Busy

Today I’m feeling guilty. I should have written this post yesterday. I failed. Maybe you looked for a post yesterday and wondered where it was. I wondered what you might be thinking when, at the end of a day I hadn’t really anticipated, it dawned on me that it was a blog day. Then I got cross with myself. That’s what I do you see, I beat myself up if I think I’ve made a mess of something, or failed in a task. I’ve had therapy too! Still do actually. I have language for it. I understand a least a little of where it comes from and what sustains it. I am a counsellor now too, so I sit with others and help them do what I am trying to do. But still, at the end of yesterday, I was cross and disappointed in myself. To be fair, it was a very busy day and I had to do things I hadn’t anticipated. They all took time and the day slipped away. And here I am the morning after the day before writing a blog that I should have written yesterday. It makes me wonder: is God cross with me? Is God disappointed because I failed to write a blog yesterday? Well, let me put it this way. There is nothing I can do to make God love me more, and there is nothing I can do to make him love me less. He can’t love me anymore today than he loved me yesterday, and he won’t be able to love me anymore tomorrow than he does right now. So, you figure it out! And by the way, that’s not to say that sometimes God is disappointed in my choices or may actions or my words or thoughts. Sometimes I make bad choices, say things I shouldn’t, act in inappropriate ways and God will be disappointed. But it doesn’t make God love me less. He’s disappointed because I hurt myself and others, but his love remains. And, he doesn’t get so busy that he forgets about me. Ever. David tells us in Psalm 139 that we can’t count how many times a day God’s thoughts turn towards us. He says God thinks about us more times a day than there are grains of sand. That’s a lot! And God doesn’t slumber or sleep either (Psalm 121). I may forget because I’m busy, but God is not me. He is never too busy. You may be disappointed in me because I was busy and forgot to write my blog yesterday. I might be disappointed in myself because I was busy and forgot to write my blog yesterday. My best guess is, that if God is in anyway disappointed, it will be because of the way I think about myself, or perhaps they way you think of me. But he wasn’t too busy and he was thinking of me. And he still is right now. And he will be today, whatever the day brings and whatever I might be too busy to do. The truth is, he’s not too busy to love me today.

Prodigals

It happened again this morning. Happens pretty much every Sunday morning. And some days in between, but pretty much every Sunday. I wake in a bit of a panic. Sounds a bit dramatic doesn’t it? Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’m simply being honest. I wake in a panic because I find myself thinking I don’t want to do church today. It’s not that I hate church. I don’t. It’s not that I don’t enjoy being up front, or in this present time, in front of the laptop. Actually I do. I love it! It’s not that I don’t love to preach. I absolutely do. I wake in a panic because, somehow, I think I’m not good enough to do this thing called church. I’m not the person you all think I am you see. However much you think you might know me, you don’t. It’s not that what you know isn’t true. It is, it really is. But it’s not the whole truth. And I am acutely aware of what you don’t know. And, what makes me panic most, is that I know that God knows what you don’t know. And here’s the thing. I’ve told you that I will preach only that of which I am convinced, and that’s what I do. I don’t preach things I’m not convinced about. That doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes say things I’m wondering about. I do. But I won’t say something is true if I’m not convinced of that truth. But, just because I’m convinced of something doesn’t mean I don’t struggle with it. I am convinced that God can't love me any more than he does right now. But sometimes I struggle to believe that. Especially when I wake on a Sunday morning. Usually that’s when I’m struggling the most. It’s when the “tapes” or “scripts” or whatever you want to call them, that I’ve learnt through life are at their most powerful. So I really need to be reminded of what I spoke about this morning. (I have a sneaking feeling it makes God smile you know, when I have to do that: say the very things I am at the same time convinced of, but struggling to live in the truth of. It’s a loving, fatherly smile, one full of love and attention. He’s not laughing at me. He’d never do that.) I really need to be reminded that in my second choice world, whether that’s one of my own making, or one that has been thrust upon me, God is watching, waiting and loving me. And, that he will never reject me when my heart turns again to him. I have to be reminded that he never hates me whatever I do and however much I might hate myself. I have to be reminded that he is always ready to welcome me. Always. And, to those of you who will want me to add that for all that to happen I have come in true repentance, I say, I’m not convinced of that! You may be right, but that’s not what happened in the story Jesus told. At least I don’t think so. The son went home because he figured that was his best option, which is not the same as true repentance. He just knew on which side his bread was buttered! He says pretty much the same thing Pharaoh did when he kept coming to God after each of the plagues. Turned out he wasn’t being completely honest about what was going on. But we’re mostly the same. And, it makes God’s welcome even better, because he meets us even at the point when we’re not completely honest. Which is really good news for people like me. And I’m guessing for people like you too.

