Thoughts on the riots and society

I took a funeral this morning and am now having some 'reflection time'. I had considered writing the next instalment of my 'where I was at with Jesus' series but the whole subject of the riots that we have seen in the last week seems to be more in the consciousness of many of us.

My first reaction on seeing coverage of the riots on television was to think 'What has the world come to?' I even remarked to a friend who is also in Christian ministry jokingly—but only half joking: is this a sign of the end-times? I am fairly conservative in my politics and do not always have a lot of time for what could be termed 'fluffy' responses to situations like these riots. I stand completely with all those who have said that the behaviour shown was completely and utterly unacceptable in every way. This is not the behaviour that we expect from a so-called civilised society. A friend of mine posted a link to an article in the Guardian—which I wouldn't normally read—by Russell Brand. Whilst I suspect that—if we ever met—Russell and I would agree on very little, he raises a number of interesting points, and his own experience makes the article a compelling read.

Many people seem to be talking about these criminals being poor or disenfranchised from society and see some kind of explanation—for I don't think even the most liberal person would say 'justification'—for these recent events. I grew up in an area where many people come from what might be called 'marginalised' groups. It was a predominantly working-class part of Bristol with many of the problems that often go with that. I am familiar with the type of society where some people feel that they don't belong, or that they are at the margins. I am familiar with people who encounter obstacles, no matter how hard they seem to try. I know some people for whom life is full of nothing but frustration and often despair. I remember feeling some of that despair even though I had the advantage of being fairly bright. My 'escape' from that world was through education and my faith. I put the word 'escape' in inverted commas because that is how I often saw it. More recently, as I approached and now have passed my ordination, I see the past as being quite present: to some extent, somewhere inside, I still inhabit that world even if my life, at least on the outside, might suggest something different. If you walk around any working-class estate, it is interesting to have a glance at the outside of the houses, particularly the front gardens for those houses that have them. It seems to me that there are two main types. The first type are those houses that seems to be determined to make the best out of the little that they have and make an effort to keep their houses and gardens tidy. This is what I remember growing up. Now, I am not talking about the type of lawns that you see in Cambridge Colleges; I am talking about usually fairly basic areas of grass, and in some cases flowers and plants. The second type are those houses where the attitude seems to be something along the lines of 'Well, we've got f*** all, so what is the point in looking after it.' When I was growing up, it seemed that the second type was very much a minority and there was a sort of 'working-class pride'—if I can put it that way—that frowned on those houses that didn't seem to care. I have not lived in the area I grew up in for 14 years or so and so I have lost touch with life there to some extent, but it seems to me that, more and more, what we observe is the second type being the picture of working-class—or even 'benefit-class'—Britain that we are presented with. This isn't the working-class culture that I remember growing up.

Russell Brand makes two related points in his article that have struck me: 'so many people feel utterly disconnected from the cities they live in' and '[t]hese young people have no sense of community because they haven't been given one.' This hit the nail on the head for me. I am only 32 years old, but it strikes me that, even in my short 32 years, society has become more and more individualistic. People seem obsessed with what they think that they are entitled to: with their 'rights'. There is a whole generation or two—and I am, obviously, included in this—who have never known life without a National Health Service or Unemployment Benefits and other such things. It is wonderful that we have grown up with these things but I think that what has happened is that we are used to a society where we have come to expect certain things and it seems that our expectations are becoming greater and greater. There is also, surely, an extent to which we have lost a sense of boundaries. As society has become more liberal and suspicious of absolutes, we have come to question what previously has just been assumed. I think that this is also true of the limits of what we think of as unacceptable behaviour. No matter how poor we were as I was growing up, or others around me, there is no way that anybody would have said that what we have witnessed could be a justifiable response to whatever poverty of disillusionment we might be experiencing.

This growing individualisation and liberalism has, I think, led to a society in which it has become much more difficult to give people appropriate boundaries. If you called a meeting to put in place a list of 'appropriate boundaries', you can bet money that somebody would ask for a definition of the term! I don't think it is as simple as blaming parents because, at the end of the day, that merely carries on our own perverted focus and obsession on the individual. I think that the problem we have is that we have—and I recognise that this might be too much of a generalisation—lost a sense of community identity. It has been heartening to see many groups of people out on the streets clearing up, but I can't help feeling that is too little, too late. What happens when the streets have been cleaned? Surely, we will all just revert back to being a collection of individuals who just happen to be occupying the same space? I think that this is the central issue rather than poverty, and I am not convinced that it was only the poor and disenfranchised who were rioting and looting. The issue is the lack of community that we see in our society generally.

