Sorry!

I’m wondering if Elton John was in fact right when he sang “sorry seems to be the hardest word.” I’m certainly not good at it. Saying sorry that is. When I was a kid and did something that resulted in me being sent to my room (I know it’s hard to believe, but that did actually happen), the way to redemption (that is, being allowed out of my room) was to say sorry. Trouble is, when you’re a kid and you’re cross with your mother who sent you to your room, saying sorry is hard. Really hard. Especially when it was your brother’s fault. It was always my brother’s fault! And that’s part of the problem isn’t it? Mostly we want to think it is really someone else who should be saying sorry. That’s why it is so often so hard to say sorry. Because we don’t think we have anything to say sorry for. We wat to blame someone else. It goes back a long way it seems to me. Adam said it was Eve’s fault and Eve blamed the serpent. No-one wanted to say sorry. Actually, rather than say sorry and front it up, Adam and Eve hid. Or they tried to. They hadn’t worked out quite how hard it is to hide from God. We’re still not good at saying sorry. How many times do you hear someone in a public office say sorry for a mistake? What’s much more likely is for them to blame the opposition or the markets or…because it’s always someone else who’s to blame. She may have done it, and I apologise if she has and I’ve missed it, but the SNP member of parliament who travelled to London to Scotland and back knowing she’d been in contact with someone with a positive COVID test and then knowing she’d herself had tested positive, might do well to consider saying sorry. However, before we judge too harshly, perhaps we all share the same challenge: that things never really apply to us in the same way as they do to others. Right? Isn’t that what we mostly think? It’s quite humbling when someone says sorry to me. But I am not usually humble enough to say sorry to them. Truth is, we all make mistakes. The way out of my room when I was a boy, was to say sorry. It was too hard to do in person, so I used to make a paper aeroplane, write “Sorry” on it, and try to fly it from by bedroom window to the kitchen below hoping it would fly in through the window and my mum would catch it. It never worked. Never, I would spend hours in my room. I wonder what rooms we spend our time in because we can’t find it in our hearts to say sorry. I’m living with some scars. Maybe you are too. I'm learning it’s better to say sorry. Tried it earlier today. You don’t need to know the details and I’d be embarrassed to tell you. The good news is that I believe in a God of mercy, which means I can say sorry and keep saying it. He hears me every time. Elton John asks: “Why can’t we talk it over?” Turns out those are wise words. And, I think, words God might say to us. I wonder how different the world could be if we learnt to say sorry. Maybe, maybe, we could find out. By trying it!

Taste and see

I’ve been doing it for 16 years now. I haven’t done it every year. Sometimes things get in the way, things like taking a son to university. But, I’ve been to many more than I’ve missed. I do it because I enjoy it. I do it because I want to support the cause. It’s an easy way to help. It works for me. It works for them. It’s for a good cause after all. I can make that sacrifice once a year on a sunny September day. Actually It’s not always sunny. Sometimes it rains! I was reminded this year of how it started for me. That was even before I started going to this particular day. But I wouldn’t be going today if I hadn’t started before. What got me into it in the first place was the need to raise money. (Funny really because I’m still dong it to raise money, so in some ways that’s not changed.) Anyway, we were going to knock down the church building and rebuild it. For that we needed money. Lots of money. We began to think of ways to raise big money. And one day, one person had the idea of putting on a golf day as a way of raising money. I didn’t play golf.. I didn’t really want to play golf. Golf was a game I had neither the time or the money to play. And anyway it was a game for old men. Why would I play golf when I could still run around a football pitch and chase a ball? But, because I was the leader of the church and wanted to support the idea, I went. I borrowed clubs and I went to play golf. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t good golf. I’m not even sure I enjoyed myself. But, somehow, I got hooked. And the rest as they say is history. Now I play golf whenever I get the opportunity. I’ve had some great conversations on the golf course. I’ve seen some wonderful countryside visiting golf courses. I love getting up early on a frosty winter morning and going out early to catch the best part of the day. And, just for the record I’ve played some good rounds of golf. I’ve got better. I don’t always play well. It’s become a place of solace where I can get away from things. I love being outside. I love the exercise. And I love the satisfaction of a well executed shot. And here’s the thing: I would have missed all that if I had never gone that first time. I was invited. I took up the invitation. And I’ve never looked back. What I would have missed. As I reflected ion the conversation at this year’s Sierra Leone Mission Golf Day, a verse came to mind: “Taste and see that the Lord is good. Blessed it the one who takes refuge in him.” (Psalm 34:8) I would have missed out on all that golf has given me if had never tasted it. I wonder what God might be inviting me to in this time. I wonder what God might be inviting you to. Maybe I need to taste and see. Maybe I need to take God at his word and trust him. Maybe you do too.

How long?

On Tuesday I met an really interesting man. He was in a bed and when I saw him. I thought he would definitely not want to talk to me. He was wearing headphones and seemed to be completely engrossed in watching his TV. But, when I walked past his bed on my way to talk to the guy next to him, he ripped off his headphones, smiled a big, excited smile and introduced himself! His mistake was that he thought I was a doctor and he wanted to thank me for the treatment he’d received while he’d been in hospital. As we got talking, and he was very keen to talk, it turned out he was a really interesting guy. He told me that he was from Iraq and that, years ago, he’d worked for Saddam Hussein as his minister for protocol. He told me that twenty six years ago he’d defected. And now he was telling me how much he appreciated the treatment he’d been given during his time in hospital. He kept telling me that. I told him I couldn’t take any credit for it.. I told him I wasn’t a doctor. He didn’t seem to mind. We chatted for a while and then I asked: “How long till you can go home?” The truth is he didn’t know. It turned out he had multiple problems. He’d had one operation, which had been successful, but now he had to wait for more. In fact, only after his first operation was he ready to be treated for the thing that brought him to hospital in the first place. So my question: how long? didn’t have an answer. Or at least an answer that he could give. I’m beginning to ask the same question: how long? How long is this pandemic going to go on? How long until we can meet again in church in the way we would like? How long do we have to postpone the things we love to do, but can’t? How long until everything is back to normal? And I don’t even want to think about the truth that normal will be different! What struck me as I moved on to the chap in the next bed, was just how enthusiastic my Iraqi friend had been. All he wanted to do was thank me. All he wanted to do was to tell me how grateful he was for what had happened. All he wanted to do was to share his joy with me. Truth is, it really affected me. He had a great big smile. He had an attitude of gratitude. His enthusiasm rubbed off on me. It got me think about the way in which I am responding to another lockdown. It got me thinking abut how I might choose to respond to; how long? Truth is my meeting with this guy changed me. I’m wondering if I might be that person for someone I meet. I’m wondering if, because I live in a bigger and better story than the one I see in front of me, I can bring hope to someone else. Maybe you can too.

