vision

"Where there is no vision the people perish."

The guy who pulled together the book of Proverbs knew what he was on about. And he had that enviable ability to put in a nutshell what ordinary mortals (and especially preachers) generally take two or three paragraphs to say.

Vision.

Without it, the good man says, you hit a dead end. At best you drift. Mostly you die.

We need vision. No doubt about it. And today's seen me spending a fair amount of time on hammering out a second attempt at articulating our vision.

It's easier said than done.

Vision derives from the Lord. Most of the time in the Scriptures 'vision' involves all sorts of different people catching a sight of God.

The bottom line is always this - vision involves our seeing God.

But, in particular, our seeing what God is doing at any given point in time.

We've tried to make just this our starting point.

Not what we might like to see - our hopes and dreams and finest aspirations.

But what we see him doing. Where we see him heading.

Jesus himself once said that he could only do "what he sees the Father doing." He couldn't (and he certainly wouldn't) do anything else. Only what he sees the Father doing.

So that's what we've been working at. Prayerfully. Together, as a Leadership Team.

Seeking by the help of the Spirit of God to discern what it is that he's doing. Here. And now.

And being able to say, on the back of all that, where it is that we see ourselves heading. Vision.

There's a great story told about Walt Disney, who died some five years before Disney World in Florida was completed. On the day of opening in 1971 someone remarked to one of the top guys in Walt Disney Studios, a man by the name of Mike Vance - "Isn't it too bad that Walt Disney didn't live to see this?"

To which Mike Vance replied - "He did see it. That's why it's here!"

That's what vision is like. We learn to see the future.

Craig Groeschel wrote a book called it not so long ago. (Yes, you read that correctly, that's the title: and I think he says at one point, if you have to ask what it is, you probably haven't got it). In the book he says this -

"Many churches (and organisations) have a vision statement. But in reality they have no vision. Just because you have words on a banner, a website, or a business card doesn't mean your leadership has a God-given vision. ...

"Without a vision, people become comfortable with the status quo. Later they grow to love the status quo. Eventually, they'll give their best to protect what is, never dreaming about what could or should be.

"They need a vision with definition.

"Here are some of the problems of the visionless ministry. Where there is no vision:

• most ideas seem like good ideas: this leads to overprogramming and burnout


• there is nothing compelling to give toward: this leads to a consumer mindset instead of a contributing mindset


• organisations become focussed inward: this leads to a slow and painful death


• instead of working together, people compete for resources

"Many churches today are visionless. They've drifted. ..."

We don't want to drift.

We need that God-given vision: that ability to see what God is doing and then making that what we're committed to doing as well.

So a fair bit of today it's that which I've been working on. Seeking to put into words what we're all aware God is doing among us here. And doing it in such a way that it'll act as a signpost to the future.

And, reflecting back on all that today has involved, I see that much of the rest of my time has been spent in addressing some of the problems that arise from (a) following through on that vision [change is never easy for anyone] and (b) not having clearly articulated the vision to others [and so leaving them in the dark as to why such changes are taking place].

Here's how Craig Groeschel finishes off his book -

"I've shared with you three prayers that are an important part of my life. I'm wondering, should they have a place in your life?

"Stretch me.

"Ruin me.

"Heal me."

And then this as his final prayer for his readers -

"May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done."

That guy's got it, for sure. When you have it, everyone can tell.

We want it.

blessings

We've been working our way through the so-called 'Songs of Ascent' at our Wednesday lunch-time services.

So-called, it would seem, because these were the songs that pilgrims sang as they made their way up to Jerusalem for the annual festivals.

Which, if you were a man, were pretty much a three-line whip sort of thing. Obligatory.

They also afford a useful sort of insight into the life we seek to follow Jesus. What one of his early friends called 'the upward call of God'.

Following Jesus is an uphill struggle.

Today's psalm, though, reminded us that, uphill struggle or not, it's a life in which the blessing of God is known. We live our lives, as followers of Jesus, under his arms upraised in final blessing.

And it reminded us, too, that the blessing of God essentially makes us fruitful in our daily living. It empowers us to generate life in others.

The psalm itself is not that long: and it ends with a simple prayer.

May the Lord bless you from Zion, all the days of your life.

I figured that was a pretty good thing to be praying, for just about everyone I could think of!

no time for targets

When you're training to be a pastor you get a year or so as what's called a 'probationer'.