Dying

That’s a bit in your face isn’t it? The title of the blog that is. Why would I write about dying? We’d rather avoid it if we could wouldn’t we? Even as Christians! That’s one thing I’ve never really understood if I’m honest. Why is it that Christians talk about longing to go heaven, the great place you can only apparently get to when you die, and yet at the same time try to avoid dying just as much as the next person. If heaven really is so good…? I don’t mean to be flippant. And, honestly I get it, as least at one level. Maybe we don’t talk much about heaven because in truth we simply don’t really think it can be better than what we have here. But then, for some that is far from the truth. Take the slave song “Swing low, sweet chariot.” The point of the song it seems, is to ask for God to come and take them home (heaven) because life on earth is not worth living. It’s asking for a way out. And for some that’s the truth. But not for most of us. Most of us don’t want to die because we’d rather stay here. And we have lots of good reasons to stay: family, friends, loved ones, children, grandchildren, holidays to go on, careers to build, careers to maintain, retirement to enjoy, life still to live, promises to keep, a fiancé to marry, a partner to find, a mission to fulfil, a calling to follow…And because I’m human, that’s how I mostly think. Death is the enemy. It is actually. God thinks so too. Death was never part of God’s creation. It’s the result of the choice to follow evil not love. And, we die! We all know that. And we find it hard, so very hard to live with! So why am I writing about dying? Because yesterday it was right in my face. And in lots of other people’s faces too. I was at East Surrey hospital, standing outside in the cold (and it was cold) with hundreds of staff to remember someone who had died. He was an ambulance driver who died of COVID-19. He died on his 52nd birthday. It was a tragedy. People are heartbroken, his wife and children especially. He was by all accounts a wonderful man: funny, courageous, talented, a man everyone genuinely loved. He was a Christian. People prayed for his healing. I did. Yet he died. I wonder sometimes what God is doing. The little boy in me wept. I wanted to weep as I watched his family, his colleagues, his friends who are devastated. I woke up this morning and realised I had been dreaming of speaking at the service (I was asked to pray yesterday). I was saying that Peter now knew more fully than he had ever known, the magnificent love of God. That he is now more fully alive than he has ever been. And, I believe that with all my heart. And yet I’m angry and confused in equal measure. And his family are feeling their pain far, far more than me. And yet, they too, believe what I believe, which will hold them and keep them in this difficult time. It holds me too. Sorry if I’ve spilled too much angst. It is, of course mixed with faith. Or perhaps, more accurately it is part of faith. Here’s the thing: being human is a struggle between what we can see and what we believe. Dying is inevitable but it is so very, very hard. Life can be so very, very hard. Sometimes, perhaps mostly, we find ourselves wondering what God is doing. Living with faith is living in the tension of what we see and experience, and what we believe. We must hold onto what we believe with all our hearts. We must. When God appears to be doing nothing, we trust him anyway. But we must not deny the pain of things gone wrong, and dying. Turns out God is never so close as to those who mourn.

Compass

So, I had an idea the other day. We were going for our daily exercise and we decided to be a bit more adventurous (all within the rules you understand). So we struck out on a walk not quite knowing the route we would ultimately take. We had some ides, but wanted to go further than last time. Knowing we were going into unexplored territory, I packed bag: a flask of tea (can’t survive anywhere with out that); bag of sweets (for energy); phone (why not?) and of course a compass. I love the compass. When I was in something called The Campaigners (another version of BB or Cubs and Scouts), I won an award on a weekend camping trip for my use of the compass, navigating my team across Dartmoor. We’ve been friends ever since. A venture into unknown territory in lockdown, seemed the obvious time to be reunited with my compass. So in the bag it went. I was brimming with confidence. We had everything we needed. We had checked possible routes on the internet (desperately trying to commit them to memory). We knew roughly how the land lay. And off we went. All we had to do was to find the right path. The first part was easy. We knew the route. But soon came the time for a decision: which path do we want? And then it struck me. First, we had no map. Second, it was a long, long time since I had used a compass and I wasn’t really sure I could remember how to use one. There we were, uncertain of the way forward, with a compass I only had a vague recollection of how to use, and no map. Turns out a compass with no map is of very limited value! Eventually I figured out how to take a bearing (and was very pleased with myself), but my compass wasn’t able to tell me which way to go because I had no map! They work together you see. Map and compass. I did take some bearings. I pronounced we were walking in a south-easterly direction. We did get home because we recognised where we were and knew the way. But I didn’t do it by my compass! Truth is, if we had been in a position where we really needed a compass, we would have been lost! You need a map and a compass. And you need to know how to use them together. Lockdown is a challenging time. It is difficult time to navigate, a time when the way ahead in unclear. Difficult to do on your own. If ever there was a time when we need to trust ourselves to God, it is now. The way ahead is unclear and challenging. We cannot see clearly. We may feel lost and confused uncertain of where to go. Some of us are living with loss. But God is present. He is present even though we can’t see him. What is challenging is that he doesn’t simply tell us the path to take. He’s better than that. He wants to walk together with us. Like a map and a compass, they work best together. God and me. God and you. Walking through this valley together. A journey of trust and faith and hope. Done together with God.

Two places at once!

