Champion

As I wrote here, "one more game to make it a great" season.

Make that a champion season, as they say where I grew up.

Here are Derek, Matthew, Aled, Matty & I waiting for the Champions League final to start tonight. All United fans. The invitation to the Vicarage only went out to United fans - no Chelsea followers welcome here this evening, though clearly they were in our prayers: for defeat and consolation following defeat. You see, it's both judgement and compassion we see in action.

I felt confident United would do it. 2-1 in ordinary time. Wrong.

And as we hit the end of extra time, with penalties looming, I felt very bad. We all did. Chelsea have an inevitable machine-like quality to them - and a far better goalkeeper.

Cut to our celebrations on winning 6-5 after the shoot-out was done. Ronaldo, our 42 goal superhero (yes, another wonder goal in the first half) missed his penalty, but Edwin Van Der Saar, our weak link, saved the final Chelsea spot kick and won the Cup for us.

How glorious that it was one of our least likely heroes that won the day. How salutary. How perfect.

How perfect. Being a football fan is for moments like these - whether it is the MK Dons you follow, and promotion up to League One provides it, or Fulham and escape from relegation does it, the emotional release that comes from the victory of your tribe is a primal human joy. Probably fundamentally a male joy, to stereotype.

Losing is unbearable. Tomorrow I will give my Chelsea friends a thought. But tonight the joy is too much: the TV in the background is proclaiming it loud and clear.

And I feel champion.

On the hoof

Wednesday morning, again.

I preach unprepared not because I haven't bothered, but because it is a discipline. Three readings, set by the lectionary, and then the congregation gets to choose which one I explain for them.

Bible exposition in its rawest form. I have to know my stuff. I have to be able to explain anything that they want to know. I have to enjoy preaching the word, to love teaching the Bible. They love setting me the text.

This morning, they asked for Isaiah 40.12-17, 27-31. I know, I know, but that's what the lectionary does - bleeding chunks. So I started with a reference to Gill's Sunday morning sermon: Trinity Sunday asks us to look at the whole of God, which is a big ask. But if all we see is the bigness of God (vv12-17) we haven't seen the whole of God, for in vv 27-31 we find the Creator who touches the weak and gives them strength.

The transcendent God who becomes immanent.

Which are big theological words for the Mothers Union: so I found myself retranslating and, on the hoof, describing the pleasure, the wonder and the paradox of these verses as "the God who is really huge is also the God who is really here".

And then he was. In the silence, in the awe, in the midst of those dear, dear people with all they face, we waited upon him and felt ourselves soar awhile.

Trinity

For Trinity Sunday, I decided to choose the wisdom option: get other preachers in. That way, the inevitable heresies that fly out of pulpits across the land on this day of all days would, at least, not come from my mouth, and I would just get to look intelligent and thoughtfully concerned should any of my flock notice a stray extra-biblical doctrine float its way towards them. I'll include photos of all three preachers who were at St Catherine's yesterday.

Speaking of which, I had two wonderful friends to hand. Last year Gill Tuck, our pastoral visitor, who I have heard too many times proclaim that preaching isn't really her thing, gave the best Trinity sermon I have ever heard - but it was at our evening service, so most of our folk didn't hear it. This year, both morning congregations got the full benefit. Using all sorts of images and pictures which by themselves are insufficient, she piled layer upon layer of trinitarian illustrations on top of each other, till she found all of them helpful and none enough - the Trinity is best known, best experienced, best found in love. And her conclusion was lovely.

In the evening we had the wonderful Aled Edwards, OBE, Man Utd fan, chairman of Cytun, North Walian and evidently shark hunter.

He took us on a journey through John 16, perhaps the two most poignant moments of which for me were his story of going on his son's stag weekend (and that's where the shark comes from) - and yes, that was poignant: I'm not sure how many Dads go on their son's stag weekends. The love between father and son that would make this work is quite something. And then he gave us a comment from an African friend - "you have watches, we have time." Just as I had been thinking about the length of the service.

I fear that people want to go home and do something else, and I often am guilty of not letting us spend enough time with the Spirit at the end of a service because I am somehow programmed into not overrunning a time limit I have invented.

And the Lord gently reminded me that he will take time with us - and that when it is him taking time (as opposed, I suppose, to me just wasting time) no-one minds. Certainly, last week we overran at everything and there were no complaints, as everyone waited to be filled with the Spirit.

So after Aled had spoked, we took time to wait on God, to worship, to pray, to bask in his presence, to allow him to work in us. It seemed to pass in an instant. The service started at six, so I was totally shocked when I looked at my watch and saw it was twenty to eight!

By the way, Aled has a great blog; have a read through it - it's lots of fun!

* * *

Oh, sorry - you were expecting a third picture? The third preacher was me (substitute, unused). Look again at the photos above and you can see me! No, not in a shark costume - that's my hands holding Gill's birthday cake a couple of weeks ago. It's chocolate: do you think I'm letting go?

