own standards; if it was released by a pub singer in Otley, I'd be raving about it. Oh buy it for yourself. You'll probably love it more than the Beethoven.

501? Did I hear someone ask?

My last post was my 500th. Now onwards towards the 1000 mark. You know I can do it.

farewell, old friend

2011-12-06T21:11:00.004Z

I have just heard that my old friend, John Murphy, has died.

John was warden at St Catherine's back in 2000 when they were last looking for a vicar, and it was he who chose me to fill that post. He had turned down various worthy contenders, men of age & reputation, telling the bishop he "wanted a young man who won't change anything".

I remember Barry (the then bishop, now archbishop) telling me this at the time with his usual exasperation. "Doesn't he realise the Gospel is about change?" he asked me. Well, I thought to myself, if he gets me, my guess is he'll get change-a-plenty... And I think that knowing this, Barry sent me off to see John as something of a 'teach you a lesson' candidate. A little joke.

Which backfired.

Because John & I hit it off immediately. John, for reasons known only to the Lord (given the church St Catherine's was in those days), was acutely aware that without some remarkable intervention, his beloved St Catherine's was going to go the way of all the congregations around and fizzle out. He was desperate before God that this should not happen; it wasn't that he didn't want change - that was just his language; what he actually meant was that it wouldn't be changed into a High Church Anglican parish like everything else for miles around.

I assured him that wouldn't be our direction of travel.

We managed to find a Bible (eventually) in the church, and I read him a passage of Isaiah about the Lord restoring the fortunes of his people, and John was sold. He rang the bishop - we'll have him. The bishop was, understandably, taken aback. And pleased. And so it came to pass.

I hope John won't mind me sharing this next story.

On my first Sunday at St Catherine's - and you have to understand, St Catherine's was text-book "civic Anglican": two candles and a surplice. Not evangelical. Certainly not charismatic. Goodness, the very thought of it... They still had a robed choir, organ & chanted psalms back then. Anyway. On my first Sunday, John was walking to church from his home on the Common, when he got as far as the park gates and suddenly he heard a voice.

There was no-one there, and he was not given to flights of fancy, but he heard a voice, and he knew who it was.

And the voice said, clear as day: "You did not choose Marcus, and the bishop did not choose Marcus, but I have chosen him for St Catherine's."

In all honesty, for a new vicar with a million ideas and all of them totally radical and off the scale in terms of anything his church has ever experienced, that kind of backing is pretty much gold-dust. And John backed me 100% from that moment on. Even when he disagreed with me. Even when he was right to disagree with me.

He was more than a friend. I could trust him with anything. Every vicar needs a John Murphy.

When he became house-bound, I used to call on him & tell him what was on my mind. The plans I had, the things I wanted to do, the stuff that troubled me. He would listen and advise, and usually his advice was sound. Rarely would I walk away and not act as we had agreed. He was old-school Anglican, and I don't recall hearing him pray out loud much, though he would sometimes offer a few words, yet he was a deeply, profoundly prayerful man with a rich relationship with his Lord.

Some people just have a habit of listening to God; somehow John had it. And of speaking what he heard, though he might not have put it in those terms.

He loved golf. I played him once - on the Wii. He was proudly displaying his skills to me (in his eighties), and I'd never done it, and after two holes I hit something on the control & it reset. Generously, because I had been awful, he said, "Don't worry, we'll start again, you'll get the hang of it." Of course, for a moment my competitive edge had simply slipped his mind. Poor John. I beat him hollow. It took him ages to forgive me...

There was a time when we made a decision together - I think he may even have talked me into it - which turned out bad. It made things difficult for me, and actually became quite painful. He agonised over it; I told him off, gently. The responsibility had been mine. And if it had gone wrong, so what? We stood together through the good & the bad. He helped me cope with the aftermath and gave me a shoulder to lean on. We did it together.

Ken Hayward would make merciless fun of John's foghorn tenor; John would play his own tricks on Ken. I never met Walt, the third member of their life-long gang. When one hears of friendships that go back decades, there is real pleasure in the strength of the bonds of human kindness and love. When one finds friendship with surprising people, across the decades, there is also remarkable joy.

My world is brighter, bigger, better for my friendship with John. He has gone before me to his Joan, to his friends who are already waiting in his & their Lord's company. My eyes are filled with tears as I type, but they are confused tears, mixing the natural sadness of hearing this news with the ongoing simple, true joy of what Christian fellowship & the communion of saints is all about. He is not gone. He is gone before.

After John's health stopped him coming to church on Sundays, I placed his kneeler in my vicar's stall. So I could keep it warm for him. Now John, keep a place warm for me. Till we meet again.

something old, something new

2011-12-04T17:28:00.000Z

I am enjoying the church I am settling into here. I am enjoying the people, and the fact that I have no responsibility here. If the boiler goes (and it hasn't) it's not my fault. Glory.

I am slowly making friends. And taking on occasional tasks. I'm running a singing group for the Carol Service. Oh yes, some old habits die hard.

The clergy are caring & faithful, and the worship is slightly chaotic in a general village Anglican way. Especially given there are no musicians, so everything is on CD. (I have played a couple of times, and will do more in the new year, but not every week.) The choice of songs occasionally delights me, and sometimes completely bemuses me - and that's a wonderful experience for a control freak like me. I am actually enjoying the powerlessness of it!

The sermon today, and the reading of Scripture in the service, made me stop and think. I expect the way it gave me pause is fairly commonplace, and I could have been almost anywhere & had the same experience. I enjoyed the sermon - I think the preaching team here does a great & faithful job. But we do seem to omit a large chunk of the Bible in our worship...

Personally, I don't think it's possible to understand the New Testament without a good working knowledge of the Old. I certainly don't think you get any of the detail, but more than that - I don't think you get much of the bigger picture. I am, and this increases as I get older, a fan of the Lectionary: for all its faults (and they are very many) it presents people with a good mix of Bible in their regular worship, and that good mix has a wonderful power to open up hearts & prepare the way for truth and love.

When I was first going to church, as a fifteen or sixteen year old kid, I picked this up from somewhere: I understood that the general plan of Salvation went like this - God created the Universe & it was good, and put people in it whom he loved; but the people sinned & everything went bad. So because God loved the people he formed a plan to bring the people back to himself - and the plan was the Law as found in the Old Testament. Only, because people were so sinful, they couldn't help themselves, and even when given this wonderful gift, they still sinned, and no-one could keep it & be good enough to get back to God. So because he loved us so much, God thought again - and came up with another plan: Jesus and the cross. And this time, because the plan didn't depend on us, but on himself, it worked.

I may have been taught this outright, or I may just have picked this up. With respect it is utter bunkum and if you have ever believed it or passed it on to anyone, please desist right now & engage in serious repentance. No wonder you ignore the Old Testament.

Let me just point out what that theology says: God's plan A failed; Jesus is plan B.

Jesus is no afterthought. Jesus is not plan B. Jesus is God's plan for us from all eternity. Always and forever plan A. Jesus is no-one's version of "second best". Please. I mean.

So why the Old Testament? Why the Patriarchs, the Law, the Prophets?

The Old Testament is God's gift to us so that, when the fulness of his plan of salvation came to pass, we might understand it. The Law creates the world-view which enables the gift of Jesus to be understood. Without it, we are whistling in the dark, making notes on the cold night air, sometimes finding snatches of melody, but missing the harmonies, the depth of accompaniment, the symphonic sweep of the grand music of life that God has for us.

You cannot understand the cross without understanding why the Temple was based around sacrifice, and without an understanding of what those sacrifices represented. Or you will end up thinking God was angry with people and needed appeasing; which is simply not a Biblical concept.

This morning we had Mark 1. And, as I said, a lovely, reflective sermon on it, which I enjoyed very much.

Yet I longed for - those colours of the Old that make the New shimmer with life. The hopes of Malachi & Isaiah were touched upon, but they are not our common language in this church, and so it is hard to build upon them. And as for Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the wonderful Elijah morsel (2 Kings 1.8-9 is the reference, from Mark 1.6; it's a beautiful drop-in, overflowing with moments of meaning) - we went in other directions. I guess Mark's announcement of the end of Exile only happens if you know there has been an Exile.

Does it matter?

I'm not helping to put up the church Christmas tree here. I did my own yesterday. I'm not organising the running order for the Carol Service. I'm not worried one little bit about the budget matching the beginning of year forecast.

No, it doesn't matter. It's just an observation. It's not my concern, is it? Yes it does matter, because you can take the preacher out of the pulpit, but I still love the word, and I still love being under it, in it, immersed & humbled by it. And when the sun shines through a stained glass window and the colours are awash with glory, I love to feel the range of hues play across my heart & soul, and in the grace of such moments wonder at which ones match up with me today. Colour me Biblical. Throw at me something old, something new, something surprising, something true.

How can you hear the tune if all you are given is a note or two from somewhere near the end? How can you read the book if all you have is the final page? I just miss the more. The stuff that makes me sit up and go - Oh goodness, look at that! God is amazing! And that's what the Old Testament provides. Wonder. Fulness. Beauty beyond words. And something understood.

45

2011-11-29T09:31:00.000Z

So. 45 - which is frankly unbelievable. I think that birthdays get more far-fetched the more of them I collect. I have no plans today, beyond working & then going home & walking the dog. It seems silly to celebrate something so ridiculous. Though if anyone fancies calling round - I can't have a beer, I'm on antibiotics that are messing with me, so I'm a cheap date!

Looking back, I wrote this a year ago:

Age is a reminder: we are granted one life. Live it well. Don't waste it. Make good choices, and (in the words of Winston Churchill that I have on a fridge magnet) - "Never, never, never give up".
44 was a lot better than 43. I find myself now more relaxed and at ease with myself, and the recipient of much grace and kindness. I am grateful for the surprises of the last year, and mindful of them cannot but expect more ahead. Life, even the fast passing, quickly advancing sort that I seem to have stumbled upon simply by getting older, is for living. And for that, much gratitude.

Beyond Words

2011-11-27T21:51:00.000Z

Three years younger than me. Married with two boys. Leading his country's football team to new-found success & nose-bleed heights in the FIFA rankings. Universally liked, it seems. On the TV the day before, laughing & cheerful. On the phone to his mates hours before, talking of meeting up & making future plans.

It's beyond words to hear of the news of the suicide of Gary Speed, one of the Premiership's most successful players, and now a rising international manager. Beyond words. What happened? What on earth happened?

I guess we may find out. I guess we may never know. I kind of hope we may never know. Some things deserve privacy, whatever our thirst for information & gossip may be.

He was a man. A human being. We are all of us complicated, and more than we seem. We all let some people in when life is great and others in when it is not. We have defence mechanisms that are healthy and unhealthy and we are far, far from perfect.

Gary Speed deserves to have the reputation he had in life survive him in death. His family deserve this too.

Sir Jimmy Saville once commented to a journalist who was trying to dig up dirt on him, "Don't fish in an empty lake". People are people. We are not machines. We all have moments we are proud of, and the odd slip-up. Some of our actions are pure and totally well-intentioned and yet others in the same room at the same time may (with or without any particular malice) ascribe completely other motives and swear they know our hearts.

Christianity speaks of One Judge. One Judgement. One Justice. And in the Bible we are given a remarkable picture of it: a picture of God dying in shame upon a cross of hatred, that we might be spared such shame & hatred and instead of these words of scorn and condemnation we might hear hear Jesus' voice asking, "Father, forgive".

This is why it is called Good News. And it is for everyone. Judgement (in God's hands) is about love. He protects the widow & the fatherless, and the reputation of he who cannot defend himself. And we who are Christians should do the same, and stand with those who mourn, that they may be comforted.

It is what we would hope for ourselves. God grant us the answer to our prayers, and make us the answer for others. And bless Gary Speed's family & friends, and his name and memory.

real life

2011-11-10T13:56:00.002Z

Random snippets of life:

I saw a woman walking a ferret the other day. On a lead. (The ferret, not the woman. She was wearing wellies & a fur coat. But then so was the ferret. Well, not wellies.) It was dark, so I expect she thought she'd see no-one. (Again, I refer to the woman, I have no idea what gender the ferret was, or the state of its night vision.)

At the time, I was walking down a lane to meet up with Steve, the trombonist in the jazz band I sang with the other week. So my mind was full of the lyrics I didn't know. The gig went really well - I mean, I didn't know any of their arrangements, so I had no idea how the songs started, finished or what happened in between, and only a passing acquainance with the words, but I think I got away with it.

Today I spent two hours learning how to use a credit card - I know, who knew it was so complicated? But that's a University for you. To be fair, it's their money I'll be spending, so if they want me to take a couple of hours first in order to sit in front of a screen & be indoctrinated into not buying alcohol on their dime, fair enough. (Really. I can pay £200 for a train ticket to London, but woe betide me if I splash out £2 on a beer. Well, actually, the card will magically simply refuse to let me do this, one imagines by issuing me with some kind of moral electric shock.) (I'll let you know.)

I am about to go downstairs with Rob, one of the guys in the office in order to pick up a white board. The delivery guy left it at ground level - which is level 6 in this building, obviously. We're on level 11. The white board is too big to fit in the service lift. We're hoping the stairs will be wide enough...

This Sunday I am playing organ at the local Remembrance Day service. For years I have wished I had musicians who would step in & allow me just to be the vicar on that day, so that I wouldn't have to multi-task when there was so much going on. This year, I get to be the answer to my prayers for somebody else - and so I volunteered to John, the vicar here, and said I'd play simply cos I know what a relief that will be for him to not have to worry about this. I am a bit rusty... And he has chosen one hymn I have never played successfully anywhere, ever. No, this will not be the first time. Again, I will get away with it if I can. For the rest, hopefully they will remember the words the are singing & forgive my foolish ways.

Next Tuesday I will meet the Bishop of Bradford. I have done almost no public ministry since leaving St Catherine's. At times I have felt guilty about this - not for my own part; but because I know keenly, and have always been aware that people who give time to be involved actively in church life do so by making great sacrifices sometimes; and when we put on activities for them they must be spiritually refreshing or the commitment they give exhausts them and does not empower them. Life is tiring enough without the church making it worse. I have watched people who are giving time and energy to church life and been aware that, for the moment, I am not doing the same. And yes, there have been moments of guilt.

And moments of grace. It's been important to establish myself here, to learn what this new life is, to discover place and position and to let go of what is not my life now. That's not easy. I still refer to St Catherine's as "we" in conversation. ("We had this... We are doing a... We always...") It's not "we" for me anymore; and my calling is different. This time, with its moments of guilt as I have looked at others has also caused me moments of grace because it has brought me freshly to recall why I am here:

Because I am following Jesus.

As with Peter at the end of St John's Gospel, we are so ready to compare ourselves with others ("What about him?"), and to find ourselves better or worse than those around us, to load up the blame or the glory. This is life. But real life, life to the full, life beyond the ferrets and the credit cards, life where the songs are more than half-remembered words and melodies imperfectly harmonised, this life is gift and joy and comes from eyes looking upwards, heart set firmly on following Jesus. Whatever. Whenever.

So I'm seeing the local Bishop. With a view to sorting out my license here so I have permission to officiate and can help out in my non-work hours, and we'll see about doing more ministry from Christmas time. That seems right.

twenty-two months

2011-10-08T16:02:00.000+01:00

In December 2009, twenty-two months ago, I wrote two posts on this site about Matt, my Springer. He was nine, and had been given a death sentence. Chronic renal failure. Early stage, but incurable.

I wrote at the time:

On the down side (it's some down side) there's no cure - dogs don't get transplants. On the upside, we have caught it very early, and first we will try some medication, then we'll try to get his blood pressure down, and maybe then we'll see a specialist to see if there's anything else to be done. We may change his diet. He's nine. He might live really well for years - a presumptive diagnosis isn't written in stone on a memorial tablet.

He has lived really well. Really well. But time is passing, and things have not remained static. I have felt that his eyesight has been getting much worse recently, and the new Vets surgery where we now live asked that we did some tests. I asked for a specific vet to take Matt on - it's a large surgery and you can see a different person each time. I didn't want that. So I asked for someone who would be good with Matt given his kidney problems, and I saw Roger - who was excellent.

But the test results were not so good. Matt is pretty much blind; there seems to be a small amount of residual sight, but not a lot. Most of the time you wouldn't know it. I can tell. He has lost some confidence. He panics if I'm not right with him in the park. And as for blood pressure, it's way too high. His blood tests weren't catastrophic, but showed him to be in stage three of kidney failure (stage three of four).

Twenty-two months. So far. And he is living well. A presumptive diagnosis isn't written on a memorial tablet.

And there was good news too.

Whilst he can no longer have lean meat, he can have fatty food: buttered toast is back on the menu! Chicken skin! Lots of things he loves.

My Matt, my dog, is a great gift, an enormous blessing to me. I thank God for this creature that shares my life. And I will bless my dog as much as I can as long as I can. Twenty-two months have passed in the blink of an eye; knowing how the truly valuable things pass so swiftly helps me to treasure each moment, with gladness & gratitude.

And again - thankfully, we have no crystal balls. Who knows what time we have? So this is always the most precious moment.

an occasional taste of heaven

2011-09-27T22:01:00.000+01:00

I blame that Owen & Liz Smith I do. If they hadn't moved next to me in Pontypridd I'd never have known. And now I've bought a bottle of wine I can't open for a decade.

They used to cook late. I'm guessing they still do. Even though he's working his way up the political ladder. They used to land food on the the table, fresh from the Aga, about 9pm. I could sense it from my house, my lonely house, my poor unstocked kitchen.

Who am I kidding? I'd already eaten well, but I loved their company & their food - the best cooking in South Wales, and I'm including the Bunch. And my taste for wine was slowly educated. I mean, who wouldn't like a bottle of St Emilion that cost his usual weekly food budget?

So that's where it happened.

And now, here, today, I finally made it to the place behind the label. Kirsty, Sam & I drove down from St Meard to St Emilion, exchanging one unheard of French saint for another, one slant on paradise for the source of that taste I have loved this last decade...

St Emilion, the village, is a regular tourist trap. San Gimignano with even more wine shops and less ice cream. But beautiful is a very similar way. We parked by a chateau just to the north of the town & dived in. Took the tour. Wandered through vineyards & winemaking facilities & caves and tasting sessions. Dined in a cafe by the church carved out of the limestone.

I bought a bottle I can't open for a decade - a bottle of the good stuff. 2009. From Chateau Villemaurine. And then I added a bottle of their easy drinking 2007 that Dan & Kirsty & I enjoyed this evening.

It is dangerous to play with dreams. They can disappoint you. They can turn around and bite you. Or they can simply come true. Tastes can be all you hoped for. Places can be divine. Heaven touches earth and your soul sings for joy at the wonders life throws at you. You feel that on days like these you could ask for anything. Anything. Your heart's desire. There's a little magic in the air, so why not? God is good, and today is going to be a good, good day.

And after the hard times, times when you have simply trusted because you know who God is despite all that life throws at you, these days are priceless. They are worth recording, setting in stone and remembering. These are the days I say "Thank you" for bringing me through all the days when all I could say was "please".

This is earth; there may be troubles ahead. And yet - and yet we are granted an occasional taste of heaven, and it is glorious.

relaxing

2011-09-26T18:57:00.001+01:00

Holidays are such a gift.

So here I am enjoying the home & hospitality of Dan & Kirsty Jones, in St Meard de Drone, in the heart of the Dordogne. It's mid evening and the sun is still beating down, although the heat of four O'clock is well past and the shadows have consumed the front garden. Dan is just coming back from an afternoon's teaching, carrying a guitar under each arm, and I am on the patio writing this in anticipation of another lazy evening meal and a bottle of the local wine. There will be cakes.

Life is good.

But then, it is good. Two and a half months on from moving, I get the chance to look back & to realise I am in such a wonderful place. All is gift. Yes, there are challenges, yes there are things that are pushing me, yes, there are concerns on the horizon. But when I compare these days with a year ago, these are good days indeed.

Let's stick with the holiday for a moment.

Friends are precious. Dan and Kirsty are, and have been for some years, precious friends to me. I value their kindness and generosity and thoughtfulness and humanity. The way they see the world, and live within it. To be their friend is to be fortunate. To talk, to think, to laugh, to consider, to share & be a part of their wider lives - this is the joy of friendship. And though we have hardly spent much time maintaining that friendship since last time I was here, falling back into it has been a joy. A gift. A grace.

There is a stillness here that blesses my soul. A restfulness, a peace.

But then, right now, that peace creeps up on me surprisingly often. A week to enjoy it taking first place is a splendid pleasure. And a reminder that when we do the right thing, it can live alongside us. Their decision to move out here has not been entirely trouble free (O Lord, grant them the sale of their house in Ponty) but it surely has been the right thing for them. Rightness brings peace. And my move also has carried that sense to me.

I've been chatting via email to another friend, and as part of that, going into some of the things that took me into deciding the time was right to take the decision to look beyond simply choosing another parochial post. He replied by referring to another vicar he knew who did a similar things and is working in a university & was asked by people why he had given up the ministry. I've been asked why I have left the church - which is a ridiculous question; I simply wouldn't know how to do that! I love the church. My decision to change career is precisely that: my employment has altered; not my heart. Indeed, I have altered my employment in many ways so that my heart might be freer to express itself. That's a thing of joy, not sadness, a thing of rightness, not loss, a thing of peace not turmoil.

The light is slowly fading. Flo, my god-daughter, is ready for bed. I have been reading to her from The Enchanted Wood, a book I loved at that age. Life is good when you get to pass on old memories and start to work on living out new dreams.

Tomorrow I head off to St Emilion; if you've ever read my profile on this site, that should ring a bell. I've never been. I'm ridiculously pleased to be going there & am looking forwards to touring round a chateau. And, in the midst of a holiday, to reaching out and touching a little physical reminder of heaven.

home

2011-09-19T22:23:00.001+01:00

Have you ever been somewhere you've never been before, with people you've never met, and felt like you'd come home?

It's an emotional experience. I don't think you can plan for it or reasonably expect such a thing to happen.

I had something very like it happen to me tonight, and the context is unusual enough to bear a little examining. I mean, I guess I have been hoping since I arrived here that I would walk into some church somewhere & have that magical sense. It hasn't occurred. Well, not really; there was one service that was kind of close in some ways, but not in others. And as I settle into the village church here, I really am not feeling that at all. But still, there you go. Some things are worth the work. It seems right to be there.

The job isn't the context either - though I am enjoying it enormously. As I am beginning to get used to it, and find my feet, I think it will do very nicely, and I will be able to serve the University well - as well as to develop new skills and find new pathways forwards for myself.

No - tonight I went to Bradford. Bradford BMF. British Military Fitness.

