That was the week, that was

There's a lot too much going on on far too many fronts this week.

GCSEs are over for older son, but A levels grind on for my daughter, who is not the boldest exam candidate ever.
The parish is cranking itself up for the Ordination/First Eucharist with emotions at both ends of the spectrum from joy to despair. Some people will see my priesting as the end of the church they have loved, and that has to be acknowledged and lamented.
Meanwhile, my vicar's well intentioned attempt to give me a gentle week before ordination retreat begins has been thwarted by a sudden influx of funerals and an overwhelming glut of meetings. Of these, the most depressing was the Clergy Chapter day on Monday. We're supposed to be evolving a meaningful mission strategy for the deanery, which will involve redeployment of some clergy and almost certainly some church closures...we've 24 Anglican churches within the borough, which even an ardent devotee of the parish system can see might be rather alot. The atmosphere was really quite good,- there's definitely a sense of friendly collegiality about the place, which is hugely encouraging,- but this can't disguise the fact that some clergy feel depressed, distressed and undermined by even the most creative of suggestions. Oh dear...
Probably the best bit of the week was last Sunday's training day, when we met our new Officer for Ministry/DDO who looks to be a thoroughly Good Thing. He's written a book which might have made all the difference to my first year in ministry, if only he'd published it sooner! His induction on Monday evening was one of those occasions when you actually feel glad to be Anglican, and particularly Anglican in this diocese...great worship, and friendly bun fight afterwards.
Meanwhile, the wonderful man who has shepherded us through our diaconal year preached a cracking sermon for us curates on Sunday. He quoted Herbert McCabe
"Jesus was the first human being who had no fear of love at all, the first to have no fear of being human" and went on to say
"Our God took flesh and became a human being..not any human being; he is the human being. The man who stood before Pialte, the man nailed to the cross, is what humanity really looks like."
"Suffering is inevitable, and I think we have to be clearer that is part of the Christian vocaction.To live as Christ lived is to invite suffering...Less of the makeover...more of a humanity that hurts."
I guess that's what I need to hang onto this week. Plain sailing isn't part of the deal. Hanging on might just be...
No idea if I'll manage another blog before the retreat starts on Wednesday....but in 7 days time it will have happened, please God.
I think I just want time to be with Him now, really.

Divided loyalties

while the rest of the country (and a good few of my friends and acquaintances) are planning to head up to Scotland for the Make Poverty History rally in Edinburgh, I'll be confronting my Bishop in a crowded Cathedral and affirming that "as far as I know my own heart" I believe that God has called me to be a priest in his Church.
Some of those who won't be in the Cathedral asked me what they should do...my ordination or the MPH event? Clearly, there isn't a choice: they can pray for me as they march, if they are so minded, and I'll know they would have been with me if they could..but if they came to Gloucester, the impact would be rather different.
But it does make me feel a bit out of step with my own life, as it were. I would love to be going to Edinburgh, but at least I could join our Churches Together MPH march last Saturday, an amiable of about 300 souls straggling through the shopping precinct, amid shoppers dawdling in the sunshine. Cheltenham town centre is definitely on the affluent side of OK, and it really brought it home to me how very much work there is still to do, in making Third World issues real to a huge part of society. Most of those we passed just didn't give a flying fig....for all our chants and whistle blowing, despite even the African drums, we might as well not have been there. We just didn't figure on their radar at all...Salutory, if uncomfortable.
I was encouraged, though, by the number of people who did turn up to march, by the press interest and (purely personal this) by the fact that my church-hating son and I were able to do something together for the Kingdom. He even led the procession. Attempts to produce photographic evidence failed in the face of the quality of the newsprint...but at least I know he was there :-)

Another one of those meme things!

This one courtesy of Urban Army concerns one of my great passions....books.

Number of books I own….substantially fewer than this time last year, when we disposed of 14 boxes, with much wailing and gnashing of teeth, before decamping from rambling Fleming house to compact and tidy Curatage. Despite this ruthless purge, the removal firm still complained that they’d never moved so manybooks before. We now have 2 bookcases full of children’s books lurking in the bedroom over A's workshop at our old house, most of my English Lit type reading (multiple boxes again) awaiting L’s departure to uni, in a safe corner of the loft, and the remainder, mostly fiction, poetry and, inevitably, theology, lining about 120 feet of shelving and sprawling on most other flat surfaces around the place.
And, guess what, I was given a £25 book token only on Saturday!! :-)

Last Book I bought: The Mermaid Chair: Sue Monk Kidd (everyone else seems to be reading and recommending it….but I’m saving it for the family holiday)

Last Book I read:
Living on the Borders of the Holy: L William Countryman

Books that mean a lot to me: oh, how to choose what to tell you about?

