supremely and ardently solicitous

As I take a holiday, it's good to catch up on a little light reading.

Taking in some back copies of the Harbinger (the journal of the Countess of Huntingdon's Connexion in the 1850s), as you do, I came across a piece eulogising a family member. Betty Smith was one of the daughters of my five-times great grandfather, John Green. He had 15 children.

I don't know who wrote this piece, but it's quite lovely to read - first, because although my family of that period were well-known both for being ardent church-goers and entrepreneurs (opening both coal mines and railways but having the decency always to list themselves simply as "farmers" on the census), it's another thing altogether actually to find someone from my family in a period journal as this. And second - the language is gloriously, languidly Victorian.

Her father died young, and her mother gave her "a strictly moral and religious training, followed by the best results". "For personal holiness she was supremely and ardently solicitous" (and who wouldn't want to be described in such a way?!), "She was a genuine specimen of a Christian", "an eminent pattern of guileless simplicity". I hope the photos I include of the article are sufficient for you to enjoy the whole piece - it's a terrific read.

Well. My family may not be mine owners any more; the money came and went with the coal. But it's rather humbling to find a record of a family member born almost two hundred years ago who "was strong in the faith and hope of 'the glorious gospel of the blessed God'". Some things are indeed eternal. I can only hope I too might leave such a story behind.

songs of hope

So the General Synod refused to take note of the House of Bishops Report.

But this is just a line in a long song of hope. This report is now consigned to the filing cabinet of ecclesiastical history; it does not enter the sad canon of such reports that line up to make gay people the problem, or add to the litany of texts that can be used to keep gay people in our second-class place.

However, we have many more choruses to sing before we reach a final shout of joy. And I mean, a final shout of joy for the whole Church and for all people.

This report couldn't be part of that journey because it excluded some. Please, we don't get to continue the journey by excluding others. Music needs melody and harmony, tune and counterpoint, working together. The Church needs the whole music of God not just one part of it. This report could not be a part of the song of God's people because some of us couldn't sing it. The same is true if some others can't sing either.

Silence is part of music; but not when the mutes are taped to our faces and the score says "play loud!"

Well; what do I want now?

I've been asked that question by two bishops in the last week. One of them asked me this tonight. And I've given them both the same answer.

John Donne's phrase: One equal music.

I want a Church that sees we are all equally human. Equality isn't a fad or a bonus or an added-extra. It's an essential for all people. We don't just give it to those we like or to those we agree with. We give it to all people because they are people. And then we deal with the consequences - which we may not like. We don't search the Scriptures for reasons why we treat others differently, we take it as read that we are the same and apply the same standards to all unless there is overwhelming reason to make an exception. And if there is doubt, we give the benefit of the doubt because the equality of our standing before God brings us to that place. That grace. That glory.

And in the meantime, as the bishops decide what next, I implore them to sack all the lawyers! Inspire us with your vision of God. I can live with not getting what I want (for now - because what I want is to be as much a person as anyone else, and ultimately I don't see how you deny that Scripturally) as long as you inspire the Church of God - which this last report signally failed to do.

Every Bishop I know is an inspiring person. Be who you are. Sing your song. Sing us some hope. These are the songs we have for every person in our land. Sing them for us.

I promise, I'll take note when you do.

A Day Later
And, to keep my word: Archbishop Justin published this comment after the Synod vote. It's about as far from the tone of the original Report as it's possible to be, and has that edge of intention and inspiration that I am asking for. Thank you. Much more of the same, please.

responsibility

As the world goes mad, we all have a responsibility to try to welcome back some sanity.

This happens in different ways, and we will all work out how we should act differently. I think that's fine. But sitting by the sidelines, flicking on the news and switching to an old episode of Friends instead is not an option.

Not anymore.

We need to be friends with people who hold different opinions to us - we need to care for them and see the humanity in those who disagree. We need to listen and talk and try to hold our own prejudices at bay just long enough so that a conversation might be slightly more civilised than a shouting match.

When generosity and kindness have left the room, the only thing to do is to invite them back in. Someone has to. It might as well be us.

This means we lose arguments in order to win people. People always matter more.

And yet...

And yet, there comes a moment when the world goes so mad that amongst all of this (which always, always applies) there come 'line in the sand' moments. Moments which define a time. Moments which we realise when they are happening, and which we will all look back on and for which we will all have to answer - what did you do then?

I hit such a personal moment a few years back when I realised that I had totally accepted for most of my life that I was a second-class human being because I was gay. Seeing that I had genuinely believed and lived this out clearly helped me change - and helped me as I worked through my beliefs as a Christian, and my understanding of the Scriptures. (Which, of course, have no room at all for such an idea. Those of you who don't like St Paul need to sort yourselves out; we have a lot to thank him for.) This drives me passionately, and when I see anyone treating anyone else as if they are somehow 'less', I will always side with the powerless party. Even if I don't like their cause.

Christ is the light that lightens every person; we are all made in God's image; these are foundational and precious truths. People are people.

Western Society is hitting a profound moment right now because powerful people are taking their moment to soft-pedal the equal humanity of all. They do it for all sorts of plausible reasons. Our safety, our economic well-being, our ability to define ourselves; but the message is the same. We are better; they are less; let's assert ourselves!

It's ungodly, it's unChristian, it's unBiblical, and it's inhumane. It's dehumanising.

So - what are we doing in the midst of these days? Flicking from the news to old episodes of 'Friends'? ("Seriously - they were on a break!")

Or talking to folk we disagree with? Listening to opinions we find hard, but they come from real people, so let's understand that and give all people the right to be people. All people. The ones we like and the ones we don't. And let's make sure that in winning this battle for the right for people to be people we don't simply adopt methods we would rail against in others; so no shouting down, no belittling.

Truth must out. Honesty must be our language. Generosity and kindness are our friends; we bring them into every room.

