In the Silence

We've all been there. Waiting. 

And waiting some more. 

There is no response, or the excruciating hold music seems to go on forever as you shift through the queue slower than snails pace, or your ask for an answer is responded to with an excuse that is pathetic and unwanted but difficult to argue with. 

Waiting looking into a void where the answer is so far away it is not even a dot. 

Prayer can be a bit like that. 

I've been chewing over the story of the persistent widow in Luke 18 for a few days now, unable to climb over the 'but what if you pray and there is no response?' question. The 'what if God is silent?' question. Is he there or has he gone on holiday? Has he forgotten me? 

It's one of the questions I find most difficult to answer and when we wait for  answers that are a long time in coming the silence does echo round the void. I've walked with others through this question many times - I've sat with them and wept with them in the silence... and its a tough place to be.

It's a question that many of us have wrestled with on our own behalf and on behalf of others and where the answer never seems enough, and instead we rely on the incomprehensible feeling of peace that God does bring in the most difficult of storms. Peace that passes all understanding. 

When God says wait.... and when he doesn't even say wait and is silent.... what can we do? 

The parable of the persistent widow tells us to persevere because God is good and right and just. 

Well that's true, but that might also be one of those answers that is a bit annoying, especially when the waiting is tiring you out and the silence is painful. 

What does persevering in prayer look and sound like when the whisper of an answer isn't there? 

It is remembering that we live in a broken and fallen world, and it is in this world that we pray for God's Kingdom to come. We recognise that suffering is a part of life, but we still pray for God's Kingdom to come. If we live with hope and expectation that at some point the suffering will end, then we can put on the shield of faith and look forward to the day that it will - it is our responsibility to cry out to God to change things as we point to signs of his kingdom coming. It is an opportunity to look ahead with hope to different. 

It is remembering that we are not in this on our own. When we get tired of it all, we turn to others to help us hold up our arms. We turn to God and say help me persevere. Jesus intercedes for us (Hebrews 7:25). The Holy Spirit prays for us in 'groans that words cannot express' (Romans 8:26). 

It is sometimes learning to live with what is and what has been as we best we can, and asking God to hold it and us, knowing that he understands the pain and frustration we may have to endure and that he is the bringer of peace that passes all understanding in the midst of the storm. Persevering alongside someone is trying to act a bit more like this in it all - not always asking them if the prayer has worked yet, but sitting with them and lamenting that it's all a bit rubbish really, and praying together to find peace as well as answers.

Perhaps perseverance is simply knowing that God will eventually speak, and will eventually act, and will eventually change things, but that right now the picture is more complicated than a simple answer, and so choosing to find comfort in the knowledge that where we sit and pray and question in the silence, God is there - in companiable silence - the kind of silence that makes us feel safe, that makes us feel loved, and helps us to know that there is light - even in the darkest places. 

The Word became flesh and moved into the neighbourhood.... and promised never to leave us or forsake us. 

A What in the Waiting

The big news of the week is that the Elizabeth Line (my local train) now has mobile signal all the way along its length even in the tunnels. The only place it drops out is as we go through the only stretch of the line (apart from the end) on my way home when we temporarily gasp for air at Custom House, where the train emerges from the ground. Strangely, Custom House was the only place where there was signal and I'd get people to text me so I knew they were coming and were only a few minutes away. The trains are deathly quiet right now as people bow their heads to their phones (including me) apart from those people who believe everyone else should hear their phone calls so to help their companions on the train only use loud speaker (don't get me started). 

no - this isn't the Elizabeth Line

I'm a great believer in using a mobile phone while you are waiting. A great distraction from the world around. I now don't need to take a book on the train (although that probably means that I won't read as much). I walked down the platform the other day and everyone but two or three people had heads bowed, thumbs scrolling and a look of bemused concentration on their face. As I walked down the platform I did wonder what made those two or three people choose not to go with the phone flow? They looked like the kind of people who had phones (it's rare not to have one). Following their example I stared vacantly into the distance as I waited eight minutes (can you believe it - eight minutes in London?) for a train. Without that distraction my mind had a chance to wander and notice things. It was quite nice really.