Palgrave’s Golden Treasury…from which my parents used to read me a bedtime poem when I was very young

The Chronicles of Narnia

Vincent Donovan: Christianity Rediscovered

The English Poems of George Herbert

The Donkey’s Tale: Margaret Gray

The Showings of Julian of Norwich

Linnets and Valerians : Elizabeth Goudge

Persuasion: Jane Austen…
and of course the list could go on and on and on…varying with times and seasons.

Tag 5 others…

Who’d like to play, then?? How about you 5
One Pedestrian
Hopeful Amphibian
Liz
Maggi (yes, I know you haven’t really got time: look on it as end of term therapy)
Mary ?
You know you'd enjoy it really. Alternatively, draw yourselves up to your full height and announce righteously that you don't do chain letters, and I'll probably retire crushed ;-)

Do you know this church??

On Thursday, I went along to Deanery Synod. As you might imagine, this was not the most exciting way of spending an evening, but could probably have been far worse.
It was the first session after elections, and so the agenda was planned to allow each parish 3 minutes to talk about their joys and sorrows in the present, and their dreams and nightmares for the future. A good idea for a large deanery, which is currently divided into 3 mini-chapters, so that not even the clergy know each other particularly well.
The St M’s spokesman went first, and I listened with some surprise. Was he describing the same church that I knew and served? Certainly there were features in common, but the emphases were all “wrong” as far as I was concerned. The projects I’m engaged with for children and families was there on the list of joys,- but the parish’s dream seemed to be that they would all file nicely in through the doors, to become part of the main congregation,- and for me that would be something close to nightmare! I don’t want to see those hesitant, exploring souls lose their independence, the freshness of their engagement with God. I’d hate to see them constrained or alienated by those same liturgies that are precious and helpful to others. This doesn't mean that either group is right or wrong… but their needs are so very different, and just now it feels right for me to be engaging more with those on the fringes,- but not as part of a concerted effort to lure them inside.
Another surprise was the discovery that the excitement we, as clergy, feel about a growing habit of prayer among our congregation just doesn’t impact anyone else. Since the beginning of the month, my vicar and I have only twice said the Office alone: this in a church which has in the not-too- distant past seen the priestly role as doing all the “God-stuff” on behalf of the laity. During Lent, our Bishop’s Prayer Initiative encouraged some people to join us morning and evening…the new CW Daily Prayer was the catalyst for others to come along and you can really feel the difference that this is having across the board.Except, perhaps, if you are busy writing reports for Deanery Synod.
Two views of the same parish. I don’t know what the synod made of our 3 minute slot, but the vicar and I both found it informative.

For two men named John, with my love and thanks.

My father John died 27 years ago today. I was 18. He had been ill with cancer for some 9 months, but we'd become a family of ostriches, refusing to accept that he was growing steadily weaker, until he became too sick to stay at home. Then my mother and I began to acknowledge reality, though we still couldn't speak about it directly. This meant that I had no timeframe set before me. I was a busy, successful 6th former, in love for the first time, about to sit my A levels,- it suited us all to pretend that we'd lots of time.
In fact, my father died on a Saturday morning, and I sat my first exam on the Monday. I was in the school library when my housemaster came in to tell me the news. Then he sent my best friend to find me and we walked round and round the school playing-field trying to make sense of it all. She too had lost her father, with hideous suddenness, just 3 years before. Looking back now, I appreciate (as I totally failed to in my self-centred teenaged world) how much it must have cost her to be there in my grief with me. It's some years since we met, but thank you Sue. You were a true friend to me, not just that day but in the weeks and months that followed.
Morning school ended and I had to face the train journey home, knowing that I would have to meet my mother and engage with a world changed horribly forever. I dreaded journey's end, but as a model student I carried on revising. It seemed the best thing to do. It was English that day...the metaphysical poets....and I found myself re-reading John Donne's A Hymne to God the Father
Somewhere in between Pevensey Bay and Cooden Beach, the last verse became true for me. God met me there in that rather grubby railway carriage and hugged me and held me, and the knowledge of that love has stayed with me through everything that has happened to me, ever since.

I have a sinne of feare, that when I have spunne
My last thred, I shall perish on the shore;
But sweare by thy selfe, that at my death thy sonne
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore;
And, having done that, Thou hast done,
I feare no more.

Wisdom from Henri Nouwen

I've been getting a daily reflection from the Henri Nouwen Society for a few weeks now, and it's often well worth reading. Today's, though, was postively overwheleming. See what you think...