Those of us who are Christians know we follow a Lord who raises folk up, he doesn't grind them into the ground. For any reason. And we are his followers, with the responsibility to work as he does. No other way is acceptable.

For his command is really simple. Jesus says: "Love God. Love your neighbour. Oh, and by the way, love your enemy too. Any questions?"

gifts

So on Holocaust Memorial Day 2017, two gifts:

In England, the House of Bishops published a report declaring that gay people shouldn't have all the same rights as straight people.

In the US, Donald Trump signed an executive order banning Muslims from entering that country.

Both of these are banner headlines, both of these statements lack nuance, but both of these things are essentially true.

And both of these things are appropriate gifts for Holocaust Memorial Day, which, after all, reminds us that discrimination and prejudice are timeless evils which we must always battle hard to defeat. They are not about other people in the past. They lie in our own souls, and we cannot afford to point the finger at anyone else.


This is today. This is now.

As Steve Turner said -
History repeats
Itself. Has to.
Nobody listens.  

glasses

So the Church of England House of Bishops today published a paper on Marriage and Same Sex Relationships. There's a link to the official press report on it here.

The headline is - it's a fudge.

To precis:
Nothing changes, but we want to make it clear we welcome gay people. Marriage doctrine ain't gonna change - it's very much about one man, one woman - and whilst we thought about recommending (or even just commending) some liturgy for clergy to help mark parishioners celebrating civil partnerships or gay marriages, we thought better of it. More, whilst we want to be really generous about how we consider gay people in ministry and in the church generally, gay sex isn't really on so clergy need to remember that if you aren't in a heterosexual marriage you have to be celibate. Though please, we do understand that loving people matters as a missional church and we'd hate to be heard to say anything that gives any other kind of impression.

Right.

To respond:
I saw a bishop yesterday. I'm seeing another tomorrow. Both of them godly people. Both of them very straight, both of them married with kids, both of them evangelical, both of them kind and wonderful men. But as they are members of the House of Bishops, this is what they get from me.
I'm not like you. My world is a different place. I've tried to be like you, to see the world your way, to live like you, and it made me very, very ill. Now here's the thing - in the Scriptures, salvation & healing are the same root word. And when I accepted who & how God made me to be, not only did I become well physically, I became well spiritually. Salvation came at a deeper level.
And the follow on from this is not that I need you to change, not that I need you to see the world my way or be like me - but I'd love you to allow me to be me. I know, I know - "...but the Scriptures..." Here's the thing. We read them differently, you and I, because our worlds are different. You have these glasses on, this world view you carry round with you that makes you see certain things and suddenly there's a huge red flag waving around. It's not there for me. Anything but. Don't worry, I know I wear glasses too. Actually - my concern is that on this issue, because you are in the massive majority you don't always realise you have your glasses on and you don't get the effect they have. Because I'm constantly a foreigner living in your strange land, I always, always do.
But still I think we might both be able to work together. Equal rights aren't like pie: more for me doesn't mean less for you.
If anything, it works the other way.
Because it's a salvation issue, a healing thing. And the more whole I am, the more whole you are, because we are part of the same body and St Paul writes that if one part of the body is sick the whole body is.

So please: stop being so kind and polite and start being good.
I will fight this fight not because I need you to accept that I am as human as you - I know I am, and every time you publish something that doesn't quite get it, I'll remind you - but there are others who see what you say, who see your smile and your dog collar and your purple and your mitre and who lose something of their value in God. On your watch. On our watch.

Come on, there are words in this report that say we are all fearfully and wonderfully made. Have the courage to push those words to their logical, Biblical, godly conclusion. Either all people are people, or we aren't. And if we are -

And if we are, then those glasses of yours may need adjusting.
Because in Christ we are here to live to the full and to love God and one another. Just like you.

epiphany

Does anyone know who I am?

I am one of the Magi, one of the Wise Men who visited the infant Jesus. But beyond that, I seem to have been mislaid by history.

They have made up a name for me. Some of you may have heard of Caspar, Melchior & Balthazar. Invented names. In one land I am Rustaham-Gondofarr Suren-Pahlav, which is exotic, but still a fiction. So who am I? 

Am I a king? Maybe, probably not. Were there really three of us at all? No-one knows, it’s just a convention – we brought three gifts, that’s all that’s recorded, & people presume we brought one gift each. But who knows? 

Some think I’m an astrologer. A hippy on a camel, doubtless with strange eastern habits, greeting his new-born guru. And I think they mistake Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh as evidence of extravagance, when we meant them as tokens of worship. It’s not my favourite version of me. 

In the history books, Gentiles always make me a Gentile. “Look! Non-Jewish people get to see baby Jesus!” Hmm. I understand this desire: if I am someone like you, then someone like you was there when Jesus was born. So everyone wants to make me in their own image. I wonder if this is how God feels sometimes? 

Hundreds of years before us, there was a Jewish man who lived in our land, who so pleased our King that he made him chief of the Magi. Some of you may have heard of Daniel. He has a book in the Bible. His writings made some of us look out for certain signs that one day God himself would step into the world to make everything new. And if we should see these signs, we should drop everything and go to worship him.

My friends and I used to debate what Daniel’s words might have meant.  

How could God walk the earth? Not since the Garden of Eden has this happened. What would God do – just appear, or actually be born as a baby? I remember saying I’d need some pretty big sign to persuade me this could happen!

And one day, one of my friends simply lifted a single finger and pointed to the sky.

That night we set out. We journeyed west. There was a small scare as we made a stop-over in Jerusalem and suffered a visit from Herod’s secret police. We told him we only wanted to worship the King of the Jews. He seemed about to get very angry, before smiling thinly and agreeing he would like to join us – would we tell him when we had found this King?