What do you do as you wait? 

I love the story of Zacchaeus - because he's short (I am a bit short...) and he's at the back of the crowd (I like to be at the back or side - means an easy escape), but mainly because it's a great story of how Jesus changes lives. 

If you read the story of Zacchaeus in Luke 19 you will see that there is quite a lot of interest going on. Zacchaeus is clearly waiting for something to happen - he's expecting to see Jesus, and he's expecting to find out something more about him. He wants to see Jesus and actively makes it possible from his short man position at the edge of the crowd. Today we might try and observe Jesus by looking through the mobile held up in front of us videoing the proceedings, but Zacchaeus didn't have that opportunity, so he climbed a tree instead. He saw him, and in doing that, Jesus noticed him. 

What are you doing as you wait? 

Advent waiting has an expectancy about it - there will be something to see at some point soon - something good. Zacchaeus makes sure he has the best view possible and it pays off with far much more happening than he very likely expected (I hope his house was tidy and he had food in). 

In our waiting, the story of Zacchaeus reminds us that actively waiting is a good idea. Zacchaeus could have waited at home and hoped for a knock on his door - but he didn't - he went to a place where he knew he would be able to see Jesus, ready for whatever happened next (maybe he had tidied his house and got food in.... just in case). 

Active waiting gives us a chance to be ready for whatever comes our way. It means we notice the things that are right in front of us - the opportunities that fall in our path, and we can choose to respond in whatever way feel is fit. If we wait passively with our eyes focussed on nothing but our next destination, we might miss whatever it is that wants to present itself to us, and that thing, it might be the answer or the open door we didn't know we had been waiting for, or, perhaps, we'd even given up on. 

"Here I am! I [Jesus] stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me."  Revelation 3:20

   

No more of this

'When Jesus' followers saw what was going to happen, they said, "Lord, should we strike with our swords?" And one of them struck the servant of the high priest, cutting off his right ear. 

But Jesus answered, "No more of this!" And he touched the man's ear and healed him.'

Luke 22:51

Four powerful words. No more of this. Jesus intervenes before an action turns into a fight. When Jesus is arrested, despite his innocence, he doesn't fight it, and he intervenes when his friends try and fight for him, interrupting a cycle of violence driven by the nature of those around him to pursue what they believe is right. 

When we see those we love get hurt - when we see those we love treated unjustly - the obvious response is to fight on their behalf. We fight in the way we know how. The disciples have just been told to take up their swords because something is coming, and now their use of the sword is stopped. 

None of it makes sense.  

There are many things in the world that might make us cry out 'no more of this!'. 'I can take no more'. 'Stop'. From the personal things when life appears to keep throwing stones - perhaps the first one didn't hurt, but the series of one thing after another is beginning to - through a spectrum of disappointment and frustration - to the big things - the atrocities we see on the news. 

So many times in the situations where we cry out 'no more of this' we feel helpless because there seems to be nothing we can do to change the way things are and how things are becoming. 

But Jesus' "no more of this" is a declaration of another way. He breaks the seemingly never ending cycle, not by being the most powerful and forceful in human ways, but by declaring a new and different way. His way heals the ear of the one who is arresting him for a crime he didn't commit. 

I don't have the answers in all the places and situations where we are crying out "no more of this", but I'm thankful that Jesus not only understands and feels the suffering that is endured, but that he points to a way that is different, a way that is healing and a way that declares restoration. A way where the ways he says no to, will one day be no more.  

I try to be a person of "no more of this", who calls out injustice when I see it and who sides with those who are broken, but I don't do it well. Perhaps one of the challenges of the advent pause is to revisit the declaration of "no more of this" and to seek out a more Jesus way to declare it.

A light began to glimmer in the darkness - the darkness could not put it out. 

The Word became flesh and moved into the neighbourhood.....and declared "No more of this". 

An Expectant Pause

During Advent I am reading backwards through Luke and so yesterday I started with the resurrection. It is a strange way to journey - starting from the glory of resurrection, ending with the beginning, but I am hoping that I might gain new insight into the story of Jesus' life, a story that I have read over and over, yet  continues to speak to me in new ways. Yesterday it was even stranger to read of resurrection and then preach of conception, and perhaps this strangeness in journey contributed to me eating pudding before main as I snuggled up on my sofa under the lights of the Christmas tree to a cheesy Christmas film (the proper way to end the first Sunday of Advent). 