Doing Love
Often we speak about love as if it is a feeling. But if we
wait for a feeling of love before loving, we may never learn
to love well. The feeling of love is beautiful and
life-giving, but our loving cannot be based in that feeling.
To love is to think, speak, and act according to the
spiritual knowledge that we are infinitely loved by God and
called to make that love visible in this world.
Mostly we know what the loving thing to do is. When
we "do" love, even if others are not able to respond with
love, we will discover that our feelings catch up with our
acts.

This spoke loud and clear into my current context....If they'd trawled through every last word of his hunting for something labelled "f.a.o. K Fleming" they could not have done better. So I guess that's my cue to go and practise, I suppose!

"Unaccommodated man"

Yesterday it was my turn to take the worship at the home for "confused" old people down the road. Because we share ministry there with our Baptist neighbours, and there's a team of willing volunteers, I only seem to be on duty every 3 months or so. I'm never sure if this is a relief or a pity. I really struggle to find suitable material (the majority only want to sing their favourite hymns, but this seems a rather meagre diet for the one or two who are more switched on). I struggle too with the actual mechanics of leading worship in the dining room, where most of the congregation are scattered about the room, at individual tables, so there's no sort of focal point, - and at least some of those gathered are only there because nobody has managed to take them elsewhere after tea. I'd be less than truthful if I said that I looked forward to my slots there with anything other than several buckets of apprehension, but part of me feels that I ought actually to go there more often, so that I have some hope of making a relationship with those for whom this is still a possibility. As it is, it feels as if I'm delivering hit and run worship, which doesn't quite connect with anyone.
Yesterday was a case in point.The service is supposed to start at 5.30, which is just about manageable if you are doing a 6.30 Evensong. When I arrived, at 5.25 they had barely started serving tea,- and many of the residents need spoon feeding, so this is quite a lengthy procedure. However, shortly before 6.00 I finally began the service, mentally making cuts all over the place as I was due to preach at Evensong, so wasn't exactly optional there either. There was a good response to using tried and trusted collects and they loved singing "He who would valiant be" and "Lead us heavenly Father". I was trying to talk about pilgrimages, and the idea of being taken somewhere without really wanting to make the journey,(something which seemed to speak loud and clear to their context) so I used retelling of the Abram story from Sarai's viewpoint,which worked really well. But I did feel so much that I was a kind of ministerial equivalent of meals on wheels...rushing in, delivering what I had in stock and departing without pausing to pass the time of day or see if the food was to their taste.
As I was setting up, one lady, in great distress, cried out "Nobody cares at all" and I knew what I should do was take the time to be with her and hold her hand and just reassure her that she is still a human being, despite the wreckage of mind and body. She seemed to be very sure that she didn't want to be left in the dining room for worship, but the carers told her (not unkindly) "You don't really mean that" and to me "She used to be a nun, you know". This was apparently sufficient reason to ignore her pleas to be put to bed, and to leave her wheelchair parked firmly in the dining room, - .so now I had an added dilemma of whether or not to force-feed her with worship, as it were. In the end, I had to proceed, and, startlingly, she suddenly calmed down and joined in the Lord's Prayer with apparent equinimity, if not enthusiasm. But she haunted my dreams last night..nailed to her cross, if you like, with the well intentioned hymn singing enveloping her in an unwanted embrace from which there was no escape.

Dare to dream...

A while ago there was a bit of discussion on various blogs of our dreams for the church, and I was driven quietly mad by my inability to remember or track down a hymn I'd once sung which expressed my own dreams rather well. Hunting for last minute resources for my "favourite" spot (the monthly worship at the home for rather absent elderly people) I discovered it lurking . So, here it is. It's by Kate Compston
(from Dare to Dream ed Geoffrey Duncan) and is sung to The Streets of Laredo.

I dream of a church that joins in with God's laughing
as she rocks in her rapture, enjoying her art:
she's glad of her world, in its risking and growing:
'tis the child she has borne and holds close to her heart.

I dream of a church that joins in with God's weeping
as she crouches, weighed down by the sorrow she sees:
she cries for the hostile, the cold and no-hoping,
for she bears in herself our despair and dis-ease.

I dream of a church that joins in with God's dancing
as she moves like the wind and the wave and the fire:
a church that can pick up its skirts, pirouetting,
with-the steps that can signal God's deepest desire.

I dream of a church that joins in with God's loving
as she bends to embrace the unlovely and lost,
a church that can free, by its sharing and daring,
the imprisoned and poor, and then shoulder the cost.

God, make us a church that joins in with your living,
as you cherish and challenge, rein in and release,
a church that is winsome, impassioned, inspiring;
lioness of your justice and lamb of your peace.

Well, I knew I liked him.........

You scored as Jürgen Moltmann. The problem of evil is central to your thought, and only a crucified God can show that God is not indifferent to human suffering. Christian discipleship means identifying with suffering but also anticipating the new creation of all things that God will bring about.

