The Preachers' Blog

On two wheels for Princess Alice Hospice

Those who have been following the story of my forthcoming #richard100 ride will know all about the special cycle jersey I shall be wearing. For more details click here. Designed in Sussex, funded in Teddington, printed in Wales…and yet to be worn in Central London on June 8th.

Over the past two days I have been visiting some of the delightful business sponsors who have donated over £200 between them towards the cycle ride.  As you can see from the photo below- we had a lot of fun. If you are wondering what that is in the background, you can click HERE to find out – a kind gift from a well-wisher!

CLICK for full size image

I feel privileged to wear this cycle jersey for so many reasons.  In the first place, it is an honour to support the life-enhancing work of the Princess Alice Hospice as they devote time, love expertise and creativity to enhancing end of life care for so many. Secondly, it is a reminder of the vibrant, colourful, friendly business community in Teddington, amongst whom I am glad to work. I am not seriously expecting them to be there to cheer me on at midnight, but wearing their logo will be the next best thing.

During our photo stop at Moore’s cycles yesterday, a kind friend shot this little video. It is NOT pay per view, but if you felt like adding to the £2000 already raised, you could do it here.

Measuring church impact

Just been listening to yet another discussion of church attendance figures on the radio.  Every time these things are published there is a flurry of comments from either side.  On the one hand there are the pundits who shake their heads knowingly and say that this is evidence of the inevitable decline of an anachronistic religion. On the other hand, there are the church spokespeople who say that the figures do not mean what they appear to. On this particular occasion, some have pointed to poor Christmas church attendance on account of bad weather…and sound a little desperate as they do so.

I find this argument, from the Diocese of Portsmouth, a little more persuasive: ‘The impact a parish is having on its local community is only partly measured by the number of people in church for Sunday or midweek services’. Whilst we cannot dismiss attendance figures as irrelevant, there are other scales which might provide a better measure of why (or if) the church matters locally. At this point my thoughts have turned to Charles Richter and Beno Gutenberg, who devised a scale for measuring the seismic impact of earthquakes. Although largely superseded now by more sensitive equipment, at the time it led the way. Non -specialists still use it to compare the relative impacts of different earthquakes on their surroundings:

Image: blogspot.com

How big an impact does your church have on its immediate community, I wonder?

All for love

Just this week I have been tidying out a whole load of old cassette tapes from home. As they clanked and clattered in the bag on the way to the charity shop I was struck by how clunky they seem in comparison to Cds…or to downloads. The other thought they inspired was the memory of a sweet old lady in the church where I first came to faith.

At the time we had a lively youth group with twenty or more teenagers, and she had a tiny cottage. At her invitation, we all squeezed into every nook and cranny of her minute sitting room two weeks’ running to listen to a ‘tape’ on her mono cassette player. The tape was the two-part testimony of greengrocer-turned villain-turned Christian Fred Lemon. Although the story was gripping, the sound quality was barely audible and there was nothing visual to keep our interest.

So why did we come back, twice, to sit uncomfortably and listen? The answer is simple – because she loved us…and the feeling was reciprocated. Thank God for those who love the teenagers in your church – simply, artlessly and unconditionally. They are priceless, and their investment will pay unimaginable dividends.

Image: creative commons

First Steps

I have just been writing a sermon about persistence – a topic which comes back again and again when you start to investigate pilgrimage. In doing so, I was trying to remember where my fascination with the subject first began.

It all goes back to a visit in the Summer of 2007 to the little port of Port a la Duc  on the North Brittany coast. The port is now largely silted up, and consists of a string of pretty cottages, one of which is pictured below. Just to the left of the cottage is a grassy path, and beside it stands a sign. Click on the picture and you can see it for yourself, courtesy of the Cap Frehel Tourist Board.

Don’t forget to CLICK

Hundreds of years ago, pilgrims, blessed by their Bishop back home, would arrive by rowing boat from Weymouth in this little port.  Stepping out onto an unfamiliar shore where people spoke a strange tongue, they would begin their long journey on foot all the way to Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Along the way, watched over by Templars (see above) they would face all manner of dangers. Ever since then I have been seized with a fascination about what made them do it then, and what makes people do it now.

Some of the elements of pilgrimage which spring to mind so far are:

• Discomfiture – an unease which makes the pilgrim leave home and look for something more.
• Discomfort – in the rowing boat, under a hot and unfamiliar sun, reliant on the kindness and provision of strangers.
• Uncertainty – little or no certainty about where each night would be spent and where each meal might come from.
• Conspicuousness – by name, outfit and language the pilgrims were sure to stand out. Modern pilgrimages, such as the annual Northern Cross walk to Holy Island, emphasize this aspect.
• Homesickness – how much did the pilgrims long for the home they had left..or did their thoughts turn increasingly to the home to which they would one day come?
• Tenacity – to sustain a journey of up to 1000 miles on foot would have taken real endurance.

These, surely, are all qualities and challenges faced even by the most modern of disciples?

