lifestyle choices

My good friend Tom Fuerst has blogged about the debate in the US about NFL player Michael Sam. Most UK readers won't know the first thing about Michael Sam; it's a sport that most of us know little about, and many of its characters remain a mystery to us.

Michael Sam is the first openly gay player in the NFL. It's as if we had a Premiership footballer come out; it's that story.

If you haven't read Tom's blog, do so now. Tom writes well on any number of issues, and his blog is always worth a visit for his insight and his humour.

After I read the piece, I messaged Tom with a few comments, and he asked me to post my thoughts as a blog so that we could have a public conversation.

This (slightly adapted) was my response to Tom's article...

As you know this is a subject I think & write about, and I’m always interested in what others are saying. We find ourselves in the middle of a debate, and one of my concerns is that whatever position we hold in that debate we do so with generosity and kindness. Tom, you do that really well - thank you. It has to be the way forward for all of us.

I’d like to reflect briefly on one of your points, if I may?

‘Gay Lifestyle’. Thanks for raising this issue. I see this term more in US writings than in UK works, but we get it here too, and I often feel the urge gently to challenge it. A gay friend of mine describes his ‘gay lifestyle’ as: go to work, watch TV, shop at Walmart, catch the occasional ball game & then church on Sundays. That kind of lifestyle is pretty dangerous... he needs to get out more! 

One of the issues at play here is the minorities question. This also speaks to the justice issue, the lifestyle/habit descriptor and the raising of the gay question to such prominence in current evangelical thinking.

Evangelicalism can have a tendency to see itself as a persecuted minority. The few. The narrow gate. When there are too many of us, we fight amongst ourselves so that it’s clear that somewhere there really is a righteous minority. Minorities always end up being defined by their differences. Make up your own list - but (simplistically) people need community and that means finding sameness with their own and that means finding difference from the majority. The majority is very good at enforcing the latter (‘first openly gay footballer; in case you’d forgotten what makes him special’).

‘Gay lifestyle’ doesn’t mean going to work, shopping at Walmart, catching the occasional ball game & then church on Sundays. It means Michael Sam kissing his boyfriend on TV. If it had been a girlfriend there would have been no comment. But difference is a neon sign, a billboard, the amplifier of minority turned up to eleven. 

These words can be a symbol of pride or a source of contempt but either way they are a mark of difference and a schism in the fabric of humanity. Usually difference ends up being harmful; the majority likes to win. Normally everyone loses. Whoever wanted there to be a ‘culture war’? Someone who wanted to beat someone else. 

So what do we do?

I’m working on Galatians as a way into this at the moment, and it’s slow, and I don’t want to go too far into it, but here’s the crazy notion:

We are called to put the things that make us the same in the spotlight, not the things that separate us.

But there are things that separate us! Hmm. I’m just not sure about that. The Judaisers in Galatians felt it, of course. If the Gentiles didn’t become Jews first, they couldn’t be Christians. Why not? Because of food laws? No - because Gentiles were simply sinners. The Bible said so. They were sinners because they were idolaters. It was because they were idolaters that they practised all kinds of dodgy moral stuff - from free love to shocking food, via no concept of holy days and the all-pervading presence of God and his wonderful Law. So make them Jews, and then they could follow Jesus. 

It’s great logic; great, but wrong.

It’s wrong because it clings to a concept of a two-tiered humanity, and St Paul drives a coach and horses through that. In Romans 1 he points out how idolatry pushes Gentiles to lose themselves in sexual (including, but not exclusively homosexual) sin; in Romans 2 he points out how idolatry pushes the Jews to the great sin of the exile - adultery; in Romans 3 he couples these together and declares that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. One humanity. One fallen humanity needing one saviour.

In Galatians he finds the new humanity - one redeemed humanity in Christ. No male or female, slave or free, Gentile or Jew, for we are all one in Christ Jesus. 

The work I am doing at the moment is looking at a comparison of our current debates and Galatians, because though we are looking at the gay question as ‘grieving over sin’, so (I suggest) were Paul’s contemporaries over the position of women, slaves and (vitally) Gentiles. And in the end, Paul argued for differences to be put away (you make a terrific point about how we all have a tendency to talk down our own sins but talk up the sins of others) as the spotlight hit instead the things in common. Jesus. All have sinned; all are justified freely. God showed his love for us in this: it was while we were yet sinners...

For us all. We were all.

We are the same.

One fallen humanity needing a Saviour, one redeemed humanity worshipping Jesus. 

Of course, though my application of a text may be interesting, useful, and even right, it’s not new. The fact is that people are people and as such as varied as the colours of the dawn. Do we begin our theologies with a grace-shaped positivity toward humanity (made in the image of God, loved by God) or with a sin-focussed outlook (aware of the fallen-ness of humanity, broken & sinful)? When we see Michael Sam do we see a human being loved by God or a gay man perverting the natural order of God’s world? As I get older, it’s not that I see both outlooks as ‘Biblical’. I see them as human, and as human, valid outworkings of human-ness in attempting to understand the Scripture. 

The debate isn’t about Michael Sam or really about the gay issue at all; it’s about us. Christians. How we view the world. How we read the Scriptures. Where we start and where we finish, and the fact that for some of us the Bible is a book best read on a long journey with a Friend and not as a ‘technical manual for life’. This helps me be kind when someone says something thoughtless about the minority that strangely I belong to, even without really knowing very many of my fellow travellers. 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to return to my lifestyle. So far today I have shovelled five tons of gravel, mowed half an acre of grass, planned a funeral and still have a sermon to get right for the morning... I may yet need to reach for the Laphroaig.

When 'Rev' lost the plot...

I have mixed feelings about the third series of Rev, the BBC's clerical comedy. Let me explain.

I mean, I suppose (with others) I worry that faith has very little to do with the whole show; that community is thin; that the comedy value of the weaknesses of people serve to illustrate one man's journey, when that one man's journey ought to be about strengthening his flock, not just watching them flounder. But it's a comedy, right?

And yet...

Sometimes I stare at the screen in disbelief because certain moments hit a little close to home.

People often ask - is it really like that? I was asked this week at the choir in Steeple. I reply: on the whole, I think it's on a par with the Vicar of Dibley. Pretty wide of the mark. It's not about the church, it's about the underdog versus the institution, and that theme is universal. The setting is almost irrelevant - that's why it works. The politics, the failures of others, the surprises and occasional victories are stock-in-trade for this type of tale.

And yet...

The final two episodes of this third series dealt with Adam having a kind of breakdown, making a decision to leave behind being a priest, and then starting to find himself resurrected again.

This is where it gets personal for me. And hard to write about. But let's have a go.