I remember that in the late '90s and early '00s, there was a lot of talk at Church about the concept of 'neighbour'. I don't really know whether this was a national thing or just what my vicar like to talk about at the time, but the idea stuck and has been popping up again. Along with this idea of 'neighbour', I also hear the words of the person who asked Our Lord, 'Who is my neighbour?' Well, we are all each other's neighbours. You, reader, are my neighbour and I yours. These 'hooligans'—because it somehow makes it easier to label—are my neighbour and I theirs. I am just as bad as anybody else at trying to exist in my little individual bubble but somehow I think that I, and we all, have to start changing that. Maybe belonging does have to come first, I don't know. Perhaps it is only then when we feel that we all belong to a community that we will feel anything like a kind of social responsibility that will look after the poor—rather than expecting that some anonymous person in a local authority office will do it for us—and will help us all to have some sense of duty to look after and take pride in our local community rather than feeling that it is somehow ok to destroy it and destroy the lives of those who have lost homes and businesses.

Lord, we lift before you our broken society and we pray for healing and reconciliation in our land, and that we might become a society where we might all feel that we belong and grow in love and respect for each other. We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ. [Feel free to comment with 'Amen' if you'd like to join in my prayer—even if you don't agree with everything I have posted.]

1 month into curacy

Well, I was ordained deacon 5 weeks and two days ago. I have survived my first month as an assistant curate.

I have blogged a lot over the last few years about the whole process of selection and training, and so I thought it was about time that I started offering some thoughts on starting my curacy, in the hope that it might be of help and encouragement to some people.

It is a very strange time when you leave theological college and move into your curate's house. You arrive in a parish in which you will have a very visible and public role but as yet you have no role. I found that the anonymity was wonderful, and for me it was lovely to be back in the North West of England where many people will wish you 'Good morning [or whatever other time of day]'. It is strange to walk through the streets realising that pretty soon you will be walking down those same streets wearing a clerical collar. Everybody will recognise you and the majority of them will greet you and smile at you.

The ordination retreat was an absolutely wonderful time. In some ways it felt like being back at BAP, in that you are in a strange place cut off from most of the rest of the world, saying prayers together and waiting. The obvious difference is that the decision to ordain you has been made and you are simply waiting for it. The scrutiny is over, and you are sure that nothing will stop the ordination, that is of course assuming that you don't do something extremely stupid during the retreat! The retreat was in silence. This suited the introvert in me. It was so much easier to cope with the nerves and the new people without having to talk to them all the time and to feel the need to fill every gap with words. Instead, we prayed the Offices together, shared Holy Communion and people spent much time with their own thoughts, praying and reading the Scriptures. The retreat was led by the Rt Rev'd John Goddard, Bishop of Burnley. His addresses had a depth of spirituality and love that I have rarely experienced and the consensus seemed to be that it was a real blessing to have +John leading the retreat. He was incredibly good at reaching people to the same depth, no matter what their churchmanship was: and believe me there were some obvious differences!

The ordination was an event that passed very quickly. We left the retreat and arrived at the Cathedral well before the service was due to start. We had time to mill around and I found a place to offer some prayers for people that needed to be offered. As you can imagine, the rest of the time was spent pacing around. I managed to see some of my friends before the service which was nice. We ordinands spent some time together in silence before the service and then that moment came when we were summoned to assemble for the procession. The moment that will most stick with me from the service was when we all knelt to sing the Veni Creator Spiritus. I sobbed the whole way through it and was only able to join in properly for about the last verse. It was a very powerful moment to kneel in the sanctuary with our Bishop kneeling in the middle of us. A coach full of people came from my parish—S. Christopher and S. Nicholas, Blackpool—and I joined the coach, with my family, to ride back to the Church for a celebration. It was a wonderful moment when I climbed the steps of the coach and my incumbent said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Father Matthew". I felt as though I should perhaps have said something but I was just desperate to see my wife and daughter and have a rest. The rest of the ordination day felt basically as though I spent the whole time running around trying to make sure I spoke to everybody but feeling like I had not given anybody enough time.

It was wonderful to serve at Mass as a deacon, though I must confess that it still feels a little strange to put a stole on. I am slowly getting used to it. The evening of my first Sunday—the first day after my ordination—saw a Confirmation service and so I had to deacon for the Diocesan Bishop as he came to confirm ten candidates from our parish. Talk about starting at the deep end! That went well though. It is strange to hear your Bishop refer to you as "Father Matthew". It is strange getting used to people addressing you with the title "Father". There is a huge difference between calling each other "Father" at theological college with a wink and the reality when it happens. If people say "Morning, Father", I still sometimes look round to see who they are talking to! All of these things take time! Going back to the point about walking the same streets in a clerical collar, it is remarkable how many people smile at you and greet you compared to when you weren't wearing one. The best moment for me was, after having been to an assembly at the Church school, when a kid from the school leant out of his (parents') car window to shout "Alright, Father Matthew!" There are some other times when people seem to think it is funny to shout rude comments—similar to the comments of the roofers in that episode of Rev where Fr Adam removes his collar and tells them to **** off—and if I am walking along the road in a cassock (on a Sunday) some people beep their horns and shout. The reaction of the large majority of people to a clerical collar or a cassock seems to be a positive one in my experience so far.

