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. 

Don't forget to Breathe.....

"You just chase your dreams, you don't even take the time to sleep. 
But don't forget to breathe. Don't forget to breathe.
And when you're down and out, just hold on, please.
Or just close your eyes and count to three
But don't forget to breathe. Don't forget to breathe"      Stormzy

There's a lot to make us angry at the moment. There's a lot to make us shout. There are polarised views and there's injustice and disappointment. 

There's a lot to make us sad at the moment. There's a lot to to make us weep. There's bad news and there are broken lives and there's so much devastation. 

There's a lot to make us anxious at the moment. There's a lot to make us worry. There's uncertainty and there are stumbling blocks and potholes. 

In the midst of it all, don't forget to breathe. 

At the end of a week with all of the stuff in it the other week, I saw an advert for Pro Plus on the tram, promising to make me feel more awake if I took Caffeine tablets. The solution was not to pause, but to make it possible to keep going. The makers of Pro Plus know that's how the world works.....

But I'd rather not, because I know that to put the things in place to make me go faster only means that the shouting, the weeping, the worrying - it'll become harder to contain, and it will overwhelm. 

I'd rather find the time to rest, the time to sleep and the time to be still and know that God is God. God puts rest at the centre of the ten commandments. 

He's big enough to hold the landscape. He's strong enough to hold the broken. He holds the stable place amongst the uncertainty. He brings peace even in the places where peace seems impossible. 

In the midst of it all, don't forget to breathe. 

You'd love to change everything now, you lose sleep because you can't see how.

But don't forget to breathe. Don't forget to breathe. 

And when you don't know where to turn, just be still, please.

Just close your eyes and rest in God.

Don't forget to breathe. Don't forget to breathe. 

Breathe in peace 

Breathe in joy

Breathe in love 

Breathe in strength

"Like a shepherd, he will care for his flock, gathering the lambs in his arms, hugging them as he carries them, leading the nursing ewes to good pasture" Isaiah 40:11 (MSG)

A musical journey….

I love music. Good music makes my heart sing. I wake up in the morning and I listen to music. Music accompanies my day. When I’m feeling stressed a loud piano play helps me to find my way. I love to sit and listen and watch live music being created. One of my most precious moments was when I had my sound portrait painted and as the musicians played it felt like everything was right with the world. Music speaks of the beauty and glory of God and inspires my faith. A song caught in the air reminds me of the time I first heard it and the story of the journey I was on at the time. 

I collect songs - the songs that have become my theme songs in certain times and places - the songs that continue to speak to me and remind me of my calling and my identity in Christ. They are the songs that have got me through, that for a while I have listened to every morning to remind me of who I am and where I’m going. They are the songs that were in the right place at the right time. 

As I prepare to leave New Addington I’ve been reflecting on some of the songs that have documented my journey through the last few years of surprising and unexpected events. A bit like the desert island discs of my journey. They are on a playlist here . I won’t write about them all but here are four….

You Say - Lauren Daigle

My brilliant friend introduced me to this song at a time I was doubting my own abilities as I was exploring moving on before I even knew New Addington existed. It sat on repeat as I travelled further south than I ever expected and on my first drive to church after I had moved to New Addington it came on the radio (a surprise as I didn’t know it had been released). It speaks about how when the voices around you are saying you are not enough, when you’re suffering from imposter syndrome, that God says you are enough. Sometimes you need to hear that. I did for a time…. It reminds me of my friend, who has been a constant companion on the journey into and through ministry and, whenever I see her, her presence just makes everything seem right. 

For a time like this - Bethel Worship Arts (feat Cidney Dobrodt)

I stumbled across this song when preparing for worship as we sank deeper into lockdown and it became my theme song for a while. I listened to it every morning and whilst I was delivering food and letters to people. It spoke to me as the frustrations of the pandemic affected everyone and everything and caused brokenness and conflict. This song kept me going through the most difficult of days.

It came on in the car the other day and revisiting it reminded me of that time, the words “you were made for a time like this” singing to me in a new way as I have come to the realisation in the last few months that my calling to NABC has been for a season, that I was called here to lead the church through covid but not in what comes next. I was called for a winter season and as new life begins to appear, I hope to hear good stories of the things that emerge. 

I think it’s going to rain today - Nina Simone

This is a beautiful song and I love to sing and play it. I first sunk into its beauty when I heard a version of it on Gilmore Girls (my go to series if life needs soothing). It is played at a particularly sad part of the story when Lorelei and Rory stop talking as Rory moves into her Grandparents pool house. 