Regulars know I was part of the Outdoors Fitness group that met in Pontypridd park, and how that group became a really important friendship group for me, as well as rather transforming my fitness. So when I moved here I looked for an equivalent & found the BMF website. I've been going to the group that meets in Horsforth park - it's a huge group, sometimes with 60 people in it. That's easily more than double the biggest I ever remember Ponty being. And we get split off into different abilities - beginners, intermediates, advanced; in Ponty that was blue, reds & yellows, here it's blue, red & greens. We have coloured bibs here so there's no hiding. In Horsforth you need the bibs (they have numbers) as the group is so large it's hard to know people's names. It's very focussed - not a lot of chat, not a lot of socialising, and yet it's good because you work hard. I do mean hard: in Ponty I was a yellow; in Horsforth I'm a red. The greens (equivalent of yellows) are way beyond me - far too much running. And all that whole social side, the banter & the friendships were really important in Ponty. It kept you going when the weather was bad: you wanted to be there alongside everyone else.

Like Ponty, Horsforth meets Tuesday & Thursday evenings, & Saturday mornings - well, it's more like lunchtime here.

This week I can't do Thursday. And I do want to fit two sessions in; I'm off on holiday next week & you always feel it if you miss too many times. So I looked & saw that the Bradford park (about the same distance from my house as Horsforth, in the opposite direction) meets on Mondays & Wednesdays. I Google Earthed it so I knew where I was going, & set off.

The group was about twenty people. They were chatting & joking in advance. Phil, who works in my office was there. I wondered if it was all a bit closed & cliquey at first - but no, really not. I soon got working with some of the other blokes - Keith, Mick, Steve - and our instructor, Mark, was great. We were all in it together, across the ability range (unlike at Horsforth, but just like Ponty) and I soon had more muck on my hands, legs, arms & shorts than I'd had in weeks of the very clinical Horsforth set up. I loved every minute of it.

I especially loved discovering that I was keeping up with the top of the reds here, even pushing the greens. You can't keep a competitive spirit down for long.

The whole thing was a blast. It felt like being home again. With new people, in a new place. It was great.

Now - I know I've taken my time here, but let me pause for a second. A military fitness class in a Bradford park felt like being at home. Jeff Webb, what have you done to me?

Isn't "home" a strange concept?

The familiar, the place where we belong, where we fit. I think it is one of the most powerful ideas out there because so much of the time so many of us actually don't quite fit, or live or work or play or worship somewhere that we almost fit. And then you hit paydirt. That precious, precious, unexpected golden moment when everything works & you feel - real. No pretence. Happy.

And it went dark, and we carried on, and my spirit soared, and my body worked harder, and I smiled through the physical pain with genuine pleasure and deep felt gratitude.

devastating

2011-09-18T14:55:00.002+01:00

I took myself off to the Grand Theatre last night to see how Opera North is doing. Having been spoiled for years on the riches of Welsh National Opera, I was somewhat cautious of trying the local fare here. Many, many moons ago I did attend a Butterfly at this very theatre by this very company; it was OK. No more.

This Butterfly was far more than OK. At the end you should be so emotionally devastated you are almost unable to applaud, and indeed that is how I found myself. Yes, there were faults (I'll come on to those) but there were glories I shall not forget for a long time, and they deserve the lion's share.

Tim Alberry's production, receiving a first revival, is almost without qualification excellent. Beautiful colours, a simple design, different levels, no tricks, a beautiful backdrop and a well-thought through orchestral interlude between Acts II and III. I could have done without Goro's return at the very end. A quibble.

The principles were superb. The seconds - Ann Taylor's wonderful Suzuki and Peter Savidge's world-weary and world-class Sharpless were amongst the very best I have ever seen. Anne Sophie Duprels was a Butterfly of two halves for me; in Act I I found her voice too old, and I didn't warm to her. In Acts II & III I found her transformed. The stubborn-ness of her hope, her joy at the sighting of Pinkerton's ship, her weariness at the end of the night, her despair in the morning, her realisation of the truth - this was magnificent.

And in Noah Stewart's Pinkerton I felt I was watching the best actor I have ever seen on an opera stage. A beautiful voice & a devastatingly handsome man, he was everything Pinkerton should be (unlike the standard roly-poly naval officers we are so often subjected to). He drew my eye constantly because he was so very natural. His smile, his surprise, his impatience for his bride - if this was simply theatre, rather than opera, I would have felt I had seen a great actor. This is his website. Click onto the video (there may be an ad at the beginning to endure) and enjoy his singing. Signed by Decca, I hope to see more of him.

Faults? Apart from that re-appearance of Goro at the end to stare at the dead Butterfly (as if we needed the comment; we didn't, we felt it all), I was not entirely convinced by the orchestra & the conducting of Italian wunderkind Daniele Rustioni. OK, I have been spoiled by the orchestra of WNO, which I believe to be something rather special. It has a "sound": you can recognise a recording of the WNO orchestra, because they have that priceless commodity, a definable musical identity. They have a perfect opera orchestra sound: deep, rich & full, but never overwhelming for the singers. Here at Opera North, Rustioni did lose control occasionally for me: both in terms of some ragged edges (I wasn't always convinced the celli got him, though I must say that the opening of Act II was very tight) and also I mean this simply in terms of volume. Sometimes I couldn't hear the singers, who, in the big moments, were forcing the notes out over a band that was just banging it out. Not being able to hear the singers at an opera is not a good thing, especially when they were this good. Mr Rustioni - as you do more of this, please remember the voices on stage matter. Be kind to them. Making the band in the pit sound loud without actually being as loud as they possibly can be is a real art, and it allows the singers to flourish which means everyone comes across at their best.

Butterfly is about love. The perception of love. About falling madly in love with someone else who is merely using you, and how that ruins lives. Most (if not all) of us have been in that place to some degree, it's why art is so powerful. We recognise Butterfly not as social commentary on Imperialism as Americans abuse poor naive natives in "less advanced" cultures, but as personal history. We have all been Butterfly or Pinkerton or both. We have all (well, most of us) been used and dropped, or have used someone & dropped them, we have all know unequal relationships, we have all sat at the end of the rainbow and found not gold but broken dreams. Butterfly reminds us - with gut-wrenching beauty - that each person is a person, and that the cost of selfishly forgetting this truth is sometimes unacceptably high. If Pinkerton hears Sharpless' plea "Be careful" early on, there is no tragedy. But he wants his fun, and in his youthful enthusiasm thinks pleasure has no human cost.

Grand emotions in small moments. Grand betrayals unseen by anyone. Beauty & tragedy vying for pre-eminence. I love this opera, and I loved this performance.

a gift

2011-09-12T19:52:00.003+01:00

One of the gifts of this time for me is, of course, that I still often think like a vicar even though I am one no more.

I say "gift", because it's not always a present one would pay to have!

I do realise just how Christian you have to be when you have to be a Christian professionally. People know who you are; you can't get past that, nor should you, but there are days when it would be nice just to be able to be grumpy without worrying about it.

Now that I can be grumpy occasionally without worrying about it, I worry about it.

I mean - was the only reason I tried to live like I meant it because I had to? Because people would see me fail, name me a hypocrite and utter those infamous words, "Call yourself a Christian"? Clearly not. Yet such motivation was an encouragement, I'll admit it, to a better standard than my lazy self might otherwise have managed.

There was one occasion when someone at St Caths was cross with me, and for whatever (probably excellent) reason had built up a series of things to throw in my face. The one that hurt was when I was accused of speaking very dismissively to another of our members on a couple of occasions; it was a real "Thou hypocrite" swipe. And it was perfectly fair, which made it all the worse.

But I mean, who's perfect, hey?

However; I had spoken badly to this other church member, and now it was being thrown back at me, and I had no answer. So I went quiet; and afterwards went to see the person in question. To apologise. Not because anyone would know, not because I had to look good, but because a million times I say faith is about loving God, and from that place it is then about loving those around us. And if I say those words a million times, they actually catch my heart too. Here I had failed; there's only one thing you can do when you fail - well I guess there's two: you can bluff it out. But instead, I took the better path; I went to apologise.

And that saint of God graciously received my apology but then turned the whole situation it on its head by talking of how much the Lord had blessed him through me, time & time again. He never felt an unkind word from me because he had received so many words of blessing.

If ever I received a gift from anyone it was that day. Feeling miserable, and made so by the (perfectly fair) accusations of a friend, my tears of sorrow became tears of gratitude as I was lifted up and turned around by the saint at my side to whom I had gone simply to make an apology.

Who's perfect? The one who is forgiven. The one who is so forgiven they may forgive others, freely. And receive more forgiveness themselves.

So I tell you what, here's the gift of these days: no professional pretence.

I need to stop worrying about motivation and spiritual laziness, about appearance and perception and not offending any who watch & judge. I will be me, and you should be you. Do you know what - there will be awkward moments. Imperfections. Rough edges. We are but people. O yes, we are gloriously human. And in that glory we will have the gift of being able to give and receive forgiveness, free from false expectations, sometimes chased by worries it is true, yet filled with hope.

advantages of moving north #1

2011-09-05T20:49:00.000+01:00

I just booked my first ticket to see United at Old Trafford in ages. Ages. Oh the advantages of living in the North.

And of not working on Sundays.

Not that the game is on a Sunday - but I no longer have to work on Saturdays in order to be ready to work on Sundays too. I get weekends these days. (Weekends - you gotta love 'em. Who knew?)

Sorry Prof Hackett, honoured friend of Durham, it's to see your beloved unlucky Black Cats suffer again. I'll send you a photo.

Glory Glory Man Uniiiited....

to be a pilgrim

2011-08-29T12:57:00.001+01:00

Here's the thing: I'm feeling pretty relaxed.

There's a difference between being good at something, and having to do it. You see, I really loved being a vicar, but it's a job that comes with no uncertain amount of pressure. I don't mean to compare it with running the economy during a major global recession, but there were always things that weighed on me that if I'm honest I never quite learned to handle. I loved preaching; I always felt the burden of it in advance, and regularly lost sleep over it the night before. I'd say the same for leading worship. It was a real privilege to comfort those in need, the bereaved, the dying, those needing Christ. But there were times I'd dread the phone ringing, or the door bell going because I'd be tired or in need of comfort myself and find that it was time to go and bless others again when it was far from easy so to do.

That's the job.

I think that ministry should be sacrificial. But this has to be held in tension with the knowledge that we serve a God of love who loves us!

So I stopped. Listened. And realised I had come to a place where (if I wasn't careful) I was going to be bigger on my sacrifice than God's love. All in all, that's the wrong way around. How can I show people God's love properly if it seems that (rather than healing me) this love makes me walk with a permanent limp? Blow my words, most people just pick up the vibe.

Even I was beginning to pick up the vibe.

It was time to find a cliff & jump off it. To put away the security blanket of the life I had known in order that I might really live. To let love triumph over sacrifice: and, of course, His love contains within it all the sacrifice I'll ever need. I don't have to earn spiritual kudos by the scars on my soul. It's OK to love myself too, sometimes; how else can I love my neighbour as myself?

And the thing is, I'm feeling pretty relaxed.

Sure, there are the occasional stress related dreams. Some of them still relate to St Catherine's. Most of them, actually. (Please - not that everything there was stressful for me; far from it. The balance had become lost between life and work, that's all.) And I am not so dim as to expect I have now walked into a stress-free life. Calverley's nice, but it's not Heaven...

You see, it would be easy to say that now I have a lovely house & nice neighbours, now that people are treating me far better than when I was a vicar (you have no idea), now that I am settling into a good job I am enjoying getting to grips with, I have all my prayers answered. But that's not the point. Don't get me wrong - I am loving all these things, and all these things are true.

But being a pilgrim is about being on a lifelong journey with Jesus. Knowing him. Holding his hand. Trusting him when it's tough and when it's great. Being grateful when you see the answers and when you don't. Being constant because he is constant. It's not about doctrine, it's about relationship, and walking on in the surety of that great relationship when there is no other certainty anywhere you look.

Some of you know the depth of my questions over the last year, and many do not; and those who do, know that every question I have asked has been asked in the context and truth of that relationship. I commend it. Not because I know the outcome; but because I know the journey is wonderful and unexpected and painful and glorious. And full of love, when the sun shines and when the rain drenches you to the skin.

In that context, it is indeed a precious gift to be feeling pretty relaxed.

There is a hymn I love, not because I can say every word truthfully myself, but because it inspires me and has the ring of reality about it. It feels like the truth. I long to know more of it. The words are Bunyan's, and the tune, Monk's Gate, is one of those English folk melodies that Vaughan Williams spent his life adapting and adding to the hymnody of the English language. It works for me.

Who would true Valour see
Let him come hither;
One here will Constant be,
Come Wind, come Weather.
There's no Discouragement,
Shall make him once Relent,
His first avow'd Intent,
To be a Pilgrim.

Who so beset him round,
With dismal Stories,
Do but themselves Confound;
His Strength the more is.
No Lion can him fright,
He'll with a Giant Fight,
But he will have a right,
To be a Pilgrim.

Hobgoblin, nor foul Fiend,
Can daunt his Spirit:
He knows, he at the end,
Shall Life Inherit.
Then Fancies fly away,
He'll fear not what men say,
He'll labour Night and Day,
To be a Pilgrim.

rise of the planet of the king's speech

2011-08-15T20:12:00.001+01:00

So.

I went to the cinema to see Rise of the Planet of the Apes. I was about to book on line on the Odeon website when, fiddling around in my wallet as I was trying to pay, I found a comp slip.

When I saw the King's Speech in Cardiff, at the Odeon in the Bay, it was a preview screening, and for the first twenty seconds or so the picture had a slight shake. Nothing major. Those of you who use the Nantgarw Showcase live with worse every time you go.

But - at the end, they apologised for the fault at the start and handed out these passes so we could attend another showing for free.

That pass has stayed in my wallet ever since, gradually disintegrating. Till Saturday.

When I found it, I cancelled my online booking, got in the car, drove the five minutes to the Leeds Bradford Odeon, and showed my scrap of paper to the nice Asian guy on duty who very kindly said - Of course it was fine, no problem. Free ticket.

Now, I hadn't really thought about it, but of course this was the perfect companion film to the King's Speech.

After all, both are films with men in monkey suits learning to speak.
Both see the "hero" lead his nation at the start of a war against a seemingly undefeatable foe.
One bears the title "King", the other is named "Caesar".
Both mute heroes find themselves inspired by a teacher who is at times a friend, at times a foe.
Both are breaking out of prisons; one mental, one physical.
Both films feature primates. OK, the primate in the King's Speech is the Primate of All England, but don't you love the English language?

Any other unlikely film pairings out there? The photos above are of Colin Firth & Geoffrey Rush (top) and a monkey with James Franco (below). That monkey deserves an oscar.

what just happened?

2011-08-12T20:31:00.000+01:00

Riots? What riots?

I sat and watched people commit crimes on live TV; there they were - kids, really, just teenagers, kicking in shop windows and looting. They weren't afraid. They weren't ashamed. It wasn't as if they were avoiding CCTV - they were doing it in front of Sky News, in glorious HD. You could see their acne.

When my dog does something he shouldn't, he does it, OK, but I point at it & he cowers in shame. Not these kids; they had less moral compass than an animal.

I watched and I simply could not understand what I was seeing. Is this the country in which I live? Are these my fellow people? How did this happen? When did this happen? Why did this happen?

Where are the police? Why aren't they clipping these kids around the ear and sending them home to bed? And straightaway I know the answer to that - because if they did they'd be on the CRB list and would never work again. Simple discipline is now impossible in order to protect children - you'll be prosecuted; well, look what a good job we did, everyone. How well the kids have turned out.

And yet.

And yet, the day after was both bemusing and glorious. The darkness of the night gave for the fight of the day. People bought the kind of T-shirt we normally associate with foreign tourists - the kind that we look at with disdain or irony - and wore them with pride: I ♥ London. Or Manchester. Or Wherever. They brought brushes and bags and through the power of the same social networks that had been so destructive hours earlier took minutes to clean up streets, neighbourhoods, lives. Where there had been despair, hope stormed back.

Are these my fellow people? Is this my country? When did this happen? How?

Throwing perpetrators of crimes out of their homes, locking them up for months, putting them all together to plan their next jamboree - these are stupid, knee-jerk, obvious and understandable responses. But howabout taking some (just some) of those kids and putting them with the army of decent people and showing them that real people care. Look after the person next door. Realise my action has an effect. And that doing good can bring pleasure that has only good consequences. These aren't the lessons of a moment; many we try to teach will sit in class and go away sniggering. But some will get it.

What just happened?

We saw who we are. And it wasn't a great picture; but it had glories within it. So where do you want to focus?

here goes

2011-08-06T22:16:00.000+01:00

I guess it's the small, mechanical things that worried me before starting the new job: the commute, where to park, would the car be OK where I left it all day, what time was I due in - things like that. Then again, it's been a while since I had a boss; and there's a lot of people in the office - names to learn, pecking order, relationships, feet to tread on. Plus stuff particularly relevant to my post, people to meet, first impressions to stuff up...

I have been besieged by information. Lots of it. So much of it, that just as I am about to process one piece, the next comes in and prevents that process happening. Haphazard chunks of vital knowledge get thrown at me like a ball around a ring with me in the middle trying to catch it (and constantly rueing being only five foot seven).

New boy syndrome. By the time I've been here six months it'll all be second nature... I keep telling myself this.

The two constant questions of the week: is it very different from what you were used to? Are you enjoying it? Yes, and yes. Will that do? I don't think I have yet done anything stupid... So that's a plus, anyway.

Matt has been in a sulk for days. He's had his whole routine changed - and (like his master) he's a creature of enormous habit, so this came as something of a shock to the poor dog. My wonderful neighbours are taking him out during the day whilst I'm at the university, and that takes the worry off me, but Matt is not best pleased. His meal time has changed, his walk routine has changed, his alarm call has changed, in fact everything is different & he didn't ask for it! He's been pretending to have a bad back to show me how displeased he is. It is a pretence - he doesn't do it all the time, a dead giveaway. And there are just the first signs that he might be accepting the new regime: he is walking up to speed as we leave the house now, rather than imposing an initial 100 yard go-slow.

A couple of cultural highlights, a social moment & a spiritual kick at the end:

The university has an art gallery. I had a wander around during my first lunch break. It's all northern. I mean, all the art is northern; very brown. The subjects all look bored, and you kind of get the feel the artist was too. And then there is a room with an exhibit by Carlos Nadal, last of the Fauvists, and suddenly there is brightness and colour everywhere. It felt like I was being assaulted by life - it was a glorious, physical experience.

Today I took the advice of an FB friend and found the National Media Museum in Bradford & saw a film at the IMAX screen there, Super 8. The film was good, and I enjoyed it, but I enjoyed the venue even more - simply amazing. I loved the place, and look forwards to going back and taking a proper tour of the museum. A decent 3D movie on the IMAX will be wonderful, and the small screen there does great art house stuff; there's a film about referees at the 2008 Euro Championships right now; if I had chance I'd see that.

Last week I had Richard & Sarah over for supper. They are a couple I got to know very slightly in Ponty, and they've also moved up to Leeds. This week I went across to their flat. They really are lovely, and we had a super time - it's a real gift to have found friends to meet up with so quickly here. We laughed a lot - mostly at each other - and I was introduced to Waitrose Salt & Vinegar Crisps With a Twist of Lemon. Seriously. They were excellent. Ah Waitrose; it's so much nicer a shopping experience.

One enormous difference of course between my old routine and this is the space for prayer & worship in the day. Sometimes I used to create clear space and sometimes I knew it would kind of permeate the day in different ways. It doesn't quite permeate the day so clearly in the office now. This does feel different, and I need to get used to it. The drive in & out is a great opportunity. I bought Matt Redman's latest on my iPhone, so I've been listening to that. There are some nice songs there, and they have been tuning my heart to worship as I have started my day. But I want to have to do better, and I don't think I ever foresaw the way in which my old worship life would need to find a new rhythm.

Like everything else, I'm hoping in six months' time, this too will again be second nature. My job may no longer be about worship, but my heart remains so; so I need to make sure in the new regime & through the unfamiliar early mornings, my heart can still sing clearly to its purest beat.

the end of the holidays

2011-07-30T21:33:00.000+01:00

As a child, the holidays lasted forever. Long summer days of playing in the sunshine worked their way into long summer evenings on the road, on my bike, in the dirt, in the grass, with my friends. One August we all found ourselves up above town on the moors swimming in the ponds, running in the hills, knowing those times would never end.

Till school called us back.

For ages after I left school I would awake to the nightmare sound of the bell that ran my life through all those years: teachers, I have no idea how you can do it. I suppose it has, however, had a twin effect upon me: I chose a job with no set hours. And a personality type with a pathological attention to the clock.

Well now the holidays are over again. School is calling me back - or, at least, university. No bell (thank God). But a more set routine than I have known since I began my working life, and a commute for the first time since I was eighteen. Strike that, seventeen - my final exam at grammar school (a forty minute bus-ride from home) was the day before my eighteenth birthday.

The problem with memory (of course) is that it only looks back. I cannot remember forwards at this point in time to the friendships ahead, the joys set before, the trials overcome, the triumphs and simple pleasures that await. I cannot reminisce about quiet evenings three years from now, or wax lyrical about friends I have yet to meet, relationships that have not begun, passtimes and priorities that my life will take on in the days locked up beyond tomorrow.

The holidays are over! The resting is done! A key is placed in the living door of my experience which may turn in this way only this time and only this once - and I got to choose to do this! It's happening! I need to snap my head forwards, to bring my mind from remembering things past to being ready to take on all things new.

For, as angels sang on Easter morning - Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here - He is risen!

My life was on those hills in Accrington, in that school in Blackburn, at university in Oxford, ordained in South Wales, working in Aberystwyth, writing in Cambridge, being vicar of Pontypridd - but my hand is in the hand of Jesus, and he is the God of the living, not of the dead. Not forgetting what lies behind, I strain forwards to gain the prize, to live the life, to seize the day, to rise on wings and to live the life set out for me. Grateful, and being grateful using all that I have gained with love and for glory here and now.

Here and now.

It's the end of the holidays. A new day is beginning. Hallelujah.

idol

2011-07-24T23:41:00.001+01:00

Amongst the many treats on YouTube is a clip of me singing with a certain Big Band. No names, no pack drill. The accompanying photo should in no way be taken as a clue or hint as to the band or song to which I am referring.

Anyway, as usual, I have control over the comments that go up. I vet everything. Of course - I'm a control freak. You may say what you like, but only if I like it. As I sang in my opening number at the St Caths Plus Variety Show recently -

"The ego of the actor / has the subtlety of a tractor
So comments that are audible / Should always be laudable..."

Singers, if anything, are even more thin-skinned than their thespian fellows. We just need to be loved, dahling.

Well. Over the past three days I have been receiving notification of comments for the aforementioned video clip. One thoughtful person has been offering me critiques that sound kind of familiar from somewhere (where?); here's the first they sent: Not very good at all. Very pitchy.Very Flat at 1:56 and 2:34.