The last four verses of Luke are full of promise. They are full of pause. They are an insight into a moment before the what next. They give a prequel of Luke's next book (Acts) and give a hint of what is to come, but they don't go further than an earth to heaven pause in the proceedings of the story of the people of God as Jesus is taken up into heaven. An expectant pause that is full of joy and praise because the promise of the next has become certain. It's a very advent end to the Gospel.

The season of advent for me is a reminder that waiting so often is inevitable. In a year where I have been learning to praise in the unknowing of a seemingly never-ending pause that has been longer than I expected it to be, advent waiting feels a bit different this year. 

The season of advent has always been for me a reminder that in the inevitable waiting there is expectation -  a glimmer, a thrill of hope, however weary the world feels right now. And that glimmer, it is there at the end of Luke, and I wonder if for the disciples, this made the praise in the waiting come more naturally. 

Yesterday there was a moment at the end of the service when I saw the face of a woman light up with twinkly joy. I had given the members of the congregation a tiny little ball and had instructed them to wait before they discovered what that ball was. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted the woman who was so excited to find out what it was she removed the piece of white plastic from inside it before I told her to, and as the ball started to light up and twinkle, the joy spread along the row as the unexpected was discovered. On talking to the woman afterwards I found out that that little tiny twinkly light was a sign for her of what was to come after a difficult season. Her delight in God's goodness was infectious, and helped me to remember that even in the longest of pauses, there is always a hope ahead and a cause to praise.

In the little tiny twinkling lights of advent, in the frustration of the pause that is far longer than you anticipated, may you discover hope where you never expected hope to be.   

 "I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high." Luke 24:48

Dropping the Mentos

I remember when I first saw someone drop mentos into a bottle of coke. It was in a field, far enough away from the Boys Brigade bell tents to not cause a sticky mess on the (despite having tent inspection a few hours ago) chaos inside. As the mentos dropped, the bubbles got rather enthusiastic and the bottle jumped, bounced, exploded as those watching sprang back and watched. 

What was really happening was that as the mentos dropped, the bubbles weren't just dancing from the sidelines, they had attached themselves to the tiny pits all over the surface of the mint. The bubbles want to attach themselves, but there is a fight between the mint (which is heavy and wants to sink to the bottom) and the bubbles, and as the bubbles push upwards, the mentos sink, pushing the soda up and out of the bottle with a blast (or something like that).

Our insides can feel a bit like a bottle of fizzy. We have so much going on - so many active bubbles dancing around - the whirlwind of emotions trying to balance the complexities of life. It's OK when we're stood still, but movement can leave us precarious for a while. If someone unscrewed our lid, we don't know what we would do. 

And then someone drops in the mentos. 

The mentos come in different forms - the facebook post that clicks our button, the email at the wrong moment, the voice from the past back to haunt us, triggering the memories that brought us to now. The one thing too many in a world that feels unstable right now, the news that hits us where it hurts. 

And then we explode - we become the person we said we would never be and as we see the effect we can't stop the ferocious fountain, and the sticky mess reaches the already chaotic place we find ourselves in. 

There is too much right now for many of us that could be our own mentos and we need to be careful about the positions we find ourselves in. There are far too many places we could be the mentos for others and we need to be gracious in our thinking about where we let go. 

I've been thinking a lot about Philippians 4 lately as I've been trying to avoid being part of the mentos drop. It's hard to reflect on the goodness sometimes when something has made you angry, and I got really quite annoyed with a friend who told me to do this recently, because I wanted to rant..... but when the ranting is over, the fizziness subsides, and in the stillness, the reflection is easier - and reflecting on the goodness becomes more of who we are. It doesn't mean the problem necessarily goes away, but it helps us to hold it differently. 

"I'd say you'll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious - the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned from me, what you heard and saw and realised. Do that, and God, who makes everything work together, will work you into his most excellent harmonies"           Philippians 4:8-9 (MSG) 

May the fizziness inside you find a place where the bubbles can rest. 