I listened to this a lot when I got back from sabbatical and picked up work again. The weight of the work we do as a church was getting heavier and the world seemed more broken and it was affecting each one of us, yet in amongst all of that there was goodness and hope and compassion and deep deep love. It’s a song that makes me feel sad but it also soothes me. It speaks about how when things are shattered, when people are shattered, that there is something about the human heart that shines despite. That’s the light and hope of Jesus shining through. Where I see the light shine within and be reflected in the shattered and distorted view in unexpected ways, there I see the goodness of God. 

Firm Foundation - Cody Carnes

This is my current earworm. I’ve been listening to it over and over since I first sang it at ministers conference a couple of weeks ago. It tells the story of how God has kept me upright, my life motto of finding joy despite, of finding peace that nobody understands. It even tells the story of the rain and the wind that have not just been a metaphor as we have suffered from far too many leaks and cracks in the manse (don't worry it has all been or is being sorted). It reminds me that when I’ve got my feet in the right place, that thriving, whatever is going on around, is possible. A song for now, I think, then we’ll see what comes next. 

And the other songs? They tell the stories of how God continues to be good and faithful, of the people around me who have helped me stand when my legs have been wobbly and of the hope that I have that continues to remind me that the way things are are not the way they have to be...... 

The Father's Song - I played this to the online congregation in our first lockdown service; The Blessing, that blessed so many of us during the first weeks of lockdown; In this heart that expressed so much of what I was feeling during the November lockdown in 2020; Hold On, as I held on with the help of my choir we sang this in a socially distanced group of six in the park in the dark in one of those surreal moments only the pandemic can explain; I'll fight, reminding me I can be so much with the support of others; Don't forget to Breathe, a constant reminder; Beautiful Things, that I wrote about here; Oh Holy Night, the theme of a weary Christmas at the end of a bonkers couple of months; The Goodness of God, because he is, and when it comes down to it, He is the firm ground on which I stand. 

What’s your go to song of the moment? 

The Lord your God is with you,
    the Mighty Warrior who saves.
He will take great delight in you;
    in his love he will no longer rebuke you,
    but will rejoice over you with singing. 

Zephaniah 3:17

Fault in the Shadows

 "Did living under the shadow of his high achieving wife lead to unthinkable tragedy? Details emerge of the tensions behind the picture perfect lives of the Epsom College head and her husband who "killed her and their daughter before turning the gun on herself" 

This is a Daily Mail headline this morning (11th Feb 2023). The reporter is commenting on the murder of Emma Pattison, head of Epsom College and daughter, Lettie, committed by her husband, George Pattison, who then went on to kill himself. 

This story has made the headlines, unlike other stories of women who have been murdered by their partners, because of the position that Emma Pattison held at Epsom College. She was a woman with a high profile. A woman who has achieved a lot in life. A woman who was a leader and an example to others. A woman who was trying to be all she could be. 

And because of that, journalists have decided that it is time to discuss whether she brought it upon herself because of her ambition and status. I have (reluctantly) read the article and other accompanying articles, and it gets worse than the headlines. I really hate the Daily Mail, but I know so many who read it.... so sometimes, like today, I dig in a little - just to see (a little disclaimer there). 

So... how do we respond to this? What do we do with this? 

At the moment I'm fuming, to be honest, in the knowledge that I know people who are full of love who choose to read this paper with all of this stuff. I am fuming knowing that this isn't just what came to the front of this one journalist's mind, but is a rhetoric that has run throughout history and is something that runs in all spheres of life, including the church. It is a rhetoric based on power struggles nobody asked to have and it is a symptom of our fallen world, where in Genesis 3 we see the created partnership of human beings distorted, as the first people turned away from God, and power and control came into play. 

But what can we do with all of this? 

We can get angry, yes. We can call it out.... but there are other things we can do too, and one thing we can do is keep reminding women that it is not their fault....

So here's the reminder.... 

It's not about what you wear, or what you have done or what you have said. It is not about what you do for a job or your level of knowledge on the things you have studied. It is not about whether you returned that call when you couldn't or weren't answering the text when you were talking with your friends. It is not about whether you have money or are relying on the provision of others. It is not about whether you are struggling with health or caring for someone who can't. It is not about whether you remembered to pick up shopping today or had the tea cooked at exactly the right time. It is not because you walk home alone or like to go running. It is not because you disagreed or had an opinion. It is not because you pick your teeth or play your music too loud. 