I think 2:34 is sharp, personally, and worse - distorted by bad microphone technique. But I tell you what - somebody hiding behind a pseudonym on a website doesn't get to say that. And I was left huffing about it all day. The cheek! Of course I didn't approve their comment. No bloody chance. So yesterday they tried again. This time they offered (and again the words are strangely familiar): Who told you you could sing?

Oh I was cross. Cross enough to think that I wished I knew who it was so I could reply - who told you you could listen? Who told you you could be rude on somebody else's website? You'll imagine that this comment also failed to get posted.

But then today this person surpassed themselves. And it was at this point that the penny finally dropped. At last I recognised the play book my web judge has been using all along. Just one word came on the YouTube Service email this evening: Horrible.

It's Simon Cowell isn't it?

I'm being cyber-stalked by a Simon Cowell wannabe who thinks that if they keep being nasty, eventually I'm going to publish their brilliantly witty and insightful comments on my singing! The thing is, the Horrible comment actually made me laugh out loud... So I'm thinking of posting it. Except if I do, will I encourage this mad person, or stop them? And if I stop them, what will I miss out on tomorrow? "That's positively the worst audition I've ever heard. Seriously."

What do you reckon? Come on, I'd like you to send me votes to post now or suggestions for more Cowell put-downs I should be expecting. I'll publish the best ones - & if crazy stalker actually continues I'll award fictional prizes for the most accurate guesses too!

This is Cyber-Stalker Idol!

settling in

2011-07-22T22:33:00.001+01:00

Every time I have moved, I have been the same. The whirlwind of activity, the emptying of boxes, the establishing of a new home. I have seen others move & seemingly camp out in their new houses for months, and something in me screams out - how can you bear to do this? I cannot. Within two days or so all is sorted.

Kind of. Don't ask me to find everything. That will take longer.

Mind you, Matt & I are already finding our way around the neighbourhood. It turns out my trusty SatNav is a bit, well, selective on local roads. So I do need to buy a map, as well as checking out Googlemaps before setting out. There tend to be better alternatives than my onboard computer wants me to believe! Goodness, it's been a while since I've actually remembered directions...

Take the nearest cinema, the Leeds/Bradford Odeon. As the crow flies it's about a mile and a half, two miles. SatNav wants to take me a five mile journey to get there when there is actually a crow-fly road. And I am finding that several Leeds trips are pretty similar - and not helped by the re-numbering of roads in central Leeds following recent bypass arrangements. In weeks these will be absolutely second nature.

In weeks the house will feel like home too. It still feels like a place where all my stuff finds itself. Finds itself squashed... No - I am genuinely glad of the smaller space. Genuinely glad of the cosiness of the house. Time will make this home - time and the visits of friends and the accumulation of memories. You cannot fake "home". It sneaks up on you.

And, as yet, though I am settling in, I am still in the post-leaving/just-arriving fog of emotions that means I don't quite know where I am or what I feel.

It's good that I have lovely neighbours - on one side they will look after Matt when I'm at work, seeing he gets out during the day and isn't alone all that time. That side also keeps the gardens straight and checks on bins and is wonderfully efficient. On the other side, a couple I have yet to get to know but they are Christians and one of them works in the University.

People. Place. Time. Feel. History. Memory. So many things make up "home". And here am I in a rented house - for here I have no abiding city. I have the outwards sorted, but the inners, the interiors of life - these things cannot be put in their place in two days, no matter how hard I try. And so I am slightly displaced. Neither there nor yet here. But here I am in a place where I have been led. With good people all around. And I am looking forwards to going to church on Sunday in the local parish church, which, by all accounts, may well be a good place for me. So this is a strange, settling in period; and I am grateful that after the whirlwind of the last few days I now have another week before I start work, work which I am looking forwards to. I need to take this time to relax and sit back and prepare, and properly take advantage of a little holiday for body and soul.

For, to misquote the hymn, God has brought me safe thus far, and he shall lead me home.

the final day

2011-07-19T00:45:00.001+01:00

Matt & I walked through Ponty park as we always did, him sniffing every darned tree, me calling "Head!" to pull his attention away from burying his face too deep in any especially repugnant odours. A gentle rain spotted the ground and midges thronged under the trees.

We called in on Clare at the newsagents on Mill Street. She went red - she'd meant to come to church yesterday, but had overslept. I told her not to be so silly. And we said our goodbyes.

Barbara came to clean the empty house. Oh, how I have relied upon Barbara. She has cheered me up so many times without knowing it. Made me feel better just by being there, as well as by making my home look and feel and smell nicer week by week. I gave her flowers last week; she brought me wine today. We shared tears.

A trip to the bank saw money into my account - both from my little house sale on Saturday and from the amazing generosity of the church as I left. Wow. And thank you - I know many of you read this. I am overwhelmed, and incredibly grateful.

Then Dan came to help me finish off sorting the house out. I married Dan and Gemma one Christmas a few years back. I'd got to know Gemma's dad through taking funerals for his parents, and when he asked if I'd do his daughter's wedding I was delighted - though if it had been anyone else, I think asking for a Sunday wedding at Christmas might well have got a no from my diary! We have a running joke - I invite them to dinner, and then go to their house to eat. We've been trying to meet up in the run up to my leaving, and it hasn't happened, but they came yesterday & I was delighted to see them & their boys. Dan offered to help me as I finished off the house & did a couple of tip runs. Gemma insisted I then came to lunch. I was thrilled to say yes.

Gill Tuck came to the Vicarage as we were done. She took my keys. Empty, gone, all over. I had feared I would slink out of town without anyone noticing. Gill was aware of this and was making sure that couldn't happen. Dan was there too. The book of these days closed, but friends were all around me as the words on the pages ran out. Indeed, just as I got into the car Kim Howells walked past pushing his granddaughter in the buggy. Many's the day when he has regaled me with stories of meetings with chiefs of staff, spies, wars in foreign parts, chairing the United Nations, facing down the Prime Minister - but now he wears a more relaxed look and his granddaughter gets the attention that previously was demanded by such unimportant matters. A friendly hug, another and fitting final farewell.

Then the long drive northwards. I crossed the bridge to England. I used to live here. No, I do live here; I used to live in Wales. For seventeen years I stayed in the Principality - almost as long as I lived in Accrington as a kid, before first moving south to University a lifetime ago. And as I drove I thought of my yesteryears, and of my yesterday.

Yesterday was lovely.

The team here had worked hard to make a super occasion. Wardens, staff, musicians, St Catz Kids, St Caths Plus, Stewart as he led the service and the folk who provided the wonderful lunch - though a confession: I spent so much time talking to people over lunch, the only thing I actually ate was a piece of Val's lemon meringue!

Here was a church looking forwards, in good health, celebrating its life. And I enjoyed every minute. Great to see visitors amongst the crowd - including Owen & Liz, Alice, Karsten, Robin, David, a couple who come to the Remembrance events, some of our wider family, and of course lots and lots of us. Just us.

I had great fun preaching - Stewart called it a "tour de force", but he would, showing off his French, (always the class swot!) as I decided to go out on Matthew 22.34ff, the greatest commandment, but got carried away so gave them pretty much all of Matthew 21 & 22, with references to Matthew 4 & Deuteronomy 5-8 thrown in for good measure. Plus quotes from Cecil B deMille and a couple of my favourite little jokes...

The greatest commandment: it is in the way we love one another that the truth of our love for God is revealed. Be the real deal. It isn't easy, it's not supposed to be; it is worth it.

Stewart spoke at the end of the service of our friendship. Of the way I'd come to Cynthia's bedside at 4.30am on the day she died. Of our Bible studies, ranging from exegesis to pole dancing. I assured the congregation we didn't actually do any pole dancing...

I looked out and saw others. Those present like Ashley & Helen with baby James. I remembered visiting them in hospital on Christmas Day when Helen had been confined to bed for months before James' birth. Those absent like John Murphy, who is confined to his bed but who has been to me a true friend. I wouldn't have had these eleven years without him. Or like Dan & Kirsty - and it was lovely to have Matthew Truelove sing a song written by Dan for the occasion. And to sing one of his own, a favourite of mine. Then I saw out there too those gone before, like Gwyneth, whose smile and attention to detail were both very special. And Mac. And Ken. And Gladys, whose final prayer I will remember always.

As I missed the buffet I drove to Tesco to grab a sandwich for lunch. And another for supper. And after my final final service, a gentle evening communion (with a few extra in attendance - I should leave more often if it does the numbers so much good) most of us ended up at the Bunch of Grapes.

Actually, right at the end of that evening service, David Carver came forwards & said that he wanted some people to pray with me. I was absolutely thrilled. Just as I had not wanted to leave today by myself (and I guess in part that's a being single thing - a lot of life is by myself you know), I had really wanted somebody at some point before I left to say - "we need to have a good group of people pray for you". And it hadn't happened. Then David did it.

Don't take this the wrong way, please - I have always had great wardens, and the current crop are wonderful & hard working & pulled out all the stops yesterday in making the whole day go off amazingly. I love them to bits. But I will confess to having a very soft spot for David Carver & for Derek Phillips; they were a very special team as wardens. They are very special godly men. David proved it for me again yesterday, and those last few moments of my final service were golden.

So. I got into the car & began to drive. Eleven years, eh? There have been ups & downs, tough times & failures amongst the joys & triumphs. I don't know if I did everything I was supposed to. But as far as I was able I tried to be obedient. And as I sit in the kitchen of what is becoming my new home, I am reminded that for the past few years this blog has had at the top of it something of what I have seen as my job description, a play around Thirteen Words that have always meant a lot to me. Well, I'm going to have to change that soon.

But let me remind you: I have the joy of pastoring a church in South Wales, (and now come the 13 words) my job is to worship Jesus - his job is to grow the church. He is far better at his job that I at mine, but grace is all about how these things come together.

He is far better at his job than I at mine; but grace means I leave with happy memories, and I can't ask for more than that.

moving day

2011-07-11T18:34:00.002+01:00

A very moving day. The dog is all over the place, and frankly so am I. Chris & Carl, my two removal men, have been great. Most of the work has been done now, we'll be off in the morning, and in Leeds for mid-afternoon. (Thanks again to the wonderful efficiency of Clare & David Mac).

One friend was standing by the church gate earlier; a passing elderly gent told her - the vicar is going. Been here Eleven years. They haven't found a replacement yet.

Good to know the grapevine is accurate.

I used to live here. My house is becoming hollow. Clean, warm rooms are looking like tired, musty, damp shells. Echoes of themselves. Memories of laughter sound around them. The kitchen remembers Podcaths & Bible Studies and Alphas and then sighs - and forgets.

The dining room wonders where the piano was.

The study is a repository for unwanted furniture. Not yet wanted furniture. Not yet wanted books. Someone will claim them again. But not me, not here.

I used to live here. I am moved, am moving, am emotional and in motion.

Farewell, vicarage.

And now the end is near...

2011-07-10T23:34:00.000+01:00

...but still to come, the final curtain.

Though some fat ladies are singing. The Rejects are done with me. I have feasted with my wonderful quiz team one final time, after one final victory at the Bunch. Steve & I were the only ones who turned up for that quiz - & Steve was nervous. I told him to man up. Winning attitude, that's all it takes.

That's all it took. I shall miss the quizzes, but more the friendships of this group of bearded blokes. Never again do I expect to know so many experts in Sanskrit in so confined a space.

As I prepare to move away from full time parochial ministry, it was both an odd and a pleasurable experience to be a supporting cleric for Clare Hayns as she was ordained at Christ Church Oxford last week. I was best man at John & Clare's wedding many, many moons ago. I am godfather to their eldest. We have had many phone calls discussing theological essays over the past few years. John & Clare's friendship is one of the fixed points of my life. Seeing her ordained (from rather a good seat, I must say) was a total joy. And John will make an excellent vicar's wife - he can make a sponge cake appear out of nowhere in no time flat. No really. He's a member of the magic circle.

And it gives everyone the chance to see that (just occasionally) I do don the odd item of clerical garb myself. Actually, the cassock & scarf are Rob Graham's. I keep them for special occasions.

I was reminded the night before Clare's service of an event three and a half year's back, when being dressed like this had a particularly helpful effect. And also made for one of the funniest occasions of my time here in Ponty. Thanks Chris for bringing that back to mind: Irish scaffolders downing tools on a particularly gloomy morning with the cry "The Father says stop!" will stay with me for a long time. That it was over the construction of the neighbouring car park is even more pleasing... And I managed to use the story this morning in preaching on John 13, which passage was read at Clare's ordination. My usual illustration is of a man with a pepper grinder. Scaffolders & priests made a good alternative. The point held, and was one I wanted to make again before finishing. It's one of the key things I'd like people to remember here.

To remember. When I am gone. In the morning the removal men come. I will be back next weekend for my final services, but in between I am moving up to Leeds. Going, and coming back. A bit like Jesus, only I'm doing a house sale.

And without the help of the megastars who are David & Clare MacInnes it would be impossible to be ready. David & Clare came to stay for a couple of days last week & transformed the house into a state of readiness for the move. I am eternally grateful. More friends who have been a constant in my life for longer than I can recall. More friendship displayed than I could possibly deserve.

So, the list is almost complete. Farewells are being said. It is happening. The future is arriving, pushing its way into the present, making today fade into yesterday. I am touched by the kindness and good wishes I am receiving from many, and can only hope that I may yet have time to bless my friends here as I am still being blessed.

In God's economy, you must always give away what you want to keep.

Though if you are doing a house sale, I think selling books at 50p for soft backs and £1 for hard backs is also fair. Saturday next, 2pm. There's furniture too...

more goodbyes

2011-06-19T21:13:00.000+01:00

The last song I played on my old Bentley piano. And I wrote it today at the Bentley, for this evening's service.

In the morning the removal men will come & take my faithful friend away to a new life with Owen & Liz Smith & their kids, and I am glad to pass it on to such a lovely family, and to people who will take enormous pleasure from my old piano.

I learned to play on this. My old Gran bought it. I learned to hear chords and to play scales, I learned Bach and jazz on these keys. I worked out my first choir arrangements, first orchestral parts, first band parts sitting here.

I've written more songs at this piano than I can (or should) remember. I've poured out my heart, and laughed, and worshipped and simply had fun.

I thought it was going on Friday; I sat and played the songs I played when I was 16. The first songs I wrote. The songs I learned for school CU. The first hymn I played in school assembly (I'd been playing about three months when I volunteered to do that...) and which I learned so well I can still mostly remember it now, a million years later.

But the removal men had made a mistake, so I've had an extra weekend with my piano, and instead of leaving with old songs, I sat and wrote something new. Much more fitting. This was what I did here. I sat and wrote. Imagined. Felt. Sang my heart.

Thank you Jesus for such a gift.

And whilst I'm at the goodbyes - the drama group that has emerged from our work with older people at church put on a Variety Show on Saturday afternoon. I added a little piece of my own to surprise them - a Victoria Wood-esque number about theatre etiquette. And at the end they surprised me, with a bit of communal singing to express their feelings towards me as I prepared to leave. And of all the things I am doing right now (so many for the last time - last wedding, last Cafe Church) this one suddenly, surprisingly caught me and in its simple direct emotion brought a tear to me eye. Goodness. Enjoy.

a constant topic of conversation in 1973

2011-06-12T21:14:00.002+01:00

I have started throwing out a bin bag of rubbish every day in preparation for my upcoming move to Leeds. It is surprisingly easy. Or, it was till today.

Today I opened a cupboard, & to my surprise found a bag of stuff I didn't know I had, a bag of distraction. Old school reports. My Oxford Entrance Exam papers. The programme for the Verdi Requiem my school choir put on in April 1979 - the very first thing I ever sang in a choir.

And, gloriously, a note to parents from my junior school headmaster. I record it in full in the hope that some headmaster out there might take heart and still be writing such pieces today.

Dear Parents,

At the beginning of each school year I send out a letter to all parents of first year children. Included in the letter are two paragraphs relating to Personal Appearance from which I quote:-

'In winter girls may wear trousers when travelling to and from school and at playtimes, but we like them to change into skirts or dresses during school hours. Boys may wear long trousers of a sober colour, although in summer short trousers are much to be preferred. Denim jeans are not allowed.'

These rules are of long standing and are responsible for the reputation the school has always had, i.e., of having clean, tidy, well turned-out children.

A constant topic of conversation in 1973 is of the lowering of standards of every facet of life one cares to think of, and it would be only too easy to let our standard of school dress slip.

Recently I have had brought to my attention several breaches of our rules on dress. I will be pleased if parents will take steps to see that the rules are complied with.

Yours sincerely, J Paris, Headmaster.

Notwithstanding the faultless grammar of the letter, please understand that my junior school was in Accrington, Lancashire. It was a common or garden council school. It was not the private establishment that this note would make you believe. I am rather proud to have begun my educational life there, and really quite delighted to discover this note and to find in J Paris, Headmaster a true hero of the anti-Revolution. I say this after taking evening worship wearing my usual jeans, boots & open-necked shirt.

I love - LOVE - the sentence beginning "A constant topic of conversation in 1973..."!

PS - yes, I am the one in the middle of the three amigos enjoying playtime. I'm thinking 1975 or 76. Close enough. I hope you will agree we were clean, tidy, well turned-out children.

beginning to say goodbye

2011-06-07T11:27:00.001+01:00

So I had my final gig with the great Byron Jones Big Band, and it was a blast.

It would be easy simply to say lots of nice things about Byron & his band - and they would all be true. It has been a real joy to know these guys and to get to sing with them has been a genuine privilege. But don't tell them. A big band singer has to be able to walk into the room & show no fear or the game's up... If you can't go in there with the attitude "you guys are lucky to have me here", you can't do this job!

Ah yes, Mack the Knife. Filmed on my iPhone from the back of the hall by Malcolm, who has been impresario for these Newport gigs - and another good friend. Tell you what, I'm in a generous mood - here's another video of me in silhouette in front of Byron's band. Who Can I Turn To.

And then on Saturday it was the turn of the Outdoors Fitness leaving party for me.

Twenty-something guys met at the Bunch for a meal, and then we went on to Clwb y Bont for drinks, and more joined us there.

In all honesty, I just felt a bit overwhelmed.

I have loved being part of this group. Loved it. I've never been this fit in my life! And I've loved being a part of the group. To be so blessed by their generosity and kindness & to have a leaving do like this - it made me rather emotional. I'm just one of the group. And one or two of them said such nice things to me, things I'd love to record here so I don't forget them, but which actually I am going to keep simply in my rather leaky memory.

And it is beginning to seep in that this time is coming to an end. I am beginning to say goodbye. But goodbye is inadequate; when you are me, most of the time you spend your time being blessed by all kinds of people around you, and so "thank you" is far closer to what I mean than "goodbye".

And realising how much you have to be grateful for is - well, overwhelming.

for the love of the game

2011-06-02T10:25:00.001+01:00

Football - or at least FIFA, its ruling body - is in chaos. Sepp Blatter, newly re-elected president, refuses to see the crisis. ("Crisis, what is a crisis?" was his quote. Sepp, this is. When you are the reform candidate, this is a crisis.

World leaders from Kim Jong Il to - well, Kim Jong Il, have been congratulating Sepp on the manner of his re-election. Unopposed. Just the way it should be in a democratic institution. Gordon Brown was green with envy. One man one vote, that's FIFA. Shame the one man is Sepp Blatter.

The English FA tried to put it off... but they are hardly the whiter-than-whites here. Still, it was good of Julio Grondona, FIFA's senior Vice-President from Argentina, to make it clear that there was absolutely nothing wrong or corrupt about the voting procedure for this election, or for the selection of the host country in the 2018 & 2022 World Cup bids.

"With the English World Cup bid I said: 'Let us be brief. If you give back the Falkland Islands, which belong to us, you will get my vote'. They then became sad and left.''

Good to know it was all done on footballing matters. Goodness knows what he would've said if he had admitted they had actually let politics into the process. "Yes, I said we had a price - the Falklands, but it was too expensive. Maybe next time?" No hang on, I think he actually did say that. Proudly.

Still, the reforming Mr Blatter will sort that out.

Not.

The beautiful game. Russian oligarchs & Arab billionaires running clubs obsessed with vain playboy moneygrabbing oiks. Thank God we have Sepp Blatter. It could be worse.

FAQ for the Church in Wales in case of rapture

2011-05-20T21:52:00.000+01:00

The Church in Wales bench of bishops has issued a helpful series of questions and answers for worried parishioners in the face of alarmist reports of the impending Rapture this weekend. I re-print them below, without permission.

1. If the rapture happens on Saturday, should I still go to church on Sunday?
Yes. This is the Anglican church. Hitler couldn't stop us, and neither will the Almighty.

2. If the Vicar is taken, who will lead the service?
It is statistically unlikely that your vicar will be amongst the elect. If, however, s/he is taken and you are left behind, your curate will be an adequate replacement. Parishes without a curate will find that lay readers are trained for eventualities such as these. The staff at the Diocesan Offices will be on duty and happy to help; all six Diocesan Bishops expect to be in parishes this Sunday.

3. How long will parishes be expected to continue without a Vicar after the Rapture?
Indefinitely. Replacements will be found where possible; a Ministry Sunday is planned for June 5th just in case, to encourage new vocations. This will take time to come to fruition as new ordinands are trained. But many parishes already exist without sufficient clergy coverage, and have found the experience surprisingly liberating.

3. If the Vicar is not taken, is he still worthy to preach and celebrate the Holy Eucharist?
Absolutely. Article twenty-six of the Thirty Nine Articles has long established the low expectation for Anglican ministers when it comes to holy living or the quality of preaching. Why should anything be different this weekend?

4. Are there appropriate texts that should be substituted for the lectionary readings?
Absolutely not. The Revised Common Lectionary for Easter 5 is to be kept by all parishes. It may, however, be pastorally sensitive for preachers not to emphasise John 14.3, "I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am," or Acts 7.56, "I see heaven open". Particularly after the Lord has not taken your congregation to be with him and heaven has shut again.

5. If most congregations are taken but clergy are left behind, will the services continue as usual?
Inevitably. Many clergy & all Diocesan Offices will only notice the difference when notified of the collection figures. It is just possible that some places will record record sermon lengths this weekend if, against expectations, clergy are left behind but some church wardens are taken leaving any remaining congregations defenceless against excess.

This is a discussion paper for the Bench of Bishops, not to be circulated to parishes

fleeting thoughts

2011-05-09T16:39:00.001+01:00

I've said it before, that holidays tend to be times when all sorts of things seem to find themselves pulled into perspective. Maybe it's the time out we take that allows the louder noises to be hushed and the more important voices to be more clearly heard.

Maybe the Lord simply uses these days to walk with me, to open my heart and my eyes and my ears.

But instead of being pulled along pell-mell by the rushing whims of life, I get the chance to stop. To think. To pray and to (just occasionally) listen to the odd answer or two.