The first few weeks have been spent with adjusting to this new life. I have spent a lot of time trying to get round and visit people and get to know them. Also, it is a matter of getting used to a new routine in a new community. It is a real privilege to spend time with people in their homes, listening to their stories. The greatest blessing I have had so far was being able to take the Blessed Sacrament to a parishioner in the hospice. She was in for some respite care and was due to leave the week after. She deteriorated though and died on the following Monday and so it was such a blessing to have been able to take her Communion and meet her before she died. She was a prominent member of the parish and highly involved. I would have hated not to have had a chance to meet her and then have to be at her funeral and experience the grief that naturally follows the death of somebody so important to the community.

I have now already taken two funerals and I baptized two children this last Sunday. The thing that College doesn't really prepare you for—or at least, it took me by surprise—was just how exposed and vulnerable leading a service can make you feel. I came out of the baptism service yesterday and my first words to my training incumbent were: "I felt like a blithering idiot". He assures me that I did very well. I am blessed with a good training incumbent who so far seems to trust me and my abilities and seems to be able to say just the right thing when I am feeling less confident. I find it easier when I have words in front of me to read because I can almost hide behind them. It is all the little 'asides' and the more informal addresses—the unscripted bits—that make me feel completely out of my depth and exposed. After all, I have to come up with something and hope that it will be the right thing to say.

There are still a lot of things that I am getting used to and it is interesting for me to reflect a little on what I find easy and what I find hard. But I am sure that I have a good incumbent whom I trust: I think that that really is the key!

some creases ironed out

Since I posted that last entry, I realised that it was probably a bit hard for any readers to put the pieces together. I think that this is probably consistent with the way my life was and the way that my recollection of it is, even now. This period was 11-14 years ago and so it is natural that things be somewhat messy and confused.

I remember that, growing up, I often felt outside of things. I think that much of this was largely down to growing up without a father, and that what paternal presence there was not always the most helpful in terms of the memories that it would give me. I knew that he had been a violent alcoholic when he was married to my mum. They divorced when I was four and my dad remarried twice. There were a few times when I was little that I would get to see him. This largely consisted with being taken to the park and then to the pub where my dad would drink. I have some memories of hiding in my mum's bedroom with the curtains closed while he was shouting outside. I remember him reversing his car through the hedge of the front garden. I remember him driving onto the pavement towards us and clipping my brother's hand with the wing-mirror. These were all things that to some extent we had to keep quiet. The biggest reason for this was that—I must speak for myself: I can't speak for the rest of my family—I didn't want everybody to know the truth of what was going on but carried the pain inside. This holding back was probably what most contributed to feeling outside of things: people could not know the (whole) truth and so I kept them on the outside. I did have friends but it was my own lack of self-confidence that made me feel lonely. Much of my energy was channelled into music and language and I excelled at them and so gained people's respect and admiration, even if this led, to some extent, to feeling different in my family.

Singing in the parish choir was beautiful: I remember the beauty of the anthems. I remember Stainer's crucifixion and the goose pimples I still get when I sing the male chorus parts that recall the words of Christ on the cross. I remember the immense feeling of peace that was with me when I left Evensong and walked home: peace in the midst of all the pain and unrest.

The first thing that struck me about charismatic worship that I saw on my first visit to my friend's church was the passion with which people sang. I remember thinking that people appeared to really mean it. The worship tended to contain much more emotional kinds of singing. All the repressed emotions that I tended to hold down could be allowed to come out through emotional and passionate worship. I remember the day when the leader came back from Toronto and people experienced the 'Toronto blessing': I didn't believe in any of what was happening but wanted to be prayed for. When I was prayed for, I found myself 'slain in the Spirit'—falling to the floor—and as people continued to pray for me, I felt an overwhelming sense run through me that I was loved and accepted by God and precious to Him. I sobbed and sobbed as they prayed. Many people laughed or sobbed in this experience and so it wasn't a case of me causing a scene! This kind of charismatic worship and prayer enabled me—and many others—to engage with the emotional world that it was not always easy to engage with otherwise. As I said before, I don't know why I went back to the Anglican parish I had started my pilgrimage in but I did and rediscovered that sense of peace.

At University, I still carried a lot of this emotional baggage and was to some extent trying to run away from it all. This would all, of course, catch up with me as I began to lead a life away from the 'security' that I had at home: weak though that was. At least my family knew me and understood me—even if not fully. Charismatic worship continued to engage that emotional world and gave a way of letting those emotions out; and the somewhat sentimental sort of charismatic worship gave a language to let those emotions out, even if I continued not to face the real stuff underneath properly. It was a way of letting the emotions out by saying something different that was easier to say. What conservative evangelical teaching gave was a security about my faith: a confidence that there were set answers to many situations. What the Bible said was true because it was the inerrant word of God and everything needed to be held against Scripture and examined through the lens of Scripture. I was a person that struggled to find security and answers and so I think that, for me, conservative theology offered ready-made answers. I think that I was hiding in them. I think that this was perhaps the reason that I struggled to really be a part of 'mission' activities: I was not sure that I really believed these things. I certainly felt that evangelism was about more that simply 'ramming the Bible down people's throat' or telling them that 'God has created you and you owe Him your obedience'. [A friend in the CU actually said that to a friend on my course who I had been getting to know and talking to. He was now well and truly put off. Thanks!] I think this was also part of why I was 'compromising' so much. I was hiding in charismatic evangelicalism: it did not truly reflect what was inside, even though I would continue in it for another 3 or 4 years. More of that to come…

I hope that that makes things a bit clearer. It certainly helps me to understand what I was trying to say.

