Eternal Echoes

Entering the storm (prayer and the current world crisis)

I am sitting in the lovely sun room in the Manse in Blackpool looking out across my back garden, there are flowers blooming and a soft breeze is blowing, it would be easy to say all is well with the world, to bury my head in the sand ( not difficult here in Blackpool)  and to carry on with the mundane stuff of life. At the same time I am reading news pages, reading posts to Facebook and twitter expressing continued outrage at the atrocities happening elsewhere, posts calling for peace, calling for an end to the madness, calling for something to happen, someone to listen.

I have joined my voice to these voices, shared and re-shared news items, grown angry at the atrocities, appallled at the continued violence and destruction. The place names are repeated again and again, Israel, Gaza, Iraq, The Ukraine, Israel, Gaza.... Image follows image, children maimed, bloodied, and tormented faces fill our screens. There are arguements from each side too, arguements claiming absolute "right", arguements insisting that war, violence and slaughter is justified. Arguements that fail to see the the inhumanity they perpetuate upon fellow human beings.

How can the slaughter of children be right, how can the targetting of family homes be right, how can the beheadding of children, the hanging of fathers be right? Quite simply it cannot be and is not right, no matter what your religion, what your race or creed wholesale slaughter and destruction is wrong. 

As I ponder adding my voice to the voices crying out for peace again I am struck by the smallness of it, but I must not let this stop me, I must enter the storm of protest with an open heart and an open mind, I must be willing to speak up even if it seems that the winds are roaring so loudly that my voice is carried away. I must enter the storm because it is there that I find the open heart of God, the heart of a God who I am convinced weeps for the people he has made who are so intent on destroying one another, and I must be prepared to weep with him, and weeping will become my prayer. I have to challenge myself to see the humanity through the images  and feel the horror of the stories that come to me day by day, hour by hour.

What is it like for the medic who can do no more because there is no power and supplies have run out? How does she sustain the strength to sit with the dying child whose life in different circumstances could have been saved. 

What is it like to watch approaching soldiers knowing that your death is imminent unless you convert to a faith you do not hold? Can I place myself into the shoes of a mother seeing her children beheaded knowing that she faces rape and death herself, and there is nowhere to flee?

Of course I can't, but I can try, I can try to be open to the pain and the horror and to meet the Christ who met his disciples in the storm ( Matthew 14: 22-33), because it was Christ who sent them into it! I have a choice, I can bury my head in the sand, enjoy the flowers in my garden and generally ignore the suffering and horror, or I can dare to get into and maybe even out of the boat, dare to walk with Christ across the waves and allow my voice to join the many voices calling for peace until the storm is stilled.

Jesus compelled the disciples to enter the boat, and sent them out into the sea ( which represents chaos, darkness and evil), they laboured their pushing through the storm fearing for their lives almost all night before he came walking out towards them. He had been up upon a mountain praying, face to face with the Father before entering the storm, and I have a suspicion that that mountain top was not a place of idyllic calm and loveliness but once again a place where Jesus fought through the storms of his humanity to find the complete peace and strength of being at one with God. In that strength he walked across the waves and into the storm.

The storm is raging today, raging all around the world, raging in the Middle East with obvious violence and horror, raging in West as decisions are made over arms and aid, raging in the hearts of those who seek war, and those who seek peace. I believe we are called to enter into it, for if we ignore it we forget that we are a part of it anyway, so let us dare to enter, dare to step out, dare to speak up, dare to say once again, and then again, THAT THIS MUST STOP.

This is not about politics, race or creed, this is about people, real living, breathing, hurting, bleeding and dying people, and THIS MUST STOP!!!

Image "Storm" mine

in the shadow of resurrection...

I am still mulling over my response to Easter this year, as I made my way through the gospel accounts of Holy Week, and as I encountered the Easter Story itself I was struck afresh by the power, the gentleness and the subversiveness of it. I got myself into trouble with one or two Church members by not beginning any of my Easter Sunday Services with the traditional shouts of "Alleluia Christ is risen", but rather with the quiet fear-filled story of the women at the tomb. We did come to the shouts of Alleluia, but they were framed by questions, and primarily the questions; "what has happened here?" an "what does this mean for me?"