Jürgen Moltmann60%
Anselm60%
Martin Luther60%
Paul Tillich60%
Augustine60%
Charles Finney60%
John Calvin53%
Friedrich Schleiermacher53%
Karl Barth53%
Jonathan Edwards13%

Which theologian are you?
created with QuizFarm.com


What intrigued me was that Moltmann emerged as the result of a tie-breaker, in which I had to choose one statement as the most important. Frankly, none of them were totally essential, but I plumped for the one that would involve me in the fewest "Yes, buts....." I guess I'll have to re read The Crucified God now! I'm also slightly embarassed to discover I am 60% Charles Finney without knowingly reading a word he's written. Should somebody tell the Bishop??
I'm keeping quiet about my results on the other quiz currently doing the rounds...Rhys, Dylan and Tony can all lead you there but thanks to a disturbing 14% score in a particular area, I'm saying nowt. Except that I must understand emergent more than I thought, as it appears I am one :-)

A week for pilgrimage

After our holiday cum trek round Norfolk churches, Saturday saw a more significant pilgrimage for the Flemings. My youngest son was confirmed in Gloucester Cathedral, in a service that made use of the whole of that wonderful building to reflect what was happening for the 33 candidates. Bishop Michael met and welcomed them at the west end and asked what they sought from the church, then made their way up to the font, where 4 candidates (3 from our parish) were baptised, and the rest of us liberally sprinkled in remembrance of our baptisms. Next, with suitable singing along the way, we travelled to the head of the nave, where the confirmation itself took place...J's sister acted as his sponsor (though 3 godparents had managed to join us, choosing which to ask for this role was a diplomatic impossibility!), and she stood behind him with her hand on his shoulder, which was rather lovely. At this point I realised The clergy were behind candidates and sponsors, in a large semi-circle which seemed to underline our role as faciltators, who had in a small way helped to launch the candidates on this stage of their journey. At this point I discovered why clergy are probably best advised not to marry their offspring, as I was decidedly weepy...in this context it didn't matter in the least, but if I'd had to say or do anything more than stand there it might have been awkward.
Once confirmed, the next stop was through to the chancel, where we all received Communion,and finally the newly confirmed, carrying lighted candles, led us all out into the world to live and work to God's praise and glory.
The age range of confirmands was terrific:a couple who were definitely elderly and one small girl who surely couldn't have been the minimum recommended age, 10, plus a good overall balance of adults and teens: it almost looked as if the church might be getting something right for once, which was encouraging.
The Bishop, God bless him, pointed out to me afterwards that the next time we met int the Cathedral looked likely to be my priesting on 2nd July...suddenly it feels very real.
With that in mind, I've spent the first part of this week on a pilgrimage of my very own, at the retreat house at Llan in the Shropshire hills. Space. Silence. Infinite care from the wonderful Andrew and Jill, who mediate so many tangible experiences of God's love...
Add to that, perfect weather and alot of very positive spiritual spring-cleaning, and I've come home a gently smiley curate.

I found this prayer in the church of St Bartholmew, Trunch, and its words resonated with my own feeling about why these buildings still matter. Apparently it originates in St David's, and appears in Roy Simpson's Celtic Daily Light

O God, although you do not live in manmade temples
You choose to work through them.
Pour down your blessing on this place and upon all who minister here,
That it may be a strength to all who have oversight,
A joy and an inspiration to all faithful Christians,
A home of prayer and devotion
Setting forth to the world a pattern of true holiness and worship.