I'm hardly alone in the clerical world in sharing Adam's experiences of breakdown for real. It was strange watching what took eighteen months for me (longer, much longer if we include the whole road back) play out over two half-hour episodes of a comedy. It was doubly strange because although many of the characters and events of my story were here seen in caricature,  yet here they were.

When the archdeacon sat in my kitchen and discussed how employable I would be beyond the church, I'm glad to say that he was a good deal more positive than Adam experienced. But we had that meeting. In that place. And my archdeacon (unlike Robert) was right: a good parish priest doesn't look employable - you have to work hard at the CV, and at getting through the interview door, but the skills we have are enormous. This made me very cross as I watched the TV show's very negative version. If someone was going through that now - if I had been going through that and saw that programme, the damage it might have done me... A vicar is a very skilled person. I've been both sides of the work divide. We have gifts others can only dream of.

When my bishop asked me not to resign, I was not in his home. He was in mine. And I was in the very fortunate position of having the Archbishop of Wales as my diocesan bishop. He was terrific. He couldn't solve my problems, but he supported me at every stage. He supported me as I hit a brick wall; he supported me as I coped with being knocked out; he supported me as I made the decision to stop - though he pleaded with me not to stop; and he supported me through the time away, offering counsel and helping me eventually find my way back into ministry. I wouldn't swap Barry Morgan for Ralph Fiennes.

It was painful watching all of Adam's close congregational friends turn on him. My experience was that it genuinely felt like many people turned on me. That feeling is a terrible part of what happens when you break. The truth was mostly very different, I guess, but even now at this distance I still have some trouble fully understanding everything. I also know I gave myself (even when falling apart) for others, only wanting to do good, and yet truthfully I fear that what I wanted to do and what I did were not always the same. Ah well.

That's what happens: you lose your reality - and I think the TV show put this across well. A small example of how the crash affected me: I never swear. Never. My grandmother washed my mouth out with soap when I was seven (truly). That stopped me. Yet when I was falling, something clicked, and I swore constantly for a while. It wasn't that a veneer of politeness cracked and the reality beneath seeped out; it was that I was broken and I had no idea how unlike me I had become. Afterwards, I didn't think about putting that right when I got better, I didn't consciously check my language. I just healed; I became me again.

Adam loses himself for a while in the penultimate episode. And in the midst of that, he finds God (Liam Neeson), who tells him - I understand.

I never saw Liam Neeson. I did find Jesus; constantly; surprisingly; wonderfully. And those two words - I understand - were stunningly powerful words I heard - felt - in my own journey. That felt very real as I watched. My story.

It hurt to see Adam quivering in bed. I remember those days. No - I remember that there were those days. I don't remember the days themselves with any clarity at all.

Two half hour episodes miss out so much. Concertina so much. Include so much. Make me remember so much.

And then Easter.

Let me be clear: though I had a crisis of me, I never had a crisis of faith. I never lost Jesus. I never doubted God. (I guess I did fall out of love with the church for a while.)

But there was a resurrection, a raising up, a restoring, a renewing, a bringing to a new life afterwards, and for me too it was at Eastertime.

I wondered for a long time if I'd ever be in full-time ministry again. And then I took an Easter service, and as I stood at the altar in front of the congregation I felt myself raised up with Jesus. He'd been with me in the depths, and now he was lifting me up again. I think back to that Easter service; it was extraordinary. For a moment I was a fish back in water - and in the moment I understood I would soon be swimming again for good. I speak in a different way now of the power of resurrection from the hundred little deaths that beset us when life lives us down, because I know it. It changed me. He changed me.

Watching when 'Rev' lost the plot was rather emotional for me, because it was a tremendously moving reminder of how Jesus never stopped writing my story.

the lost art of kindness

I've been reading comments on the musings of two public figures over the last few days.

UK Prime Minister David Cameron has started something by saying that the country should be proud of being Christian, and that he himself has felt the healing power of Christian faith in his own life. The Humanist Society complained about how 'divisive' this was, Alastair Campbell saw it as fakery for purely political ends, and Giles Fraser (in the Daily Mail of all places) critiqued DC for being a bit wooly (pot, kettle, black, anyone?) because to be a really good and fair preacher of the Word would mean he'd lose votes.

And, of course, actually be a clergyman and not be a politician. Sorry - I may just have thought that last bit; I suspect it wasn't in the article.

Meanwhile, in Wales, at the Governing Body of the Church in Wales, the shocking news was that the Most Revd Archbishop Barry Morgan is a theological liberal.

Who knew?

Oh - that's right; all of us.

Barry's opening address at this year's synod in Llandudno has been presented as welcoming same-sex marriage and questioning traditional orthodoxy. It's well-known that he holds those views, and he is patron of certain pro-gay Christian groups. There are Welsh evangelicals who feel that Barry, as archbishop, loses his role as a 'focus of unity' when he heads into this territory.

Well...

I sort of think that there is a lost art of kindness which might help all of us live a bit better.

I've no idea about the depth and reality of David Cameron's faith, but I genuinely welcome politicians who wish to come to my church. I welcome everyone who wishes to come. If they come with mixed motives, they'll fit right in. And if their explanation of Christianity and their living out of Jesus' words is less than perfect, again they'll be in very good company.

Why should a politician/actor/footballer/whoever be expected to be a brilliant theologian and preacher? I'm delighted that Jesus matters to them. If they come, I hope over time Jesus will matter more. I rather think that if (the first time they express interest) I'm a bit snooty about their imperfect grasp of matters that are my professional life, they may not come too often. I wouldn't go to them too often if the tables were reversed. But if I manage a bit of kindness, and a genuine welcome, who knows who might come - and come back.

As for the humanists' hasty retort: I think several of them will look back with regret at that letter. It makes them look ungenerous, and I'm sure that's an unfair reflection on them as people.

Christians, however, should not look at their negative response to a politician with regret but with shame. Love your enemies, says Jesus, not just your friends - don't the pagans manage that much? Bless those who persecute you, adds St Paul. I get the cut-and-thrust of party politics, though I don't participate, but really: when a political badge matters more than the command of Jesus, we Christians need to pause a moment and then repent. We have nothing to say to anyone till we go back to ground zero and ask forgiveness again. People are always more important than badges, and loving people is our business. Loving everyone. Even those we find pretty difficult, for whatever reason.

We get hot under the collar (whichever way around we wear it) and forget to be kind. A little grace, a little patience, a little gentleness. These fruit of the Spirit go a long way, and bless us beyond reckoning.

I do know Barry Morgan, and I do know the truth and vitality of his faith. I've read the news reports about his words and think they seem fair. Barry and I sit in different corners of the church and although I admit in many ways (for differing theological reasons and for similar ones) we may agree on the issue of sexuality, that's not my only reason for wishing there was more kindness flowing here too.