Anniversary

Well, as you know as a church we are celebrating 137 years of Crawley Baptist Church tomorrow. There isn’t anyone alive who was there at the start. But it’s still going. I haven’t studied the history of the church carefully, but as far as I can tell, and certainly within the more recent history of the church, it is a church that has a good history. What do I mean by good? I mean it’s not a church with a history of disagreements and splits. Sure, there have been times when there have been difficult and honest conversations. Sure there have been times when decisions taken have left some people unhappy or upset. Sure there have been people who have left the church because they don’t like what’s going on or the direction they think the church is going. I know all of that’s true because all of it’s happened in my time as the minister. And, being honest, it’s never easy when any of this kind of thing happens. But, the church is a church with a good heart. It’s a church with a desire to work things out. it’s a church that finds a way through. People will always leave churches for all sorts of reasons. That’s true of every church through the whole history of the church. And yet, here we are. Celebrating the 137th anniversary of Crawley Baptist Church. As I reflect on the history of the church, with all it’s triumphs, all it’s failures, mostly I want to say thank you to those who have walked before me. I want to say thank you to those who have paved the way for me being able to do what I am doing today. You see, without those people, I would not be who I am today. We would not be who we are today. I am grateful to those who had the courage to walk their journey of faith, in the best way they knew how, over many years, shaping and guiding the church. We know times are always changing. The speed of change is the thing that’s changing most. And we’ve seen many. many changes to the way we do church even in the time I’ve been n the church. We are always looking to see what can and should change. I am amazed at how many books I can read on how I should be doing church today. Thing is, it seems to me God is creative and innovative God and he can work with pretty much anything when we do it with the right hear. Anyway, the point is this: thank you to those on whose shoulders I now stand. Thank you for walking your journey of faith in the best way you knew how. Thank you for laying the foundations for people like me. Thank you for enabling me to minster in your wake. Thank you for serving God well. Thank you. As we celebrate our anniversary tomorrow, it leaves me wondering what I am leaving for those who follow? What are we leaving? What will those who follow us be able to say about our time? I hope they’ll be able to thank us for walking our journey in the best way we knew how. That would be enough for me. And you?

Kittens

To be honest I’d forgotten how much fun kittens are. We’ve had five cats in our married life, and, amazingly, they all came to us as kittens. Yesterday we went and saw the kittens now running riot in Meg and Justin’s house. They are tiny (although bigger than when we first saw them). They are balls of fluff with legs. They have eyes that are way too big for their heads, and ears that seem to pick up every sound imaginable. They are cute. They are curious. Endlessly curious. Everything seems a great adventure: a shoelace; a toe; a shoe; any wire; all the gaps that you don’t want them to find. These kittens are spoilt They have a tower almost as tall as the living room on which they can climb and jump and scratch and hide. They can chase each other up and down, in and out of the doors and windows specially designed for them to do just that. If that’s not enough, they have a set of tunnels they can leap into and out of; a place to hide in and from which to pounce on a unsuspecting brother or sister. Then there’s the the laser lights: that brightly coloured dot on the carpet, the wall, up the stairs, on the furniture that must be chased down and thwarted by their paws. It can be exhausting just watching them. Every moment is a moment of excitement. Every moment is a moment for a new discovery. Every moment is a chance to escape and discover something new. Every moment is full of life and energy. Kittens are bundles of fun giving us hours of entertainment. But it won’t last. Our cats are now about five years old. They don’t care about towers as high as the ceiling. They don’t care about tunnels. They don’t care about bright coloured lights on the carpet. In fact, if we tried that with our cats, they’d look at us with that disdainful look only cats have, as if to say: “What are you doing? I don’t understand you humans!” When our cat Fizz was a kitten she use to jump onto the broom as we swept the kitchen and ride around all the time we were sweeping. Turns out the kittens we saw yesterday have risen to new heights of kittenness even today. In their house they have a hoover that goes by itself. You just set it off and it goes round the room by itself, very cleverly knowing when to turn and go in a different direction! It starts when you hit the start button. Or…when a kitten jumps on it and presses the start button for you! A kitten who does the hoovering. That’s not bad thing is it?!! Fizz got bored with the broom. She found other things to take her attention. Like birds, or mice or…So will the kittens. They’ll realise it’s really the job of the humans to do the hoovering. They’ll ignore the tower of fun. They’ll walk past the tunnels that once captured them. They’ll become cats. They’ll lose their kittenness. They’ll lose that fascination with literally anything that moves. They’ll grow up. They’ll catch birds and mice and frogs and bring them into the house just to prove they can do it. And, it would be wrong if they didn’t grow up. Same with me. I need to grow up. I hope I have. I certainly don’t do all the things I once did. I can’t! But now I’m older, I’m wiser, I hope. I have a different perspective on life and what’s important. But if I’m not careful, maybe I can lose that sense of wonder at the world. At possibility. Maybe I can lose that sense of fun you have when you’re young. Maybe I can become cynical. Maybe I can become a little less likely to expect something out of the ordinary. Maybe I have God figured out too. I know what he will do and what he won’t do. Maybe I lose that part of me that some people call expectancy. What some might call faith. Maybe I can lose that sense that God really can do something new, or different or unexpected. Maybe, it would be better if I still have a part of me that’s just like a kitten: there’s possibility everywhere. Maybe God would like me to be more like a kitten sometimes. And maybe you too!