If I am honest I am becoming more and more convinced that our propensity to demand certainties does not serve us well, and I fear that we sometimes treat Easter Day like a birthday party, lots of preparations, one big blow out and then back "to reality". My problem is that I do not believe that the true message of Easter allows us to go back to reality, for through it reality itself is changed. Nor do I believe that the resurrection message can be encountered through a once a year party, celebrating a one time event. Resurrection is ongoing, it should be unfolding and taking place in our lives day by day, it is surprising, confusing, demanding and at times down right scary.

There are times when we will resist resurrection, times when we will deny it or doubt that we can ever be a part of it, times when the story will leave us confused and disoriented. Perhaps at those times the we need to find our way back to the real power and simplicity of the story. C.S Lewis brings a fresh set of eyes to it through the Narnia stories;

"Susan and Lucy had just witnessed the horrific death of Aslan, and were now said to be “walking aimlessly,” unsure of how to proceed.

At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise — a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant’s plate…. The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end; and there was no Aslan.

“Who’s done it?” cried Susan. “What does it mean? Is it more magic?”

“Yes!” said a great voice from behind their backs. “It is more magic.” They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

“Oh, Aslan!” cried both the children, staring up at him, almost as much frightened as they were glad….

“But what does it all mean?” asked Susan when they were somewhat calmer.

“It means,” said Aslan, “that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.”

I wonder how often we try to cover our aimless wandering with a paper thin veneer of proclaimed certainties, how often we long to rush past the "deeper magic" , power and wonder of the resurrection accounts and get back to our daily lives lest they call us into the dramatic changes of our world-view and therefore our lifestyle, and even perhaps more challengingly the way we see ourselves and relate to others.

Resurrection is gentle but insistent if we dare to receive it as a work of the Spirit within us, through it God begins to reveal our true selves to us, peeling away our masks and falsehoods, and showing us that by some miracle we are at once unworthy, yet worthy of his love. Showing us that somehow even our past mistakes, sins and injuries can be transformed. The first disciples did not understand the fullness of what had happened among them. They were not able to produce a wonderfully inspiring three point sermon explaining it, not even Peter at Pentecost had everything buttoned down and sewn up.

What they did know however is that somehow all of this was centered on God's revelation of himself in Christ, and that somehow that revelation itself had been enlarged and changed as life overcame death and evil, pain and that somehow all of this had both personal and at the same time cosmic consequences. Even St Paul's conversion on the Damascus was not a neat, tidy sudden event, just read the account and meditate upon it. Not only was he blinded, but he spent 3 days in prayer and fasting before he was ready for Ananias prayer. Even then he spent time learning and praying, and his letters show his own grappling with the question "what has happened?"  Scripture does not perhaps offer us as many certaities as we assume, and I think that deep within we know this, maybe that is why we don't like to linger too long with it. 

So this year I have been challenged to linger a little longer in the shadow of the resurrection, for I long for the power of it to work a deeper magic within my soul, I need that deeper magic. A "magic" I cannot contain or fully explain, a work of God that asks me to dare to give myself to it, and that I need not fear it.

I will end with two quotes that offer no answers, but rather form an invitation to us all in different ways, an invitation to linger at the tomb of our own being, and to allow that tomb to become a womb of possibility where life itself might enter in;

“That is what mortals misunderstand. They say of some temporal suffering, ‘No future bliss can make up for it’ not knowing that Heaven, once attained, will work backwards and turn even that agony into a glory.” C.S.Lewis; The Great Divorce

"New life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”  Barbara Brown Taylor

 The question is, are we ready for life?

because he lives...

Just recently I have been feeling really overwhelmed by the demands of ministry, and of life in general if I am honest, sometimes it feels that there isn't enough of me to go around, and while I am getting quite good at saying no to the demand that does not stop the demand coming. Add to this the fact that for various reasons I have been struggling with depression lately, the kind of depression that tells me I cannot do it, the kind that erodes my confidence and makes me want to hide under the duvet for the day, and , well you get the picture, it has felt like everything is just too much...

