My car fits more elephants in than your car......

I love numbers. Of course I do, I love maths, and although a lot of maths contains no numbers, there is not much more beautiful than getting a complicated problem down to a single digit answer that sits there hanging on the page like it had never been wrapped up in the complexity of the equations it was hidden in. 

I love irrational constants like pi and e and phi. They sit in the world and although unrecognised a lot of the time they are the dependable ones that keep everything in balance and working. 

But the way we use numbers bothers me, not least in church. They are rarely, in the every day, used just for their own beauty but they describe quantities and make comparisons and measure failure and success. They measure worth and purpose and they give something to aspire to as we consume them one by one, counting fast to show just how great we are. 

I taught a sixth former who one day came in and threw his bank statement on the table, there to show the class just how much he was worth. As we talked through the struggle of paying for university he pointed out that it was OK for him, he had more than enough. His worth counted in pounds and pence made his dream possible... so he dreamed.

The bigger salary, the square footage we inhabit, the scores on the exam sheet, the calories in my food, the number of facebook friends and the number of elephants you can fit in a car... all signs of success, apparently. 

The fishing for numbers as you are approached at a conference - 'what's your church like..... well... how big?'

How big. How big. How big. 

How many came to that event you put on? Well I had 10 times more. And him over there with those fantastic boots.... well he had 10 times that. 

What frustrates me about this culture of numbers being all is that it buys into the materialism we'd like to reject. The more you have the better you are, the bigger your house, the better you've been, the more people who've turned up, the more successful you are. 

And there is nothing wrong with being excited about numbers, but when it becomes the all in all.... there is. Having it all is not all and everything. The context matters, the quality matters, the community built matters and the embedded culture matters. The quality of our relationships with Jesus matters. 

So let's stop our one-up-personship and focus on where we are following in is ways. Let's stop jumping on the bandwagon of the success of another and build Jesus-centred community that is deeply embedded in our context - be in it for the marathon, not the sprint. Let's stop spewing out meal after meal of fast food on a tray and spend time building relationships round a family dinner table. 

And then perhaps we might measure our success by the quality of our relationships with Jesus and with those of who join us at the table (and yes I do hope to see that table get longer and longer as others join in and get to know Jesus as lives are transformed - I love a big table.... ). 

Are we still growing in faith? 

If the answer is yes, now that's good news. 

"He must increase, I must decrease" - John 3:30

An encounter with a woman

It's International Women's Day on Thursday 8th March, and since I am going off to ministers conference (where only 16% of the attendees are women - a reflection I think on the proportions of women ministers in Baptist churches in the North West Baptist Association - but hey ho, I think the proportion of women attending is more than last year) and I am busy until Thursday, I thought I'd use the waiting time before heading off to blog (well, actually re-writing a sermon from a couple of weeks ago) in honour of International Women's Day. 

A satirical photo from 1901, with the caption "New Woman—Wash Day".

It's an important year for women - and I've said a little bit about that already on this blog... 

It's 100 years since some women got the vote in this country. At the same time all men over the age of 21 were given the right to vote. 40% of women were and it wasn't until 1928 that all women were able to vote in the UK. 

It's 100 years since Edith Gates became the first woman to be recognised as being in pastoral charge of an English Baptist Church. They weren't really sure what to call her. Secretary? Pastor? Gatecrasher? And weren't convinced that she should be paid properly or have the same rights as male ministers... but she pioneered the way for me today. 

Did you know that between 1918 and 2015 a total of 450 women were elected as members of the House of Commons which is fewer than the number of men (459) who were elected to the 2015 parliament (source wikipedia (sorry about that!)).

Last year, in 2017 a president was inaugurated in the US who openly who laughed off foul locker room talk about women and ran a campaign that was largely about discrediting his female opponent #nastywoman. He is supported by large proportions of the American evangelical church. 

In the same year, the stories of women who had been abused by men in trusted positions came out under the hashtag of #metoo and, while many listened, the media, the voices of those who couldn't comprehend rang out loud and clear as they shouted these people down. 

A few weeks ago, the news came out about Iranian women stood at the side of the road, their compulsory hijabs held out on sticks to protest being told what to wear and they were arrested. 