Barry doesn't come out with a conservative line. Well - amazing! He's never going to do that. But actually, he doesn't come out with a desperately liberal one either. He talks about how people approach the debate with different perceptions and experiences and starting points, and frankly that's simply true: there is no theology in a vacuum. On any subject. And then he takes time looking at Biblical approaches (as a liberal, but still - the majority of his speech is about Biblical approaches; he doesn't jettison the Scriptures, he discusses how people might work together to value them) before putting forward future options, and asking liberal campaigners not to get ahead of where the Church's common mind actually is.

I do feel that some remarkably good people forget to be kind to Barry as a leader. It's hard being a leader. When I was young I used to hope I might find preferment one day; the older I get, the happier I am that that wish will never come true. And the more I pray for those above me. They have it rough - mostly from 'friendly' fire.

You know, I worry that as soon as people hear Barry start to speak on some subjects they presume they know what he has said sometimes.

I guess we all feel that way occasionally. Pre-judged.
  
It's a difficult art to actually hear what another person is saying, to pay them full attention and not to presume they mean one thing despite the words they use indicating another. It's a kindness that shows love to listen and take in the truth of another's words because they reveal another's heart, and I suppose the process also reveals our own hearts too.

Kindness: a lost art? Let's hope not.

six

On Friday I made my Lenten pilgrimage to Canterbury.

I write that as if it's a regular thing. Actually, I've only ever been the the Mother Church of Anglicanism once before in my life, in 1988, the summer after graduation. I remember nothing of the experience except the friends who shared the journey.

Anyway.

This time I was going to see another friend receive an honour from the Archbishop, and it was a joy to drive down from Oxfordshire through the spring sunshine knowing that I would see Tory Baucum and his family at the other end.

Tory has featured on this blog before. We first met back in 1990, when he was curate at the cathedral in little Rock, Arkansas, and I was travelling around the US before I began my ordination training at Wycliffe Hall. We met by chance, and became good friends. Through the years, that friendship has stood the test of time, and I have been privileged to lecture for Tory at Asbury Seminary and to visit him at Truro Church in Virginia where he is now Rector.

Tory is a godly man.

I want that to stand loud and clear as a statement in its own right. In Tory I always see a man who loves the Lord and loves to lead people to the Lord and loves to bless the church. He has found himself on more than one occasion in the midst of difficult circumstances and in that place has always sought to be a man of peace, speaking truth and love with integrity. That's not easy; but his life is a truer witness than my words.

Tory and I don't agree on everything; that hardly matters. I love his heart, and I love him as a dear friend - it is a privilege to know some people, and I count Tory in that category. If I had to agree with someone in order to cherish their friendship, I'd be both far poorer and even more foolish than I am. Tory's wisdom has made me stop, think, re-assess, and wonder many times.

In the mess of US Anglican politics, he takes it in the neck from every side because his church is a member of the conservative ACNA, not the official TEC grouping, but he has taken time to pray with and become friends with the TEC Bishop of Virginia (for whom I also have a deep regard). It is this ability to seek reconciliation without losing integrity that brought Tory to Archbishop Justin's attention.

Justin has appointed Tory as a Canterbury Six Preacher, a company of six preachers that are linked with the foundation of the Cathedral, and who have the honour of being commissioned to share in the work the Archbishop sees as being vital to his own ministry. Justin is keen that we Anglicans re-discover the ability to 'disagree well', and has installed Tory as a Six Preacher to indicate how vital this is, and to demonstrate a very visible model of how it might be done.

Justin has been criticised for the appointment; Tory has been criticised for taking it. Blow the critics.

In the church of God, we will at many times differ on many things, and the way we conduct ourselves at those times matters. Disagreeing well is a great skill, and can reveal deeply Christian character - or its lack. To love my brother or sister  when I really read the Scriptures differently matters. Justin and Tory both get that, and I am grateful for the leadership of the one and the friendship of the other and the example of both. We need more people like this. We need to live this stuff out.


So it was glorious to be at Canterbury; to see a godly man honoured; to stand with a friend and his family; to see this step on his pilgrimage and to feel it mark a part of my own.

Back in Little Rock, a quarter of a century ago, we had no idea what days would come. Who knows what days yet will be. Friday, however, and days like it, are days to treasure indeed.

I thank God for Tory, and pray I might practise what I see lived and preached in his life.

examples

I had the pleasure today of meeting up with Robert Watson, retired clergyman, sometime chaplain with ICS in Wengen, Switzerland.

It was in that role that I first met Robert. I had agreed to take on my first chaplaincy in 1997 and ICS held a training day for summer chaplains. Robert was there, and as we spoke, he was tremendously encouraging about the work I would encounter, and the opportunities I would find whilst in resort.

Like most of us, Robert can be a bit marmite - some people take to him enormously, others not so much. I particularly took to him on first meeting and have always done so ever since. When I have seen him lead services at Wengen, as he led the communion today, he does so in a very individual style that is impossible to emulate - but which clearly demonstrates his God-ward heart, and his desire that others might share that heart. That's a very precious thing, and for me has a deep integrity.

Today he made me value again another person's ministry, and made me think of others who have blessed me along the way. The list is very long; I am sure it is far from finished.

The person who especially came to mind did so because as I spoke about Robert with someone else in the village here where I am enjoying a few days holiday, she told me of a poor experience earlier in the season. The man who had been chaplain then had been very insistent that she (my friend here) should do something in the church, and had rather bullied her about it. She had not been free to offer the time needed, and felt bad about the whole thing.

This tale put me in mind of John Walker at Calverley, one of my heroes of the faith. When I arrived in Yorkshire after Pontypridd, I was exhausted spiritually. We met, we talked, and John quickly delved a little and found out all sorts of things about me which revealed that I was exactly the kind of person who could help him with various things in the life of the parish. And he never once even asked me. He understood how tired, how empty I was, and simply befriended me and gave me time to be restored. He and Michelle were wonderful. His ministry, there at the end of his many years in that place, with so much to do to organise the parish for the upcoming interregnum, was the perfect model to me of pastoral understanding. John could so easily have pushed me along a bit - he had so much to get done in those final months it would have been very understandable - but instead he understood what I needed and put his own needs, wants, agendas and everything else to one side so I could begin to flourish again. I know for some John could also be a bit marmite - can't we all? - but the time he gave me was pure blessing. When I was ready to begin to offer things, he kindly made space. He encouraged and helped me grow. I thank God for what John did for me.

The newspapers are looking at the anniversary of Pope Francis' election at the moment, and beginning to judge how successful he is being. He is a man. As time goes on, the adulation will vary. He will doubtless end up being a bit more marmitey than has so far been the case - some will really find they can't cope with the taste after all, whilst others continue to love him. He is not perfect (thank God), but the imperfections are not disqualifications nor do they dilute the value of anything he does or says.