Now this has been an unusual holiday. There were the traditional moments - Chris took Ben & I to Universal for a day, for which I was very, very grateful. We had a blast. Ben made me ride on every vomit-inducing ride known to humankind, and I pretty much made it through in one piece. I even enjoyed moments of the experience.

(And the gift shops are hilarious - of course, people here have Hispanic names, but if you don't remember that for a moment, shot glasses are an unusual gift when they come with the name "Jesus" on them...)

Talking of usual thing I do here on holiday... Shopping. Not so much this year. But here's a picture of Jazz the German Shepherd getting ready to help me. He is adorable. Still a pup, enormous, delighting in playing with every squeaky toy he can find, he snuggles up alongside you on the bed and barks in your ear if you won't join in his games. And he loves swimming in the pool. Though the strict dog owner in me rather recoils at Gill's habit of feeding him jelly beans and ice cream...

Gill. Of course. It's barely a month since she had the operation to remove the breast cancer. When I got here she was had only just had her first chemo. That first week was rough for her. My sister is a strong, feisty lady, and seeing her suffer was not nice. Worse for her. I am glad I have been here to get some groceries, go to the pharmacy, chauffeur her around, take her to the hospital and just feel a little helpful.

And she has been amazing. Sure, she's had a couple of dips. But when you are going at something as full on as she is (she went to work between the op & the chemo; she's back at work again, with hardly a break now) there are going to be dips.

Everyone here is wearing "Team Gill" wristbands. When she had her hair shaved off (she didn't want it just to fall out) around ten of her work colleagues had theirs shaved in solidarity. Even Ben had his beloved locks cut short! (See, they all want to look like me...) And both Gill & Ben look amazing.

She wrote on her Facebook: "If He brings you to it, He brings you through it." She's having the full show. Pretty much the full range of side effects. But the Lord is bringing her through it. One down, seven to go.

I went to church this morning with Scarlette, Chuck, Sydney & Trey. They are a wonderful family, and Scarlette is a good friend to Gill. Church & I had a beer & a chat earlier in the week, and it's his bike I've been riding for those of you who have been following on Facebook. The sermon was excellent - on letting go of people that damage us, moments & relationships that hurt. "Hurt people hurt people" was a good aphorism, not in a way that we should drop such people, but in the way that recognises our own hurts, and takes us from there so that we should seek to become healed people because healed people heal people. The preacher's points were that we should hand to God our grudges, our griefs and our guilt in the relationships that have broken us. I thought he made some very good points along the way, and there was a genuine sense of those present being touched by God through his words.

I found it personally touching, not so much because of the particular subject, but because I guess of the stage I am at in preparing to leave Pontypridd and also in being here with Gill, I'd had quite a moving dream last night. I guess I'm going through a grieving process in leaving Ponty, and though all is going well with Gill it has been very emotional for all of us. So without boring you with all the details, there came a point in that dream when I found myself weeping profusely, and I was aware that it was due to the grief at all I was facing. And then in church, it was as if the preacher was taking me on from that place. Grief is good; but there is a time to leave it with God - blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. You can't live for today if you are consumed by the past. And as important as Friday is, we are Sunday people - we could not be who we are without the cross, but we live a resurrection life.

And I too felt the presence of God in the gymnasium in the High School where the church was meeting. Laying down some of the things that bring us sadness is not to forget or to belittle what has gone before; but it is to trust God and to let go of the things that we now cannot change so that we may live more fully today, in the day and amongst the people we still may affect for good. Love is present tense, a risen reality, not to be kept locked away in a tomb and to keep us there with it. We give our griefs to Jesus; he gives us his peace, and his joy. Behold, he does something new.

So it's time to get ready to come home. Time for something new. Time to live again after the restorative interval of a break away. Time out over; time to fly.

voting preference

2011-05-04T14:56:00.001+01:00

So are you ready to vote in the most bizarre referendum known to mankind?

For readers outside the UK, I should explain. As a result of last year's general election, the junior coalition partner, the Liberal Democrats, insisted on a referendum on electoral reform as a part of the deal that took them into government. It's been a mainstay of their political mantra for a generation.

However... In all honesty, I would have to say that I am rarely stopped in the street by people desperate to reform the way we elect our MPs. Of all the issues facing us as a nation, this is hardly at the top of most people's agendas - outside the political classes. Even inside the political classes, really. Still, here we are. And rather than facing a referendum on an issue that has vast popular opinion driving it, we are facing a referendum on a politically driven matter.

So what to do? Vote, of course. Yes, but how?

Andrew Goddard has a Fulcrum article on the issue. He argues for a Yes to reform vote - yes to AV, the alternative vote, the change. Andrew & I were at university together - actually, we were on the CU committee at the same time. He's very bright, and often the thinking person's conservative (theologically speaking). I found his piece a little... presumptuous, I am afraid, and took the opportunity to write a few comments on the forum page attached to the article.

Don't take my piece there by itself as meaning I think you should vote No. It means you should think and question and not accept lazy propaganda. This is democracy we are talking about, and democracy is to be protected at all costs. AV as a system is used in Australia (where voting is compulsory), Fiji & Papua New Guinea. Nowhere else. That's not the greatest recommendation for a system that will be used in the Mother of Parliaments. The Australians are looking at changing it.

If I have a serious question about AV, it is this, and so far no-one has answered this for me satisfactorily: under our current system everybody has one vote. Everybody is equal. Everybody, everywhere. With AV, you may vote as many times as you like placing the candidates in order of preference - 1,2,3,4,5 and so on for as many candidates as there are in your constituency. So a constituency has 5 candidates: you have 5 votes. Or it has 12 candidates: you have 12 votes. Or it has 3: you have 3 votes. But you don't have to use all of them - you could just vote 1,2 and leave it there. The politically savvy will work out whether voting on down the list will advantage their candidate; others will not know if this works or not. People will have different numbers of votes, and some will be disadvantaged by this system. We will not all be the same any more. We will no longer be equal at the ballot box.

I am not answered here by references to choice: choice is about taking responsibility, and voting for everyone is not taking responsibility. I have stood in a voting booth and stood and stood as I weighed my choice, a choice I have already weighed for weeks and then have had to seriously make in that moment. That is choice. One vote that counts. The same as the next person's.

Democracy is about everyone having an equal say; until I am convinced a replacement system takes seriously the right of everyone to be treated equally, and does not exist principally for the benefit of the politically adept, I am not sure I can wholeheartedly support it.

BUT - more than that: I do ask that everyone who may vote tomorrow does so. Yes or No; think about it, pray about it, read about it, consider the arguments before you and make up your own minds. It may be an esoteric referendum. but when we have the chance to participate in the democratic process, we should. It's one of the ways we get to change the world.

appropriate response

2011-05-02T22:49:00.001+01:00

I was going to write a piece about my trip yesterday to Universal Studios with good friend Chris Berryman and my nephew Ben. We had a ball. For those of you who are Facebook friends with me, there are pictures; I may yet post some here.

But as I was fiddling with those photos, President Obama rather conclusively concluded his current feud with Donald Trump by taking the Celebrity Apprentice off US TV just before The Donald announced which of the losing girls' team he was going to fire - and instead we had the announcement from Mr Obama at the White House that Osama Bin Laden had been killed.

(NBC never did return us to Nene, Star & Hope; one of them has been fired, but it all seems a bit trivial now.)

I thought the President's speech thoughtful and respectful. It is a difficult moment to manage: an enemy has been killed, but it is not the moment for gloating or cheap histrionics. He was dutiful, careful, forceful and walked the tight-rope of diplomacy well. The home audience heard the news they longed for; the world heard a statesman.

The subsequent response from many has been varied, and there is a live question as to what exactly the Christian response ought to be to this news. I wouldn't claim to be able to answer that in full, but I would like to make a couple of observations if I may.

First: Jesus is clear - the Christian individual and community is called to love our enemies and to bless those who persecute us. We are instructed repeatedly to forgive those who wrong us, no matter what the wrong that has been done. People are people are people. God sent his Son to die because he loves all people, and to give all people the opportunity to be a part of those who live in that love.

Christians who crow too much about the death of anyone are forgetting important principles - not least that the God who loves them loves the person who has died too. Yes, even Osama Bin Laden. And parties and flag waving on such occasions look very like the parties and flag waving in other places on other occasions that made Western hearts so angry. Who are we to become those we despised?

Human beings, that's who. And being such, a little humility added to our memory and a little grace to the way we remember might go a long way.

But second: I am no lily-livered-liberal. This is not the calling of Christians. The Bible makes it clear that the State has a role to protect the weak and the disadvantaged and to look after its people. There are times when it will execute justice and that justice will be difficult and yet must be done. Revenge for the sake of revenge is unacceptable - Ghandi and his blind world comes to mind - but the performance of justice in order to preserve order and to protect the innocent and the vulnerable, that is the very nature of the state. Psalm 72 even celebrates it as the nature of God's King and God's kingdom.

However, I raise that last point as a warning, and again as a plea for carefulness. Everyone thinks they are either on God's side or that, God not mattering, they are simply in the right. Joshua, on the eve of destroying Jericho, is confronted by the Captain of the Lord's Army; Joshua asks is he for them or against them? The imposing warrior replies - Neither; the real question is the reverse: is Joshua on his side?

We make sides, take sides, create enemies and dig ourselves in. There will always be another Bin Laden. As long as people are people, it seems, it is how we work - are you for us or against us? "But we are in the right!" cry both sides, simultaneously, in virtually every dispute since the dawn of time. Don't get me wrong - the last thing I am being is an apologist for terrorists, I am simply pointing out the complicated nature of responding to victory.

Just after 9/11 I was in Italy on holiday. The only English language church service I could find in the small village where I was staying was (inevitably) a Catholic mass. I went (of course) and worshipped with everyone else - mostly Americans. I listened to them speak of the recent atrocity in New York, of how terrorism had suddenly begun and taken hold in the West, and I had the strongest and strangest reaction. I began to be very, very angry - with the Americans. And I knew I had to deal with it - the peace was coming up in the service, where I would have to shake hands with these people for whom I was genuinely feeling deep, deep loathing.

Why the reaction?

Because terrorism wasn't just beginning. It hadn't just taken hold in the West. Ask anyone in my country. These self-same American Catholics - and yes, for all I knew these very same people - had been funding terrorism in my country for years through their NorAid benefits. My home city of Manchester had had its heart ripped out not five years previously by an IRA bomb funded by American Catholic money. And now they were crying about terrorism arriving in the West? They were its sponsors!

And though it still sometimes takes me time to forgive these people, yet I know this is what we are called to do. Forgiveness is godly. Anger is not. We are followers of Jesus. To be a worshipper is to love what Jesus loves and to live it out. There in that Italian church I had to make that decision to be a worshipper - to love the people he loved and to live it out by exchanging the peace with them. It was damned hard. It almost broke me. It was gloriously life-giving. They had no idea what I was going through.

Osama Bin Laden had family and friends. Whatever he felt about them and did to them, whatever they feel about him, we as Christians are not to rejoice in his death or the manner of it, but to respect those who mourn on all sides. So much hurt. So much suffering. His death is a profound moment. A truly historical moment.

And I understand especially why members of our armed forces, serving and retired, and those who belong to the forces of our allies, have been so emotional about this moment: this man has been the focal point of their military combat for a decade.

But though as a Christian it is not my role to be a bleeding heart Liberal, it is my role to remind gently that we have a conscience, a better heart, a belief system that must not be overlooked at the moment when seminal battles are fought in the wars of this life. Our enemies are not flesh and blood but the ideologies of hate and disrespect and oppression that came from and within groups of people. We fight these. We oppose these. We fight to release those held captive by these and to ensure that we may live unencumbered by the miseries of slavery they bring, be they mental, physical, psychological or otherwise. In our victories we do not dance on graves, for other people yet mourn and we must remember what that feels like and feel for them - by doing this we proclaim who we are and why we do what we do: we are human beings, believing in the freedom and equality under God of all our fellow human beings.

To love our enemies means that Christians remember people are people. Today, this matters.

To love our neighbour means that we remember why we struggle on, and the love that carries us will not die.

royal service will be resumed as soon as possible

2011-04-29T18:11:00.003+01:00

I may be on another, more colonial continent, but thanks to BBC America (or actually any broadcaster - it was ubiquitous) I was able to follow the wedding of the year. (Second only to @6Eight's wedding, obviously.)

It was a good wedding for Parry. Seldom has his music been so celebrated outside a festival of Parry. I Was Glad is glorious - Blest Pair of Sirens less so, and some of the other bits really forgettable. Jerusalem scored a big hit: lovely arrangement with sublime violin writing.

It was also a good wedding for Twitter & FaceBook. Thanks to all those who made the experience so enjoyable by joining in the fun. I will refer to many of you...

I have to say - if any of you are about to get married at St Catherine's, don't get any ideas. No, you may not have I Was Glad (our aisle is far too small), no you may not plant trees inside the church, no you may not invite the Queen, no you may not have fanfares of trumpets, no you may not use the 1928 rite, no, the Chancellor of the Exchequer will not be available to sing in your choir. Yes, you may have Bread of Heaven - you usually do; yes, you may have a mini-me as your chief bridesmaid, but at your own expense (don't come crying to me if your sister in fact looks as much like you as William's best man looked like him); yes, please invite lots of men in uniforms - I always think it adds something (James Stewart behave yourself now). (I include a photo of two random blokes in uniform.) Richard helpfully pointed out that the bridal party formed a 2-2-3-2 formation; Stuart commented that when Fabio doesn't sing the national anthem he gets pilloried, but somehow the Queen just gets away with it.

There were other unanswered questions. Why was there a nun sitting next to William? (No - not the pretty girl in white, the rather plain one in grey.) Joyce suggested she was his friend. What, his only friend? Mark added a definition: Nun, adj., The number of boys who wanted to date her at school. Maybe so, but she got to sit next to the future King at his wedding.

During the signing of the register we had the aforementioned Blest Pair. If you will choose Parry, you will only get one song during the signing, and I don't care how long you take. Should have gone for Love Changes Everything. Elaine wanted Michael Ball singing that. James preferred a little-known (but much loved) version, Fish Changes Everything. Now that would have been a signing of the register piece to remember.

During the balcony scene, there was a surreal moment as Prince Charles seemed to announce his come-back tour and single with a Michael Jackson moment as he threatened to throw one of the flower girls over the edge in front of millions. The Queen evidently had already heard the song and hurried inside. Gemma was worried about what happened to the child. But the kid was only 32nd in line to the throne, so it didn't really matter.
This information came from (or should have come from) Sir Malcolm Toffee-Knowes (OK - it was Ross, but, come on, did you hear him?), former Comptroller of the Royal Household.

Former Comptoller. Just the title makes you proud to be British.

As did so much of the non-Parry music. Yes - some was allowed to creep in. A beautiful Ubi Caritas by Mealor, and a new piece by Rutter which seemed to be a medley of everything he's ever written. The Rutter divided people. James: "It's gone all Disney. Ugh." Nicky: "Love the new Rutter anthem". Gill & I were with James. I think it was for the American market. Watch for it in the next cartoon. And then there was Crown Imperial as the exit march. Fantastic. (Yes, St Catherine's couples, you may request this.) Actually, that made it quite a lot of Coronation music at this wedding, didn't it?

The first line of the sermon was excellent - "Be what you are meant to be & you will set the world on fire" - but then it went off a bit. Thanks to Mark for his compliment about my preaching at this point. Actually, I can never hear anything about Catherine of Sienna without mentally seeing her church in Sienna & picturing her shrunken head which is on display there. To quote James: Ugh.

I do like the Royal Family. I am not an ardent Royalist. I was not fired up to gawp at the events of the day - but I did enjoy everything. I do like a good wedding - I do get to take a lot of them. This was a good wedding, and I enjoyed it with friends all over the place. Thanks for your company, and thanks to the BBC for having cameras everywhere. I mean, everywhere...

Marriage is a wonderful thing. Because love is a gift from God, and to celebrate that gift in the life of a nation and a world is to celebrate something godly. People deserve to find someone they may love and by whom they may be loved. I wish William and Kate every happiness. I wish them more than they may hope for. I wish them God's love in all its fulness, surrounding and filling and overflowing their lives. Which blessing I pray for every couple beginning their marriage. And I pray for them friends and family who will have as much fun with such an occasion as my friends and I had today too.

easter

2011-04-25T23:34:00.001+01:00

The thing about this stage of the moving on process is that inevitably it is filled with looking backwards. Inevitably and rightly. I have been a part of a community I have loved for eleven years, and there are so many people, so many relationships involved that the cherishing of what we have and have had is indeed rich in these days.

That this part of the process has been coupled over the weekend with Easter has made it, for me, especially poignant. For this is a time of new hope, new beginnings, new life. An end to the old, a fresh start. A death, a resurrection. And resurrection is glorious.

Mind you, I have allowed myself the odd comedy moment. Before Friday's Walk of Witness through Pontypridd, a lady from another church congratulated me on my move. "It's good to have an evangelical going to a university," she said; "People get taught all sorts of things & you'll be able to put them right." Such confidence in me! And after all, the evangelical perspective on fundraising is underemphasised... Forgive me, I didn't take the opportunity to correct her understanding of what I will be doing. I simply thanked her.

The Walk was lovely - two Indian students led the way, carrying the cross slowly so that we all kept together, and I spoke in the Market Square on the God who understands, who knows what suffering is and stays with us through it to show that pain, fear, death (even) are not the final truths of this world - but his love, his life, these things are stronger, truer, deeper.

I ran up from the Square to begin our afternoon service (made it with five minutes to spare) and then led everyone through thoughts around the cross. I love the way Jesus says to the chief priests and co in the first trial scene that all of them will see him at the right hand of the Mighty One. Is this a promise of salvation or judgement? Or a mix? I like to think he is offering the former, and that these guys baying for his blood will receive the blessing of the same. Jesus speaks a blessing to those who curse. They aren't bad people - they go to Temple every day, and it's really hard to be really bad and go to temple every day. They are just people. And he loves people; so much he dies for them; for us.

On Saturday I joined my Outdoor Fitness mates for an hour in the park (in baking sunshine) before joining the Coffee Morning & Kid's Craft Day at church. Both of those events combined for a puppet show... and the Easter Bunny's theological grasp of the season was so impressive, I booked him to start our main Easter Celebration Service the day after.

There have been two Easter Eves when I have failed to read St Mark's Gospel to an assembled crowd since arriving in Pontypridd. One year I had a terrible throat and could hardly speak (please refrain from commenting), and last year I simply wasn't well. So it was good to keep the tradition on my last Easter Eve. And to enjoy it so much. It only takes an hour and a half, and it's great story telling (once you forget to do it in a 'religious' voice). You can make some fantastic links by getting it all in one go.

And then there was Sunday.

After Friday, I felt emotional. My last Good Friday here. My last preaching through this story on this day in this place. By Sunday I was slightly exhausted. I started the day with a tear and an old sermon. The tear came from a lovely person who hadn't been in church the previous week to hear I was leaving; a person who genuinely surprised me with the extent of their emotional response. Surprised, and deeply touched me. The old sermon was something I preached at Easter may be three years ago. As I preached it, I disliked it. So I went off piste towards the end, which improved it no end. But I then had two more morning services to go, so I threw away my notes & decided to busk it.

If I can't preach Easter by now, I really never will be able to.

The 9.30 service was a vast improvement, though I wasn't entirely happy. The 11am had it fine. A stroll through the resurrection as the tipping of the ages, with John 20.1-18 as the point at which everything changes. We find ourselves in a garden, where once everything had gone wrong, and now everything is well, where once a woman had been deceived and caused to break relationship with God, but now is restored and worships anew the present Lord, walking in the early cool of the day. Obedience follows. Second chances are the order of the day. Mistakes, sin, pain, death - these thing no longer rule and have the final say. Forgiveness, love, joy and life are God's ultimate truths. All we have to do is take the outstretched hand before us -

Funny. As I preached I was reminded of a situation where mistakes and sin and pain have taken their toll. During the day I had the chance to speak to the people involved in that particular, well, mess. And on the day where we find hope reborn and Jesus walking amongst us with the power to change the world, we were able to share a little peace and I hope find something new in the air. The best sermons are the ones which change lives, by process or by crisis, and even if the life changed turns out to be your own.

I handed out the eggs afterwards, as I always do. Another of my traditions. Over a hundred given away this Easter. And then drove away, packed and ready for sunnier climes. Next year will be different. But so was last year. Isn't that the point? If we are following Jesus, holding his hand, living the life he gives us, then there should be from time to time an end to the old, a fresh start. A death, a resurrection. And resurrection is glorious.

emotional

2011-04-19T00:30:00.001+01:00

I'd love to write an emotional piece about my feelings on preparing to leave St Catherine's and moving away from being a full time vicar.

I'd love to do this, but you know - I'm just not the most emotionally demonstrative bloke on the block. I did write a piece, but then deleted it. It kind of said stuff that was kind of true, but it wasn't true to who I am in that - I just wouldn't really say that sort of stuff.

Suffice it to say: being part of a Christian community is about loving & being loved. We do this in our own idiosyncratic ways, and that's part of the joy of it. Please don't go around hugging me, I won't terribly enjoy the experience, and please forgive me for not being effusive with the physical contact I proffer - but that doesn't mean my love isn't real and that I don't value the love I have received.

Words spoken over these days have touched me deeply. But more so has just seeing everyone. I know your stories. Yours & mine; they got locked together somehow, didn't they?

In the photo the then Bishop of Monmouth playfully resists handing over his license to the newly ordained priest (ah, for the days when I had hair); there are hearts and lives and futures written on that license, and mine intertwined with them all. It is a heart-breaking and life-giving slip of paper. It is a privilege, not a right. In retrospect, it was not merely the bishop's hands that presented it to me. And so I find that it is now who I am, regardless of what my job title is or where I might live.

Hmm. So I spent a Sunday suddenly looking backwards and feeling the pinch. But life throws you forwards, and as I turn my gaze that way a whole different range of anticipations come right at me...

proud

2011-04-16T09:46:00.000+01:00

So it's been a bit of a time in our family. In addition to my decision, my sister has been fighting breast cancer. I am so proud of her and the way she is doing this.

Yesterday she began posting on FaceBook about her experiences. If you are a "friend" of hers on FB, go look there. But for those who are not, I simply copy her first post here today. With love & prayers along the way.

About 3 weeks ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer, those of you who know me well know what an inconvenience this has been to me as I am truly way too busy! 10 days ago I had a bilateral mastectomy performed by an awesome surgeon with a first class team. Many of my closest friends have been towers of strength and support (my brother Marcus, Scarlette, Sandy, Ronda, Laura and Donna especially) and the amount of well wishes, prayers, gifts, food and flowers has been overwhelming, 'Thank you' doesn't seem enough to say to you all, I am more than blessed to have you all in my life. The second part of my journey starts on Thursday with the 'chemo', whoo hoo can hardly wait! Apparently I'll be rocking the Sinead O'Conner look for a few months (my younger friends are now totally lost lol).