And don't get me started on lady crisps. 

2000 years ago, Jesus sat down with a Samaritan Woman at Jacob's well in the middle of the day and he sent her out as a witness to who he was. And that made his disciples a bit grumbly (click on link to read story). 

How far have we come? Have the grumbles stopped? No. Are women's voices valued and their testimonies seen as valid? Sadly, not as much as they should be. 

Are women worth listening to?

Well Jesus, in this story, shows us, yes.... a big fat yes. 

Jesus speaks to the woman and he sends out the woman... John the gospel writer records it. Her story matters. Women's voices matter. They are to be listened to, they are to be valued, they are to be acted upon and it's all in this story.

Jesus comes to the woman and asks her for help - he asks her for water from the well - he values her service. He values the fact that she has what he needs. When we encounter those whose voices we don't value, then we often don't value what they have to offer either. The Samaritan Woman had something that Jesus didn't just want, but needed, and he came and asked for help. 

When we read this story, we tend to assume that the power is all with Jesus, but in his need, Jesus gives the power to continue the encounter with the woman. He doesn't force his company on her and she is not a #nastywoman trying to worm her way into a Jewish man's world, but is someone who can solve his immediate needs. When we worry about people undermining our status and changing this world we live in, perhaps we need to step back and ask why we are threatened by them... Jesus wasn't threatened by the presence of the Samaritan Woman at the well (and she wasn't threatened by his presence either). 

Jesus values that woman as he shares something of himself. He offers her living water that will change her life. "A Jewish teacher offers living water to a Samaritan woman" - it's almost a Daily Fail shock headline. He offers it not because he wants anything, but because he values her and her life. Jesus values women.... and he values her so much that she opens up to him. He kind of values her into telling the truth. Her witness gains credibility because she is not afraid to tell the truth - she is not a woman of fake news - she doesn't hide who she is but shares who she is. She is who she is, and Jesus values that as he crosses the border of Jewish man and Samaritan Woman with her.

When we are in a privileged position - where we have control of who matters and who doesn't. then Jesus shows us that it is our responsibility to enable the border crossing so those people who 'don't matter' can be liberated. A few years ago on my first minister's conference we asked for men to be advocates to enable women to be released into leadership... that was the first step to increasing that 16%.... I am hoping that those advocates have not stopped being committed to this.... 

Who would you trust as a key witness? Someone who tells the truth and whose voice is valued - and Jesus sends the Samaritan woman who does and is just that. Her voice matters, far above and beyond her gender and ethnicity, her witness is valuable. She was entrusted in telling others because because of what she said and people wanted to find out more. And her witness to Jesus and her mutual respect and trust for one another liberated her and gave her freedom to be a truth teller within her community. Jesus transformed her life. Jesus transforms our lives by taking away the chains of shame and sin and setting us free to live a life of truth and dignity. 

On International Women's Day 2018, it gives us an opportunity, yet again, to think about how we as individuals and as a society and world treat women. The Samaritan woman, whatever the interpretation has been, is held up as an example of how women should be treated - we see that in the value that Jesus gives the woman's testimony. Her voice matters. So when we (whether deliberately or without realising it) silence women's voices, we have missed something of what Jesus has done. 

The silencers of my own voice have come from inside and outside the church... they've come from other ministers at minister's conference. They have come from the voices of my own church members. They have come from arguments on facebook about lady size portions of chips. A woman's witness is not valid when a man is available to speak. 

However Jesus chooses the witness of a woman over his disciples in this instance. Jesus says yes, women's voices are important - listen - she has something to say. 

Jesus says yes. The woman's testimony is valid. Through her service, her actions matter; through her life, her value matters; through her honesty, her truth telling matters; through her witness, her story matters. 

Women getting the vote matters. Women being enabled and encouraged as ministers - it matters. Women being able to lead in places they have never led before - it matters. Women's stories being listened to - it matters. Women's protests being reported on - it matters. Women telling the truth of their liberation in Christ - it matters. 

International Women's Day - it matters. 

On the 8th March, instead of shrugging it off as something for someone else... step back and listen... because the stories that are told, the women that are honoured....