Gentle Spirit

I thought we should mark Pentecost this year at St Catherine's by making sure I offered everyone the opportunity to be filled with the Holy Spirit.

It seemed seasonal.

So I did it in a good Anglican way. "If you want to be filled with the Spirit, bring your communion booklet with you up to the rail as you come to communion & we will pray a special blessing over you" (- for those of you who realise what I'm up to, you'll see that I'm planning to call down the Holy Spirit and lay hands on anything that moves at this point -) "before giving you the bread and wine."

The only flaw in my plan was this: when you ask if people are hungry, and they are, they all want to be fed. And feeding takes a while.

I mean, they all want to be fed.

Well, at 8am perhaps only two thirds. And at 11am only three quarters. And at 6pm we did it differently, cos there was no communion, so I gave them no option, and called down the Spirit on the whole gathering.

But a small part of my tiny brain was blown when we had 100% take up at the Mothers Union service on Wednesday morning. One of them took hold of my arm afterwards and said: "It worked! I felt the tingle!" Not the deepest theology of the Spirit you'll ever hear, but THIS IS THE MOTHERS UNION being filled with the Holy Spirit.

Glory.

Another, rather middle-of-the-road member of the 11am crowd came up to me mid week and said, "That was a wonderful service on Sunday morning." And I am thinking to myself of how we have changed the service since I first came: she is one of the very few still standing from those days (others have migrated to midweek cos of buses, or have moved away, or have passed on; a very few have stopped coming). In the old days there was old-style language, plainsong chanting, chanted psalms, organ only, full robed choir, the vicar robed too. Last Sunday we had a relaxed communion, with bits of modern language liturgy, me in a suit & my fellow clergy (Gill) rather less formally dressed than me, music from our music group, a mixture of worship songs and hymns (from 'Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord' to 'Come Down O Love Divine') and prayer for the Holy Spirit - yet the comment came back from this person, "That was a wonderful service."

It was! But she meant - God touched her.

So it really was wonderful.

The photo is of our Easter Congregational Meeting: time to look back at all God has done over the year behind, and to look forward to all he is about to do. My prayer is - More Lord. Please! More of you in this place.

Inevitable

I like the way the dog has finally got the hang of the Premiership.

At first, when United would score and I would jump up, pumping the air with my fist and shouting "Yes!" he would run away, looking extremely distressed. After a season or two he stopped fleeing, but remained perplexed.

Now he joins in, jumping with me and barking vociferously.

So as we celebrated Ronaldo's 41st goal of the season (41st? And this from a team which was criticised back in August as lacking an out-and-out goal scorer. Just think what we would have done if we'd have had one of those) in the first half, and a career-celebrating and championship-deciding goal from Giggs on his record-equalling 758th appearance for his only club in the second half, again I briefly reflected upon the Lord's goodness in granting me a house fifty yards away from my nearest neighbours.

We're a team, Matty and I. And we both enjoy the triumphs of our beloved Manchester United. It has been a good season. One more game now to make it a great one.

St Emillion

I'm at the New Wine National Leaders Conference in Harrogate.

Whenever I come to these things, I have this sneaky hope I will find someone to teach me the Bible better than I can teach it to others. And three times so far I have found this. Fantastic!

First: John Coles, in his introduction, had an amazing power point slide about the opening sections of Mark's Gopsel. Using NIV headings, he found truths about God's Kingdom which the world and the devil try to confound, and it is hard to explain - but I caught him and he has promised to email me his powerpoint files because it was brilliant Bible exposition, and only tangential to his talk but it will be a major talk of mine soon!

Second: Ellie Mumford did a stunningly good exposition of 2 Chronicles 9, the Queen of Sheba this morning. With good humour and self-deprecation (and in context a wonderful mis-use of the word 'caravan' which anyone who knows the New Wine conferences will appreciate) she told us the the QoS came to the right place (Jerusalem, v1), came with the right attitude (to ask questions, v1), and came to the right conclusion (that Solomon was ruling for God, v8). But then she concluded by taking us to Luke 11.31 - now one greater than Solomon is here. If 2 Chronicles 9 shows us God's kingdom in the Old Covenant at its height, his people at peace and happy, then now there is more: for us who are his people living under the reign of King Jesus in the New Covenant. Wonderful.

Third: my old friend Crispin Fletcher-Louis took a seminar on Theological training, and spoke of how good education had to be matched by integrating the academic insights with practical outworkings... for example: he gave us a class on Jesus and ritual purity laws in Mark's Gospel. Sound exciting? It was the best theology I have ever heard for the laying on of hands.

Jesus heals the leper, the menstruating woman and the dead girl by touch. Numbers 5.1 forbids such touch. Does Jesus therefore (a) keep the law, (b) break the law, or (c) ignore the law? A few raised their hands for (a) and none for the others, with most people keeping their hands down. As he continued I raised mine.
"The girl wasn't dead when he touched her," I said.
"The text says she was dead," replied Crispin, looking a bit perturbed.
"No - when Jesus touched her she was alive again. And the leper was healed. And the woman stopped bleeding. Therefore he wasn't breaking the law."
Cripin took what I was saying and tried to twist it a bit, and I wouldn't let him.
"No," I said, suddenly seeing that he was trying to stop me, but it was too late for that, "the reason you can't touch people with contagious dideases is that you catch the disease; but Jesus health is more contagious than their diease, therefore it goes the other way."

