When I was young, both not very old, and new as a Christian, I used to think that what mattered was believing the truth and trying to persuade others to believe it too.
As I get older, I find myself more and more concerned about what others think of the church, and how our Christian beliefs seem so odd and out of step with the world that there's precious little chance of them believing what we believe because we express it in such a weird way. In other words, it's not what you say it's the way that you say it.
So although I've been opposed to Halloween for years, I've come to think that my long standing opposition to this upstart of commercial festivities is comprehensively misunderstood by people outside the Christian bubble that I inhabit.
Boo! Christian killjoys! Don't you understand irony? You think we really believe in vampires and zombies? Well actually, we're more likely to believe in vampires and zombies than in Jee-zus anyway! Cause the way you talk about him is so off-putting!
So what's a middle-aged vicar to do?
Especially one who finds himself in charge of a secular youth club, where his committee think it would be a good idea to have a Halloween party.
Tomorrow I'll tell you what I did.
Today, it's all about the dilemma. Why is Goodness boring? Why would we rather muck about with evil? It's not an old problem. Milton, writing Paradise Lost, accidentally turned Satan into a sublime tragic hero and made Jesus about as exciting as John Major. (sorry John). I'm not quite at Milton's level, but I am trying to come up with something to say and do that speaks about Jesus and the Resurrection.
Perhaps you could pray for me.
Or maybe you'd prefer to wish me luck.
Thursday, 31 October 2013
Sunday, 20 October 2013
Restless Prayer
I tried to start a prayer journey, but I couldn't be bothered to leave home.
That's how it feels, as I look back on my resolution to become closer to God through prayer. And going public with it is pretty embarrassing, because as a professional Christian, a church leader, I ought to be good at prayer.
Somehow, I am inclined to think of prayer as a hobby, a side interest, something to do if I have time, or (if I’m not ashamed to say it) nothing better to do. But today I want to speak about prayer as a necessity, as a desire that is as deep as our deepest need, prayer that is not an optional extra to a comfortable life, but the bedrock on which life is built. If we are serious about putting God at the centre of our lives, then we need to cultivate a deeper desire.
But here's my problem. Being honest, really honest, (because where God is concerned there’s no point in doing anything else) I don't want a relationship with God anything like enough. I’m too used to being comfortable, satisfied, and full. And I suspect that many of you are just the same as me.
Gerard and Chrissie Kelly wrote a book called Intimate with the Ultimate, and the third chapter is called Restless. It's about cultivating a dissatisfaction with the way you are, and a deep deep longing to be closer to God.
They must have known what I am like.
Fortunately, they are very realistic. I love this bit of advice: "Tell God that you want this relationship; or if you can't get that far, that you want to want it; or if that is too difficult, that you want to want to want it; or if even that is too high a price, that you want to want to want to want it. Whatever your starting point, take a step towards a life of prayer driven by desire to know God."
I think I can manage that. I might be sitting in an armchair behind the starting line, not even dressed for a race, while the Olympic stadium is full of the saints cheering the competitors on, and the runners are under starters orders. The crowd are the saints, God has his finger on the starting pistol, and I'm sitting back, reaching for another chocolate.
God! Help me want to get out of this chair, and run the race!
That's how it feels, as I look back on my resolution to become closer to God through prayer. And going public with it is pretty embarrassing, because as a professional Christian, a church leader, I ought to be good at prayer.
Somehow, I am inclined to think of prayer as a hobby, a side interest, something to do if I have time, or (if I’m not ashamed to say it) nothing better to do. But today I want to speak about prayer as a necessity, as a desire that is as deep as our deepest need, prayer that is not an optional extra to a comfortable life, but the bedrock on which life is built. If we are serious about putting God at the centre of our lives, then we need to cultivate a deeper desire.
But here's my problem. Being honest, really honest, (because where God is concerned there’s no point in doing anything else) I don't want a relationship with God anything like enough. I’m too used to being comfortable, satisfied, and full. And I suspect that many of you are just the same as me.
Gerard and Chrissie Kelly wrote a book called Intimate with the Ultimate, and the third chapter is called Restless. It's about cultivating a dissatisfaction with the way you are, and a deep deep longing to be closer to God.
They must have known what I am like.
Fortunately, they are very realistic. I love this bit of advice: "Tell God that you want this relationship; or if you can't get that far, that you want to want it; or if that is too difficult, that you want to want to want it; or if even that is too high a price, that you want to want to want to want it. Whatever your starting point, take a step towards a life of prayer driven by desire to know God."
I think I can manage that. I might be sitting in an armchair behind the starting line, not even dressed for a race, while the Olympic stadium is full of the saints cheering the competitors on, and the runners are under starters orders. The crowd are the saints, God has his finger on the starting pistol, and I'm sitting back, reaching for another chocolate.
God! Help me want to get out of this chair, and run the race!
Friday, 18 October 2013
"You do know, it's all down to you, don't you?"
Why did this question fill me with horror?
I had a moment of revelation the other day. I was in a meeting, and the role of the church in the local community was under discussion. Our church was praised for being present in situations that other churches didn't seem to care about.
And then came the question.
"You do know, it's all down to you, don't you?"
What would you think was meant by that? I'll tell you how I took it. To me, it sounded like this person was telling me that it was all down to me, as the vicar, to keep the church involved in this and other important things in the community. And I quailed.
But seeing the look on my face, the last who said it clarified: she meant it as a compliment, that credit was due to me for leading the church to be so active in the community.
Why does this matter? Because for some time I have had my leadership style under scrutiny, and it is becoming clearer to me that I keep too much to myself
To much responsibility, too much work, too much worry. Like many clergy, I'm a poor delegater. It might be because I'm a control freak, it might be because it takes quite a bit of nerve to persuade a busy person to do another job for you. But partly because of something a bit more complicated and intractable.
Because of the way I responded to that question. It's all down to me. I didn't know that I thought that, but apparently I do.
Time to remind myself that it's NOT all down to me. It never was, and never will be. This isn't my church, it's God's church.
Sorry God. You can have it back now. I hope I haven't broken it.
I had a moment of revelation the other day. I was in a meeting, and the role of the church in the local community was under discussion. Our church was praised for being present in situations that other churches didn't seem to care about.
And then came the question.
"You do know, it's all down to you, don't you?"
What would you think was meant by that? I'll tell you how I took it. To me, it sounded like this person was telling me that it was all down to me, as the vicar, to keep the church involved in this and other important things in the community. And I quailed.
But seeing the look on my face, the last who said it clarified: she meant it as a compliment, that credit was due to me for leading the church to be so active in the community.
Why does this matter? Because for some time I have had my leadership style under scrutiny, and it is becoming clearer to me that I keep too much to myself
To much responsibility, too much work, too much worry. Like many clergy, I'm a poor delegater. It might be because I'm a control freak, it might be because it takes quite a bit of nerve to persuade a busy person to do another job for you. But partly because of something a bit more complicated and intractable.
Because of the way I responded to that question. It's all down to me. I didn't know that I thought that, but apparently I do.
Time to remind myself that it's NOT all down to me. It never was, and never will be. This isn't my church, it's God's church.
Sorry God. You can have it back now. I hope I haven't broken it.
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