It is not your fault. It's not you. 

Our God is a God of life and not death, of flourishing and not diminishing.

Our God created human beings with potential and gifting, and we glorify him when we work to thrive in the fields he has called us to.

Don't let the blame game, the power games, hold you back from being all you can be. 

It is not your fault. It's not you. 

Crumbly

I made a cake late yesterday afternoon. Cherry and Almond Cake. It's a precarious cake to make because the almonds don't hold together as well as the flour and you bake it in a bundt tin (one with a hole in the middle) so getting it out of the tin is always a fun challenge because of its grooves and nooks and crannies and inevitably a bit gets stuck to the tin. 

Yesterday about an eighth of it got stuck in the tin. It sat there taunting me unwilling to get out of its comfortable bed of warmth to begin the process of cooling. I banged the tin, but in the end had to get it out with a palette knife, which caused it to fly out and land in a pile of pieces. I'm not a great presenter of cakes, but having an eighth of the cake in pieces adds extra challenge. 

But, the thing is, whilst the cake is still warm it's still cooking a little bit, and there is a window where it can be rescued by the scientific method of holding it together. 

So I rebuilt the cake, like a drystone wall, putting together each bit in the hole that was probably made for it, but possibly not, gently pushing it together to make a whole cake again. I held it for a while, firmly but gently so as not to make it a squashed cake. I put the tin back on top for a short while to let the heat flow round and in the cracks and crevices, bringing healing to the broken sponge. It stood together, ready to be iced and I left it to cool. 

And when I came back to ice it? The cake stood firm, the evidence it had fallen apart only there in the slightly patch work section where the drywall building told the story of the disaster that wasn't meant to be. I covered it with icing to help it firm up its purpose as one cake and left it to establish its looks to displayed in our community cafe this morning. 

I've just had a piece (you have to test it) of the most broken part, and, yes, it stood strong together. 

Sometimes when you are broken, like the cake, you just need to be held for a while, and then you will become, scars and all, whole again. 

Where the promises of life are not all they are cracked up to be, where the shape you hoped to become falls apart when you try and extract yourself from the mould you hoped would keep you together, where part of you wants to stay in the warm tin, where it's all a bit crumbly.... sometimes you just need to be held. 

----------------------------------

Jesus said this:

"Come to me all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest" Matthew 11:28

Come to me all you who feel like you are falling apart and I will help you put yourself back together

Come to me all you who are feeling like you are not quite right and I'll help you find your place

Come to me all you who are scared of leaving the comfort of where you are and I will help you face what comes next

Come to me all you who are broken and I will make you whole. 

Small Hands

I have small hands. It has always been so. They're hands inherited from the small hand side of the family. Dainty, not too stubby, one of my favourite bits of me. I drew my hands a few months ago - it was a reflective exercise in noticing. They didn't come out bad really, in all their lines and strategically placed moles that have always helped me distinguish my left from my right. They may be small, but they stretch far - that's playing the piano for you - they stretch almost to an octave and two notes, and so long as I don't play too long, I can sustain that position where the shape of my hands becomes more like a line for a while. 

I have small hands. It has always been so. I can fit them inside a pringles tube and reach the crisp nectar at the bottom without having to break them as they pour out. Their smallness means I can't carry much, and so when you're sharing out sweets I inevitably miss out. I drop things - with fingers closed the surface area is not large enough to carry and with fingers open the things fall quickly through the gaps as my hands stretch wider and turn into that octave and nearly two notes reaching line. 

I have small hands. It has always been so. And with the fear inducing news my hands feel even smaller. How can I carry the weight alongside and for those who I love and serve when right now it feels heavy, and the predictions declare "it's going to get heavier still, in fact, so heavy, that nobody's hands will be able to carry it"?

We have small hands. It has always been so. But thankfully there is one who has bigger, and His hands are sitting underneath our own, so close that sometimes they are indistinguishable from our own. And His hands hold yours and catch you before you fall. His hands take the weight of the crisis that is coming and promise to help carry the load you're carrying through. His hands are big enough to both stretch beyond the octave and to hold everything you carry easily, and everything that makes you say 'no more'. 

We cannot know for sure how the next wallop in the cost of living crisis will hit us, and some will wonder if they can take anymore. It's not just going to disappear even if we try and bury our heads in the sand.... this we do know, though, his hands -  they're big enough to hold it all. Examine them, see your name written on them, and see how He holds yours.... and then see how you might be the one to hold your hands in the same way under another's as they also face what is ahead. 