They matter. 

We matter. 

It matters. 

Louder Listening

On Monday I was with a friend and we had just set off to go out for her birthday lunch from her house. We stopped at the top of her road, ready turn right so we could turn around in the side road and head back the other way. My friend was waiting patiently as a man with a dog slowly crossed the side road. The man got to the other side. 

As I thought we were going to turn I heard a noise; the distinct sound of a motor vehicle's engine running. It got louder and louder and louder. The seconds went slowly, and my immediate thought was "there must be a motorbike and it's being stupid and is going to go round us before we turn". I trust my friend who is a great driver (I am a nervous passenger so it takes me a lot to say that) and knew she'd wait as the motorbike went past. 

However, the next thing I knew was that the 'motorbike' didn't go past, and instead, because of the swift and effective actions of my friend who had seen the approaching vehicle in her wing mirror, we ended up in the (very helpful) hedge. 

And as I looked around at her, and then looked where she was looking, I saw a huge tractor with a trailer full of earth that was facing into the side road with the wheel half off. I don't remember the impact where the tractor hit our backside, and I was surprised to be in the hedge, but I do remember that sound that I swore was a motorbike....

I heard what I wanted to hear. 

I have never expected to be shunted by a tractor, but I have had motorbikes overtake me. I never expected a tractor to get so close I could hear the workings of the engine as it arrived not far from where I was sitting in the passenger seat, so my instinct was to believe in what I thought was possible. 

I heard what I wanted to hear, and sadly, for my friend's car, it was not what it was. 

My friend and I are OK (a narrow escape). The car is no more. The tractor owner fixed the tractor at the roadside and later drove home.  The motorbike was always and only in my head. 

How many times do we do that? Do we hear what we want to hear, because the consequences of it being what it actually is might leave us sitting in a metaphorical ditch with our bonnet in the hedge. How often do we only hear what we expect to hear and miss what is actually coming our way? 

My choir MD sometimes will say "sing what you hear, not what you think you hear". 

Expect the tractor, not the motorbike perhaps. 

If we go through life only expecting to hear what we think we know is right we will miss so much. We find ourselves in a bubble where the only truth we hear is one that is comfortable to our own bubbly existence. We get angry when anybody suggests that our bubble might not contain all of the answers we might like to think it does, and as we hear only the voices we want to hear we continue onwards with blinkers that miss the real picture. 

As we continue to battle at the moment with what is true and what is fake, then it is so easy for our ears to get muffled by our self made limitations that we fail to look beyond personal experience to see that what we need to hear is not necessarily what we think we hear. 

I don't need a hearing test, as one friend suggested when I said I thought it was a motorbike, but perhaps I do need to expect more (although I'm trying not to expect that a tractor will ever crash into me again). Perhaps I need to expect more as I listen out for God's voice. 

Perhaps we all need to expect more. We won't see or hear what God is doing in the world if our expectations are limited by our own bubble. What can be true will become a smaller subset of truth if we are not open to being challenged. 

Sing what you hear, not what you think you hear.

Search out and believe in actual truth, not what you would hope the truth would be.

Expect beyond your experience - because what you think is small could be something far bigger.

Try not to get hit by a tractor. 

"This is what the Lord says, he who made the earth, the Lord who formed it and established it - the Lord is his name: Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know."          Jeremiah 33:2-3

Carry on Crunching

I went to uni in Leeds and had the privilege(!) of being in Bodington Hall. This meant being part of a community of students in a studenty enclave with its own shop and bar and culture just north of Leeds ring road four miles away from campus. This meant that to make a 9am lecture I had to set off stupidly early because the road from Bodington to the Parkinson steps was the notorious traffic jam that is Otley Road. I lived in Bodington for two years and for the last six months I gave up on the bus and walked..... Bodington is sadly no more and I think the morning bus journey may have something to do with it. 

That early start is not good for not-a-morning person like me and I rarely managed breakfast before I got on, so on my last minute dash to calculus lectures as I arrived I would nip into the maths coffee bar and buy a bag of salt and vinegar McCoys and a Diet Coke. Then sitting by the door in one of the Roger Stevens building lecture halls I would try and eat my (man) crisps without making a sound. A technique that involved breaking down the big crisps and sucking the flavour off as they melted in your mouth. 

