In one of the conversations at the conference, we were reflecting on the different forms of communication used today - especially on blogging, facebook and twitter. Reflecting led us to recognise what it probably already pretty obvious to most cultural observers, that much of this is less communicating as we have been accustomed to think about it, and more to do with "broadcasting" - that is, people put whatever it is that they want to say out there, and don't worry too much about responses. It is not about one to one or one to small group conversation, with interaction. It is about saying your stuff, and letting the rest of the world deal with it as they wish.
For those of us of a certain generation, it feels odd. There is clearly the danger that it gets entirely self-centred; if nobody reacts, and I look for no reaction, then there is no challenge to what I say, how I see the world, and in effect I am all that there is.
But - thinking about this has drawn me back to the parable of the sower. The one where Jesus says the man goes out to sow and broadcasts the seed. That is actually the word used. Some falls on stony ground, some on thorny ground, some of thin soil and some on rich soil, and bears a harvest that is overwhelming.
In what ways might some of the new forms of communication link us to this picture of gossiping gospel, of living out the Kingdom; broadcasting without worrying too much about what the result is.
Not sure about this - but, if there is anybody out there, I'm old-fashioned enough to want to know what others think.....
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
Let the whole world praise God's name
I have just returned from a trip to a conference - much fun, and lots to think about. We came from all parts of the world, and a variety of cultures; Indian, Burmese, UK and US, Australia, Canada and Aboriginal. On two occasions we sang the old hymn "In Christ there is no east nor west, in him no south or north, but one great fellowship of love throughout the whole wide earth". Very fitting and sung with much gusto. But after one of our sings, one of the conference attenders (conferees?) asked whether in fact it was an affirmation we wanted to make. Reflecting, as we were at least part of the time, on the damage that we can do by refusing to acknowledge the reality and legitimate presence of "the other", and our insistence that others should become like us. We talked around it for a while, and came, as with many of the other questions during the week, to a variety of responses.
But it has started me thinking about worship at Bloomsbury. We are delighted by the fact that we come from a variety of countries and cultures. However - we can in no way say that our worship reflects our variety. We may occasionally (OK - it hasn't happened yet, but come along this Sunday evening....) say the Lord's prayer in different ways, and we have been known to use hymns from different cultures on very rare occasions. But our ways of worship could never be described as anything other than European. We are not unusual in this of course. The arguments about worship style often focus on music, but even among the different categories for which people argue, the styles and types are still predominantly Anglo-American - and white Anglo-American at that.
Is this true of who we are? We recognise about 20 different nationalities among us regularly. By no means all Anglo-American. Certainly not only European. How can we reflect our cultural diversity in our worship? Do we want to? How might we do it and retain authenticity, avoiding "tokenism"? Are there ways - both musically and in other parts of worship, where we might find more resources to enrich our worshipping? I would love to hear what people think about this. If you worship regularly at Bloomsbury, let me know about forms of worship from other cultures that you know about, please. If you worship elsewhere, and have worked at multi-cultural worship, it would be wonderful to hear about what you have learned.
But it has started me thinking about worship at Bloomsbury. We are delighted by the fact that we come from a variety of countries and cultures. However - we can in no way say that our worship reflects our variety. We may occasionally (OK - it hasn't happened yet, but come along this Sunday evening....) say the Lord's prayer in different ways, and we have been known to use hymns from different cultures on very rare occasions. But our ways of worship could never be described as anything other than European. We are not unusual in this of course. The arguments about worship style often focus on music, but even among the different categories for which people argue, the styles and types are still predominantly Anglo-American - and white Anglo-American at that.
Is this true of who we are? We recognise about 20 different nationalities among us regularly. By no means all Anglo-American. Certainly not only European. How can we reflect our cultural diversity in our worship? Do we want to? How might we do it and retain authenticity, avoiding "tokenism"? Are there ways - both musically and in other parts of worship, where we might find more resources to enrich our worshipping? I would love to hear what people think about this. If you worship regularly at Bloomsbury, let me know about forms of worship from other cultures that you know about, please. If you worship elsewhere, and have worked at multi-cultural worship, it would be wonderful to hear about what you have learned.
Wednesday, 8 July 2009
deep water
We had a baptismal service last week. Always a wonderful experience - the more, the merrier, and I long for the next one. There's lots to say about it, but one thing is tickling my mind most. We had a concert the day before, so while the pool was open and filled, we had lots of people in. And, for health and safety reasons, we surrounded the pool with signs saying "Danger - deep water"
Surely the best description of baptism; to get into this is to get into deep water. To be baptised is to be out our depth. To make those vows, to receive this blessing, to respond to this call - is to get into deep water, to go beyond where we feel in control, to have to take our feet off the bottom and trust.
Sometimes the way we talk about baptism makes it sound like the end of journey. But surely it is the beginning. It is about hearing God's "yes" to us as part of the people of God, and saying our own yes to the life of discipleship. It is about hearing Jesus say "follow me", and committing ourselves to going wherever that will lead. It is about dying and being raised to a new life, a life we cannot pre-determine, and about which we have already said "it is yours".
Deep water indeed!
Surely the best description of baptism; to get into this is to get into deep water. To be baptised is to be out our depth. To make those vows, to receive this blessing, to respond to this call - is to get into deep water, to go beyond where we feel in control, to have to take our feet off the bottom and trust.
Sometimes the way we talk about baptism makes it sound like the end of journey. But surely it is the beginning. It is about hearing God's "yes" to us as part of the people of God, and saying our own yes to the life of discipleship. It is about hearing Jesus say "follow me", and committing ourselves to going wherever that will lead. It is about dying and being raised to a new life, a life we cannot pre-determine, and about which we have already said "it is yours".
Deep water indeed!
Tuesday, 23 June 2009
In the middle of all the stuff I am supposed to be doing this week, I have just spent a scary amount of time trying to work out how to twitter! Not a new form of worship song (though....) but the current social networking website of choice. I was prompted to investigate it when a friend of a generation above mine (originally a friend of my father!) contacted me to say he would like to "follow" me on Twitter. It is a means of keeping up to date which uses a web-page. Those who "twitter" put up a sentence describing "what you are doing now". And those who are interested "follow" - they are kept up to date by being able to read what is posted.
I think I've got it working - though whether I will ever have anything interesting to put on it remains to be seen. and now I am trying to work out if this has been a great waste of time, if this is just one more example of the current conviction that the whole world centres on me, and so everybody needs to know everything about me - or at least, everything I choose to tell them - or whether I can find any way of thknking about this Christianly.
I start from the position that relaitonships are good, indeed, are fundamental. We are not called to be individual believers, but to be the community of the people of God. And practices that support relationships, indeed, enable relationships, are to be valued.
But is this about relationships? It is interesting to know what my friends are doing, but is it relationship? Or might it become an excuse not to phone, meet, have face to face conversations.
I suppose it might. But I have also found that the other site I am part of, Facebook, has actually sustained relationship with those who have moved away, renewed relationship with those from whom I had become estranged, and enabled a development of relationship with some whom I knew only slightly. There is a Bloomsbury Facebook page - keeping people whop are at a distance in touch with what is going on. We are thinking we might develop Twitter in the same way.
Of course it can be self-centred and isolationist. Of course it can be a nonsense, or even worse (I've already had to block several "followers" whose invitations were definitely not the sort I want to take up!) But face to face relationships are not automatically and by virtue of being face to face good, life giving and healthy. Relationships,at the heart of our calling, are also at the heart of our struggle to be disciples. We don't relate well automatically - not face to face or on the screen. We need to learn the patterns and practices that will make it work. We need to take the risks, trust and explore, learn to forgive and be forgiven.
Maybe the skills I am needing to learn to use Facebook and to tweet (which I think is the verb - though I could be wrong; please tell me if I am) will serve to remind me that I am always needing to pay attention to the connections I have with people, and whether they are working, or whether I am - as this blog has just told me - performing an illegal action.
I believe that this is what church is about. It is not the church's role to change the world. It is the church's role to form people who will change the world, live out the Kingdom. When we are together - physically, over the phone or email, on networking sites or through a blog, we are experimenting and discovering what it is to be the people God has made us. And then we live that out in ways that change the world we live in.
And now, I am off to have a cup of hot chocolate and catch up with a friend, face to face.