It would have been really cool to do it as a kid. In fact there were many times as a kid when to be in two places at once would have been great. Might even have saved me from some tricky situations! And think of all the things you could do: you could not only be talking to your mum on the phone and doing your duty as her son, but you could also…Wait! What am I saying! I’ve tried doing two tings at once while I’m talking to my mum, and she always knows. Always! But then being in two completely different places at the same time, doing completely different things, that would be something else wouldn’t it? Doing the shopping in one place, while finishing the sermon in another. Picking the children up from school, while catching up on a lost night’s sleep. Being at work while being on holiday! And yesterday I was. No, not at work and on holiday, but in two places at once! Well, at least it looked that way. I was leading the Crawley Baptist Church live stream service from my dining room. (I’m actually quite enjoying doing these even though I get really nervous before we start. I do wonder sometimes if I should have gone into T.V. I love the live thing and having to think on your feet. But back to the plot.) And, while I was leading the service in Crawley, I was also preaching in a Baptist Church in Horsham! Now that’s quite a feat don’t you think? Two services. Two congregations. Two churches. Two Towns. At the same time! A few weeks ago it would never have occurred to me that I would ever do something like that. And the truth is, it’s only because of the lockdown that it happened at all. The truth is that I was asked, before the lockdown, to be the moderator of a church in Horsham (that just means I’ve been asked to help a church who are without a minster at the moment). As part of that role I was asked to preach at the church on the 10th May, yesterday. So I said yes, and in the normal scheme of things would have been at the church in Horsham yesterday to speak. But then lockdown came. The church still wanted me to speak, but they are having to do what we are having to do, and they asked me to record my talk, which I did. So yesterday, as part of their service, they played my recorded talk. And over in Crawley, I was leading the live stream! At the same time. When Jesus told his disciples it was better for them that he went away, they didn’t get it (John 16v7). By leaving, Jesus enabled God to be present in a new way. What? Well, here’s the extraordinary thing: Jesus could only be in one place at a time in his humanness. But after he’s gone, because of the presence of the Holy Spirit, God’s presence is with his people in a new way. Now before you lynch me for heresy, think of it like this: Jesus could only be in one pace at a time - it’s part of the human condition. But now, he is everywhere his followers are because of the gift of the Hoy Spirit. Wherever followers of Christ go, so does the Kingdom of the heavens. Which is great news. Wherever you go in this crisis, whoever you talk to, chat with, email, message, write to or Zoom with, God is present by the Holy Spirit. You carry the Kingdom of the heavens. You do. You are the salt of the earth. You are the light of the world. Jesus himself said so! As you do that in all the places you are allowed to go right now, others are doing it too and God is with them. God is in two places at once! Actually, he’s wherever his people are. Truth is, I can’t be in two places at once, not really, however much I dream about it. But God can! And he chooses to do it through me and you. Two places at once. And then some!

International Rescue!

We didn’t have a T.V. when I was young (thanks for your sympathy), but whenever I got the chance I would watch my favourite programme: The Thunderbirds! Wasn’t it fantastic. It didn’t matter that you could see the strings, or that they were puppets. It was real to me. I just loved everything about them. I loved that they had really neat gadgets; I loved that they had different aircraft for different crisis situations: Thunderbirds One, Two, Three Four and Five (each so clever). I loved the pictures on the wall in dad’s office - the ones where the eyes did that thing when one of them was trying to contact base (so cool). I loved the way the pool moved out of the way so Thunderbird One could take off. I loved the way the sat on the couch which turned into their transport to the aircraft (I never understood why we couldn’t have one in our living room). I loved Thunderbird Two with all its pods. I had Thunderbird Two. Mine had Thunderbird 4 in the pod (the submarine). Actually, I think my mum still has Thunderbird Two in the tin of toys she kept for the grandchildren to play with! The Thunderbirds were International Rescue. They turned up whenever there was a disaster or a crisis and saved the world. I wanted to be a Thunderbird! Yesterday, as we remembered the 75th anniversary of VE Day, we were reminded that it was an international rescue. In his speech as he announced the end of the war in Europe, Churchill reflected on the truth of what had happened, that for the first year or so it was Britain fighting the war. Then the Russians joined with the Allies. And then, after the attack on Pearl Harbour, the Americans joined the war effort. It was, as Churchill rightly pointed out, an International Rescue. An International Rescue against the forces of evil. And today, those of us who love in the peace and freedom won, rightly remember with thanks. Sadly, peace and freedom won by men fighting a war doesn’t last. It’s not the same war, but today there are more wars raging that at any time in history. There is only one war that has been won for eternity. That’s the war won by one man on a cross some two thousand years ago. That was, and is, an International Rescue on an eternal scale. That was, and is, an International Rescue that brings you and me peace and freedom. It is wonderfully true that when we turn our heart to the one who won the victory, we can know his peace and the freedom he brings. But we also know there are wars still raging in our lives and the lives of those we love. The International Rescue won on a cross means we can know his peace and his freedom even as we live in the midst of those wars. That’s why he came. But it’s not just for now. It is also wonderfully true that the International Rescue that lead one man to a cross, brings the hope of eternal peace and freedom. We can look forward to the day when all wars will cease, the ones that nation still fights against nation and the ones that still rage in our hearts and lives. At the end of WWII people gave thanks for the sacrifice others had given to win peace and freedom. We did again that yesterday. And it fills us with hope that things may be different. It fills us with hope for the future. As we look back at the International Rescue that led to the cross, we are reminded that self-sacrificial love really is at the centre of the universe and that not only can we have peace and freedom here and now, but we can look forward in hope to the day when all war will cease. Secretly I still want to be a Thunderbird. But that’s just a story. And I can’t save the world. So I’ll leave it to the one who can. No, he really can!

Ruthless!