Which, it turns out, was his argument.
But what he then did with it was brilliant. Taking stuff from the Levitical code he showed how the priests' garments made things they touched holy just by touching them. And how objects in the temple made stuff holy by touching them because they were from the temple. Priests and temple convey holiness by touch: like a contagion. In a weak sort of way. But with Jesus this is amplified - for he is our great High Priest, and the living embodiment of the temple.

And we who believe in him are made into a royal priesthood, and become a living temple in his Spirit. We carry his contagious holiness. By touch. That's why we lay on hands when we pray.

Brilliant.

Quite enough input for the day.

So I spent the earl part of the evening watching Paul Scholes put Man Utd through the Champions League final. Glory. And then Harry Latham texted me when it was time for prayer in the main meeting and I went back in.


A chap named Ben prayed for my knee. It's been playing up for ages. And genuinely it feels better - though the test will be when I have to sit still with it somewhere. And he prayed for my stomach/rib/bowels etc as well. Which have been really sore today. No joy there. Harry spotted us and came and joined in, and at the end of the meeting urged me not to give in but to find a member of the team at the front and ask again.

So I did. Why not? What's the alternative? Months of pain and discomfort. It was time to ask; there was nothing to lose.

As they prayed, I could sense the presence of God, I could feel an amazing heat in their hands, but I could also feel my physical pain and felt that nothing was happening. I knew God would be with me through it, but thought we might not see anything.

Then one of the people praying with me asked if I had any bitterness; and the other if I needed to forgive anyone. And in my mind had been the person who was the subject of the dream I wrote about here on Febraury 13th. So I said yes - I was struggling with this, but really did want to finally forgive this person, though it was hard. They insisted I confessed my unforgiveness, and did it there and then, and actually I knew they were right.

And I knew I finally had forgiven somebody who rarely meant to hurt me. But who often did. Very much. And it really is all right. I really do forgive. I really do pray the Lord will bless them. I really bless them.

And I felt better. Not totally physically well; but a whole lot better. Straight away. Something lifted off me.

We'll see how all this works out. But as I sit here in my hotel room now, I can read the words in my profile at the top of this page: "Heaven is... a great bottle of St Emillion". There's a certain amount of very deep theology there you know. And I want you to realise that I am not just using word play when I say that New Wine has given me more than a taste of heaven today.

(The day after)

Physically, today has been much like yesterday. So was the healing prayer a failure?

No. The forgiveness has taken. And, as the one or two people who know how much this has hurt realise, this is a deep wound suddenly and amazingly cured. I am genuinely surprised and grateful.

Phew.

OK, I don't have cancer.

You didn't know I was worried? I've had a week of tests. Ultrasound, bloods, and best of all Barium Enema, which is 'uncomfortable' in the way Hitler is 'unpleasant'.

But Mike Lewis (whose daughter I married just before Christmas - I know, I know, I married so many women last year you forget these things - this was the surgeon's daughter - is all becoming clearer now?) has been a star and whisked me through all the tests I needed.

I needed? Stomach pains. Strange bowelly things going on. More stomach pains. And suddenly all that weight loss begins to look a bit less thrilling.

The results: I am in great health. I genuinely have the metabolism I had in my early twenties, and it's a good thing. The bloods show my diet is good, there's nothing nasty hidden away, everything is tip-top. The ultrasound shows all is working properly. The enema reveals no nasty cancers lurking, no diseases, no blockages. All is well inside the vicar.

Except - I'm in pain, and quite a bit of it.

Mike prods me about and discovers that there is a strong pain just above the stomach pain on the costochondral junction of my ribcage. Which he thinks is sending a dermatone pain down to my stomach. (Think - like shingles travels down your nerve system.) Tietze's Syndrome. It doesn't explain all the bowelly stuff - but maybe I just had a bug; coincidence. He gave me a local anaesthetic and the pain for a while subsided. The bad news? It may take 3 months to heal, but the good news is - heal it will.

Glory. What an answer to prayer. It has been a worrying few days. Weeks. Some of you have known, and I thank you for your prayers - for the rest, just join with me in gratitude. God is good; this is genuinely painful, but no more than that. I am officially healthy.

Phew.

Touch (Torch)Wood

So here am I, visiting Torchwood's Cardiff base. I was showing two good friends from Orlando around for a couple of days last week, and it seemed fitting to let them see the Bay & all the sights there.

No sign of Captain Jack's team. Or RTD. Or the Doctor on one of his occasional visits.