Where I was at with Jesus 18-21

I realised the other day that I have not done this since January having promised a next instalment soon. Apologies to all of you who have been checking and getting at me to carry on. I am in the library trying to do some work but thought I would have a little break.

Having just had a quick re-read of the first in the 'where I'm at' series, I realised I stopped at the point where I had gone back to the original parish church that I went to before moving to University. I remember what a strange time that summer was. I did well in my A-Levels and secured a place at Lancaster University to read French, German and Italian. [You had to take three subjects in your first year.] The prospect of moving away from home brought with it a whole heap of questions about who I was. I think that growing up often brings with it a certain amount of restrictions: who you are can be largely defined by the past, and by what your friends and family (think they) know about you. At that point, I was the first person in my family—to my knowledge—that had gone to University and so suddenly it felt that I was somehow breaking the mould. Yeah, I had always been 'bright' but somehow this felt like a cutting off: not in the sense of 'disowning' but rather in 'redefining'. There before me was a chance to completely reinvent myself. I was asking lots of questions about myself, not least about my faith, my sexuality and all those sorts of things. I think that this was also partly to do with how other people saw me. I had always been sensitive, emotional, artistic, passionate—some would add effeminate—and so I tended to be labelled 'gay'. True I never really had a serious relationship—apart from a holiday 'romance' with a girl in Cornwall. [Yes, a girl!] I guess such labelling forces you to think about these things and I was all up for turning up in Lancaster with a blank sheet in front of me: both in terms of faith and in terms of sexuality.

I remember the first night at Lancaster, sat in the bar getting hideously drunk, desperate to be liked and accepted. I ended up talking to some people, and in particular I ended up talking to one girl who said that she was going to go to the Chaplaincy Centre's service and I decided that I would go with her. [Yes, I fancied her a little bit!] I remember the service being a fairly gentle, non-threatening service and so I was quite happy to be there. A little later in the year, ended up going with another girl I fancied to the Free Methodist Church in Lancaster, which was quite upbeat and exciting as I remember. I seem to remember going to the pastor's house for lunch one week which I am assuming meant that I went there for a little while but I don't really remember. I also ended up at some point going to the Christian Union but I don't really remember how that came about. I went along to things there and to meetings. I think I was still a little bit in the sort of charismatic mould at this point, but very much in the quieter version of it: the kind that manifests in going for walks and sitting in trees and sensing the presence of God. These were people who were really up for evangelism to the point where that sometimes seemed all they talked about. I have a vague memory of doing the CU mission week bar crawl where we were supposed to start talking to people about Jesus. I think I ended up just drinking and chatting with people. I don't think I really wanted to do it but there was a bizarre kind of peer pressure and it was hard to get out of it. I wasn't suitably extrovert to feel comfortable with just going up to people and talking to them about my faith. They always seemed a lot more certain than I was about things.

I remember spending my first year with French students. I didn't find it easy to make friends with the English students. I think I was quite odd to most of them. I liked drinking and stuff but I was never quite cool enough. I remember realising that French people of my age—or slightly older—were very much more philosophical and often atheist than I was. My memories get confused because I seem to remember arguing with them quite firmly about the Christian faith. I think I had a general feeling of not belonging: I didn't feel that I really belonged to the world at home in Bristol, neither did I feel that I belonged to the world of English students around me. Although I somehow felt more at home with the French students, even there I didn't belong. They always seemed to be much better equipped at talking about matters of philosophy and had a very different view of the world.

I remember ending up at Spring Harvest in my first year at Uni. I went with some of my friends from the independent charismatic church that I used to go to before. I don't remember whether I went back there in the holidays though I think I must have done. I remember making friends with one person in particular. This was great. There were two of us who were kind of more up for sitting in the chalet 'totty-watching'—even grading out of 10 as I remember—than really being completely up for the sometimes mad goings on, being a little suspicious of what was going on. I think the end of my first year saw me more involved with the Christian Union and I remember at the end of the summer between the first and second year deciding that I would take my faith more seriously which really meant being more into the CU model of things: the Chaplaincy was no longer a place that I would go to because they weren't 'true Christians' or something.