Ruthless. Doesn’t sound like a Christian word does it? I’m reading a book that has it in the title. It’s a Christian book too! It’s encouraging me to be ruthless. I have to say it’s not a notion I’m particularly comfortable with if I’m honest. Thing is, ruthless always conjures up images of nasty people. People who are ruthless are people who don’t care about others. Ruthless people are people who don’t stop to think about how their actions affect others. Ruthless people don’t care about how their words might hurt or crush another. Ruthless people are all about getting the job done. Ruthless people are focused, assured, determined, single minded and don’t get side-tracked by minor distractions. Ruthless people are successful people. Ruthless people don’t worry about the decisions they make, they just make them. They don’t look back. They don’t suffer fools. They don’t like weakness. They can’t abide vulnerability. At least, in my mind those things are true. And I don’t want to be like that. Mostly. I say mostly. There are times when I really, really want to be like that. But…I’m a minister of a church so I can’t, can I? Sometimes it would be really useful not to care! No, really it would, I think. But here’s the thing. I’m wondering if, maybe, there’s another way of thinking about it. Could it be that to be ruthless is profoundly Christian? Stay with me. What about Jesus? “Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.” (Mat. 4 v 1) The devil, cunning chap that he is, tries to knock Jesus off course by offering him a short cut to fame and power. We call it the temptations of Jesus. And rightly so. But in order to resist, couldn’t we say that Jesus had to be ruthless? There was no room for error or deviation here. One wrong move and the whole thing comes crashing down. Jesus, ruthless. There’s a thought. But I think it’s powerful. He was ruthless. There was no other way it could be. He had to ruthlessly refuse to be tempted away from God’s call. And that’s where I start thinking ruthless might be ok for me, or maybe, essential. I have a weakness. Actually I have lots, but I’m only going to tell you about one! I am always comparing myself to others. I know, it’s embarrassing and unbecoming of a minster. But, it’s true. And, on my dark days, it’s crippling. I’m a flawed human being (just in case you hadn’t worked it out) and it is a constant struggle. People say I’m competitive, which is only partly true, because for me it’s all about comparison. I’m competitive because I’m always comparing myself to others. And, mostly, falling short. Lockdown is not helping. Not at all. I am finding new ways to compare myself to others and falling short. By the way, this isn’t a cry for sympathy (although you can always send chocolate). It’s an explanation of why I must be ruthless. I must ruthlessly refuse to compare myself to others. I must. Because God has not made me anyone else, he’s made me, me. He doesn’t want me to be anyone else. He wants me to be me. He’s not comparing me to others, so neither should I. And, since he’s the master craftsman, maybe I should take that to heart. What I need to do is learn to be the man God created me to be and ruthlessly refuse to compare myself to anyone else. Ever. I’m working on it. Slowly. Maybe you should too. Become ruthless that it is.

Second Choice!

I was on the bike one day last week as it was beginning to rain thinking that if I went fast enough I would miss the raindrops. Turned out not to be true. Got home soaked. “Fool!” I hear you cry. Wet yes, but glad I went although I discovered that putting on cycling glasses part way through a ride in the rain doesn’t really work. Couldn’t see a thing! Anyway back to the plot. As I crossed over the M25 I slowed down to pass a mother and a child on their bikes. The little lad (about five years old - actually I know he’s five as you’ll see) was working really hard to cycle his bike up the incline to catch up with mum. She was encouraging him strongly: “You can catch me. You can go faster than me!” And he was so excited at the thought he could catch and go faster than mum. As I passed, I turned to thank them for letting me past and I saw it was Lauren and Adam! “Way to go Adam,” I cried (although I think I may have mistakenly called him by his brother’s name. Sorry Adam. And Nathan). “You can catch mum. Keep going.” Great to see. Adam being encouraged up the hill by someone who loves him and wants to see him do well. Even in the rain. Got me thinking. Cycling uphill in the rain is, well, second choice isn’t it? Especially when you’re only five. Cycling uphill is always second choice. Going towards East Grinstead on the Worth Way is all uphill. Coming back is downhill. First choice. Downhill is great. It’s faster and much less effort! And much better in the dry. I like first choice! Thought about Adam and second choice. Reminded me of another Adam, not the one on the bike. Adam, the one banished from the garden to a second choice world, second choice for him and for God, their relationship broken and shattered. This world is uphill isn’t it? And much of it second choice. And here’s the thing: it’s second choice for God too. Not what he desired or longed for. Not what he hoped or dreamed of. And yet…And yet…He didn’t give up. He didn’t let go of his dream of loving and being loved by people like you and me. In fact he took second choice and made it his own. His own choice that is. He came and pitched his tent with us (ok, if you want the Bible’s language, he came and dwelt with us) so that he could bring us the life that he so wants us to have. And he still comes to us in the world of second choice. Not because he has to, but because he wants to. He comes to encourage us in the rainy uphills of this second choice world. He stands next to us and walks with us cheering us on, rooting for us, noting every step and every moment of success. He’s there when we fall and stumble, waiting to pick us up and helping us get back on our feet (or our bike). That’s the kind of God we have. The one who took second choice to be with us in our second choice. Because he loves you and wants to see you flourish and do well. So next time I’m on the bike in the rain going uphill…Thanks Adam!