Watch this space…

Fear of wide open diaries

Over the past few days, one of my companions on various planes, trains and trams has been Peter Stanford with his fascinating book  ‘The Extra Mile’.  I shall doubtless return to it, both in my mind and on this blog, many times over the coming weeks. Here is a juicy quote to whet your appetite:

Cities can be rather like particle accelerators –

they take people predisposed to be in a hurry and entice them to go even quicker.

I do not work in the city, but I know exactly the symptoms he describes. For the past seven years I have been accustomed to a busy diary. There is even a certain buzz to the plate-spinner’s art of adding things to it in order to extract the most from life. Occasionally we fall prey to the myth of our own indispensability and that just sends the plates spinning even faster. I am now fortunate enough to be on sabbatical, and everything looks different.

Today was my first unplanned day since this change of pace began last Wednesday, and for a diary-driven person I could feel a slight panic rising to the surface. There are so many things I want to do: jobs in the house, jobs in the garden, things to read, things to write, people to pray for, cycle training to do…oh and some pause for rest and reflection too! For a chronological agoraphobic, the prospect of an unplanned diary can seem a little scary at first.

In the end, I opted for a small amount of admin and an hour or so of combative gardening. I’m not sure how effective it was, but my companion (pictured below) seemed grateful for the prospect of new snacks it provided. He seemed to fix me with a particularly knowing expression between mouthfuls. Maybe, like the sparrows, he knows he is precious…or maybe he just recognizes a fellow busy addict when he sees one?

I would love to know – does anyone else out there recognize the symptoms of chronological agoraphobia, or am I alone?

Cologne

Once upon a time, long ago, a star came travelling on its maker’s orders to catch the attention of a wise man, or two, or three, somewhere in Persia. Driven by this astrological phenomenon and an inner conviction that the world was about to change, the wise man travelled far and long to find a baby king. Kneeling at his feet in a borrowed house, they presented rare and beautiful gifts – gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Driven again, they returned to their lands, and history blessed them with names, legends and mystery.

Centuries later, their bones were taken from Constantinople, and from there to Milan, and later from there to Cologne. The bones were placed in a wooden casket, and later in a magnificent golden reliquary – the biggest in the Western world. They reside now in one of Europe’s most magnificent cathedrals – soaring some 157m into the air above casket and bones. It has stood proud over the city through thick and thin – its walls still blackened today by the bombing and firestorms which destroyed much of the surrounding area. If you look carefully in the photograph below, taken on Saturday morning, you will see the reliquary as a glint of gold in the soaring vastness of the cathedral.

Today people still come, for all sorts of reasons. They travel further than the wise men ever travelled in a fraction of the time. They travel in comfort and gambol on the cathedral steps. Just a few hours after the photo was taken, the steps were thronged with tourists of every description. A hen party in matching black t-shirts and flourescent pink wigs sat drinking whilst the loud star of of a stag weekend was busy inflating a sex doll to cheers of raucous encouragement. I wonder if the wise men would turn in their magnificent golden grave?

Meanwhile, just a few hundred metres away, a pilgrimage of a different kind is taking place. Lovers from all over the world come to pledge their love to each other by placing a padlock on the bridge over the Rhine and then throwing the keys into the waters below. Often they will come back years later from other countries and continents to see if the symbol of their love still endures. Which is the truer pilgrimage, I wonder?

…and an empty book

Ever since January 1st there has been a big block on my year planner labelled ‘sabbatical’. After seven years, some of them the most challenging I can ever remember, the time has come to take a break. From tomorrow, for the next quarter, I shall be away from my church duties. I shall not be idle during that time, but I shall be changing the pace.  These three months give me an opportunity to escape the tyranny of the urgent over the important, and to reset the metronome of the soul.

Ever since I wrote The Disciple’s Way last year, I have been fascinated by the rise in popularity of pilgrimage and its impact upon the rhythm of the soul.  In years gone by, as pilgrims criss-crossed Europe to some of the great pilgrimage sites, they were aware that each hard won mile echoed the steps they were taking on their way not just to a holy site, but towards heaven itself. The pace of the journey, necessarily slow, gave an opportunity to reflect on its purpose rather than simply to anticipate its end. The raucous voice of a sat-nav, declaring the time left until your destination, would not have been welcome even if it had been invented!

I am fortunate enough to work in a team ministry, and at last week’s team meeting, my two beloved colleagues presented me with the book below.

An open book…

As you can see, the book is pretty much empty. As it stands it is not a book about pilgrimage or mission or discipleship.  Then again, it could be all of them. As my mother used to say when asked what was for pudding – wait and see.

In the next three months I am hoping to see all sorts of things on these pages, but what they might be I do not know…

The ascension in three movie moments

Yesterday morning, on my last  service in my church for three months, I reached  the end of a short post-Easter preaching series of‘what happened next’. It was inevitable that at some point we should come to the story of the ascension in Acts 1 v.1 – 9. The thing is, many of us are not quite sure what to do with it. Why does it matter? My own plea for help with that question on Twitter last week brought some helpful insights, but it is still something of a puzzle. I decided to look at the story through the lens of the three movie moments depicted below.