God only uses imperfect people; it's all he has.

The examples we have of good men and women who touch our lives with blessings from God are not divine, not perfect, not plaster saints who live on pedestals, but real, flawed, loved people like us.

And here's some good news: if they blessed us, we get to pass it on.

P.S.

I was just in the process of posting this when a quick message came in from a dear friend who was once part of a church where I was involved early in my ordained ministry years. She could have been reading this as I was typing; and as I have been writing about examples that have touched my life, I actually got a note from her saying pretty much the same thing back to me. How genuinely humbling. How wonderful. You see, we really do all get to play.

Guidance?

So the House of Bishops very kindly issued a statement of pastoral guidance on same sex marriage the day after Valentine's Day.

Props for the timing, boys.

It has a couple of technical problems.

First:

The first same sex marriages on England are expected to take place in March. From then there will, for the first time, be a divergence between the general understanding and definition of marriage in England as enshrined in law and the doctrine of marriage held by the Church of England and reflected in the Canons and the Book of Common Prayer.

There has been quite some internet chatter about this. I'm not an ecclesiastical lawyer, though I did talk to one. Off the record.

However, rather than rehash what others have said, do read Scot Peterson on this here. He covers both sides, but finds that actually it isn't the first time there has been such a divergence. Marriage law changes and the Church deals with it - though his conclusion is interesting because he does see a real difference in this change. Previous changes have left applications in localities to the individual conscience of the clergy; this constructs a blanket ban.

Look, it's interesting, but it's minutiae. Their Graces should've done better than pander to conservative propaganda on this. An untruth has been published in their names because they swallowed something which one of the factions in the Church has shouted loudly enough to become accepted reality - when it is no such thing. But it isn't the heart of the matter. It's illustrative of the process. It's sad. It doesn't really matter.

So on to the Second Technical Problem - and perhaps I read the wrong internet sites, because I've seen nobody else comment on this, and for the life of me I struggle to understand this.

In the appendix to the statement there is a section on how the bishops see the law applying to clergy. Within this we read (emphases as per original):

23.  At ordination clergy make a declaration that they will endeavour to fashion their own life and that of their household 'according to the way of Christ' that they may be 'a pattern and example to Christ's people'. A requirement as to the manner of life of the clergy is also directly imposed on the clergy by Canon C 26, which says that 'at all times he shall be diligent to frame and fashion his life and that of his family according to the doctrine of Christ, and to make himself and them, as much as in him lies, wholesome examples and patterns to the flock of Christ.'

At all times he shall be diligent. Fashion his life. His family. Make himself and them. As in him lies.

We've had women priests for twenty years. We have the legislation for women bishops. And the canons of the Church of England still only have male clergy. Someone sack the lawyers, or sack the Synod, or sack the Bishops who allow this stupidity. Changing this language is simple and necessary, and leaving it in such archaic form is - well, I want to find it insulting, but actually, in the context it is being used, it becomes laughable.

Lesbian clergy - you're OK. It's only the men the rules apply to.

This week, the Telegraph commented on how the government's change in marriage law was causing a redrafting of all sorts of legislation going back 700 years, so a man couldn't be Queen. You'd think the Church could sort it's own laws out to recognise a woman can be a priest.

Now.

This is technical stuff, and in the grand scheme of things, regarding the subject matter of the Guidance, neither point is really central to the argument. But actually both things together begin to matter.

Because when the House of Bishops issue Pastoral Guidance, they speak words that impact real people, real lives, real relationships, real faith, real hopes and real fears. They have a duty of care to get the small things right because it demonstrates that every person counts as a person and not just as a cause or a faction or a vote or a voice. We are the Church of God in this place and we should jolly well act like it or repent when we get it wrong.

It so happens that a very senior Bishop in the Church of England came to me mid-week and apologised for the Guidance. Actually, I hadn't read it then. I thanked him - and came home and read it to see why he should say what he had said. And then I understood that I had just met a godly man.

We will disagree on how the Church in its fulness responds to all sorts of questions. Some of those disagreements will get resolved, some won't. In the process, we must love one another and not take short cuts, we must demonstrate love and not produce slogans that make our neighbour less than us. We must be Christians.

Guidance?

Yes, I think their Graces might yet seek more of the same, as might we all, and I would not be of their number or carry their responsibilities, but I would, will and do pray for them.

glimpses of glory

Inevitably as a parish priest you bury people.

Three years ago on this blog, just as I was stopping doing funerals, I made a comment about Tom Long's superb book Accompany Them With Singing. It is a wonderfully Christian book about death and the things we do around death. I wished I had had it when I was first ordained. Three years ago I didn't know if I would ever put its wisdom to use again.

But now I am grateful for Tom's words, his theology, his understanding of people and the Scriptures and his grasp of God's care of us from our first days to our last - and beyond.

I met Tom, once. Briefly. He has no idea. I heard him preach; simply brilliant. The people who touch us, I suppose, the people who shape us and never know. Tom - thank you. There are folk in my life now, as I resume pastoral ministry, who are profoundly affected by your work and don't know it, as they only get to feel it through my mediating hands and eyes and voice. But I know. And I thank you for the larger sight of God you have given me, and the framework to help others connect with Jesus in fragile times.

I am experiencing a season where all of this is carrying a particular relevance. My prayers and thoughts are filled with dear, dear folk who have lost friends, parents, spouses; I am deeply feeling the sorrow of loss and singing the songs of resurrection.

It's the worst part of the job; it's the deepest privilege. 

merry

So that was Christmas.

My first Christmas back in Oxfordshire.

In Pontypridd, people used to say - "This will be your busy time of year then!" and I would smile a fixed, polite-enough smile and nod. It really wasn't that much busier than any other time of year. There were services to do, sermons to write, people to see, stuff happening. Life. And a few days off afterwards.

Here having three parishes, I got to do Christmas three times over. So yes, it turns out Christmas is my busy time of year. Good job I really enjoy it! (Christmas; and the job, come to think of it.)

From the Christingle in Tackley, where we saw about a fifth of the village pack into the church, to Christmas morning, it has been a real delight to take the Advent journey and see everything that happens here.

In a way it's invidious to pick out highlights, but I guess people will forgive me if I pull out one or two.