Interrupted

So I’m here on retreat. I’ve got the books I really want to read. I’ve got the solitude. I’ve got the time. You’d think it would all go to plan wouldn’t you? I’m on retreat because in the time of lockdown it was really difficult to carve out time to read. Reading is one of the things that sustains you in ministry. I’ve learnt that over time. It’s a challenge for me. I’m not fast reader. Never have been. Like I said before, I’m a plodder. And I plod when I read. Some people can read a book in a week, or a day. I know I live with people kike that. But I’m not one of them. And some of the books I read need special help! So I’m here to read. About hell! That’s something to cheer you up! More of that another time. Maybe. But here’s the thing. Even here I get interrupted. I came away so I didn’t get interrupted. Some things though have to be attended to. Yesterday, last evening, we were told lockdown was coming back. Or some of it. So now I have to work out how that affects church and what were doing. I can’t ignore that. Well, I could but it wouldn’t be wise. I’ve also been interrupted by my aunt and uncle who live near and who’ve invited me over for dinner one night. That’s a nice interruption but an interruption all the same. Jesus got interrupted. He was on his way to help a centurion one day when a woman touched his cloak. Most of us would have missed that. Jesus was in a crowd, all pressed in around him. They were, no doubt, wanting his attention. Perhaps they were asking for his help. Or throwing insults at hm. But when a woman touched his cloak he noticed. He stopped. He asked who ha touched him. He wanted to know. He allowed himself to be interrupted. That interruption led to a woman being healed. It demonstrated the reason Jesus had come: there is a kingdom that brings wholeness and you can be part of that kingdom. There were times when Jesus didn’t allow himself to be interrupted. Peter wanted to fight to save him from the clutches of the Sanhedrin. Jesus rebuked him and healed the soldier whose ear Peter had cut off. In that act, Jesus said he would not be interrupted from the reason he had come: to bring the kingdom that brings healing and wholeness. We all get interrupted. Jesus allowed himself to be interrupted. He even went on retreat sometimes. What I’m thankful for is that, in all the interruptions, unlike me sometimes, Jesus never lost sight of the bigger picture. Nothing would get in the way of of him walking to the cross. Because that’s where the kingdom of healing and wholeness is found.

Anxious

As you probably know, I like to play golf. I’ve got better over the years. I had lessons which helped. Sometimes I play really well. That’s when I wonder why I can’t play like that all the time. But I don’t. Right now though my golf isn’t at it’s best. And, it seems, playing golf is like life: the harder you try, the more difficult it can become! There’s phrase golfers sometimes use: golf is about no conscious effort. It’s true. As soon as you start to analyse your swing and try to do certain things, it breaks down. It doesn’t work. In football, if you’re playing a match and it’s not going well, you can run more, tackle harder, stay closer to you man. But in golf, it’s no conscious effort. In life, it seems to me, that the harder I try, the more anxious I become. I had one of those experiences that captures this for me the other week. We went to play Top Golf. It’s fun. Or it’s meant to be. You hit golf balls into the range where there are huge holes scattered around. You score points if your ball goes in a hole. And you can score different points depending which of the giant holed you get the ball into. But it’s designed so everyone has a chance of scoring and scoring well. So, it’s not about hitting the ball a long way. Here’s what happened for me: I was the golfer in the family group. Massive pressure on me to “perform”. I should be the best simply because I actually play golf. No-one else plays golf. But I’m not doing well. Now I’m a failure. And the more I tried to hit the ball properly and score points, the less well I did it. My heart was pounding. My mind was racing. What I wanted in those moments, was for the ground to open up and swallow me. Or the second coming to happen. You might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not. It was my worst nightmare come true. Tragically, the only person who noticed, was me. It’s tragic, because rightly, no-one else is bothered. But I’ve written myself off as a failure. A complete failure. I didn’t enjoy it. At all. And the more anxious I became. the worse it got. It’s a microcosm of how life can sometimes be. The harder I try to achieve, or be successful, the worse I feel. The harder I try to be the person I imagine I should be or ought to be, the more I wrestle with the feelings of failure. The truth, though is different. Absolutely different. Couldn’t be more different. I am loved with a love that makes me beautiful. I am loved as much as I can be loved. I can’t do anything or achieve anything that will make me more loved. I would do well to dwell on these deep and profound truths. I do try. And, sometimes, like my golf, I do well. Sometimes, like my golf, I don’t do so well. I’m working on no conscious effort. On the golf course and in life. Maybe you could too.