The second year, I was definitely more into CU and went on the 'Houseparty'—residential weekend away—and I remember being really touched by it and really feeling that God was doing something in me. I began to take it all more seriously and probably became a lot more zealous about my faith (i.e. 'conservative') even if I still wasn't very good at the whole mission-week kind of thing. I don't know why that was such a problem but it was. I was diagnosed with depression during my second year and ended up intercalating, and eventually 'dropping out'. Many people with depression struggle with their faith, but I found that my faith was one of the things that really helped me through and I felt so close to God. I think the walks and sitting in trees were very much a part of this. I learnt to cry before God. I stayed in Lancaster for about six months working at the police station and going to the charismatic evangelical parish there, St Thomas. I think I started going there after the Houseparty in about October or November. Many of my friends from CU went there and so it became the 'cool' place to go. I was definitely a charismatic evangelical at this point. I thought that anything else was dead and would be spat out of Jesus' mouth [Revelation 3:16] for being neither hot nor cold. Lukewarm spirituality was one of the things that was most despised. I think I became somebody for whom 'worship' was more important than 'preaching'. I wanted to worship God and do it with passion, within the parameters of what could be called 'spirit-filled worship'. All this said, I was always 'compromising' in some way. 'Compromising' was the favourite term for not quite living out the Christian life: for me this was smoking and drinking (sometimes too much), swearing and sometimes telling rude jokes.

I then moved back home, during which time I turned 21. A friend from Lancaster was doing a Masters at Bristol Uni and so I managed to maintain some contact there. I used to travel across Bristol to go to her housegroup and made some good friends there. It was while I was here that I began to think and pray about what I felt called to. I came to the conclusion during a prayer meeting that I wanted to give my life to the church: I wanted to work for the Church. This was not geared towards ordained ministry, because I was probably still suspicious of that, but I was definitely moving towards something in the Church. I think it was missionary work—because of my gift for languages. I remember feeling that I was called to go to China and even learned Putonghua [Mandarin Chinese]. I even was organising to do a trip with a group from CMS to China but couldn't get my act together to raise money for it. Depression still meant that I didn't always have the 'get-up-and-go' to get things done, even if the spiritual side of things was extremely willing.

Perhaps the most significant part of this time was that I was feeling suicidal one day and had been crying on my bed for an hour in a darkened room asking 'how would I end it' rather than 'would I end it'. I remember the utter darkness of this point and feeling—quite literally—that something was on top of me holding me down. In the midst of all the darkness and suicidal thoughts, I remember hearing a voice in my ear that said "Matthew, I have a plan and I want you to be a part of it." In good charismatic fashion I then said, "In the name of Jesus, be gone." Suddenly the darkness lifted and I sat up feeling disorientated wondering where I had been. I knew that I would get better and I would take steps towards making that happen. Depression is not the sort of things that ends so instantly but I realised that I had to want to get better to get better and take steps towards that. The worst thing about my depression that I remember was the way that you get into a vicious-cycle than can perpetuate the condition. It is more complex than that, and I have to do a disclaimer now in case anybody has found this googling blogs about depression: I do not believe that depression is necessarily a spiritual thing that can be defeated by invoking the name of Jesus. Recovery is a long process that needs a lot of support. You should not simply stop taking medication because you are choosing to get better. I hope that does the job. For me, I have to say that there was a spiritual aspect to it and that was what was defeated in invoking the name of Jesus. I think that this was linked in a way to a sense of not being worthy, and now I could move forward confident that the power of Christ would be with me to help me as I slowly began to recover.

I was still a charismatic and believed in prophecies and in particular prophetic dreams. I still believe in them. I was convinced (and still am) that I had a prophetic dream in which I dreamt about the charismatic evangelical Anglican parish in Lancaster that I used to go to. I woke up on a Saturday morning convinced that God was calling me to go back to Lancaster and on the Thursday I had moved up.

More to follow… don't hesitate to e-mail me for any clarifications or questions—or simply comment here.

Tonight’s sermon

Evensong and Benediction

Little S. Mary's, Cambridge—Sunday, 30 January 2011

Genesis 28:10-end

 
 

When it comes to family relationships,
the best that most of us can say
is that,

well,
we are not very good at them—not all the time, anyway.

 
 

We might like to talk about
looking after each other,
putting the good of the family first,
and all those kinds of things;
but,
at the end of the day,
most of us are really—if we're honest—not very good at putting the needs of others before our own.
How quickly we sometimes fall
into lies and deceit:
to cover our own backs,
to protect our own interests,

 
 

 When I was little,
growing up in Bristol,
my brother and I would be playing—the happiest children in the world—but then something would go wrong.

 
 

We'd make a pact to not tell:
a pact so strong
that neither earth nor heaven can break it.
That is, until Mum came out into the garden.
As soon as we saw that look,
we looked at each other,
bound together by our solemn oath:
stronger than oak.
And then all of a sudden:
"It was 'im, mu'".
And then comes forth
a blow by blow account
of whatever transgression had been committed.

 
 

Trust broken,
punches exchanged,
tears shed,
sent to bed!

 
 

Though we usually knew we would be friends again,
a certain time had to pass,
so that the severity of the crime,
the fraternal pact broken,
could be understood.
Oh the sweet moral high-ground!
Not
—I hasten to add—always occupied by me!

