babel

A couple of Germans came in today for a coffee.

Tourists. They weren't quite sure of their way. And they didn't have any loose change: or not the right amount, at any rate.

Their English was hardly great. But they'd twigged what the little word 'exact' meant, though 'fare' was more of a challenge. I think they thought that 'fair' meant something different from having the right coins in your pocket.

I got chatting a bit with them. With the emphasis on the 'bit'. My German isn't great. In fact it's virtually non-existent, gleaned as it is from World War II 'trash mags'.

"Gutten morgen," I ventured.

"Gutten morgen," came back the reply, a glimmer of hope in their eyes. "Sprechen ze deutsch?"

"Nein!"

You see, I told you the conversation didn't last all that long.

I walked them up to the bus-stop. My German wasn't anything like up to explaining where it was and which side of the road they should be on. Easier by far just to take them.

Sometimes it's not always easy to understand what an other person's saying. We speak a different language.

There's a crowd of women who always come in on a Tuesday. This is the crowd who used to meet in a local pub on a Tuesday morning. They love our place, though, now, and wouldn't ever wish to go back.

They're a great bunch and I usually stop to chat with them. Since they were having some strawberry gateau today, I sat and shared a coffee (and the cake) with them all.

It's strange how easily misunderstandings arise. You assume someone else has heard what you have said. But it's not always so.

We'd been chatting away about holidays. But we got our wires rather crossed.

I'd explained how I would be off to Harris to spend my holidays there. But one of the ladies was sure I had said I'd be off to Harrods for my holidays. As if.

It must be the way her mind works or something.

But the conversation continued awhile with the two of us feeding entirely different meanings into the word that when spoken by me was Harris and was heard by her as Harrods.

Which is different, of course. Very different. And extremely confusing.

It sometimes takes a while to figure out just why it's so confusing. We're speaking two different languages. We're pouring two different meanings into the word or words we use.

It wasn't disastrous this morning, of course. We just had a good old laugh when we figured out what the problem was.

I like the ship to the island. She likes to shop: and comes from Ireland.

We sound the same. But we're speaking a different language.

I even spoke a couple of words of French later on at night. In a meeting of 'in-between church' leaders from all over town.

I don't often speak at these meetings. But an issue came up and I felt obliged to clarify just what the issue was: and why it was being handled in the way it was.

It's been a contentious issue down the years among these leaders here. And I've been involved before.

So I said that there was a sense of deja vu. (My French is hardly brilliant, but it can rise to that)

The issue was getting debated at two entirely different levels.

We all spoke English, of course (apart from my stabs at French: and the occasional use of Latin, things like in hunc effectum, to describe a coming meeting, a form of words that dates, sadly like a lot we do, to a former, forgotten age)

But in terms of what we were saying we were really speaking two different languages.

No wonder folk get confused.

And in a sense, no wonder, as well, that one of the leaders resigned. There and then. In public.

I can't say I've seen that before in all the time I've been here. But there was just a hint of deja vu about the thing as well.

Yes, I know what deja vu means. 'Already seen'.

And I know I've just said that I haven't seen that before. But I saw, or I sensed, a thing pretty close to that when big church was meeting a few weeks back.

The hurt and the pain and the feeling of total confusion. The sense of our being on two different planes, and the sense that there was that while we might use the same words we in fact speak two different languages.

The Harris and Harrods confusion.

And people walking out.

It almost happened again last night, later on.

Such feelings of hurt and betrayal, in an entirely different connection, that a man got up and started lambasting another significant leader, alleging a manner of conduct suggestive of bullying force.

I haven't seen that before either, in all of my time here.

But again there was still that sense of deja vu.

What the man was expressing was just what a lot of folk felt when big church met those few weeks back.

And I think I'm seeing a pattern here emerging. Confusion and hurt and division and anger and people beginning to leave.

Babel. In the Church.

The confusion of language all over again. We use the same words while we mean two different things. Harris and Harrods.

It feels like Babel's begun.

'Sin' - to call a spade a spade, and use the word the good book tends to use - 'sin' is essentially disintegrative. It breaks apart what God has joined together. It fragments.

And whenever sin comes in, things start to fragment. Break apart.

Language gets confused. People fall out. The project begins to fragment.

I think that's what I'm seeing now. In big church. And tonight again at in-between church too.

'Sin' is sometimes arrogance. Putting ourselves in the place of God and deciding how things should be done.