That Tackley Christingle was super - in no small part because it was such a surprise. We held it on a Friday afternoon after school as an experiment, and it worked. The school there were totally wonderful to work with, and really supportive - I am only sorry I missed the children singing at the Tackley Carol Service as I was at Steeple at the time. The Steeple Carol Service was fantastic - in no small part to the wonderful musicianship of Jonathan who played organ & ran the choir. North Aston was also a delight; I'm only sorry I had to run from one to the other! Miranda was tremendously prescient & chose music that Kings sang a couple of days later... Again, I am surprised by how good the choirs were in each of the churches. Remember: our largest village has around 1,000 inhabitants, so it's a bit like expecting Portugal to field a football team.

Here is a snippet of the Steeple Carol Service.

And another highlight was hearing the children from the school in Steeple sing a carol I wrote for them at their school Christmas service. Yes, inevitably - here's that too!

Crib Services are new to me. I've never actually done one before in almost 20 years of being ordained. Well, old dogs do learn new tricks. Steeple's was massive, and needed all the crowd control techniques I've learned over the years (never let them see the fear) in order to get to the money moment ("because you matter to God - and you - and you..." and suddenly we have pin-drop quiet) but meanwhile in North Aston...

In North Aston we had the epitome of rural ministry. Steeple has a Crib which can only be described as a mansion. North has a fold out table covered with sawdust, a candle lantern, and knitted figures. Simple and yet stunning. As we all stood around and looked at this naive scene, there was a sudden intimacy which was breathtakingly pure. I loved it.

 I could go on. I should go on. I've not mentioned Carols on the Green, or Midnight, or Christmas Morning -
And I will mention the last of those three, but not for the church services, which were glorious (stunning candles in Tackley, unbelievable attendance in North). No; rather I'm going for earlier in the morning when Harry and I went for our usual woodland path walk, and suddenly heard a noise up ahead. Harry started, and made to move forwards, and then froze to the spot. In front of us, facing away, was a huge deer. For a moment it was still, and then it leapt away - one, two three enormous bounds and it was off. The dog and I had been rooted to the spot as we watched, and only as the deer disappeared did Harry shake himself and set off to follow - but it had gone. A beautiful moment in the early sunlight, a gift.

A gift that sums up this joyful season, for it has all been gift. Gifts of people all around, in song, in worship, in the villages, in the pub, in the choirs, in concerts and gatherings of all sorts, not forgetting lunch with Benyons and Hayns families on Christmas afternoon.

Oh - One more thing.

There are a couple of lovely people here who have been in hospital over Christmas. So I popped across to Witney see them between Christmas morning services and lunch. Just for a few minutes conversation, just to wish them Happy Christmas, to read a little Scripture, and to pray.

And I confess that in that hospital, with the background noise of too-loud TVs and nurses calling down the corridor and the smell of disinfectant and the glare of cheap decorations - I was profoundly and deeply touched by the Lord who was born in a stable in order to be God with us. Always.

Merry Christmas.

Legacy

I am hearing on the radio & reading on Twitter a number of tributes to Nelson Mandela that speak of how, in the 1980s, some people in the UK supported Mandela and the ANC whilst others regarded him as a terrorist.

With respect, Nelson Mandela lived reconciliation.

Isn't the point of the man who wore the Springbok shirt at the Rugby world cup final that sometimes (and this may well be such a fitting time) we forgive one another the past in order to have a chance of writing a different future? Such a man does not belong to the few.

And though he encouraged the remembering, it was to aid reconciliation, not to punish those who had failed him. We honour Mandela with his agenda; even if his great dream for his nation has (for now) only been realised with patchy success, his global legacy is how we all live reconciliation.

If some who got it wrong thirty years ago have since understood and changed, this is a tribute to the generous forgiveness of a true hero of our times. Small-minded reminders of bleaker choices put me in mind of something my grandmother used to say:

"Those who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

Or, perhaps, better:

"If you want to make peace with your enemy, you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner." (The Long Walk to Freedom, 1995)

Reporting Pilling

So the Pilling Report has been published.

The list of those who wrote or spoke to Joe Pilling's working group on human sexuality for the House of Bishops reveals that many conservatives were determined that their voice should be heard, and that many from the differing gay lobby groups also wanted to have a voice.

I'm not entirely clear how many non-interested parties wrote in, which is perhaps an inevitable shame.

The report is careful: it sets out its context very slowly, establishing methodology, its understanding of Anglicanism on several levels, and discussing the differing types of evidence brought before the group. It seeks to be practical and theoretical, and does not deliver any killer new doctrinal statements.

What it does do - importantly - is set out a generous, grace-shaped space for the future. The report understands that there is difficult work to be done, but I think at times instead of describing what the future might look like, it tries to describe what the future might feel like.

In the past, all our discussions on sexuality in Anglicanism have been extraordinarily angst-ridden, as if this was our most precious set of doctrines. But get real; we are about Jesus folks. The Pilling report doesn't say that sentence anywhere - indeed, the Bishop of Runcorn's dissenting statement appeals to Tom Wright's Durham address where he would not put this debate into the 'adiaphora' file. Yet the tone of the whole report gives the Bishop of Runcorn cause for his dissenting statement. All the way through there is a push to lower the angst, to up the grace, to look for the best in those with whom we may disagree and to accept that Christians differ.

That's the key, vital, Anglican nature of this report.

And it doesn't put the Scriptures to one side in order to allow for this. It engages in some debate (throughout; and in the two very lengthy and differing appendices), and has much room for references to more, and clearly shows that freshness and generosity will take us further - if not in changing minds then certainly in how we conduct ourselves as we speak with one another. And that has to be fundamentally Biblical.

I have to admit I am beginning to be saddened by a new popularity of the word 'revisionist'. It gets used when someone doesn't like someone else trying to look at the Scriptures from any fresh angle. 'Revisionist interpretations are to be avoided because the weight of scholarship is against them' is in fact like saying 'New things are to be avoided because there are more old things'. Biblical scholarship is always to be examined; if it handles the Scripture well, it is to be taken seriously whether it fits with our current understanding or not. I love 'revisionism', I thank God for 'revisionism' - in these terms Luther was a 'revisionist'. So was Cranmer. And Hooker. And Calvin. And Aquinas. And Wesley. NT Wright definitely is. These are all people who make us stop and change how we read the Bible. Thank God for these people. To suggest that we ever have everything right is - risking missing out on more. It's not suggesting the truth changes; it's saying that God is wonderful, and still may open our eyes.

But - and this is vital - whilst I don't like the attitude that wants to belittle change, I love the guys that sometimes come out with the attitude. They are vital to the church because their hearts are so good. I want new scholarship; I think the old scholarship doesn't do the Bible justice here because it doesn't work with the bigger picture of God. Yet I want to break bread with the people with whom I disagree - that's Church, that's what Jesus calls us to, and that's the tone I often find in Pilling.