I think I've got it working - though whether I will ever have anything interesting to put on it remains to be seen. and now I am trying to work out if this has been a great waste of time, if this is just one more example of the current conviction that the whole world centres on me, and so everybody needs to know everything about me - or at least, everything I choose to tell them - or whether I can find any way of thknking about this Christianly.
I start from the position that relaitonships are good, indeed, are fundamental. We are not called to be individual believers, but to be the community of the people of God. And practices that support relationships, indeed, enable relationships, are to be valued.
But is this about relationships? It is interesting to know what my friends are doing, but is it relationship? Or might it become an excuse not to phone, meet, have face to face conversations.
I suppose it might. But I have also found that the other site I am part of, Facebook, has actually sustained relationship with those who have moved away, renewed relationship with those from whom I had become estranged, and enabled a development of relationship with some whom I knew only slightly. There is a Bloomsbury Facebook page - keeping people whop are at a distance in touch with what is going on. We are thinking we might develop Twitter in the same way.
Of course it can be self-centred and isolationist. Of course it can be a nonsense, or even worse (I've already had to block several "followers" whose invitations were definitely not the sort I want to take up!) But face to face relationships are not automatically and by virtue of being face to face good, life giving and healthy. Relationships,at the heart of our calling, are also at the heart of our struggle to be disciples. We don't relate well automatically - not face to face or on the screen. We need to learn the patterns and practices that will make it work. We need to take the risks, trust and explore, learn to forgive and be forgiven.
Maybe the skills I am needing to learn to use Facebook and to tweet (which I think is the verb - though I could be wrong; please tell me if I am) will serve to remind me that I am always needing to pay attention to the connections I have with people, and whether they are working, or whether I am - as this blog has just told me - performing an illegal action.
I believe that this is what church is about. It is not the church's role to change the world. It is the church's role to form people who will change the world, live out the Kingdom. When we are together - physically, over the phone or email, on networking sites or through a blog, we are experimenting and discovering what it is to be the people God has made us. And then we live that out in ways that change the world we live in.
And now, I am off to have a cup of hot chocolate and catch up with a friend, face to face.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
happy birthday!
Last weekend we celebrated our anniversary - 160 years. Church anniversary is a significant moment for reflecting on who we are and what we are about, and this year, we invited Bob Mills, the City Centre Chaplain from Bristol to speak with us about what it means to be a church in the middle of a context where people come to work. In the same week, various openings have appeared to engage with institutions around us, with invitations to offer a chaplaincy ministry. Chaplaincy has been described as “loitering with intent”; being around, waiting to see what happens, responding rather than directing, meeting rather than organising. It’s one of those forms of ministry that sounds wonderful in theory and fits with much of the sense we have of our identity as a church; openness, responsiveness, hospitality and service.
But it is worth reflecting that although it can look very laid back, it is intensely demanding – demanding both in its variety of encounter, and the uncertainty of what will happen in any encounter – but also in its out-of-controlness. Chaplaincy is about going out from our building – and all that that symbolises – and meeting people on their home, or at least work or leisure ground. We do something very special in keeping our building open, and inviting people in. It offers a service, a space and a wonderful welcome. And it is the place where we stay in control. To go into other people’s territory is to let go of that control. If we are going to take this seriously – and I hope we will – it will ask a lot of us. It asks the church to let the members of the ministry team be out and about, rather than present in the building as much as we are at the moment. It asks people who are involved to give up time and go and meet people. It asks us as a church to take seriously what it means to enter space where we are not the ones who take the decisions, or the ones who can decide how and when things happen.
It is about incarnation. In coming to us in Jesus, God gives up control. God offers God’s own self into the space of the world, and the experience of being controlled as much as being controlled. There were those who, in the time of Jesus resented that; the sense that God was no longer under the control of the religious professionals, or, perhaps better, those who were committed to the institution of religion, and who welcomed in, rather than going out – who assumed that God did the same.
The incarnation is God’s refusal of that model. God’s presence to the world is not inviting us into the sacred safe space, but coming into the world to create in all of it the sacred space where meeting the centre of Life can happen. And it is without boundaries, such that God in Jesus gives God’s own self over completely enough to be executed.
I hope we will have the confidence to explore what it will mean to go out as well as to invite people in. I hope we will be able to take the risks – and so deal with the failures – that will happen, without blaming and without giving up. I hope that we can live with the changes that will happen if this is the path we take.
More than hoping it, this is what I pray for.
But it is worth reflecting that although it can look very laid back, it is intensely demanding – demanding both in its variety of encounter, and the uncertainty of what will happen in any encounter – but also in its out-of-controlness. Chaplaincy is about going out from our building – and all that that symbolises – and meeting people on their home, or at least work or leisure ground. We do something very special in keeping our building open, and inviting people in. It offers a service, a space and a wonderful welcome. And it is the place where we stay in control. To go into other people’s territory is to let go of that control. If we are going to take this seriously – and I hope we will – it will ask a lot of us. It asks the church to let the members of the ministry team be out and about, rather than present in the building as much as we are at the moment. It asks people who are involved to give up time and go and meet people. It asks us as a church to take seriously what it means to enter space where we are not the ones who take the decisions, or the ones who can decide how and when things happen.
It is about incarnation. In coming to us in Jesus, God gives up control. God offers God’s own self into the space of the world, and the experience of being controlled as much as being controlled. There were those who, in the time of Jesus resented that; the sense that God was no longer under the control of the religious professionals, or, perhaps better, those who were committed to the institution of religion, and who welcomed in, rather than going out – who assumed that God did the same.
The incarnation is God’s refusal of that model. God’s presence to the world is not inviting us into the sacred safe space, but coming into the world to create in all of it the sacred space where meeting the centre of Life can happen. And it is without boundaries, such that God in Jesus gives God’s own self over completely enough to be executed.
I hope we will have the confidence to explore what it will mean to go out as well as to invite people in. I hope we will be able to take the risks – and so deal with the failures – that will happen, without blaming and without giving up. I hope that we can live with the changes that will happen if this is the path we take.
More than hoping it, this is what I pray for.
Tuesday, 2 June 2009
a home from home
I seem to have done a lot of travelling recently - meaning I have missed two Sundays at church (well, almost; I made it in time for the special evening service last week, when we featured the organ).
This week's trip has been to the International Baptist Theological Seminary in Prague, an institution which was celebrating 60 years of life. The seminary was started, in Ruschlikon in Switzerland after the 1939-45 war by Baptists from the USA as part of the commitment to reconstruction, and as a place where Baptists from across Europe could meet, study and build friendships. The seminary was passed over to European ownership and control in the mid-90s, and in the late 90s moved to Prague.
Although the style of teaching has changed over the years (the seminary does not do undergraduate work - less needed now as more and more countries, especially in the Eastern part of Europe now have their own seminaries; instead IBTS concentrates on Masters level and Doctoral level work, and also runs an introductory certificate in theology with English) the basic aim remains the same. People from communities who would not otherwise meet are brought together in a place of worship, study and eating together. Friendships that endure are made in such circumstances, and minds opened to other ways of thinking, experiencing and reflecting - to say nothing of other ways of praying, singing and preparing food! If you would like to know more about the seminary, check the website at http://www.ibts.eu
This is a place that matters, I believe. Sitting at morning prayers and hearing a Palestinian church leader lead prayers together with two young Israeli women matters. Hearing a young man from Croatia pray with and for a young man from Serbia at the time when the civil war was raging matters. Watching people who have felt alienated from their churches discover that there is the possibility of a wider theology than they had realised, that there is a place for them with their questions and searching matters. And it is this kind of context that IBTS offers.
At the moment, the seminary faces uncertainty about its future - the credit crunch has hit us very hard. For more details, see this week's Baptist Times http://www.baptisttimes.co.uk/home.htm
But there will be ways to carry on, we trust - our prayer is that we find the right way, and continue to offer and explore the particular gift that the community brings to the felowship of European Baptists.
I realised I feel at home in the international, and open and questioning identity of IBTS because it is also the identity I believe we explore here at Bloomsbury. Bringing together people who might otherwise never meet - from different countries, and also from different parts of the community of London, as we open our doors and welcome in whoever chooses to come. And questioning - yes, we do that. We certainly don't find easy answers to the issues that face us, but we do attempt to address them - climate change, trade justice, homelessness, and living as gospel people in the context of all of these.