It's great to show your home to people from another culture, especially so soon after receiving the same hospitality in theirs. You do feel embarrassed that you have to drive ten minutes to show them a castle because there isn't one in Pontypridd (and round here that's a faux pas - good grief, we even had one in Oxford; there was even one ten minutes away when I lived in Accrington). Road signs warning of marauding badgers amused them no end, though they were genuinely shocked by the signs we have with pictures of the elderly on the loose (too un-PC for the States I guess).

The most un-PC moment came at lunch at a pub in Tintern, when Kurt ordered something he had never come across. The barmaid took his order (which is fairly standard around here) and then brought it to the table, asking who had requested it by simply naming the dish.

"Faggots?" she asked.

Chris & Kurt felt that had she accused anyone in such a manner in their country she would have been arrested. Apparently you can't order faggots & peas in Florida. Not that I would really do so here, and took them on to the Bunch Of Grapes, Ponty's finest pub, where we had much better fare. (Hmm: Lamb sweetbread starters anyone?)

Tintern, Brecon, Cardiff, Caerphilly - in two days. South Wales is a beautiful place. All of you who are far away - come visit soon! (And the local food is certainly not dull...)

Must Try Harder

And of course I'm disappointed. Doesn't everyone get 150? Einstein got 160; what was so special about him? Wretched internet fraud stuff. They build up your hopes and knock you down. Apparently it's possible to get 200. But I don't see how off the test I took.

There goes my hope of a Nobel Prize. Though they haven't seen what I've done with the Mothers Union: Northern Ireland must have been easy compared to that... (And here I am kind of hoping that members of the MU are not regular readers of this blog or my crazily low IQ rating won't be the only reason for no Nobel Prize!)

Good thing I have a day job and stuff to keep me occupied. Time to fold some notice sheets.

P.S. Before you take this too seriously, the quiz came from Facebook. So I'm reckoning that to be told you are a genius there automatically questions the whole thing. Still, if you need your ego stroking too, click on the link and have a go!

Soundbite

From Ben Sternke's blog:

The Pope is going to the USA next week. An Archbishop at the Vatican said this about the trip:
"The key to this trip will be to listen to Benedict’s speeches in their entirety. He is not a man of blah, blah, blah. He’s a thinker, and before speaking, he thinks. And he prays a lot.”

The Pope isn't "a man of blah, blah, blah". That's a great soundbite! Especially as it warns us against looking for soundbites and commends the long haul listen of whole intellectual reasoned sermons.

But I think the ironic juxtaposition of the style of the comment and its content are beaten hollow by the final five words: "And he prays a lot." Just an afterthought. A final throwaway reason for giving a spare hour to consider what the spiritual leader of a large number of the world's Christians has to say. Every one needs a press man like this; but I'm wondering if he has a day job as well as being an Archbishop...

Now that's what I call Church

At the same time as the two blogs below, amongst all the things that come in the post I received a couple of things which caused my equable mind and heart temporarily to lose a little balance.

Silly things. Stuff that doesn't matter, but which just knocked me a bit.

And for a week I did my best to cope, with the two things below and the other things preying on my mind which I couldn't quite shake. We all have these moments. And I'm doing the strong silent leader thing. I'm a man, I can take it. More - I'm a vicar, so I have to; I don't want to burden my poor people with a sense of being human.

Sleep is good. But after countless broken hours and stressfilled dreams, I was so far off form last night that after church I sat here and felt that I had to do something. It struck me that I was unable to lead everyone into the presence of God last night because I was slightly frightened of going there myself lest I came a bit unstuck.

And with all my vaunted talk of "my church is my family", I was acting as if I had no church, no family, no friends.

So I rang Andy and Esther, went round to their home, chatted, unburdened; they prayed, I felt God's peace and their love; we drank some whisky and I came home and slept well.

Now that's what I call church.

Wish Me Luck

Heart of the family, loved by all, with an unerring ability to make each person who knew her feel special: my aunty Joyce died this week. The life and soul of every party, bringing laughter in every situation, she was a tremendous lady.

This picture comes from a wedding last October. She is 84. She was still (till very recently) running a Tuesday night club "for the old folk" (most of whom were younger than she was) though age was slowing her down. I played a set for them last year, and she was delighted I took the time out to do so.

If ever my Dad and I failed to se eye to eye, Joyce was on the phone. And, curiously, though I know she had some strong opinions about one or two people - those people still felt the need to be loved by her. She was a hugely charismatic, big-hearted person.

My Mum often joked that she and Joyce were at the front of my fan club. But I was at the front of hers; except - that queue is so big, I'm jostling for position with a hundred others. And if children are a testimony to their parents, then my cousin Pauline, one of the kindest people there is, speaks volumes of her mother simply by who she is.

The funeral is next Thursday. The last thing I shall be able to do for her.

And the title of this piece refers to the music that shall play as we leave the chapel, a song by her beloved Gracie Fields (whom Joyce impersonated marvellously!)

Punctuation

I've had a problem with my insides for a while. I wrote a blog about it before going on sabbatical and decided not to publish. My doctor had done a test which came back showing that something was up, but as that was about it I decided to stop being so paranoid.