Although posting my journey on Facebook seems a little OTT it's just easier than calling everyone on 3 continents. Love to all my family and friends, remember only positive people on Team Gill!

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference. ~Winston Churchill

all good things

2011-04-13T22:13:00.000+01:00

I have been gifted with eleven wonderful years here at St Catherine's, and it is with a mixture of sadness and excitement that I come to the end of this time.

Sadness - because this is my home. This church, my family. This past decade has been wonderful, and I have loved being vicar here beyond the power of words to convey. It has been the most enormous privilege to lead this congregation through all kinds of adventures of faith: renewals of buildings and people and worship and hope. We have seen the Lord's great kindness, felt his love, and been able to share these precious, precious things throughout our community as we have built up our life together.

But also I am excited. Excited for St Catherine's. I came here because I felt called to be a part of what the Lord is doing, and although my part is done, what God is doing is far from over. What lies ahead is tremendous - and I am excited to see whom the Lord will bring to lead the church on into the next phase of its life.

And I am excited for myself. Trish reminded us at the start of the year that following Jesus is a gift, and right now I feel that keenly. I am not going to another parish but to something totally different. I will be working at Leeds University as part of a team working on a campaign there, and I will have a part to play in co-ordinating some of that work. This will be very different for me, and stepping out into new things is always a risk, but sometimes that's at the heart of faith. Being prepared for the unexpected. I will live on the other side of the pew - being a member of a church, becoming an NSM in that diocese, but my work will be focussed in a whole other place for the next period, and I am excited about this new stage in my life.

I have been aware for some months that it is time for me to finish here, and for someone else to come and lead St Catherine's onwards; a very few people have shared this with me, and I am grateful for their kind support. It has taken a while to work out what exactly should be next for me, and I am delighted to be joining the team at Leeds.

This won't happen overnight. I am looking to finish here in mid-July before moving north and beginning at the University at the start of August. So there's plenty of time to do many things yet; and may I say to everyone who has been a part of my life at St Catherine's - thank you for allowing me these eleven years. I would not have swapped them for anything. The Lord bless you mightily as you walk forwards with him in the days & years ahead - I may be going, but I shall continue to pray & to watch with wonder at all he will do in your midst.

a little driving music

2011-03-22T14:58:00.000Z

I've been on an iTunes drive. My PC has died, and now my laptop is ill, so a new computer is in the offing - and in the meantime, I've been letting my iPhone take the strain. As it won't actually sync with this laptop, I've had to buy some new music. Hence, iTunes...

OK. I'll start with the worship stuff. Then some jazz. And finally a classical blitz.
A couple of years back I bought (and genuinely loved) Chris Tomlin's Hello Love. I still listen to this a lot, and it's now available here with JD Walt's My Beloved as a bonus track - a song we use a lot. Beautiful. The whole album is just great. So I bought the follow-up, And If Our God Is For Us with high hopes. Always a mistake. Some of it sounds good, but pretty much all of it sounds bland. I mean, the title track is monumental in a monumental kind of way - but can I remember a single tune? When I listen to it, do I think, "We must sing this at church?" No and no. With the previous album, I not only thought "Yes!" but we actually do sing the songs.

Still full of hope, I followed up this purchase with Here For You from the Passion movement in the States - think Soul Survivor with accents - as I'd seen that early sales had sent it to no.11 in the Billboard charts, so it must be good, right? Chris Tomlin headlines, but there are lots of other guys in the mix.
Well, it's more varied than AIOGIFU, (not a tough ask), but again I was disappointed. I remember buying the Passion album with How Great is Our God on it & thinking, "Wow! So 'live' worship albums can sound really good!" This sounds really...the same. I guess I will listen when I need background worshippy type stuff. Maybe you had to be there. Maybe I'm just too old.
And then along comes a contemporary worship album that tells me I'm not too old for something if it's good. Lovely lovely Tim Hughes. Love Shine Through is not consistant. It isn't brilliant from start to finish. But it's title track does show Chris Tomlin just how to sound monumental and memorable all at the same time. And it's opener Counting on Your Name (you get it several times on the Deluxe version) has a typically strong hook on an album that is all about the hook (and I'm tempted simply to list nearly every chorus). Though for me it's the softer tracks that catch me - often the way with Tim's writing. Keep the Faith is a gem. The gentler version of At Your Name is beautiful - though both versions raise a pet peeve of mine. Please, Yahweh is not God's name and there's no reason to spoil a wonderful song with such awful cod-theology. Yahweh is an anglicisation of an unpronouncable word too holy to say or sing. If you want a name for God, try Jesus - there is no other name given to us. Yahweh is theological balderdash. And though I will use this song, sorry Tim - it will need a re-write just here.

Apologies. I'll get off my high horse. Because this is a great worship album, and you should have a copy. Now.

Another record on my iPod comes from 1953. I had bought a brand new big band recording, The Syd Lawrence Orchestra's Night at the Movies. Hmm. It sounds great on some equipment and OK on others, which happens, and at times I want to turn the vibrato on the trumpets off and then add a little to the trombones, and just occasionally I wish they'd splashed out on a real male singer... I love these guys. They are a great touring band. and the best of this album (for me Marcel McTattie LeCoq) swings magnificently - and yet I kind of come away wanting, you know, a bit more?
Which is what I got from my 1953 album. A 'live' recording of Ted Heath & His Music At the London Palladium in the days when Decca knew how to record a big band. Who cares it's in mono? It is amazingly recorded. The band is phenomenal. Each soloist superb. Ronnie Verrell on drums a powerhouse. A mix of swing, be-bop, ballads and all-round big band jazz pleasure, this is how to do it. The Champ & The Hawk Talks stand out for me - but then so does every track. At around £4 as an introduction to British Big Band music - buy it. It's not the easiest listen, but it's great. I actually own the 1953 LP for this, as my dad bought it back in the day, and I snaffled it off him. The download misses out all the crackles but none of the the fizz!

Talking ancient history, the very first classical LP I ever bought was Mozart Symphonies 40 & 41. The very first classical LP I ever bought & enjoyed was Beethoven Piano Concerto no 5. That version, by Robert Casadesus with George Szell & the Cleveland Orchestra is only available on download as part of a huge set - I have it on CD and wasn't about to get all of that for my iPhone. But I read a review in the Telegraph of a new recording by Yevgeny Sudbin with the Minnesota Orchestra, and so acquired that instead. Coupled with the 4th Concerto, it is lively, refreshing, occasionally surprising & though it will never replace Casadesus in my heart, it's a very good version.

Finally (for now - you always think of something else with iTunes - it's a blessing & a curse) I've just bought tickets to go see my favourite opera at Welsh National come the end of May. Turandot. There are many, many recordings of this available, but one stands head and shoulders above the rest. It's forty years old and will probably remain the standard for some time. Shamefully, I bought the highlights not the whole opera, but the highlights disc has the concert ending to Nessun Dorma, which feels great in the car! Joan Sutherland, singing Turandot, a role she never sang on stage, is glorious - powerful, beautiful, glorious. Montserrat Caballe as Liu occasionally sounds a little too like Sutherland, but this is power casting. And then there is the youthful Pavarotti at his very, very best, turning in a sensational Calaf. Zubin Mehta conducts - I saw him once run the pit at Florence, and despite an all-star cast there, it was the orchestra I remember. Occasionally that happens here. The London Philharmonic turn in an astoundingly ravishing performance, again brilliantly recorded by Decca (not just good at big bands).

Hmm. You know, I think I worshipped a lot more to the Puccini than the Tomlin? Sorry. My heart leapt and soared and my face beamed with joy as I drove along. Not that I thought much of Giacomo's stuff would do for the congregation... And maybe I need to put a lock on my iTunes account before I think of something else - oh, hang on...

giving up

2011-03-14T15:09:00.001Z

What are you giving up for Lent? I am afraid I rather detest this question. My favourite answer came on my facebook page when one person simply said "I'm just giving up..."

The idea that life with the God of creation is somehow better understood by eating less chocolate seems to me absurd. There, I've said it. Strike me down. File me with "Rob Bell".

So - do I ignore Lent? Do I think the seasons of the Church's year are no more than a bit of alternative colourwash in the clerical calendar?

Far from it.

I simply want to remember that righteousness is never primarily about the stuff we do, but always at heart about the relationships we embrace. Are we right with God? Right with those around us? This is the heart of righteousness - right relationships. And seldom does the quantity of chocolate consumed materially affect these.

Lent is a "back to basics" season - not for "giving things up" but for "stripping things away" in order to reveal what is really true.

Is my life with God for real or for show? Does my life begin to match my words? Am I still seeking him with all my heart? And yes, it may take some doing to reveal these truths - some peeling back the layers. OK.

Jesus goes into the desert and fasts for 40 days & nights. He is hungry. No wonder - I'm hungry when I've fasted for 40 minutes. And the first question that gets thrown at him is all about righteousness. Relationship. The core of life.

"If you are the Son of God, come on, use a bit of that power for yourself and let's see this stone become bread. Where's the harm? You're worth it."

A different wilderness, a different time. Stones, loneliness, hunger, fear. Voices crying out in doubt and complaint. And God speaks to feed his children. Day by day over decades, though the children waver and wander in their life with God, God never falters and every morning provides manna to sustain the people he loves.

But this man isn't just one of the children. He is the Son. The Royal Son, the King, the one whom the Psalmist says will always use his power to deliver the needy, to protect the weak, to rescue them from violence and oppression. And he knows who he is, and the Father he can trust, and the people he will serve and love.

"Nice try," he replies. "But I've been here, what - nearly two months? Do you know the story of the people who were watched over for nearly two generations? They were tested, humbled - and fed day by day to learn that we don't live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord."

Stripped of family, friends, crowds, support, everything comfortable and familiar, Jesus was who he was. He has no need of that "if". He knows God loves him. He is in the right place with him. And he knows his role is to use his power for others, not himself. He is in the right place with us. There, in the private place, where no-one can see.

Of course, there is one other occasion he gets that "If you are the Son of God" thing thrown at him. Nailed to two planks of wood, with criminals likewise skewered either side of him, a crowd beying for his blood and priests and soldiers taunting him, again a voice calls out - "If you are the Son of God..." and again, it mocks him, pushing him to use that power for his own benefit, "Come down from the cross!"

Lent is a time to strip life back. To find out who we really are. If possible to do it in the private place. Because one day we may be sorely tried in the most public of arenas, and if we haven't learned to be someone who loves God and who loves the people he loves when there is no cost, we won't stand much of a chance passing the test on that far harder day.

So. I'm eating my chocolate. And keeping up with friends on facebook. Tomorrow night I'll be at the pub quiz. And I am also praying that this year I might be a better person than last year, and next year a better person than this - that at my core I might be someone right with God and right with those around me, loving, serving, and learning to be a bit more like Jesus.

The surface is what it is, and I'll enjoy it as much as the next bloke; but strip it away, and who am I at my core? That's the question of Lent.

a secular state?

2011-03-02T11:12:00.001Z

A couple of days ago, the press was filled with stories such as "Foster parent ban: 'No Place' in law for Christianity, court rules" - Daily Telegraph. A couple from Derby had gone to the High Court to seek clarification with Derby Council as to whether they could still be foster parents in the light of different equalities legislation, which preserve rights of religious freedom and sexual orientation.

The organisation which sponsored the couple through the court, the Christian Legal Centre, has a very efficient press arm, and it seems that most of the subsequent reporting came from their press releases. Because that story in the Telegraph bears a great resemblance to the CLC website report, but not to the facts.

Gavin Drake reports an alternative line in his blog; the Church Mouse has some useful information on the actual ruling. It seems, in fact, no ruling was actually made. The judges would not make a decision on a hypothetical issue, would not make a blanket judgement on a very technical and issue-specific question, and were critical of both parties for not even being able to agree on the questions they were raising before them.

That being said, they did say some interesting things about the place of faith in the law. The line that there is no place for faith in the law is inaccurate; they were quite clear - all people are equal and must be seen as such. But they were also clear that no-one has a privileged position because of their faith, no-one can claim superior standing because of their faith. This would be theocracy, and not the kind of state in which we live. Faith (for sure) is protected; but the content of faith (any faith) may indeed be questioned by the law. That is uncomfortable for people in a world where values are set in all kinds of ways - and yet I find this still encouraging, and essentially Christian.

It's a question of priorities. Which is more important here: that all people are made in the image of God, that in Christ there is no male or female, slave or free, that we worship a Lord who eats with sinners and tax collectors to demonstrate that they too are children of Abraham - or that we should have a right to a moral code that effectively makes some people second class? The judges were keen to point out that no-one was being called a bigot, but the CLC are almost pathological in their attempts to make all Christians appear to be such - and as such, are achieving a far less Christian standard for the church in the public eye than the High Court granted a couple of days ago. The content of a faith that goes on making some people second class needs to be challenged. And don't you dare fire off at me with, "But the Bible says..." because if you do, you are saying that the Bible contradicts itself, and that the principles with which I began this paragraph (clear, obvious Biblical principles) are at best secondary to a couple of random verses about a moral issue that has hardly any weight at all in the pages of the Bible. Perhaps rather we need to work a bit harder at understanding those couple of verses, and see better how they fit into the general swathe of God's Word.

And perhaps also the world can do the Church the occasional favour. We are an obtuse and bizarre lot. As I pointed out last time! Loving people, doing good and finding friends everywhere (rather than making random or even rather specific enemies) seems to me quite a good aim for the Church. If the world refuses to allow us the safety of hiding behind the barricades of the past, it might make us better at living out the love of Jesus today. Engaging with his world. His mission. His way. I find in the words of the non-ruling that I have read nothing for any of us to fear, no advance of secularism, but more a reminder that fiddling whilst Rome burns is never attractive.

A secular state? Bring it on; I'm afraid it feels more Christian than the alternative promulgated by those who have taken our Lord's name upon themselves in their press release about this court case.

born again

2011-02-28T21:02:00.000Z

Last night we had a lovely service here at St Catherine's. We worshipped God in song and word and prayer. The format of our evening service is kind of vaguely based around the CofE's Evening Prayer, but I do mean vaguely, with quite a lot of contemporary worship songs and the odd hymn thrown in, and in keeping with the size of the congregation we are usually led by a single guitar or keyboard.

I preached on Revelations 4, and picked a verse in particular that I used to show how God reveals himself as the God who keeps his promises, who honours the humble, who never forgets, and I took stuff from Genesis, Exodus and Isaiah along the way to help us see how the picture was built up. We worshipped Jesus. It was gentle but rather moving.

There was a visitor present. Someone I did not know. I spoke to him afterwards. He came from another church, and having seen us worship together, having prayed with us and dwelt with us in God's presence, and having heard me preach, he asked me:

"Are you born again?"

I kind of wanted to ask where had had been for the last hour and a half. What he had heard. What he had seen. But I was quietened by a gentle voice in my ear, so I simply smiled and said, "Yes". He pressed me - he wanted a testimony, the story of my conversion. I told him of how I was invited to the school CU by a friend, and how that lunchtime changed my life. This satisfied him. I passed the test - I had the right language, I said the right things.

O God, how terrible we are. We all do it. We see others and point the finger, but we all do it. Right now, the blogosphere and twitter are filled with people passing comment on Rob Bell's new book, Love Wins. Is it going to be the best thing ever, or total heresy? Respectable writers have trashed Rob Bell without having read a word of the book. Rob is here in the UK in April, and I hope to hear him speak on the book. I look forwards to reading it, and to his views on what the Bible says about heaven and hell. I have no idea whether I will agree or not! But I look forwards to listening.

Last year, I was told I was to hear one of the top ten preachers in the US, and rolled my eyes. Then I rolled up to chapel at Asbury Seminary with little expectation, and found myself moved and deeply struck by the words of Tom Long. He has recently published a book on funerals. Accompany Them With Singing is simply brilliant. Phenomenally Christian, well written and with a profound sense of resurrection godliness, this is an essential book for anyone who takes funerals. I wish I had had it fifteen years ago.

Why do we judge others so quickly when God has made us all so wonderfully? Just a little time, and a bit more grace... We might discover that the words we use, the code we demand, the lenses through which we delight to see this world are not the only God-given gifts. And don't get uppity with me; if anyone of you for a moment is thinking "but I see the world through Scriptural lenses" the problem is - that man who came to St Catherine's last night does too. But couldn't see Jesus all around him. The Bible is too big for my eyes to see through all of it at once; kindness allows that my neighbour may also have Scripture vision - though from a different page. And rolling with the kindness, well, it may take us places where we end up shaking our heads; or it may bless us beyond.

beautiful

2011-02-21T21:32:00.003Z

It's always a pleasure to renew friendships, even when there has been no time at all lost in the inbetween of life. Matt Truelove is a young guy who was a part of our youth group at St Catherine's, and who has now found more people his own age (and a girlfriend) in another local church so we don't see so much of him here these days. But when I do see him, it's always a pleasure. You may remember that three minute portrait of me - he did that; and he filmed my old Do You Not Know song a couple of months back. Actually, further back, if you are one of the 11,296 (and counting) people who have watched my MGQ boogie-woogie take on Chris Tomilin's Forever, Matt filmed that too.

Which is kind of embarrassing, because frankly, Matt Truelove is one of the best singer songwriters I know. He has a wonderful, yearning voice that has an amazing range, and his songs are simply beautiful.
Click and listen to his song Your Love - it could simply be a love song, or it could be a wonderfully intimate worship piece. I asked him to sing it as the latter at our Carol Service. I'm listening to it again as I type this - just beautiful, and "live" it was even more amazing.

Speaking of beautiful... We had Cafe Church last night, and I talked Matt into coming back to St Catherine's and joining with me for the evening, leading worship alongside me, and singing a few songs solo. I must say it was a real joy to play together - musically & for the spiritual kick of it. there was a genuine sense of understanding in what we were doing, and I took a great deal of pleasure from that. When Matt was a lot younger, I gave him a few pointers in playing for worship; he has learned well, and I know all of us benefitted from his maturity. One of the songs he then chose to sing alone was Phil Wickham's Beautiful. I took out my iPhone and videoed it. Here it is.

Afterwards, a few of us went for a drink, and then Matt & I chatted some more. Friendship renewed and deepened. It was a delight & a privilege having him here, and I look forwards to more of the same down the road. My Sunday was made quite special by the chance to worship alongside someone I have known for ages & whom I have grown to trust and respect.

a thing of wonder

2011-02-12T23:17:00.000Z

So I went to Die Fledermaus at Welsh National Opera tonight. Great. Great orchestra, good singing, fun evening. Soprano didn't have all the high notes. Enjoyed it. Excellent seat. Fig ice cream in the interval.

And I got an email that I think ends a long running saga and will sort out an issue that needs sorting out.

And OF (the training I do in the park) was fantastic all week, with this morning feeling like Spring is on its way. Good bunch of people - I so enjoy being with them.

But that's not the photo. In the Manchester Derby, Wayne Rooney scored a wonder goal. A wonder goal because of its skill. A wonder goal because of its intuitive audacity. A wonder goal because people have been moaning about how he's not the Rooney of old - and that's the way to silence critics. A wonder goal because context is all, and big matches deserve big goals. A wonder goal because it won a good game decisively and defeated a team that had been on the up.

Fast passing movement, a flick out wide, a good pass into the centre, and Rooney launched himself up & over into the kind of bicycle kick that almost never works. But this did.

A night out at the Opera. A problem solved. Sunshine & warmth after the cold & the wet. A wonder goal at Old Trafford. I have a smile on my face & gratitude in my heart. God is good.

give my regards to Mr & Mrs Broadway

2011-02-06T23:02:00.002Z

There are few occasions in life quite so celebratory as the wedding of friends. One of the joys of the job is that I get to stand before them and guide them through these life-changing moments. It's not only the rather inspiring though often sad gate-keeper stuff I do as people prepare to walk from this world to the next, it's the glorious and wonderful joining of two persons into one. A moment beyond comprehension. A change that flies in the face of reason and which stops the world with its beauty.

Yesterday I stood before Mark & Bianca Broadway and took them through these moments. I saw their faces and their hearts, and heard their promises and their desires. I watched their hands and their futures take hold of each other and for a moment was awestruck again at how wonderful a God we have that grants us lives like these.

My 74th wedding at St Catherine's, for the record. It's moments of note were:

1. The fastest ever walk down the aisle by a bride in the history of the world. She was ready. The bridesmaids, well, they caught up eventually.
2. A seriously weepy father of the bride. Seriously.
3. We had Ephesians 5.21-30 as one of the readings! No, seriously! Mark chose it. I pointed this out, and then took the chance to preach on it. I've never preached on this passage before in any context.
4. Lovely jugs of water on the tables at the reception to go with the wine - which turned out not to be water but gin & tonic. Caught many people out. Rather pleasant.
5. They are from the West Country. This meant that at the evening do, the dancing was, well, far more men than women. Not common in these parts, I can tell you. Or perhaps these blokes just enjoyed dancing.
6. Facebook update from someone on my table: "I'm on a table with the vicar. How strange." Then later: "It's OK, we're talking movies."
7. Had a lovely conversation with one of Mark's friends late in the evening. His version, apparently: "Tried to pick an argument with Marcus: he seriously whooped my ****."
8. Actually, I must say, I had a great time with everyone - Karl, Robin, everyone at my table during the afternoon, the very many folk I chatted to during the evening, it was about the friendliest wedding I've been to in ages. Which reflects M&B perfectly.

And it has been my total delight to help out Mark & Bianca as they have worked so hard to prepare for this day. We did everything we could as a church to make it work for them, including putting on the afternoon reception in the church hall. Today, I found them in there clearing it all up, and I drove them around as they had all kinds of things to do & helped move chairs around & sort stuff with them. Mark starts a new job tomorrow, so no honeymoon for them. We will hit the pub quiz later in the week. If we win, he & Bee will take the prize.

Though frankly, on a day that was low on razzamatazz but high on value, they both already clearly have the prize, and prize it highly.

muscular liberalism

2011-02-04T22:14:00.001Z

So David Cameron has come out of the closet. He is a muscular liberal. In a speech this weekend he espouses "muscular liberalism" as the acceptable way forwards for a complex 21st Century British Society. Multiculturalism, with its "you do your thing & I'll do mine" is dead. There are certain things we all have to hold dear.

What are they?

The Telegraph report says the following:

Entering the debate on national identity and religious tolerance, the Prime Minister will declare an end to “passive tolerance” of divided communities, and say that members of all faiths must integrate into wider society and accept core values.
To be British is to believe in freedom of speech and religion, democracy and equal rights regardless of race, sex or sexuality, he will say. Proclaiming a doctrine of “muscular liberalism”, he will say that everyone, from ministers to ordinary voters, should actively confront those who hold extremist views.
He will also warn that groups that fail to promote British values will no longer receive public money or be able to engage with the state.

