Finding church again

My faith is very important to me but church ... I often struggle with church.

When I first moved out from Carrs Lane, I continued to exist on the edges of it for a while before leaving completely; and actually, since long before that, running Sunday school gave me an excellent excuse to rarely have to sit through a Sunday service.

And then I walked away, and had a bit of a gap where I didn't go to church at all. But this blogpost isn't going to be about all the things I find difficult about the institutional church, of which there are many. 

Rather it is to reflect on the fact that, in some indefinable way, I missed it ... and not just for want of having something to moan about ... because frankly politics provides plenty of material for that!

There is a church a few doors away from where I live now. It is ever so slightly further than I had to travel from the flat to the church room, and I can't quite justify going in my slippers, at least not at this time of year, but I could probably roll out of bed fifteen minutes before the service starts and still make it on time.

I think partly, as I am aware I am intending to live here for the foreseeable future, I want in some way to connect to, belong in this local community and church may be one way of doing that. I think also, for all the failings of the church, I do, it turns out, sort of want to be part of a faith community.

And so, after moving in, I went along. My intention was to slip in quietly at the back, get a feel for whether it was somewhere I might want to attend, wander away again if it wasn't, perhaps try somewhere else. I took the total attendance that morning to 8. I was never going to be anonymous or unnoticed.  

In many ways it is, as you would perhaps expect or hope for a congregation that size, very informal. The chairs are in a semi-circle around the altar, I have heard the person leading ask who wants to do a reading just before the service starts, and even ask what hymn we should sing next part way through. Some of the reflections or sermons have felt very conversational in style. And yet in the midst of that informality, there is also a sense of reverence and prayerfulness which feels fitting.   

There is value in going somewhere new. It has made me think about the fact that I have definitely spent time in churches where that balance has felt the opposite (and to me at least wrong) way round: a lot of formality of styles or structures, but somehow without managing to create an atmosphere of prayerful reverence. 

I am not particularly musical: my vague attempts at learning an instrument as a child were never very successful and although I did sing in a church choir when I was younger, I'm under no illusions that they weren't exactly picky; and I know that my leading of the singing assemblies and school choir at one of the schools I taught at was far more to do with being able to command a hall full of kids with energy and enthusiasm than to do with musical ability! Lack of talent not withstanding, I do really enjoy singing with other people. Church is one of the few places, at least in my experience, where that is a thing and although I hadn't really realised I'd missed it, I was glad to be back sharing in that experience. 

The church is a joint URC / Anglican one, but the liturgy I have experienced there so far has been predominantly Anglican. It is a long time since I have regularly attended an Anglican church (and aside from my general issues with church I have plenty of specific complaints about the Church of England!) and yet I think I may have to admit to something reassuring and warm in the familiarity of words, prayers and responses which, many years later, still roll off my tongue. Perhaps, for all my recognition of the richness of the different churches which have fed me and expanded my understanding and experience of my faith over the years, I am more deeply rooted in a tradition than I care to admit.

With a congregation of about a dozen, max, there is certainly nowhere to hide, but as far as I can tell, no-one is trying to. I was greeted by a slightly shocked (but not unfriendly) sounding "you came back!" when I appeared the second time. I have been only a handful of times. There may be people I haven't met yet, but I think I have had at least a brief conversation with all those I have. Most of them know my name, I know many of theirs. I suspect most of them have known each other for years but they have drawn me into conversations and made me feel welcomed and included.

All in all, it feels like it might just suit me.

It is early days. I'm sure before long I will find plenty of things which irritate me. But for now, I am glad to be back.

Don't be scared of me

This weekend was #pray24brum, Birmingham's celebration of the week of prayer for Christian Unity, with the theme "Do Good, Seek Justice." 

At the prayer breakfast that began the second day I was one of several people asked to speak for one minute, reflecting on the theme, about my vision for the city / country / world in 2023. 

I didn't write a script, so I don't have a record of exactly what I said, and it probably wasn't entirely coherent anyway; but this is the recent encounter I reflected on and the dream it inspired ...

A couple of weeks ago I was leaving and locking up at the end of a Stories group session in the city centre. It was early evening but, being December, pitch dark. I happened to glance across at a guy who was sat on the steps nearby. As I looked across he said "don't worry, you don't need to be scared of me"

As it happens, having spent many years living in the city centre, encountering all kinds of people, I wasn't in fact, scared. I didn't glance across in fear. But I was struck by how he felt he had to engage with me. That his assumption was that my assumption would be that he was someone to be nervous of.  

It saddened me that he probably lives much of his life assuming other people are afraid or suspicious of him. And it saddened me even more that he is probably right. That many of those who glance in his direction, and let's face it, many of those exiting our church buildings, would indeed be afraid.

As a positive aside, the fact that he opened a conversation, (which I confess, I probably wouldn't have done), meant we had a brief chat that would probably otherwise not have happened, I learned a little about his life, and I now know how much he likes chocolate milk.

So back to that dream or vision of justice for the coming year ...

There's a quote that says "justice is what love looks like in public". So that implies that seeking justice is about seeking to love.

Very often, I think the opposite of love is not hatred, but fear. The bible reminds us constantly to "not be afraid". If it is there so frequently, I don't think that's because it is something easy or automatic; on the contrary, I think it is because to not be afraid is a radical act which requires choice and commitment. 

But I also think if it is there so frequently it is something that we are called to. If we are to love, if we are to seek justice then we must find ways to be less afraid. Less afraid of each other, less afraid of the world. And we must find ways to communicate that lack of fear, so that those we encounter don't assume we are afraid of them and then maybe in turn may be a little less afraid of us, too. 