40 Days!

I’m pleased to say I can still remember my 40th birthday (it’s not that long ago you know). And what we did to celebrate. One of the things I remember very clearly is that it was the first time my mum bought me a beer! Yes, I had to wait 40 years for that to happen. And, truth is, it remains the only time she’s bought me a beer! Ah well. When I ride on the Worth Way as part of my exercise, I cycle past a house that is counting the days of the lockdown. And yesterday was day 40. Yes day 40 of the lockdown! It seems hard to believe doesn’t it? We’ve been locked down for six weeks now. I’m still not sure I quite believe it. Turns out we’re not the only ones who experienced a lockdown of 40 days and 40 nights. Noah and his family experienced 40 days and 40 nights of rain that flooded the earth. Imagine being locked down on a boat with not only your family (which may or may not be ok), but also with a whole bunch of animals! Can’t begin to imagine what the smell must have been like and I’m not sure I really want to know! And yes, before you rush to correct me, they were n the boat a lot longer than 40 days and nights (the waters covered the earth for 150 days we’re told). But then, we’re not out of lockdown yet either are we? (By the way I am not trying to suggest we will be in lockdown for 150 days! We don’t know how long this will last. I got stuck on the number 40. That’s all that’s going on here.) But they did get out of lockdown. And it was a preparation for all that followed. Jesus too had a 40 day experience didn’t he? He was led into the desert immediately after his baptism where he was tempted by the devil. At the end of that time we’re told Jesus was hungry! I love that. What an understatement! But it, too, was a preparation. A preparation for all that was to follow. Noah chose to follow what he knew of God and he got 40 days and 40 nights of rain. Jesus chose to follow what he knew of God and he brought life. When people choose to follow what they know of God, God is able to do his work. We’re not facing what Noah and his family faced. And we’re certainly not facing what Jesus faced. But maybe this time of lockdown can be a preparation in the waiting. So, 40 days and counting, I’m looking to turn my heart to God. I’m not good at waiting, but maybe God does his best work in the waiting.

Haircut!

When the lockdown came there were some things that worried me. Would we be able to get food? Would there be really long queues? I hate queues! Would we really have to stay inside or would we be able to go out at least sometimes? What would I do without the gym? How would church work? What would my job become and how would I do it? And one thing nagged me so much so that I actually woke up one night thinking about it: how would I cut my hair? I woke the next morning and tried to get some perspective. What’s really important here? And what does it matter if my hair grows long? Surely everyone will be in the same boat, apart from those lucky enough to be locked down with a hairdresser! I began to wonder why I didn’t become a hairdresser, but then I could never have anticipated this pandemic! I get a haircut about every five to six weeks. This week is week is eight. In my panic, right at the beginning of this lockdown, I bought an electric hair trimmer. No really I did! I charged it and then put it in the bedside cupboard ready for use. But of course it wouldn’t be me who used it. Cutting hair is one thing. Cutting my own another thing completely! So it sat there in the bedside cupboard. Until today. Yes, today was haircut day. We had the courage to have a go (I say we because it took courage from both of us!). I did have the foresight to buy a trimmer with lots of settings for different lengths of cut. And…it’s ok! My hair that is. It’s shorter and tidier and if you’re looking at me from the front you don’t notice it’s not quite the same on both sides. Not bad for complete novices! But here’s what I think: some things are best left to the experts! We managed. It’s ok. But my haircut is not as good as when my hairdresser does it. And no doubt he’ll laugh at me when he sees me (he did tell me not to try cutting my own hair). Some things I can have a go at. But there are some things I can’t. Ever. I can’t make God love me. I can’t. I can try, but it doesn’t make any difference. It is wonderfully true that there is nothing I can do to make God love me. Nothing at all. There is nothing I can do to make him love me more than he does, and there is nothing I can do to make him love me less. He loves me because he loves me, because he loves me…What staggers me is that even though I know that truth, I still find myself trying to make it happen. I’m trying to give it up. And I really should. After all, God is the expert in love.

Mystery

I don’t like mystery. I’m not good at mystery. Mystery makes me feel uncomfortable. Mystery leaves me feeling uncertain. I know that’s what is, but still I don’t like it. I don’t t like it when I don’t understand. And there are lots of things I don’t understand. I don’t understand why, for example, QPR are not no the team they were when I starting supporting them (and coincidentally when they were top of the old First Division!). I don’t understand why I don’t always get things right first time! I don’t understand why people don’t always understand me. I don’t understand why everyone doesn’t love Stilton cheese (although I’m actually pleased I’m the only one in the house who will eat it). I don’t understand maths or physics or why they have to be so complicated. I don’t understand why my feet smell and my nose runs! I don’t understand why good people suffer. I don’t understand why people can be so kind and caring and generous one moment, and then so selfish, uncaring and mean the next. And here’s the thing, I don’t even understand myself most of the time! I don’t understand how I can be so different from one day to the next. Sometimes I’m great, feeling good and ready to take on the world. Sometimes I don’t even want to get out of bed. Mostly I don’t understand the world around me. Yesterday was a day that left me feeling like I don’t understand anything. And it made me think I certainly don’t understand what God is up to. If indeed he’s up to anything. But maybe that’s just me. Probably not though, right? Yesterday was a mystery. It made no sense. Why do people do the things they do? Why does this virus take our loved ones from us? Why is the world this way? I don’t know. And I don’t understand. It challenges my faith. It questions what I believe. And less and less I think I’ve got it figured out. I used to be sure. But now? I don’t like mystery. But perhaps as I begin to embrace the mystery, I begin to find God, not lose him. As I begin to live in the mystery, I begin to live in God. For maybe the truth is that it is in the mystery I can walk most closely with God. And that God waits for me there.