Three things:

1. This is printed in the Telegraph as a swipe at extreme Islam. But it is aimed at "all faiths". Just this week there has been an attempt in Parliament to make the Church of England accept women bishops on equality grounds. Fair enough, but Parliament and secular thinking shouldn't ever have the power to set the faith or practice of any church (even if they are right). "Core Values" are tricky things, after all. Mr Cameron's and Mr Miliband's aren't quite the same. Ask Mrs Miliband. Oops, you can't just yet. But they will be married soon.

2. "To be British is..." complete this sentence and post in to BBC Broadcasting House etc etc. In the US it would have Mom's Apple Pie in there somewhere. And guns (depending where you live). Here it's the NHS or Foxhunting. These "rights" of course don't actually exist, so nice trendy additions are easy to put in there. I like his additions, and I'd put them in myself - and of course they are there because he is arguing against intolerance. Liberalism versus Extremism. But then he might as well say it's more British to be Middle Class than poor or posh.

3. Agreed. If people refuse to accept British standards, they should not have access to State funds. Absolutely. Unfortunately this is so open to abuse I regret it enormously. Secular Fundamentalists (who will embrace the "muscular liberal" tag) will seize upon this as an opportunity to refuse all State money to any religious group. They'll seize upon anything to achieve that end...

And yet... He's right, even if he's walking a dangerous road. Any faith that is about building up communities of love has to be about building together, not seperating. We have our distinctives, but in a common society we are not ringfenced ghettos and should not try to either portray ourselves as such or make ourselves such. There are core values in a society, and when we in the faith communities can work with them (even when they are "the Spirit of the Age" and not exactly to our own taste) we should. We are community builders par excellence. Cameron's call is for faith communities not to sit to the side but to play a full part - we are to embrace this. Freedom of speech for all is surely vital (and unquestionable), and it is not just those of an extremist Islamic background that suffer clipped wings here. Evangelicals who disagree with the standard harsh line vocal members of their religious party preach on sexuality simply stay quiet - it's safer. Respect is about being able to discuss all things without fear, and Cameron is talking about that freedom as a core value. Tick, as far as I can see, and as far as I can see, most religious communities struggle with this somewhere. Freedom of speech isn't the same as licence to be disrespectful - to say stupid and angry things, but it is to allow openness and thoughtful debate. Questions grow faith.

So I am ambivalent. I agree with his call for people of faith to work together and to play a full part in society; but fear any society that would limit my faith (and therefore any faith) from setting its own path by saying it is "unpatriotic", and by having power to change that definition at will.

That indeed is muscular, but not very liberal.

ploughing through

2011-02-02T23:29:00.000Z

Do you know that feeling when you have run seven times up and down a hill in training and there are still two more repetitions to go? The fast guys have lapped you and the pain is unbearable and the trainer stands at the bottom and you cannot - CANNOT - carry on, but you have to?

Or when you are skiing, and the rest of the group want to do a run that just terrifies you and you can't back out now? It's too late. You're on the chair lift. There's no going back. It's 3pm and this would have been hard at 11.30am but right now with a whole day's leg work on the mountain, this is too TOO much. No turning back.

Or when your mate asked you to help out with a performance he was organising, and like a fool you said yes - only to discover that the music he put in front of you was way - WAY - beyond you, but now you can't let him down. Muscle memory. Come on fingers. Muscle memory. You can do it. Keep on, keep on, keep on.

Completing a grants application is a bit like that. It's both far too much, soul destroying and mentally defeating, and at the same time - there is this element of actually enjoying reaching the summit, knowing you're not there, but you are going to get there if it kills you. It may. It really may. And yet the buzz of the deadline, the thrill of the sums of money you are dealing with, the passion of the cause that lies behind it all, something kicks in and you plough through.

And then there are certain life goals. Things you set yourself. You won't settle for less. You always settle for less. Not this time. Not going to allow the old reset button to kick in and go back to the old familiar. This time I am making a brand new start... Oh, the temptation to stop, to rest, to let seven reps be enough, to skid not ski, to fudge not play, to let life be OK and not (for once) live it to the full.

Ploughing through or making do? Eyes on the goal. For the hope of the joy set before us.

O my word

2011-01-30T14:00:00.000Z

I enjoy reading various blogs. Those from friends at Asbury are amongst my favourites. Of course, if you are a regular, you'll know the links down at the right hand side of this page. Chad Brooks is a great blogger, and I think that the current (Jan 30th - though it's been there for days, and I've just had it brought to my attention) snippet from his site Outside is Better listed there is neither intentional, complete nor typical.

Still, it is funny.

In case he removes or updates, I will record exactly what is there right now. Sometimes the internet has a wonderful way of editing life:

Outside is Better
" I have spent some time over the last few weeks updating the feel of the site and launched last night. Since I will be transitioning from the role of a stud..."

Glorious. And you thought I just gave you worship site links.

less than human

2011-01-29T23:15:00.006Z

There are things you want to write sometimes and can't. Or don't know how to.

I have discovered that when someone consistantly treats me as less than human over a period of time, there comes a point at which I do not know what to do.

I want to remain able to talk and to speak as if all were well. But I am so grieved, I cannot speak at all. It is not anger. I am not angry. I have been angry - for sure; but I have faced raw anger across from me and I do not want to share in it. It's not who I am; it's not who the Lord allows me to be. I see and understand the pain in faces that reduce me to this sub-human status, this less-than-life. I have tried to reach out, to help, to bring peace. But peace exists between peoples. For there to be peace here, it is not up to me any more; others have to see I too am a person and begin again to learn how to treat me as one.

So I do not know what to do. In a social setting, in a chance meeting, even by email, I find myself speechless. Unable to communicate. Frozen, inarticulate, unacting. Aware I appear to be blanking people; I am not blanking people. It is beyond a question of choice.

CS Lewis once wrote - "How can they meet us face to face till we have faces?" I do not know what to do; but here is my prayer. That those of whom I write and for whom I pray, for whom I pray dearly in their own situation, would see again I too have a face. That we may one day yet again meet face to face.

signs of the times?

2011-01-28T14:16:00.002Z

As some of you are not football fans, and some not from these shores, I'll begin with a brief run down of what has been a major - though strange - news story here this week. Andy Gray & Richard Keys, both in their mid-fifties, main presenters of Sky Sports football coverage for twenty years (ever since it began) have lost their jobs in the last seven days over off-camera sexist remarks they made about a female match offical not being able to understand the basic rules of the game simply because she was a woman. (There's a lot more - click here for a BBC version of it all.)

Almost no-one has defended them. Newspapers condemned them for prehistoric attitudes. Footballers (who you would have considered fairly neanderthal in their approach to life) issued tweet after tweet in support of Sian Massey, the official in question, and saying that the kind of locker room banter that Gray & Keys engaged in was unacceptable. Here's Robbie Savage (in the twighlight of his career, plying his trade at Derby County in the Championship) from his twitter feed:
"You have to judge the person on ability and decision making and having played in games where she has officiated she was excellent !"
Again he wrote,
"I spoke to miss Massey the same I did to a male Lino it's irrelevant the gender !"

A discussion on Radio 5 was the only place I heard anyone begin to suggest it wasn't all bad. And this was from Lawrie Sanchez, former manager of the Northern Ireland national side. He wanted to make sure there wasn't a crime of thinking impure thoughts, and that people were allowed to have different opinions, and he pointed out that there was a generational shift. No-one was much convinced, though it was accepted there had been a generational shift, and attitudes to women in sport that had been prevalent and acceptable twenty years ago were not acceptable now. In the same way that almost no professional sports person would smoke today.

It reminded me of a press conference a few weeks ago about the succesful Qatar bid for the 2022 World Cup, when a journalist asked Sepp Blatter (in his seventies), President of FIFA, about gay football fans going to a country where homosexuality is illegal. Blatter sniggered (along with others in the room) and then said: "I'd say they should refrain from any sexual activities."

There was a moderate outburst against this from some gay rights groups, and in some western footballing countries (including here in the UK), but Blatter (unlike Gray & Keys) remains in post.

The world is changing. Old men of a previous generation are finding that attitudes that have been safe forever are no longer universally acceptable. Good thing too. It is not just boys who can travel first class. It is not just those in the safe majority who can treat everybody else how they please, and speak about others without respect or regard. This change is long and slow in coming. It is happening in so many areas of life. We should seek it out and foster it.

This is a Christian imperative. In Christ there is no Greek or Jew, slave or free, male or female. Jesus dines with sinners and tax collectors - because they are human. God so loved the world that he gave his only Son that whoever believes in him might have eternal life.

The problem is that we are human too, and we live in a culture, and we are more shaped by it than we know. Those older than us for whom expecting women to do the dishes was the norm (rather than officiating at top flight football matches) or for whom homosexuality was instinctively wrong are not evil for having these attitudes - they are of their generation. But we are not. We do not need to read the Scriptures with the lens of the past, no matter how long that lens has been in place. Culture shapes how we read the words God has given us - we must understand this humbly, so that we can use the lens we have to find the purest light. And understanding this humbly, as we seek to change the lens for a better one, we must do so carefully. Heaven help us - those coming after us may be left with what we choose for as long as we have suffered the attitudes that have gone before us.

Churches today are beginning to work out that women and men are both human. That the Creation story places a remarkable equivalence upon us, as does the Resurrection narrative. Because we in the Church have worked (frankly) with the superiority of men for so long, this change is harder for us than for Sky Sports. It is not done with in a week. We are not submitting to "the spirit of the age" as we take this equivalence on board, but rather freeing ourselves from the spirit of too-long ages past so that we better reflect the truth of God as revealed in his word, liberated from a cultural prison whereby some people are worth less than others - a state of being that can never, never be Gospel.

I have enjoyed Andy Gray & Richard Keys as they have brought football match after football match into my front room over the years. But if their departing is a symbol of the world losing something awful, much as I have loved them, in their going, we have gained much.

I thank you

2011-01-24T10:02:00.000Z

1. 1. She was only a whiskey maker, but he loved her still

2. 2. Sign on the lawn at drug rehab centre: Keep off the grass

3. 3. A midget fortune-teller escaped from prison. Police are looking for a small medium at large

4. 4. A soldier who survived mustard gas & pepper spray is a seasoned veteran

5. 5. In democracy, it’s your vote that counts; in feudalism, it’s your count that votes

6. 6. When cannibals eat a missionary, do they get a taste of religion?

7. 7. A vulture boards a 747 holding 2 dead racoons. “Sorry sir,” says the stewardess, “Only one carrion per passenger”

8. 8. A dog that gave birth to puppies at the roadside was cited for littering

9. 9. A hole has been found in a nudist camp wall. Police are looking into it

10. 10. A man sent ten amusing wordplays to ten friends in the hope that at least one would make them smile. No pun in ten did

vulnerable

2011-01-22T22:14:00.000Z

I am undergoing the joys of having a new roof on the vicarage. It is a vulnerable experience.

Scaffolding everywhere. Tiles to the left, tiles to the right. Rubbish mounting up & the driveway needing to be swept of nails before I can re-park my car at the end of the working day. People all around the house & garden doing their own thing in my personal space.

Recognising the kind of bloke I am, I love to be with others, to serve, to laugh, to work, to play, to pray, to be and to do - and then I need my bolt hole, my private home in order to recharge again. I know the stuff that's being done on the house is in a good cause, but I am not enjoying a process and the timing of a process that has been imposed upon me. I'm trying to keep some boundaries in order to function, but others are doing their best to erode as many of those as they can, viewing my presence as an inconvenience to their work (which doubtless it is) so there are little skirmishes errupting from time to time. In my vulnerability, I think I am far from handling all of these skirmishes gloriously.

Life lesson: don't live in a house whilst they put the new roof on it. Unless you enjoy stress, or need to feel more vulnerable than is naturally comfortable.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside still waters, he restores my soul. He guides me into paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

Lord - shepherd me, provide for me, calm me, lead me, restore me and please help me walk better in the relationships all around me than I am managing just now. I feel vulnerable; but I know you care.

gate keeping

2011-01-18T23:16:00.001Z

Today I prayed with a saint of God, a 103 year old lady by the name of Margaret Rees. We read Psalm 23 and a part of Philippians 4, before I blessed her and then we prayed the Lord's Prayer.

I say "we" did these things. Margaret has gotten ill since I last saw her on her birthday, and though she held my hand, she did not speak. The picture here is of her hundredth birthday. She is accompanied by her daughters Carol and Barbara, and I took Barbara's funeral just a few months ago. I loved Barbara dearly; she was very kind to me, a great support.

Back to today.

One of the staff came in and chatted to me. We looked at the photos in the room. Margaret's cousin, who stowed away on Ernest Shackleton's ship. Margaret's daughters. The Queen, and the greeting she had sent three years ago. Then I sat again to complete my task.

For as I visited Margaret, I knew this was a "gate keeper" moment. She was ready. I was preparing her for her crossing. It is the most precious thing I do. So I assured her of God's love. Of her sins forgiven. Of the Lord her shepherd caring for her and of her place in his house for evermore. And I took my leave; promising we would meet again, another day.

A great and glorious day. A day when the tear in my eye would be wiped away, and all the pain of the years would be taken from her aching limbs.

I signed out of the nursing home at 3.45pm; six hours later Carol called me to let me know her mother had died.

And my thoughts are with Carol, missing her mother. And my thoughts are with Margaret's grandchildren and great grandchildren. And my thoughts are with Margaret - resurrected, restored, renewed, ageless and magnificent, worshipping her Lord in the company of those who have gone before her. There will be singing in Heaven tonight.

everything is gift

2011-01-16T17:08:00.001Z

Back in November, I was chatting to Catharine Morris on the phone, and she told me of her plans for her birthday - skiing with a Goldhill holidays group at Lauterbrunnen.

Lauterbrunnen is in the valley beneath Wengen, my usual skiing spot, and although I bought a new pair of skis on ebay after my last trip, one thing and another has meant I am not on the rota for running the church in Wengen this season, and I thought I wouldn't get a chance to see how good they were. But after speaking with Catharine, I called Clive at Goldhill, discovered they had spaces on the holiday - and booked.

I have had a wonderful week.

Now - don't fear, this isn't just a holiday blog, I hope there's going to be more to this than that; but please, enjoy the snaps. The Jungfrau region is one of the wonders of the world. Truly glorious. Just being there is a gift.

The Goldhill group is made up of (mostly) Christians from all over the UK, with varying degrees of winter sports experience. We get lessons in the morning, ski for fun in the afternoon, and then eat together in the evening before worshipping together, hearing a short talk, and decamping to the pub. In the past, I've taken groups from St Catherine's, but this time the only person I really knew was the aformentioned Catharine Morris and then I had met some of her friends before. You go hoping that there will be a decent crowd. These folk were just great - from retired pilots to university professors to a couple of students to nurses to doctors, from north to south, Scotland, England and Wales, it was a great group of people. I especially enjoyed time spent with folk from Derby, and with the speaker for the week, Ian. More of him, and his compassion, later.

Everything is gift. Going (basically) alone - how was this going to be? Wonderful.

Gift number two: those new skis I mentioned. I bought them on eBay sight unseen. I bought them cos I'd seen a pair like them in Wengen, and cos they were a serious upgrade from my old skis. Volants. Gold Volants. Handmade in Austria. I knew I'd had a bargain, but on Thursday evening I enjoyed a birthday meal (gift number 3) with Paul & Sarah Parker (whose marriage blessing I conducted a couple of years back in Wengen) and a couple of the other guests work in one of the ski shops there and were interested to hear what skis I used. When I told them, they were surprised. "EBay," I confessed, knowing that this is not something you say to folk who work in a real shop. They wanted to know how much I had paid, and I told them, thinking I'd paid about a third of what I should have. I was in error. Their current shop price simply adds a zero on mine...

I tell you, I have never experienced skiing like it. And though I had a slight accident on the last day (I skiied into a cliff on a sharp corner - but the helmet took most of it; gift number 4, thanks Dad & Lorna, thanks Gill; otherwise it might have been nastier than the small scar I have on my right cheek) even that would have been far worse without the incredible response and power that these skis produce. Amazing.

Gift number five. One morning I just wanted to be alone for a while. I had a lot on my mind, and being with 50 people all the time gave me no time to pray and think. I needed head space. I wanted to be miserable for a short time, and to be able to enjoy it. So, I let everyone else leave, and then caught a later train to Wengen and headed on up the cable car - where a guy called Sean saw me and greeted me. Sean is working as a ski school instructor, but I know him as the other half of Sheridan who runs the DHO (Down Hill Only Ski Club) in Wengen. He asked what I was doing - "Skiing by myself today," I replied, and before I knew it he had his mobile out of his pocket and was calling Sheridan. "She's just working in the office," he said to me, and then to his phone, "Sheridan, Marcus is here & he's skiing alone, why don't you come & join him?"

So she did. And I lost my time alone. I wilted inside. But you know - Sheridan is a lovely, lovely person, and an amazing skiier, and she knows the mountains thoroughly, and one way to improve your skills is to follow someone brilliant. So I was given my own personal ski guide for the morning. Fantastic. Everything is gift. Then we ran into four other folk, three of whom are good friends from Wengen, and ski school teachers, including Karen, my first teacher. One amazing person to ski with was not gift enough. I was given five. I didn't get my headspace/misery time. I got something far more precious - friendships renewed and an incredible opportunity to ski with experts. Wonderful.

Gift number 6. I had some great conversations with folk during the week. One night stands out when three of us bunked out of a group activity and found a pub together, and just talked into the night. Two of us continued a bit later, and I had the chance to talk again with the other guy the day after on a train journey. We talked of ourselves, we talked of Jesus, we talked honestly and with laughter and with the odd restrained tear. Such moments are precious.

Gift number 7. Eating in the cold outside a restaurant on Catharine's birthday, because she always eats outside there. Sometimes gifts are bizarre! But it was a delight to be with Catharine & to see her this week. A million years ago, she & I prayed with Rob Graham in a prayer triplet, and we remembered him this week.

Gift number 8. The accident. The Helmet. The skis helping to slow me down so that when my head hit the wall it wasn't as bad as it could have been. And the humour of Ian skiing past me as I was plastered to a cliff face in agony, and he carried on all the way down to Wengen station... You can imagine I did not let him forget this. I told the group: "I'd like to tell you a story of compassion. I'd like to... but unfortunately..." Yes, the preacher just skiied on by on the other side. We had a great time - and had just done the Brandegg run from the top of the Eigernordwand lift in exhilaratingly fast time. The whole thing was fun - and that helmet was indeed a gift, as were all the jokes afterwards. At both our expense. You can read Ian's version of events here. (Seriously - it's a scar, not a scratch, don't believe anyone who says otherwise.)

Everything is gift. So much is unexpected. It would have been easy to focus on the negatives - being alone in a crowd, having to lock up my skis, scratching the new helmet, losing time alone, feeling like I get to have such conversations so rarely these days, and actually having an accident which left me feeling rather shaken - but every one of these things was part of something wonderful. It depends where you look. Eyes on the mess, eyes on Jesus? In my heart I am praying and working through so many things that seriously trouble me and steal sleep away night after night, yet even on a simple holiday week I see God pouring out his goodness. So why stare at the problems and worry without the ability to solve a thing? He is here and he is good.

hopeful

2011-01-01T23:27:00.001Z

Happy New Year!

In all honesty, I have avoided sending texts and tweets and leaving facebook updates wishing my hundreds of friends and followers (followers? like we're all mini-messiahs on Twitter) the pleasantries of the rolling calendar. It's just another day, bah humbug.

Don't get me wrong. I am open to receiving good wishes and kind thoughts on any day of any month. Strike that. On every day of every month. I just don't much care for this particular festival, with its cunning mix of nostalgia and delusion.

"Oh yes, 2010 was a very good year for us. Daniel received his knighthood for services to the chicken industry, Mathilda cured the common cold and little Percy got five A stars. We holidayed in Mauritius, Morocco and St Moritz, and were able to found a children's cancer home in Mozambique even though the economy did hit us quite hard. How was 2010 for you? Let's hope 2011 is even better!"

For me 2010 had some really awful bits in it, and looking back, I'm afraid I am still close enough for them to be the things that come to mind first. It had some real challenges, and some of them were successfully negotiated, and others remain ongoing. And yes, there were highlights; renewed friendships, good time spent with my Dad, a month at Asbury Seminary amongst them. It's good to recall those. But honestly - 2010, I'm glad to see the back of you.

So much for nostalgia. As for delusion...

It's not the concept of "resolutions" that I object to. I ignore these things, so they simply don't register for me. But if I profess to be glad a year is over, then sure enough this sentiment will follow on - "Well then, here's to a better year ahead!"

Why better ahead? Why, after all, should this last year have been so challenging? And then - what's wrong with challenging? Just because I didn't like it doesn't mean it was bad for me, does it? Why presume disike & difficulty are bad for me? In the grand sweep of things, what doesn't kill you can make you stronger, and 2010 might turn out to be one of those periods that proved invaluable. Not much fun, but invaluable - rather like theological college was. So why should I want next year to be "better" when really what's meant (kindly) by that is "easier"?

I'll confess - there are days I want easy...

But more: I want to live this life well. And when this life is not easy, I want to live the difficult days well, to get the most out of them, to make the best choices and to live this life well. Life is a gift from God. Not to be wasted. It is not measured in triumphs and prizes and wishing it away but in the quality of the living - and that is something that can only be measured against the standards the days we are given throw at us. How we live through tough days and how we live through glorious ones ought not look, feel, taste, sound or smell the same.

And I want to be able to have my hand held by God through every day and look him in the eye and say "thank you" each night. The days I love, the days I understand, the days I fear and loathe.

I don't need a "Happy" 2011. I don't wish one upon you - I fear you may be disappointed, unless you live in a fairytale. But I'd like a hopeful one; one where the hope of a good life, a life with Jesus remains and grows and shapes me and makes me better - one where such hope deepens beyond my understanding. And I pray that for you, too.

meaning

2010-12-27T22:54:00.002Z

I was asked a couple of weeks ago what Christmas meant to me. I suppose it is the kind of question that I ought to have a ready answer for - like "why are you a vicar?" or "how did you become a Christian?" At this time of year it can take you by surprise if you're not prepared.

And I wasn't prepared - actually, I was stumped. I didn't have a simple two-phrase answer, and much as I attempted to produce one, one really wasn't for coming. Oh, I said something or other that was superficially interesting... but actually a bit vacuous... and hoped no-one would notice I had no reply to a perfectly decent and obvious question.

Part of me has been worrying since that radio interview the other week (the one where the agony aunt thought I was a great advert for the church & the presenter noticed I hadn't mentioned God) that I'm going through that part of the cycle where presentation is triumphing over substance. Because I have a tendency to beat myself up over these things, I've been fretting over my spiritual state. If I was counselling me, of course, I'd be telling me that care for one's soul is usually a sign that things are not awful. It's when there is no thought for how one's personal walk with God is going that the rot has really set in! Stressing that I'm a bit weak, spiritually - well, you know, I can hear the voice of reason, but still I let the worry play out...