We are approaching our own anniversary soon. I expect we will celebrte it with the same delight and thankfulness as I experienced this past weekend in Prague. Come and join us.
This week's trip has been to the International Baptist Theological Seminary in Prague, an institution which was celebrating 60 years of life. The seminary was started, in Ruschlikon in Switzerland after the 1939-45 war by Baptists from the USA as part of the commitment to reconstruction, and as a place where Baptists from across Europe could meet, study and build friendships. The seminary was passed over to European ownership and control in the mid-90s, and in the late 90s moved to Prague.
Although the style of teaching has changed over the years (the seminary does not do undergraduate work - less needed now as more and more countries, especially in the Eastern part of Europe now have their own seminaries; instead IBTS concentrates on Masters level and Doctoral level work, and also runs an introductory certificate in theology with English) the basic aim remains the same. People from communities who would not otherwise meet are brought together in a place of worship, study and eating together. Friendships that endure are made in such circumstances, and minds opened to other ways of thinking, experiencing and reflecting - to say nothing of other ways of praying, singing and preparing food! If you would like to know more about the seminary, check the website at http://www.ibts.eu
This is a place that matters, I believe. Sitting at morning prayers and hearing a Palestinian church leader lead prayers together with two young Israeli women matters. Hearing a young man from Croatia pray with and for a young man from Serbia at the time when the civil war was raging matters. Watching people who have felt alienated from their churches discover that there is the possibility of a wider theology than they had realised, that there is a place for them with their questions and searching matters. And it is this kind of context that IBTS offers.
At the moment, the seminary faces uncertainty about its future - the credit crunch has hit us very hard. For more details, see this week's Baptist Times http://www.baptisttimes.co.uk/home.htm
But there will be ways to carry on, we trust - our prayer is that we find the right way, and continue to offer and explore the particular gift that the community brings to the felowship of European Baptists.
I realised I feel at home in the international, and open and questioning identity of IBTS because it is also the identity I believe we explore here at Bloomsbury. Bringing together people who might otherwise never meet - from different countries, and also from different parts of the community of London, as we open our doors and welcome in whoever chooses to come. And questioning - yes, we do that. We certainly don't find easy answers to the issues that face us, but we do attempt to address them - climate change, trade justice, homelessness, and living as gospel people in the context of all of these.
We are approaching our own anniversary soon. I expect we will celebrte it with the same delight and thankfulness as I experienced this past weekend in Prague. Come and join us.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
perambulations
On Sunday this week, we did a lot of walking. Fourteen folk, mainly our youngsters were involved in the Circle the City walk for Christian Aid; they visited lots of City churches, met people, heard music, and raised significant money through sponsorship. (And if you sponsored and haven't paid, please pay soon - and if you didn't sponsor, donations are acceptable even so!)
Others of us who felt less energetic took part in the Holborn Churches Perambulation; we walked to the three churches in this area, ourselves,
St Georges Bloomsbury (http://www.stgeorgesbloomsbury.org.uk/)
and St Anselm's and St Cecilia's (www.rcdow.org.uk/lincolnsinnfields)
We had the chance to go into each building, and hear something about the life of the congregations and the areas. We had the chance to have conversations as we walked as well, and get to know each other better.
There is something about walking together which is not only fun, but is scriptural; we have several stories in the gospel of Jesus walking with his disicples, including the wonderful story of the walk to Emmaus. We have the account of Paul's travels, including the road to Damascus. And all of those stories are deeply rooted in the overarching story of the journey of the people of God, exemplified in the story of the journey through the desert to the Promised Land.
So, what are we doing when we walk?
We noticed several things about in our various walks on Sunday. We needed to walk at a speed which included everybody - which wasn't easy, as some walk fast and some slow, and so we needed to vary our speed, stop and wait, allow others to go on without worrying, and trust we would all meet eventually. We had to take into account the environment we went through - there was traffic, and traffic lights, there were other people going in other directions, there were the hazards of scaffolding, there was the rain and the dust. Our walking was not in isolation, but in the world we are part of, and we interacted with it as we went - and talked about it! We talked as we walked; the shifting and reshaping of the various groups brought us into contact with a variety of people, and the journey itself gave a place for the conversation to start from - very helpful for the shy among us. As we talked, we discovered something about each other, and began to tell stories.
What else might walking together teach us? Do let me know.
Others of us who felt less energetic took part in the Holborn Churches Perambulation; we walked to the three churches in this area, ourselves,
St Georges Bloomsbury (http://www.stgeorgesbloomsbury.org.uk/)
and St Anselm's and St Cecilia's (www.rcdow.org.uk/lincolnsinnfields)
We had the chance to go into each building, and hear something about the life of the congregations and the areas. We had the chance to have conversations as we walked as well, and get to know each other better.
There is something about walking together which is not only fun, but is scriptural; we have several stories in the gospel of Jesus walking with his disicples, including the wonderful story of the walk to Emmaus. We have the account of Paul's travels, including the road to Damascus. And all of those stories are deeply rooted in the overarching story of the journey of the people of God, exemplified in the story of the journey through the desert to the Promised Land.
So, what are we doing when we walk?
We noticed several things about in our various walks on Sunday. We needed to walk at a speed which included everybody - which wasn't easy, as some walk fast and some slow, and so we needed to vary our speed, stop and wait, allow others to go on without worrying, and trust we would all meet eventually. We had to take into account the environment we went through - there was traffic, and traffic lights, there were other people going in other directions, there were the hazards of scaffolding, there was the rain and the dust. Our walking was not in isolation, but in the world we are part of, and we interacted with it as we went - and talked about it! We talked as we walked; the shifting and reshaping of the various groups brought us into contact with a variety of people, and the journey itself gave a place for the conversation to start from - very helpful for the shy among us. As we talked, we discovered something about each other, and began to tell stories.
What else might walking together teach us? Do let me know.
Saturday, 9 May 2009
on giving things away
Today (Saturday) we have been on the doorstep giving away biscuits, chocolate and balloons! Today is International Fair Trade Day, and this has been our way of marking it. We have had cups of coffee and more biscuits in the foyer, (without cost) together with an extensive Fair Trade stall, and a DVD running to give more information on the whole Fair Trade movement.
The impetus towards doing this came from a recent deacons' meeting when we were reflecting on the last Winter Fair, which we did in the foyer rather than the Friendship Centre downstairs. We had stalls on the fronts steps, balloons and ways for people to see what was going on. We thought that, as an experiment in making ourselves visible, this had been a good experience. That had led us to think what was it we wanted to make visible, what did we want to people to see about us?And Fair Trade seemed a good place to start.
It has been a good event. We haven't been mobbed - but there have been people coming in, more accepting what we were handing out and - thanks to the ingenuity of one of the deacons setting up a table and a couple of chairs on the pavement - people stopping to talk and find out something about fair trade, and incidentally about us.
It seems the right way round. Rather than pushing ourselves as an institution, we have been focussing on the Kingdom we pray for every week, and the ways in which it is taking shape around and through us. The church existing for the sake of those who are not it - as good a definition of our raison d'etre as we can find; we are here, not to bring people in just so that we can be bigger, better and feel more secure, but in order that the Kingdom is embodied, the gospel gossiped and people given the opportunity to see something more than the bricks and mortar that make up the world around us.
Some observations;
The impetus towards doing this came from a recent deacons' meeting when we were reflecting on the last Winter Fair, which we did in the foyer rather than the Friendship Centre downstairs. We had stalls on the fronts steps, balloons and ways for people to see what was going on. We thought that, as an experiment in making ourselves visible, this had been a good experience. That had led us to think what was it we wanted to make visible, what did we want to people to see about us?And Fair Trade seemed a good place to start.
It has been a good event. We haven't been mobbed - but there have been people coming in, more accepting what we were handing out and - thanks to the ingenuity of one of the deacons setting up a table and a couple of chairs on the pavement - people stopping to talk and find out something about fair trade, and incidentally about us.
It seems the right way round. Rather than pushing ourselves as an institution, we have been focussing on the Kingdom we pray for every week, and the ways in which it is taking shape around and through us. The church existing for the sake of those who are not it - as good a definition of our raison d'etre as we can find; we are here, not to bring people in just so that we can be bigger, better and feel more secure, but in order that the Kingdom is embodied, the gospel gossiped and people given the opportunity to see something more than the bricks and mortar that make up the world around us.
