I’ve always been hopeless at maths. I don’t know why – I think it is because my brain is wired that way. Maths just doesn’t make sense to me. When I passed my O level (yes, I really did), my teacher came to find me and tell me what a surprise this was to her (me too) and how it was not my hard work but a fluke. Rude but accurate I’m afraid.
However, even the most incompetent sometimes have to rise to the challenge, and mine came in September, when I ran an event in Durham Cathedral. What with speakers coming from the south coast, advertising, caterers and sound systems, there was quite a bit of money to find. And the punters were charged a pittance for attending. The organising agency is a charity which runs on a near zero account, so almost no float, and no cushion of its own if it all went horribly wrong.
Of course it didn’t go wrong – quite the reverse; it was very good. However, even at £15 clergy and others complained about the charge. I know my maths is bad, but even I can see that if there are out-goings, there need to be in-comings. Three walked out (after coffee and biscuits) saying that this should be put on for free. Bizarre!
You will be glad to know that we have covered our costs. Even I can manage that much maths. But there are obviously some whose maths is worse that mine, and haven’t figured out that if you put nothing in, nothing comes out.
My youngest son offered to pray for my oldest son in the swimming pool today – he prayed that he would no longer be a chicken but would become a boy! Yup. Very, very surreal. However, he has grasped the nature of healing as something that God has fun with, that it can be blessed and therefore encouraged by us, and that it effects change.
There were some fantastic healings at New Wine this year (ask my daughter about it!). I have no idea why some people are healed and and others are not, even after specific words of knowledge. But I do know that God is active and works miracles in people’s lives. Healing doesn’t seem to be related to faith, prayer of determination – God’s Spirit blows where it will… We are called to bless what we see.
When I asked a woman detoxing at work if she would like me to pray she got down on her knees before her mouth even began to say yes. I would love to say that she was healed, but she got up again still desperate for sugar and shaking with withdrawl. It doesn’t stop either her or me praying though.
Those of you without teenage daughters may not have come across Jack Wills. With superb marketing, it sells casual clothing at non-casual prices to those who want to look cool. Even the knickers are cool, and cost £16 this season. I say no more.
After some considerable persuasion, and exemplary exam results, I bought my very own teenager a grey hoodie. She promptly asked if she could take it on the school outward bound weekend. A very expensive, very cool, and very casual hoodie in lakeland mud! But it came home without a mark on it. Very impressive. So when she asked if it could come to New Wine, of course I said yes…
All went well until a child staying with us came off his bike, swallowed by the mud monster of Shepton Mallet. My teenager was first on scene, knelt in the mud and prayed for him. She then helped him up, and got him to the medical centre, all the time supporting him, while offering prayer and encouragement, wiping away the mud. Well done BK. EXCEPT, she was wering the Jack Wills hoodie.
Enter the mother with the dilemma. “Good job with hurt child; how could you wear that very, very expensive hoodie; but good job; but how am I every going to clean it; but you did just the right thing; but I’ll never get it dry…” Five days later it was still dripping, since at New Wine this year nothing dried. And I had just about come down from the tent roof.
The experience of loosing my cool at New Wine is always salutary, since every tent on site can hear the row. How some of those other parents of a teenager must have laughed. Still, bouncing off tent walls is quite a soft experience compared to brick. And the hoodie looks ok – just appropriately aged.
What do you do when you get bored? I day dream, or fiddle with something. If I’ve got a pen, I doodle. One of the best meeting I ever went to happened over 3 days in Belfast, and the American animator provided clever magnet plastic shape things, which stuck together in fantastical and absurd patterns. I concentrate better and work harder if I’ve got something to fiddle with! Having only just passed my maths O level, I’ve never been drawn to a mathematical doodle, but Adrian does.
While he is listening to the sermon (yes, even mine!) Adrian creates statistics about our church. Apparently, a few weeks ago, 18% of the congregation in the nave were men, average age 48, and 82% were women, average age 62. In the sanctuary 41% of the leadership (including choir) were men, averaging 61, and 59% women, average age 69. Therefore, apparently, the average age of the congregation was 63. Not sure what all that means, except I was in Junior Church. I guess I could have radically altered the statistical shape of the church, if I had been there!
Heaven fore-fend that I should suggest that church is ever boring, especially when I have a vested interest in the splendour of Church of England liturgy. But I am allowing myself to acknowledge that there can be meeting-boredom, even when I am chairing. So I have a very useful tool in my dairy that I bring out at ‘those’ moments. It gets me through…
THINK EVIL THOUGHTS!