Interruptions

So my day had lots of interruptions, hence I’ve only got to writing this blog now! I had a plan for the day in my head. Basically it was write a talk for Sunday morning. Today was the day. I started straight after the morning prayer meeting (makes me sound spiritual, but I’m the minister so I have to be there don’t I?). I knew I had a staff Zoom meeting at 10am and a counselling appointment at midday but then it was free run to the end of the talk. Hmmm! Not so. I had some interruptions. A couple of conversations I hadn’t foreseen. But that’s ok because they were good interruptions. Counselling postponed to tater in the day, but my now I’m all out of kilter. I’m not as far on as I should be. So I go for a run to clear my head. Another interruption but one of my choosing so that’s ok. Until l I meet Mr. Slow on the bridge right at the start of the run. He’s walking in the middle of the path. He’s carrying two bags of shopping, one in each hand, so with social distancing laws I can’t squeeze past, and he’s got headphones on so he doesn’t even know I’m behind him. I have to walk! Bad interruption. Now I’m behind on my talk and behind on my run! I try to turn the music volume up so I can drown out my sorrows as I run, but somehow I turn off the sound completely! Bad interruption because music takes my mind off the pain. And I discover covers the sound of my heavy breathing and the pounding of my feet on the ground, which I now have to listen to all the way round my gruelling circuit! I got home, in a faster time than most runs, and got the talk finished, talked with my client and made a call about a funeral I have to take. A day of interruptions. Some good, some…annoying. The day didn’t go to plan. At least not my plan. Although, in the bigger picture…even Jesus got interrupted. Once by a woman who wanted healing, once by a centurion, once by a woman whose son had died. It seems he allowed himself to be interrupted. And when he was he transformed lives. On the other hand he never let himself be interrupted from his main thing. He even told Peter to get out of his way (well he actually said “Get behind me Satan”) when Peter tried to come up with an alternative to going to the cross. He kept the bigger picture in view. Always. And I figure that maybe that’s what I should do since I too live in the bigger and better story of God. And perhaps that is particularly true during this extremely unwelcome interruption of COVID-19.

Smell the flowers!

I think it was in 1994 that I first applied to become a Baptist Minister. Anyone who knows me, or knew me then, will know I’m not a person who rushes into things. I do a lot of thinking and weighing and searching before I jump into something new. And especially when it will mean a big life change. I had the unanimous support of the church and close friends. It had been a long time in the coming. And then I went to the ministerial recognition committee, a group of people I didn’t know and who didn’t know me. They turned me down. They said no! They said I was rushing it! I was devastated. So much so in fact that I was never going to preach again. (Got that one right didn’t I?!!) A lady in the church sent me a card with a picture of flowers on the front. Who does that? Who sends a card with pictures of flowers on to a young man? And who then writes this in the card with flowers on: “Take time to smell the flowers!” What? Take time to smell the flowers! It would have been humiliating if it hadn’t been right! It was a hard lesson to learn. When I ride on the bike on the Worth Way I like to as fast as I can (in the pursuit of keeping healthy you understand). When Lisa and I go at the same time, I go slower (not all the time, but some of it). The other day she pointed out the gardens you can see through the trees on either side of the old railway line. I’d never noticed them before because I had been head down going fast! Turns out there’s a lot I hadn’t been able to see and appreciate. Until I slowed down. Began to think about what I might be missing through this lockdown because I’ve become so focused on figuring out how to do services differently, learning new technology or trying to work out how I do my job in these particular circumstances. Jesus was really focused on his task. But it does seem that even he took time to smell the flowers. He took time to slow down. The Bible doesn’t say it that way, but maybe taking himself off for quiet times away from the people and the disciples was the same thing. It’s a bit of a guess, but I think it helped him gain perspective, helped him to see all that was going on. And probably helped him to stay the course. All the way to the cross. In these challenging times, I’m trying to take time to smell the flowers. Never thought I’d say that. I’m still working out exactly what that looks like, but I have a sneaking suspicion that are things I will miss if I just go fast. And maybe there are tings you will miss too unless you take time to smell the flowers.

On Call

I was on call last night. It’s part of my role as a chaplain at East Surrey hospital. Actually, my on call shift has just come to an end as I write this blog. Being on call is a strange thing, as those of you who also have on call responsibilities, will know. I cover the night when I’m on call for the hospital: 5pm to 9am. I can do what I want when I’m on call, I just need to be contactable by phone and able to go to the hospital immediately if necessary. But I don’t do anything. I sit and wait. I try to sleep while I’m waiting. And I do, mostly. But not properly. I have all my clothes laid out, my chaplain’s badge ready with my Bible and prayer book. I want to be ready if a call comes. I need to be ready. And it’s a funny thing because a part of me wants to be called,h while another part of me doesn’t. A call only comes with a crisis, a tragedy, probably a death. So I want to be called because I love to help in a crisis, but I don’t want to be called because someone is in pain. So I wait, with agitation and a churning stomach. And more so in this current crisis because a call is likely to have something to do with COVID-19. Bottom line: I get a call in a crisis. Which is what most of do with God isn’t it? Especially in this crisis. My goodness, we have had more people in the early morning prayer meeting than we’ve ever had. And we’re all praying more aren’t we. God, after all is supposed to sort this ting out isn’t he? Isn’t that what God does in times of crisis? This is not my dodgy theology. It’s actually what we do. When the pressure’s on, when there’s a crisis, when we are desperate, we pray. We call on God. And there’s nothing wrong with that. I think God would be surprised and disappointed if we didn’t cry out to him when we are beyond our own resources. But here’s the thing: God is far better than me when I’m on call. I’m on tenterhooks. And I sleep fitfully. Psalm 121 tells us that God neither slumbers nor sleeps, that he is always awake and ready to hear our cry. Jeremiah reminds us that when we call God will answer (Jeremiah 33 v 3). The story of the waiting Father in Luke 15 paints a picture of the God who waits with great patience for his children to come to him. God is ready in a crisis. He really is. I have always struggled in life and I have moments when I sink! Years ago I had a friend who I would talk to when I was sinking. He said something to me which I have never forgotten. He said: “Ian, let’s put dates in the diary for us to get together and chat, because otherwise I’ll only ever see you when you’re sinking. And I want see you on your good days too.” I think God might say the same thing. But unlike me, God is always ready, never fretting, never sleeping, never rushed or anxious. But he waits, patiently, longingly, for his beloved to come to him. He’s always on call. He’s ready in a crisis. But he’d love to see you no your good days too.