In some ways it's a great time. You get to do all the sort of things that a minister does ... and someone else gets the blame!

But I heard of folk who, as part of their training, were required to 'do' some 35 'visits' a week. A kind of ecclesiastical fore-runner of the target-setting mentality which has captured the government's imagination.

I understand the reason why this target of 'visits' was set (at least, I think I do). But it became a bit of a box-ticking exercise where eventually meeting someone in the street was listed by the student as 'doing a visit' in order to meet the 'quota'.

Pastoral work simply doesn't work like that at all. Life, and its many vexing problems, is a lot more complicated than that.

Most of the pastoral work that I'm doing takes time. A lot of time.

There are urgent, complex, painful needs, with often a long and grievous history behind them all which gently needs teased out.

It can take a whole long afternoon or evening to begin to address such things. Carefully, prayerfully, honestly, gently, wisely, boldly, graciously - listening, probing, questioning, prompting, suggesting.

And looking to the Lord all the time to be helping and healing and moving things forward and opening the door to a future which has seemed to the person so bleak.

Today's been a bit like that. A couple of difficult pastoral needs where the Lord, I'm sure, is at work. Where help is being given. Where hope is being stirred. Where healing is starting to happen.

That's not all I've done, of course. There was a funeral, too, I attended. A meeting up town I was at. A few folk to sit with and see for a while.

But the large part of time has been spent on these pastoral needs. And all of them always take time.

That's what Jesus gave folk. Time.

The tax-man, Zac, a case in point. I mean .. goodness me, Jesus went for a meal to his house!

No way was he going to be able to fit some crazy target of 35 visits a week if he goes about it like that!

But a guy like Zacchaeus, with the problems he has .. well, he needs that sort of time.

So here's the bottom line, I guess. I'm not interested in targets. I'm interesed only in people. Bringing the Lord in his grace and his love, with all of his healing power - bringing the Lord to their side and seeing him change things for good.

You can do 35 visits a week, sure. But I'm not sure just what you accomplish thereby.

Because healing and help in the face of such complex needs always involve loads of time.

And, as the Beatles in an altogether different connection used to sing, even eight days a week is not enough to show I care.

Robert Murray McCheyne

He lived a long time before I was ever around.

But he's one of the folk for whom I have a huge respect and from whom I've learned so much. One of my all time heroes of the faith.

Robert Murray McCheyne. He was a minister in the Church of Scotland in the 19th century, most noted perhaps for his ministry in St Peter's in Dundee. He was born in May 1813, and died in March 1843. You can do the maths yourself.

Barely thirty years old. And yet in the space of those few short years he accomplished so much.

Yesterday I made reference to something the man once said -

“Do not forget the culture of the inner man – I mean of the heart. How diligently the cavalry officer keeps his sabre clean and sharp; every stain he rubs off with the greatest care.

Remember you are God’s sword, his instrument – I trust, a chosen vessel unto Him to bear His name.

In great measure, according to the purity and perfection of the instrument, will be the success. It is not great talents God blesses so much as likeness to Jesus. A holy minister is an awful weapon in the hand of God.”

Not great talents so much as likeness to Jesus. The man was the living demonstration of that truth.

Not that he was short of talent. He was a very able man, in all sorts of ways.

But it wasn't that which made him so much an instrument of God's blessing and power in people's lives. It was his likeness to Jesus.

They said of him that -

“when he appeared in the pulpit, even before he had uttered a single word, people would begin to weep silently. … The very sight of the man gave the impression that he had come from the presence of God and that he was to deliver a message from God to them.”

I find that hugely challenging. The very sight of the man had that effect.

That's what those who minister God's word are meant to be. Those who have come from the presence of God and are patently there to deliver a message from God to the people who have gathered.

There are no short cuts to this. That's pretty obvious.

But in a quick-fix age, I suspect that too often this has become a forgotten or neglected truth.

Reading Andrew Bonar's book, 'The Memoir and Remains of Robert Murray McCheyne' should perhaps be compulsory reading for all who are called to exercise such a ministry of the word.

I chanced to read it a long time ago, while I was still a student. The impact that it had on me was huge.

You don't have to be called to minister God's word to benefit from reading the book. It'll give you a down-to-earth insight into just how strategic the teaching of the word of God is in the purposes of God: and just what that teaching of Scripture involves.

Likeness to Jesus is everything.