'Sin' is sometimes, too, bound up with fear. A lack of trust in God whereby we resort to our own devices to preserve ourselves.

Babel began with that sort of sin. Arrogance and fear.

But Babel has no future. Confusion sets in. The judgment of God.

"Come, let us go down and confuse their language so they will not understand each other."

Our own little Babel's being built in these days.

And we're starting to see the confusion.

The slow but very steady fragmentation of the ecclesiastial edifice that big church wished to build.

The only future any Babel has is, in the end, confusion and decay.

Deja vu.

catering

No two days are alike. Which certainly makes for a varied life!

There was the school, for a start. Even that was a little bit different today. For the first time in all of the weeks I've been there the children were being challenged and almost rebuked by the Head. In a gracious sort of way, for sure, but he was getting the message across.

Citizenship was his theme, the value he has for this month.

And today in particular he was on about courage. The need for such courage to be shown by us all as part of what citizenship means. The courage to stand up for what's right. The courage to speak up for others. The courage to stick out your neck and do the right thing.

It's good, educational stuff. He even had to explain what a 'parapet' is.

Courage. It struck a chord, and I almost felt the force of the man's rebuke myself!

It's certainly courage that's needed these days. A boldness from God to stand on his truth and defy all the trends that there are to distort and dilute what he's said.

So 'courage' rang bells in my heart all right. But 'compassion' as well was a theme that the Head man pursued.

And that's been a part of today.

Compassion towards a family where the pain of bereavement is real. There's a service of thanksgiving to be held tomorrow for the person who died. A person I've never met.

I was round seeing the family earlier on this week. I know them a bit, through their girls being at school and their coming along to the services some of the time.

A lovely family. And it's been good to get a small feel of this further dimension, a generation back on the three girls' father's side. It was his mother who'd died.

Her husband and son had prepared a few notes. And that's been a help, as always.

But these notes are no more than the palette of paints from which I've to paint up the portrait of just who this lady had been.

A portrait that's easily recognised: and a portrait that shows up the image of God in each one of our lives as well.

I'm not the world's fastest 'painter', I have to say. It takes me time to craft such a portrait with words.

And a fair bit of time has been spent on just that today. There won't be the time tomorrow.

Today's been about the grief of a very different family too.

A couple who worship, not here, but just down the road - their 30 year old son had died in his sleep out in Australia. The young man, I think, was a hugely charismatic sort of guy, who made a massive impression on just about everyone he met.

Sore beyond words for his parents back here.

There was a memorial service this afternoon at the church-down-the-road. Hundreds of folk turned out. Old and young alike. And then they pitched up here for their cup of tea.

By arrangement. Sort of, anyway.

We hadn't quite realised to start with that it wasn't just the halls that were being booked. It was our catering services too!

But we'd sussed it out by yesterday and so were as much prepared as could be.

We were short on staff, though, with folk being away, so I was drafted in. Serving the teas and the coffees, and things like that.

I enjoy the chance that it gives to mingle with folk. And in the very manner that I serve them to afford them a measure of comfort and care at a time of distress and grief.

One of the ladies asked me which catering company I worked for. 'The best' is the answer, I guess. No one caters for all our needs as well as the Lord.

It's that which I want folk to see.

Now the day has been full of a whole load else. A number of other people - some popping in for a moment or two, some calling by by appointment, some that I've seen in their homes.

People. All with their different needs.

And, yes, that's the bottom line always.

No one caters for all of our needs as well as the Lord. I'm glad, and I count it a privilege indeed, to work for him.

R.I.P.

One of our elders died last week and a service of thanksgiving was held today.

A fair bit of time this morning was spent in preparing for that. Not so much the content of the service, since I'd attended to that last night: more the practicalities of getting the orders of service produced.

Plus I had a man coming in to see me mid-morning. And the last of the lunch time services meanwhile.

The man who was in to see me is someone whose friendship I've learned to value across the years.

These last few years I've seen him a whole lot more than I used to do. He's lived a long, long way away. But he's moving here, so I should get to see him some more.

He's a guy who knows about prayer. And there's a lot of prayer that's needed right now. So it's good to have him in the loop and informed. He knows how to press the buttons and get others to pray as well.

By the time we were done (well, we weren't really done at all, but the clock had put in an hour and a half of ticks, and the service was due to start!), it was straight on into the 'end-of-term' lunchtime service.

Bread and wine included. Rounding the whole year off.