Doing

I’ve heard it so many times now, I’m beginning to think there’s something in it. As I listen, I wonder about them and about me. I have a problem I realise. And maybe you do too. My problem, and maybe yours, is that for me it’s mostly about doing. I measure my success (if that’s what it is) by what I do. Maybe it’s more accurately about achieving: what am I achieving? You see, a lot of my time and energy is focused around what I am doing (or achieving). And we seem to think like that a lot. We encourage each other to be doing lots of things: a job, a hobby, voluntary work. We tend to think that people who aren’t doing things are lazy, or inept. I don’t like it when I ill and can’t do the things I think I have to do. One of the things that been a challenge during this lockdown and post-lockdown (if that’s even a term) is what I have not been able to do. In fact, one of the challenges has been to find to other things to do while I haven’t been ale to do the things I would normally do! We had the hiatus over the exam results which seemed t provoke a lot of angst about what students were then not able to do because their grades were not what they had expected or been predicted. At it’s worst it was presented as almost the end of the world because what students were going to do was taken away. I recognise there was a lot of real angst and challenge in all this. But it does seem to be focused around doing. And we encourage it. We tell our young people to aim high and we encourage them to achieve. I’m not saying this is all bad. It’s not. There is a sense in which it’s good and right and very Christian to make the most of the gifts and talents we’ve been given. But. But there is a thought that goes through my mind. And it often goes through my mind when I’m sitting listening to a tribute at a funeral. Like I did yesterday. People do talk about what someone has achieved when they speak of them at their funeral. They do. But often they speak more about who the person was. They speak about friendship. They speak about the influence a person had by just being themselves. They speak of carrying the imprint of a life with them. I have yet to hear anyone say how much money anyone left to them. I have yet to to hear anyone say how much stiff someone owned. I have ye to hear anyone speak of the things that I think I am working towards with my obsession about doing. Truth is, at a funeral, when someone speaks about a loved one, mostly they talk about who they were, not what they did or what they amassed while they lived. I’m guessing you have been asked many times: what do you do? I wonder how many times you have been asked: who are you becoming? Yesterday, as I sat and listened to tributes about who a person was, I fond myself asking: who are you becoming Ian? Dallas Willard said this: “the most important ting in your life is not what you do; it’s who you are becoming. That’s what you will take into eternity.” Maybe it would be good for me to think about that. Maybe it would be good for you too!

Trampoline

About ten years ago we went to see Lisa’s family in the USA. For the first time on a visit to the US, we decided we’d have some time on our own before going on to see the family.in California and then the family in Virginia. So we flew to San Francisco, spent a couple of days there and then drove down the coast to LA. It was the most expensive thing we’ve ever done. We’d saved for three years. It took every penny we had. But we did it. It’s the last time I saw the family in California. The nest summer, we stayed at home for our holiday. But we did, though, buy a trampoline. And we had fun trying to be gymnasts! Meg and Zac loved it and were pretty good at some of the moves you can do on a trampoline. The same can’t be said for the adults! The trampoline was fun that summer. And the next. And a few more after that. But as we all got older it lost it’s appeal. My nephews enjoyed it on various visits and others too, who came to see us. But, over time, it became a neglected piece of garden furniture. It got dirty and began to look shabby. The birds pecked the foam protectors on the poles. The weather made it’s impact. No more could we invite anyone to have a go on it. And there it stood looking forlorn and useless. Eventually we had to tell people not to go on it because we weren’t sure it was safe. It had to go. But it stayed. Even the safety net began to disintegrate. Last week, after looking at it all through lockdown, I finally took it apart. It needed to go. Really it did. The grass underneath can now grow again. The garden looks better now it’s gone. I don’t feel guilty every time I look at it thinking I really should do something about it. It’s better all round. Some things really need to go don’t they? There are things that we let linger, that we really should deal with. Things that drag us down. Things that linger from the past. Things that affect how we think of ourselves and others. Things that hinder our relationship with ourselves, others and God. Things that hold us back from living as God desires for us. Gideon was hiding in a winepress threshing wheat because he was frightened of what was around him. He thought of himself as the lowest of the low in Israel (Judges 6 and 7)). There were some things in his life that needed to go. Not least, not seeing himself as God saw him. He had taken on the belief of those around him who had forgotten about God and forgotten how to live well with God. But God met Gideon in the winepress. And he still wants to meet people like you and me in the midst of everything that’s going on for us. There may be some things we need to address, but God want wants to help his people live well. The trampoline wasn’t going to remove itself from the garden. It needed to go, but there was work to be done. There is work to be done in me. And maybe in you. I can remove trampolines from the garden, but I need help with the stuff in me that gets in the way of living well. Thank God for the winepress.

It's good to be back!

It’s good to be back! Isn’t that what we say when we’ve been away somewhere: it’s good to be back. And, mostly, it is. We like to be away, but the truth is we like to get home again .too. There’s something about home. Apparently the ideal is to be away for ten days. Two weeks is too long, A week is too short. But ten days is about right. Anyway, it was good to get away for a few days (didn’t quite achieve ten days). And it’s good to be back. I think! Thing is, we are still in a strange world aren’t we? As I look around so much of life sees back to “normal”. There are no queues at the supermarket; we can get a Tesco delivery again; I drove down to Brighton last week and went shopping; I’m bac in the gym and the pool; football starts again this evening. But then so much of life is anything but “normal”. We can’t meet in the groups we’d like to; you have to book to go out or to the cinema; we have to stand a long way from others; there is hand gel everywhere and we can’t gather to worship in the way we would love to! In fact, the one thing I really want to do, is the one thing I can’t do! And I’m not sure I’m up for that anymore. It’s been fun and challenging in equal measure, but I’m ready to be done with it now. I don’t want to go back to it! Part of the problem, I think, is that I just have no idea how long this will go on. If I knew how much longer we’d be out of the church building I could pace myself. I could start to plan for the future. I could start to get excited about what we could do and how we might do it. But I don’t know. We can make some changes, sure. We’ve bought some kit so we can live stream from the church. Exciting! We might be able to involve more people. Great. But we’re not where we want to be. There are some churches in the US (and maybe here too) that have decided it’s time to take a stand. They’ve decided that the government has no right to tell them they can’t meet to worship, so they’re holding services! Wow! There are times when it would be right for Christians to defy a government. But not, in my opinion, here, over this. It’s not persecution. It’s practical common sense in the light of a pandemic! And we need to be good citizens and play our part n helping to fight the virus, not put ourselves and others at risk. Yes it’s hard and frustrating, but we’re in this together. I would love to be back in the church leading services and teaching. I really would. I love it. I absolutely love it. But! But! If I’m honest I’m not looking forward to the next part of this journey. There are too many unknowns. I’ve told you before: I’m a plodder! Change is challenge. And the unknown can be frightening. At least for me. What I have to do now I’m realising, is to keep doing what I know to be right. I need to keep plodding in the right direction. I need to do the best I can within the context of how life is right now. I need to be obedient to my call as best I know how. I’d really like to fast forward through this bit (I’ve said that before at other times of life too). But that’s not how life works. And it’s not how God works either. He doesn’t fast forward us through the challenging times. He doesn’t even take us around them. But he does promise something rather good. He promises that he will walk with us through the challenging times. He says that in Psalm 23 through David’s words: “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (literally the hardest and most challenging times of life), you are with me, your rod and staff they comfort me.” I can hold onto that promise as I negotiate my way through this next stretch. And so can you.