"So do not fear, for I am with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand" - Isaiah 41:10

Finding the Perfect Blend (the final week of Neighbours)

It's a sad week this week. Not only is it the last week of my sabbatical, but it's the end of 37 years of Neighbours. A soap that is almost as old as me, it's been part of my life since I was smaller and has been a key part of my routine in ministry (for someone who works better in the morning but is not a morning person, 1.45pm is a good time for lunch).

Neighbours has everything you need in a soap - lots of different types of people, humour and tragedy, characters who could be your neighbours or your friends, a slight surrealism that reminds you occasionally that it is not actually real life (Bouncer's Dream is as surreal as some of mine) and an intricate weaving of storylines that would make you, on one hand, wonder if you want to ever live on Ramsay Street but on the other hand, be drawn in and buy one of the houses now for sale. 

The Neighbours theme music was one of the first things I remember enjoying playing on my recorder at school. It's simplicity lends itself to an infant playing a recorder, and you can't go that wrong. It tells a perfect and simple story of how if you can get the right group of neighbours together, the right blend of neighbours, the right blend of people in your community, then you might become friends. That theme tune has brought itself to life in the last few weeks as old cast members have returned and they have told their story of their best bits of Ramsay Street. 

The stories are of laughter and joy, of the characters that they lived alongside, of those that they miss and of those with whom relationships have broken. They tell the stories of coming to a peaceful place even though they have gone through difficult times, and how Ramsay Street will always be their home, not because of the location, but because of the people who are there. Alongside this, life continues, and brokenness still happens, people still change, people still argue, and the painful past bites when memories arise. Their lives are intertwined, in their now stories, in their past stories and in stories of connections they didn't know they had. The one thing that keeps them together is their collective story, even though they may have only been part of that story for a short while, their story matters. The perfect blend in the theme song is not about it all being pretty, but about the people who make up the story, it's a blend being changed and renewed time and time again. 

Neighbours tells the story of a community searching for and finding home. It's a story of how we need each other, that life cannot be lived in isolation, however much easier that might seem. Alone time is lovely, but we need togetherness to become fully alive. 

I'm reading a book at the moment called Seven Sacred Spaces. The author, George Lings, identifies the elements of Christian communities, which, with the right blend enable 'a richer expression of discipleship, mission and community'. One of these spaces is 'Cloister' - basically the corridors and the spaces of the monastery where nothing specific is usually planned to happen, but community encounters naturally occur. It's in these places that a lot of the relationship building and conversation happens. These are the joining places - the bits where dots are joined together and we can begin to make sense of the world. Giving time to make sure that encounter can happen in the cloister - that the community can just hang out together is key to making the community healthy.

I think that's what makes Neighbours what it is - it's not a series of rushing from one thing to another with the camera swinging between organised events (although they happen and are important) - it's a story full of encounters in the cloister spaces - Harold's Cafe, The Waterhole, the archway outside of Karl and Susan's, the strange little room in Toadie's house, at doorways and on walkways, by the swimming pool..... Those moments are significant in making the theme tune's perfect blend. If you bump into someone and stop to talk, even if only for a few seconds, you remind them that they matter, that they belong, and that they are welcome here..... and when someone feels at home, they let their barriers down and begin to grow. In Neighbours maybe feeling at home happens quickly, not just because it's a fictional soap, but because the joining places are there, and in those joining places they learn to become the perfect blend. 

If we put spaces in place for chance encounters and semi-planned bumping into one another, it helps us learn to be community better and more beautifully. Lings ends the chapter on Cloister with this: 

"Cloister has a socially challenging function. I suggest it speeds up the formation of honest community. Love, humility, generosity of spirit, good listening and mutual learning, reconciliation across genuine differences - wow, that would be a church community I'd be privileged to join! Cloister puts right in your face the need to grow in all these virtues and to fight the particular temptations to grumbling, bad-mouthing, sheer hatred, judgementalism and pride that can occur when we are with others"

Ramsay Street is not the perfect place to be, and neither are the places, the churches, the worshipping communities, in which we find home and space to grow in Jesus.... but, life amongst others, searching for Christ's blend in amongst the challenges of interacting with other human beings - it's a better, more fulfilling and more fruitful place to be than trying to walk the journey alone.