Fifty….

Fifty years of ordained ministry. Quite an achievement. I don't know what the stats are on how long the average time in ministry is, but I do know fifty years is a long time. 

My Dad Brian, my favourite Dad. I have never known him not to be a minister. He was my local church minister for the first fifteen years of my life, and although he then went on to minister in another context, he has continued to be a role model in my life, particularly as I have taken my own journey into ordained ministry which has, in some ways (although I am reluctant to admit it) gone in a similar direction, but in others, diverted as I have explored my own calling, not exactly following his footsteps, but with something in the genes that clearly shines through us both - both inspired by our pioneering Baptist ancestors, which, we have discovered more recently originated from our family of bootmakers from Hampshire and non-conformists from North Wales. 

My Dad, from whom I have inherited my stubbornness and tenacity, my sense of humour and my left wing tendencies. He stands on his head to make a point (I still don’t know what that point is) and makes giant sheep and angels out of cardboard boxes. My Dad, who I am both similar and very different to (don't expect us to have the same views on or ways of approaching situations). Today marks 50 years of ordained ministry. 

Dad was called to ministry as a teenager from Durham City Baptist Church. This was the church where he grew up as it grew up. His parents - my Grandparents were part of the group of 'convinced Baptists' who began to meet together in Durham in 1949, and, two years later, in the year my Dad was born, the church was formally constituted - the family stories say that he was the first baby to be dedicated in the newly planted church. 

I was born when my Dad was ministering in his first churches in Derbyshire. I've been told that he was the 'cool, young Baptist minister with a young family and a guitar'. I grew up with him leading the ministry at Mansfield Road Baptist Church in Nottingham - the church on the corner - a huge building with many different rooms and activities to fill them. It was a privilege to have my Dad as my minister. In the school holidays and days off I'd go down to church with my Mum and sit in what I remember being a cavernous office - the ultimate reward being getting to play with the ball of elastic bands on his desk and roll out the carpets for toddler group. 

Children of the manse would make for an interesting and challenging research project. You hear stories of rebellion and turning away from God, and for my peers in ministry with children, I know it is a continuous challenge. When Dad retired my brothers, sister and I shared some of our stories of what life was like growing up and how we all ended up Ok really - we were all baptised by our Dad and all continue to have faith which we express in different ways in different contexts. 

Growing up, the expectation was that we would be involved in church - we knew that Dad's job was more than just a job, that it was life, and as children we were part of that. We attended evening services with our reading books from a very young age, and I'm sure fell asleep on the pews quite regularly. We were deeply involved in church life, but we also were protected from the realities of ministry by my parents, which I am very grateful for. They didn't talk about the challenges and the pain that inevitably are part of the journey in front of us, but made sure we had the opportunities we needed to grow in faith. We don't know what it took to get a good Sunday School and Youth Group into our lives - but that's what happened and that's where my faith grew and I am grateful for that. 

As I grew up and learned to listen better, I was blessed with my Dad as my minister to hear some really good preaching. A few years ago I went through the family archives chest of surprises and I found a newspaper article about how in 1994 Dad appeared in the "Good Preachers Guide" - nominated by a church member I think. The article talks about how he had come a long way from his first preach at 16, when he preached for 45 minutes a sermon that was full of awful jokes - he was pulled aside afterwards by a member of his congregation and told to never to preach that way again otherwise they wouldn't commend him for ministry (thankfully he calmed down the bad jokes and they did). As my Dad left local church ministry to become Area Superintendent in the West Midlands area and after I left home, I realised how much I'd been spoiled, and it is a pleasure on trips to Derbyshire now (where life has gone full circle for my Mum and Dad who have ended up where they started) to hear my Dad preach. If you've ever heard/seen both him and me preach you might notice that I've inherited my preacher hand moves from him.... 

When I finally felt ready to follow my own call to ministry, I knew that my Dad would be there at my side. He has been one of my best companions on the road. It's so handy to have someone who knows both me and the journey of ministry so well to talk to if I need to (not that that has happened that often - I've always believed that I've been called to ministry as me and not to emulate his ways, and so have been determined to be independent from my Dad in ministry, stubbornly perhaps, but then that is probably a family trait). 

As a role model in ministry, I am so pleased I have Dad. He and my Mum taught me that God often calls you where you don't expect (or perhaps even want?) to go, and so in settlement, although the idea of me going to South London was confusing to us all, I went in the knowledge that God's call is more than my own ideas and ambitions - and as I look back I see that both in their life and mine. He's taught me that whilst ministry inevitably takes over your life, there is still place for fun and for family and things that bring joy. He's taught me that holidays are a place to switch off, and to withdraw from situations for a while when it's all too much - time can really be a healer. As I bring to him the stories of all the oddities of ministry and people, he regularly comes back with similarly surprising stories that remind me that it's not just me and I will find a way through. His pastoral voice continues to bring peace when the journey is tough and one of the best things in life is when he says he is proud of me. 

One of my favourite pictures of my Dad is when he is explaining what ordination means at my own ordination. I was ordained as he prepared to retire from his final full time ministry post in Leeds - a passing on of the baton perhaps. He has his hands round my youngest nephew's neck (gently!) and he is reminding the congregation that when a minister is called to serve that it is not a calling for the church to strangle or smother or put their minister in a box. A minister is called by God as the person that God has made them to be, and is given the responsibility to lead the church forwards, to discern God's vision with the church and follow God's way. My Dad has not only encouraged that, but has also demonstrated that, by always putting God first and being faithful to his calling, even in the most difficult of situations where he could have just walked away. I am inspired by this, and it has helped me to not only survive, but thrive and continue to minister both when things have been rocky and when things have been a joy. 

As role models go, I think I've been spoilt. 

So to my favourite Dad, who I hope doesn't mind me drawing attention to this milestone - congratulations on 50 faithful years. Thank you. 

God is good, all the time - may he bless you abundantly with his wisdom and goodness and may that flow out of you to bless the ones that you continue to serve.