And we did find him. When we got there, he was a small child in a small house in a small village, yet in that room all our questions and questing, all our words and debates, all our lives and indeed our very selves were stilled by a deep underlying silence leading into a sort of helplessness before God. We fell to our knees and worshipped Jesus. 

The whole world was in that room with us. I swear it. And you may not know my name, history may have mislaid me, but I found myself in that place as I worshipped, as I had never found myself before. 

This is who I am. 

This is who I am meant to be. A human being worshipping my Creator in the midst of His creation, and you can take everything else I have from me – my riches, my pride, my name. 

For in giving my worship, my love, my all here in this place, I have now a treasure beyond my wildest dreams.

year's end

I've been celebrating my 50th all year, mostly in a futile attempt to over-compensate. I've sort of been going round, happily embracing the idea of the new decade, seeing friends, in the hope that if I pretended it was OK it would be.

It's not. It's much more complicated.

But the idea of seeing friends this year was a masterstroke. If I haven't seen you, I apologise; next year in Jerusalem. 2016 has been full of meetings and laughter and memories and joy. I have seen folk I haven't been with for years, and I have loved every second. From Paris and the Dordogne to Nashville and DC, with Cornwall, Florida, Wales, London and all sorts of other places thrown in, it's been great to travel and to see folk - and the party on September when a ton of people came here was amazing.

I don't think I could even begin to choose highlights from the year. It's like choosing my favourite chocolate - normally the answer to that one is "the one right here right now".

Though (to go for a non-friend memory) it might be a very long time before I forget the LSO's Verdi Requiem back in September... It's good to hear music you love done so well it makes you weep. And an afternoon in DC with Karen is always, always a joy. As was Romans in an Hour at Truro Church. And now I've started...

But I'll let the memories fade. The moments were enough. Thank you to everyone who made this year amazing. Thank you. For friendships and conversations and laughter and ideas that fill this life. For making me think harder, for agreeing and disagreeing and for being here and there and always only a thought and a prayer and an email away.

Here's to more next year. I have a big house, a bigger garden, and the world's greatest university on my doorstep. Come visit soon.

Finally, in a year filled with democratic surprises and celebrity demises, I'm just glad to be here. Grateful to be gifted with friends and family who agree and disagree over everything under the sun, grateful to have such variety of thought and opinion all around, grateful to feel the love of God and the challenge of his Spirit in every conversation and encounter. The job requires me to sit with families facing mortality, and please tell anyone who needs to know that should I choke on a turkey bone, I want you to laugh lots (at me, with me, whatever), talk about Jesus, sing nothing but resurrection songs, and finish the burial service with the William Tell overture. Hey, I'm fifty. I could have a Saga holiday; I get to think about these things...

Oh - and as my first post of the year began with this song, just me and a guitar, let's finish with the same song, but with MGQ playing. That was a fun night.
One day soon we all will be together...





 

congratulations

So here sit Harry & I, wondering what happened.

50.

How could it possibly be?

It's been a lovely day. Sunshine and frost and crisp, early winter's air. Our morning walk was a delight. No deer in sight today, but a gentle haze softening the edges of the fields as they meet the sky, and barely a note of cloud to be found anywhere in the sky.

Glorious.

I don't recall the weather ten years ago. I do recall the party, in the Gelliwastad Club in Pontypridd. MGQ playing, lots of friends and family and parishioners all around.

This year's party was in September. In the garden. Tonight it was just a few friends here at home.

Twenty years ago I had just moved to Aberystwyth. Though I moved in September, the house wasn't ready till the day before my birthday so I threw a housewarming-cum-birthday bash, and my tiny terraced cottage was filled with noise and joy.

Twenty-five years ago I was flying home from Israel. I'd been there with a team from St Aldate's, working with the two Anglican churches in Jerusalem and then having a chance to sightsee in Galilee. During the second half of that trip, I'd had the most amazing experience. Taking an afternoon by myself (because I was fed up and cross) I had ended up genuinely meeting with God by the lakeside in Galilee, and still have the pebble I picked up as I prayed there. The dusk came in fast, and though I found a bus stop back to Tiberias, it was in Hebrew and I had no idea what it said so I started to walk back. A car stopped, and the older gent who offered a lift (I guess he was probably the age I am now) was a University lecturer - a philologist. He spoke six languages. Sadly, English was number six, and so we conversed in a mixture of broken French and English, and I told him that I was training to be a priest.

He said:
If you want God's want, you are (how you say) congratulations.

Twenty-nine years ago this night happened in the University Church in Oxford, as I conducted the OICCU Carol Service on my 21st Birthday. I got my first CD player that day too. Goodness.

The year before, I don't exactly recall what I was doing, but I do recall walking with friends in Oxford at night and being terribly depressed that I was no longer a teenager. The move from 19 to 20 seemed enormous.

That I have friends from those far off days around me this evening, friends who have known me through the years, and messages from around the world pinging on my phone all day, is all the gift anyone could ask for.

The memories are selective; the blessings beyond number.

running with the 'graine

So let's finish the migraine post.

Last time I wrote of the autumn mists of the migraine I was suffering. It's all over now, but it took its time, and one of the things that really helped was being able to find occasional past posts here and compare current experience with them... So to help my future self, here's how it ended.

Well, the problem was it really struggled to end. The migraine itself was severe for two weeks. At fifteen days it had more or less burned itself out -the nausea, the vertigo, the severest of the headaches had all gone. But it just wouldn't die. It was like there was a room in my head I couldn't get into: I remained fuzzy, unable to function fully, to think clearly or to respond with the kind of mental acuity I regard as normal. Someone reminded me of something that had happened a week before - and I had no memory of it. All the sorts of things that go on during a migraine for me. And this low-grade murkiness, this tail-end fog just wouldn't clear. There was, in the end, another month of it before it dispersed.

