Lay Liturgist

This past week has seen the production of soup in England rise by several million litres, as churches share lunch together for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. There is some evidence that in my patch that some Christians engage in an element of ‘competitive church’.

Apparently we had more people at my church than the Catholic one the day before, but our soup-warmer was faulty, so the beautiful butternut soup made by a URC friend was served rather cool.  Some churches served scones, others biscuits, but most served soup.  And you could see the metaphorical score cards for whose was the best

This seems to me to be a metaphor for the Christian church in post modern Britain.  The in-crowd compete with each other to produce the best experience of church, completely forgetting that what we offer is not product but relationship.  It is the warmth of our relationships, the love which we share, that is our calling.

Which is all a bit of relief, after the cool soup debacle.  Another gaff to add to the curate’s list of failures – of course my greatest strength is that I can laugh at myself!  And my gift to the church is a redefinition of failure and success….

Share/Bookmark

I realise that those of you who have followed my rambling over the years know that I am no longer lay but ordained.  None the less, the liturgists among you will realise that my primary calling as a Christian is baptismal, and I have decided that that will have to be sufficient justification for remaining ‘lay liturgist’!  Put up with it, pedants

Now that I am wearing a dog collar, people keep asking me how it feels.  When I said it felt a bit tight the other day, a friend commented that yes, of course, because it keeps me leashed to the church!  Usually it just seems to illicit funny looks (especially when I’m driving our sporty little two seater…)

Today, though, it resulted in a very special encounter.  A crowd of kids at the pedestrian crossing acknowledged a woman coming in the opposite direction with such obvious enthusiasm that I asked her if she was a teacher.

She was, and then she bought me lunch, and told me that she had just got engaged to her partner of 20 years.  I offered to pray for them, and she asked for my details.  I don’t think we would have had that conversation if I hadn’t been wearing a dog collar, and now I’ve met my first person in the parish who isn’t a Christian, and I have my first people to pray for.  I’m so excited….

Share/Bookmark

Since 1984, when I was first an undergraduate student at St John’s College in Durham, I have sat in the chapel looking at the stained glass window which depicts the crucifixion.  I guess it is Victorian, and the top panel shows Jesus on the cross, his mother Mary to one side, his friend John to the other.  Below are, among others, pictures of the women going to the tomb, the angels with the stone rolled aside, and the resurrection.

What makes the picture so fascinating to me, aside from the great depiction of women serving Jesus, is the fragmented nature of the story.  Because I like to bring order to chaos, I would start with at the beginning of the Holy Week story, and move on through the story to the end.  But this depiction is haphazard, jumbled, and not at all linear.  The stories appear out of time, almost as though the glaziers were learning their job (which of course they were, since St Mary the Less was the parish church of the Cathedral workers).

Some of me is irritated by this disorder, and some of me refreshed!  I can’t decide… There should be order, but perhaps it is simply good for me to see the story in a different way, without the interpretation that my ordered mind expects.  Like seeing a story I know too well, from a different place, and being surprised by it again.  Like being an ordinand too, looking up at the story played out, morning and evening in the chapel.

Share/Bookmark

One long summer as a student, lots of lovely holiday, and two Christian camps. I worked at both New Wine and Greenbelt (in radically different roles) and I was surprised by how different they are. I guess in comparing the two I need to add the caveat that we go to New Wine annually with wonderful friends, and it is 20 years since I went to Greenbelt. It is always easier to appreciate the merits of a system one knows and understands. None the less, I find myself quite down on Greenbelt, and this is why…

There is a strong pro-Palestinian emphasis at Greenbelt, which was not interpreted. I think it has been in the past, but this year at Greenbelt, it was not. I cannot comment on the Greenbelt leadership’s support or otherwise of Israel, but without interpretation, the publicity gave leave for anti-Israeli sentiments to flourish. I heard them vocalised often. The situation there is simply too complex to offer only one side of the war.

I missed collective prayer and worship. Sunday morning’s service felt musically pedestrian and was made ‘creative’ by an abundance of unrelated symbolism. There was little in the way of prayer ministry, and an emphasis on maintaining Greenbelt, rather than a proactive challenge to a group of rich, educated Christians to get out there and change the world.

I’ll leave the little grips (queuing, prices, consumerism, commercialism!). And I’m glad there are people who benefit from Greenbelt, and have their faith enlarged by it. But I won’t be going back.

Share/Bookmark

In the 2005 election, George Galloway stood for Respect in Bow.  Allegedly, his campaign was marred by his frequent suggestion to the Muslim men of the area that they should vote for him, a man, rather than re-electing the standing Labour woman MP.  The men concurred, and George was returned, though he rarely attended the Commons, as I understand.