But it has got worse. Whilst I was in the States I made sure I was on an aisle seat near the loo each time I flew. This became important. And then the pain in my side increased. On Monday I saw my doctor again.

Those who know what kind of examination you get for these kind of issues can imagine the scene. Think Nazi torture techniques. Actually, the bit I found embarrassing was when I was asked if there was any blood in my stools.

(I'm the guy who, on his driving test, when asked to read the number plate of the red car, couldn't actually see a red car. That's colour blindness for you. And why this should make me feel embarrassed given everything else going on... Aren't people strange?)

So my answer was evasive. How would I know? It could be green & I'd be none the wiser.

The doctor said it was probably something with my colon. Diverticular something. I remember thinking, "That's awful - I'm a writer and I have a disease of my punctuation." And then I thought - "Isn't that a kind of big truck? Like you'd hear on the radio after a traffic accident? 'The M5 is closed at junction 4 following a seven vehicle incident involving a diverticulated lorry'." I was waiting for an emergency phone number for relatives to contact.

"It's your age," said the doctor comfortingly. I wondered as I lay on my side if I could lie about that, too. Would it make me feel better?

My sister was helpful on the phone. "You need a better diet." I've had a pretty good diet. Lost a lot of weight, though the doctor regards that as potentially a sympton. Hopefully not. Might make it something else. "More fibre," says Gill. "And tablets." Well, I take tablets, but probably not the right ones. And given the fresh veg, pasta and disgusting muddy-brown bread I eat, there's plenty of fibre in my diet. Still, here's to more fibre.

Will moral fibre do? I have quite a line in that.

So now I am waiting to see a specialist who will decide if I am a lorry with punctuation problems. Or whether this pain in my side is from laughing it all off.

Thirteen Words

I mentioned to Jared Ribble, from Nashville, in an email, how inspiring I'd found my visit there. And how helpful the DMHO DVD is - seeing those boys take a style of music I love, use it both presentationally and really worshipfully, make it an evangelistic tool, and do it really wholeheartedly and passionately - it is something that has genuinely touched me.

After all, I have felt for the last year that we need here to find a mode of evangelism that recognises our prime calling as a church: worship. We are not simply proclaiming Jesus in a vacuum, we are proclaiming Jesus and calling people to follow him as a part of his family here. So the way we proclaim Jesus has to resonate with who we are here. There has to be an integrity between the call and the life that follows.

The difficulty is, of course, that I have no model for making worship the main mode of evangelism in a church. I mean, evangelism is either about Alpha, a supper and a small group discussing stuff (which is great, and which we do), or it is the Billy Graham model - a meeting with a speaker. You can tweak the meeting (put it in a pub, have music, have theatre) but essentially everything is there to service the speaker and his (usually his) message.

If we do worship, there is a problem. Worship is for insiders. Outsiders, non-believers will be uncomfortable. Excluded. It isn't seeker friendly.

Yet it is what we are called to. How can God get it so wrong with us?

Jared replied to me that DMHO find themselves on a different trajectory. Having spent years doing church concerts/events/worship services, they are now convinced that in order to reach the unchurched they have to

Compete with the quality and presentation of a mainstream pop act

and that

Putting on a “churchy” big band show will have less effect on a non-believer than a show that competes in the secular market, but still has the message of the gospel.

Well, this made me stop and think. One of the enormous joys of my trip over the last couple of months was seeing other people's work and letting it evaluate my own. In many ways, this was one of the greatest gifts of those weeks. (The greater was simply meeting people: people beat the work they do every time for me!)

I love the fact that DMHO is undergoing a bit of a re-invention in order to pursue a vision of "reaching the unchurched". After watching both DVDs of the band which Jared gave me, I understand more of the problem of the band feeling like a "niche within a niche" that Denver spoke about with me. It's not just that with their previous show they're limited to the Christian market - it's a swing band in the Christian market; in the States, swing is pretty much right up there with all the other "novelty" acts. And I see that in order to get the message of the Gospel out to a secular, unchurched audience using all available gifts and talents, the quality, presentation and style of a mainstream pop act is the way to go for DMHO. I get it.

Incidentally, the incessant entertaining showmanship stuff that seems an integral part of the swing band scene in the States is simply almost absent over here. It's great to watch at first, but I see why they would find that this militates against them being taken seriously as a musical outfit. (By contrast, swing bands over here are almost dour, sitting stock still as they play music that cries out to look like it's fun, in order that we understand the musician playing it is a 'serious' jazz man...)

But our swing worship stuff is aiming a little differently to DMHO, I guess, because we're a church, not a music outfit, and because as a church worship comes at the centre of all we do - so that means we simply have to seek how to make our evangelism worship-centred too. We're not working away from that goal, but towards it.