We've been with the story of Joseph now for the whole of the year. It was kind of fitting that our thoughts today were on Joseph's Dad and the way, as he came to his end, he prayed God's blessing on his grandsons.

Which gets me back to the service of thanksgiving for Eddie.

His daughter read some tributes from his four American grandchildren. And his son gave a well-worded tribute to his father's life. Not an easy thing to do, but he did it well, and he kept his emotions pretty much in hand.

Until he got to his final lines when he quoted the prophet Micah. The famous bit. Well, one of the famous bits from the book of Micah.

He has showed you, O man, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you

but to act justly, to love mercy,

and to walk humbly with your God.

It's that famous I can quote it here without even looking it up.

That, said his son, was as good a description as any of his father's life.

It puts it all in a nutshell.

Relationship with God - issuing then in a certain sort of character and a certain sort of conduct. Which somehow strangely breathes God's gracious blessing right on down through all succeeding generations.

It's not that complicated really.

You just start walking with your God.

And the rest follows. In both senses!

mil1lion

Someone I know very well was in touch with me this morning.

Excited. To say the least.

This person had just had a telephone call. Someone on the other end whose name rang no bells at all.

It was a call from a restaurant. This person I know very well had, the day before, been the restaurant's one millionth customer.

And, to celebrate, the restaurant was gifting two return air tickets to New York. Which suited this person I know very well very well. He'd been hoping to go there before the year was out.

He was totally bowled over. One in a million indeed!

Of course, if you'd been the 999,999th customer, you'd have felt pretty gutted. Like, if you'd not been quite so impatient and had let the guy behind you get in first ....

But, then, I guess if you were the 999,999th customer you'd never know. They don't ring you up for that and tell you, Sorry, you were one off the jackpot!

I wonder how many times that's been me. 999,999th, and I didn't know just how close I had been to being the one in a million guy.

No wonder this person I know very well was over the moon. And soon to be over the Atlantic.

To be that one in a million is a great and wonderful feeling.

Special. Made a fuss of.

I was thinking back over today and what it's involved. And it crossed my mind that all of the things that I'm doing each day are really along those lines.

Giving that sense of being one in a million to all of the people I meet.

Everything I do, I do it all for you.

When people come in for their coffees and teas and their lunches, that's how we try and make them feel.

That they'e one in a million. Getting the special treatment. That we're focussed on them and on meeting their needs. That they matter. That they're not just a face in the crowd.

We were a bit short-staffed with the volume of people today. So I was there and helping them out when I could. Giving folk time. Serving them food. Meeting their needs.

We like to try and ensure that this is a place to which they can come where they'll always be made to feel that they're really that one in a million.

Which is just how the Lord treats each of us, of course.

Jesus and Zacchaeus for instance.

Now, OK, there weren't a million people living in Jericho. I presume. But there were certainly crowds.

And out of the crowds it's this number-crunching accountant (who knows all that there is to know about statistics, and who's long since learned that because of his size and his job and a whole load else he's not even a face in the crowd - he's too small to even figure) - it's this little man who gets to know the one in a million feeling.

Your house, says Jesus. I must come to your house today for tea.

Jesus does the one in a million feeling better than anyone else.

And, like I say, that's what today has been like.

'Little' things mainly. But little things that make the big and little people, all alike, feel somehow they matter. That they're one in a million. Special.

Those for whom the Lord himself has time. Those for whom the Lord himself would go to any lengths. Nothing too much and nothing too hard.

I think that's what Francis (the nature-loving, 'animal' guy) was on about when he said to preach the gospel at all times: and if need be use words.

Give folk the one in a million feeling.

Surprise them, astound them, enrich them with the unexpected phone calls and the things you're glad to give them and to do for them they hadn't even dreamed of.

mil1lion

(Have you never played Dingbats? That's Dingbats for one in a million)

grace

Saturday was the Children's Gala here.

It's always a great day. Especially if the weather's good. Which it was. In the main.

The sun shone. And the whole of the local community - so it seems - comes out for a massive picnic.

It's a brilliant occasion. The folk who organise it work round the clock through the year to make it happen. And the result is terrific.

There's the chance to meet so many different people and to take in so many things. Everyone's there.

Including 'the king'. None other than Elvis, strutting his stuff across the stage and singing his famous songs.

(A bit too loud for some of the older folk, but the grounds are pretty spacious and you can choose to keep your distance!)