On Walking Alone part 3.....

At a conference for Women Leaders, I was chairing a question panel and a question I asked got thrown back in my direction like a boomerang, and as often happens when unexpected things are thrown at me, I bumbled my way through the answer with a bit of waffle. The question was something about what things need to be put in place to thrive as a single woman in ministry. I've chewed a bit on this question ever since. As I've mentioned before in this blog, I am a very settled single. My singleness is often more of a problem (or status of intrigue) for others than it is for me. As I have changed jobs, the question of marital status and family life has been raised again, and the big question of where I find support has been brought up in many a conversation. 

Whilst my answer to the question at the conference ended up with 'I model myself on Miranda really', I think that there is a better answer than that, and during the last week as I have spent a lot of time with family and led the wedding celebration service for my nephew - the first of the generation below me to get married - I've been reflecting on this. 

Everybody is different. I'm an introvert for a start, which means I am very happy with my own company, and that helps. I don't need to be with other people to fill my sink up - although sometimes I do. But, there are things I have intentionally put in place (and other things I have just been blessed with), which might help answer the question. 

I have the amazing blessing of a good and close family who understand ministry. I know that if I need to talk to someone who gets it and gets me, then I have that support on the end of the phone. My family lives too far away for my liking, and it is no secret that before I settled in South London I asked God to move me to the Midlands so I could be closer to more of my family. He chose not to, but because of that, I've made sure that I put some flexibility into my diary so that I can see my family if I need to..... and I have learnt that I shouldn't feel guilty about that. I am at my best when I make time to spend time with those who know me best and love me unconditionally. 

I have a network of friends who I've built up over the years who don't need me to be their minister - those who give as much and more than they get. I have friends who check up on me, who remember the significant moments in my diary and who pray for me regularly. Most of them live far away, but we manage - and I'm a good base for going into London so, although I don't always get chance to travel, my house is a convenient hotel for guests who are happy to mow my grass (although it's not compulsory). 

Since being in ministry I have chosen to opt in to local Baptist family support networks. Nobody gets Baptist ministry like a Baptist minister. I have been blessed with honest, gracious and wise cluster groups and local colleagues who have walked with me through some of the most difficult bits of the journey and celebrated with me through the good stuff. Never underestimate the support of those around. 

And finally, I make sure I have distractions from ministry, even if it means relying on myself to provide the fun! I walk to think things through, stomping out my frustrations, finding stillness and talking it out with God. I have learnt the art of eating alone without feeling odd and I love a spontaneous solo theatre or concert trip. You don't need other people to be free to do these things. I have joined a choir, because I know a good sing always makes the world better. The choir demands nothing of me, but gives me community. And if in doubt, there are always boxsets. 

I can't say that it is always easy, and I get it wrong sometimes, and days off can be just me being a terrible grump (stay away!). I need two hours to wind down after an evening meeting, and that can be a lonely place. But, I'm aware that we all struggle and I don't have to have everything sorted. 

One thing that I was taught at college was that if something drains your sink, always put something in place to fill it up - so I always try to follow up a difficult visit or conversation with something good - whether that's meeting someone who always makes me feel better, or going to that place where God feels close and the beauty of creation sings good things into my soul. I try not to stay empty for too long and I've learned to recognise the signs. I'm a chronic overthinker and regularly have anxiety nightmares, and I'm trying out new things to help with that. Not always successful, but I'm trying. My most recent mantra is "you've said it, you can't change it now, leave it behind". When you are on your own, you learn to self soothe instead of having another person do that for you, and that does take a lot of effort sometimes, but it's worth it. 

At the end and the beginning of all of this, I come back to the fact that God called me as me - and that includes my relationship status. I don't need to have what anyone else has or be who anyone else thinks I should be, because God knew who I was and who I will become before he called me by name. I have confidence in God, and that is what matters. If I can keep coming back to that, I think - I know - all will be well. And that, when everything else has fallen away, is what keeps me being all that he has made me to be. For that, I am eternally thankful.

"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

 

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.