How I would have loved to be able to buy quiet crisps.

Now, nearly two decades later, my dream has come true. My sixth or seventh favourite type of crisps, Doritos (but only the really hot ones please for me), it was announced this week are releasing quiet crisps, especially for ladies like me who struggle with the crunch of the crisp and the cheesy fingers that Dorito loving men value and celebrate so unshamedly as they crunch and savour those crisps that have been letting women down for so long. 

Lady crisps. For ladies. The right size to fit in our delicate hands and our hand bags and the right level of noise to make us inconspicuous and able to fade into the background as the men eat the proper crisps in the proper way. Real men eat real crisps. 

@Sarcasticluther shared this on twitter last week. It reminds us what true ladies are like. If this was written today it would have 'eats lady crisps' on the bottom.

A page from the workbook used in the Christian Charm classes I took when I was 12.
Feel free and score this little gem for yourselves. But be honest. pic.twitter.com/iWQ1wwJZ03

— Nadia Bolz-Weber (@Sarcasticluther) January 26, 2018

The thing that riles me about lady crisps are the same things that rile me about this list and the same things that cause me to explode when I get called a lady-vicar and cause me to sound like a steam train when I  read or hear things that refer to ministers as solely male (and she, and she, and she....)..... it puts us in a subset that is to be seen and not heard. Or not even seen.... 

Women are the quiet coach on the train, the ones in the corner taking minutes, the ones who are only there to make up the numbers, the ones who have no opinion of their own, the ones who cannot teach men, the ones who must listen to what their husband says before they can vote, the ones who don't need equal pay, the ones who are told they are making a fuss when they work up the confidence to declare #metoo when they are very aware that they will be shot down within minutes. 

It's 100 years today since some women in the UK finally got the vote. It was a significant victory in a long and ongoing battle for women to be seen as humans with their own voice and opinions. I can't imagine what life was like for those women, I know that life is so much better now, and I am grateful for all that they did. 

Those women were heard when they disrupted - when they began to stop people from continuing with the status quo. They were seen by many as troublemakers and criminals. They were sent to prison for their actions.... yet they kept on. Where they felt like nobodies they stood up and screamed at the top of their voices - no, this is not good enough - I am somebody and my voice matters. 

Whenever I hit a barrier. Whenever I am told that I should not because I am female. Whenever I am spoken over, written out, ignored.... I think back to people like the suffragettes, like the women who paved the way to enable me to be ordained, like those who have fought for equal rights, for justice.... and I will not become a nobody, because I know that my voice, my vote, my call is something that is given to me because I am me - a human being, made uniquely beautiful, uniquely strong, made in the image of God. 

By all means, leader of Doritos, make quiet crisps, but make them for lecture halls and libraries and theatre shows (there is definitely a need there!) but not for those quiet delicate ladies that some people, still, 100 years after women's voices were valued in such an important way, think we should be. Because we're not and we will keep on standing up and fighting for justice, just as our ancestors did, and just as our descendants will, so long as inequality exists. 

Terry, what have you done?

It seems that Terry has taken back control and become self serving this year. News reports this morning strike great disappointment into the lives of people who have a key Christmas tradition of bashing a ball of chocolate as hard as they can so that it perfectly falls apart as they open the tin foil and the aroma of chocolate and orange emerges as the segments gently separate. 

Yes, the price of your chocolate orange has increased by 36.2% (along with other favourites, it seems our chocolate stash will be smaller this year)

In 1997 Dawn French tried to transfer ownership of the Chocolate Orange from Terry through a very forceful ad-campaign that declared 'it's not Terry's, it's mine'. It seems he's taken it back - and disappointment is felt by not just Dawn, but many others who the bargain price of £1 over the last few years has meant that they have received not one, not two but three hundred and thirty eight chocolate oranges at Christmas. And, as we all know chocolate oranges are not to be shared, particularly the core left over with its overlapping layers of beautiful, smooth, orangey goodness. 