 
 

It is a trait that we never truly grow out of.
We spend our whole lives
finding ways to protect ourselves:
our homes,
our finances,
our loved ones,
our emotions.
We put up our fences,
lock our gates,
close our curtains,
safe from the world outside.
But it takes just one random moment,
one random incident,

for the whole thing to fall apart.
And then where are we?

 
 

Jacob,
in many ways,
is a supreme example of looking out for oneself.
His name יַעֲקֹב

means
'he will seize the heel' or supplant or deceive.
He will grasp whatever he can take.

 

He gets his brother to give away his birthright,
for a bowl of lentil soup. I would have asked for carrot and coriander. He tricks his father into giving him

the blessing of the first-born.
In effect, he has taken everything,
leaving his brother with nothing.
Esau was—quite understandably—a little angry with this

and planned to kill his brother Jacob.
And so we are left with Jacob fleeing for his life.

 
 

And so we find him in our first lesson.
He is fleeing from his brother.

 
 

In one sense,
he has nobody to blame but himself.
He is the person in the wrong.
But he is now facing
the perhaps unforeseen consequences of his actions.
He is desperate.
Having fled from the comfort and security
of his family home,
we find him sleeping in a field,
with nothing but a rock for comfort.

 
 

It is into this sheer desperateness that God intervenes with a wonderful vision:

angels descending and ascending a ladder.
'I am with you and I will keep you wherever you go.'
When he has reached perhaps the lowest point of his life,
God intervenes.
God gives him a hope.
God is with him.

 
 

He arrives at the home of his mother's family.
He rebuilds his life,
gets married,

and although it isn't all plain sailing,
things are starting to look up.

 
 

The Lord tells him to return to his homeland.
After another meeting with angels in chapter 32,
Jacob sends gifts to his brother
to try to make amends.

 
 

He then has his wrestling match with God,
and the next morning meets his brother and they reconcile.
His name is changed.

 

No longer is he יַעֲקֹב—he will supplant:
he is now יִשְׂרָאֵל—he will contend with God.
His encounters with the Divine
bring about a radical transformation
both within himself
and in his relationships with others.

 
 

All of this happened when Jacob has stopped seizing for himself.
All of this happened because Jacob was open to God: and maybe the only reason this could happen was because he had run out of options himself.
All of his fences and walls had to come down.
He had to admit his point of need: his inability to sort things out by himself.

 
 

God appeared to Jacob
when he was at his greatest point of need.
At Christmas and in this Epiphanytide,
we remember and celebrate
God meeting us at our greatest point of need.

 
 

'God in man made manifest'
in the person of Jesus Christ
has intervened in our world
and in our very lives.
We celebrate not because we have hit such a high standard—in our lives or even in the quality of our worship:
rather, we rejoice

because in all of our weakness and brokenness,
and in all our failures,
God, in Jesus Christ,
has come to bring us salvation:
to show us another way forward.

  
 

This evening, we hail that presence—that intervention of God—in the Blessed Sacrament:
Jesus Christ present among us.

 
 

There is no seizing or grasping:
there is nothing we can do to commend ourselves to Him.

 
 

All we can do is come before him
with all of our sins,
all of our broken relationships,
all of our selfishness,
wrestling with all those areas of our lives
in which we feel torn and divided,
between knowing what is right,
and doing what is right.

 
 

We come before him
for no other reason
than that he loves us:
so much that he would give everything for us.
All we can do is come before him,
our hearts and minds open to him,
willing to be healed by him,
willing to be transformed by him:
Perhaps even willing to apologise and make amends.

 
 

Who knows what visions we might see?

Where I was at with Jesus until about 18 years of age.

I think I ought to start this series with a version of my 'testimony'. This might help to put the other things in context.

My own journey of faith has seen many changes. I started life in what I suppose could be called a middle-of-the-road Church of England parish. I suppose there were some people who leaned more towards the Evangelical side of the Church of England and some who leant more towards the 'high-Church' end—or at least more traditional. I remember being struck early on by a great sense of being where I was meant to be. I have a vague memory of the first time—when I was about 10 years old—I went to Church and sitting there feeling as though I was supposed to have been here all my life. I don't even know why that was but something just felt right and clicked. A couple of years later I joined the choir and sang in the choir for probably 3 years—which seemed like a long time as a teenager. I always enjoyed it and certainly enjoyed that sense of belonging to part of the furniture of the Church. I particularly liked singing at Choral Evensong which—as far as I can remember—was ASB evening prayer with 'Anglican Chant' psalms, and of course an anthem that we would sing. I remember as I grew up a but more feeling a tremendous feeling of peace as I walked home from Evensong and I always looked forward to it and enjoyed the walk there—especially when it meant walking past the house of the girl I liked at school who I hoped I would maybe see…coincidentally of course.

