I thank you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

another year

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 this 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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.