The guy spoiled the effect just a bit, I guess, when he said "Hi. My name's Danny". But he offered his singing for free and it added to all of the fun.

It's that sort of occasion. Everyone chips in.

Rosaly was this year's "Gracious Lady". And she filled the role superbly.

They always choose a person who's contributed to the community. And Rosaly fits the bill.

All that she's done in the Holiday Clubs down the years.

All that she's done in teaching the children each week on a Sunday morning.

All that she does as a sort of unofficial chaplain in the stroke unit of the Royal Victoria.

All that she does in heading up and running our 'Reception Area' here. The teas and the coffees and lunches each week.

She's the one who heads it up. And a more gracious lady you'd surely be hard put to find.

We had a kind of 'management team meeting' this morning. A sort of 'working breakfast', I think they probably call it in the business world.

Except it was a bit more breakfast than work. And it spilled over into coffee time as well. In fact, almost into lunch by the time we were done.

It's a regular time of planning, review and ... well, being grateful to God for all that we're able to share in with him in this work.

It's fitting that the 'gracious lady' should head it up. Because grace is really what underlies it all.

The folk who run it week by week, and the folk who come in to help and to serve - they're all just volunteers. They, all of them, do it for nothing.

And that spirit of grace pervades it all. Our hope and our prayer is that everyone should in one way or another experience the grace of God. Even if they don't really recognise it as such.

It's great to see the way that many folk who come in first of all as hard as nails - battered and bruised from the storms of life and often pretty defensive - it's great to see the way they bit by bit relax, and warm to these simple, kindly overtures of grace.

An experience of the grace of God.

I suppose that's what our life here, day by day, is all about.

We hd an interesting dicussion at night about that sort of thing.

One of the guys has kept on having a clear and nagging sense of the Lord really speaking with him along these lines.

Sort of along the lines of a 'monastic' way of life. Not the celibate, remove-yourself-from-the-world sort of thing.

But a life lived in community, with a focus on the Lord, and a life that would be lived the way the Lord has always meant it should be lived.

He'd thought about getting an island to start this community life. And he'd thought of it more in terms of sheer survival.

All the signs are that unless things radically change in the next few years we're likely to have crossed the 'tipping point' and things could go fast down-hill in terms of climate change. And he sees not a lot of evidence of political will to effect the sort of changes that we need.

Hence the idea of an island. A refuge. Or an 'ark', as he later put it.

We chatted at length about the thing. It excites me the way this guy is on the button and has heard this 'call' from the Lord.

We figured that maybe the 'island' could be a figurative sort of thing. An 'island' of believing folk, as it were, in the midst of a wider community. As a model of the way life can and should be lived.

An 'island' where the grace of God can be seen and known by one and all across the whole of life.

He's off on holiday soon. (Not to an island, I should add).

And he's going to do some work on this!

good times, bad times

A typical Thursday.

Though I'm beginning to wonder if any two days are ever remotely alike!

It seems a while since I've been at the school. The summer term is often a bit like that, with all sorts of extras disrupting the normal routines.

Two assemblies, both on the value for the month - 'citizenship'. And both involving a fair amount of awards being given out. Since they'd had their sports day last week.

It was straight back here into meeting with folk again. Folk that I needed to see.

And before I know it another half day has gone. The moments rush by. But people need time and the time spent with people today has been good and worthwhile.

The same in the afternoon. And the evening, too, when I pause and reflect on it all.

People, people, people.

Coping with grief, arranging a marriage, adjusting to illness.

Through all the changing scenes of life,

in trouble and in joy,

the praises of my God shall still

my heart and tongue employ.

The ups and downs of life. Bad things happen, same as good things. It's a package deal.

But the Lord remains the same. Always there. Always willing to help. Always able to cope.

Fear him, you saints, and you will then

have nothing else to fear;

make you his service your delight,

he'll make your wants his care.

I'm thinking it's a good song with which to end the day! And I was reminded of it again because the folk who were in arranging their wedding tonight had asked for this song to be sung.

There's a lot that's still to be done this week. And a day like this when it's people and people throughout ... well, the rest of the stuff needing done begins to stack up even more!

Make you his service your delight (which I do, I love it), he'll make your wants (and I've got loads) his care (he'd better, because I'll be in big, big trouble otherwise!).

attention-seeking

There are times when death demands our attention.

Like some spoilt child, it rudely interrupts all else that is going on to insist that we don't forget this simple fact of all our earthly lives - we die.