On the day it was published I got sent a link to a new conservative evangelical website supporting gay people. LivingOut is clear: it upholds the trad line; here are a group of gay men who are (somewhat courageously) stating their sexuality very publicly, and adding that they will be celibate or look for a heterosexual relationship.

Honestly, as I read the site, I understand them completely, but disagree with their understanding and application of the Scripture. And I am glad we belong to the same church. It's a big house.

Because that's the other thing I found in Pilling, and this is priceless: nowhere in the findings or recommendations or general tone of the report did I find that it was in any way suggested gay people are sinful or second class. Gay people belong in the big house; there is - at last - officially room.

Even if there is work to be done, even if full equality is a long way off, even if the discipline of the church is still what it always was: there is room. I get that for some 'full equality' is not a goal; I get that for some the current discipline is quite good enough. As I said - I disagree, and with respect, do so because of the Bible.

I am grateful to the Pilling report as I read it for the first time and I hope it will see the Church of England move forward with generosity and grace and care, and perhaps with a few less raised voices along the way.

Advent

It's hard to express my wonder as an Old Mertonian returning to college for this year's Advent Carol Service.

I simply don't have the memory of chairs being put out in the sanctuary so that there was room for everyone who wanted to come to a service. We never had a choir like this. I never saw such spectacle as hundreds of candles flickering and glowing and processing out together. This is Merton College in its 750th year.

And then there is the brand new Dobson Organ, physically dominating the ante chapel, and thundering gloriously through preludes, hymns, anthems and voluntaries.

Mark, the chaplain when I was an undergraduate, is one of my heroes in life. He probably has no idea. I was a fairly unreconstructed evangelical as an undergraduate; vice-president of the OICCU, you name it. The years have added a little nuance for me to the black and white simplicity of those days, the odd grey here and there. And yet, for all that, I was up every morning and attending morning prayer in chapel with Mark and two or three others. He helped me to worship, and the vehicle, the tradition, was not the issue: the reality of the faith and the sight of God was.

These days, I'd be working out how he was using liturgy so well; then I just took it.

And my memory - for what it's worth - is that the life of the chapel ambled on, up and down, and Mark faithfully served us and several found a calling and went forward to ordained ministry, or into different kinds of orders. It was a warm place; he was a good man.

And now: this thing I always loved, watched over by this man I revered, has been transformed and I am truly, truly touched again by what I see and hear and feel today.

My parish here are learning that I am fussy about liturgy. It must be good, but it must be clear: I have no time for liturgy which is only useful to those who are liturgically literate. The in-crowd. Liturgy as a barrier to coming to worship is abhorrent.

Simon, Merton's current chaplain, is a superb liturgist. His materials are concise, readable, intelligent and straightforward to follow for the first-time or occasional visitor. The service booklet for the Advent Carol Service (given that we started in darkness) was excellent as a resource. The basic shape of the service was simple, with readings moving from promise in the Old Testament through the Prophets to the Annunciation in St Luke, surrounded by congregational carols and choir items, with a final procession to the ante chapel where all of us stood, candles in hand, organ blazing, glory descending. The execution of it was awe-inspiring.

The choir: This Christmas, most of us will hear choirs attempt Howells' A Spotless Rose. My heart usually sinks when I see it on a service order. It is a deceptive piece, which should ebb and flow and be like gossamer on the wind, and which more usually ends up like treacle on a spoon. Merton choir under Ben Nicholas' superb direction wove a web that was deliciously light. I can hear it still.

But the highlight was Matthew Martin's O Oriens, a magical, mysterious, breathtaking piece knotted around with glimpses of O Come O Come Emmanuel which quite simply moved me to tears. I didn't want it to end; ended, I wanted to stay in the moment of silence that followed for ever.

The organ: O Mertonians, the old days are gone. The platform, the pseudo-baroque tones that came straight from an early German period instrument recording of the 1960s, all gone. Now here be dragons. Monsters. Angels too - for a Leviathan it can sometimes play with an ethereal sweetness. And at the end, as we all sang out Lo, he comes I stood right by the Dobson and felt its full power, and the earth shook. Wonderful.

It was a real privilege to be with hundreds of others in Merton Chapel on Saturday. It is a real privilege to see what Simon and his team and his vision is achieving there. It was a special privilege to see Mark back for the occasion, and to speak briefly with him. Too briefly; I owe him so much.

It was the best start to Advent I can ever remember.

another year

Ryan Giggs is 40. Amazing. And still playing at the highest level, as he showed in leading the charge in this week's 5-0 victory by United over Leverkusen. Goalies last that long, but midfielders die young. Unless they are Ryan Giggs.

Another birthday boy, CS Lewis, had a memorial stone placed in Westminster Abbey last week on the 50th anniversary of his death. It was a great occasion - and I felt privileged to be there. I had a ticket amongst the general populace in the South Aisle but as I arrived I saw my old friend Spud, who had organised the whole thing, and he gave me that most precious of things - a 'friend, come up higher' moment. He decided to find me a 'better seat', which turned out to be on the front row at the east end of the choir. The royal family seats. 'What was my connection with CS Lewis?' I kept being asked. 'We share a birthday,' didn't quite feel like the right answer...

The sound of CS Lewis' voice from a BBC recording during the service was a beautiful moment; as was a new anthem on one of his poems.

And me?

On my birthday this year I am in a grateful frame of mind.

A year ago, I was beginning to ponder a return to full time ordained ministry after my time in Leeds, and now I have a new home and role, the three parishes are just great, and I am back in Oxfordshire amongst the dearest of friends.

I've received all sorts of gifts this week. At that CS Lewis service, someone I haven't seen for ages told me they follow this blog, and have found it a real help from time to time. Well, that encouragement blessed me. Thank you. Meeting a young couple to discuss a baptism, one of them told me that they had heard me preach a couple of times and found things I said to be surprisingly understandable(!): would I speak that way about the baptism? They had even found they had changed something about the way they lived after one of my sermons. I tell you - any preacher who hears that said to them genuinely feels like they are walking on air!

And the photo at the top is from a couple of nights ago, as Clare & David MacInnes invited me over for supper to celebrate my birthday, and Clare & John Hayns were there too. One of the deepest gifts - these friends who mean the world, and now I'm just down the road from them.

Life will have its ups and downs; there were a couple of moments in the last year when I got a bit stressed! There will be a few of those moments in the year ahead, I don't doubt... But this year's birthday is not about accruing new gifts; simply being very, very thankful for the very, very many good gifts that have already come my way.

One extra thought.

In Pontypridd, it was a running joke - and sometimes, to be honest, it did get me down a bit - that I somehow ended up celebrating my birthday each year either by taking a funeral or by sitting at the bedside of someone who was dying.
You will all be glad to know I am not taking a funeral today!