Too much that is until I remember that I am not responsible for everyone's woes and spiritual lives, yes I am a leader and a guide, but as the saying goes you can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink! Too much until those I minister to bless me in ways that challenge me to reassess my own life and remember to turn to and lean on the God who has called me.

That happened to me this evening at the Comfort Zone, a project that serves the homeless and needy community in Blackpool. The Comfort Zone is a community, although we technically have volunteers and clients there are many ways in which we support one another. Lilly was playing the piano, "Because he lives, I can face tomorrow" , a song of resurrection hope filled the church as people queued to collect food parcels and sleeping bags.

"Because he lives I CAN FACE TOMORROW", those words are still echoing in my head, added to by the very real gratefulness of so many for the little that we do. One man shared with me his hunger for God and his desire for Bible Study, another wanted to pray, not for things for himself but a prayer of thanksgiving, people were lighting candles, chatting and generally enjoying being together. In this community I found a place to stop, a place to be grateful and a place where I received as much as I gave, more in fact. Real faith is expressed by many in our community, real faith that relys upon God because there is nothing and nobody else to be relied upon, real faith that knows;

"3 “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

4 “You’re blessed when you feel you’ve lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

5 “You’re blessed when you’re content with just who you are—no more, no less. That’s the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can’t be bought."

Matthew 5: 3-5 The Message

On my way out this evening I was stopped by another of our community who gave me a huge bear hug because I looked like I needed it, she was right, I did. I am still tired, and still overwhelmed, I am still struggling with depression, but this I know, I am not alone, and "because he lives I CAN face tomorrow.

 

 

 

mindful...

I want to savour life,

to taste the moment,

to be awake to its

blessings and pains,

to know myself,

to be aware of my reactions,

to be willing to hold them

as treasures or a dross,

to grow, to be

transformed, inwardly

transformed,

able to love and to give,

to heal and to hear,

to celebrate and even

to mourn...

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so I pray for grace,

for an inner well of

stillness,

a centering source

of truth,

a connection to the holy,

where the chatter and distractions

of my days

can be sifted and sorted

in loves kinder light...

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Image Centered 

S. Coleman

Being ourselves, wounded healers and our real stories Gods presence...

I have been pondering the tendency for all publicly shared Christian testimony to be positive and up beat, it is almost as if our lives and stories as well as our bodies have a Sunday "acceptable" best, the image we feel we ought to project to the world to show that our faith is strong and that God is able! As I listen to these stories I am struck quite often by their brittleness, not that I am saying that good news stories are not valid and have no place, but that we seem to think that these are the only stories we should be telling, stories of praise and victory are our Sunday best stories of faith, and yet we have many more stories to tell some of which will reveal depths and riches of comfort and God-given strength that we dare not reveal because through them we will show ourselves battered and bruised, chipped and flawed and that is not how we want to appear.

I am not judging here, I am speaking from real experience, I have spent years telling my Sunday best testimonies without plumbing the depths beneath, trying to cover up the chips and cracks in my character with a veneer of Sunday best acceptability. I can see now that in doing so I have not only denied my truest expression of faith but also denied the God who delights in filling us, these cracked and battered vessels with his glorious presence, somehow by "putting on a show" I deny his work within, I am in effect saying that I have to show by my strong capable outward experience that he is able, and by doing so all I project is a false if well meant image.

The truth is I am a battered and chipped vessel, I have faults and flaws and I need the God who fills me with his love, power and compassion for living, I need to accept his treasure with this frail clay pot of my ordinary life, and if I am going to be true to my story I need to allow the glory of God to shine through, his resurrection power gloriously at work in my life bringing comfort, healing and transformation. I love this quote from Dallas Willard:

Blessed are the physically repulsive,
Blessed are those who smell bad,
The twisted, mis-shapen, deformed,
The too big, too little, too loud,
The bald, the fat and the old -
For they are all riotously celebrated in the party of Jesus.

Seriously...