There's been a lot of that these past few days.

Folk for whom a parent's passed away.

One of our leaders, yesterday - who always looked so young (despite being up in his seventies) and who always had a warm and courteous smile across his face - he passed away in hospital after a quick and sudden illness.

And then, at night, as well, I was round to see a man who's got ... well, he doesn't exactly know how long he's got, except that it's not that long.

"God's been good," he declared as I sat with him and his wife.

Not that the man's not had an ample share of troubles, sorrows and hurts.

But he wanted to think of the good things. Sound advice for all of us.

The gift of his wife, a love in which their spirits are simply woven together as one.

The gift of his home, a delightful flat in beautiful grounds, spacious and bright and a home that they'd done up together. I hadn't been there before, but I could see straight off what he meant.

And the gift of a thousand little providential things, each one a token of a God who's there and a God who cares and a God who takes an interest in us all. Down to the smallest detail.

The guy's not a hugely spiritual man, or anything like that. 'Church' has not been a thing that's figured large across the radar of his life. At least I don't get that impression.

But he's quick to learn; and quick to embrace the gentle, timely overtures of God's good grace extended to him now. And quick to relate to the message of this Jesus who has risen from the dead.

When you're facing the grave yourself, I guess it assumes a certain pressing relevance.

Death may well demand our attention.

But it's been well and truly attended to. Very truly. And very well.

scrummaging

There are all sorts of people I get to meet. In all sorts of situations.

And in all sorts of different locations as well.

Today it was Starbucks.

Up town. We don't (for obvious reasons) have one here.

By appointment.

It was the first time I've ever sat down with the man, though we've spoken before on the phone. He'd contacted me a few months back about a difficult, delicate situation that he faced, and sought my advice. We've kept in touch.

He had to appear before his bosses today. And he wanted me there.

As a 'friend', I suppose. Support.

Not that he really needed me, I have to say. He's a gracious and wise young man, with a lot of experience packed into all of his life. And he's sought in all things to be always honouring Christ.

And he did himself proud, the way that he handled it all today. Clear and consistent, while ready to acknowledge mistakes.

As I say, he didn't really need me there as such.

I mean, I spoke, certainly, really to highlight as much as anything else how awkward it was, the situation he'd found himself in.

As he said to me later, he once knew a man who used to say - "Don't tell me that I've done it wrong unless you've told me how to do it right". He was put in a situation where there hadn't ever been those helpful guidelines to keep him right.

But, as I say, he didn't really need me there at all. He'd have managed fine on his own.

It's what gets called the moral support, I suppose, that always counts. Knowing we're not alone.

Same as the person yesterday, in an entirely different connection. Just having someone there, and knowing you're not alone.

It took up the whole afternoon. But I was glad to have given the time.

Being a 'friend' to a man I've not really met before at all. But one who's a brother in Christ. And therefore, as such, my friend.

It's that 'partnership' thing again. Standing or falling together. Rooting for one another.

It matters. This 'fellowship in the gospel' really does matter.

The scrum. Where the binding is always important. And where matches are won and lost.

partnership

What makes a person take a 3 hour train journey followed by a 3 mile taxi trip (and with it all to do in reverse again later on) to see a guy like me?

I think the answer is bound up with the pyschological needs a person has when they feel alone and somewhat isolated.

The person who saw me today certainly feels like that. Distressed and deeply concerned by all that's been going in within big church: and feeling so hugely alone.

A phone call might have sufficed, you'd have thought. The person was simply asking the question - what can I do? And you can ask those sorts of questions over the phone.

But the biggest need this person plainly had was for someone in person right there. A tangible, visible proof that she wasn't alone.

The fact that she came that distance, and was ready to fork out the sums of money involved, is indicative of just how deeply troubled many folk are: and just how much they need some visible sense of their not being at all alone.

It's something the Bible goes on about quite a bit - the 'partnership in the gospel' which we share.

My Dad was a partner in the firm where he worked. I suppose, basically, they stood or fell together. They were in it together. That was for sure.

And that's what this notion of partnership really entails. We're in it together. We stand or we fall together. We're not alone.

And that's what this woman really needed to know. That's why she needed to see someone else who she knew would be standing with her.

"It's a psychological as well as a spiritual need", she said. "I need to be able to feel and to see with my own two eyes that I'm not alone."

There are loads like her. Up and down the land. They love the Lord and delight in his Word and they long that his kingdom should come.