I did take one yesterday, though...

pastoral epistles

I have a new email address as Rector here, and have been doing my best to answer questions and keep up with requests as they have come in. Here is a flavour of rural community life so far.

Dear Rector,
I hear one of your walnut trees has blown down in the storm. This is a sign from God: even so, he is blowing down the Church of England, and especially that awful little man Justin. Justin! What a name.
Would you like to come for tea, some time?
Yours...

Dear Rector,
I am told that one of those dear walnut trees has blown down. It reminds me: I had an old maiden aunt with a dressing table made from walnut veneer. At least, we thought it was veneer, until one Bonfire Night, for a wheeze, we threw my aunt on the bonfire as the 'Guy' - and she took forever to burn, so perhaps she was made from solid walnut?
Yours...

Dear Rector,
Do you intend to castrate your new dog? If not, my daughter would be interested in using him for breeding.
Yours...

Dear Rector,
Do you hunt, or are you a Liberal Democrat? I realise you aren't married, but I could find a horse for you if you would like. Coming from the north I expect you're quite handy with a gun, so you will join our New Year Shoot, won't you?
Yours...

And my replies (in reverse order):

Dear Sir ... ... MP,
I am afraid I will be away at New Year. Perhaps another time?

Dear Churchwarden,
Sadly for your daughter's spaniels, Harry is not long to be entire. But thank you for putting this thought in my mind.

Dear Headteacher,
Bonfire Night does bring back memories, does it not? I had an uncle whose neck was solid brass, I swear.

Dear Bishop,
I would be delighted to come for tea.

wild about Harry

I have a dog fixer. Thirteen years ago Val put me in touch with the couple who bred Matt. And now she has connected me with Dave & Jacky, who had a two year old Springer they have been 'running on'.

However - he was not for me. I had hoped he would be right, but when I saw how he was with Jacky, I knew he wasn't the one.

Fortunately this was not the end of the tale.

Dave & Jacky had been contacted by a couple who had taken one of their pups a couple of months beforehand, and who had decided they couldn't keep him. They have a small baby, and Springer pup & small baby were too much in one house. (Imagine - choosing to give the pup back...) I think the contact had only been made on the day I went to see the breeders, so it was all a bit fresh. With no obligation I drove on to see the five month old dog.

He was a black and white pup. Exactly what I had been looking for. It took me less than ten seconds to say yes. His old owner handed him over with tears and gratitude; I received him in like manner.

He had another name; but I have re-Christened him for his new life. He is now Harry.

Harry is (apart from his colouring) physically very like Matt. Facially he is occasionally scarily similar. But in personality, he's much more like Charlie - a life-and-soul-of-the-party dog. He wants to meet everyone. He barks at stuff, and gets excited, and runs on the wind that blows across the fields.

But he also ambles around the drive at the front of the house, and plays in the garden, and never runs off - so in that respect, he's simply Harry.

I think I need training. I've never had a dog this age before. Having said that, he's already bonded to me. He's brilliant off the lead, and (unless he gets distracted by other dogs) comes back to me whenever I call.

Driving down to the south coast last Friday to see him, I wondered if I should do it. Did I really want another dog?

Perhaps moving here has been the final stage in the grieving process. When Charlie died, I had loads of photos of him put in frames. As I moved into this house, I found them all - and realised I have really only two or three of Matt. When he died, I didn't do the same thing. I decided which photo I wanted, but never got round to actually getting it printed out. Till I got here. It arrived in the post last week.

I'm told Matt & Harry possibly share breeding lines. It's a nice thought. I wonder how the three dogs - Matt, Harry & Charlie - would all get on. Breeding lines or no, they are all part of my family.

Did I really want another dog? As soon as I got him, the answer was clear. Yes. My house has become a home again.

I took a Harvest service for the school in Steeple Aston today, and reminded everyone about how Thanksgiving is so central to Harvest. Well, my heart is fit to bursting with gratitude for this canine addition to my life. A new dog. So different. So the same.

Such a gift. Yep, I'm already wild about Harry.

arrival

I hardly know what to write about the last few days.

When Phil was inducted as vicar at Calverley, I watched with gathering emotion, because I knew deep within that my own time was coming. I listened to the words, and felt the power of the promises, and understood that what was right for Phil in Calverley would soon be mine somewhere else.

At that point (and we're talking mid-May) I hadn't even applied for this post. But I was pretty sure I'd be looking at early autumn as my time - though, to be fair, in part that was because I wasn't clear I could cope with it being much later!

When it came to Wednesday night at St Nicholas' in Tackley, the skies were grey, the air heavy with the promise of rain, and I was both totally thrilled, and slightly disconnected.

It was strange, emotionally speaking. I guess I'd spent a whole week getting the rectory into a liveable state. There we go - classic me. In order to function well, I need my home-space sorted. It had been hard work; it has been worth it. John and Clare were amazing on the first day, and Dad & Lorna were astonishing over the weekend. Their help was phenomenal.

But I'd so focussed there that it wasn't till Wednesday itself that I took time to ready myself in any way for the spiritual side of the challenge ahead. No - I take that back. Building a home for me is all about creating a haven which works in terms of inviting people in for hospitality, and having space in which to pause and relax and breathe for myself. Both of these things are essential in ministry, and it's interesting how that was such an overriding priority during the first week.

But it wasn't till Wednesday itself I consciously prayed; thoughtfully prepared; took time with God and mentally began to realise what lay ahead of me.

During the service there were many highlights: I entered the church early, before anything began, to hear the choir rehearsing my 'Salvation's Songs' hymn. They sounded wonderful, and it was profoundly moving to hear those harmonies being sung in that place as I walked in.  Bishop Colin was lovely (as always) and has subsequently sent me his sermon notes so I can take time to reflect on his words; I am deeply moved by his kindness.

There were amazing people in church (in addition to all the people in the parish whom I am looking forward to getting to know) from pretty much every part of my life. Mum, Dad and Lorna, Pauline & David from the first church I ever attended, Cathryn from the first church I was organist at, my headmaster from grammar school & his wife (where I came to faith), Oxford friends, Aberystwyth friends, a glorious band of folk from Pontypridd, Nigel & Angela whom I met during my first curacy, Ian whom I first met skiing, Ed & George who are such a key part of my jazz life, Sylvia & Brenda from Calverley, too many people to mention, but I can't not mention again John & Clare who through so many years have been such good friends, and Chris & Ruth, whose ability to laugh and cry at the same things has made my life rich beyond telling.

If a person is judged by their friends, you get quite the wrong impression of me. I'm honestly not that good. But I am that blessed. And these folk were only the ones who had made it on the day, and I haven't included the ones who sent cards or best wishes. I thank you all. You are wonderful.

The highlight was singing hymns and seeing your faces and knowing that God is good.