One Saturday, three parishioners prayed with me, and as they prayed I felt the clouds part and for an afternoon I had a wonderfully clear day. Really, that's just how it felt. The following morning was back to the usual tightrope between clarity and confusion. The closed door in my head. The frustration.

I've been avoiding conflict - because any kind of conflict makes the general confusion much worse, and that internal room I can't get into gets bigger. I'm also aware I have been liable to being grumpier than usual, and dealing with conflict without the ability to bring in the kind of self-aware choosing of grace I would like to hope I sometimes have - well, that's not the way I like to deal with conflict. I have had to send one or two apology emails.

I now have reading glasses.

I saw the doctor who suggested I swapped between paracetamol and aspirin in order to take the edge off the thing. A cheap solution, and (with the addition of  slightly upset stomach) a reasonably effective one.

And then... it just faded. Finally. Six weeks after starting.

I'm left feeling a bit exhausted, a bit empty, and more than a bit relieved. Here's to it being nine years or more before the next one.

autumn mists

It's been about nine years since I wrote on this site about the migraines I used to suffer from. As I read back, I wrote of attacks that lasted eleven or fifteen or twenty-two days, and referred to times three or four years prior to that when they lasted for months.

It's funny how you forget.

Well, actually, it's not funny, it's part of the deal. For me, a migraine isn't all about the screaming headache (which can happen); it's just as likely to be about nausea, about vertigo and about my head turning to custard so I can't think or remember or cope with two people speaking at once... I had Bach partitas playing in the car the other day, and had to turn them off because they were far too complicated for my brain to take in while I was driving.

Yes, that's the thing, I'm having another migraine. Day nine today. In the ten years I have been on topirimate as a migraine preventative, I've hardly suffered at all. In the first few months, as I grew acclimatised, there were one or two shortish bouts - and then nothing. Just occasionally, one will start, but if I take even a paracetamol at that point the topirimate does its stuff and the migraine stops. It has been - and pretty much continues to be - a wonder drug for me.

The problem was that last Tuesday I woke up with a migraine in full flow. My eyesight had almost fully pixellated, my head was in a mess, and I pretty much fell downstairs in my rush to get some painkillers down my throat. That's never happened before. I have no idea how I could have slept to that point. And, as a result, though the painkillers have taken the edge off the experience, it's all still going on.

Of course, as one of the things that used to happen was that I'd lose memory - I really can't remember what I used to do when I had a migraine! Reading back through the few words I wrote ten years ago here has helped. It all feels very familiar. I had forgotten (though several friends have been reminding me) how I used to use Coca Cola to help. It still works - as does coffee, which I didn't really drink back then. So caffeine is a definite positive. But chocolate is a negative - that makes me much worse. Sadly, the days of topirimate helping me loose weight have long gone; my metabolism adjusted. And when I don't feel great, I do tend to eat more - even if I feel nauseous. Which right now I do most of the time.

I had forgotten that as a migraine progressed I stop sleeping. That's a comfort; sleep is a bit hit and miss at the moment, so reading about it in the past is helpful. It takes the worry away.

And if I stop and do nothing for a while, I can then sometimes store up some energy for something I want to be able to do - but this energy store can be completely dissipated by unexpected demands crashing in on me.

It's just a migraine. It's not the end of the world. But I'd forgotten how powerless I feel when my head is turned to cotton wool and I am unable to engage with others. If you've tried to talk to me over the last week and I suddenly seem to have switched off - I did. But it was nothing to do with you. Or me, really. We'll try again soon.

We're in the season of autumn mists; for now, they've invaded my head as well as the fields around me. The other night, driving home on the main road, a young stag ambled across the road in front of my car as I was speeding along at 60 miles an hour. My headlamps picked out its ghostly form in the soft fog as it gently strolled in front of me. A big beast, with no regard to anything I was doing, it came from nowhere and (mercifully) disappeared again without causing a (what seemed inevitable) crash.

These days feel a little like that.

autumn mists

It's been about nine years since I wrote on this site about the migraines I used to suffer from. As I read back, I wrote of attacks that lasted eleven or fifteen or twenty-two days, and referred to times three or four years prior to that when they lasted for months.

It's funny how you forget.

Well, actually, it's not funny, it's part of the deal. For me, a migraine isn't all about the screaming headache (which can happen); it's just as likely to be about nausea and my head turning to custard so I can't think or remember or cope with two people speaking at once... I had Bach partitas playing in the car the other day, and had to turn them off because they were far too complicated for my brain to take in while I was driving.

Yes, that's the thing, I'm having another migraine. Day nine today. In the ten years I have been on topirimate as a migraine preventative, I've hardly suffered at all. In the first few months, as I grew acclimatised, there were one or two shortish bouts - and then nothing. Just occasionally, one will start, but if I take even a paracetamol at that point the topirimate does its stuff and the migraine stops. It has been - and pretty much continues to be - a wonder drug for me.

The problem was that last Tuesday I woke up with a migraine in full flow. My eyesight had almost fully pixellated, my head was in a mess, and I pretty much fell downstairs in my rush to get some painkillers down my throat. That's never happened before. I have no idea how I could have slept to that point. And, as a result, though the painkillers have taken the edge off the experience, it's all still going on.

Of course, as one of the things that used to happen was that I'd lose memory - I really can't remember what I used to do when I had a migraine! Reading back through the few words I wrote ten years ago here has helped. It all feels very familiar. I had forgotten (though several friends have been reminding me) how I used to use Coca Cola to help. It still works - as does coffee, which I didn't really drink back then. So caffeine is a definite positive. But chocolate is a negative - that makes me much worse. Sadly, the days of topirimate helping me loose weight have long gone; my metabolism adjusted. And when I don't feel great, I do tend to eat more - even if I feel nauseous. Which right now I do most of the time.