I guess in some ways that my home life was quite unsettled and lacking in peace and security. I felt at this age that that was what the Church offered me. I felt happy about belief in a God who—ultimately, at least—was Lord over the heavens and the earth and I felt that somehow I could put my trust in him. Looking back, I think that the start of my vocation happened here when I sneaked up into the pulpit and look out over the Church and felt a bizarre feeling of destiny but it would be years before that would really be part of my life. I think that at the very least I wanted to take my faith seriously and I quickly became aware of those people who were suspicious of other people who took religion too seriously: 'of course, this doesn't really need to have an effect on my life.' It would be unfair to attribute this to too many of the parish but it was certainly part of the rhetoric that I remember.

At the age of about 15, I visited my best friend's church. It was an independent charismatic evangelical church—that had previously been a Baptist church and was now part of 'Bristol Christian Fellowship'. This was quite different to anything I had experienced before. I went there at about the time of the 'Toronto Blessing' and this would be a huge part of the next few years. What I first remember is the warmth of the people and the enthusiasm that was shown in their worship. When the band were practising before the service, it was less performance and more like a lover singing to the beloved: there was a passion and an intensity that I had not seen before. This profoundly affected me and I remained at this church for about three years I reckon. I suddenly began to be passionate about Scripture and really believed that God had written every word of it—even if some of it was repulsive to Western liberal society: well after all, they clearly had not been enlightened by the Spirit of God! [;-]] My family and friends were, of course, all hell-bound because they had not confessed faith in Jesus Christ, their mediator and substitute. What did happen though was the growth of a real enthusiasm for Scripture and a 'charismatic' sense of prayer and worship. Looking back what strikes me most was the strong sense of rhetoric and a sense in which there were set ways in which one could experience God and a set way of understanding Scripture and that—though you had to 'weigh up' what the preacher said with Scripture—they preached in a way such that Richard Dawkins would probably shout 'Amen'.

Just before moving to University I went back to the Anglican church that I had attended previously. I still don't know why but I enjoyed it and knew that something was changing. I was also asking myself lots of questions about who I was and knew that the answer had to lie in being far away from home: far away from the stress of our single-parent family and the lack of money and the like (perhaps there is another blog post there). It wasn't that I had lost my faith but that it became different and less intense. If at the zenith of my charismatic experience—up until then—I had become a Holy Spirit junkie, I suppose I was now beginning a process of rehabilitation. I think the charismatic experience had given me a sense of escape: what the 'manifestations of the Holy Spirit' I experienced had given me was a kind of 'other' reality that I could escape to. I cannot say that none of it was real or genuine but I think that there were—and still are—other forces at play: perhaps more psychological than I would have cared to admit. I think the return to a perhaps less threatening and 'in your face' form of Christianity just gave me a safe place to rest awhile. Then I moved to University…[to be continued].

 

    

Where I’m at…

I have decided that I need to revive my blog. It has been far too long since I have written on it and I have received some lovely encouragement to keep going. People are still reading things I wrote a couple of years ago and so I reckon I ought to keep going.

I have decided that the way forward is to do a little series on 'where I'm at'. This comes partly from a joke I have with another ordinand here. We both share a background in evangelicalism and I often take the [insert appropriate word] out of the way that you often hear evangelical preachers—not exclusively but somewhat more commonly—use phrases such as 'where [insert person] is at'. For example: "Where are you at with Jesus?" "We have to speak the Gospel to people where they're at." So the series that I am going to write is along this theme. This will include themes like churchmanship, prayer, mission and so on. I hope that you will come back to have a look.

2011-11-13

And already another two and a half months have passed since my last post! I always think to myself that I am going to post more often but it never quite seems to happen.

I mentioned in my last post that I had been offered a parish to serve my title in. I went to visit and it made a very good impression on me. Both the building itself and what I sensed of the prayerfulness really hit me and made me think that this would be a good place to come to. I seemed to get on very well with the incumbent and sensed that we would get on very well and develop a very good relationship. We verbally agreed when I was there that I would come there to serve my title but since then the official letters have been exchanged and so I can now announce that I will serve my title at the parish of St Christopher and St Nicholas in Blackpool. Next I will have a visit with Toni and Caitlin where we will hopefully see the house we will live in and see a Sunday Mass.

We are now seven weeks into the new year at Westcott House. It is an interesting feeling to be here for a third year. Much of the excitement has gone and I am just keen to get on with things and move to Blackpool. Most of the people that I arrived here with are now serving their diaconal year in various places. Now I am in the same year group as the people who were a year later than me last year. One of the things that I have noticed is less of a sense of belonging to a community and more a sense of really figuring out what I am becoming passionate about and what I feel called to. That said, I have started to feel as though I am getting to know some of the new people. It is always interesting when one starts to go past the small talk with somebody and starts to get to talking about the much deeper things.

I have been thinking a lot about prayer and contemplation recently. Partly this came from watching The Big Silence on BBC2 and thinking about the importance of silence. The first episode inspired me to have a silent day. Toni and Caitlin had gone to Peterborough to stay with Toni's mum and so I decided that it would be an ideal location. The TV and radio were off, as was my mobile phone and I spent the day praying and thinking. It really touched me quite significantly and so I am eager to try to think about when and how I can build this more into my life. One of the new ordinands here—who is also married and living on site—and I are talking about going on retreat and so that will be a nice time to get to know each other and pray.