Goodness

I’m struggling with goodness. Actually I’m struggling with God’s goodness. Well…what do you think? Sometimes when I come into the church I get my guitar out and I sing. I love to sing. I’ve done in al lot during lockdown. I can sing my heart out and it doesn’t matter because no-one is listening. No-one but God. And that’s why I do it. Because I want God to hear it. I want him to hear me sing. I really do. I want him to hear what the sings say that I struggle to say. A song I love to sing is Goodness of God. It begins: “I love you Lord, Oh your mercy never fails me. All my days I’ve been held in your hands.” And I believe that. I really do. Except on the days when I don’t. Except on the days when I struggle to know what that means and how it works out in my life and the lives of others. And I struggled yesterday. Yesterday we said our goodbyes to Andrew at his funeral. Only just over a week ago I said my goodbyes to my mum at her funeral. And in the last two weeks I’ve heard of the deaths of two people I worked with through my counselling at St. Catherine’s Hospice. It’s been a tough few weeks. Forgive me if I’m wondering about God’s goodness. Yesterday I spoke about the deep and profound truth that nothing can separate us from the love of God. That is absolutely fantastic. Lots of things can make it difficult for us to know and feel God’s love. But nothing, absolutely nothing can separate us from his love. Now, if that’s ultimately God’s goodness, I love it. But if I start to look at what happens in life and try to figure out why some things happen, I’m struggling already, The song goes on to say that “All my life you have been faithful.” If I think that means that God should be faithful in the way I think about it, then I’m struggling again. I can think of lots of times when I can question God’s faithfulness to me. Like when my dad died fifty years ago. What was that about? Doesn’t feel like faithfulness to me. But I’m beginning to wonder if actually God’s faithfulness is about something a bit different. What if God’s faithfulness is about him being totally and utterly committed to bringing me home to be with him. And that there is nothing that he will ever let come between me and his love. Not that I can get excited about. Really, really excited. It’s good news for Andrew. It’s good news for my mum and my dad. Its good news for me. And it’s good news for you. And, if that’s what God’s goodness is about (even if that’s only a fraction of what God’s good ness is about) then I’m in. Absolutely in. Hook, line and sinker. I think I’m going to go and sing. And I think I know which song it will be! Hope God’s listening.

Lights

I’ve never been much of a gardener. I like a nice garden, but I want someone else to make it look nice. I don’t really ever plant anything. I mostly let whatever is already there grow. I have no finesse in a garden. I used to worry that if I cut plants the wrong way when I was trying to prune them, I would kill them. That turned out not to be true. So now I’m much more brave. My favourite kind of gardening is cutting the hedge, of cutting the grass. You don’t really need any finesse for that. One day I’ll buy myself an axe with a wooden handle and find things to chop! Is that even gardening? Probably not. But it will be fun. I don’t mean to disappoint all you gardeners out there. Its just not my thing. But we recently added something to the garden that I do really like. That sounds like I don’t like the garden. That’s not true. It’s the gardening I don’t like! So when we found something that you don’t need to prune or water, I was interested straight away. It’s better than that even. Not only do you not have to prune or water this garden piece, you don’t have to do anything. We now have solar lights in our garden! They’re great. They sit in among the pot plants demanding absolutely nothing of us. But when it’s dark they shine a beautiful light right where we sit. And that’s the thing. They shine a beautiful light in the growing darkness. We’ve been in lockdown now for over four months in one form or another. There have, no doubt, been some good things during that time. Perhaps we’ve spent more time with family. Perhaps we’ve been able to do some of the things we keep saying we’ll do but never quite get around to. There have also been some really tough times. Really tough times. We’ve lost jobs. We’ve lost important events we’d long planned: weddings; one off family holidays. We’ve lost meeting with those we love, with friends. And we’ve lost loved ones. It’s been tough. Really tough. My garden could be described as a bit of a mess. In one way it looks fine, but if you look closely….Please don’t! And this lockdown is a bit of a mess. It’s full of tings we’d rather not have seen or experienced. But as in my garden, there are lights in the drake=ness of lockdown. Sometimes it’s a call from a friend. Or a cup of tea together, Or a weekly envelope of goodies from those who care. Or being able to meet with those we haven’t seen for a while. These lights shine in the darkness. They give us a little more strength to keep going. To keep hoping. When I look at the solar lights as they begin to shine in the gathering dusk, I am reminded that there is another light that shines in the darkness. Turns out even solar lights require a battery! There is another light that shines in the darkness and the darkness can never put it out! And, just as my solar lights appear to shine more brightly the darker it becomes, so God’s light shines however dark the darkness appears. And he loves to shine his light on me. Especially when the darkness gathers around me.