Some observations;
- people are wary of something being given away for nothing
- children like balloons
- eye contact is difficult
- actually coming across the doorstep is hard
- the church is visible not when the building is open, but when there are people milling around
- we surprise people when we don't want anything in return
- doing something together builds our sense of community
We hope we might find more opportunities to do this kind of thing; if we can have the building open like this on a regular, even if not frequent basis, our presence - and more significantly, the presence and coming of the Kingdom will become more visible. Any ideas about what we might do?
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
What with a church meeting last Sunday afternoon, and the annual Assembly of the Baptist Union of Great Britain this weekend, I am getting quite a lot of experience in the practice of what it means to be Baptist -together discerning the mind of Christ.
The doing of business, whether in the church meeting considering spending money on audio-visual equipment, hearing news of members or making decisions about the future ministry, or in Assembly, hearing news of the wider family in the country and overseas, voting on who will be our auditors or agreeing together on matters of public political interest, one of the distinctive features of being Baptist is on view; the conviction that when we gather, Christ is among us, and as we discuss, debate and sometimes argue, what we are trying to do is listen for the word of Christ, so that we may respond and obey.
We don't always manage of course. Sometimes, we get into power struggles, or get so bored with the minutiae that we opt out, or sometimes we feel all the power is elsewhere and all that such meetings are about is rubber-stamping other people's decisions.
But at our best, we find creative possibilities, hear words we would not otherwise hear and discover ways forward that we would not have thought of.
To do it - and more importantly, to do it well, - requires effort, commitment and trust. It requires us to turn up, and to take part, it requires us to pay attention to the issues and to get involved in the discussing, and to prepare through reflection and prayer before we get there, and it requires us to trust - to trust our own capacity to listen to the Spirit, to trust each other enough so that we do not always need to be right or get our own way, and to trust God to keep the promises we depend on.
One of the things I love about Bloomsbury is its capacity to take church meeting seriously. There is a good tradition - in the best sense of the word - of "how we do things". There may be disagreements, and there may be arguments. But there are not fights. There is a clear recognition that we have to go on living together somehow, even when we disagree, and so we have developed ways of disagreeing well.
But we also have the problems that go along with that - and that are often part of a large meeting. We spend a lot of time listening to reports and accounts of what has happened. We hear suggestions, but have no time or space to discuss them. We receive invitations, but can't respnd to them there and then.
My dream is of a church meeting which will do the "business" that needs to be done well and efficiently, but which will also have time for discussion without needing to take a decision, but which allows the chance to explore and consider. I would love to see a meeting which has time and confidence to stop and pray and wait and wonder. I long to see a meeting which will raise and consider matters that affect us deeply - political national and personal, around our discipleship and what it means to live Christianly today in all our variety of contexts, and do that considering in a way that does not judge, that allows for uncertainty and difference.
All that, and finish within two hours at the most!
Well, I can dream..... and in the meantime, I am preparing to go to Assembly and to see if what we struggle to achieve on a local level has any more or less chance of existing at a national one.
The doing of business, whether in the church meeting considering spending money on audio-visual equipment, hearing news of members or making decisions about the future ministry, or in Assembly, hearing news of the wider family in the country and overseas, voting on who will be our auditors or agreeing together on matters of public political interest, one of the distinctive features of being Baptist is on view; the conviction that when we gather, Christ is among us, and as we discuss, debate and sometimes argue, what we are trying to do is listen for the word of Christ, so that we may respond and obey.
We don't always manage of course. Sometimes, we get into power struggles, or get so bored with the minutiae that we opt out, or sometimes we feel all the power is elsewhere and all that such meetings are about is rubber-stamping other people's decisions.
But at our best, we find creative possibilities, hear words we would not otherwise hear and discover ways forward that we would not have thought of.
To do it - and more importantly, to do it well, - requires effort, commitment and trust. It requires us to turn up, and to take part, it requires us to pay attention to the issues and to get involved in the discussing, and to prepare through reflection and prayer before we get there, and it requires us to trust - to trust our own capacity to listen to the Spirit, to trust each other enough so that we do not always need to be right or get our own way, and to trust God to keep the promises we depend on.
One of the things I love about Bloomsbury is its capacity to take church meeting seriously. There is a good tradition - in the best sense of the word - of "how we do things". There may be disagreements, and there may be arguments. But there are not fights. There is a clear recognition that we have to go on living together somehow, even when we disagree, and so we have developed ways of disagreeing well.
But we also have the problems that go along with that - and that are often part of a large meeting. We spend a lot of time listening to reports and accounts of what has happened. We hear suggestions, but have no time or space to discuss them. We receive invitations, but can't respnd to them there and then.
My dream is of a church meeting which will do the "business" that needs to be done well and efficiently, but which will also have time for discussion without needing to take a decision, but which allows the chance to explore and consider. I would love to see a meeting which has time and confidence to stop and pray and wait and wonder. I long to see a meeting which will raise and consider matters that affect us deeply - political national and personal, around our discipleship and what it means to live Christianly today in all our variety of contexts, and do that considering in a way that does not judge, that allows for uncertainty and difference.
All that, and finish within two hours at the most!
Well, I can dream..... and in the meantime, I am preparing to go to Assembly and to see if what we struggle to achieve on a local level has any more or less chance of existing at a national one.
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Having just watched the BBC series, Band of Brothers, for the second time, an entirely new range of questions emerges. The series follows the exploits of Easy Company, of the US 101st airborne division, through their exploits in the final year of the second world war. The horror of the series was no shock, having already seen it and having heard and read of it many times over. More disturbing on my second journey through the ten episodes, was the experience of companionship described by members of this company. Survivors of this Company, and their children, were still meeting regularly when the series was filmed several years ago.
In other words, the horrors shared by these people during the course of twelve months, has kept them together for over half a century! Why is that? Sure, it hardly reflects every veteran’s experience of war.
Sure, close community exists between people who have not undergone these horrors together. But is there something about the quality of human company flourishing most fully when hardship and suffering are experienced so deeply? Of course, not all suffering leads to such an experience of fellowship. But the disturbing question it left for me is the extent to which a depth of human fellowship is dependent upon mutual suffering – or ‘compassion’ if we dare to use that word. I’m not trying to make some masochistic virtue out of suffering. Still less would I want people to describe the trivial disappointments of comfortable western living as ‘suffering.’
It’s just a question. In a world obsessed with security, of warding off suffering and hardship and pain, have we made genuine human fellowship impossible. Has our obsession with security (military or financial or relational), dehumanised us?
Simon (uploaded by Ruth)
In other words, the horrors shared by these people during the course of twelve months, has kept them together for over half a century! Why is that? Sure, it hardly reflects every veteran’s experience of war.
Sure, close community exists between people who have not undergone these horrors together. But is there something about the quality of human company flourishing most fully when hardship and suffering are experienced so deeply? Of course, not all suffering leads to such an experience of fellowship. But the disturbing question it left for me is the extent to which a depth of human fellowship is dependent upon mutual suffering – or ‘compassion’ if we dare to use that word. I’m not trying to make some masochistic virtue out of suffering. Still less would I want people to describe the trivial disappointments of comfortable western living as ‘suffering.’
It’s just a question. In a world obsessed with security, of warding off suffering and hardship and pain, have we made genuine human fellowship impossible. Has our obsession with security (military or financial or relational), dehumanised us?
Simon (uploaded by Ruth)
Thursday, 9 April 2009
Lending God a hand, giving God a hand
"Don’t help God across the road, like a little old lady." Those words from U2’s latest album leapt out at me this morning.
It’s Easter. We’re supposed to be celebrating God’s utter power, expressed in love and experienced in the most down-to-earth way. God breaking through our stabilities, our securities, our certainties.
God is worshipped as the one who brings new life.
But I do still wonder how seriously God’s power is really taken, by churches as much as anyone else. Whether our church wants to be engaged in political struggles, or in strategies of church growth, the temptation can be simply to look at Jesus as someone who sets us a good example. And the resurrection just goes to prove that the story has a happy ending.
So we throw our energies into saving the world, and perhaps recruit God, or seek his advice, or ask him to wave a cosmic wand and grant our worthiest of desires. But really, deep down, we know it’s all up to us, all down to our effort. God’s part in daily life, no matter how much noise we make about it, can be pretty small. We do something great for him, and who knows, perhaps he’ll be grateful.