I had forgotten that as a migraine progressed I stop sleeping. That's a comfort; sleep is a bit hit and miss at the moment, so reading about it in the past is helpful. It takes the worry away.

And if I stop and do nothing for a while, I can then sometimes store up some energy for something I want to be able to do - but this energy store can be completely dissipated by unexpected demands crashing in on me.

It's just a migraine. It's not the end of the world. But I'd forgotten how powerless I feel when my head is turned to cotton wool and I am unable to engage with others. If you've tried to talk to me over the last week and I suddenly seem to have switched off - I did. But it was nothing to do with you. Or me, really. We'll try again soon.

We're in the season of autumn mists; for now, they've invaded my head as well as the fields around me. The other night, driving home on the main road, a young stag ambled across the road in front of my car as I was speeding along at 60 miles an hour. My headlamps picked out its ghostly form in the soft fog as it gently strolled in front of me. A big beast, with no regard to anything I was doing, it came from nowhere and (mercifully) disappeared again without causing a (what seemed inevitable) crash.

These days feel a little like that.

a very merry unbirthday

I'm not sure how long it has taken me to get over last Saturday.

I certainly didn't sleep the  night after; I was too overwhelmed - by the kindness of so many friends, by the generosity of so many folk from the parishes here.

It's easy to think about putting on a birthday party. An un-birthday party. I'm not fifty till the end of November, and it seemed like a good idea to do a garden party sometime in the summer. The weather would be better. Folk could get here more easily. Everyone could come and I wouldn't have to worry about finding an indoor venue. My garden can fit any number.

Of course, there is the English summer to reckon with...

Thinking about it is one thing. Doing it is quite another. And I was helped beyond measure by several folk in the parishes, who rolled up their sleeves and pitched in. It's slightly invidious to mention names, but B. & A. were stars in organising the Tea Tent, sorting cups and drinks and cakes and sandwiches and asking lots of folk to help. Then there was a surprise Birthday cake and Prosecco...  and a terribly kind speech from J; Then M. and his team from North Aston, plus a good little group from Steeple helped put up the two marquees - we were going with one, but the forecast made us do two; wisely, as it turned out! There are more folk I should thank. I am very grateful. Several friends from away asked - who did the catering? I replied - the amazing people of the parishes here. And people were indeed amazed.

The marquees made the garden look like a scene from the Great British Bake Off. The tables inside heightened that effect. Perfect cakes, scones, sandwiches, and a magnificent centre piece.

With around a hundred and fifty guests either packed into the tents or milling around on the lawn, depending on the state of the rain...

I thought there might be about a hundred, but people kept coming. I'd look, and there was someone else arriving. Folk from here - wonderful people I am getting to know, and some of them, as they'd arrive, I'd be thinking of their stories and what is going on in their lives. Family events, weddings, concerns and joys.

And then there were family members. And friends from school days, from student days, from St Aldates, from early days in Wales, from Aberystwyth, from Ridley, from Pontypridd. The only frustration for me was that with so many wonderful people, I could only stand and watch them talk to each other as I managed but a few words here and there.

A few words from a full heart.

I have said before that if a person's true wealth can be judged by the number of his friends, I am rich beyond counting. I think it is this which has stayed with me all week since last Saturday. God in his kindness has given me many gifts, but without doubt the greatest of them are the people who have touched and shaped my life. I looked around and saw some folk with whom I have known success and failure, some folk I've worked well with and some I've struggled with, some folk I was young and immature with and some in whom and from whom I have found deep, deep wisdom, some folk who should have given up on me years ago and I on them - and yet here we all were. What a wonderful thing. What a gift. What a rich thing is life that we get to live and grow and know and become, and become more and more, and we get to do it all together.

Life is not perfect; this is earth, not heaven. But this earth has heavenly moments. And my unbirthday party was one of them.

degrees of truth

As the Reformation was kicking off in Germany just shy of four hundred years ago, a series of debates was proposed. On one side, Luther & his supporters, Karlstadt and Melanchthon. On the other, Eck, who would humbly announce his arrival by walking through town surrounded by a bodyguard of seventy six men, fifes and drums playing.

As is the way of all debates, before the arguments over the core issues began, they argued over how they would argue. The format. Should there be books to refer to? Who should the judges be? And (early on) should there be stenographers present to record the debates verbatim?

Eck argued against. They might reduce the white hot passion of the verbal exchanges. Philipp Melanchthon wryly replied -

"The truth might fare better at a lower temperature."

I've been watching various conversations this weekend, in the church (locally and nationally), in the world (nationally and internationally), and been reminded of Melanchthon's dry wit and remarkable wisdom.

And hoped I might remember it myself when it matters.  

the new normal

It was in the summer of 2016 that the new sporting normal finally asserted itself.

The old Soviet nations were struggling under the double whammy of large-scale drug suspicion and the collapse of any kind of state-sponsored support; China couldn't turn 1.4 billion citizens into more than a handful of medallists; and it was the supposedly traumatised British who came to the fore.

The reason? It was the brainchild of one of Britain's greatest Prime-Ministers, Sir John Major. History has been kinder to Sir John than his contemporaries often were. It was his introduction of a national lottery (with its emphasis on cultural and sporting projects as chief spending priorities) that in only twenty years transformed Team GB from failures at the bottom of the medal table in Atlanta to heroes in second place at Rio.

At a time when the nation was struggling with its identity, its place in Europe and the world, and indeed questions of whether it could even hold together, this global sporting success proved fundamental.

Nationalist politicians were ultimately powerless against the strength of repeated broadcasts of athletes wrapped in Union flags, tunelessly belting out God Save the Queen several times a day. And when Team GB finally beat Team USA to the head of the Olympic standings only eight years later, US Secretary of State Ryan Lochte described it 'like being held up and robbed at gun point'. President of the British Olympic Association, Lord Murray, replied with his characteristic dry wit, 'Well, he'd know'.