And so back to Christmas.

A girl pregnant before marriage in a culture where that carried the death penalty; a man being loyal despite the disapproval of his whole family; worthless nomads outside the town gates and beyond nice society; philosphers with a screw loose risking political suicide and brandishing the worst gifts ever. And the Creator God born in an animal's stall, but holding every human heart in his tiny fingers and inviting us to let go the things that fill our worlds and simply love him. It's a long way from heaven to Bethlehem. It's just an invitation back.

I live so much of my life so far from heaven. The meaning of Christmas for me is - that's OK; God has made the journey. It's a long way from heaven to Bethlehem. His love comes down and reaches Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, me and you. And he invites us to take hold of his hand, to love as we are loved and as we forget we are loved, and he promises never to let go. Christmas to me means it's not just about my mess; God is here. So there is hope.

greatest story

2010-12-23T20:29:00.000Z

The BBC's retelling of the Nativity over four nights this Christmas has, for me, been a triumph. 7pm every night, prime time viewing, the nation's main channel has told the story of the birth of Christ in a way which has blended the Scriptures, the stained glass versions, the traditions we think are in the Bible but aren't, a bit of scholarly guesswork and a lot of human relationships which must be at the heart of any story involving God and people.

Mary & Joseph were particularly good, though I shall never see St Anne in the same light again...

I might vary at various points in interpretation. That would be nitpicking. This isn't a theological symposium, this is the BBC. In the final programme, as Jesus is born and the shepherds are drawn to the stable and the wise men follow, the wonder of God coming amongst us, coming for such as us, and the urge to weep and to worship simply overwhelmed me. I didn't expect that, had no right to expect that, and suddenly found my whole preparation for Christmas had shot into a different league.

To be fair, this has been an unusual Christmas week. Our Carol Service was delayed from Sunday night till last night, and as we sang all the usual carols I found myself again profoundly moved by the awesome majestic God who abandons heaven for a cow shed, perfection for Israel, eternity for the bonds of passing time. And why? Because he loves us. You. Me. And to not make that journey is to abandon us; so love leaves comfort to comfort those who have no idea that they are even mourning.

The greatest stories are great because they draw us into their narrative, or our narrative becomes a part of theirs, and this week Christmas has been working on me. Perhaps it is the fairy tale snow everywhere, or perhaps my heart simply needs to be reminded that I too am with the rest of Creation pressing into that stable, seeing that sight, wondering, worshipping, in awe and struck by love.

December Snow

2010-12-17T22:47:00.001Z

So as the sun began to rise this morning, it was clear that we'd had a good night of snow. The clouds were still pregnant with the stuff, and from dawn through the afternoon, the town was strangely muffled by flakes of all sizes robbing us of the usual noises of life & replacing them with a gentle wonder.

Here in my back garden, the summer trap for barbecues and lazy drinks is nestling under the unexpected weight of a table topping we don't often see. That cushion on the chair looks quite a challenge!

Matt wasn't at all sure what to do. He does like snow (eating it has become his newest habit) but today as it fell - and fell, and fell - he wasn't happy. Quickly out, quickly back.

I am suffering with fairly fatal manflu. And it's been a day off. Ha! The mayor's office rang & put paid to that. Sunday is our town Carol Service, and of course we have civic dignitaries, the MP, all kinds of people, the Regimental band of the Royal Welsh, the RCT Youth Choir & the Children of Ysgol Evan James.... RCT (local council) have a severe weather warning in across the weekend, and so this afternoon we postponed the whole thing till Wednesday at 7pm.

I can only hope we get decent local radio coverage to advertise this. I am expecting some people will come on Sunday anyway. We'll sing a few carols and see what happens, I think...

Darkness falls, no-one is around. If I wasn't ill I would go & see some people. But I seriously don't feel well. I'm not sad the Carol Service is delayed - I can cope! As long as people know. I'd rather feel well. I was supposed to go to a concert in Cardiff today - ha! I couldn't even get out to the Bunch of Grapes.

But the snow does produce this mysterious beauty, this otherness that transforms and loses us for a while. Some people are stuck away from loved ones, others stuck with them, some find themselves not knowing what the days ahead will hold. Keep safe, be careful, the Lord is with you - but don't travel any distance if you don't have to. Better to travel safely another time than at risk today.

Me? I'm under the duvet, alternating fruit juice, Glenmorangie & paracetemol as my medication of choice. Good night...

The Porter Argument

2010-12-09T08:26:00.000Z

Today Parliament votes on the Coalition's proposals for higher education funding. The stuff that has provoked student protests unseen since... well, quite a while really. One university don commented after a particularly nasty demonstration, "Oh no, none of our students were involved, it was in the morning".

The point I find amazing is this: well - before I get there, what I don't find amazing is the question of raising tuition fees. And I don't find the two-faced cant of the Labour Party amazing either - they introduced tuition fees, increased them, introduced the living allowance, increased it - and all after fighting elections saying they would do no such thing. So they put forward the Browne Review which is the foundation for the current legislation (though rather improved by the Lib Dems in the Coalition, really) and now oppose it saying it's terrible. It would be worse if they were still in power. No - I don't find their opportunism amazing; cheap - yes; amazing, no.

What is amazing is that a huge sea change has occurred in the nature of higher education funding and no-one has debated it. Time was, having a university-educated sector of the population was seen as advantageous to society, a social good, something that made life better for the whole nation. Therefore when it came to looking at funding, it was obvious that in some way society should be responsible for some of the funding.

Now, a university education is suddenly accepted as a lifestyle choice. A personal thing. Self improvement. So you should pay for it yourself. The state isn't there to make you feel better about yourself.

How did this happen? And why is no-one fighting it?

This change is most classicly revealed in the porter & the doctor argument, simply accepted as a self-evident truth, which I heard repeated on BBC Radio Wales this morning as I waited to comment on the altogether weightier matter of Prince William's upcoming marriage guidance sessions (a whole other story). Some well-educated and posh sounding woman said: "Why should a hospital porter have to pay anything towards the education of a doctor in the same hospital, when that doctor is probably earning £100,000 a year plus?" Argument made, education is about self-improvement, it's not a social good, it only benefits the individual.

Except...

I hope that porter never needs an operation. Or he may discover there was a social good in educating doctors after all. It wasn't all about self-improvement. It advantaged society to send the doctor to university. Maybe the porter benefitted, and maybe everyone should contribute to this?

Have we totally let go of "Society" as a concept? The way we are looking at paying for higher education right now - yes we have. And we haven't even realised it, debated it, thought about it. All we have is a cheap opposition too stupid to realise that here is a fantastic political issue - the party spouting the "Big Society" are abandonning all pretence at any society at all. God gives us the politicians we deserve. What a state we are in to deserve this.

44

2010-11-28T23:01:00.000Z

The clock is ticking down the minutes to midnight; soon I will be entering another palindromic year. Last time I hit one of those I was in Cambridge, the world celebrated the Millennium, and then I moved here. So I'm thinking I shouldn't have any great expectations of what these next twelve months might bring...

If I am honest (and honesty is something I try to prize) I would have to admit that 43 has not been my favourite year. I am left looking forwards to the next, although the slow advancing of the years does not fill me with pleasure. Still, on my personal to-do-list there are items as yet un-checked, and so this year's picture fittingly finds me racing through the snow, unbound, unfettered, a smile on my face and ready to achieve those things I have not yet managed.

Age is a reminder: we are granted one life. Live it well. Don't waste it. Make good choices, and (in the words of Winston Churchill that I have on a fridge magnet) - "Never, never, never give up".

The Covenant

2010-11-21T23:47:00.002Z

The Church of England is about to decide on The Covenant, the new arm of anglican unity, or the end of anglicanism as we know it - depending upon your standpoint.

Personally, on the whole, as an anglican evangelical, I am very much against it.

We have the catholic creeds. We have the thirty nine articles. We have the prayer books. And we have a history of understanding that the church is a big place, and that within its walls we will all fall out with each other but still belong to Jesus. I'm not sure why we think a new document (regularly updated to reflect the latest fads in ethical or theological infighting) will help. All it will do is help point out what those fads are and what the factions are that are enjoying the fight.

Hardly the stuff of John 17, is it?

O, it's possible that one side or another may enjoy the odd 'victory', but I refer you to my previous sentence.

Now: my conservative evangelical friends are having apoplexy, and are beginning to write their comments already - how unevangelical I sound, how cheaply I am selling our scriptural heritage, how easily I abandon the importance of doctrine which the covenant will help us preserve in these dangerous days.

Piffle.

The Covenant will be re-written at regular intervals, by the predominant party of its day. If the evangelicals are feeling powerful today, they should remember it's barely twenty years since they were all but non-existant, and perhaps wonder what the Covenant would feel like if re-drawn in such circumstances. It's a flexible tool. To make the majority feel good, and to whip into shape the recalcitrant few. It's ecclesiastical bullying. Hmm. Blessed are the meek, anyone? Sorry, just for a second I forgot to sell my scriptural heritage cheaply enough.

As Anglicans, we have never set our store by the mass acceptance of secondary theology - adiaphora. We have held to the old adage of in things essential, unity; in things inessential, liberty; and in all things, charity. The Covenant seeks to firm that up a little... or rather, to take away a little liberty. And charity. Gordon Brown would like it, I suppose, as long as he was writing it. It suits the spirit of an age where the powers that be want a little less freedom around the place.

But wasn't it for freedom that Christ has set us free? Sorry. More Scripture interfering again.

As an evangelical, I have to trust the power of God through his Spirit at work in the believer's heart, and the love of Christ transforming each believer, and the inspiration of the Scriptures conforming us to the character of Jesus as we seek to know him more. As an Anglican, I have to accept humbly that I am not the only person in the big house of faith and that (occasionally) I will learn something of my Lord from my brothers and sisters around me. It seems to me that God in his mercy did not require his Son to say during his earthly ministry - "O, and by the way chaps, unless you all agree on absolutely everything at all times, I think you should form a committee so that you can throw out those you don't much like".

Though I do recall St John saying words to the effect of, "Hey kids, come on, play nicely now."

There we go. That'll do. I'll sign up to that. If we're going to add to the Catholic Creeds, the Thirty Nine Articles and the Book of Common Prayer as the formularies of the Anglican Church, let's just add 1 John 3.18: "Hey kids, come on, play nicely now."

Progress

2010-11-20T21:36:00.005Z

Yes, I confess. I had a couple of long journeys to make this week, and being of a certain age I bought the Take That CD. The one with all five of them.

Well, it is bizarre.

I mean, the opening track is the single, and it is musically very interesting - but if anybody has the foggiest idea what it is actually about, I'd love to know. And then it gets opaque after that.

There are a couple of tracks that I quite liked, and I sort of felt I might be a "grower" - the kind of CD I'd like more if I lived with it for a bit. After all, some CDs you buy & love on first listening soon cloy & get boring. This could be the opposite.

Then I got to the final track. Eight Letters.

For the first time I had to replay a song straight away. "Eight letters, three words, one meaning." Anyone who feels that pop songs lack intelligence in their lyrics needs to listen to this. All tracks on the CD are credited to all five blokes, but they've been studying Stephen Sondheim to come up with this one.

"We were once the answer and then you discover
You're actually just one thing after another
And what was the question and why was the lesson so deafening?"

Goodness. Anyone who has gotten just a little bit older and hasn't felt that hasn't spent their youth well or learned the smallest mite of self-awareness as they aged... But to hear it spat out at you so clinically and beautifully from your car audio is both glorious and painful. "You can look back but don't stare". And suddenly staring is all you are capable of.

Gentle, caressing, melancholy, seductive, beautiful.

I don't know if I'll ever love this CD; but this song - oh yes; and it will haunt me for a while.

touchy

2010-11-17T08:28:00.002Z

So yesterday I read an article that interested me, and I tweeted it. This is my tweet:

Religious people better at caring for others says new study http://tinyurl.com/363feoc The comments after say atheists are better at scorn

It's a piece in the Telegraph reporting on an American survey that says religious people are "nicer" - and they don't mind which religion, though they basically talk about Christians and Jews, with a couple of Moslem references thrown in for good measure. The basic idea is that religious people care more in society, give more time for needy people, and give more money to charitable causes - be they faith-based or secular, it doesn't matter. Society wouldn't work without this going on.

After the article is a whole host of comments from angry people saying why religious people are not what they appear, and why this article is wrong, and why you shouldn't take a penny from these nutcases. I'm sorry, but the nutcases don't appear to be the religious people, but the very angry non-religious people that tend to write comments after such articles!

Oops. I said that out loud didn't I?

Well, on twitter, of course, you are commenting to the world, though really, who reads this stuff? Your 62 followers perhaps. No-one else, surely.

Apparently, other people do read this stuff. I got an angry atheist answer from someone in Oslo (ain't the internet great?) saying this:

Religious ppl might be nice giving a few bucks to the poor, but they are also the cruelest and most violent worldwide...

It's not that there she doesn't have a point about those who, in the name of various religions, have been and are very cruel indeed. You can't gainsay that. It's the total sweeping away of lives of service and kindness and goodness in that first half sentence. Religious people "might" be nice, which is defined as "giving a few bucks to the poor". And that's not what this article limits their (our) lives to. But somehow, credit cannot be given. We have to be belittled.

The liberal secularist cannot cope with being shamed - totally shamed - by the faith communities here. They talk of goodness and caring for society. But we people of faith actually get out and do it. And so we should. We believe in a God who loves people, so we get out there and make a difference to the lives of those in need. If we didn't, we'd be the fakes the liberal secularists so badly need us to be.

For me the most encouraging part of the article, however is this: religious people apparently make no distinction in their giving of time and money between religious and secular causes. They support the local hospital, school or arts foundation as much as their missionary societies. We will not be boxed, silenced, pigeon-holed and put away in a corner. The world runs better because of genuine people of faith helping their neighbours. And sure, you can always produce extremists we'd all rather be without, but take us ordinary faithful people away - and ordinary life would struggle to go on. We do not just care for our own - because (and I can only speak from a Christian perspective here) we believe in a God who loves everyone, including those who write nasty comments about good people trying to make a positive difference, and believing in that kind of God makes us the kind of people who also love everyone, regardless. And I get that's an ideal, and ideals get tested. But look at these statistics. Sometimes the ideals actually work.

Remembering

2010-11-13T17:03:00.003Z

It was a beautifully sunny morning, in the way that the autumn sun can pull the remnants of last night's rain off the road and provide brightness without a hint of warmth. I drove along the M4, up the M5 and Gloucester-wards.

A year ago today I was driving south after a couple of days at my mum's, listening to two new CDs and David Tennant on the radio. Rob Graham was driving north, taking his kids to see their grandma for her birthday. I made it home safely, having the luxury of an early start to avoid a bad weather forecast. Rob, my old friend, well, we buried him a fortnight later.

I wrote a lot about this last year. I've been back and re-read some of those words. On my birthday, the day before Rob's funeral, I wrote these words:

I am who I am, and for all sorts of reasons am the kind of person who doesn't wear emotions on my sleeve. But were it my funeral tomorrow, I would not want "achievements" mulled over and rehearsed for all to consider; it's the friendships & relationships we are given and which we create that make life so rich.

Today I stood at Rob's grave with his parents, George and Elaine, and then we went and had coffee together, and spoke of our year, of Rob, of the future, of family and friends. I wish I could tell Rob how much he meant to me. Those of you who are my friends around the world, whom I see so seldom, please know you mean the world to me.

Remembering is not done simply with tears and better intentions. It is done with lives and deeds. It is done with honour and the cherishing of memory so that the living we have is the better for the remembering. We recall not in order to wallow in nostalgia, but so that we may be better than we are, so that we might reach the standards we see in our better friends and that the days we are granted and they were not are not fallow but fecund with love and justice and goodness and kindness because for them not to be would mean we had simply forgotten.

And I for one will not forget. I cannot.

recognition

2010-11-04T23:11:00.002Z

Here is a typical article from the Guardian about evangelicalism. Read it & come back to me.

I'm guessing that if you recognise in it all sorts of things that cause you to question evangelicalism in the church today, you pretty generally have questions about this side of the church, or perhaps just read too much of the Guardian... And if you want to dismiss it out of hand, you are a staunch evangelical who can't take any criticism at all.

I'd like to question some of this piece fairly robustly, but also push a few of its questions a little further. And I am a card-carrying evangelical - albeit one who always comes with his own critique of his own party, because I believe the Scriptures define the people of the book, not the party that would like to control the people of the book.

Some of the writer's problems are clearly cultural - and that culture may be national or ecclesiastical or a weird mixture of the two. That's what most of us who go to church end up with - a culture that is part church and part national and where one begins and the other ends is genuinely hard to tell. We have to be humble and recognise this, and then we have to be generous and enjoy it. And enjoy it in others as well, rather than be critical because others don't quite achieve the same bizarre mix we do! So she doesn't get the music, the atmosphere, the excitement, the anticipation of a pentecostal church in Paraguay. I don't think I would. But I'm used to a relaxed evangelical church in Wales...

She says there is no sacred symbol of any kind on display. Only a lectern and a Bible. Perhaps she has never been to Geneva either, where here too she might struggle with exactly the same kind of absence - or rather, presence - of exactly the same kind of symbolism. I'm afraid that (and she admits she has a Catholic experience) her own expectations are weighing heavily here. Pentecostal churches - and indeed most Protestant churches - simply don't use Catholic imagery; it doesn't make them unChristian or even unsymbolic. It makes them different. They are not going to use Catholic sacraments - it is simply not their tradition or theology, and to expect them to is to fail to respect them. As a writer she fails to see beneath the surface, and that's a pity; though (and here comes my first dig - I'm honest enough to point it out) in the Guardian, a certain kind of surface is all that is usually required.

There is a criticism of church texts imported from Europe (in a Spanish speaking nation) but then criticism of contemporary local music and suggestions that Gregorian chant and European classical music should be included. I'm just saying - that's blatant hypocrisy.

However, any thoughtful evangelical has to hear the words: "Evangelical Christianity has already opened wide its arms and its heart. I just hope that it will also open wide its mind" and know that here is a plea that we all desire to see fulfilled. Most of this paragraph contains words I can echo from my own heart (as I say, I think her last sentence perhaps misses the mark) and she repeatedly comments on the excellent work of this particular church in serving the poor, surely a mark of genuine discipleship, but asks that its teaching deepens further. All Bible teaching should seek to do this. That's not a request we fear, but one we all need to embrace.

Likewise, in the following paragraph, she hits upon one of the current fault-lines of evangelicalism as she says "women are individual leaders as well as complementary partners". The Telegraph yesterday posted a report about an evangelical English bishop comparing supporters of ordaining women as bishops to Nazis. Hmmm. He needs to get a life - or at least start leading his life in the real world. The Jesus I follow treats people as people. A woman at a well leads her whole community to faith. A woman is the first witness to the resurrection. Women are human beings. This is essential theology, please.

So I do not agree with the writer's conclusion that evangelical churches are a prelude to the church growing up! Goodness me, no. Though I do hope the evangelical church will continue to grow up. Hope & pray. For this is where I belong and want to continue to belong and want to draw others to belong too. It is a place of life and hope and glory - as long as it is a place where we are facing the life and hope and glory of Jesus.

do you not know

2010-11-03T18:22:00.004Z

Here's a song I wrote in 1992. I was leading a worship band in St Aldate's Oxford at the time, and this song became one of the songs most requested of everything we did. It almost didn't make it.

I never had any confidence in my own material; I'd try a song out, and of course the first time a congregation sings a song - it goes kind of OK at best. They don't know it. How can they own it? How can they sing it from their soul? It takes a liitle time for something new to seep deeper into their soul. Especially as that worship band was, well, pushing the limits of what the church was used to at the time...

I played the song twice. Maybe three times. And dropped it. It wasn't working, I felt.

Till a couple of months later, several different people started to ask me what had happened to the "Wait on God" song - they had really loved it, really found it help them worship God. And I was genuinely surprised. More than surprised. So the song I had pensioned off in early summer got a second outing in the autumn - and this time it flew. Rising on eagle's wings.

It has stayed with me ever since, in several formats, including a full band recording with that first band, the Groove Heroes at St Aldates, a couple of different choir arrangements, and it subsequently entered the worship vocabulary of both St Mike's Aberystwyth & St Catherine's here in Pontypridd.

This video was filmed a couple of days ago by Matt Truelove, who has been doing a college project and wanted some music from me as part of it; kindly he sent me the full version of this in return for helping him out. Thanks Matt!

And all these years after writing the song, such a simple piece still has the power to make my heart sing, to draw me to Jesus, to lift me in worship. I'd have lost these words & music ages ago if it wasn't for those folk who'd pushed me and insisted I gave it another go. I can't remember who you were - but thank you too!

what's the point?

2010-10-31T21:20:00.003Z

What's the point? I mean, really. Four evangelical bishops (including the omnipresent Lord Carey, former ABC) have written to the Telegraph to remind us (again) of the fundamentals of Christianity in the modern world: here is their opening parapraph.

SIR – On Monday the High Court is to be asked to rule on whether Christians are "fit people" to adopt or foster children – or whether they will be excluded, regardless of the needs of children, from doing so because of the requirements of homosexual rights.

Two Christian foster parents have been removed from a register in Derby because they don't like gays. This is, say the bishops, an afront to all Christians because clearly all Christians are now no longer seen as fit people to look after children.

What is the point?

I mean, I think there are three or four things that strike me straight away, though I'm no bishop and never will be.

1. Views on sexuality are not the most essential part of our Christian heritage. Views on Jesus are. Views on the Bible are important too, clearly - but concrete applications of minor ethical scriptures found therein are something we need to be careful about. Nuance is the first casualty of a war written in headlines. All Christians are not excluded from being foster parents because one couple takes a vocal stand against homosexuality. That one couple does not speak for every Christian - not even for every Christian who labels themself evangelical.

2. When will these guys understand the simple pragmatism of Jesus' teaching, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you"? Because what the world hears is this: "We want to come down hard and sharp against gays. Persecute them. They are getting too big for their boots. It's time someone took a stand." And what happens then is, we have declared open season on ourselves. Do unto others... If it's OK for us to be bigots against somebody else, it's OK for them to be bigots against us. This is how this happens. We don't solve it by getting louder.

3. I read in one article about this foster couple that they said they would never support a gay lifestyle as an acceptable alternative; but if they ended up with a child who was gay, would they then reject the child? If that's a possibility, I find it remarkably unchristian, and would understand why with the local council might not put a child in their care. After all, though social services might be careful to match child and foster parents, not every youngster knows themself; a kid who wants to come out but fears (another) loss of home would then face a particular burden.

4. Am I alone in being depressed by seeing bishops view this subject as the greatest moral conundrum of our age? Why aren't they ridding the church of rich, selfish, lazy bankers? Or those who oppose or ignore climate change and related ecological issues? The Bible says far more about our stewardship of the earth and about the corruption of wealth than it ever says about sexuality, and even if you want to see being gay as wrong you have to see greed and oppression and raping the land as far, far, far more evil.

