How can I be sure?

When I was a maths teacher, the response when I told people what I did was far too often 'I was never very good at maths'. Turns out they were probably not so bad, but the whole thing with maths at school is there is often a right or a wrong answer and we don't like being wrong - so when we get wrong we think we're a bit rubbish. Actually getting things wrong in maths helps us to learn how to get it right next time. It's OK to get it wrong as long as we learn from that. 

I love how sure you can be in the answer in maths. You can go back and check it, and double check it again, but you know that that number or equation you get at the end is sure to be right. There aren't many questions in life that you get such a sure answer to. 

Being a Baptist minister raises different things. The pupils in my year 9 class the year I left had a number of questions which included 'how can you give up all this money' and 'you baptise adults, do you baptise them naked?'. 

I don't often get such strange questions these days, but I do get asked 'how did you know that that was the right thing to do'. Because God led me here is the answer. 

How can I be sure of that? 

It's difficult isn't it, sometimes, to try and work out how we can be sure of where God is calling us or whether something is what God is saying in response to us. It's often a case of pushing doors and seeing which ones open wide, or trying things out and working your way through. Listening and following the call of God is not always like a maths question where you can go back to the beginning to check if you got the right answer. 

Or do we overthink it too much?

Often, as we look back, we can see how through our life circumstances, through what we have seen happen in our lives, through the relationships we've built and through the things that have been said how we can be sure, and in looking back we can be more convinced about where we are stepping in the future. 

I keep an intermittent journal and it is when I look back at what I have written and what has happened or been said to me that I see how I got to where I am and where I should go next. There is surety in the consequences of my decision making. There is surety in what happens next. There is surety in what I feel God is saying and the signs that are laid out in front of me. I've found surety in rainbows and robins, in random strangers and in things I've seen as I've been out and about. The answer is sure, because on the journey the jigsaw pieces have come together, and they could only come together in that way because of God. Whenever I question whether I'm in the right place right now doing the right thing God will say, hang on a minute - take a look at this - be sure, it all makes sense even if it doesn't seem to when you overthink it..... 

How can I be sure? 

Because God. 

In the story of Zechariah and Elizabeth, Zechariah asks this same question - 'How can I be sure?' - it doesn't make sense - they're old - Elizabeth is too old to have a baby. The Angel Gabriel says.... well..... because God. 

As Zechariah overthinks the idea of pregnancy at their age, the angel makes the answer simple..... because God. 

And that's the thing with faith..... faith is about stepping out into the unknown but with surety that it is the right thing, otherwise you wouldn't step out. It's about not overthinking the strangeness of stepping out into a strange place, but just doing it, knowing that God will hold you fast. Surety is not as far away as we might think.

In a world of uncertainty, to be sure (apart from in maths and other similar things) is a bit strange, but this story reminds us that we can find surety...... 

Because God.

In the unsureness of whatever you're struggling with right now, maybe, like Zechariah, the time might have come to stop with the overthinking, and look up to God and say 'what next? Show me how to be sure'. 

'Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”' Luke 1:18

He's Coming (no, I'm not talking about Santa)

 

Last night, after a spontaneous decision to just go for it after craving live orchestral music, I went to see the BBC Symphony Orchestra and Chorus 'Christmas Tales'. The performance included Saint Nicolas by Benjamin Britten, which tells the story of the Saint, who did a number of miracles in his life. One of the stories told in the piece is when he brought back to life three boys who had been cut up and pickled in brine by a butcher whose name wasn't (but probably should have been) Sweeney Todd.

Anyway..... 

The first part of the music that really made me smile was the depiction of his birth. The chorus, telling the story, sang, 

"Nicolas was born in answer to prayer, and leaping from his mother's womb he cried:"

Then a boys voice sang out from the back of the hall "To God be glorified". 

The words then go on to tell the story of Nicolas growing up and how he spoke (sang) of the glory of God wherever he went. That voice from the back of the hall punctuating every bit of the story with glory to God. At the end of the birth section the chorus cries out "Nicolas will be a saint". He rescues sailors caught up in a storm, is made Bishop by the people and the story continues, most famous for his generosity to the poor which many believe began the legend of Santa Claus. 

In the story of St Nicholas, in all the mix up of myth and truth (no one actually knows much about him that is an undisputed fact - he was born, he was Bishop of Myra), we see something of a man who was trying to live a life that did glorify God. In the stories of change, of standing his ground, of helping and caring for those who were in need or had fallen, we see a man whose life pointed and spoke of what he believed, which, naturally points to the one we are waiting for at Advent. The Santa Claus thing - whilst now it distracts us (no, Santa is not a character in the nativity), comes from a place of trying to be Christ's light in the world. 