It is strange when you find that people arriving at college have read this blog and, in some cases, have been encouraged by it. I suppose I don't often think that I have anything helpful or interesting to say but more and more I am finding that this is not the case which is very encouraging.

Catching up

Well, it has been over two months since I last wrote. A friend of mine recently sent me a message to encourage me to post something again. He did say that the world needs my wisdom. I am not promising wisdom, but I can promise you a little insight into what is happening in my life at the moment. Where to start…

At the start of July I began an 8-week placement at one the parishes here in Cambridge. I have done 5 weeks and will be doing the final three weeks in September. It has been interesting. The parish is an urban priority area, with significant problems. The 'Church' itself is a multi-purpose hall which is used mostly for various groups that pay to use it: which helps to keep the parish afloat. The only worship that goes on is the Sunday morning service. The 'sanctuary' area is hidden behind a fold-back screen which contains the 'table' [i.e. altar], which also doubles as a make-shift store room for the table-tennis table and table football table. The services aim to be charismatic evangelical in style but it rather feels as though it struggles to be anything in particular. It is a 'mucking through' parish. The hardest thing for me is that it doesn't feel like a sacred space and it is hard to worship there. What has been more positively interesting is the way that relationships begin to be formed. It occurs to me that people just want to heard, listened to, and cared about and it is interesting to be a part of that process. Perhaps the best summary I can give of the experience of the placement so far is 'an experience of fence repairing'. One Wednesday morning, the vicar of the parish and I erected a makeshift fence ready for the Mums' and Toddlers' group which meets on Friday mornings. The 'fence' was only knee high, but sufficient to keep toddlers in and there is a gate that can be opened—though not by toddlers. What I mean is that there was absolutely no need to vandalize the fence! We arrived on the Friday morning for the group to find that the fence had been torn down. We then spent some time putting it back up. It then lasted a week and a half, as I remember, and then was torn down to an extent that we couldn't repair it. Thankfully, it was raining which meant that the toddlers didn't want to play anyway. Since then, the vicar invested in a fence that could be rolled back. I think this serves as a metaphor for many of the experiences there.

Caitlin is doing well and is moving forward in leaps and bounds and seems to be fairly advanced. It is all very exciting. She was baptized at LSM on August 8^th. It was a lovely service and it was lovely to have family, friends and godparents here for the occasion. She cried slightly as the water was poured onto her head and then stopped immediately. We were very impressed with her behaviour. The only sadness to the day was that Toni's mother couldn't make it, because she was in hospital.

My mother in law had an accident in which the person she works for knocked her over with his wheelchair and continued to go over her ankle. She was in a cast and then developed two blood clots which we think then travelled up to her lungs. She has been in and out of hospital until even now. She seems to be doing a little better now but it will be a long recovery. In the meantime, Toni has been spending a lot of time—with Caitlin—at her mum's house helping to look after her younger sister and brother. So we have spent quite a lot of time apart. It has been hard and it is hard not to let all the stresses and frustrations of the last few weeks explode when we get together rather than enjoying the time, as we would both like to. Part of the problem is also that I am not very good at saying simple things like "I miss you". Instead, I joke about how lovely it is having time to myself. In a way, it is nice, and I adapt to it but I would rather have them here.

Last week, one of my grandparents died. Technically, he is my step-grandfather (paternal). My paternal grandfather died when I was a baby, and so I never knew him, though I do believe that there is a photograph somewhere of him holding me as a baby. My grandmother had already re-married when I was born and so I grew up with this man as my grandfather, and have some good memories of him. I called him 'Grampy', which many of us changed to 'Grumpy' on account of his shouting at the dog when I was little. I remember a time when I used to visit them most Saturday evenings, and he would look at my Nan and say "Alright, my queen?" (in broad Bristolian). It is something I sometimes say to Toni although I am not sure she understood where it came from. I remember having a chat with him and my Nan the night before my wedding, in which I was talking about how hard it was that my dad couldn't be there (having died when I was 14). His funeral is on the 15^th September and so I will be going to Bristol for that. It will be nice to see the family again—though would be better under more pleasant circumstances.

I have now had a letter from my Bishop recommending a parish to me to serve my Curacy in, which will begin June 2011. Good form, I think, dictates that I should not be too public about the details of where it is etc., but I am going to visit it next week. I have spoken to the incumbent on the phone and look forward to visiting him. The parish profile reads as though it was written with me in mind and so I am excited about going there. Unless, something smacks me in the face when I am there, I am hopeful that this will go ahead. I look forward to being able to give more details as and when I can.

And so, the curacy visit aside, it has been a rather hard few weeks but God is faithful in these times.

In the meantime, I will think of something more profound to write for next time. [Yeah right!]