Just back from a wonderful week at New Wine in muddy Somerset! It rained every day, but at least our tent didn’t flood. We went as Grange Park church – the irony being that there were no members of Grange Park church in attendance this year…
One of the questions I was asked in a seminar was what gets me out of bed in the morning. I struggled to answer that for a while, torn between the alarm clock and breakfast! But actually the answer is from John 5. Jesus said he did what he saw the Father doing – I get out of bed to watch what God is doing. I hate missing out on a party or an adventure, so I get out of bed to watch and see what God is doing in/to/around the people I will meet today!
In the prison, watching what God is doing is the best bit of the day. On Monday I knew I needed to talk to a member of staff – she looked most emused when I told her I had been praying for her, and was anything wrong. But it turned out that her husband was about to have an operation and she was concerned that they would find he had cancer.
I don’t know why Jesus tells us to talk to some people and not others, but I know that if I don’t follow His lead, and bless what he is doing, I miss out on the heavenly party somewhere in heaven. That’s probably worth getting out of bed for.
The church is full of snobs. I don’t know why or even how we encourage it, but we clearly do. The worst of the snobbishness presents itself in hymn choices. In the place I work as a chaplain, I am always being asked for ‘All things bright and beautiful’, Morning has broken’, ‘Shine Jesus Shine’, ‘He’s got the whole world in his hands’. I can’t say I enjoy any of these very much, certainly not week after week. But music has such an important place in worship that I believe it is vital that we include music that people know, and warm to, whether thay come to church regularly or not.
This morning in church I was asked what we should sing – there had been a bit of a breakdown in communication and no-one chose the hymns until 5 minutes before the service. Luckily, we had a musically literate vicar who covered on the organ! When I was asked what we might sing (as Junior Church leader today) I suggested ‘All things Bright and Beautiful’, only to be asked if I was serious. One of the clergy told me how much they hated it.
The fact that the children know it, it links with their school worship, it is often known by strangers in our midst, and it makes ecological sense was irrelevant to musical snobbery. Very frustrating! The same snobbery prevails in prison, diocesan services, everywhere I seem to go. No wonder our church is so often empty of strangers in our midst.
Must stop being so cynical… It’s summer holidays – perhaps that’s why no children other than mine were in church. And we did sing ‘All things’; Hugh said, ‘We sing this at school’…
The Times suggested this week that bishops “represent a pre-modern for of Christianity, rooted in nostalgia for a powerful, authoritarian Church” (Theo Hobson). They have doubled in number over the last 100 years, while Church attendance has shrunk by 50%. For any Episcopalian, they are a sign and symbol of unity. I wish!
Three weeks on, and I’m still angry about the aftermath of the debate on women bishops at General Synod. As I see it, the House of Bishops brought a motion to Synod that they had voted for by a majority of more than 2/3s. I have always understood that when something is debated and voted upon in committee, it is a matter of honour that those present keep some integrity about supporting the decision made in that meeting.
Not so for the bishops. They seemed to be having a dog fight on the floor of Synod during the debate, quite unable to support each other (or trust one another). And when Synod voted for the motion supported by the majority of the House of Bishops, one bishop told us we should be ashamed of ourselves, and another told us that he thought Synodical government was inappropriate for the church, and we should be led by the Bishops!
This week they meet at Lambeth, and most people, church going or not consider that to be irrelevant. What a mess; no visible unity (though there may be behind closed doors). And while the Church eats with the Queen, avoiding at all cost talking about sex and gender (though the press still thinks that’s all we, the Church, talk about), millions around the world are suffering. Relevance?
Hugh (age 6) took part in his first public stoning today. At his leavers assembly, the children took painted stones to the front of church. For a moment, I wondered if the children were preparing to take part in a stoning of the teachers. Maybe the vicar would call for a ‘Paul’ to stand up and hold their sweaters, and the experience a Damascus moment!
Unfortunately, the reality was far more mundane. After laying the stones in a cairn, the teachers laboured the point that the life of the school was founded on Christ. Like so many similar experiences of school worship, it was difficult to tell whether this was a performance or worship. If worship, why did we clap, and why read out names of those moving to new schools – and an interminable list of the schools they are going to? If a performance, why did we use the church?
Enough of being grumpy – this is the end of a decade at St Oswald’s School, and that is something to celebrate as well as something to be sad about! I’ve made it through babies, and toddlers, and now primary school. Roll on the summer holidays…