Blessed are the ‘seriously’ crushed ones.
The flunk-outs and drop-outs and burned-outs.
The broke and the broken.
The drug heads and the divorced.
The HIV-positive and the herpes-ridden.
The brain-damaged and the incurably ill.
The barren and the pregnant too many times or at the wrong time.
The over-employed, the under-employed, the unemployed and the unemployable.
The swindled, the shoved-aside and the replaced.
The parents with children living on the street.
The children with parents dying in the rest home.
The lonely, the incompetent and the stupid.
The emotionally starved and the emotionally dead.

Does earth have a sorrow that heaven cannot heal?
For to all such as these the present blessedness of the kingdom is offered.

(from Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy)

"Does earth have a sorrow that heaven cannot heal?", no of course it doesn't, and the God who revealed himself to us in human form knows what it is to struggle and strive and suffer, and in that struggle the depths of his love are revealed to be released in power as the grave was overcome. From the grave he comes with wounds in his hands, feet and side offering us the chance to join him in his resurrected life. Surely to place our hands into the hand of the one who bears such wounds is to accept our need and wounded-ness. It is as wounded healers that we are filled, released, comforted, healed and empowered, and all of this is an ongoing process as he walks with us through the depths and the valleys as well as the peaks of our everyday lives.

I wonder then if our most power testimony is actually "and yet I know that God is with me, and there I find comfort and strength to take the next step", I have to say that this is my testimony at the moment, and as I share it with those around me I find an increasing willingness for them to also share their brokenness and concerns with me and there is a raw reality to this sharing that is deeper, much deeper that our Sunday best stories of faith. I think I am going to leave this post there for now, I'd be interested in your thoughts.

pondering possessions, (the tyranny of stuff)

They’ve arrived, a big pile of boxes now wait in our garage to be filled with all our worldly goods to be moved from North Yorkshire to Blackpool. Over the last 15 years we have moved 7 times, this move will be the 8^th. Some of the moves have been short-term others longer, and certainly for the longer moves one thing stands out, we clear stuff out, we give away, sell and re-cycle stuff. Every time we vow that we will not collect so much stuff, and while I have to say that this time we’ve done reasonably well on that front there are additions, and some of them will inevitably be given away….

 

All of this has me pondering my relationship with stuff, when Tim and I first married we had very little, our coffee table was a cardboard box with a chess board on top and in the early months if people came to eat with us it was a case of bring your own cutlery! I can remember the pressures I felt, a sinking feeling of not being good enough brought on by various pressures from advertising to “well meaning” comments from friends and family.

 

That sense of being defined by what we had was deeply ingrained in me, this was partly a result of my upbringing where appearances were important and partly a bowing to the pressures I was surrounded with. The result of this was years of struggling to fit in and feeling unacceptable, even the church did not help for it had its own acceptable standards and demands. Like it or not most churches are middle class and exude demands if only subconsciously!

 

All of this pressure only added to my own sense of inadequacy and failure, this led to trying to keep up, which led to debt, which only deepened the sense of despair. It has taken me years, no decades to begin to break free of the vicious circle. Again and again I have returned to Jesus words:

 

Don't hoard treasure down here where it gets eaten by moths and corroded by rust or—worse!—stolen by burglars. Stockpile treasure in heaven, where it's safe from moth and rust and burglars. It's obvious, isn't it? The place where your treasure is, is the place you will most want to be, and end up being……

 

If you decide for God, living a life of God-worship, it follows that you don't fuss about what's on the table at mealtimes or whether the clothes in your closet are in fashion. There is far more to your life than the food you put in your stomach, more to your outer appearance than the clothes you hang on your body. Look at the birds, free and unfettered, not tied down to a job description, careless in the care of God. And you count far more to him than birds.

 

Has anyone by fussing in front of the mirror ever gotten taller by so much as an inch? All this time and money wasted on fashion—do you think it makes that much difference? Instead of looking at the fashions, walk out into the fields and look at the wildflowers. They never primp or shop, but have you ever seen colour and design quite like it? The ten best-dressed men and women in the country look shabby alongside them.