Busman's Holiday

Home yesterday from 3 days in East Anglia, indulging in a little gentle church crawling. Sad, I know, but that's life! Actually, armed as we were with Simon Jenkin’s 1000 Best Churches, and with 50% of the party determined that we shouldn’t miss any 4 star treat within reach, it wasn’t so much gentle as, well, gruelling, really.
I’d wanted to look at angel ceilings, so angel ceilings we looked at, and looked at and looked……….there were very few within range of our Kings Lynn base that we didn’t visit and enjoy, but sadly the effect of so many in a short space of time was to blur the details. My favourite, though, had to be Upwell, where a Georgian gallery means that you find yourself nose to nose with those fantastic beings, carved a good 600 years ago…close enough to touch.
It was the first time I'd been on a serious church-crawl since ordination, and I was intrigued to discover how much my perspective had changed; now these were not simply beautiful and historic places to meet God, but potential worship spaces. My critical faculty never kicked in in quite this way even at the height of my short lived career as an Eng Lit academic...I could still read trashy detective fiction with huge pleasure, but now I seem to consider church buildings in terms of some ideal Eucharistic celebration...and many of these didn't quite work for me. Sad.
There were other worries, too, though. With so much to marvel at and celebrate, so many of the churches needed massive repairs and were clearly losing the battle to fight decay. Thanks to those ambitious wool merchants, these mini cathedrals serve tiny villages, which would never have supported a building of such size and grandeur even in the heyday of Christendom. Trunch, for example, has one of those “the fundraising so far” boards outside the church, and alarming cracks and harbingers of doom about the place. It also has a stunning font, some choir desks with inkwells (left over from a period when the village school met in the chancel) and such a sense of the presence of God that I felt as if I’d slipped out of time and into eternity.
So…how do you square the circle?
These buildings are beautiful, precious, and speak volumes about the presence of God in those places.
They are also huge, rotting, and largely unsuitable for most main- stream Anglican worship.
Do we pull them all down?
Sign them over to English heritage without delay (always assuming they would take them)?
Or allow congregations and clergy to spend their days in endless cycles of fundraising and anxiety about the next big thing to go wrong?
I loved those churches but I came home praying that I’d never find myself vicar of most of them.
The shining exceptions were Blakeney (which had the added attractions of free coffee facilities for visitors, and a lovely display of work from the local primary school) and St Margaret’s King’s Lynn…which was, amazingly, open well into the evening and was so inspiring I felt tempted to begin an academic study of Margery Kempe (probably the most famous former worshipper there) on the spot. I'm not sure she'd be an altogether helpful example, though, as she is noted for her extravagant emotions...and I suspect I do those quite well enough anyway!

Belated thanks...

to everyone who prayed for me this week. Assorted issues still loom large in various directions, but the whole thing feels infinitely more manageable and I'm reminded again what an amazing gift of God friends can be, especially friends who pray.
What with major exams for both my older offspring and priestly ordination a mere 5 weeks away, I'd be very happy if you felt able to keep it up. Bless you all.

S.D.S.

or "Server Dependency Syndrome" is something which affects clergy of a certain churchmanship, and can strike at any time. It is the result of being surrounded by so great a cloud of acolytes, crucifers, thurifers and the aforementioned servers that you become incapable of doing anything for yourself.
Symptoms: can range from inability to pour wine from flagon into chalice (taking the lid off the former would have helped, but I was so busy focusing on not pouring too much, as I'd be drinking the left-overs, I didn't notice for a minute the obstructive lid...) to total paralysis when the marker in the Gospels is in the wrong place. A Curate I know spent what felt like 25 minutes staring blankly at what was clearly not the Gospel for Corpus Christi (it was actually the Collect for some other feast altogether) because she was so certain that if the book had been prepared by our Sacristan, the marker must be in the right place if she only looked at it hard enough.
In fact, it was one page on. Had she known the 1928 Altar Book well enough, she might have had the nous to turn over and lo, all would have been revealed (though even when the vicar came to the rescue, the lurking Gospel was not immediately obvious).
Cure: while continuing to enjoy the freedom from time-consuming details provided by the goodly company of servers, the sufferer should ensure that s/he knows how to do things herself, and where to find things at all times.
I'm sure that hole into which embarrassed curates can vanish must be somewhere in church: I know, I'll ask a server...

Really random

Last night I watched the BBC 2 series Compulsion, the story of Jonny, a young man with drink, drug and gambling addictions. He was the oldest child of an Anglican priest, and his father's parents had died while he, the father, was still young. As a soon-to-be Anglican priest whose parents died when I was 18, this did worry me slightly for my beautiful daughter...but the fact that she kept floating in to stand in front of the tv and offer Jonny hugs and understanding made me feel marginally better .

A shopping trip with One Pedestrian yesterday, from which I brought home some really cool lights. They are basically thin plastic tubes, filled at regular intervals with small bulbs in assorted colours ...can't find a picture anywhere on the net, but I reckon they'll be very handy for alt.worship and meanwhile, I've popped them in a vase and they cheer up the study no end.
What's more, their packaging entertains as well as educates, as it reads "bulbs not replaceable" and "If you have any problems obtaining replacement bulbs please phone the 24 hour premierbulb hotline....."

Which brings me to a poster, the work of the Sunday School, which I encountered in a church hall near here (no, not ours). It read, loud and clear
"Our God RESIGNS"
So there you have it. Have a good day!

What price the diocesan arsonist?