Cos here's the big question: who are we aiming at with this form of outreach? For us, here, the answer comes like this. A worship event with our big band is almost a kind of "church-lite". Not always on a Sunday morning, so visitors don't feel like they have committed themselves for ever. Not always Communion, which most of our Sundays are. It must be musically great and really enjoyable. But also, vitally, and actually this is the hard thing, it must really be worship - so that in the midst of the family of the church, the guests (who are probably already becoming part of our extended family - by friendships and relationships and because of our various programmes with families and the elderly - though that means they usually won't be coming to us on Sundays yet) begin to see what our family is all about and begin to be drawn in further. Real worship is engaging. It can't be faked.

The challenge for us is to ensure that it is real and not just entertainment.

So we have different challenges. But I am growing in confidence with it for this reason: I don't for a moment believe there is only one right way to do evangelism! I see what DMHO does and love it because I see a heart and a way of using music that gives me confidence to go with my own heart. I am so grateful for that. The context, the vision, the outworking - wow, DMHO's is so different from my calling it is like chalk and cheese. But that heart, that passion, and a little of the gifting - this inspires me big time to push the boat out a bit with something I think maybe the Lord's gift to us here too.

Does this make sense?

We did a meal on Maundy Thursday, with me singing with our jazz quartet. Lots of guests. A family member of a regular church member came, and then came again to our main worship service on Easter Sunday, and after that service found me and said, "that was really inspiring!" A girl who has started to attend in the last few months (so I have no idea if she is yet really converted) brought a family member - who then also came on Easter Sunday - with two more of her family in tow, and they were overwhelmed with what was a fairly standard service for us.

Worship is our core value. So it becomes our core outreach. How dull am I that I am just learning this obvious truth!

I guess we have to find ways to make special event worship attractive to get people in; then (as I said to Jared in a coffee shop in Nashville, but you can find this at the top of this page any time) those 13 words I try to live by come into play, and indeed find a new resonance, a deeper meaning and a startlingly new take for me: my job is to worship God - His job is to grow the church.

Parachuting onto the Escalator

So I landed. Yesterday at lunchtime I got into Manchester and finally saw Dad and Lorna who met me at the airport and drove me to Mum's. Flight 18 of 18 over and done. Mum was pleased to see me too - as of course was Matty, who, faithful hound, simply clung to my legs and refused to leave me.

Then I drove down to Pontypridd this morning. You can see from the picture of my garden that the weather is lovely. And the forecast is for arctic conditions this weekend. Parts of the country will enjoy a white Easter. Derek, one of my church wardens, has been looking after the house well. And my post was carefully spread over the whole of the study sofa. Tomorrow we'll see what that holds.

Then it was time to unpack a little before getting ready for tonight's Maundy Thursday evangelistic meal. The hall was looking good, and Lesley had worked her magic in the kitchen. Numbers were a bit light as a stomach bug had attacked a group of the church after last Sunday! And poor Kirsty had pneumonia. Time for the vicar to get back into action.

We had a great time. Super food, and the band played well - George as reliable as ever, Dan

sounding good and relaxed, and Chris and Tom working brilliantly as our new piano/bass players. Tom isn't used to using an upright, but sounds wonderful, and I shall send him a thank you for his blisters. Chris is a star on the rise. With Ed so far away, it is good to have Chris on hand.

And next - Good Friday. An hour and a half's meditation. Then reading St Mark's Gospel dramatically on Saturday. And all of Easter to prepare. As my good friend Harry always said, the thing about going away is coming back; it's like parachuting onto an escalator. The ground is moving when you land.

But what an escalator! This is my family, right here, and it was fantastic to see them, to be with them, to feel the love amongst them. I loved being away. It was a one time experience. I met some people I hope will bcome good friends, and saw some things I hope I will never forget. But I am grateful to be back.

Thank you Jesus for home.

Final full day of the Sabbatical.

Seven weeks have flown by, gone in a whirlwind, the press of an enter key, the stroke of a pen. It seems like forever. It seems like no time at all.

When I wrote Salvation’s Song, in Cambridge back eight years ago, I took an entire year out. It was a hard year, a wonderful year, a life-changing year. Its journey was slow and gentle, its development crept up on me, though the big idea of that book - the cross as the place of ultimate worship - was a blinding moment of revelation that came as I drove in my old Mondeo from Watford back to Cambridge after chatting with Mike Pilavachi one afternoon.

This always had to be different. First, before going to Cambridge, I had really not prepared for that time to write. The idea only began to form at the end of August. I turned up in Cambridge on October 1st. This time, I have been preparing for two and a half years, the last of which has been quite regular prep, with the ideas and shape of this book regularly fermenting in my brain. So maybe I didn’t need the time I needed for Song, because I had already taken that time. I just needed the write-up time.

But secondly, this is a very different book. That was a simple, easy-read theology book. Hard ideas, (hopefully!) accessibly written. This is something else altogether.