So my dream, my vision, my prayer for each of us and all of us: as individuals, as communities, as a world is that we step out with a little less fear of each other and allow that to inspire the ways we live together. Love and justice will follow where our fearlessness leads.

Christmas Poem 2022

Generally, I love Christmas carols and am prepared to park my reservations about the frankly dubious theology in many of them, and sing along with more enthusiasm than talents which is, I understand, exactly how they are meant to be sung.

That doesn’t mean I am averse to picking apart the dodgy theology in between times though!

I have long taken issue with Away in a Manger: a carol doubtless loved and loathed in roughly equal measure depending on whether your general experience of children’s nativity plays gives you a warm fuzzy feeling or makes you cringe.

My own particular issue with it relates specifically to verse two, line two: “but little Lord Jesus no crying he makes”

I witnessed two babies being born this year; one cried at birth, the other didn’t. In the early days, that second baby's survival hung in the balance and he spent a number of weeks in neonatal intensive care. Thankfully he is now a healthy, happy baby … and he cries. While I am prepared to acknowledge the possibility, given the difficult circumstances of his birth, that Jesus was indeed a very poorly baby, I somehow don’t think that’s the point the carol writer was trying to make.

Aside from the very unhelpful implication that babies crying is somehow bad or sinful as opposed to just normal, healthy behaviour; my major issue with this line is it seems to want to mark Jesus out as different from expected human behaviour. Even here, in the season where we celebrate the incarnation, the docetic heresy, the one which denies the humanity of Jesus, rears its head.

I think, though it would of course be explicitly denied, in many subtle ways this ‘heresy’ is still very much present in much of our Christian thinking. While it is the idea that Jesus is “fully God” that perhaps most challenges the rational thinking parts of our brain, I wonder whether in many ways it is the idea that Jesus is “fully human” that we actually find more inherently challenging: if we mark Jesus out from babyhood as different and special, it gives us the excuse we need to shy away from his instruction to “go and do likewise”.

***

Small children played a significant part in my Christmas celebrations this year: and it was wonderful! There was lots of noise and mess and laughter. Perhaps inevitably, there was a little bit of crying at times too. It was all part of being fully human in the world.

***

All of which is a somewhat probably unnecessarily lengthy introduction to this year’s just-in-time Christmas poem:

***

The child cries

Because the child is human

And the child is hungry and wants to be fed

He cries to be nourished for the journey ahead

For the wine, and the fish and the broken bread

And the stars still look down

The child cries

Because the child is human

And the world is a confusing and scary place

He cries to seek the safety of a familiar face

From the depths of darkness, for the promise of grace

And the stars still look down

The child cries

Because the child is human

And the child wants to be noticed, and wants to be known

He cries to belong, to be wanted, to not be alone

For welcome to be offered, for love to be shown

And the stars still look down

And the child cries

Because the child is human

And the child is God.

Merry Christmas!

2022 Highlights

One of our conversations on New Year's eve evening, prior to the street erupting into slightly bonkers fireworks, was about looking back on the significant moments of the year. It didn't take long for me to realise that choosing one highlight of the year would be impossible because there was really quite a lot of competition.

Obviously, there have also been challenges along the way: I wouldn't have chosen to have my first brush with covid, there were very mixed feelings as I walked away from Carrs Lane, and it has certainly been hard at times to find signs of hope in the global and national political landscape. Plus, of course, quite a lot of mundanity in the mix too, including a constant refrain of not being as on top of admin and emails as I would ideally like to be! 

But here are a few of the things that immediately spring to mind that have been very special this year:

• The incredible privilege of being present at the births of two babies, an experience I will certainly never forget; and the ongoing privilege of watching them both grow and change, as well as becoming Godparent to one of them.  
• An absolutely amazing trip to Morocco and a wonderful wedding celebration: I know I am incredibly blessed to be invited into experiences such as these. It was also my first trip abroad for quite some time, and first time in Africa ever.
• There were also very enjoyable trips much closer to home: back to walking (part of) pilgrim cross after two years of only seeing these people in zoom squares, a lovely holiday in Wales, a beautiful 'festival of friendship' in Kintbury plus a few other trips and visits.
• A housewarming party bringing together people from all over the world and from different parts of my life. Plus lots of other gatherings, parties and cultural celebrations: these spaces where community is created and strengthened mean so much to me.
• Sharing in the news that a couple of friends who have been waiting a very, very long time were finally granted right to remain ending years of uncertainty and allowing them to get on with rebuilding their lives. There have been other good news stories I have been privileged to be part of too, most notably the little thrill every time a newly arrived child gets a school place.
• Performing with the Stories group and Welsh National Opera on the main stage at the REP to an audience of 500 school children was an incredible experience. There were other smaller performances through the year, including rounding off just before Christmas with the hilarity of panto.
• Being selected to carry the commonwealth baton, which despite my ambivalence about the commonwealth and its history, felt like quite an honour, and while I obviously don't do what I do for the recognition, I can't deny I appreciated the affirmation.
• Planned and impromptu visits from friends, some of whom I hadn't seen for a long time: after two years in which seeing friends was so severely restricted, I hope I never again take this for granted.
• Moving house (again) and settling in to a place I hope to be able to call home for the foreseeable future.

And perhaps most of all, in those times and in between times, all the many reminders that I am deeply loved and privileged to be surrounded by so many different wonderful people who are part of my life. Thank you to everyone who continues to journey with me!