Thanks all of you for your comments. Obviously the Bishop was quite right, and it's well worth blogging even those books you're not sure about: the quality of the debate justifies the time spent reading :-)
Ron wondered what there was about buildings to justify the time and trouble spent on them...I feel quite strongly about the need for an available sacred space in each community, and have covered most of my reasons in an earlier post, "Blessings or millstones". However, I would certainly be in favour of whittling down the ridiculous number of churches there are about the place. Here, we sit neatly in the middle of the old "village" area of Charlton Kings, and the church is literally on the way to many places, so people do drop in for a quiet prayer at odd moments in the day. Equally, in my last parish there was just the one church, open daily, often visited. If I found myself in a situation where there were 2 or 3 Anglican churches within a short walk, not to mention other denominations, then I'm sure I'd see things differently. An ecumenically shared building would be much more appropriate in that context, but it has has HAS to be open. The hospitality of Christian homes is great for those who know about it...but what about the person who just wakes up one morning feeling sad, or prayerful? I'm sure there are ways to ensure they don't slip through the net, but I'd need to know what they are. The much-trumpeted upsurge in numbers of people attending worship in Cathedrals suggests that there are many out there who are ready to risk an encounter with God in anonymous safety. Ringing the doorbell of the man down the road, who hosts a Christian cell in his home, is a very different matter.

Secular Lives, Sacred Hearts

In response to my rash promise to my Bishop, here’s the first of my attempts to reflect on recent reading. Secular Lives, Sacred Hearts works from the premise that
“The traditional sociological view of secular Britain is misleading. The Church would understand its contemporary minsitry and mission better,…if it thought of the nation as “culturally Christian”.”
Hmmmn…..I finished the book a week ago now, and the more I think about it, the more it feels to me as if its main purpose is to make clergy feel better about our failure to evangelise the nation. Alan Billings' message seemed to be “Go with the flow” and, if I understood him properly, this felt to me something more than simply trying to meet people where they are and inviting them to an encounter with God. It was rather suggesting that our concept of God encounters needed revision, so that we softened our boundaries to include much that would otherwise have been labelled “folk religion” and ceased forthwith from making demands of any kind on those outside our regular congregations.
Much of what Billings writes about the contemporary context resonated loudly with me, and he has a lot of helpful ideas about reaching out into the community. What about inviting a local school to provide a series of Advent Stations, for example? That's one that could really work here. I loved, too, his suggested definition of ministry
“Making real for people the grace of God at particular moments in their (increasingly secular) lives”.
But I was worried by his implicit message that if we were failing in the task of mission, it was time to change the nature of the task rather than our approach to fulfilling it. He concludes the book with what he calls 3 “tendencies of the contemporary church”, against which he sets his 3 preferred “Principles for the contemporary church”. Perhaps I’ve been too thoroughly indoctrinated by the system, but my gut feeling was that in following his principles we would be in danger of losing track of the Gospel in an ambient spiritual mush.
They read as follows….
First tendency of the contemporary Church: Make a clear line of demarcation between “the Church” and “the world” and see the over riding task of the Church as evangelism.
First counteracting principle for the contemporary Church: Recognise that not all Christians are members of the Church and see the Church, including its occasional offices,as a spiritual resource for members and non members alike”
(This might sound fine….very much in keeping with “Mission shaped” ideas of allowing people to be church where they are…but a closer reading reveals that he is not expecting these “cultural Christians” to do anything very much as a result of their faith…there is no sense that they will want to gather together, to learn or to pray…no idea that they might benefit from being Church, in whatever expression)

Second tendency: Assume that God wants everyone to become a member of the Church
Second principle: See Church membership as the particular vocation of some Christians for the sake of others

Third tendency: to see buildings as of secondary importance or even of no importance at all in sustaining the spiritual life
Third principle: recognise the vital role played by sacred buildings in sustaining the spiritual life of members and non- members.
(OK…as you may have gathered, I quite like this one! The value of a sacred space at the centre of a community is something I blah on and on about….and I like Billings concept of building as sacrament..the visible sign of God’s presence with his people, though I do worry about those who only expect to meet him there)

Fourth tendency: move away from the parish church towards the gathered congregation
Fourth principle: value and support the concept of the parish church.

This last is, he contends, his underlying principle throughout the book. The church should be there for everyone so that we avoid a situation in which “Ministry is assimilated to mission and those who do not attend but think of themselves as Christians will ask the Church for bread and receive none”

Of course, my reaction to that last scenario is “God forbid”…but while I believe with every fibre of my being that the church exists to serve God in all his children, I believe too that an encounter with God should elicit some response in us, and that it is not unreasonable to expect that response to be articulated within some sort of Christian community. What I'm wondering now,though, is whether it is either significant or alarming that I seem to be less woolly in my liberalism as the months in full time ministry whizz past. Have I bought into the system, or are elements of the system still "right" however startling this realisation may be?

If necessary, use words...