 

If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don't you think he'll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I'm trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God's giving. People who don't know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don't worry about missing out. You'll find all your everyday human concerns will be met. (Matthew 6)

 

Again and again I have failed to live free of worry, the demands upon my children, myself and my self esteem have caused me to crumble. The desire to fit in and not to be shunned is huge, and I am more and more convinced that as a Christian that I must seek to live in a radically counter-cultural way. I am not advocating a miserable ascetic existence, but rather a decision to live life to the full which means being freed from the demands and shackles of fashion and the desire to keep up with the Joneses, but for this I need friends, I need encouragement and support.

 

More and more I am convinced that the church needs to become again (or maybe in some cases for the first time) a community of radical hospitality where everyone and I mean everyone is accepted and welcomed! Maybe we should worry less about out shoes than our smiles when coming to worship! One of the Chapels I work with has recently opened a Christians Against Poverty Centre, CAP helps people struggling with debt, the folk who will be our clients have got there for a variety of reasons, and not a few because they have struggled with the same issues and demands as I have. We have had some discussions about whether we can afford to run such a centre but at Church Council it was decided that we could not afford not to. In our discussions we were challenged about the things we hold dear, and questioned as to whether we would be willing to sacrifice just a little so that many could be helped. The response was positive, and now the challenge to be the welcoming community of faith that accepts all lies ahead of us.

 

I say that this is a challenge because not too long ago I sat in another Church Council meeting (in a different church) and was told “you are reaching the wrong kind of people”, when an explanation was sought the response was “well they’ll never have much to put in the plate…”  I saw red then and that attitude makes me see red now!  If we are sharing the good news of God’s love for all then how dare we demand that people measure up to our standards, even subtly so! Again this has got me thinking, and while I am not opting for a vow of poverty I do believe that there is a definite call through the gospels to live a simpler life than Western culture demands, and I find the whole health, wealth and prosperity angle on the gospel particularly abhorrent ,even hints of it are unacceptable! I struggle with this because I hear it whispered through our attitudes, it may not be overt but it is there, blessing is equated over and over with financial gain and successes. Interestingly that makes Jesus the ultimate failure, and yet he has everything and holds everything in his hands…

 

So as I sort and clear I am aware that I need to begin again to practice what I preach, and I wonder…. do books have a category al of their own, are books “stuff”? Sadly I suspect they are….

 

 

 

awakening....

As I walked through Durham today my attention was not caught by the bridges or the Cathedral towering over the city, but by the new leaves unfurling on the trees, and the freshly washed verges, where spring flowers and shoots were beginning to show. For once I stopped and breathed for long enough to catch a glimpse of the presence of God coursing through creation, bringing fresh life to the earth. I was struck by the fact that every spring trees receive a new cloak of leaves, and though they might be similar to last years cloaks, they will not be the same...

A fore taste of the new earth to come: 

 ¹ I saw a new heaven and a new earth. The first heaven and the first earth were completely gone. There was no longer any sea.

 ² I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem. It was coming down out of heaven from God. It was prepared like a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.

 ³ I heard a loud voice from the throne. It said, "Now God makes his home with people. He will live with them. They will be his people. And God himself will be with them and be their God. ⁴ He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or sadness. There will be no more crying or pain. Things are no longer the way they used to be."

 ⁵ He who was sitting on the throne said, "I am making everything new!" 

(Revelation 21)

 

Picture: Best Spring Trees by Julie Haskell

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the year turns on

to spring,

and as the sap rises

the potential

of a new season

begins to unfurl

in paper thin leaves,

and blossoms pregnant

with promise,

life burgeons

everywhere,

called

to new birth

by a powerful

internal

awakening...

here Ruach's breath

is stirring

through creation

wooing her with warmth

and washing

her clean with

gentle rains...

if we are attentive,

she might refresh us too...

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thoughts on ministry, with a few pictures....

I am kind of fascinated by this picture that has been doing the rounds on Facebook over the last few days, it shows different perspectives on what pastors/ ministers do and is obviously somewhat tongue in cheek!