But the God revealed in Easter is too scary for many of us to celebrate. This is a God who pulls the rug from under our feat, who questions our deepest desires, our worthiest ambitions, even our most Christian hopes. This is a God who shows us that he is not bound by the apparent little victories or defeats that can bring joy or frustration. The resurrection of his Son shatters our stabilities, our securities, our assumptions. There is no new life without this shattering. No resurrection without this cross.
And a God who brings such radical, beautiful and disruption into our daily life? Who wants to celebrate that kind of God, honestly? How likely are we to be Sadducees in Christian clothes – too comfortable to take resurrection seriously, keeping God at a safe distance from daily life?
When we hear this week the words, "Christ is risen", who will have the guts to claim from the depths of their being, "he is risen indeed"?
Simon Perry (uploaded by Ruth)
It’s Easter. We’re supposed to be celebrating God’s utter power, expressed in love and experienced in the most down-to-earth way. God breaking through our stabilities, our securities, our certainties.
God is worshipped as the one who brings new life.
But I do still wonder how seriously God’s power is really taken, by churches as much as anyone else. Whether our church wants to be engaged in political struggles, or in strategies of church growth, the temptation can be simply to look at Jesus as someone who sets us a good example. And the resurrection just goes to prove that the story has a happy ending.
So we throw our energies into saving the world, and perhaps recruit God, or seek his advice, or ask him to wave a cosmic wand and grant our worthiest of desires. But really, deep down, we know it’s all up to us, all down to our effort. God’s part in daily life, no matter how much noise we make about it, can be pretty small. We do something great for him, and who knows, perhaps he’ll be grateful.
But the God revealed in Easter is too scary for many of us to celebrate. This is a God who pulls the rug from under our feat, who questions our deepest desires, our worthiest ambitions, even our most Christian hopes. This is a God who shows us that he is not bound by the apparent little victories or defeats that can bring joy or frustration. The resurrection of his Son shatters our stabilities, our securities, our assumptions. There is no new life without this shattering. No resurrection without this cross.
And a God who brings such radical, beautiful and disruption into our daily life? Who wants to celebrate that kind of God, honestly? How likely are we to be Sadducees in Christian clothes – too comfortable to take resurrection seriously, keeping God at a safe distance from daily life?
When we hear this week the words, "Christ is risen", who will have the guts to claim from the depths of their being, "he is risen indeed"?
Simon Perry (uploaded by Ruth)
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Our speaker at last week's Tuesday lunch was Nick Holtam, vicar of St Martin's in the Fields. He told us about the work at the church, andthe ways in which the story of the church drew on and refelcted the story of their patron saint, St Martin. And during his talk, he looked over and asked "Do Baptist church have patron saints"
Of course, on the whole, the answer is no, not officially, and not usually referred to in our name. We tend to be called after our street or district.
But his question has started me wondering. If we were to have a patron saint, who would it be?
Nick demonstrated how the story of St Martin, a soldier, who was later baptised and worked for peace, a man who gavehalf his cloak to a beggar, somebody who practised hospitality had shaped the practices and indentity of a church which looked after soldiers travelling through London during the wars, while praying for conscientious objectors at a time when most people denounced them, and then developed the welcoming work into their fantastic work among the homeless of central London.
Whose story is reflected in our life - and whose story would we like to be part of? So far, I have come up with Martin Luther King Jr, largely because of his visit here; Deitrich Bonhoeffer, whose theology has been so important for many of us; Hildegard of Bingen, a German nun who wrote wonderful music, and was convinced that God's care for creation was part of the glory of loving God; Dirk Willems, an Anabaptist who saved his guard when the guard was faced with drowning.
But the choosing of a patron saint is surely a communal activity. What suggestions do you have? Please let me know.
Of course, on the whole, the answer is no, not officially, and not usually referred to in our name. We tend to be called after our street or district.
But his question has started me wondering. If we were to have a patron saint, who would it be?
Nick demonstrated how the story of St Martin, a soldier, who was later baptised and worked for peace, a man who gavehalf his cloak to a beggar, somebody who practised hospitality had shaped the practices and indentity of a church which looked after soldiers travelling through London during the wars, while praying for conscientious objectors at a time when most people denounced them, and then developed the welcoming work into their fantastic work among the homeless of central London.
Whose story is reflected in our life - and whose story would we like to be part of? So far, I have come up with Martin Luther King Jr, largely because of his visit here; Deitrich Bonhoeffer, whose theology has been so important for many of us; Hildegard of Bingen, a German nun who wrote wonderful music, and was convinced that God's care for creation was part of the glory of loving God; Dirk Willems, an Anabaptist who saved his guard when the guard was faced with drowning.
But the choosing of a patron saint is surely a communal activity. What suggestions do you have? Please let me know.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
At the weekend, the BBC Website published an article on the call among some atheists for a service of de-baptism; a way of officially renouncing promises and an identity "imposed" on children through infant baptism. A certificate has been produced that people are able to display, and, although, as a spokesman for the Church of England has pointed out, there is no way of unrecording the historic fact that the service has taken place, there is a suggestion that a note can be inserted in the baptismal record to record an individual's wish to renounce what their baptism.
While feeling a proper Baptist response is probably, "well, this is one of the reasons why we are not committed to a practice of infant baptism - it has a place as a freely chosen response, not something done on behalf of another, either by parent or by church" - I am not yet sure that this is to say enough.
For the most telling point in the response that the church spokesman has offered is that what has actually happened cannot be made to unhappen.
We are feeling this particularly in this church at the moment. Last week we were coming to terms with - and announcing - the death of somebody. Except that we have discovered that he is not dead. The details are unimportant here. What link this, for me, with the de-baptism calls is that what has been done, said, made public, cannot be as if it has not. We cannot live backwards. However much we might, at times, want to go back and make not what has been, it isn't so in the universe as we live in it.
Much of that which has been and which has shaped us individually is good and life-giving - but there are always the bits we didn't want, didn't choose, want to deny. But denial, as any therapist will tell us, is not a good place to live. Living in the light of the past - the good and the bad - is a sign of an integrated and healthy identity.
And at the heart of living such an identity is the conviction that wherever we are in it, the story hasn't finished yet. There is always something more to come. And we can't tell what it will be. That has been our experence in discerning death and life in the story of our member - whatever we expected to hear and to have to come to terms with, it certainly wasn't what we actually encountered.
And again, it brings us face to face with resurrection. Because whatever else resurrection is, it is not what we expect. Living in the light of and coming to terms with what has been cannot mean unmaking it, but it can mean living in openess to see what will come of it.
As for unbaptising, I don't think the church has a duty, as some are claiming, to devise such a ceremony. What has been cannot be made as if it has not been. But there's nothing to stop organisations that want to identify themselves by rejecting the faith of the church developing their own process to do it. I don't know what resources are there for those who do not express a commitment to Christian faith to make sense of living creatively with the past. But for those of us exploring faith in resurrection, whatever the story has been up until now, in its light and its darkness, it is not over yet.....
While feeling a proper Baptist response is probably, "well, this is one of the reasons why we are not committed to a practice of infant baptism - it has a place as a freely chosen response, not something done on behalf of another, either by parent or by church" - I am not yet sure that this is to say enough.
For the most telling point in the response that the church spokesman has offered is that what has actually happened cannot be made to unhappen.
We are feeling this particularly in this church at the moment. Last week we were coming to terms with - and announcing - the death of somebody. Except that we have discovered that he is not dead. The details are unimportant here. What link this, for me, with the de-baptism calls is that what has been done, said, made public, cannot be as if it has not. We cannot live backwards. However much we might, at times, want to go back and make not what has been, it isn't so in the universe as we live in it.
Much of that which has been and which has shaped us individually is good and life-giving - but there are always the bits we didn't want, didn't choose, want to deny. But denial, as any therapist will tell us, is not a good place to live. Living in the light of the past - the good and the bad - is a sign of an integrated and healthy identity.
And at the heart of living such an identity is the conviction that wherever we are in it, the story hasn't finished yet. There is always something more to come. And we can't tell what it will be. That has been our experence in discerning death and life in the story of our member - whatever we expected to hear and to have to come to terms with, it certainly wasn't what we actually encountered.
And again, it brings us face to face with resurrection. Because whatever else resurrection is, it is not what we expect. Living in the light of and coming to terms with what has been cannot mean unmaking it, but it can mean living in openess to see what will come of it.