Spent the morning at a supervision with my vicar. Gloucester curates have the benefit of a training manual, "The First Four Years", which aims to help us join the dots between what we are doing in our parishes and the way that this should equip us for future ministry. At the end of the book there's a sort of profiling exercise, which looks at the main areas of ministry, divided into subsections, and invites you to grade them according to competence. The theory is that this happens at the beginning of each year, areas for action are highlighted, and the whole thing is revisited at the start of the next year. However, life being real and earnest, things haven't actually worked out quite like that, so we're still working our way through these rather substantial topics, and today it was "Mission and Evangelism".
This has been something that has become very immediate and real for me in the past year, as I realise the full implications of the new context in which we live and work. To state the obvious, things are quite different in a suburban parish with a large proportion of young families, as opposed to a small Cotswold village with a settled population, most of whom you know fairly well. M. and I had a helpful and ( I hope) productive discussion, and identified some points for the future. However we foundered when we came to the question about "ability to present the Gospel to those of little or no church background".
We both agreed that relationship was very important...we felt that we had to earn the right to share the Gospel, if we wanted it to be received positively. Neither of us felt really confident that we were ready "constantly to give an account of the hope that is in us", though when pressed, we could each see that we were able to use our own faith stories to encourage others to encounter God. St Francis's words "Preach the Gospel. If necessary use words" seemed far more in keeping with our preferred styles, though we agreed that there was a danger that this would be a cop-out. After all, the Anglican Church has often tended to engage optimistically in social action and community work without proclaiming the Gospel, in the hopes that people might somehow work out the motivation from the action. History suggests that this is not entirely successful....I just wish I'd read ron's post on the subject earlier. As part of our efforts to convince the congregation that ministry is something we all do together, and not a peculiar habit of consenting adult clergy, I've been preaching about the universal Christian calling to be God-bearers to the world...and now he has tied up the ends beautifully for me. Listen to this bit, and then make sure you go and read the rest.
"The early disciples had little ritual but a mighty realization. They went out not remembering Christ, but experiencing him. He was not a mere fair and beautiful story to remember with gratitude - he was a living, redemptive, actual presence then and there. They went out with the joyous and grateful cry, "Christ lives in me!" The Jesus of history had become the Christ of experience.
Some have suggested that the early Christians conquered the pagan world because they out-thought, out-lived and out-died the pagans. But that was not enough: they out-experienced them. Without that they would have lacked the vital glow.
We cannot merely talk about Christ - we must bring him. He must be a living vital reality - closer than breathing and nearer than hands and feet. We must be "God-bearers."

As for me, I came home to the sort of email that makes me realise that if I'm a walking book at all, then it's definitely not so much gospel as rather bad news. I've managed to upset a friend even as I tried to help, so I would really value prayers as I try to put things right.

Our duty and our joy

This was the title of an excellent CME presentation yesterday dealing with the Church’s attitudes to disability, which Mark has already covered on his blog. I came worrying that it would be all ramps and loop systems (which, though excellent in themselves are unlikely to be anything over which I have huge control, specially in my current context) but my fears were groundless. Unsurprisingly, I couldn’t get One Pedestrian out of my mind as I know that many of our well-intentioned thoughts and fumblings towards a theology of disability would probably seem deeply unsatisfactory from her perspective. On my own doorstep, I was disturbed by the realisation that our church, while not bad at the physical practicalities of access, was probably not yet ready to welcome anyone who fails to conform to perceived norms of appropriate behaviour during worship. Heck, they find it hard enough when the Curate forgets that they prefer to kneel for the Eucharistic Prayer! By the end of the day, I found myself praying that God would, at top speed, send us a family with learning disabilities to challenge us to move beyond our comfort zone.

I was inspired , too, to revisit the work of John Hull, who had spoken to us during ordination training. He has much to say about the negative images of blindness prevalent in the Bible, and startled us with his announcement that he neither expected nor longed to recover his sight in heaven. His website is full of challenging stuff…I wanted to weep when I read
When I studied the New Testament as a sighted person, it did not occur to me that you, Jesus, were yourself sighted. We were in the same world, but it did not occur to me that being sighted was a world. I thought that things were just like that. When I became blind, then I realised that blindness is a world, and that the sighted condition also generates a distinctive experience and can be called a world. Now I find, Jesus, that I am in one world and you are in another.
(John Hull: Open Letter from a blind disciple to a sighted Saviour)
By inhabiting a specific culture, Jesus seems to have become trapped by its particular constraints. Hull contrasts his attitude to the blind (and, by extension, to others with disabilities) with his attitude to women (not among the 12, but nonetheless affirmed and given the joyous task of witnessing the resurrection) and other outsiders…tax collectors and sinners. The blind, deaf and lame are the recipients of ministry but not included among the disciples until they are healed. It seems almost as if Jesus had bought into the medical model of response, which sees disability as a problem to be fixed, rather than an essential part of the identity of the blind or deaf person….
So the blind disciple comments
On an individual basis you are sensitive and tactful towards blind people, and while acknowledging their condition of economic deprivation, you insist upon their inclusion. Nevertheless, you did not include a blind person in your closest circle. In your presence blind people felt the hope and discovered the reality of the restoration of sight but you did not offer to blind people courage and acceptance in their blindness. You would have led me by the hand out of blindness but you would not have been my companion during my blindness.
(Hull: source above)