Of course, there were bumps on the road. There remain some faint memories of embarrassment that knighthoods used to be doled out to athletes who gained as few as four or five gold medals, and not necessarily at the same Olympiad. But those were different days, and we mustn't judge the past by the standards of today. After all, though it seems scarce possible now, at the time of the Sydney Millennium games even Australia was viewed as quite the sporting nation.

The most remarkable change took far longer. But eventually the old national football associations realised they were never going to win anything ever again and watched the Olympians with such envy that, five Olympiads after London 2012 the Great Britain Football Association was finally created.

And football (and with it the World Cup) duly came home.

compromised

I have a confession to make.

The integrity of this blog has been seriously compromised.

I've always been proud of the fact that I have no party allegiance (apart, clearly and sensibly, from being strongly anti-Ukip) and have critiqued anyone and everyone from Jeremy Corbyn to Donald Trump. Even before politics got silly, Gordon Brown and George W Bush both received the tough side of my love.

And now I fear I have to declare an interest. The days of guaranteed impartiality on these pages may be nearing their end.

To be fair, anyone who has any knowledge of my voting record knows that it is remarkably colourblind. I've been privileged to be able to vote for friends in most of the places where I have lived. That means I have put policy and party and wider matters aside when I have stepped into the voting booth and voted largely for the person.

But now a man who used to be my next door neighbour, a man I first met as he cut out the roots of a tree in his garden next to my kitchen, a man who has cooked for me and poured me more glasses of wine than either of us could count, a man who has helped me in my darker hours and celebrated with me in all kinds of joy, a man who has walked with my dogs and whose kids have learned to play on my piano - in other words, a man I trust completely: a friend - this man is on the ballot for leader of the Labour Party.

So I am compromised. I have no impartiality. I am not qualified to speak to his politics, but about his character I will say:
Owen Smith is a good man, with a good heart, a heart and voice that says now for all to hear what I have heard in his home and mine for years.
I am a friend, and therefore biased, and my bias is based on this:
God has blessed me with many gifts, but the richest of them are my friends. I love Owen and Liz dearly, and am blessed indeed to have such friends as these.

So my blog may well be compromised.
But bring it on!

PS - if you don't yet know Owen well, perhaps this might help...

we rise again trying

There's been so much news recently that people have even been buying newspapers. Though as the news has been changing every hour, they've been more for a historical record than for keeping up to date.

The sliver lining, for now, is that That Man Farage seems to have gone. But as one can never believe anything he says, who knows whether he will stay away. Hopefully someone will make him illegal. There's one piece of censorship we can all agree on.

Except we can't.

An unelected bigot with a megaphone spooked the Prime Minister and forced us out of the European Union. Hopefully TMF will soon be confined to the pages that wrap chips, but his poison remains with us a while yet. We have work to do to get it out of our system.

The Tories are electing a woman leader and Prime Minister. If they have any sense they will follow this with a quick General Election; Gordon Brown learned what happens to Prime Ministers who don't ask the people to condone a political coronation. And the Labour Party is in such disarray that no-one has a clue what would happen if an election happened.

The Lib-Dems might gain seats.

The truth of the Referendum is that families can't speak without pain. Half of us are now "bad losers"; the other half of us are "ignorant racists" who had no idea what they were voting for. And I have no idea if those who are spoken of as taking over the two main parties have any kind of vision of unity for the country; some of their words I read demonstrate very party-based thinking, and in a world where we are already stuck in the trench-mud of polarisation and hatred, I'm kind of praying for more than this.

I'm getting the opportunity to practice the principles I'm praying about too.

In the Shire, we have some projects going on in the various churches, and one or two strong voices are speaking against them. I regularly talk about how it's fine to disagree - openly, kindly, with grace - so I can't complain when folk take me up on this and voice their differences. And indeed, I welcome it. A good project needs a lot of discussion happening, so difficult questions help. Though there are days...

And I have to be Rector for everyone. For those who think the projects are the best thing since sliced bread (wisely), and for those who can't understand why everyone isn't still cutting their own bread. With an axe...

Ronald Reagan said: 

The person who agrees with you 80% of the time is a friend and an ally - not a 20% traitor. 

I'm not a Ronald Reagan fan, but I do like common sense, and this certainly qualifies as that. It certainly passes as essential wisdom in days when everyone rushes to pick sides and then shouts abuse at the other with a megaphone, or fails to speak at all.

In the Shire, what unites us is everything. What divides us is pifflingly small.

In the nation we need leaders who grasp that sense and walk us down that road. I don't really care what colour they wear on their political badges (I never have done).

And in the Church of England's General Synod, this is the weekend when those gathered will take time to talk and listen and think and pray about human sexuality again.

The book, Journeys in Grace and Truth, to which I contributed a chapter, has gained quite a lot of coverage around this. One conservative commentator, Ian Paul, does not like it (do read his review for yourself). I should count myself lucky; he calls my chapter "fascinating, moving and...highly engaging" - before picking holes. A lot of the time I feel he just doesn't quite get what the book is doing - and this makes me pause. For I realise that in these church discussions I am sure there are times when those who disagree with me stare at me like I'm stupid whilst thinking, "he just doesn't get it, does he?"

80%.

Friends and allies.

We need a vision for unity and leaders who can communicate this vision compellingly so that we are raised up from the polarising sickness of these days, the stinking trenches of our minds that mirror the warfare of a century ago and risk destroying millions more lives. It is not enough to be right. Those who come after us will have no idea what we thought was right or why. They will judge us by the way we divided the world friend from friend, family from family, son from mother, father from daughter, and they will have no comprehension how or for what tiny-minded reason we did it.

Unless, of course, we don't.

So I am pledging to love those folk who disagree with me in the Shire. To listen again to those who didn't like my chapter and see them as people with beating hearts and not mere producers of words on screens. For we do not end hatred with hatred but we overcome oppression with love.

