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.

Good Friday?

I’m sure I’m not the only one who has wondered why we call it Good Friday. Doesn’t seem to make sense does it? The King of the universe nailed to a cross by the people he created and we call it good! And to be sure, being nailed to a cross in itself tells us little. Thousands of people were crucified on crosses. It was a cruel favourite of the Romans, until even they decided is was too barbaric. How was it good? For anyone? Ever? I’m wondering if it might be something to do with looking back. Stay with me here. Queen Elizabeth I wasn’t Queen Elizabeth I until Queen Elizabeth II came along. World War I wasn’t World War I until World War II came along. We have this phrase we use: “with the benefit of hindsight…” I’m wondering if it’s in looking back we call it Good Friday. It wasn’t good on the day was it? I don’t think so. It wasn’t good for Jesus, crucified on a cross. It wasn’t good for the disciples. It wasn’t good for his family. It wasn’t good, was it? Remember shortly after the resurrection, when Jesus walked with two followers on their way to Emmaus? The story they told was one of sadness and disappointment. Jesus had died. That wasn’t supposed to happen. No, it wasn’t. And for those of you who are now worried about some dodgy theology (and you may well be right), I don’t think it was ever God’s plan either. Not his first choice. Not what he really wanted. It wasn’t good for him either. He had trusted his beloved son into the hands of the people he created, only to see them crucify him. Not good. It is Good Friday because as we look back, we see what the first disciples took a while to see, that it was Jesus’ death on the cross that God took and transformed into the means of saving grace. Not his first choice. But a demonstration of the grace and power of God himself. Sometimes in life, we have to look back to see what was good. We can’t see it at the time. I got turned down for ministry the first time I applied. It was devastating. But I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing today if that had not happened. Hard though it is for me to say, it was a good thing. Sometimes we have to look back to be able to see what God is doing. We look back at the cross, and we can say: “it was good!” We can look back at Good Friday and call it good. And thank God we can!

Waiting...

I cycled past the church earlier this week as part my daily exercise schedule. I have to space out the runs to give my legs recovery time. I’m hoping that will improve, but we’ll see. Anyway, people were queuing outside the church. Yes they were. They don’t queue on Sundays, but they were queuing on Monday. They were waiting to give blood. (Just for the record, I don’t do needles, so could just cycle past!) I hate queues. Really I do. I have a theory that whatever queue I’m in will be the slowest. I’ve tested that theory and it’s true. If ever you see me in a queue, don’t join it. It will be the slowest. I’m really hoping there’s no queue for heaven! Got me thinking though. I might queue for something important, but only if I have to. I don’t like the waiting you see. I might wait for something really good. But I’m not good at waiting. Even waiting for the Sunday morning service to being is a challenge! But they were waiting, patiently, queuing down Crabtree to give blood that others might live. It’s a good thing to do. And all the more important at this time. Jesus waited. All week. He waited all week to give blood. He waited all week to give his blood that we might live. And not just live, but live in the fullness God intended for now, and for eternity. Jesus waited all week, all of the most challenging week of his life, the week we now call Holy Week, to give his blood that I might live. Here’s the thing though. There was no-one queuing to give blood with him for one simple reason. He was going to the cross. No-one wanted to go to the cross. Actually, neither did Jesus: “Take this cup from me,” he prayed. But then he added, “But not my will but yours.” And there’s the difference. He held on to his Father’s far bigger and better story. And he waited to go to the cross. Like those who receive blood from blood donors because they know it saved their life, I am inexpressibly grateful that Jesus took the road of waiting, and went to the cross. For me. And you. That we might me live. Really live.

Giving up?

Because I’m a flawed, fallen human being, I’ve been thinking about all the things I been giving up because of the virus. Not proud of that, but it’s true. And (further admissions to shock you), if I think about it for too long, if I’m tempted to dwell on my circumstances, I start to get a bit frustrated, angry even! There, said it! I might be the only one like that, but I’m guessing not. Perhaps you too have these kinds of thoughts sometimes. I can get stuck in a way of thinking that I’ve had to give swimming and the gym and seeing people and meeting at church and… And let’s be honest here for a moment, there are people who are having to give up far more than right now. In a more mature moment today, a thought struck me as we enter Holy Week. I’ve given up a few things in the hope that other’s lives might be better. That remind you of anything? One man gave up all the glory of heaven in the hope that he might make my life better. And yours. And…well everyone’s. Isn’t that the truth of Holy Week. Ok, in more theological language (am I allowed to say that in a blog?), Jesus gave up his life that I might live life in all the fullness God intended. Which makes my giving up pale a bit don’t you think? But if I can give up things to help others, maybe it gives me just a little insight into how God feels…about me!
And maybe about you. And my neighbours and friends. Maybe giving up is good for me in more ways than one! Not least because it reminds me of how grateful I am that Jesus chose to give up what he had, to rescue people like me.

Shine on us!