I'm left wondering if there are disabilities and degrees of damage so extreme that it is only through healing that the person can truly be freed to be themselves? I cannot presume to answer that...Hull arrives at a resolution when he understands that Jesus too experienced blindness in his last hours. Blindfolded by the soldiers who whipped him, plunged into the great darkness that filled his time on the cross, he shared even this element of the human condition. Meanwhile, Urban Army quotes Mother Teresa, anxious that we should avoid giving
“people a broken Christ, a lame Christ, a crooked Christ deformed by you”. In the light of Hull's views, this could open a whole new chapter in the discussions....

Building Dreams.

One way and another, architecture has featured quite heavily in my thoughts this week. Tuesday revealed a huge gap between clergy and PCC understandings of what our church building says about our theology...or perhaps it's more a question of the gap looming between our theology and theirs. Then rhys aired the topic , inspiring some rather good thoughts about butresses and the ways in which pillars may not always be totally supportive. Our church, you see, has so many pillars, both literal and metaphorical, that it's impossible to tell which ones are useful to hold the roof up and which simply block your view! Dave had some entertaining insights too, after attending a training day on the future shape of the Anglican parish. Clearly, there is something in the air...
Thursday saw me visiting our link parish of St John's, Ladywood in Birmingham, where re-ordering has certainly said some pretty radical things about being church in that community. When the current incumbent arrived there, the church was under threat of closure and he and his curate of 15 years have done some amazing work in creating an arts and community centre in the body of the church. When we visited on Thursday the place was buzzing with primary school children visiting an exhibition of World War 2 memorabilia "Ladywood at War", and there is no doubt of its value as a community space. My only reservation (which feels rather churlish under the circumstances) would be that though the church is open when there are exhibitions running, it's not possible to leave it open as a place of prayer at other times, and when there are events, finding peace and space to pray would be distinctly challenging. So in some ways it remains a "Sundays only" church, as far as connecting with God directly is concerned.
In contrast, yesterday saw me in Hereford, where the St Mary's Choir were singing Evensong at the Cathedral. We arrived in time to explore, and I was treated to a delicious lunch at the cafe@allsaints, which occupies the rear of the medieval church of All Saints. Thanks to clever use of split levels, the "church" element of this project had far more integrity...The cafe part is raised (with an additional gallery for extra tables) so that you can sit with your salad and look into the church...but though this might sound odd it really works, and there was no feeling of embarrassment or compromise in pausing for prayer after lunch. I loved it...definitely on my short-list of dream churches, though I know precisely nothing about any other feature of parish life!
Maggi had good things to say about reordering at Michaelhouse, Cambridge too...so after all that, when presented with Isaiah 6 as the text to preach from tonight, how could I resist discussing the relationship between the Old Testament vision of God, awe-inspiring and remote, and His architectural seclusion in the holy of holies? I took a deep breath and suggested that much of our architecture and our style of worship here presented the same image, of an inaccessible deity, with whom no connection is actually possible. He is honoured in beautiful liturgy, but kept safely behind the altar rails, to be approached by only a few of those who come to worship.
"But", I went on,
"something happens for Isaiah that speaks of something amazing for us too. That burning coal which the seraph brings to him from the altar symbolises so much, because it represents God’s willingness to engage with us, despite all our inadequacy. It is a sign not only of our cleansing but of our commissioning.
Suddenly we are in a new kind of relationship for God has reached out to us and made us fit for his purpose.
“Your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out”
The whole Bible is full of this kind of divine initiative, realised supremely, of course, in the coming of Jesus. We remain dust and ashes, yes, but we are dust and ashes so precious in God’s sight that he sends his Son to transform us, to remove our guilt and blot out our sin.
We remember that when Jesus died, the veil in the Temple split in two, as a sign that God was no longer “in light inaccessible, hid from our eyes”. The God we know in Jesus is both eternal and unchanging, and also a God who suffers with and for the world he loves so much, a God constantly at work bringing about its transformation."

Though it felt quite brave, speaking these thoughts aloud, they were not accompanied by any noticeable earthquake....So it would appear that the building is destined to remain standing for tbe moment at least, and I'll go back to seeing visions and dreaming dreams.