So I am glad to see reports (even ambiguous ones) about last week's Lausanne Conference in some papers. No, I didn't see reports of many Anglican bishops from these shores in attendance, though Alpha's Nicky Gumbel was there. But I did read (even in the Guardian!) of a far deeper grasp of Biblical concern for the world and the people of the world than Lord Carey & his friends seem to display.

What's the point? The stats on this blog reveal that one of my continually most popular posts is one where I critique George W Bush's professed Christianity. So let me redress that balance and express here how we should live as Christians in the profound words of George Bush (Snr): "The main thing is to keep the main thing the main thing". We, the ordinary folk in ordinary places, must simply get on with ordinary Christian living: loving God & our neighbour, not excluding anyone from God's love and doing our best to both pray his renewing Kingdom power into this world and to work it for here as best as we can.

fingers & thumbs

2010-10-29T20:52:00.004+01:00

David Beckham goes for a massage. Courtesy of Ellen Degeneres. The funniest thing I've seen all week. Who knew he was so talented?

Catullus & Beckham in one day. Don't say this blog isn't educational.

friday poem

2010-10-29T16:48:00.004+01:00

Odi et amo. quare id faciam, fortasse requiris?
nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.

Reading a friend's blog, I was reminded of this poem - something I read first the best part of thirty years ago, when I learned it for O Level. It's by Catullus, and in case your Latin is a little rusty, here's my (slightly free) translation for you:

I hate & I love. I know what you're thinking - Why do I let this happen to me?
I have no idea. But I feel it to be so, and it tears me apart.

Two lines that work their simple magic over the depths of the human heart. Emotions are dynamic, volatile, wonderful and violent forces, friends and foes, powers we deftly control and by which we are ruthlessly enslaved. We want to break free and cannot; we want to revel and relax unfettered - and cannot. Love and hate walk too closely together sometimes; for comfort's sake we want one to cross to the other side. But comfort is the goal of our emotional risk taking, not the guarantee.

We love because we are human. To not love, to be an island entire of ourselves is safer - but less than the imperfect perfection for which we are so brittly made.

There are days we are torn apart. And days we are healed. And days we are held gloriously and days we hold another, and days we understand and days we have no idea -

But not to have these questions, not to face them, not to feel them, not to struggle with them, not to begin to live a life that has the possibility of them - this is to accept life that is less than life, to number ourselves amongst the defeated, to become amongst the casualties of humanity that consign themselves to stand and watch real life being played out on playing fields and TV screens by others more worthy and more lovely. Such thoughts need to be swiftly dispatched.

Pain is not pleasure; but it is not the end, and not understanding is not failure. Victory has many faces; sometimes it wears a crown; sometimes it comes in the feeling torn apart and yet walking on, doggedly trusting that in the flip coin of hate and love and the maelstrom of having no idea, today is not the whole world. A friend of mine posted a YouTube clip on their FaceBook page of a Texas politician speaking about teen suicides, wanting young people to know "it gets better". Those are words not just young people need to hear.

God is bigger, and he is for us. At some point, though human hands we have cherished may turn against us, it is true, his hand will take hold once more and a wintry soul may yet again find spring.

still writing

2010-10-18T22:02:00.002+01:00

So: another new song. Completely different, though still from under the big hat. I'm in a writing mood, and I'm trying different styles and themes. I guess because I so often write worship songs (and this is definitely not that) I want to point out that not everything I write comes from personal experience! This was sort of birthed by a movie I watched last week, and which stayed with me. (I wrote a couple of songs for one of our jazz concerts about six years back - pure jazz standards; I was asked who they were about: nobody was the answer, though I could tell that was exactly who believed me...)

Anyway. Have a listen. Hope you like it.

the return of podcaths

2010-10-14T15:49:00.003+01:00

It's back!

Podcaths returns. The podcast from my kitchen table has had a year's break, but the vicarage Bible study is back on the web with two new episodes recorded.The first is already on iTunes, and the second will appear almost immediately...

We are looking at St Luke's Gospel at the moment, and (with background noise from scaffolders who are doing their best to re-design my home) I hope you'll enjoy our discussion. Search for "Podcaths Marcus Green" on iTunes - that should take you straight there. The October 6th & 13th 2010 podcasts are the brand new ones. Or just click onto the St Catherine's Website and access them direct from there.

Enjoy!

It's another new (old) song...

2010-10-04T23:24:00.003+01:00

I was sorting out a box of music up in the attic today, in preparation for next week (I'm having a new roof, as you do) when I came across this worship song. Goodness, I must have forgotten 90% of the songs I have written. This, however, is a brand new recording of one I penned maybe 20 years ago, if I remember correctly, at Lee Abbey in Devon.

It's enjoyed several outings since then (stand up David MacInnes' 75th birthday) but I have to say that as I gain more years and lose more hair, its imagery sounds strangely less amusing and more whistful!
No - scrub that - I still love the opening shock of the chorus. Hope you do too!
PS - for US readers, the Zimmer Frame is English for what you would call a "Walker".

Miracle

2010-09-24T23:39:00.003+01:00

On the BBC 2 Review show, I have just heard a poem by Seamus Heaney, read by the poet, which I felt was beautiful and so I record it here. It's part of his new collection, Human Chain.

Miracle Seamus Heaney

Not the one who takes up his bed and walks
But the ones who have known him all along
And carry him in –

Their shoulders numb. They ache and stoop,
Deep locked in their backs, the stretcher handles
Slippery with sweat. And no let up

Until he’s strapped on tight, made tiltable
And raised to the tiled roof, then lowered for healing.
Be mindful of them as they stand and wait

For the burn of the paid-out ropes to cool,
Their slight lightheadedness and incredulity
To pass, those ones who had known him all along.

more work, more progress

2010-09-18T10:40:00.002+01:00

Same song, but a little better recorded, so hopefully Richard can hear some of the words now! It's a bit more finished too, though there's still work to be done. It's been a while since I was in a song writing mood.

work in progress

2010-09-13T21:48:00.001+01:00

Sometimes I just write songs for the pleasure of writing songs. I've had the chorus of this in my head for ages, but it's needed a verse. I've been playing around with it, and this is the closest I've got. Still work in progress.

Pisa

2010-09-10T17:56:00.005+01:00

My holiday has hit the end of the line. It's just another airport. I hate airports. Fake shops and frustrated families and business men with impossible tans and posh luggage. Stale air. I loathe the stale air. Do the ship it in specially to every airport everywhere?

We've been told to go to our gate. But there's a door that says only staff can open it. So we are standing here like lemons. I might lead a revolt soon. The plane will go without us... This is Italy, no-one will question why every single passenger disappeared...

And then London. The M4. Home. Matty.

Well someone has opened the door. Rebellion averted. Time to board. Who knows what adventures tomorrow will bring?

On the other channel

2010-09-10T02:53:00.004+01:00

I'm wide awake tonight - still it gives me a moment to point out (in case you missed it) that over on my other blog channel, the St Catherine's News blog, there are a couple of videos that might be of interest.

At Easter we began the process of honing our mission statement as a church - both in order to come up with a simple sentence everyone could know which encapsulates what we are about, and also to flesh that out a bit and to be increasingly clear as to our role.

You'll find the video here. The sentence we are all challenged to take to heart is simply this:

We at St Catherine's are called to love God and our neighbour in Worship, through Evangelism, and with Compassion.

Happy

2010-09-09T18:04:00.004+01:00

So I've been wandering around Florence with a smile on my face, happy. This is a beautiful, lazy, ugly, intoxicating warm temptress of a city. I love it. The familiar streets and sounds and the glorious, impudently brilliant buildings which abound and both make you feel totally insignificant and as if you rule the world all in one go - all this by itself would make Florence one of my favourite urban sprawls.

But then I turn my feet with fixed purpose towards Santa Croce, hoping yet again to find with ease the ridiculous back alley wherein is hidden Vivoli's, simply the best ice cream parlour in the world.

Of course I get there with no hassles at all. My legs are on auto-pilot, or divinely inspired. Who knows?

And then the choosing. First the price bracket. I went for a middle of the range 5 euro cup. And then the flavours. Always start with old favourites. This is no time for experimentation! So it was raspberry, chocolate mousse & a dab of meringue.

Taste buds dancing. The sky a little bluer. Crowds parting and clearing a bench so I can sit before my legs give way. Somewhere in my mind's ear, an orchestra plays Italian love songs.

I buy a second. And then walk and walk around the city, partly in guilt at the amount of ice cream I have just eaten, partly to walk it off, and partly because I am just simply happy. I climb up to Piazza Michaelangelo for the view. And back. And what the heck, it's ages till supper. And I won't be back for who knows how long. Should I get my third and experiment a little this time?

What do you think...

(later)

I have just been served the biggest steak I have ever seen. 3lbs of it. It didn't say it was big on the menu, just that it was "special". You will be relieved to hear I only managed half. The rest has come back to the hotel with me & will be lunch tomorrow! Though that still makes it pretty expensive... What the heck. I'm home tomorrow night, so I'll stop eating again soon enough.

Open eyes

2010-09-09T09:09:00.003+01:00

So it's Thursday morning. I'm about to board a bus for Poggibonsi and then Florence. And then it's Vivoli's, and ice cream heaven. Nirvana. Whatever.

I had an unusual night last night. Deep sleep, vivid dreams. The kind that stick with you. And this following on from a day when I felt a couple of internal priorities reverse. I do find holidays good for this - I am useless at turning off from the things that fill my mind in ordinary time, but allowing those thoughts space sometimes turns them on their head and brings a new clarity. Opens my eyes a little.

So I thank God for sunshine & walks in Tuscan countryside. And for the prospect of seeing differently. And for ice cream. Oh yes, bring it on

Restoration

2010-09-07T15:10:00.003+01:00

So I went into the basilica here to enjoy the murals. They have a lovey presentation guide book now with pictures of everything, which is new since I was last here three years ago. They are massive and medieval and incredibly impressive, though a few panels are incomplete.

It was one of those panels that grabbed my attention.

The resurrection panel has almost nothing in it. In the midst of all the colour and detail and flashing eyes all around, there is just bare plaster - and two solitary moments that have been restored.

First, everyone who walks past it sees the foot of the risen Christ, still bearing nail prints, standing firmly on the devil who is being squashed and consigned to a coffin. Second. Jesus' outstretched hand is lifting someone from the grave and giving them life.

These tiny fragments on these huge walls reduced me to tears. Christ stands triumphant over the things that defeat us. His foot is stronger, even maimed and bloody, than any enemy or foe. O Lord please crush the things that crush me so effectively. Help me see this picture and trust this truth.

And then realise that your hand holds mine. Your hand pulls me up. When I feel destroyed, you are the one who makes me alive again. It's not just about the end of all things. Its not just about death. It's about the hundred deaths we all experience too often. And your foot is strong enough to finish them off. And your grip firm enough to lift even me.

So often religious art just makes me squirm. And then I see something that makes me soar.

Rest

2010-09-07T11:17:00.006+01:00

I'm sitting here in the Piazza della Cisterna in the middle of San Gimignano. I'm sorry, but as this is coming from my iPhone (courtesy of the free wi-fi the ceramics shop opposite is kindly providing) you are going to have to wait for photos. Or use the twitter feed. Or look at my facebook page. See, I just give and give.

The sun has blown away some early clouds, though there is still a rather wonderful breeze playing on the back of my neck. Everywhere people are taking snaps or sipping wine or standing there consuming hungrily their extravagant ice creams. It appears to be German week here. Even in my countryside palace all the other guests are Teutonic. And yes, one of them was out very early to place his towel on a sunbed by the pool. I kid you not.

The walk from Il Castagnolo into town is a good 40 minutes. And stunning. But that stroll gives me an excuse for a little holiday excess... I found a lovely little tratorria last night, just outside the town walls. No German spoken. No English either- clearly this is where locals go. So it wasn't fancy, and it wasn't expensive, but it was good. And the rabbit with olives was excellent. As was the house white.

I popped into San Agostino earlier. They have a painting of St Sebastian (praying for his faithful people) which is the spitting image of Robert Powell. And shortly I will wander over to the little cathedral here, which has fantastic murals. Wonderful. Then I shall sit in the sun & read a paper.

I hope you are all having a lovely day at work, and the weather is equally kind where you are. God is good. Now - ice cream.

Ten

2010-09-05T21:51:00.004+01:00

This night, ten years ago, I became vicar of St Catherine's. Well, actually, priest in charge. I didn't get the free upgrade to vicar for another fourteen months. But this is when my time here started, and the good folk here chose to mark the day with a few words and a spot of champagne.

Of course, the reading this evening was from Isaiah 43 - "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!" So it was appropriate to think of the last ten years... hmm...

And yesterday, a lovely member of the church, Barbara Hargreaves, passed away after a final battle with cancer. She was very dear to me. She took part in that service ten years ago, and her husband, who had died before I came, actually went to the same primary school I attended in Accrington. I had spent a little time with her on Friday, and we had prayed together, and she had asked me to read to her from Phillipians 4 -

Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.

We took our leave of each other. I promised I would see her again; we both knew it would not be this side of Glory. She told me she was at peace.

Ten years.

I think of the saints who have gone before. Ken & Hilda & Phil & Gwyneth & Cynthia & Edith & Mabel & Gladys & Mac & far too many others to mention.

I think of worship and sermons and Bible studies and lights going on over people's heads and in their hearts. You do get to see it sometimes. I think of prayer groups and home groups and Alpha courses and countless hours of practical work done around the place and the fellowship of the saints that happens in the rough.

I think of sleepless nights and pain and loneliness too. It's all part of it.

"Does it seem like ten years?" I was asked, several times.

What does ten years seem like? I've never been anywhere for ten years before - not since I was a kid, growing up in Accrington, anyway. Does it seem like that? No, not really. And yes, I suppose. Ten years is both forever and about half an hour, isn't it? I had hair when I came. And about twenty pounds more around my waist. Matt was born the day after; not that he came here for another 18 months - Charlie was the Springer in Residence back then.

Goodness. I wouldn't have swapped it for the world. I came because I felt the Lord whisper in my ear that we could grow a church here.

But anniversaries are strange things. They focus on us, and they focus on the remembering. But God is not in the past. Hence that reading from Isaiah. Don't get stuck in yesterday. He's doing something new. Now. Here. Today. There are people here today he's working in. Look! See! And there will be more people along tomorrow for him to love as well. So as long as I'm called to be here, I'm called to be a part of this - in my very simple sort of way. I'm just a short bald guy trying to follow Jesus, and seeing if anyone wants to come along with me.

My job is to worship God; his job is to grow the church. That was true on September 5th 2000. It's still true today.

Greenbelt 2010

2010-09-01T20:55:00.004+01:00

They gave me a free pass. What was I to do? I stood chatting to Simon Hall, old Oxford acquaintance and now a trustee of Greenbelt, who commented that at Soul Survivor he feels like he is seen as a bit wooly & liberal, whereas at Greenbelt he's a token fundy. Context is all. And Greenbelt stll felt like it did the last time I was there 23 years ago - theologically anything goes, but preferrably a bit rebellious and although many folk seem to have some connection with the evangelical church, they are there to cut loose. A little. It walks a fine line between being naughty and provocative.

Example: the headline speaker was a guy called Richard Rohr, a Franciscan. The talk of his that I caught ("looking sideways at the church") was presented as a forward looking manifesto for the "emerging church" as it seeks to do better than the monolithic denominations that struggle to work in the post modern world- but actually it was simply a re-working of fairly standard Franciscan anarchy. Of course, there were those who lapped it up; it was the right crowd for it. And I'm not going to do an in-depth critique here, but I did feel RR was a little dishonest - dressing an ancient Christian idea in Emperor's New Clothes for an audience who would be delighted by it, without pointing out why Franciscan anarchy has so very often gone very seriously wrong - both in the falling apart of local initiatives and in the reverting to the monolith it so assiduously attempts to subvert. Ho hum. Naughty or provocative?

Speaking of which - Peter Tatchell. He paid tribute to Anglican Mainstream for giving him good publicity... (definitely naughty) and critiqued Rowan Williams very strongly (definitely provocative) but actually rather well. I am a supporter of Rowan's unity policy; but PT's critique was that Rowan has been silent on human rights (we're not talking the sideshow of gay bishops here) - human rights where 46 Commonwealth countries still criminalise homosexuality, often at the behest of the churches, and half a dozen of those have the death penalty for it. And Rowan keeps unity with those churches as a more prized goal than the rights of the people who suffer. That was a powerful critique, and one I hadn't heard in such terms before. You don't get this guy at too many Christian events, and though I think his understanding of the Scriptures is limited, I was impressed by him.

Provocative, naughty - downright weird. I spent a wonderful hour (courtesy of Andrew Powell) at the Greenbelt Folk Club. Some of these people actually were attractive human beings. And yet they were in this room that was the very definition of "sub-culture". If you have been to Greenbelt and not been in that gathering, you have not really been to Greenbelt. Until you have heard a man stand up & say seriously "I'd like to play my current favourite Morris Dancing tune" and then do so on his accordion, you haven't really experienced everything this festival has to offer.

Though most of the music is a bit different to that. Courtney Pine on mainstage was glorious - I didn't know whether I would like him; he's not really my kind of jazz. But actually - I totally loved the whole set. Fantastic. He can certainly work a crowd, and though he was a bit squeaky & lets-play-a-million-notes jazz at times, his band was extraordinary, and the whole thing worked. Big time.

Similarly, I totally loved the Dodge Brothers in the Big Top on the last evening. A skiffle band most famous, I think, for it's bass player (film critic Mark Kermode), they were high energy fun that had the whole crowd dancing from start to finish. At one point near the start the generator blew - so in the dark they shushed the crowd and played acoustically, amazingly, till power was restored. And then went full pelt for ages. Exhausting. Who needs circuits in the park to keep fit?

I was told I had to experience Beer & Hymns. The guy leading it in the on-site pub (The Jesus Arms) started off by saying "We like.." "SINGING HYMNS!" shouted the crowd; "and we like.." "DRINKING BEER!" everybody hollered. So we did both. It was a lot of fun. Especially when most of the hymns were in 3/4 time, so we had a good sway going on. There was a limit on the number of people they let in, so there was a huge crowd outside just enjoying the event as "...& Hymns". And though I'd gone alone to this, I met up with Hannah Powell from around the corner here, who introduced me to Joy & Dave & Andy, and it was great fun to get to know them & spend a good part of the weekend with them.

Oh yes. I was camping. In a tent. It's true. I am receiving counselling for this. Thanks to John & Clare for hospitality, and especially to John for helping find me when I arrived & for ferrying me back to the carpark at the end!

One last thought to finish with.

I heard theologian Stanley Hauerwas. He was reading from his memoir, and honestly, I was a bit disappointed, but then in the questions he offered a one-liner that I hope I remember always. He was speaking about intercession and the power of praying for each other when we are going through the mill. He said:

Other people praying to God for me made God present to me in a way I could not make God present to me.

I saw tons of friends, people I haven't seen for ages, and made some new ones as well this weekend. I also saw a couple of folk with whom my relationship has become tense over the years, and when we saw each other we were unable to communicate. I was deeply, deeply upset by this. I don't know how they are feeling spiritually. But I wish I could tell them I am praying for them; that I am asking God to be present for them. And I hope I can believe they are doing that for me - Lord knows I need it too. And maybe one day soon, with God answering these prayers, that truth will make enough difference to restore us again.

Provocative, naughty, weird, glorious, fun, disturbing, inspiring, sometimes very cold - but I'm glad I went.

news round up

2010-08-23T11:41:00.003+01:00

So thanks to those regulars who point me in the direction of news items that have caught their eye - both the regular ridiculous stories that fill the pages of the Telegraph, and the faith stories that pop up from time to time.

Two of the latter have been pointed out by a few of you, and of course I have my own opinions.

What, you were afraid I was going to keep them to myself? Never fear.

First - the Ground Zero Mosque. All America seems to be caught up in the rights and wrongs of this particular proposal - and the trusty Telegraph carries a remarkably balanced article (if predictably taking a swipe at Obama) here. It's not a mosque, it's a cultural centre, there won't be minarets, and it's not actually at Ground Zero. I love the detail that among its neighbours will be the Pussycat Lounge strip joint; no protesters about this, apparently. Charlie Booker has a wonderful rant about all of the above here. It's very entertaining.

What do I think? What does it matter what I think? But for the record - I am on the record as being a tolerationist. We have fought wars to allow people to be people and not to demonize those with whome we disagree. Putting people into ghettos is Hitler's policy, not that of decent folk or even pretty poor Christians. If they want a cultural centre next to a strip joint in Lower Manhattan, then let them apply and see what the city does with it.

Minarets at Ground Zero would be an unadvisable request, but that's not what anyone is asking for. And those who are putting that idea around and who stir up crowds as a hobby should be ashamed of themselves. Which is asking a lot. But there you go.

Now. Here's another story - from the Telegraph - but on a favourite Anglican topic. Have a read of this. Gay vicar to marry Nigerian male model. Colin Coward is quite a well known figure in certain circles, and clearly here is seeing himself as a bit of a trailblazer. It's a colourful story - he's a lot older than his partner, who is African (from one of those places where the Archbishop is vehemently anti-Gay) and that he is a model just adds spice to the news print.

But what we actually have is a vicar having a civil partnership ceremony - and Colin is hardly the first. He's hardly the first to follow it with some kind of blessing either. It's the sort of thing the Telegraph does well - though you can't help feeling the Daily Mail would have made it even more salacious. Maybe it did.

What gets me about this story is this: we all know the rules, we all know gay clergy are supposed to be celibate, and we all know that some keep this and some are less honest. But I find Colin to be stunningly dishonest here. He talks about his sex life with his partner, and says it's his own business and the bishop has no right to ask - whilst making it absolutely clear they are "marrying" (his word - at the moment that's not quite the legal situation, and that's another issue) and then insinuating that they will make full use of all that this entails. Don't insinuate. Say it clearly. If it means that much to you - be honest. Honestly break the rules if you believe they are that wrong - but I find the nod & the wink and the "know but don't say" stuff utterly indefensible.

If you believe something - stand up for it. Totally. For goodness sake, if this is the person you love, you shouldn't have to hide the fact or apologise for it. By all means break a rule in order to make a better one. The world has been improved by many people who have done this. But bending rules, playing with moral codes and bishops as arbiters of the church's conduct when the issue is supposed to be so important to you speaks only of lack of integrity and moral weakness. Get some backbone, Mr Coward.

It's not the issue I find offensive you see. I find liberals in the church who think themselves at the cutting edge of a new morality so wholly compromised that any desire I have to be "tolerationist" and to embrace all people as people in the way I find Jesus doing in the Gospels is actually almost impossible to put into practice, because these guys make it so darned hard.