Fish

I used to love fishing when I was younger. I used to go with my friend Robert and fish in the River Allen. We would spend hours down by the river, fishing. My mum was so concerned about us and our fishing she made me and my brother go on a fishing course - a course on course fishing! How about that! We would get up early and go. We would stay late into the evening. Perhaps my biggest catch was when I hooked Marc Collins right through the lip. No really I did. And he wasn’t even in the river. He was tying his hook onto the line, and, as well did, he bit the end of the line off after finishing the knot. I walked passed him and caught the line, which pulled the hook through his lip. Not my greatest moment. Or his. But we laughed about it later. Still do. Mum moved to live near the river and to get to town we’d walk along where we used to fish. I still have to look in the river and spot the fish every time I walks along the path. Still see the dace, the trout. Haven’t seen a pike for years. There are still lots of minnows. That’s what we caught. Fishing used to take up so much of my time. If I wasn’t actually fishing, I would be thinking about it, reading about it, planning the next day’s fishing. In the early days I made my own fishing rod. I was quite creative. But I can still remember the first proper fishing rod I owned. Bought it with my own money. It cost £2.29 which, in those days, was a fine sum. I loved it. Finally progressed onto owing a proper reel too. I used to think that fish were stupid. They were too easy to catch, the minnows at least. I used to joke that you couldn’t give a goldfish a name because it only had a two second memory so they’d never remember it. Turns out it’s not true. And, somewhat frighteningly, it also turns out that goldfish have a better concentration span than humans. I kid you not. Research concluded that goldfish have an attention span of 9 seconds. Not great is it? Until you realise that the same research concluded humans have an attention span of only 7 seconds! Apparently we spend too much time on various devices, flicking endlessly from one thing to another and have lost the ability to concentrate. And, I think fish have something else that might challenge us. Fish are completely surrounded by water. Yes, I know that’s obvious, but think about it. Fish can’t survive if you take them out of the water. I know, I did it many, many times when I used to fish. (For the record I always used to put them back in the river, just to set your mind at rest!) But how much do fish understand that? They are fully immersed in the water. It is everywhere. Always. they can’t exist without it. But they probably have no idea of that life giving truth. Here’s the thing: God is to us like water is to a fish. He really is. Jesus told us so and he lived in the light of that deep and profound truth. When he taught us to pray, he said start with this important truth: “Our Father in heaven” which is better translated, “Our Father in the heavens”. “In heaven” suggests God is distant (in heaven wherever that is). But “in the heavens” tell us he is right here with us. It tells us that he is a close as the air we breathe. Like water to a fish in fact. We are completely surrounded by God. We cannot exist without him. He gives us everything we need for life and living. He is everywhere. Whenever I see fish in the River Allen, I am reminded that I am completely surround by God’s great and magnificent love. Perhaps I should take up fishing again!

Swim

Today’s the day. I couldn’t get the app to work. Couldn’t get an answer on the phone either. So I walked over to the gym to book a swim. I did. Gyms are open again. Apparently you can book a swim time on your phone. Except it doesn’t work. They know that now because I told them. But I was able to book a time for a swim by talking to them in person. A bit old fashioned, but it works!. To use the gym you can just turn up and use it. But for a swim you have to book. What I think that means is that I get a guaranteed swim. By that I mean there won’t be too many other people there having a swim. That’s because there will be limit on how many people can swim at the same time. And that will work in my favour. I asked about how long I could be in the pool. Half an hour. Hmmm. That’s great, but it’s not quite long enough. I need about two more minutes to finish my swim. I could try and swim really fast I guess. But I haven’t been swimming since 19th March. I might be a bit off the pace! So I’ll have to aim for the metric mile not the imperial mile (four lengths different in case you’re wondering). And, who knows? Maybe I’ll make it. But I’m really excited to get back in the pool. I am really looking forward to swimming again. I enjoy swimming. I enjoy the physical challenge. I enjoy the sense of freedom I get from it when I’m in the pool. I like to know I’m helping to keep my body in working order. I love the sense of accomplishment when I’m done. I like to challenge myself and see if I can better my times. It’s funny the things we look forward to don’t you think? Let’s be honest, swimming is great but it’s only temporary. I’ll get half an hour later today. The I’ll book another time and do the same again. And so on. It does help me to keep healthy. It really does. It’s a good thing to do to look after the body God has given me. But, and here’s the thing, my body is only temporary. Truth is, one day, my body will stop. I like to believe I’ll be the first person in human history who has a body that doesn’t wear out or be forced to stop. But I know in my peart its’ not going to happen. Even mum wasn’t going to die. Until she did. It’s a reminder that our bodies are temporary. I can spend many hours keeping my body healthy by swimming, running, biking or playing football or golf. But, one day it will stop. Ecclesiastes 7 v 2 tells us that it’s better to go to the house of mourning than to a party. Which seems an odd thing to say. But it then says (in my words) that wise people will think about the reality of death and live well in the light of it. Hmmm. There’s noting wrong with looking forward to a swim. It’s a good thing to do. And when I’ve finished today, I can look forward to another swim. And then another. But, however many swims I do, for however long, my body will, one day, stop. I would do well to listen to Ecclesiastes and be ready for that. Like mum was. To see the bigger picture of God’s bigger and better story. And to swim in the ocean of God’s great and magnificent love.

Tribute

I’ve taken many, many funeral services over the years. They are always challenging. They are always a reason for serious thought. They are always a reminder that our days are like grass: the wind blows and they are gone. They are always a reminder that we are only visitors on this earth. Some funerals affect me more than others. Funerals of those I’ve known and loved pull on my heart strings. Funerals of those who have expressed faith while they have lived, are ones that are sorrow tinged with joy, and joy tinged with sorrow. Yesterday it was my mum’s funeral. I hadn’t practised for that one. I didn’t take the service. I didn’t want to be the minister, strutting my stuff. I simply wanted to be her son. If my mum had seen what happened she would have been embarrassed. She would have felt awkward. She wouldn’t have understood the genuine honour in which she was held by those who had witnessed her life. Don’t get me wrong. Mum was not perfect. She had her edges. She was a complicated lady with deep, deep pain and a deep loneliness that she carried from the moment she lost her husband suddenly, unexpectedly and cruelly, at the tender age of 35. But she was also a woman of great faith. She was a woman with outstanding resilience. She was a woman with a generous heart, generous in fact to her own detriment. As a mum, she did what we all do. She did, in the words of a friend who once called me his young friend, she did her incompetent best. People in the road she lived came out to pay the respects as we drove away from her bungalow. They didn’t have to. They chose to. People from the church she attended and served in for 40 years came to the church yesterday. As we drove past, they spontaneously clapped with their hands above their heads. That got me. That really got me. They clapped her faithfulness. They clapped her service. They clapped what she had given to each one of them. She would not have understood that. She could not see that. They could. How true that so often is. Others see what we do not. I realised in those moments, that perhaps I did not see the best of my mum. That’s not a criticism. It’s a fact. Sometimes families don’t see the best of those closest. What was lovely, was to think that others saw the best of her. She was a complicated lady. But then I am a complicated man. And maybe she never saw the best of me. It’s because we’re fallen, flawed human beings. All of us. But mum did her incompetent best. And for that I am in her debt. She followed God in the best way she knew how. Through everything. In everything. For her, God was always enough. And that’s the best thing you can live out in front of anyone. Thanks mum for living your life of faith in front of me. Thank you.