At the beginning of the Biblical story of Christ's life we find a man who we wouldn't be surprised if when he was born he immediately sang out "To God be glorified". John the Baptist. An answer to the prayers of Elizabeth and Zechariah, conceived far later in their lives than a baby might normally be conceived, created with one task to do, which was to declare that God will be glorified - Jesus is coming. 

As the story of Elizabeth and Zechariah switches from despair to hope, we find our Advent focus moving from waiting and watching to waiting and declaring..... first in a quiet voice, a small voice from the balcony, but the volume will be increased as the story goes on. 

"To God be glorified....." 

He's coming..... (and no, I'm not talking about Santa). Get ready. 

"And he will go on before the Lord..... to make a people prepared for the Lord" Luke 1:17 

Sitting in the Waiting Room

Remember last Advent? It began with so much promise. On Christmas day we'd all be able to get together and celebrate Christmas - I can't even remember what the rules were, but singing (outside) had come back for carol services and the promise of rules being slightly relaxed over Christmas was there. The beginning of December had a sense of anticipation, the rules were different all over the country and we had to have a contingency plan depending on which tier we sat in...... 

But then..... the descent began in earnest..... particularly in London where we fell (or case rates rose) so hard that a new tier was invented to mark the descent. Food orders were cancelled, the surplus we collected for food parcels grew larger and the bedding in began. I was told to 'get out while you can' so I could spend time with my family bubble (a privilege, a blessing, a saving grace as I drove past signs that said 'go home, turn back, all is doomed' on the motorway). The current fear over the omicron variant brings all of that back..... the cancelling of parties and the worry about going out. It's just a bit ominous. 

When all that is hoped for is taken away, the disappointment digs deep. 

For some, though, this reality of disappointment at Christmas is not new. The season of Advent becomes an increasing reminder of what they haven't got, rather than what is coming. The build up towards a celebration that our culture focusses on abundance in family life when family life is lacking, it's bitter sweet, painful, frustrating. 

I love Christmas, the build up, the time with family and friends, the celebration of the birth of the Messiah. I go a bit crazy at times with it all. But in amongst all of that, the reminders that I am on my own and getting older are still there. Ministry is often a lonely vocation, but I've learnt to deal with the lack of a work Christmas do where I can just let go (the pandemic's party pooper attitude is not a problem to me). I still get excited on Christmas morning and wake up far too early even though I am by myself. But.... I also feel lonely at times. I don't have someone to take me out on a Christmas night out and as my years ticked past 40, the promise of my own family to walk through advent with has just about slipped away. But I'm alright, I can manage all of that, I'm mostly content, things are OK for me. 

But I know that there are others who find all of it incredibly hard. Christmas is the loneliest time, a time when brokenness is felt most acutely, when family breakdown is difficult to navigate, when loss is marked by the sad empty chair at the table. In the build up to a celebration that focusses on the birth of a baby, the pain of involuntary childlessness can be hard to bear. 

In the midst of the story of the incarnation, we find a couple who know that pain. Elizabeth and Zechariah, who I would love to know better and understand their story more, have wanted one thing their entire life, but have not been able to have it. Their marriage is one tinged with sadness because the child they desired didn't come. And although the Biblical story does change all of that, let us pause for a moment in their grief.... because this is where some of us are. 

Perhaps in amongst the waiting of advent is not only a call to look ahead to what is coming, but a call to hear and see the frustrations of now. For some waiting is more like being stuck in Holy Saturday, that time between Jesus' death and resurrection where all was silent and dark. There are many for whom living life is learning to find fullness despite..... and navigating the waiting room is working out how that is possible for them. 

So in our waiting, let us be aware that there are people close by who have been waiting forever, the promise of the light at the end of the tunnel has been dragged further and further away, or the route has been changed to one they didn't expect to take. Let us sit with them where they are, be with them as they work out the way out of the waiting room, let us pray for new hope.

 "And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshippers were praying outside"  Luke 1:10

Image from flickr

Advent Promise

I won't do that again, I promise. 

It will be better next time, I promise to try harder.

You'll get through this, I promise to be walk with you as you do. 

I promise to stand by you. 

I promise. 