The sentiment of the 1997 campaign is a sentiment we all share. What is mine is mine and what is yours is mine. At Christmas we fill our wish lists with things that we think we might want and we drop hints to those who buy as we browse through the Argos Catalogue (old school) and point in shop windows. 

I'm fascinated by the variety of advent calendars that are on sale this year (I'm surprised that there isn't one full of perfectly formed tiny little chocolate oranges to hike the price even further). Lego advent calendars, gin advent calendars, prosecco advent calendars, sock advent calendars, advent calendars with experience days (the last two I made up but I'm sure they are coming). They go beyond the first time I was allowed a chocolate advent calendar and I had to share it with my brothers and sister (a chocolate every fourth day was an amazing treat). 

But don't these miss the point? Advent is not about getting something every day. It's not about getting a little bottle of gin, it's about waiting.... and if we get a present every day, how is that waiting for what is coming? 

Advent is about waiting with hope and expectation. As you open the door each day you are one day closer to the day we remember that all the hope in the world was contained in a manger in a room where animals were kept. As you open the door each day you are anticipating a day God's glory will be revealed across the whole earth and peace on earth will become a complete and utterly beautiful reality when Jesus comes again. 

Advent is a time when we remember that this world cannot be fixed by us and it can't be controlled by us. It is a time when we anticipate a massive fixing, a massive transformation, salvation...... not by us taking back control, but by us letting go, stopping, giving our all and kneeling before an animal trough containing a baby that gives us everything we will ever need. 

This year my advent calendar will only contain doors. 

Don't be like Terry, or the 1997 Dawn French. It's not yours, it's God's. 

"The earth is the Lord's and everything in it" Psalm 24:1a

My table is too full

I love my dining table. When I bought my first (and only) house, it was almost the first piece of furniture I bought. It's actually a desk, but too beautiful to be covered in paper. It's glass and it has a black design on it with flowers and butterflies. When I bought it I got everything else in my dining room to match - from pictures to chairs it matches. I bought lights to put under it so that when the main lights were dim, the lights would project the flowers and the butterflies onto the ceiling.... but they're long gone now because the batteries leaked and I couldn't find a screwdriver to get them out. 

I enjoy inviting people round to sit at my dining table (impractically small though it is, and despite the green carpet in my current house which really doesn't go....). I enjoy cooking for people and eating with people and talking to people and sharing with people and generally being round the table. 

But right now my dining table looks like this.....

And that's not unusual.

It's an easy dumping ground for washing before I get round to folding it and putting it away and despite the promising chopping board in the middle that is calling out for beautiful crusty bread to be dipped in homemade soup, it doesn't seem like a dining table anymore. My table is full, but not with food to feed others - it's lost its purpose, its focus, its meaning. 

I can't have anyone round to eat now. The table is too full.

A huge barrier to building community - which we can do so beautifully by sharing with others round the table - is when our tables are too full, or we don't make space for a table at all. 

Our busy lives mean that a quick bite is all we can manage and the less people around for the quick bite the better. 

Our schedules mean that we don't get to the room with the table at the same time, so we eat alone, or just with those whose schedules match ours. 

Our aim for perfection means that nobody can come round until we're tidy and we've got the time to cook our best food, otherwise they'll judge us, holding up Come Dine with Me score cards that shame us to never invite anyone again. 

We worry that we won't like the food and our hosts would be offended if we brought our own. 

We fill our lives with stuff so we don't have to do the things that are of most value. 

But why? 

I passionately believe that's not how it should be. Community is built through trust. Community is built when we learn to live and eat alongside one another whether we have tidied up or not. 

Jesus regularly ate with all sorts of people. He invited himself to Zacchaeus' for tea (I wonder if Zacchaeus panicked about all the piles of money on his dinner table). He went to Mary and Martha's, and Martha tidied and fussed so she didn't have time to sit at Jesus feet (her own pride and expectations piled up on the table).  

And after he was raised from the dead he sat and cooked breakfast on the beach for the dirty, smelly, tired fishermen who were his closest friends (I suspect they didn't even wash their hands).