In the realm of the spirit, where the really important conflicts are waged and won, it's this alone which counts.

Remember the evil spirit in Ephesus? (Don't worry if you don't, but check it out in Acts 19.13-16).

"Jesus I know, and I know about Paul, but who are you?"

Good question.

Who are you?

And how like Jesus are you?

empathy

'Empathy' is the value for the month along at the local primary school.

It's Thursday, so I was there again this morning for the two assemblies.

What is 'empathy'? the Head Teacher asked.

I wasn't as hopeful as he plainly was that there'd be anything but a silence in response. I mean what child is going to know the meaning of the word?

Presumably a rhetorical question! But no. The children responded well. They clearly had a grasp of what this meant. Even the Primary 1 to 3s had a bit of a grasp of the thing.

Mind you, this is the second week they've had this 'value for the month'. They're quick learners.

The Head always handles these values well. Even when they're hard to get across. The children get the picture.

Especially today when he took off his shoes and suggested that one of the children swap with him. Step into his shoes and see what it's like being the Head.

They got the idea all right.

Empathy. Identifying with the needs and feelings and circumstances of another.

It's what Jesus does supremely. The whole good news is all about his empathy. Identifying with us. Standing in our sandals.

It's what, as those who follow him, we're seeking to aspire to in our turn.

So today I've been out and seeing some folk who've been bereaved in recent days. One of them was an older man whose wife had died.

I mentioned him a few weeks back. He's the one who said that neither he nor his wife were 'really that religious'. Which is a good job, basically.

But he's keen to come to worship on a Sunday, and had even gone to the length of looking us up on the internet to check the time of the service.

One big question, though. Would he be welcome to come?

Pardon me? Why on earth would a person like that not be welcome to come?

He explained he was brought up an Anglican.

Strange the notions people have that somehow that might make him .. well, like the enemy. Not welcome.

I hope I made it clear that Jesus simply isn't even remotely like that. But it helped me to see once again what it's like to stand in the shoes of someone like that, who's not been at worship since childhood perhaps and fears that he's maybe unwelcome.

Later I called on a lady whose elderly sister had died. She's the last of a family of eight, so she feels the grief acutely.

She'd just, a few days back, received some photos from her sister's house which included a photo of her father when he'd been a boy. Except there were that many boys in the photo she hadn't a clue which her father actually was!

Her heart was sore with disappointment. She'd never know.

But then the next morning, with the light of the sun shining in at a certain angle, she chanced on the photo again: and the light shed by the angle of the sun enabled her to see the faintest 'X' impressed upon one boy, whom now she knew must be indeed her father.

"Divine intervention!" she joyfully declared.

And I guess in a way it was.

He's good at that. It's the way that we, all of us come to know and recognise that Jesus is the very Son of God.

Without the Lord's decisive intervention, this man is just another individual on the canvas of a long and ancient history. Only as God, by his Spirit, shines upon the page, as it were, are we able to see that cross alongside Jesus and come to know that he's indeed the One!

It was good to be able to stand in her shoes and see how that divine intervention. Because as I stand again in the shoes of that other man I visited earlier on, I'm aware once again that only as God shines his light upon the page will he (and others) see that Jesus is the One.

As the song says - "Shine, Jesus, shine!"

just another day

Most days are fairly varied. And this was no exception.

Armistice Day.

So I was along first thing at the Royal High for their marking of the day.

They hold a special assembly for the fifth and sixth year pupils, in which wreaths are laid at the memorial door (remembering former pupils who gave their lives in the first world war), and at the memorial windows (in memory of those who fell during the second world war).

The occasion is always a solemn and special time. Today's was all the more so.

It was an extended, half-hour session, with a couple of extra features. One of the teachers gave a mini-bio of some of the former pupils who had lost their lives. That made the whole thing really very personal indeed.

And at the end there was a brief, but poignant powerpoint presentation set to music which highlighted just why we do indeed remember all these folk.

The pupils, I'm sure, would have found the thing compelling. It would have struck a chord with them.

Which was good to see. Sometimes occasions like this are given little more than a passing nod. This one touched the heart.

Wednesday.

That means there's a lunch-time service. And today it was Psalm 127 that I was expounding.

It's a great psalm, and most folk there would have been reasonably familiar with it - Unless the Lord builds the house ... That one. You know, the one that's often quoted at the start of a wedding service.