As for unbaptising, I don't think the church has a duty, as some are claiming, to devise such a ceremony. What has been cannot be made as if it has not been. But there's nothing to stop organisations that want to identify themselves by rejecting the faith of the church developing their own process to do it. I don't know what resources are there for those who do not express a commitment to Christian faith to make sense of living creatively with the past. But for those of us exploring faith in resurrection, whatever the story has been up until now, in its light and its darkness, it is not over yet.....
Thursday, 12 March 2009
One of our members died this week He had left London a couple of weeks ago to return to his home in Brazil, and while there, he had a stroke, and died. We got the news by an email late one evening. By the time we heard about his death, the funeral had already happened.
We are sad about his death, though not surprised, as he had been very ill. We recognise and understand the normal reactions to death – we deal with them regularly in a community.
But there is an oddity here, and it is to do with distance. Because he had gone home, and because the funeral had already happened and none of us were able to be there, we have not had our normal processes to acknowledge and make sense of the experience of losing somebody who is part of us.
And it has made me think about Easter – not just about the promise it offers us as we face the brute fact of physical death, but the way in which we encounter it.
We know about our friend’s death only through reports – and indeed, only through one report, which feels rather indirect because it is by email from somebody we don’t really know, and we can’t encounter the reality of the death in any normal way. For those of us who hear the stories of Jesus’ resurrection, there is something similar happens. We don’t see the event – we don’t see the body moving, the tomb being empty, even the encounters with the disciples. We have report. Somebody has told us. And not particularly directly, but through some written stories. It is not a direct experience, but a reported conviction of which we must then make some sense, and work out how we are going to live with the impact of these reports.
Because our friend had already left London, we were not seeing him regularly – and so his death does not change materially our day to day work. But, given that the reports are true, the world is a materially different place. It’s just that, for us here, it doesn’t yet feel it. We only have the reports, we have no direct encounter or experience.
And that is how we encounter resurrection if we encounter it all. We hear the stories. It doesn’t make the world look immediately different. But if it is true, then the world is not the same place – there is something changed.
We could not get to our friend’s funeral. But we will be holding a memorial. There are various reasons for this; it is right that those of us here who loved him have a place to say thank you for him, and to acknowledge his life as a gift from God. Memorials are important places to share stories and re-energise memories.
But in this instance it is also important for we need the ritual, the ceremony to allow us to experience his death and the difference it makes in our lives and in the world.
When we meet for worship as a Christian community, we are doing something similar in terms of resurrection. We need the ritual and ceremony of meeting, of hearing the story, of trying it on and seeing what a difference it makes to the way we know and live in the world, of making it real not just as a story but as something we experience for resurrection to have the impact it can have in our world.
It does raise for us, as those who lead worship, some intriguing question s and demands to do with what we think we are about.
We are sad about his death, though not surprised, as he had been very ill. We recognise and understand the normal reactions to death – we deal with them regularly in a community.
But there is an oddity here, and it is to do with distance. Because he had gone home, and because the funeral had already happened and none of us were able to be there, we have not had our normal processes to acknowledge and make sense of the experience of losing somebody who is part of us.
And it has made me think about Easter – not just about the promise it offers us as we face the brute fact of physical death, but the way in which we encounter it.
We know about our friend’s death only through reports – and indeed, only through one report, which feels rather indirect because it is by email from somebody we don’t really know, and we can’t encounter the reality of the death in any normal way. For those of us who hear the stories of Jesus’ resurrection, there is something similar happens. We don’t see the event – we don’t see the body moving, the tomb being empty, even the encounters with the disciples. We have report. Somebody has told us. And not particularly directly, but through some written stories. It is not a direct experience, but a reported conviction of which we must then make some sense, and work out how we are going to live with the impact of these reports.
Because our friend had already left London, we were not seeing him regularly – and so his death does not change materially our day to day work. But, given that the reports are true, the world is a materially different place. It’s just that, for us here, it doesn’t yet feel it. We only have the reports, we have no direct encounter or experience.
And that is how we encounter resurrection if we encounter it all. We hear the stories. It doesn’t make the world look immediately different. But if it is true, then the world is not the same place – there is something changed.
We could not get to our friend’s funeral. But we will be holding a memorial. There are various reasons for this; it is right that those of us here who loved him have a place to say thank you for him, and to acknowledge his life as a gift from God. Memorials are important places to share stories and re-energise memories.
But in this instance it is also important for we need the ritual, the ceremony to allow us to experience his death and the difference it makes in our lives and in the world.
When we meet for worship as a Christian community, we are doing something similar in terms of resurrection. We need the ritual and ceremony of meeting, of hearing the story, of trying it on and seeing what a difference it makes to the way we know and live in the world, of making it real not just as a story but as something we experience for resurrection to have the impact it can have in our world.
It does raise for us, as those who lead worship, some intriguing question s and demands to do with what we think we are about.
Tuesday, 3 March 2009
The ministry team have had a whole series of conversations recently - both within and outside the congregation - about baptism, membership and what it is all about. It's been fascinating and exciting.
But, certainly from my point of view, it has also been, on some occasions at least, suprising. Firstly that it happened at all, in a culture where people keep telling me folk are not interested in faith, in baptism and in joining things. But what has really caught me out has been the nature of the questions. I have been brought up short by the reminder that my world and my words are not obvious to everybody.
It came into focus yesterday when I went into a sandwich shop I rather haunt. They recognise me, know what I am going to order, and we have some fun chats. Yesterday, the man serving me asked what I had been doing all day. It was the first time I actually identified myself as one of the ministers in the church over there. Oh, he said - what does that entail., So, I described a (sort of!!) typical day, and he asked a couple more obvious sort of questions - the kind of things I would have expected. But he then followed it up with "And who is the priest there?" "Well, I guess I'm one of them" Long silence. Now, there was a language and a gender issue at play here - but also suddenly the recognition that my term "minister" didn't mean anything - and even when we got to the term priest, although he knew the term, actually, what such a person was, what the church is and does - all the things I take for granted, actually meant very little to him, except as some strange esoteric hidden something.
It is a salutary reminder that what we are is not obvious, and who we are is not clear. It's easy for those of us who have been in this - or some other - church for a long time, to assume that everybody knows who we are, what we do, and what it's all about.
But it's not true.
In Disciples on the Way during Lent, we are reflecting together on mission - what it is, and how it works for us. And perhaps we need to start here. How do we demystify who and what we are - and indeed, should we?
I have been in a betting shop once in my life - accompanying somebody who was very at home there. I had no idea what went on, how to behave or what to expect. I was very uncomfortable, self- conscious and didn't want to go again.
Is that true for a church?
It was a helpful encounter, my trip to William Hills. It occurs to me at various points when I wonder about how we welcome people. Where would be a strange place for you to go - and, please, will you go there, see what it feels like, and bring that into our conversations about how we live the life of the Kingdom here.
But, certainly from my point of view, it has also been, on some occasions at least, suprising. Firstly that it happened at all, in a culture where people keep telling me folk are not interested in faith, in baptism and in joining things. But what has really caught me out has been the nature of the questions. I have been brought up short by the reminder that my world and my words are not obvious to everybody.
It came into focus yesterday when I went into a sandwich shop I rather haunt. They recognise me, know what I am going to order, and we have some fun chats. Yesterday, the man serving me asked what I had been doing all day. It was the first time I actually identified myself as one of the ministers in the church over there. Oh, he said - what does that entail., So, I described a (sort of!!) typical day, and he asked a couple more obvious sort of questions - the kind of things I would have expected. But he then followed it up with "And who is the priest there?" "Well, I guess I'm one of them" Long silence. Now, there was a language and a gender issue at play here - but also suddenly the recognition that my term "minister" didn't mean anything - and even when we got to the term priest, although he knew the term, actually, what such a person was, what the church is and does - all the things I take for granted, actually meant very little to him, except as some strange esoteric hidden something.
It is a salutary reminder that what we are is not obvious, and who we are is not clear. It's easy for those of us who have been in this - or some other - church for a long time, to assume that everybody knows who we are, what we do, and what it's all about.
But it's not true.
In Disciples on the Way during Lent, we are reflecting together on mission - what it is, and how it works for us. And perhaps we need to start here. How do we demystify who and what we are - and indeed, should we?