This year, George tried to move on to fresh pastures (Poplar and Limehouse), where he came a poor third to labour.  And the good people of Bow have returned another woman to parliament:

Rushanara Ali is the first ever Bangladeshi born MP and the first Muslim woman MP.

Hurray!

Share/Bookmark

I’m spending time at a church in the middle of the east end of London, with a heart for social inclusion and reintegration.  The congregation has grown from about 15 to 80 over 5 years.  The church is also home to an education centre for kids who might, with enough encouragement, go to university, a GP referral gym, several community groups and forums, and a cafe which attracts local families, working people on lunch break, veiled mums waiting for the education project to open, people needing a drink after a gym session, etc etc.  They are taking on a full time youth worker from June.

At the moment, the vicar knows the names of the whole congregation (what a gift, to remember names so effectively) but if the church continues to grow that will inevitably change.  Will that irreversibly change the dynamic of the church, and will that change be positive or negative?  Or should the church remain at about this size, and continue to assess and change its focus, adapting to the needs of the community around it.

There is an assumption in church leadership that bigger is better, but is that right?  In a place without congregational members who are educated and honed in leadership, would it be more appropriate to espouse the ‘small is beautiful’ model?  Answers on a postcard, please….

Share/Bookmark

Passion is not something I’m short of – I’m been passionate about loads of things, usually the last one I have been talking about or putting energy into… chocolate, wine, holidays, my husband, my kids, friends, the dog, prison, General Synod, church, Jesus, work, play, stories, Godly Play… You name it, I’ve quite possibly been passionate about it. Until recently, I’ve rarely done half measures

Last week at college we were asked what we were passionate about. Obviously a God-question, requiring a God-answer rather than a relationship/culinary/work one. And I realised that a lot of the things I have been passionate about in the past have faded into the background.  I know that I may be passionate about them again, but while I’m at theological college there doesn’t seem much energy for the people that I would like to be sharing Jesus with, and haven’t recently.

I think I may be caught in an Easter Saturday experience.  The day before Easter Sunday is a grey day, a waiting day, when it seems wrong to laugh or play (the Lord is no longer with us), but it is only for a time. He will return, but at the moment I bide my time, and wait in hope and expectation for the new thing that he is doing. Roll away the stone, Lord; I look forward to the sunshine of a new dawn.

Share/Bookmark

An almost 7 year old asked me yesterday what discrimination meant. We talked about gender discrimination – nods followed. Then colour discrimination – again, nods. Then, just before we came to sexuality her parents whisked her off to shop for Polly Pockets.

A few friends around me are gay or lesbian, and I don’t envy them the awful sexuality double speak they have to do in order to survive in our Church of England. In true Anglican style, we don’t want to discriminate against people who are LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender), but we don’t want them to be sexually active, even within stable, monogamous partnerships. I welcome inclusively. The bible appears to teach many things that I would not. But I remain under authority as an ordinand and in time to come, as a paid up member of the clergy.

I fear that my nearly 7 year old friend will see discrimination still at work when she is old enough to understand sexuality. In the mean time, friends suffer exclusion and robbed of a voice. This isn’t just an intellectual argument: this is about people with whom we have relationships, friends, neighbours, colleagues. And as a church we must find ways to hear their voice, personally and institutionally.

Share/Bookmark

When we started this quinquenium - nearly 5 years ago, so our time is nearly up – ++Rowan asked us as a Synod to put energy into listening to one another.  In my cynicism, I thought this an impossibility.  We knew where each other stood on the two main issues (sexuality and gender) and to listen properly meant being open to change.  How could that be?

But at this group of sessions it happened.  The debate on ACNA should have been a conservative/liberal point scoring.  ACNA broke away from TEC, and someone on Synod wanted us to be in communion with them (whatever that means).  But the debate was marked by its honest listening.  A gracious debate and generous motion was finally passed, and we glowed warmly.

Then it happened again the next day.  In law civil partners do not receive the same backdated pension rights as married surviving partners of a priest, although government and several larger companies have shown compassion and give back dated pensions.  Synod was being asked to show the same generosity.  And they did.  Despite cynical laughter at the beginning of the debate when someone said this was not a debate on the morality of gay marriage, Synod started to listen, and then voted to be generous.

People on Synod made sacrifices this week in not give way to the forces that bind us into our theological cliques.  It bodes well for the summer when we look at women bishops.  So exciting to see how the quality of relationships with one another we have made over the last 5 years can transform how we listen.

Share/Bookmark