If we're serious about being part of a community where trust and friendship that is like family comes naturally, where we learn how to live in a way that reflects our faith and values and where people can be welcomed whoever they are, then we need to clear all that stuff off our tables. 

And eat.

And talk. 

And laugh.

And let go. 

Because when we eat together, good things happen. 

(and just to note - my table will be cleared next week, and even before its clear, if you drop in, I'll feed you and if it has to be on the living room floor, then I'll give you my best cushion to sit on).

World Famous Market Theology

I live in Bury - I don't normally say that because Ramsbottom is one on its own - it's a unique and sparkly bohemian enclave of surprises - but it's in Bury (despite what some people might like to argue and think). 

Bury as a borough is diverse, and in Bury town centre that diversity comes together in all its sometimes bizarre, often confusing, always beautiful, glory. I rarely leave Bury having not been surprised by what I have witnessed. Last weeks visit did not disappoint, as I walked up from the car garage, leaving my car to be serviced, I had the chance to spend more time there then I normally do.... with the slightly off key x-factor wannabe on the main street and the arrival of a new building to draw attention away from the shops left empty because of the aspiration of a town that tries really hard. 

Bury is famous for a couple of things. It's famous for its Black Pudding and it's also famous for its market. World famous actually. Sitting at the back of the second nicest shopping centre out of the two in the town, it stands proud as signs point to the coach pick up point where coaches gather to wonder why this trip is taken by so many from extreme parts of the country to this market in this town where things you could buy in most other small towns just like Bury (apart from the black pudding of course) can be bought. 

As I had a bit of time of unknown length last week to shuffle around Bury I thought I'd give it a go. For the second time in six years I entered the market. I shifted myself away from the meat hall and the fish hall (I've always avoided fish halls in markets) and I wandered, taking it all in. 

And as I wandered I wondered... what is it about this market that everyone loves? It's no different to the markets I grew up with. The clothes are the same. The shops with the biggest bags of sweets you've ever seen are the same. The stalls selling random gifts and velcro slippers and trainers with one letter changed in the name... they're the same. There is a nod to changes in the world as the phone case stall shines out with its jewel backed cases and the Christmas novelty wine jumpers of 2017 have pride of place at the front of the stall.... 

But nothing has changed..... so what is then the attraction of the world famous market?  

It tells of a time that was. As the world moves on, the old school weighing and measuring, the paying in cash, the sounds and smells of the market, it reminds us of how this country used to be. It reminds us of a time when it was simpler - when there were two TV channels and it was rare to have a home phone. It reminds us of the golden age that we look through with our rose tinted glasses and elevate higher than high can be. 

Nostalgia is not a bad thing, because the past is our story, the past is what makes us, the past is how we became the people we are today. The movement in the past helps influence us in the future.

But when nostalgia leaves us in a place where the world famous market is as good as it gets....? When nostalgia becomes a bubble where we're dropped off at the entrance and picked up after a walk round, not daring to leave the world famous part just in case the bubble pops..?

As I reflected on love of the world famous market, and how it would have once been the centre of Bury life,  I thought about church, and our love for the nostalgia of church as centre of society and how that influences the way in which we do many things. If we do this, people will come.... why? Well, we're world famous. 

But we're not, we live in exile, so often only turned to for nostalgic coach trips at weddings and christenings and as visitor attractions and quickly left behind with a bag of goodies (well not even that) to sustain on the journey home. As church sits on the margins of society, then just like it will with the world famous market, it is going to take out of the box thinking and imagination to journey into the future. 

Good job we worship a God who is a God of out the box thinking. This is God who didn't defeat evil with force and strength, but with vulnerability and death. This is God who brought fire in the upper room and gave the disciples the ability to talk in other languages so that they could spread the message to the world who didn't understand the words they spoke. This is God who is world famous because he made and saved the world. 

This is God. 

This is God who calls us to listen, and to leave everything behind and follow him. 

As the market continues to be world famous and separates itself as a museum in itself, continuing to be what was and will continue to be, and as we continue to hold it up high as how things shoulda-oughta be, we need to keep reminding ourselves to stop and look around and imagine and wonder.....  

Because how things have always been cannot be how they forever continue to be.