Normal?

Yesterday I got up thinking, “Well maybe this will be a normal day!” I’m not sure what I thought was normal. Thing is though, some of my day was “normal.” You see I like to write the talk for Sunday as early in the week as I can. There are reasons for that. One is that it takes time to write a talk and I never really know how long it will take. I heard one minister say it took him “about six hours to actually write a talk, and a lifetime’s experience to know what to write!” I get that. So I like to start on Monday. Normal. But I wasn’t in the office. I was in the makeshift office upstairs at home. Not normal. And then I have to copy my notes so it can be typed (yes I’m old fashioned and write with a pencil. It’s just how it works for me!) I have to get the talk to Clare to type who is not in the office! Not normal. And that’s how it seems to be. A mixture of “normal” and “not normal”. I’m still doing services, but not at the church. I’m still counselling, but not at the hospice. Today I’m taking funerals. Sadly normal. But there’ll be nobody there. Not normal. Some things will become the new normal. Which reminds me of one of my favourite stories: Mr. Topsy-Turvy. He’s great. But he’s not normal. He says things like: “Morning good” instead of “Good morning"!” He upsets the local art gallery by turning all the pictures upside down so he can look at them properly! But what happens is extraordinary. After a while, Mr. Topsy-Turvy leaves town. Nobody knew where he came from and nobody knows where he’s gone. And strangely people find themselves saying: “Morning good” to one another, just like Mr. Topsy-Turvy did. After he left, some things have become the new normal. Which got me thinking about another story where a man came to town but no-one really knew where he’d come from. And when he left no-one really knew where he’d gone. But he certainly left his mark! And some people spoke like him and lived like him. New normal. It may be that my new normal will, in fact, be better than my old normal. Seems to me the same is true in the journey of faith especially in a time when I find myself asking: what is normal?

The art of noticing!

There are things that I notice. For instance, I noticed on my daily exercise run yesterday that I achieved a new record! Thanks! Felt good about it myself too (especially since it felt a bit more like hard work than it should have done). Actually, I worked out that if I keep improving at the rate I did from run four to run five (a 15 second improvement since you asked), there will come a time when I don’t have to run because I’ll finish as I start. And then, remarkably I’ll finish before I start! Yes, I know…Anyway, I noticed the time and I held my arm out so that as Lisa opened the door to let me back in the house, she too could share my joy! But…I’m not always good at noticing. I’m actually embarrassed to tell you this, but sadly it’s true. I had to pop to the post office the other day and as I was leaving I spotted the liquorice allsorts. There’s a story behind it but It was entirely appropriate that I purchased a bag (for someone else you understand). I went to pay and realise there was no-one behind the counter and you had to pay at the self service pay machine. So I walked up and began the purchase. Only then did I realise there was an elderly gentleman waiting patiently to pay for his goods. And I only realised because he answered the person who asked him if the was in the queue! I hadn’t even seen him. I hadn’t even looked. I simply hadn’t noticed anyone else was waiting to use the machine. I was, as you can imagine, highly embarrassed. He was very kind and made a joke of it, telling me that the purchase of liquorice allsorts was a very important purchase! Thanks! There’s a story in Mark (5 v 21-43) where a woman in a crowd reaches out to touch Jesus’ robe. In the press of the crowd, it would have been easy for Jesus to miss it. But he didn’t. He asked who had touched him and didn’t let it go until he got an answer (despite the protestations of the disciples). In that moment, a suffering woman had her life transformed. God it seems, unlike me is in the business of noticing. And the business of transforming lives. Got me thinking. What if I was able to cultivate the art of noticing in this challenging time, when there is so much need and so many questions. How might God be able to use a simple move towards someone? An offer of help? A question: how are you? A phone call. An email. A WhatsApp message. An act of kindness. Maybe that’s enough for God. Just someone noticing. It was for a suffering woman. Why not others?

Different worlds?

So, while out on my exercise routine, I stopped to talk to a friend and her family (keeping the social distancing rules you understand). Her son works in Sainsbury’s while studying to become a pilot. He’s not far off getting his pilot’s licence, which is hugely disappointing for him in these current circumstances.. Anyway, he told me that the highlight of his working week is when he gets abuse from people doing their shopping, who then tell him they have to leave to go and clap for the NHS. All credit to him that he can laugh about it. But think about it. It’s bizarre. One moment you are abusive to someone who’s trying to help you, only to tell them you have to go to applaud people for helping you! Two different worlds. And yet, somehow, they don’t see it. They don’t see how they inhabit two different worlds. I feel sometimes like I’m living in two different worlds right now. There’s the world of church and being a minister, which, although it’s changed a bit in the last few weeks, is no less busy! And there’s the world of social distancing, restrictions, changing work, no work and…running! And, sadly, illness and death. It does feel like different worlds. But then I realise, I do inhabit two worlds, always. Different words. One, finite, limited, full of challenge and struggle. One full of promise and freedom. One, leading to death. The other leading to life. One will last, the other will not. And what strikes me, is that without thinking, I put most of my effort into the world that will fade, the one that won’t last. You’d think I’d have learnt by now that it would be much wiser to invest in the world that is eternal, even if it’s harder to see right now. But then I’m not always wise.