Still Waters

So…I started running again during lockdown. And, as I’m sure you remember, I came to the conclusion that if I carried on improving at the rate I was, I would get to the point where I wouldn’t have to run anymore because I would have already finished! Turns out it’s not true. And today I proved it. I’ve been running for weeks now, months even. I’ve been pretty good at going regularly too - and it’s not my favourite form of exercise. But today I didn’t so much run as plod. But there are reasons for that you know. The first runs were painful, literally painful because I hadn’t run like that for years. But, the body being the great thing it is, you get used to it. The muscles become attuned and they respond without the pain. And, although I’m pretty active as a person and I love exercise and keep reasonably fit, my body got fitter at running. That’s what happens. Fitness is specific to the activity. I can be great in the pool but struggle when I run. But I’ve got better at running. Or you would think so wouldn’t you? But, it turns out there’s a lot more to it than that. When I was doing my counselling training, I loved a book called “The Body Keep the Score” by psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk. It’s primarily a book about trauma, but it’s point is essentially vey simple and quite profound. Your body remembers trauma and stress. And that can have an impact on how you respond physically and mentally to what is happening to you now! I was really slow today. It’s not because I’m unfit. It’s not because I ate too much before I ran. I didn’t. It’s because my body is keeping score. It’s been a challenging the last few months. A really demanding time. And the last few weeks have been, well, the extremes of emotion all packed together. And this morning my body told something: “Ian you are absolutely shattered.” I nearly didn’t make it round to be honest. I kept going because that’s what I do. I keep going. Always. Keeping going is a quality, mostly. But not always. And when it’s not a quality it gets people like me into trouble. My body is telling me that I need to take a break. I’m not superhuman although I want to be. And writing this is painful. It’s a bit like admitting defeat. Except it’s not. And my body is not the only one telling me something. There’s a very famous poem that’s telling me the same thing. You know it as Psalm 23. There it tells me that God, the great shepherd who loves his sheep, leads me beside still waters. Except sheep can be stupid and get themselves into trouble. They don’t rest by still waters. At least not sheep like me. Truth is, I am a fallen human being who needs to listen to both my body and to the one who created my body. I need to rest. I simply can’t keep on keeping on keeping on keeping on. And here’s the thing. God doesn’t want me to. I’m having a hard time getting my head around it, but maybe I would do well to listen to my body. And maybe I would do well to listen to the great shepherd who leads his sheep by still waters. And maybe you would too.

Comfortably Numb

I love that song: Comfortably numb by Pink Floyd. I love the guitar in it. And the sentiment: sometimes it’s good to be comfortably numb. Well, it is isn’t it? When I go the dentist, I certainly want to be comfortably numb. I went once and they gave me an injection so I could have some treatment. I had to go and sit in the reception area while my mouth went numb. When I got back into the dentist chair, I was asked if my mouth was numb. Before I could answer the dentist said, “Well let’s start, we’ll soon know!” Comfortably numb is all I wanted to be at that moment. But, being comfortably numb might be not so good a thing at times. I can become comfortably numb to the needs of others around me. Not so good. I can become comfortably numb to the needs of a struggling world full of starvation, injustice, violence. Not so good. We can become comfortably numb about a world that doesn’t know about the God of love we do. We can become comfortably numb to their needs. Not so good. I can become comfortably numb to my own needs. Not so good. But I think far more common than we might be prepared to admit. How often I wonder, do we as followers of Christ deny our real and human emotions? Perhaps more often then we’ll admit. We do it because we think we have to “spiritual” and to be spiritual is to somehow deny our humanness. I spend a lot of time with people who are struggling with very human emotions and feelings. It’s called grief counselling. And one of the things I’ve witnessed is just how hard we work at not being honest about what’s really going on in us, particularly when we facing, or dealing with, loss and grief. It’s not that people are trying to be dishonest. It’s that we want to be comfortably numb. We don’t want to feel the pain. It’s too painful. We think we must “be strong” by which we usually mean we can’t show emotion or express the deep pain we feel. Somehow that’s makes us less human. And that’s tragic. Really tragic. Because the truth is we are human and to express human feelings and emotions is a good thing to do. Actually it’s essential to be truly human. Right now I’m a mix of lots of conflicting feelings and emotions. And it’s a hard place to be. Sometimes I’m simply not sure what I’m feeling. When Jesus met with his disciples on the beach one morning after his resurrection, the first thing he did was to cook them breakfast. They’d been out fishing all night without catching anything until he turned up and helped them. They were tired, cold, confused. And the first thing he did was to cook breakfast. He attended to their human needs. He didn’t hold a prayer meeting, or a worship time, he gave them fish to eat. Right now, with all that’s going on, being comfortably numb would be not so good. Being human would be better. And God perfectly understands being human and he chooses to come to us in our very humanness.