But I'm not always sure it's properly understood. It's about the way in which we learn to collaborate with the Lord in the work that we do. Or rather, in the work that he's doing, the work in which we're invited to share.

And it's about people and relationships being the heart of all our work. God's work in creation, after all, had people and relationships in mind.

We do well not to forget that.

People.

So, appropriately, a good deal of my time today has been spent with people.

All sorts of people. With all sorts of different needs.

I had a long and useful time, fo instance, with someone who's been faced by some fairly awkward decisions. Sometimes it's not always easy to know what to do. And it's helpful to run the whole thing past someone else.

It was a case of my being a sort of sounding board, I guess. I'd prayed a lot about this time that I would have, and asked the Lord for wisdom.

Not so much to know the right answer, as to know how best to help the person come to see the course that should be taken.

I think we were both very conscious of prayer being significantly answered through that time. Which was humbling and yet exciting as well. The Lord is very wise and very good. And it's great to have such evidences of his hand upon a person's life.

I meet a lot of people, of course. Some, like the person I've mentioned, by appointment. Others more by 'chance'.

A lady looked in, on spec, as it were, wanting to see 'the pastor'. Which is me, I suppose, though I try and encourage the others here to see themselves as pastors too. In their own way.

We tried that one to start with but the lady was fairly adamant. The pastor was who she wanted to see.

It was shortly before the service was due to start, so I didn't have long. And I'm still not all that sure just why it was me that she needed to see.

Sometimes we don't have a clue what's going on in a person's life: we don't need to know, I suppose. It's a case of leaving the issues with the Lord and being ourselves available for him to use just as he will.

Sometimes it's more than a clue that I have as to what is going on, of course! Like the family later on whom I was meeting at our halls. I'm all too well aware of what it is they're going through.

And this was a chance to offer them help in a very practical way. Like the Lord said to Moses at the burning bush - I have heard their cry and have come down to rescue them.

I've certainly heard the cry of their hearts, and I've been to see them before; and now there's a chance to offer them practical help as they seek the way forward at such a difficult time in their lives.

We'd arranged to meet at the halls. And I think what they saw and heard was enough to give them a glimmer of hope in a setting that's really so dark.

Meeting.

There were others as well I was meeting with later on. By arrangement.

With a view to thinking through our worship here.

We're committed to the notion of 'a gift-based ministry', but probably tend to use the phrase too easily. So we've been trying to give some serious thought to working the whole thing out in the context of our worship here.

A little while back I asked a lady called Sheena to take on board responsibility for seeing to the content and conduct of our morning worship.

She's a very able person, gifted in a lot of ways which made her seem so right for this responsibility. Which has proved to be the case.

I've been seeking to see the same sort of pattern emerge in regard to our evening worship too. And a team of folk has begun to evolve.

We were meeting to chat the whole thing through. Morning and evening. And sort of everything in between.

Worship is not a 'random' sort of thing which just magically happens. I try to ensure that it is characterised as being -

Personal: in the sense that it is at heart a personal relationship with the Lord; that it involves the whole person (body, mind and spirit); and that it reflects the varying gifts and personalities of the people that we are.

Relational: in the sense that it is a corporate, communal activity, centred on our relationship with the Lord himself, but involving in more than a merely cursory sort of way our relating to one another - that, after all, is why Jesus died, that we might be one.

Accessible: in the sense that it is to be intelligible (both to the Lord and to all who share in our worship of him), and something to which the doors are opened wide (literally and metaphorically) to one and all.

Innovative: in the sense that, because it's the Creator we worship, because we're made in his image, and because in Christ he's pleased to do a new thing in our lives, our worship should give expression to our own creativity - not change for change's sake, but genuine creativity.

Scriptural: in the sense that it flows from God's Word to us, and is always a response to him, and in the sense as well that it accords with what the Scriptures teach.

Earthed: in the sense that it should be always rooted in, and related to, the down-to-earth and day-by-day situations from which we have come and to which we have to return - it's not, in other words, a different world we enter when we gather on a Sunday to engage together in worship: it's more a case of bringing into sharper focus the worship of our daily lives and addressing that together to the Lord.

PRAISE.

How those six principles get worked out and find expression will (and must) vary. And that's the sort of issue we were trying to address tonight.

It's a learning curve. Always.

Curving up to the Lord in praise.

'looking after orphans'

The other day a man who was chatting with me said - "I don't envy you your job."