“Sometimes people don’t understand the promises they’re making when they make them. But you keep the promise anyway. That’s what love is. Love is keeping the promise anyway.” John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

Advent is a season of promise. The promise of there being a peanut butter cup behind every door of my advent calendar. The promise of having time and space to see family and friends. The promise of some time off. The promise of a day of celebration. The promise of more and better. 

This morning I woke up far too early (don't even ask) and I was reflecting on how much I want to be with my family during the run up to Christmas. I'd love to live a bit closer to my family but I am always reminded that as I followed God's call into ministry, I promised that I would serve and honour Him as best as I can, and that in the move to the far south He promised that if I was prepared to be planted where He called me to, that He would make all things well. 

But, one of the frustrations during Advent 2021 is that things are really not well right now are they? In that move, although I knew the path in front, I did not know the path ahead. Who could have predicted that within less than a year of moving I would be leading a church through a pandemic? (and in exactly three years after accepting the call (that's today I think) we'd still be navigating this weird road). We're still waiting..... 

The story of the incarnation is one of love amongst pain, amongst suffering, amongst waiting for it all to be made well. During Advent we look to Jesus' birth knowing that when he grew up he suffered the most gruesome death. Advent points to the Kingdom of God coming, but we're still living amongst the frustrations of waiting for that to be fully realised. We're still waiting.....

For those awaiting the Messiah in the Biblical story, in their frustration in the waiting, in the trials and tribulations of a life full of conflict and uncertainty, they held onto that promise of God made in love which, later was expressed so deeply and widely on the cross. 

As we await the coming King, we hold onto that promise that all will be made right - it's not a promise that is made by someone who can just as easily break it as make it, but the promise of God, which is everything we need it to be, and far far more. 

"The days are coming", declares the Lord, "when I will fulfil the good promise I made....." Jeremiah 33:14a

On Waiting

Advent has crept upon us in our waiting for all this to end, in our disappointment that things are looking precarious again, in our hopes for a Christmas less weird than last year - the build up less of a downhill slope to lockdown. When this all began, the thought of it all lasting to one Christmas, never mind two, was far beyond our comprehension, yet here we are, once again, watching the news for signs of what will come next. 

The waiting has been far too long. 

It's like advent has never gone away. Advent means coming. Better ahead is coming. Better is on its way. Better is almost in sight. Better is perhaps, continually, just beyond our grasp.  

Advent is a time of preparation, a time of anticipation, a time of hopefulness. 

But, it seems like the end of this long advent keeps being moved. 

How do we find hope when the light at the end of the pandemic tunnel keeps dimming? 

Hope is right here. 

There is hope in the fact that the light is there, that there is a promised end to all of this, and it will one day come, even if it seems further away right now.

There is hope in the advances that are being made in treating and understanding the virus, anticipating and watching its next move, scientists continue to work to find a way through.

There is hope in the fact that pandemics have ended before, and the viruses have become less dangerous than they were. 

There is hope in the way that so many of us are looking out for one another as we test and step cautiously, as we keep an eye out for our neighbours and family and friends and as we continue to remember what we learnt about community in the first waves of a virus that we don't understand.

And there is hope, because whilst advent is about waiting, THE advent that we wait within has a light at the end where all sickness will be no more..... because advent is not just a count down to Christmas, but is a count up to when Jesus comes again, and all this that we worry about, all the pain and suffering we fear, it will end, and the future ahead will be glorious. 

In the meanwhile, as we wait, let us not just sit in the dark, but anticipate the light ahead by bringing some of that light wherever we are. In love and in healing, in patient waiting and hope, in caring for one another and sharing what we have. The way things are are not the way things have to be forever.... or even the way things have to be right now. 

"The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness; the darkness couldn't put it out" John 1:5 (MSG)

(image from rawpixel.com)

The Unknown

 

"If you could see 

the journey whole,

you might never

undertake it,

might never dare

the first step

that propels you

from the place 

you have known

toward the place

you know not"

From "Those who have far to travel" by Jan Richardson

I've had this poem on my wall since I first heard it when I gathered with other ministers - the first time I'd met most of them in person and not on zoom - a few months ago. On that day, as we were retreating together, the weight of leading a church through the pandemic and all the effects of that on me, my relationships and my own sense of identity began to feel like something I couldn't carry for much longer. The burden was too heavy, and I knew, if I didn't do something, I would break. 

As we read this poem I didn't get past this first verse. When I first moved to the far south, I moved with a sense of unknowing, uncertainty, but sure that this was where I was meant to be. I had had music played over me that spoke of me going, not only on a journey south, but on a journey myself, and this poem reminded me of that. 