And then...

Today was my first Sunday.

I could get used to this; we had a united Benefice service at Steeple Aston. It was all a bit Anglican and rather lovely. I just about remembered how to do this! (It's been a while...) We'll see what the future holds, but people are super here, and coped with my (probably idiosyncratic) ways well. We sang and prayed and shared the Scriptures and the bread and wine. It was great to be here, to be rector, to be vaguely in charge and totally enthused.

This morning I started with an old Rabbi Lionel Blue joke, then (via an exposition of Luke 15.1-10, but really 15.1-2) gave the congregation the tiny challenge of loving everyone, because that's what Jesus does, and we must do what he does. I apologised for starting with such a small task, and promised I'd raise the bar in future weeks.

Oh well... I guess it's one way to mark an arrival.

future's door

There's a meeting on Monday. A phone meeting. Some academics will talk to possible partners who may be interested in a project, which, if it goes ahead, could have a real impact on the way a major commodity is viewed in the future. An environmental change for good. Pretty much globally. It wasn't my job to set that up; but I saw the opportunity and made it my job.

I was told I shouldn't put all my eggs in one basket.

Well, those of you who know me know what kind of red rag that was to what kind of bull I am.

Anyway, the meeting is on Monday. If all goes well, the project that follows is one of the largest of its kind my office has ever handled. In money terms. In impact. It may yet turned out to have been a pretty big basket of eggs.

Of course, I won't be at the meeting. I've been at every one so far with these academics and this partner, I've set every one up, organised every email, pushed, cajoled, beamed with joy and wonder, and been absolutely privileged to stand alongside an amazing team of people. But I left the University yesterday. Set a thing in motion then found the movement so irresistible it carried me on my way.

Tomorrow morning I preach my last sermon at Calverley, a whistle-stop tour through hospitality in Luke (with a twist in the tale), and on Monday the removal men come.

The revolving door keeps swinging, pushing me through.

Till on Wednesday I land on the other side, and this two year and one month sojourn in Leeds finally ends as I land in Oxfordshire. Indeed, in many ways, it's been a nineteen year trip.

I left Oxfordshire for Wales in 1994. Honestly, a large part of me didn't want to go; but the Lord called me on from friends and home, and so away I went. It's been quite a time. I've learned more than I know how to express. I've felt the hand of Jesus hold me every step of the way. As I look forward to this next stage in life, I am wonderfully excited; and filled with a deep joy to be returning to a part of the world that still feels more like home than anywhere else I know.

So I'm glad that others will handle that meeting on Monday, and take that project forward. It may - it will - do wonderful things. But it's not my calling, my life, my future that will be shaped as those voices speak across phone lines and continents. The lives, hopes, dreams and worlds I will be a part of lie elsewhere.

And my heart, I sense, is already travelling ahead of the rest of me as I walk through future's door.

Salvation's Songs

I was asked to offer four hymns or songs for the Induction in September. It struck me that perhaps I might write something to throw in the mix. As I started to play around with ideas, the mood of the piece and the melody and the chords kind of fell out of my fingers fairly quickly.

A little time and a little polish brought some shape.

Then I wondered what the song was saying: the first verse came simply, as is often the case. In my head, it was living somewhere between a Spiritual and a Welsh Revival hymn, so the repetition of the second line seemed acceptable. The chorus took a while. The rhyme wasn't there to begin with, and I was playing with 'cross and crown' before I found 'thorns and glory'.

What I did find, as I reached the last line, was that I automatically sang 'I will sing Salvation's Songs', and it was just one of those moments. I mean, I've been looking to write a song with that line for years. You'd think, wouldn't you? I have a book by that title. It's at the top of this page and on my Twitter feed. It's an obvious place to go. And I've never done it musically. Never even come close to it. But the other evening, it was just obvious.

So here's a song about following Jesus, about worshipping him and living in his presence. It's a heart song.

And I think we will probably give it a run out this weekend in Calverley, and if I can get through the slight summer cold that's sitting on my voice this week and all goes well, we'll add it to the order of service for September 11th too.

The Rector

This morning, the parishes of Steeple Aston, North Aston and Tackley in Oxfordshire are hearing the name of their new Rector.

It's me.

After two years in Leeds, working at the University and being a part of the parish of St Wilfrid's Calverley, I felt it was time to move on.

As I prayed and talked the possibilities through, it became clear that the ideal would be a move back to the Oxford area, and to finding a good community in which to serve and help develop church life.

I am looking forward to moving to the benefice of Steeple Aston with North Aston and Tackley in early September. The induction date has been set for September 11th, though the exact details of my leaving Leeds have yet to be finalised with the University. The three villages all have their own character, and it will take a while for me to get to know them and enjoy their variety, but I am ready for the challenge and to giving them my all.

This blog used to carry a strap-line: My job is to worship God, his job is to grow the church. I think I'll put that back up soon! People occasionally think a rector can be a magical solution to all sorts of problems; well I am no-one's magical solution. But we have better than magic to offer - we have God with us. So I'll do my job of worshipping him, and know that he will do his work of blessing and healing and comforting and growing his people as he will.

A personal word: churches usually have interregnums between vicars - they offer a period where a congregation can let go emotionally of what has gone before, where they can reflect on what was terrific and what needed to be learned from, and where they can begin to prepare for the future. I guess I have been privileged to have had a personal interregnum over the last two years.

Working as part of the alumni & development team at Leeds has given me personal space to let go of Pontypridd, to reflect at length on that time, and to start to look ahead. More than that, I have worked with some superb colleagues who have offered me real insights into different working methods and academic disciplines. Plus, I have made some great friends, whom I trust will remain friends as I now move on to the next stage of my journey.

I hope I have added value to that team, as this time has added enormously to me. We should all live so that life enlarges us; that's certainly true of this time for me.

Not forgetting Calverley. I came here 'by accident'. Yet in the congregation of St Wilfrid's I found another blessing, an unexpected bonus, a surprising joy. I saw one vicar retire, helped through the vacancy, and now I am having the enormous pleasure of watching a new vicar start to set his mark upon the church with gentle skill and insight. It's just a joy to be part of this parish, and I will leave with great gratitude.

The turnaround will be quite quick. There's a house to be left and another to be moved into. Yes - this is a picture of the rectory I inherit, I know some of you want to see this! - lots of practical things and I am already genuinely humbled by the welcome I am receiving from Oxford diocese and from all the wardens in the benefice.

And above all, there's a terrific sense of the One who has led me all these years leading me on from here. His hand has guided, and holds me when I fall, when I run, when I leap for joy or sit silent in sorrow. He guides me still.

Please pray for me over the next few weeks, and please feel free to come see me in the new place from September on.