I have been in a betting shop once in my life - accompanying somebody who was very at home there. I had no idea what went on, how to behave or what to expect. I was very uncomfortable, self- conscious and didn't want to go again.
Is that true for a church?
It was a helpful encounter, my trip to William Hills. It occurs to me at various points when I wonder about how we welcome people. Where would be a strange place for you to go - and, please, will you go there, see what it feels like, and bring that into our conversations about how we live the life of the Kingdom here.
Tuesday, 24 February 2009
We had a rummage sale here on Sunday afternoon - well, less a sale and more a rummage and take away, of clothes that might be better used by people, particularly those with few resources, than taking up space elsewhere. They actually came from a charity called Sleeping on the Streets, based on Covent Garden. We came into contact with the man running it through the involvements we are exploring as a result of the new building and the various meetings that are taking place to consider the impact and the use of resources that the development is bringing into the community. He had the clothes and was short of space to display and disperse them - we have the clientele and little in the way of resources. It worked well!
And it is a sign of something we hope we might develop further. The building behind us is going to be huge, and it feels like it dominates and overshadows us. There are days when I almost fear it - will we survive it, will it take us over to such an extent that we might as well not be here? Is it a sign of our disappearance and our irrelevance?
But on the good days, the contacts we are making as a result and the possibilities that are emerging remind me that resurrection is truth. What looks like threat, overwhelming, even death, is the place where God brings life, hope, and new possibilities.
I am grateful to all those within the church who are working to create and build links with the various groups around us - and to understand and work with access to the finances that become available for work in the community. I am learning to look at the high towers and not see an impersonal threat, but as yet unknown possibilities. If the success of our rummage on Sunday is anything to go by, then the links we make, the possibilities to join in with kingdom activities in our community, and the chances to be and embody the love of God here and now - all of these are exciting
And it is a sign of something we hope we might develop further. The building behind us is going to be huge, and it feels like it dominates and overshadows us. There are days when I almost fear it - will we survive it, will it take us over to such an extent that we might as well not be here? Is it a sign of our disappearance and our irrelevance?
But on the good days, the contacts we are making as a result and the possibilities that are emerging remind me that resurrection is truth. What looks like threat, overwhelming, even death, is the place where God brings life, hope, and new possibilities.
I am grateful to all those within the church who are working to create and build links with the various groups around us - and to understand and work with access to the finances that become available for work in the community. I am learning to look at the high towers and not see an impersonal threat, but as yet unknown possibilities. If the success of our rummage on Sunday is anything to go by, then the links we make, the possibilities to join in with kingdom activities in our community, and the chances to be and embody the love of God here and now - all of these are exciting
Tuesday, 17 February 2009
Interruptions
One of the delightful aspects of ministry at Bloomsbury is the interruptions - true of any public building, and of working with people. But it has a particular edge here, I think.
Well, I wrote that first sentence, ready to follow up with a learned and powerful disquisition on the meanings and glory of interruptions when the phone went, and I was invited to go and speak with somebody who wanted a minister. I spent some time with somebody who was in deep distress, and on my way back, got involved in a conversation with somebody who needed to ask questions about something to do with life here, and then with somebody else who wanted to challenge our right to be in this building.
And then I came back to the writing. I had intended to write about the ways in which the Kingdom comes to us in unexpected ways, through unplanned moments. And I was feeling smug about the way I had dealt with the various interruptions.
And now as I sit down to write, I am wondering if the only reason - or perhaps the main reason - why I dealt so well with it all was because I was thinking about how I would write, how I would demonstrate so well what an effective and responsive minister I am?
Not to turn this into a self-conscious expose of conscience, it has raised an interesting line of reflection; is it "easier" to minister well - or indeed, to be servants of God in any capacity - when we are already tuned into it? Was my effectiveness - or at least my capacity to react with some creativity and patience - raised because I was already thinking about it. And if that is the case, how do I keep tuned in, and what routines and rhythms would support such an awareness.
Any answers on a postcard please! Or alternatively, you could use the comments box....
Well, I wrote that first sentence, ready to follow up with a learned and powerful disquisition on the meanings and glory of interruptions when the phone went, and I was invited to go and speak with somebody who wanted a minister. I spent some time with somebody who was in deep distress, and on my way back, got involved in a conversation with somebody who needed to ask questions about something to do with life here, and then with somebody else who wanted to challenge our right to be in this building.
And then I came back to the writing. I had intended to write about the ways in which the Kingdom comes to us in unexpected ways, through unplanned moments. And I was feeling smug about the way I had dealt with the various interruptions.
And now as I sit down to write, I am wondering if the only reason - or perhaps the main reason - why I dealt so well with it all was because I was thinking about how I would write, how I would demonstrate so well what an effective and responsive minister I am?
Not to turn this into a self-conscious expose of conscience, it has raised an interesting line of reflection; is it "easier" to minister well - or indeed, to be servants of God in any capacity - when we are already tuned into it? Was my effectiveness - or at least my capacity to react with some creativity and patience - raised because I was already thinking about it. And if that is the case, how do I keep tuned in, and what routines and rhythms would support such an awareness.
Any answers on a postcard please! Or alternatively, you could use the comments box....
Friday, 6 February 2009
Try, try and try again...
It is probably high time that I found a few moments to write something for the Ministry Team blog so here goes...
Having just returned from a week-long break in Egypt marvelling at the wonders of the ancient world, my head is spinning from the amount of information about the achievements of the Egyptians that our tour guide tried to impart.
One thing that does stick firmly in my mind is the persistence of the engineers who designed the pyramids as they tried get the formula correct that produced a perfect pyramid.
Standing on the plain at Gisa it is possible to see the early attempts and of course the final perfect creation of the Great Pyramid. I'm sure at the time there was much head scatching amongst the geometrists as they tried to discover the perfect angle at which to pitch the pyramid in order that it would not collapse under the weight of the giant stones lifted one on top of the other.
When one thinks that these great engineering feets were undertaken many centuries ago one has to wonder at the craftsmen's skill or was it simply the realisation of a dream with a good helping of luck?
In church life, as probably in all life, we spend probably spend much time head scratching trying to decide the best way to achieve our own aims and dreams. At Bloomsbury we have for sometime been working hard at finding the formula to find ways of being better engaged with the community. Like the Ancient Egyptians we have experimented with different ideas and spent time in groups discussing what we hope we might achieve.
By chance, certainly not by design, we have been invited to start conversations with friends at St George's Parish Church (Bloomsbury) and St Anselm & St Cecilia RC Church (Kingsway) and a group of representatives from all three churches have met to start a process of getting to know one another better. Ruth and the priest's from the other churches are meeting soon to look at possible ways in which we might share and collaborate on events and activities.
These early discussions are exciting as they clearly come out of a desire from each community to share together and be seen to be in dialogue with each other.
As I reflect again on the persistence of the Ancient Egyptians and the results they achieved which have stood the test of time I wonder whether our own persistence may be rewarded with results that will last as long. Perry Butler - Rector of St George's - remarked at our recent gathering that the greatest potential for church unity comes from co-operation and collaboration at the grass roots. As we embark on this very local initiative let us keep trying together to make something that will stand the test of time, something which others might marvel at like a pyramid.
Having just returned from a week-long break in Egypt marvelling at the wonders of the ancient world, my head is spinning from the amount of information about the achievements of the Egyptians that our tour guide tried to impart.
One thing that does stick firmly in my mind is the persistence of the engineers who designed the pyramids as they tried get the formula correct that produced a perfect pyramid.
Standing on the plain at Gisa it is possible to see the early attempts and of course the final perfect creation of the Great Pyramid. I'm sure at the time there was much head scatching amongst the geometrists as they tried to discover the perfect angle at which to pitch the pyramid in order that it would not collapse under the weight of the giant stones lifted one on top of the other.
When one thinks that these great engineering feets were undertaken many centuries ago one has to wonder at the craftsmen's skill or was it simply the realisation of a dream with a good helping of luck?
In church life, as probably in all life, we spend probably spend much time head scratching trying to decide the best way to achieve our own aims and dreams. At Bloomsbury we have for sometime been working hard at finding the formula to find ways of being better engaged with the community. Like the Ancient Egyptians we have experimented with different ideas and spent time in groups discussing what we hope we might achieve.