We were standing outside at the end of a funeral service. The death of the lovely young woman who'd died was in particularly tragic circumstances. I think it was that to which the man was referring.

And sure, there are things which I guess no one in their right mind would choose to do. This sort of situation would be one such thing.

But, then, this is the world we live in. These sort of things do happen.

And it is in the end a huge and humbling privilege to be able to share with a family in their grief at such a time. Sad, beyond all words. But special. Sacred. Times they'll never forget.

To be able to be with them, and to share with them such times of sacred grief, and minister the grace and care and presence of the living Lord by word and deed on what for them is always hallowed ground - well, there are few more elevated privileges a man can know.

The small group of folk I was with last night were thinking about the way in which the Bible is insistent that our faith must always be worked out and find expression in our actions.

"Don't merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says."

Just do it.

The guy who made that point was pretty direct. James was his name. The brother of Jesus.

He plainly learned a lot from his brother, because he didn't mince his words. I mean, he's gracious in the way he goes about it, but he kind of calls a spade a spade. He tells it like it is.

So he went pretty much straight on from saying what he did about 'just doing it' to say this -

"Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress ..."

Grief is often the context where the gospel's to take root. The practical needs that often there are as the sequel to the sorrows that life brings.

We were conscious again of exactly that tonight when the Leadership Team met again.

Very practical, pressing needs that some folk who've been going through the mill in life now face. And needs that we're able, it seems, to meet.

The only sort of 'religion' that the Lord has any time for is the sort of thing which just goes out and does it. Looking after such 'orphans' and 'widows' in their distress.

Like the Lord simply says, if you can't or won't do this, you're missing the point entirely and are just a waste of space.

It's not always easy, no. Anything but. Yet it is just the biggest privilege. To be and become the means by which the Lord himself brings his love and his care and his presence to a world in need.

And if thereby some people come to meet and know the Lord, then all that that's involved for us seems more than worth the effort and the cost it brings.

Life has been imparted.

And the labour that's involved in giving birth is soon forgotten in the joy of that new life.

I should know - I've seen it in my lovely daughter-in-law this past momentous week!

not a museum piece

The new Rector along at the Royal High School has been in post for a couple of weeks now.

I was along to meet her today. Jane Frith is her name, and it was good to be able to have a bit of time with her and chat about the school and my involvement there.

She's plainly an able person and I'm sure will be good for the school. And it was interesting to hear her speak about the balance that she needs to strike between retaining traditions and effecting change.

The Royal High School is very old. I mean really, really old. It dates back to the early 12th century and is reckoned by some to be, I think, the eighteenth oldest school in the world.

If you've been around that long, traditions tend to develop of course. And the Royal High has a few!

But it's not a museum piece. It's a 21st century school: a very large school, as well as a very old school: so there are changes which have to be made.

I was in today not least with a view to the upcoming Armistice Day service they hold in the school on Wednesday of this week.

And there's a lot of tradition bound up with this. Far more, I suspect, than in most other schools.

Certainly the new Rector was somewhat surprised by how important the traditions relating to this occasion are. She hadn't been used to that in other schools where she's been.

So it was good to be able to chat a bit. After all, she's now the fifth Rector at the Royal High that I've known. I've seen the way that things have been done across the years - and how and why things have changed.

I hope that for her it was useful to have that sort of informed external sounding board.

Because the issue is one I'm familiar with as well. The balance between retaining important traditions, and nurturing necessary change.

The church is not a museum piece. There are things that need to change.

But there's always the need to be careful in how that's done that the baby doesn't get thrown out with the bathwater.

Because the good news begins with a baby. And that baby born at Bethlehem is who it's all about.

There's a lot of past-its-sell-by-date bathwater needing to be thrown out. But not the baby please!

introducing Isla

There's one little reason why there's not been a post these past few days.

All 7 pounds 1 ounce worth of reason - my lovely little grand-daughter, Isla, born on Tuesday evening just in time for the 6 o'clock news.

(Not that the News programmes included a mention of her birth!).

Finding the time and the place for some internet access was not that high on the list of things to do down there. Hence the lengthy 'silence'.

My apologies. Here, then, are a few pictures. Since it's the photos you'll want to be seeing, I guess, and not her grandpa's words.

Here she is, just a couple of hours into what we loosely call 'the real world'.

One day old, she's had a bath, and you can tell she's going to be blond.

Into her second full day of being on view to the general public - and oblivious to all the attention!