While I understand the last picture I really can't relate to the first one, partly because I really don't see myself in that way at all, I prefer these images:

 and   or

Today I led to services where we opened the word, drank coffee and shared communion! We sat around tables, prayed and sang (though only two hymns/songs), the discussion was on the inclusive Christ, both were very different, both were transformative for those involved!

of course there are lots of other images like this one of Tim's:

I could go on and on, but I see ministry as helping to create an opening, sharing with others, opening myself ,opening a door, openly sharing, opening God's word, and creating an opening through works, service and sacrament. I don't always get it right, but when I don't I hope to have the humility to say so and apologise.

This afternoon, with glue and glitter, tea and cake we gathered to hear the story of Zaccheus there were folk of all ages, from 70's to babies, families, singles, couples, all having fun and learning together...

As for my friends, some of them jokingly tell me I only work for a few hours one day each week, but they know that is nonsense! 

So may the door remain open, and may I encourage others to offer the same welcome we have received from Christ, no matter who they are....

 

More than anything I am encouraged today by someone saying, I have learnt such a lot from you because you are normal, approcahable and normal! 

Thinking about my spiritual journey ( a condensed version...)

This afternoon I spent some time with my District Chair Stephen Burgess, we were discussing my Testimony Service for Synod on the 7th May. As I prepare for this I find that I am looking back and considering the road that my faith has taken, and how I began to discern a call to ordained ministry.

Regular readers of this blog will not be surprised to be pointed to Christopher's story as a very real turning point for me, it was a turning point of trust and faith, the discovery of a God who loved me in-spite of myself, but my conscious journey of faith began before that, growing from my delight in a Primary School Hymn Book, to my desire not only to own a Bible  but to read it from cover to cover...

That said I had no idea what Christianity was all about, although I knew some of the "Jesus " stories to allow them to challenge or change was not even a thought on the far horizon.

My church experience began in Nottinghamshire at the age of 12, where I attended a local Pathfinders group, a move to Essex and a break from church for a few years until I became involved in helping at a local Cub Scout Pack and began to attend Parade Services, this led to a weekly attendance at a local village church, and a real desire to belong was kindled within me.

As a young (unmarried to start with) mother, I continued to attend church, and my first three children were all baptised. Tim was happy for this, and we began to attend special services as a family. All of my church experience so far was Anglican, although that had not crossed my mind at the time.

A move to a small costal village in Essex co-incided with Christopher's diagnosis, and the church family in the village, Anglican, Catholic and Congregational, stepped in to help out. This practical out-pouring of support had a very real effect upon me. As a family we began to attend the local Congregational Church, joined Bible Study Groups, and learnt to pray! 

A call to evangelism soon followed, and it was then that I encountered one of the great obstacles to being a woman and being called to ministry. It was OK in many folks eyes for me to be involved on a local level providing that I did not want to preach, or perish the thought get involved in mission activities that meant leaving our children in Tim's care for a week. I was told at one point that I was stealing my husbands ministry...

Even the mission group who welcomed me to join their teams, and even to take a leadership role had a this far no further policy, although many people in the organisation recognised my leadership gifts I could not be a team leader, it was against policy; and they could back it up with reasonable sounding theology- theology I now profoundly disagree with!

Next came a move to Texas, and an encounter with the Bible Belt... we attended a Baptist Church, way too big and too polished, and the womens ministry groups made my toes curl- sexism reigned! My task in life I was told was to support my husband and to look good... ( yes really), we left that church. Then came a free church, another large congregation where although participation was encouraged I met a similar problem, so many things were off limits to women. The poem below was written about my utter frustration at the confining attitudes I met within this particular congregation, and yes I really did hurl my Bible across the car-park!

Still in Texas and we joined an Episcopal Church, here the Pastor was an inspiration, he was a man of prayer and vision and in the short time we were members there I learnt so much about integrity and ministry.

Back to England and a move to Colchester, and back to an Anglican Church, again it was big, and although we became involved it was never a spiritual home. Soon we moved back to the village on the coast and re-joined the Congregational Church, we had changed a lot, but in many ways we were home, and it was from here that Tim and I were encouraged to take up a course of study in Evangelism and Mission, at the same time Tim had been made redundant twice within 3 years and with no work opening up for him in electronics we needed to look to something new. The course of study led me in an entirely different direction and into some very strange encounters...