By chance, certainly not by design, we have been invited to start conversations with friends at St George's Parish Church (Bloomsbury) and St Anselm & St Cecilia RC Church (Kingsway) and a group of representatives from all three churches have met to start a process of getting to know one another better. Ruth and the priest's from the other churches are meeting soon to look at possible ways in which we might share and collaborate on events and activities.
These early discussions are exciting as they clearly come out of a desire from each community to share together and be seen to be in dialogue with each other.
As I reflect again on the persistence of the Ancient Egyptians and the results they achieved which have stood the test of time I wonder whether our own persistence may be rewarded with results that will last as long. Perry Butler - Rector of St George's - remarked at our recent gathering that the greatest potential for church unity comes from co-operation and collaboration at the grass roots. As we embark on this very local initiative let us keep trying together to make something that will stand the test of time, something which others might marvel at like a pyramid.
Thursday, 29 January 2009
On having the right password
There is an oddity about this blog which several people have noticed recently; although it is the blog of the ministry team, at the moment, I am the only one writing it. There are two reasons for this; Seyan has too much else to do (but we are working on getting him to write!) and Simon has not yet got a password, and so is not yet “permitted” to take part.
This idea of a password and permission is of course deeply theological. You can only take part in this “community” if you say the right words, and if you are “licensed” by somebody with power. How often in the church of God are people only allowed to do certain things, to take part, to be recognised as involved if they can and will “say certain words” – use certain terms, or assent to certain propositions? And in many branches of the church, there are roles can only be taken on if authorised by the appropriate person, representing the hierarchy.
Of course, in Bloomsbury, we are not like that.
Or are we? We have recently adopted a new constitution, and as part of the constitution, there is a description of the faith that we assent to. If you want to know what it is, look at our constitution. But there is no denying that it forms a boundary; we define ourselves around a theological description.
Within the constitution, there are also certain limits placed on who can do what – those who are going to be elected deacons, for example, have to have been members of the church for a certain length of time.
Since on of the things we value about who we are – indeed, one of the things that defines us, and that we are proud of, is our unboundaried nature, our openness, our lack of hard edges, what are we to make of this?
What is it that makes us who we are. It is surely not our constitution. But our constitution describes who we are, allows us a way of laying out to other people what we believe to be important about our identity.
To have no boundaries, to have no definition “over against” is to have no identity. There are occasions when I spend time with people whose sense of self is so lost, and so formless that they find it hard to function. There needs to be some sense of where the self ends and the other begins for a measure of mental and emotional health. This is true of communities as well as individuals. We need boundaries, descriptions of what makes us not something else – not a political party, for example, not a social services agency. We are a community shaped by and centred on the stories of Jesus recorded in the gospel – and, I believe, more than that, centred on the presence of the Risen Christ, who is present to those and among those who meet in his name.
I know that not everybody who is part of our community will be comfortable with this description. And that is another part of who we are as a church – we are constantly in dialogue about just who we are, and how we live it out.
And this, I believe, is why we are not tied to “saying certain words” – because what we are committed to is carrying on the conversation; the conversation among ourselves as we discuss, question and explore – and the conversation with God in Christ, as we listen, and as we speak in prayer and living. And it is this which makes us the church, the people of God in this place at this time.
As for permission by hierarchy – well, that’s another post!
This idea of a password and permission is of course deeply theological. You can only take part in this “community” if you say the right words, and if you are “licensed” by somebody with power. How often in the church of God are people only allowed to do certain things, to take part, to be recognised as involved if they can and will “say certain words” – use certain terms, or assent to certain propositions? And in many branches of the church, there are roles can only be taken on if authorised by the appropriate person, representing the hierarchy.
Of course, in Bloomsbury, we are not like that.
Or are we? We have recently adopted a new constitution, and as part of the constitution, there is a description of the faith that we assent to. If you want to know what it is, look at our constitution. But there is no denying that it forms a boundary; we define ourselves around a theological description.
Within the constitution, there are also certain limits placed on who can do what – those who are going to be elected deacons, for example, have to have been members of the church for a certain length of time.
Since on of the things we value about who we are – indeed, one of the things that defines us, and that we are proud of, is our unboundaried nature, our openness, our lack of hard edges, what are we to make of this?
What is it that makes us who we are. It is surely not our constitution. But our constitution describes who we are, allows us a way of laying out to other people what we believe to be important about our identity.
To have no boundaries, to have no definition “over against” is to have no identity. There are occasions when I spend time with people whose sense of self is so lost, and so formless that they find it hard to function. There needs to be some sense of where the self ends and the other begins for a measure of mental and emotional health. This is true of communities as well as individuals. We need boundaries, descriptions of what makes us not something else – not a political party, for example, not a social services agency. We are a community shaped by and centred on the stories of Jesus recorded in the gospel – and, I believe, more than that, centred on the presence of the Risen Christ, who is present to those and among those who meet in his name.
I know that not everybody who is part of our community will be comfortable with this description. And that is another part of who we are as a church – we are constantly in dialogue about just who we are, and how we live it out.
And this, I believe, is why we are not tied to “saying certain words” – because what we are committed to is carrying on the conversation; the conversation among ourselves as we discuss, question and explore – and the conversation with God in Christ, as we listen, and as we speak in prayer and living. And it is this which makes us the church, the people of God in this place at this time.
As for permission by hierarchy – well, that’s another post!
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
The Visitors' Book
One of the sheer delights of worshipping at Bloomsbury is meeting the visitors who come to be with us. And on a really good day, some of them sign our vistors book. The comments and remarks are always worth reading. Sometimes, people are returning after a long time away, and their reflections on continuity and difference are fascinating and insightful. It also gives us a chance to track where our visitors come from and to greet them accordingly.
But recently we have had several visitors who have been unhappy about something they have encountered in being with us, and they have chosen to leave advice in the visitors' book for us. Whether or not their advice is appropriate is not concerning me at the moment - what is intriguing me is our reaction to this. I find for myself, that when I first read such comments I become very defensive - what do they know, what gives them the right to make comments when they are only here for one visit, they should try and work with the realities that make up our life before telling us how to do it better..... and so on. I am sure you can imagine the kinds of phrases that go through my mind.
But then I try to rethink this reaction. For, if people feel strongly enough about whatever it is to put it into writing, and leave it for us, then surely they need to be taken seriously. Whether or not we agree with what is said, that people have been interested, concerned or perhaps even uncomfortable enough to want to say so, then it is important that we hear what is said.
It is hard, though. I love this church, and I am proud of who we are and what we do. I know we don't always get it right - but I don't like other people, especially people I don't know, telling me so. However, such defensiveness is not a useful response, for it will stop me hearing some things we need to hear. It takes grace - and humour - to step away from the defensive position. And it takes community. I find that it is so helpful to hear what others in the team and in the church have to say in response to the comments. With our combined wisdom, and humility, we can usually make a fair judgement of what is being said, and how much attention we need to give it.
God give me - and us - the grace to hear what other bring us of possibility and change.
And thanks to God for the grace and generosity of those who leave the comments - the critical ones, and the (much more frequent) appreciative ones.
But recently we have had several visitors who have been unhappy about something they have encountered in being with us, and they have chosen to leave advice in the visitors' book for us. Whether or not their advice is appropriate is not concerning me at the moment - what is intriguing me is our reaction to this. I find for myself, that when I first read such comments I become very defensive - what do they know, what gives them the right to make comments when they are only here for one visit, they should try and work with the realities that make up our life before telling us how to do it better..... and so on. I am sure you can imagine the kinds of phrases that go through my mind.
But then I try to rethink this reaction. For, if people feel strongly enough about whatever it is to put it into writing, and leave it for us, then surely they need to be taken seriously. Whether or not we agree with what is said, that people have been interested, concerned or perhaps even uncomfortable enough to want to say so, then it is important that we hear what is said.
It is hard, though. I love this church, and I am proud of who we are and what we do. I know we don't always get it right - but I don't like other people, especially people I don't know, telling me so. However, such defensiveness is not a useful response, for it will stop me hearing some things we need to hear. It takes grace - and humour - to step away from the defensive position. And it takes community. I find that it is so helpful to hear what others in the team and in the church have to say in response to the comments. With our combined wisdom, and humility, we can usually make a fair judgement of what is being said, and how much attention we need to give it.
God give me - and us - the grace to hear what other bring us of possibility and change.
And thanks to God for the grace and generosity of those who leave the comments - the critical ones, and the (much more frequent) appreciative ones.
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