Crying!

Suddenly felt like crying today. I don’t cry. No, really, I don’t. It’s not because I’m trying to be strong. I have that conversation a lot in the counselling room, counselling people who have lost a loved one, or who are themselves dying or waiting for a loved one to die. What does it mean to be strong? What does strong look like? I’m well versed in that. According to my mum, I didn’t cry when my dad died. I don’t remember that. I was too young. But I don’t cry. Truth be told, there have been many times when I’ve wanted to cry, times when I want to ball my eyes out. But it just doesn’t seem to happen. Today though, I felt like crying! It just got to me I guess, this mess. Suddenly I was overwhelmed with sorrow. Sorrow for me, for you, for the NHS staff, for those who’ve lost loved ones, for those who’ve lost jobs, for those who are lonely, for those who are separated. There is so much to be sorrowful about. And today it got to me. Today I found it hard to think about everything that is going on. If I deal with “being strong” in the counselling room, then I deal more with loss. That’s the big one. And it’s a hard one. Dealing with loss is challenging. And today, maybe, it was my turn to feel the loss. So many things have been lost in this strange time. Maybe the sense of loss got to me today. As I stood there wanting to cry, another feeling came over me. Perhaps, I thought, in some small way, I have experienced something of what God feels when he looks down on the world. This is, after all, the world he created and the world he loves deeply. So, if I can feel like I want to cry, mostly out of selfishness, how much more would God feel that? I’m not going to pretend to know the answer to that, other than to say it’s what led to the Easter story. And to say that God weeps out of a broken heart for the people he created. It’s good to know though, there’s quite a difference between me and God (as if you didn’t already know). I choke back the tears and find a way to bury them. God reaches out in love to the world he loves.

Help my unbelief!

I’ve now done four runs during this lockdown! I’m quite pleased with myself since I don’t really run. Swim, yes. Bike, yes. Golf, yes. Football, yes. Run, no. As I said it’s a dodgy knee from a football injury! But, in this strange time, I’m running. And I’m getting better you’ll be pleased to know. The first run was about running all the way and finishing. The second was, “can I do this again?” The third, well for a moment I actually felt like I was running! And the fourth my fastest time yet (I know that because the watch on my arm told me it was “New Record!”) I’m beginning to believe in myself. Beginning to believe I can do this and I can improve. I’m beginning to trust my body (the knee seems fine so far). Perhaps at the start it was a case of: “I used to do this sometimes, but can I do it now? Help my unbelief!” There’s story in Marks’s Gospel where a man brings his son to the disciples and they can’t heal him. Jesus arrives and asks the father to bring him the son. When Jesus tells the man everything is possible for those who believe, the father responds: “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief.” (Mark 9 v 24) It would be easy to understand this as a statement that if I believe in Jesus 100% then it will happen. And we do that kind of thing all the time don’t we? We think that if we can conjure enough faith, if we can believe enough, then God can work. But we fail mostly don’t we? Or we somehow can’t make ourselves believe anymore! Well maybe that’s because this is not so much about believing with our head, but about trusting God with our heart for who he is. So when the father says, “I do believe; help my unbelief” he’s actually asking Jesus to help him trust more fully. After all he’s going to give his son into Jesus’ hands. I am learning to trust my body more with every run. Maybe in this time of uncertainty, this strange time, we might find ourselves saying what the father said to Jesus: “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief.” And that’s a great ting to be able to say as we find our through this new landscape.

Between the dreaming and the coming true

I got a text message from a friend this morning asking me how I am. He told me he’s walked past the golf course we have played many times as part of his daily exercise. He told me the fairways look great! I found myself dreaming about playing a round of golf again. And one day, in the not too distant future I will. Right now though, I’m between the dreaming and the coming true. And if I let it become so, it’s a hard place to be. Especially in this glorious weather! As we celebrate the truth of the Easter story today, we celebrate the event in history that changed everything forever No other event in history has come close to that. Or ever will. That is not to minimise history’s events or the effects they had. But only one prepares us for eternity. The death and resurrection of the King of the universe. Easter: God’s great and magnificent gift. Easter: bringer of joy, peace and hope. Easter: an assured future. All true. All wonderfully true. But we live between the dreaming and the coming true. We’re not there yet. We’re here, in an uncertain and, perhaps, frightening world. So here’s the best bit. Easter: God’s love reaching to us, in everything. The powerful and dynamic truth that there is nothing that can separate form God’s love. Nothing. Not fear, not anxiety, not poverty, not isolation, not lockdown, not too much work or no work, not a illness or loneliness. Not a virus. Not even death. As we live between the dreaming and the coming true, whether we see it or feel it or not, we hold on to God’s great and magnificent love, the love that took him all the way to the cross…and back. To live between the dreaming and the coming true is to trust in God’s love anyway. Whatever happens. Dream on! No, really. Dream on.