1. Apollo 13

There comes a moment in Apollo 13 where everything hangs in the balance. The three-man crew have been through hell together, and now they have but one chance to save their lives. They have enough fuel to fire the booster rocket just once. If it works, their capsule will be sent on a trajectory back to earth. If it fails, the craft will either shatter or spin off into space never to return. Turning to his crew Commander Jim Lovell (played by Tom Hanks) says ‘Gentlemen, its been a privilege flying with you’.  The words of Christ to his disciples in Acts 1 have some resonance here. However, unlike the space crew Jesus has no uncertainty about what will happen next. Unlike the space crew, too, the disciples seem to be rather inept, with their questions still focusing on a physical kingdom. Not an exact match then.

2. E.T

In a Guardian poll the farewell scene in Spieleberg’s E.T was voted the most moving movie ending of all time. E.T is about to leave forever when he turns to the boy who has sheltered and protected him. Touching Eliot on the forehead he says ‘I’ll be right there’. Surely this is what Christ is doing with his disciples- comforting them with the assurance of his ongoing presence?  To a certain extent that is true. However, as the late Trevor Huddlestone would have put it, this is ‘naught for your comfort’. Christ’s ascension words are not just about comfort but about revolution – shifting the spiritual battle up a gear as the disciples take on the evangelisation of the world.

3. The West Wing

Aaron Sorkin’s West Wing was one of the most successful political dramas ever screened in America. It ran for 7 years and attracted vast audiences as it tracked the story of President Josiah Bartlett. In the 88th and final episode everyone wondered how it would end. What would be Sorkin’s final flourish? As the former first couple head home to New Hampshire on Airforce one, Josiah’s wife asks him what he is thinking about. There is a long pause before he utters his final word of the entire series. Still staring out of the window he utters the one word ‘tomorrow’.  This is very definitely the focus as Christ addresses his disciples. He is leaving, the Spirit is coming, and they are to set their sights on tomorrow.

Looking out from the lectern a few hours after the service was over, I reflected that I have probably preached over 500 sermons from that exact spot. To leave it, even for three months, feels like a real wrench. Still, as President Bartlett would say, my thoughts should be on ‘tomorrow’.

A tale of thin ice

Years ago, when I was a new young trainee Baptist Minister, I was told the tale of Dirk Willems, an Anabaptist believer in Holland in the Sixteenth Century. I shall be telling  his story today. Like many others in the Anabaptist tradition, the teaching he received in his little church centred not only on the birth and death of Jesus…but on his life. Anabaptist preachers have always placed a strong emphasis on the necessity of imitation for the Christian disciple- taking on the likeness of the one whom they follow.

In 1569, Dirk was arrested for his part in an illegal gathering for worship, and imprisoned in a local moated castle. As the months wore by, and he grew thinner, he made his daring escape. Knotting together his bed linen, he lowered himself down onto the frozen moat and began to run across it. A prison warder heard him, and gave chase. Dirk’s prison rations meant that he was the lighter of the two, and made it across the ice without incident. His heavier pursuer was not so fortunate, and just as Dirk reached the far bank the ice gave way with a mighty crack!

Now comes the moment which has made me remember the story for the last 25 years. So schooled was Dirk in the ways of Christ that his instinct on hearing the sound was not to run, but to help a fellow human being in need. He turned around and rescued the terrified warder from the freezing waters.who promptly arrested him. Willems was imprisoned again and subsequently executed. His moment of instinctive kindness has stood for almost five centuries as a monument to the power of discipleship learning. Think of Dirk if  you are teaching a children’s or young people’s group – you are shaping minds and hearts as you do so…

Image: mswichita.net

…seeing nothing

A few years ago, on holiday in the far North of the Cotentin Peninsula in France, the rain was hammering down and it was definitely not a day for exploring on foot. Instead, we visited Port Racine, France’s smallest harbour. After that we drove on up the coast to a headland which promised views far out to sea. Instead, the low cloud meant that we could not even see the edge of the cliff, and dared not step out of the car in case we stepped into the void. Out there was a world of beauty and possibility…but we could not see it.

Tomorrow I approach a bit of an edge myself. I shall preach my last two sermons in this church for the next three months. Out there is a sabbatical for which I have waited and prayed for a long time. Some of it is planned, some of the original plans have been abandoned, and much of it is unclear, a bit like the view from the cliff. The two books below reflect something of a theme for me:

In his book, Robert MacFarlane examines some of the oldest paths in this country, and how they reflect the spirituality, heritage and memory of those who have walked them. Walking an old path is an act of continuity with both past and future: stepping where others have trod and thereby preserving that path for those who will do it in ages to come. Koyama, in a book I have yet to read, talks about the pace of the disciple’s walk:

God walks ‘slowly’ because he is of love.  If he is not love he would have gone much faster.  Love has its speed.  It is an inner speed.  It is a spiritual speed.  It is a different kind of speed from the technological speed to which we are accustomed.  It is ‘slow’ yet it is lord over all other speeds since it is the speed of love.  It goes on in the depth of our life, whether we notice or not, whether we are currently hit by a storm or not, at three miles an hour.  It is the speed we walk, and therefore it is the speed the love of God walks.

The view is unclear, but the onward path beckons. Care to walk with me?