I have two ideas I am peddling. Number 1: forgiveness matters more to the person doing the forgiving than to the person receiving it. Now, there are qualifications to be made on that. Repentance is the way to receive forgiveness, and without being sorry, we don’t get it - but as human beings we aren’t meant to wait till everyone says sorry before we begin to offer our forgiveness. Why am I so sure? Because as Christians we are to follow the example of Christ, who certainly doesn’t take that tack. If he did, the cross would never have happened the way it did. He couldn’t die for my sins till I was sorry for them. But instead, he dies first, and there is no guarantee I will ever repent. Yet still he offers forgiveness. And asks we do the same to each other.

Number 2: When, after teaching the Lord’s prayer, he goes on to comment that if we don’t forgive our neighbour we don’t get forgiven, this can be taken two ways. Either, the forgiveness we thought we had been offered gets removed (ie God changes his mind), or if we fail to get it it's because we never really had it in the first place. It has to be the second. God doesn’t change his mind on this central issue. And Jesus’ teaching here is to focus us on seeing that the sharing of forgiveness as the completion of being forgiven: if we have truly been forgiven, we will pass it on. What we have received, we will give away.

Or to sum both of those ideas up - we who have been forgiven become the forgiving. We who have been redeemed become the redeeming. We who have been saved become the saving in the world by taking what Jesus has done for us and passing it on.

Now. How to best express this?

In a blog, in this many words? In a theology book with Bible texts and references and quotations?

Or another way? I wanted to try something more creative. Perhaps a little different. So I went for that. It may never see the light of day. It may be terrible. I may not be up to it. I wrote a novel about these issues.

I don’t know if it’s any good. What I do know is that at church yesterday, the pastor led a great confession about the things we do that need forgiving, and that my heart was far more moved and my soul touched and brought close to God than ever normally is the case after writing these things and thinking them through in this way. And if someone might read these words and find themselves similarly impacted, then a little good has been done. It feels a bit like it did when I’d finished Song. Like I’d learned something. Like I’d been changed. Like I wouldn’t be the same again.

I can only pray that this moment lasts. The sunshine on the picture at the top - I am waving goodbye to all that. I am sitting by the pool in temperatures of 80 degrees - I am waving goodbye to that too. Stephen’s Path, the road here where I have been living in Florida - bye bye. Seven weeks away from the responsibilities of running the parish - that’s gone. I get back in a couple of days’ time, parachuting back onto the escalator. But this moment, the moment where I dimly see that the worship of Jesus on the cross is the sacrifice that offers forgiveness, so the worship of our church (always our first call) should be about becoming a Jesus-centred worshipping community that instinctively and always offers forgiveness - and that surely is a tie-in to my perennial search for how worship and evangelism work together - this moment I pray will last and last and last.

This moment is what my services in Wengen, my times in Rock’s cafe or at the Falken, my conversation with Tory over that sandwich (and his subsequent sermon line which has shaped my whole thinking ever since), my visits to Heartland and Falls and Nashville have all been about: I glibly say that the word "sacrifice" is a worship word and then focus on worship. But sacrifice is there for a purpose, and that purpose is forgiveness. This is my blood, shed for the forgiveness of sins. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.

I have been asked endlessly, "Is this book a sequel to your first?" and now I discover to my surprise and delight, that the answer is "Yes".

Nashville, Denver or Athens?

Where am I?

So this morning I went to church with Kenn Hughes, musical director of DMHO, to his Baptist Church. It was a great service - and a great band and choir. 25 musicians, over 100 singers. During one song, Darlene Zschech's "Worthy is the Lamb", I felt myself really lifted in worship. And there was a key change and a truly American moment in the orchestration (band stopped and choir sang through that key change) and it was still wonderful. A bit OTT for Pontypridd, but genuinely moving here, and I sensed the presence of God powerfully. Context is maybe not all, but it matters. Kenn works with a society that sends music ministries around the globe to aid missons in all sorts of places. We shall see, but I am interested in thinking how that may be a link for St Catherine's.

Then he and I met with Denver and Amy Bierman for lunch (at the second best BBQ place in town - according to Jared; Denver loves it, and I enjoyed it as much second time in two days as the first!) - Denver of course being D of DMHO.

It is a real privilege to meet these guys. Their work has been an inspriation for me, and to listen to them speak of what they are doing, how God is calling them on, how things are changing for them and how they are trying to serve humbly, was just a joy.

After lunch, Kenn took me to see the Parthenon. Or at least, Nashville's replica of it. No acropolis for it to sit atop, but still pretty impressive, I think! And therefore a brief trip to Athens (this place being known as the Athens of the South on account of its many universities and Country Music).

Another great day, and the last of my wanderings. Back to the airport soon and then Tampa for another 48 hours before heading homewards. In the service this morning, the emphasis was on saying thank you for the communion. I have an awful lot for which to be thankful, so much so that these words are scarcely hinting at the heart of that matter, or at the matter of my heart. But thanksgiving is large in my thinking. I have had again the joy of meeting with amazing people, and seeing God working in and through them.

Who am I to get this? Just one of the blessed. And, picking up a familiar themes to the three regulars out there, I guess now the blessed must seek to become the blessing.