I reflected on that day when I first met this poem, that if I could have known the things that lay ahead when I first answered God's call, I may have never made the journey, but in the blurriness of it all, the ahead was enough - the mystery propelled me forward and brought me to a place where everything was unknown. 

And sometimes, the unknown is where you should be. 

In remembering that, it reminded me that in all my efforts to find certainty, to take control, to keep a handle of things in the pandemic chaos, I'd been trying to hang on too tightly to something that was too difficult to hang onto. The pandemic storm and all its after effects have not been something we have been ever able to get a handle on. Our mantra of 'one day at a time' or even 'one hour at a time' has always said that, but our actions have not necessarily said the same thing. 

Last night as I was waiting for yet another zoom, I looked up to my right and there was this poem and I remembered that maybe the unknown of the last 18 months, the journey I've been on, the things that have almost broken me, is part of the journey that God has called me on in moving south. 

It's taught me that I can't stay in control, however hard I try. It's taught me to listen to the voices around me who say that I am doing well. It's taught me to know and value the gifts God has given to me and my capability and strength that only come from Him. It's taught me that despite the chaos around, God is still doing good things, that lives are still being changed and there are things to celebrate. 

It's taught me that when I bring something to God in prayer I can lay it down at His feet and there it can stay. Let go and let God, and sit at His feet. 

When we are at our lowest, when things hurt more than we can possibly dream, when our head is racing and we're not sure how we can grasp something that is running away, perhaps resting in the unknown is where we should be. We don't need to know every waypoint on the journey we are called to, we need to know that the one who is guiding us is sure of the way. 

"The Lord is the one who is going ahead of you. He will be with you. He won’t abandon you or leave you. So don’t be afraid or terrified" Deuteronomy 31:8

Instructions not included

I've had a bag of Lego on my desk for a while. I don't know where it came from, but I think I found it lying around and claimed it. 

Yesterday I decided to open it and make what was inside. The picture on the outside of the bag promised much, but inside there were no instructions. Maybe that's normal for these kinds of bags of Lego, or maybe that's why it had been discarded, or donated, or whatever happened with it. 

Being a resourceful person, I decided that I could probably make it using the picture as a guide. I started with the bits I could see most clearly on the picture, which, with a bit of manoeuvring, rotating and inspecting the picture closely were quite easy. It was beginning to look like a train. 

It was the next bit that was hard. I couldn't really see what was going on underneath and there were a few irritating bits where I had to get up close and personal with the picture and try and work out if it was two pieces or one, but in the end the outcome didn't look bad and resembled the picture quite nicely.

But then I put the train down on the table and it tilted. The front wheels far too small and the back far too big - misaligned and not quite stable with two spare pieces that I have no idea where they go. 

I eventually figured out that to make it stable it probably needed a track - some kind of rails to give it some direction and stability, showing it the way to go. 

Whilst I was building the train I reflected on how the mystery of how it fitted together is a bit like trying to lead a church - particularly trying to lead a church right now. The picture of what we think it might look like is there, but how the pieces fit together is a bit of a mystery. The pieces aren't necessarily the pieces we expect, and don't fit together in a logical order sometimes.... yet something is being built. 

Where the pandemic scattered our pieces and the instruction book that went with them, as we come back together the pieces aren't necessarily fitting together easily. Key pieces are missing because people have moved away or disappeared or are still nervous about stepping out into the world. What we are trying to piece back together is not quite the same as the picture that we might imagine is on the outside of the bag and when the pieces seem to be put into place, the end product, it leans..... and there are some bits that don't seem to have found a place at all. 

When I looked back at that picture I noticed that it wasn't because the wheels were wrong, but because the wheels had no track to sit on. Perhaps if the wheels had a track to sit on, then the train would feel stable and the pieces that were struggling to find a place right now could be carried without falling out. 

As we cling on to the picture we hope will emerge, beneath our feet has got to be a track to hold us steady, and what might seem to be a track made of Christian cheese, those rails that hold us steady - they are the rails that Jesus laid when he said, come follow me. 

As we seek to put the pieces back together, we've got to remember that however finished the final model is, without rails, it will just be wonky and functioning will very likely be a challenge because a wonky train without tracks is not going to get very far under its own steam.....

"Everybody says they want to be free. Take the train off the tracks and it's free - but it can't go anywhere" - Zig Ziglar 

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your [tracks] straight" Proverbs 3:5-6