And if it doesn't work, well, we rise again trying.

grace and truth

Jayne Ozanne contacted me a few months back, asking if I would contribute to a resource she was preparing for the CofE General Synod.

The Synod will be discussing human sexuality in July, and Jayne wanted to offer a book for all members that came from Evangelicals who (through their encounter with Scripture) held different views than those who normally hold the airwaves with what is called the 'traditionalist' standpoint. Evangelicals who support gay people. Evangelicals who support gay relationships. Evangelicals who can find a place for gay people in the Church of God and the heart of God without having to use the word 'sin' somewhere in that place, and without having to throw their Bibles away either.

Well count me in.

I find myself in exalted company - the press around the book launch has focussed on the bishops involved (the Bishop of Liverpool and my own area bishop in this diocese, the Bishop of Dorchester), as well as other very public church figures.

I have been delighted to receive emails, texts and messages from folk who have read the book already, and I'm pleased to say they have been very positive about my few words. I must add that as I read it, I especially enjoyed Gavin Collins' chapter - he very much uses Scripture in a way that I appreciate - though the breadth of the book is excellent, and I do think it helps give a depth to the debate by re-framing the Evangelical perspective away from the one-dimensional 'traditionalist' stance.

Judge for yourself. You can find it on Amazon, or direct from Jayne.

And here's the Bishop of Liverpool talking about his take on it all:

old friends and family

There's a piece I wrote on here, years ago, which finishes with the story of the passing of Gladys Gregory. A saint of God.

Her son was Stuart, warden & treasurer alongside John Murphy of fame and memory when I first arrived at Pontypridd. The photo here has them both at a picnic lunch we had in the vicarage garden there to celebrate the re-opening of church after the interior renovations in 2005. Alongside them, Gwyneth Williams, and behind her, Anne, Stuart's wife.

If ever I have to explain what keeping the fifth command looks like I need only describe Stuart and his mother. She cared for him beyond measure as he grew up; he repaid this love every day as she grew older. He watched over her decline, and (with heartbreak) the passing of Anne as well.

A quiet Anglican, he never really shouted about his faith. But worshipping with his fellow Christians was the bedrock of his life. He sang in the choir at St Catherine's from boyhood days till the choir morphed into music group in my time, and then he sang in the music group. He knew all the hymns; he had no idea on many of the worship songs, yet he stood at the front and worshipped any way.

He would tell a story of his grandmother's funeral - a time when the presence of Jesus was so thick in the room, that he expected to open his eyes and see him.

On Friday I drove to Pontypridd and attended Stuart's funeral. All the folk in that top photo are gone now. Like Gwyneth, St Catherine's was Stuart's home from home. Like Gwyneth, I expect he is overwhelmed by the wonders of Glory, and the joy of hearing those words - "Well done, good and faithful servant." At last, he's not outshone by John; at last, with his devoted Anne, he is now opening his eyes and seeing the great Love of his life.

I spoke a few words at the service in church and finished by saying: Stuart, we will miss you; thank you for being one of us; see you again one day.

Gill Tuck took the service, and she went on with the family to Glyntaff; I got waylaid. I hope Stuart wouldn't mind. I see the folk at St Catherine's so rarely, and one of the joys of remembering those old friends who go before us is that we do so with old friends still around.

So I took a little time with those who lingered in the church.

I'm often dumbfounded by those who say - "I don't need a church to worship God." I guess they actually mean "a church building", and if so, I completely agree. But a church is not a building, it is a people. It is relationships. It is - as Stuart and Gladys both knew so well - a family. Families have their moments; but we are bound together by something stronger.

I do need a church. I am not built to worship alone, though I do pray and worship and live with God daily in my own walk. But I belong to Jesus within his family. The process of leaving Pontypridd was  enormously hard because this was my family; I regularly get asked if I miss Wales, and the honest answer about the place is - no. But the people? Ah...

Here are Derek and Pauline, and Joyce and Gill and Stewart and Jason, and Jane and Teg. Ken and Trish and Julie and Alan and Andy and Enid and all sorts of others had already left by the time we thought to take the photo. I debated with a group of curates here recently about how close you get to folk in your parish; friends, or just friendly?

As I chatted over coffee and watched and listened and looked and saw, I thought of those who I saw through Ponty to Glory: Stuart and his mother, of John Murphy and his best mate Ken, of Gwyneth, of Cynthia; I thought of those I saw through Ponty to ordination: of Martin and Chris, of Wayne, of Miles, of Karsten; I thought of those I saw through Ponty to places far and wide, and of those who shared the journey for a while: of Dan and Kirsty, of Richard and Naomi, of Matt, Matthew & Sion. I looked at the people around me and thought of the folk back in the Shire.

Friends, just friendly, or...

Another question occurred: when folk meet me, I am often asked - Do you have a family? They mean are you married, and my usual answer is - No, it's just me and a Springer. But seriously, next time I get asked "Do you have a family", I really must reply -

O yes. So many of them. You wouldn't believe it.  

friends, shysters and BBQ tests

So my holiday slowly draws to a close.

I've had a great time. Later this year, I hit one of those, you know, "significant" birthdays, and so I decided I would spend all year catching up on friends. When I planned this trip I hoped I'd be able to see a few folk as well as Gill and Ben, and so it has worked out.

It's a long list - in addition to the Owens family here in Florida, I've had time with JD Walt and his family in Franklin, Tennessee, with Tom Fuerst from Memphis, with Jared and Krystal Ribble from Nashville, with Mark Benjamin in Asbury Seminary and Sean and Rebecca Gladding in Lexington, and with Tory and Elizabeth Baucum in Virginia. That last stay gave me chance to catch up with a few other friends in the DC area - especially Graeme Chambers and Karen Wilson - and to lecture at the Truro Church, Fairfax VA, version of the St Paul's Theological Centre on "Romans in an Hour" for Matt Hemsley and his eager crowd of Saturday morning theologians.