Two things came together today - at least they did in my world! I was feeling a bit unsure this morning: what should I be doing? How do I make the best use of my time? Who should I be helping? How do I best help in this uncertain time? Maybe you sometimes feel like that. Or maybe you don’t. I do, and I was this morning. I got on with lots of things, all good things: printing newsletters; printing the sermon script; planning services. I then decided to sing. I like to sing. And I found a song I love. The first line is: “Lord, let your light, light of your face, shine on us.” That struck me as being so, so relevant to today. We need, we desperately need the light of God’s face to shine upon us don’t we? The light that shines in the darkness. The light that leads and guides, that is a lamp to our feet. The light that never goes out. We desperately need the light of God’s face to shine upon us. Do you remember the Aaronic blessing? Yes you do: “May the Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine upon you…” (Numbers 6 v 24-25) It turns out that the meaning of “make his face to shine upon you” can be explained as the look on the face of the bridegroom turning his head to see his bride coming up the aisle. What a beautiful picture. So…I went for another run today! (Thought I’d run it faster but it turned out I was slower - so disappointed!) And on one stretch the sun was shining directly into my face, so much so that I couldn’t see ahead. The light of the sun was powerful: “Lord, let your light, the light of your face shine upon me.” The words of a song. The light of the sun. Two things. Together a powerful reminder of a deep, deep truth to carry in this difficult time: the light of the Lord shining on us as a bridegroom looking at his approaching bride in such a way that he comes to us in everything, wherever we are. May the light of God’s face shine upon us, here and now, however we are feeling and whatever we are facing. Powerful. And wonderfully true.

There is a time

Since my legs haven’t quite got back to normal from running (thanks for asking), I went out on the bike today. Somewhat miraculously I felt good as I set off and was thinking I might be fitter than I thought. I got into a nice rhythm. I was feeling good. There weren’t so many people out either (so they couldn’t slow me down). But I knew there was hard work ahead. Turns out it’s pretty much all uphill from Crawley to East Grinstead along the Worth Way! But I was ready! Sometimes life is like that: it all feels good and we feel in control and ready to take it on. But on a bike on the Worth Way there are times when it’s really hard: it’s called uphill. Or it’s called the wind! And it was when I got to East Grinstead and turned around that I worked it out. There wasn’t much wind at all, but what little there was now against me. That meant hard work. That meant effort. That meant I couldn’t go at the same pace. I was going well on the outward journey, but the homeward journey would be more challenging. It’s amazing how the slightest of breezes can make cycling so much harder. It got me thinking: when I’m on the bike I know some things will make it easier (downhill and a following wind, and some things will make it harder: uphill and a headwind). Then I thought: it’s pretty similar in life: some things make it harder and some things make it easier. Which got me thinking about seasons: there are seasons in life. Some are easy and we feel good. But some are hard, difficult and challenging. We (by that I mean everyone) are in a very challenging season right now. Perhaps the only part of Ecclesiastes we know has something to say about seasons. It’s Ecclesiastes Chapter 3 v 1 - 8. It starts: “There is a time for everything…” Scholars have tried to work out how the “poem” is organised, and have come to the conclusion that the way the statements are arranged randomly. That’s to make the point that life is like that: it often seems random - there is no rhyme or reason to the way things happen. That remind you of any time? A couple of verses later (v11) the writer says that God places eternity in the human heart. Even through the randomness of life, God is in our hearts! Which means that even in this very difficult and “random” season, God is in your heart. Now that’s worth thinking about!

Do it with all your heart!

Wonders will never cease! Here I am again. I didn’t get to writing yesterday because I simply didn’t get a minute to blog (I’m in danger of sounding like a real blogger!) But today I’m blogging. And I’m wondering: how are you doing? How are you doing with the changing rhythms of life as they are now? I have my moments it has to be said. Sometimes I’m ok, no really I am. But sometimes I feel frustrated and even angry that things are not as the should be. I can’t do the tings I normally do in the way I normally do them. And maybe that’s true for you too. Today though I did something I don’t normally do. I went for a run! I used to go running a bit when I was younger, but I haven’t been running for a few years now. I have a dodgy knee (footballing injury) and I have a theory that running won’t help it! But today I went for a run. Not because I really wanted to, but because I’m wired up needing exercise and if I don’t exercise, well…just ask Lisa what I’m like. It’s good for my health and my mental health and good for the people who live with me! I wouldn’t choose to go running now, but these are different times. And it struck me as I was running there was something I might learn from this experience. I could run and spend the whole time bemoaning the fact that I was running and I didn’t want to or that I’m not as quick as I once was. Or I could be thankful that I can still run, that I had time and opportunity. And then I thought that maybe I could set myself a target through this time and challenge myself: how much can I improve my times or distances through this difficult time? Which made me think. There’s a verse in Ecclesiastes (9v10) which I love: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.” I can apply that to everything I do in this challenging time, whether that be for things I like doing or things I am struggling to do. I’m wondering then, in exile, if this is something I can take to heart. And maybe you too. And I’m wondering what difference it would make to me, to those around me and to those I am trying to help.