And they need to know that they're in this together with others. They're not alone.

It's one of the things we're working on these days. Creating that sense of the underlying partnership in the gospel that we share with one another.

People that we've never met before. People that we wouldn't know from Adam. Or Eve, in her case.

But people who are brothers, sisters, partners in the service of the Lord.

It's a wonderful reality.

And it needs to be given expression in these days.

cavemen

That's not a picture of me, by the way!

I'm not a phone-ey guy.

Phones are not my natural sort of habitat, as they seem to be for some.

But a large part of today has been spent either on the phone or in touch with folk by e-mail.

Cave of Adullam stuff. A place where, and a person round whom, the disaffected, discontented, in distress constituency can gather again today.

To begin a better future.

If you want things to happen, then sometimes you've just got to take the plunge and go out there and ... well, make them happen.

This starts with God.

He makes things happen. Sometimes scarily so. Life is hardly dull when he's around.

When he first makes the introductory handshake, he says "Hi! I'm God and I'm a creator"

That's a pretty rough paraphrase, of course. But it gives you the drift of who he is and where he's at and what he basically does.

He makes things happen.

He lets us know what's on his mind. So we get a kind of nagging sense that something's needing done. When I run this past some folk, they too have this same nagging sense of what it is he's on about.

So, soon it's clear what it is that needs to be done. And it's then just a case of getting out there and doing it.

Risking your neck just a bit. Because if it isn't the Lord who's behind it all, the whole thing won't get off the ground.

Which will be embarassing.

But it's easier to live with that sort of tried-it-and-failed embarassment, than with the shame of not having taken the risk and tried it at all.

There is now a cave.

And mostly that's all the Lord needs.

He doesn't go in for palaces, castles or five-star-rated residences. Give him a cave and he's happy to come.

Bethlehem. Birth of Jesus. That sort of thing.

Adullam. David and the discontented crowds. That sort of thing, as well.

He's not at all demanding.

Give him a cave and he'll come.

And after that, you can pretty much leave it to him. He'll do the rest.

Out of the cave the kingdom comes.

Today, we got the cave.

Humpty Dumpty

A man came through to see me today. From the other side of the country.

Reason?

He had a question he wanted to ask me. Just one question.

"What is happening?"

He was talking about big church. And I think he was genuinely perplexed.

What is happening?

There were folk from the tribe of Issachar, a long, long time ago, of whom it was said that they had understanding of the times.

They could have told you, I think, what was happening. They had that sort of understanding.

It would be good if these guys were still around. We could do with them now.

What is happening?

Well, I told the man what I thought had happened. Which isn't quite the same, I know.

But it helps in seeing what's starting to happen now.

Which I think is a bit like a garment falling to bits.

It's a bit like the bolt at the centre of some machinery, which holds all the pieces together, has now simply sheared. And the pieces begin to fragment.

The very basic element of trust has gone.

It's a bit like the walls of the sheep-pen have suddenly crumbled to bits, and the sheep as they start then to wander around have nothing to give them cohesion.

What is happening?

Well, I think something rather like that is happening now. And the damage is clearly done.

I think I simply confirmed the man's fears. He's wise and perceptive and is good at discerning the vibes.

Damage limitation is, I think, where we're at these days.

Because the damage, I say, is done. And I'm not that sure that piecing the bits together again will do.

Humpty Dumpty's done for.

And all the king's horses and all the king's men simply cannot put Humpty together again.

wake up...

Wake up, Freak out - then get a grip.

Not my words, but the title of eleven and a half minutes of superb animation from Leo Murray. Well worth the time it takes to watch.

We're hosting a screening here tomorrow night of the film 'The Age of Stupid'. Admission's free, everyone's welcome, and it should be a good night.

Leo Murray's animation will get you in the mood. Watch it!

the cave of Adullam

Today I conducted a funeral service.

Nothing unusual in that, of course. It's a fairly regular occurrence.

Except this time there wasn't a large crowd of folk at all. Less than ten, I'd have said. So no singing, for instance (they didn't wish to brave my singing a solo!).

The man who'd died lived alone. An only child, who'd lived with his parents while both of them still were alive - then lived in their house when both of them passed away.

No relatives.

And being a quiet, retiring man, accustomed (from birth, I suppose) to amusing himself, he didn't have many friends. Just two, in effect. A man and his wife, though the man having died some while ago, it's really just been the one.

I didn't ever meet the man, so I can't really speak about him much at all.