(Later)

I listened to a 'live' recording of DMHO on the plane on the way back to Tampa tonight. And more than ever I think we must do more with the swing worship as evangelism. It is something that is distinctly ours and which is, I believe, part of the Lord's gift to us. It will be hard work; but I am again inspired by meeting these guys and by what they do. By their music and their message. Now to think how to make our version of that work - and to act on those thoughts. O Lord, bless us!

Welcome to Nashville!

With airplane rides like this, who needs Disney? To say it was "bumpy" would be to say that Switzerland is hilly. I have never before been on a plane where people screamed. It was quite fun, in a bizarre "O Jesus get me out of here" way!

And then when on the ground I had the enormous pleasure of spending the day with Jared Ribble, drummer with Denver and the Mile High Orchestra, and music producer here in Nashville. He is one nice bloke, and I thoroughly enjoyed our time together.

We had breakfast in town, before he showed me the music part of town (this is music city USA), where most of the studios are really converted houses. I met his business partner Sandy at one of these places, where we sat for a while by the most enormous mixing desk. Missed photo op.

We went into the city centre and played at shopping for stetsons. None bought. You should see the prices of hats here. We drank beer for real.

And then ate barbecue. At the second best BBQ place in town.

Followed by visiting a rather higher class restaurant where a friend of Jared's was singing. Jaimee Paul was stunning. A marvellous voice, beautiful poise and wonderful eyes - follow the link and enjoy for yourself. I bought the CD because she was something I had to bring home.

A great day, a real treat. Thank you Lord - for safely getting me here! And for blessing me so much in this place.

And now, the end is near

So I’m off to Nashville this weekend for my final jaunt, and then begins the long trek home.
Having finished the book last Friday, I’ve put my feet up and done nothing since - NOT!

I’ve hardly left the book alone. I’ve read and re-read it, fiddling with thoughts and ideas, with grammar and sentence structure, making sure all the continuity details work, and I’ve totally removed the short epilogue I’d tagged on the end. It needs something there - as it stands, at just over 124,000 words and 500 pages it ends far too abruptly. But what I had written won’t do, and for now I am not ready to try again. There will be plenty of time to find what should fill that slot.

There are passages that do not work. That’s OK: this is a first draft, and as I continue to hone it over the months and probably years ahead those passages will get sorted. There are times when the overall pace of the book is not what it should be. Again, if I’d got that right everywhere at the first attempt, I’d have been frankly shocked.

But there are places where it does just what it should. Times when I say what I want to exactly how I want to. And on the whole, given that I have attempted something here that is way beyond anything I have tried before, I am pleased.

I just know that there is a lot more work to be done! In bits and pieces, quietly, silently, turning what is now something with promise into what I hope one day will deliver that promise and reward any readers in the process.

Which isn’t to say this week hasn’t been restful: more sleep and less work and lots of sitting by the pool and enjoying the sunshine. Hope you like the photo of Ben trying to play his keyboard whilst Sammy the cat has other ideas!

So - Nashville. Jared Ribble, drummer with Denver and the Mile High Orchestra, and Kenn Hughes, MD of the band will be my hosts for the weekend. DMHO is a great band, styling itself either as a Christian big band or as a horn led pop band depending on whether it’s their MySpace or their website you look at. I’ve had the pleasure of singing a couple of their charts with the National Big Band of Wales, and of chatting with Kenn via email for a while - he was really encouraging when I was doing the Every Breath CD. Now I get to meet these guys, and it is going to be a huge privilege for me, and a lot of fun. My last weekend here in the States for this trip, and time to enjoy!

Sunday

Karen and I drove down to Falls Church in Virginia this morning to worship at the Falls Church. Can you see what a clever thing they did with the names there?

The Falls Church is where George Washington worshipped. And here am I standing in front of the old part of the site, where they have the traditional services, and where they have plaques on the pews celebrating famous American revolutionaries and civil war folk who were part of this congregation. I don't think you have to be a general to get a seat here, but...

This photo is the new part of the church, where we worshipped, and it was a super service. Great music, a great sermon, and an hour and a half passed in no time flat. I thoroughly enjoyed being with this part of the Anglican family. Actually, the music reminded me very much of home. Most of the songs were songs we sing, and the sound of the band was very much the sound we make, though the format of the service was more what we do in the evenings than the mornings.

Michael Greto, whose wife Megan is cousin to Scarlette, best friend of Gill my sister (are you still with me) was in the narthex and we caught up before the service began. The sermon was on the problem of suffering, and finished with a point that regular readers here would recognise. One of the things that happens when we suffer is that we enter into part of Christ's suffering in order that we who are the redeemed become the redeeming in the world today. We who are the forgiven become the forgiving. We who are the healed become the healing.

OK, he may not have used those words, but the concept was HUGE in the sermon.

And finally, Harry, the smallest Welbourn has been entertaining us with dancing and percussion over lunch to make up for his lack of a mention with the flute and violin yesterday. Truly a star performance. Stellar. And here is the whole family in the sun outside the house.