A move to Methodist Circuit in , Norfolk, and the beginnings of a love hate love affair with Methodism. We were employed as Community Out-reach Workers,  it was wonderful, and it drove me crazy. The big choice came at Spring Harvest one year, we had taken a number of teenagers with us and had been working for the church for 3 years at this point. The choice was stark, candidate for ordained ministry or leave.... commit or walk away. This was not an ultimatum issued by the church, but a personal struggle.

I offered for Foundation Training and to my astonishment I was accepted, two years with ERMC training part time followed. I was challenged and stretched and grew. Back to the interview pannels, and Circuit, District and Connexion all said yes unanimously, two more years with ERMC and the chance to study for an M.A. which I thoroughly enjoyed...

Interestingly training with an eccumenical course really helped me to discover why Methodism was the place I now called home, both theologically with its' Arminian roots and its emphasis on prevenient grace, practically with its strong call to social justice and community and global involement and responsibility, and dare I say administratively with its emphasis on every member ministry and discipleship, Methodism made sense to me- and yes it still drives me crazy!

Through Methodism's emphasis on grace I was able to really grasp that the God who called me did not call me to be perfect before I could serve him, rather s/he called me to begin a work in and through me, to be open to transformation within as the Holy Spirit guided and equipped me, to be open to that guidance with the "pruning" and training that it might bring.

I was Stationed in the Snaith,  and Selby Circuit in September 2009, and all being well I will be Ordained on the 3rd July this year in Liverpool...

On a personal note my journey has been challenging, I grew up under the sound of the call to worship from a local Mosque in Malaysia rather than Englis Church Bells, though they did come later when my parents returend home to England with us and we lived for a while opposite the Parish Church in Deeping St James ( I have never been inside it!)...

I lived on a pig farm in Essex struggling to come to terms with my parents divorce, muddling love and sex in search for belonging I found that even here God was with me, as I married the father of my first child, he is the father of all the others also, and we have been married for almost 30 years now. In many ways we grew up with our children, having responsibility for them made us responsible and taught us to pray. Tim is currently training at Durham St John and is a Student Deacon in the Methodist Diaconal Order...

The poem below marked a turning point for me, a day when I threw my frustrations at a narrow confining theology across a church car park, and never looked back...

 

 

This Bible is worn and battered;

Like my faith is torn in places,

And like may faith it has been well used.

 

Every page has been read in this Bible,

Each word scanned and poured over

It was my companion through hard times.

 

But that did not stop me hurling the damn thing

Clean across the car park

In an outpouring of frustration!

 

My faith went with it that day

And everything changed;

For I no longer held to brittle man made rules

 

Rules that told me how to pray

How to give,

And how to behave.

 

Rules that gave rules to God

Telling him how to respond to his childrens cries

 

These words have taught me well that there is another way

A true way for those who have ears to hear

And eyes to see…

 

For God will not be bound by our rules

Nor will he always smooth the path before us

 

But he will walk it with us

And does,

Whether we choose to take his hand

Or refuse it and stride on alone!

 

My journey of faith will continue to be a pilgrimage, I have no doubt about that! And I still have that Bible...

 

Lessons....

This afternoon I attended the AGM at Ripon Sailing Club where Tim and I are members, I won't go into details about the meeting, but I do want to highlight some of the values and priorities that were expressed.

First, RSC is a place where people of all ages and all abilities are welcomed; there are age related events, but the young folk are encouraged to race with the adult fleets, and when this happens the more experienced sailors are usually very helpful to the less experienced. That does not always mean that the older folk help the younger... sometimes it works the other way around! It requires a certain amount of humility for a 49 yr old beginner to receive help from an 8 yr old!

Second, training is madeavailable at all levels, and people are encouraged to get involved, and valued for who they are...

Third, we were asked about our gifts and talents...

And lastly there was a sense of real celebration that the prizes for the year had not gone to the same old winners.

There is a lot the church can learn from groups like this- if we dared to have the humility to do so!