He seemed to have been a man who was quite content. He didn't need, and therefore didn't seek, the company of others. And didn't feel the poorer for that lack.

He was kind, I believe. Thoughtful and more than generous towards this couple whom he knew and who had taken the man very much beneath their wings as it were when his parents died.

Content and kind and comfortable. How many would feel quite honoured by an epitaph like that!

And yet ... and yet...

I felt a certain disquiet about the way his life was lived. And I think that that sense of disquiet had to do with the nagging feeling that I had that the man was a graphic picture of so many different congregations' lives.

Content with themselves, getting on with their lives on their own. Kind in all sorts of good ways, as well, I don't doubt. And comfortable, too. Making ends meet and covering costs and everything looking quite good.

But just a bit too solitary. Ploughing a lonely furrow. Just doing their own thing.

And that's not either right or good.

I'm conscious of this in the wake of all that went on there at big church a couple of weeks ago. So many different people and so many congregations left upset, confused, disturbed. Deeply, deeply troubled; and concerned to find appropriate ways to channel how they feel.

But lacking the means to do anything other than struggle along all alone.

There's a need, that is, for some way of embracing these folk. Creating the ties of a communal life, across these congregations' lives, with the burdens being shared by us all.

There are too many 'only children' around in the way our congregations work. Content and kind and comfortable, no doubt, but too much on our own.

There's that need for a radical communal side to the way that we move things forward in these days. And a need with that for a clear and a God-given leadership now to emerge.

A bit like the cave of Adullam all over again. Where all who were discontented, in debt and throughly disaffected, gathered around a young man none too popular in the circles of officialdom.

David.

The man who'd bring in a new and better day.

The cave of Adullam.

That's very much the picture that the Lord keeps giving me.

A place within which, and a person round whom, this growing crowd of discontented, disaffected folk could gather with expectancy and hope.

So one of the things that I'm doing these days is speaking with folk, by e-mail and phone, and by every available means, to see where this 'cave of Adullam' is now to be found and what it will look like for us.

Some recognisable focal point: and some sort of natural leader.

seeing

"Come and see us, won't you?"

These were the words of the lady out in Kirkliston whose son so very tragically died last August.

I think she was worried that maybe now that my time at Kirkliston is done, I'll kind of give them the heave and not be in touch again. Which, of course, is anything but the case.

I was out at Kirkliston for lunch. A spur of the moment sort of thing. There'd been a couple of folk I know really well who'd come in just after twelve.

We'd chatted a bit and then, it seemed such a really nice day, I suggested lunch. They were keen.

I'm not even sure they'd been to Kirkliston before, and it seemed to me a chance to touch base with this lady again. She runs the place where we went for lunch. It's always great to see her.

In times of sorrow like she's going through, I guess it's often just the physical presence of people who convey some sense of the presence of God himself.

"Come and see us, won't you?"

The need for that sense of the presence of God in the face of the turmoil and heartache they know.

It's been a day where that sort of thing has been strangely repeated in all manner of different ways.

A lady on the phone in the morning, from far up Aberdeenshire way, asking if she could come down to Edinburgh next week and ... well, see me. I've never met the lady before in my life.

But she was plainly upset and disturbed by so much that went on a week or two ago at big church. And she'd heard me speak and figured that she needed to speak with me. She'd even asked her own minister if that was OK!

Another sort of crisis in another person's life. "Can I see you, please?"

The physical presence of someone who's either a friend that they've known or a person they think they can trust. The need for the sense of the presence of God in the midst of the turmoil and pain.

Another phone call later on. I was getting quite used to the thing by now!

This time a man. A man I've met a couple of times before. A man for whom I have the highest regard.

The man whom I sometimes think is the nearest the church in our land really has to Mother Theresa.

Humble, down to earth, dead genuine. Gracious and kind and wise. Out on the streets, alongside the poor, like Jesus was, doing good wherever he goes.

"Can I see you, please?"

Strange in a way. That he, of all people, should be saying these words to me.

But these are troubled, troubling days. And strange things start to happen in such troubled times.

The need for the sense of the presence of God.

We all need that.

And probably more than we care to think, we're meant to be a people who impart that sense of the presence of God himself to those we're with.

That's why he gives us his Spirit.

That's why we're called 'the body of Christ'.

Jesus before your very eyes. Jesus you can touch and see and listen to and watch.

The body.

The God you can cling to when times are bad.

The God who's there.