Extraordinary

It’s been a tough day. I don’t know anything about cars, so when they break it’s always tough. I’ve been given my mum’s little car by the family (for Zac) which is very kind of them. But it broke because it wasn’t driven during the lockdown And it’s my experience that getting a car fixed is always complicated. It’s being fixed by a great guy, but I’ll have to come back to Wimborne to get it! And then, it was to the solicitor to begin sorting out mum’s estate. That would have been fine except we were in Wimborne and the solicitor was in Canford Cliffs (half an hour’s drive away). It meant I couldn’t be at the re-arranged meeting because I had other commitments this afternoon, counselling those who’ve lost, or are losing their loved ones. Tough! And really tough because today I am coming to terms with the death of a friend and colleague. I will miss Andrew. I will miss his work ethic. I will miss his smile. I will miss his indomitable spirit. I will miss his “can do” attitude. I will miss his jokes. No, really I will. I will miss him. I will miss his extraordinary example. He was, quite simply an extraordinary man. He knew and understood he was ill, but he never let it stop him. He hit it head on. Every time. His extraordinary courage was, is and will continue to be both a challenge and an inspiration to me. And he reflected so clearly another extraordinary life. The life that he invited into his life. The life that transformed his life and made it extraordinary. And it is extraordinary that, death brings life. Death, the death of loved ones and those we love, is tough. Really, really tough. But, when lived in the light of one extraordinary man, it becomes extraordinary. Thank you Andrew for living your extraordinary life in front of me. Thank you to the one who lived an extraordinary life that brings us life and the assured hope that one day, one fine day, we will meet in the presence of the Most High God with bodies that will not fail. And that will be extraordinary.

Uphill

So I had a break form writing this blog, but now I’m back. In a strange sort of way I’ve missed writing them. And perhaps you’ve missed reading them. Who knows? Anyway, here I am again. I had a break. Well a break from church. There have been lots of things to do since I wrote the last blog. We celebrated a wedding which was great. And it was great to see some of you lining the road to welcome Meg and Justin home from the church. It was lovely to see them so happy to be married. Since then we’ve been beginning the process of dealing with mum’s estate. We’ve been beginning to deal the truth that she’s not with us anymore. We’ve been coming to terms with the emotions of weddings and dying. We got post on the wedding day. There were some lovey condolence cards from some of you kind people mixed in with cards of congratulations for Meg and Justin. And then there was one envelope that was neither of these things. It was an envelope with mum’s death certificate! That’s life though isn’t it? It’s a mixture of the lovely and the wonderful, and the difficult and challenging all rolled into one. During our week in Wimborne we went biking. The New Forest is the most beautiful part of the UK. Cycling through it with it’s ups and downs can be challenging. But the views and the peace and the beauty are extraordinary. There aren’t many hills, and not many big hills, but there are enough to make you work hard on a bike. Enough to take your breath away. Enough to require you to pace yourself if you want to make it to the top. And as I reflected on these hills while cycling up them, it struck me that the next weeks and probably months are going to be uphill. There’s going to be a lot to do. There’ll be a lot to do with sorting out mum’s estate. There’ll be a lot to do to figure out how and when we begin using the church building again. And, if I look at it all at once, it appears as a very big hill. A hill I’m not sure I’ll get up. So I need to pace myself. I need to do what I’d do on the bike. You can pedal too fast at the bottom of a hill you know. If you do, you get so far up and then you body screams: “Stop!” But if you take a different approach and use the gears properly, you can make steady progress towards the top. And you get there! I know. I’ve done it. Many times. That’s why, when they were in the wilderness, God only gave the Israelites enough manna for one day. What, I hear you cry? What’s that got to do with cycling uphill? Well, nothing really. But its’ got a lot to do with pacing yourself through difficult times. The Israelites had to learn to take one day at a time. Literally. They had to trust God for that day. They had to learn to live one day at a time. And to trust God in the process. Planning ahead is really important. Mum had a will, which is a really good thing for her and us. Especially now. But sometimes, we have to live one day at a time. And mostly we do that when life is difficult and challenging. For me, that’s now. I can’t see my way to the top of this hill. So I’m going to have to do it one day at a time. And to trust God. It’s uphill you see.

Wedding

All wedding planning takes months and is fraught with challenges and unexpected changes. But to be fair, this wedding has had more than its share of all of these things: changing the date; family having to abandon their visit from across the pond; limited numbers; only having ten days to actually pull the final details together. Plus a whole lot of disappointment and hanging on tenterhooks. And then, just three days ago, mum went to glory. Great for her. Challenging for us. But today, we will celebrate. We’ll celebrate two people coming together in marriage, committing themselves to each other for as long as they live. And that’s the most important thing today. We’ve learnt a whole bundle of things during this strange, uncertain and challenging time. There are some things that are important, and there are some things that are really not! Weddings are full of small, intricate details that in truth, no-one (apart from perhaps the bride and groom - if he even does) really notices. They get lost in the day. When I was best man for my school friend Neil a long time ago now, I forgot to put his shoes for the honeymoon, in the car! He survived! And we now live in a world where every wedding has to be different from every other wedding. Perish the thought it might look like another wedding. In truth, every wedding is different: different bride and groom for starters! What we’ve learnt is that while it might be fun (or not) to do all that planning, it’s getting married that’s important. And that’s what we’re doing today. Got me thinking. Life’s like that. Like the build up to a wedding. Well, actually that’s exactly what it is. At least that’s the Christian perspective. It’s an unpredictable, challenging, sometimes filled with joy, sometimes filled with tragedy, sometimes how we would choose it, mostly not, and sometimes cruel, sometimes long and sometimes short journey towards a wedding. And, just like the lead up to a wedding day, We often get lost in details and things that aren’t truly important. We sometimes forget, among all the joys and sorrows, all the dreams and desires, all the hard work and the fun, that the most important thing is that the bridegroom is waiting and that one day we will be in the greatest wedding celebration of all time. Of all human history. And, challenging though it is today, and though she’s not with us at our wedding celebration today, mum is at a wedding celebration. Just as later today a bridegroom will look down the aisle and see his beautiful bride, the bridegroom has welcomed mum into his presence and the celebration has begun. And there it is: the reality of the world we inhabit and the hope we have in God’s bigger and better story. We’re going to enjoy today and we’re going to celebrate. And we’re going to hold in our hearts another wedding with another celebration.