These are fascinating times to visit the US. There is an election going on that defies reason. I have met no-one - no-one - who supports Donald Trump, yet he seems to have the Republican nomination sown up. I have met several who sort-of support Hillary Clinton, the Democratic presumptive nominee, though I have yet to meet an out-and-out Hillary enthusiast. I have met Bernie Sanders enthusiasts - including some who know it's crazy to be so enthusiastic about a man who is clearly unrealistic, but who remain amazingly motivated by him anyway. And I have met folk who deeply support the (very much) third placed Republican, John Kasich, a man we in England know almost nothing about.

(Interestingly, the story I heard about Kasich, and from different sources, is of a man of deep principle, a man of faith but not bigotry, a man who draws different sides together, and a man whom one Democrat I spoke to would vote for if he were the Republican nominee given either Bernie or Hillary as the Democratic candidate simply because they see Kasich as a far better option for the country.)

It's hard for a foreigner ever fully to understand an election in someone else's country. Having visited here many times, and lived here briefly a long time ago, I guess I dare risk my ignorance (and your patience) just a little. And the folk I've spoken to seem to think my thoughts not so wide of the mark as to be ridiculous.

So: I just don't get Trump. I don't get why so many folk have voted for him. I do understand that sometimes America can be brash and insular, and that in the wider world today there is a rise of fear and isolationism that wants us to put up barriers and hide from everyone else. Trump plays to those fears. But the majority of Americans I have always known have been typified by politeness, kindness, good manners and speaking well of each other. This is the best of their country and it is a reality within it. Why would anyone elect a man who trashes the best of their country with a slogan (Make America Great Again) when everything he does is about broadcasting the opposite?

One of the people I spent time with here actually worked for Trump at one time. Their judgement was far, far more condemnatory than anything I offer. Yet people are still voting for him.

I'm left wondering if Trump is a shyster or a Hitler. I don't know if he speaks without thinking and every word that comes out is thoughtless to the future, an opportunistic grab for present power, unscrupulous, unethical, but also unplanned. Or, if he is methodically sowing dislike and hatred of others, and through this methodical sowing of hatred, bringing violence as a commonplace into the political arena. And once he has power, the way in will be the way on. The power of the mob that got him elected will be the power of the militia that keeps him in place. God help us all.

To my shock, I have found folk here who fear exactly the same.

So I sit out in the Florida sunshine and pray - God bless America. Don't grant her the leaders she deserves, but the leaders all of us need at this time. We should all get off our backsides and on to our knees because this fairground sideshow election has the power to change the world for everywhere and for ever. I am not saying - pray for Hillary. Or (heaven help us) Ted Cruz.

I am saying that sitting back and passing comment on the electoral process of another nation (as lots of us in the UK are doing) or even of your own (my US friends) and not getting down and asking God to help us at this time is to risk re-arranging chairs on the deck of the Titanic. I don't know what the "right" answer is. I might suggest however what a right question could be:

O Lord, please help the US as it completes this electoral cycle, to make good choices. And deliver us all from evil. Amen.

When it comes to the election in November, I have a very confident prediction for you.

Simply apply the BBQ test. America votes for the president it wants to go to the BBQ with. Every time. They did not want to go to the BBQ with Mitt Romney four years ago. I'm not sure anyone wanted to go to the BBQ with Michael Dukakis, back in the day. Al Gore fell foul of this. Presidents Carter and Bush Snr too. And this time, I don't think Hillary is a particularly good BBQ candidate; though she may just be a better option for many than Trump. If, however, the Republicans can yet use their byzantine process to come up with someone else, this simple test may yet work in their favour.

Or we could club together and buy an island in the South Pacific somewhere and sit it all out...

thanks

The Llandaff Clergy School is in Oxford this week, and I took a trip into town to see if I could catch a few folk whilst they were there.

It was lovely to see Peter, still working on building projects at St Catherine's; Irving, whose wisdom helped me through some difficult days in my first curacy; Chris, who was once a neighbour; Roger, who used to live in one of my parishes.

Archbishop Barry gave a moving address at the recent Church in Wales Governing Body, speaking of the impact of his wife's death at the start of the year. It was typically honest of him, and filled with faith and yearning, and a very Welsh sense of God and Gospel. I found it beautiful.

I was delighted especially therefore to catch both Barry and also Christopher Smith, Archdeacon of Morgannwg.

When I was at my lowest, in 2010, broken and ill and needing help, these godly men supported me in all sorts of ways. There were days when I was not charitable toward them at the time - there were days I was not charitable toward anyone at the time - but they went out of their way to help, to give me time, to give me opportunity and to provide for me so that I could begin the road to recovery. I am healthy and thriving in ministry now largely because of them.

It is always a pleasure to spend even the briefest of moments with them, and it was a special delight to be able to thank them yesterday for their role in those weeks and months and to talk about life now. Barry ensured I had space and provision to go to Asbury for a season which began my healing; Christopher believed in me when I had forgotten how to. In the pain of those days, I was sometimes quick to tell folk how I felt wounded by the church. It's only fair in the light of these days that I point out I had an archbishop and an archdeacon putting time and money and belief and commitment into helping me through...

Barry has been Archbishop of Wales since 2003. When he eventually comes to retire, I hope he is judged kindly. He has certainly not hidden from controversy! But for me, he was always thoughtful, caring, an inspiring preacher and a real friend.

And he, and Christopher, along with many others, will always, always have my thanks for all the life-affirming care they gave me.

I recently preached a sermon in which I commented on those who say "I don't need to go to church to worship God". Remembering that church is the people, not the building, my response, especially as I meet up with friends like these is -
"Well I do".