Relationship with the World

I'm in the run-up to the last three Sunday mornings when I'll exclusively concentrate on our foundational distinctives.  I have mixed feelings.  We're changing the rota because other guys need to start shouldering some of the weight locally.  And I need to be freer to spend time in Coventry, Leicester and other northern parts that need some input.  I recall the story of the Catholic priest at his ordination in Brussels.  The bishop leaned over to whisper, "Remember my son, the Lord called you to the priesthood because He couldn't trust you."   I can concur that the weekly discipline of preparing a major piece of teaching is a great astringent on the soul.

So I must carefully choose the last three topics.  All along I've been asked to address our relationship with the world.  I've ducked the challenge because I could see we'd fall between the two extremes of being too prescriptive or too conceptual.  I could reiterate the varying positions represented by Tertullian, Origen and Athanasius, who all contributed to the early church's understanding.  Or there's Niebuhr's five "Christ" categories.  But here's my attempt at a framework for what it means to be "in the world but not of it".  

1. Here our feet are kept on the ground, but it's not the source of our generation.  We will for ever be creatures of our created earth.  But, believers are born from above; "not of the earth" (1 Corinthians 15).

2. Here we find our context, but not our conformity (Romans 12).  Much as climate erodes softer elements in forming landscapes, whereas solid materials resist the process.  So our godly identity is formed and evident from within outward, not vice versa.   

3. And, continuing the alliteration, here we find our connection, but not our condition.  We say, "What are the weather conditions?"  Of course, they are geographically locally variable.  We don't have to fall under the spell of universal forecasts.

4. We're rebels, but also rescuers.  Our objections to the fallen order don't amount to an obsession with self-survival.  We're commissioned and prepared to be inclusive.

5. We're revolutionaries, but also redemptive.  We don't focus on tearing down an old world, but championing a new one.  And it delivers us from slavery into the transcendence of the kingdom of heaven. 

The city of Zion is one model.  Salvation must become social in breadth to fulfil God's covenant heart.  The devil's set up a  system that embraces Adam humanity en masse.  God in Christ provides Body life that's home for Christ's new humanity.

So, it's, "Africa, here we come". (Repost from 28/02/2102)

We fly from Heathrow at 7pm tonight.  Gregory in Nairobi emailed just yesterday with a question about accommodation.  He proposed we change from the Methodist Guest House, Oloitokitok Road, to the nearby Musmark Christian Hostel.   No problem in principle, but I wasn’t sure how to go about answering.  Googling Musmark produced an American backpacker’s 2002 blog entry.  It seemed the accommodation was okay.  What made me smile was the further first impressions of Africa.  So, I’ll give you mine, since I wasn’t posting stuff this time last year.

Day one produced a hectic overnight flight and busy schedule with our Multiply guys.  I settled down for my evening meal at the aforementioned Methodist Guest House.  A father with two small children, of fair complexion, occupied the next table.  The older one was pouring salt onto her plate, and licking it off with her finger.  Daddy’s smile seemed to register this was normal behaviour.

 “Say, I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he leaned towards me.  “I saw your red cross, and wondered what group you’re from?”  We tried to find common ground.  He was based some miles up country, in Masai territory, developing leadership training material in the local dialect.  “We have a quarterly meeting here in town,” he explained,” So I decided to come a little early and give the girls a day out.  Only...” he went on, “We didn’t think it was important enough to let our prayer team know.  Hmm.  We’ve had a miserable 24 hours - violent sickness.  We missed that one, didn’t we?”

It was his matter-of-factness that I struggled to digest. 

“So, we got straight in touch with them,” he was explaining, “And we’re okay now.”

I have other recollections of steps into a new dimension.  There was our first Agape evening after having moved to Warwickshire.  Pete, a resident leader of nine months’ local experience, declared, “Welcome to the battlefront.”  C T Studd is recorded as writing home, “The spiritual atmosphere here is so charged, you have to sleep with your eyes open.”  That was Africa, too.

What had I come to?  Preparing to do warfare with mosquitoes had absorbed enough nervous energy.  Needing a whole intercession team to ward off gastric bugs in the course of a perfectly innocent and routine trip left me disoriented.  Suddenly, I felt very lonely.  I was glad to be pointed in some helpful direction.

Well, by this time tomorrow, Ian, Jason and Jonny will have their own stories to tell.  That’ll be interesting.

Belief, Misbelief, Unbelief

I managed to escape in the direction of the Peaks again last Friday.  It was a glorious walk.  It also marked the start of a full week when I wouldn't be motorway travelling, so I wanted to engage in a bit of mental recalibration.  The process had begun in a personal prayer time earlier in the week.  I'd sensed God focussing on two images - not very remarkable, but carrying significance outside of my normal thought tracks.  (They were a petrol station and a small child.)

I'm aware that I have habitual thought patterns.  I invite you to agree that you have too, whether you've got some perception of this or not!  In usual mode, I'm a problem-solver.  It's not all bad: strong on analysis, open to creative solutions, practical focus on implementation.  However, God doesn't share this habituity; or any.  If we're going to get conformed to some of His thoughts, we clearly have to undergo restructuring and repositioning.  I think that when I first came to Sheffield, I was more open, available and responsive.  Preconceptions weren't going to build the church, even though I had a model that seemed to fit with what I knew of co-working with the Holy Spirit.  I was probably more energetic and motivational (ugh - horrible word), too.

So, while walking I was wrestling with how to dislodge the familiar and get nearer to a blank sheet of paper.  I started with beliefs that are misbeliefs.  These are a strange set of acquisitions.  If you find some truths intuitively plausible, attractive, acceptable, even obvious, you only go through a conversion-lite process to transfer them into Christian garb.  For example, compassion is a wonderful virtue, and so readily absorbed into the set of Christian values.  We may be horrified to find we disagree over what something so basic actually involves!  (I recently witnessed this in an email exchange about our street evangelism.)  But if the new creation meaning is only partly formed in each of us, if we've only acquired some conviction and indeed understanding by superficial engagement - misconception, we have a bastard child in our family.  And basic dissimilarity; with resulting moral and spiritual woe in the church. 

By contrast, unbelief, starting with no sympathy, affinity, inclination or credulity, even antipathy, requires a full and robust work of Holy Spirit conception to force its way into our truth system.  Mercifully, this God is well able to do as His Word carries creative power and require no preexistent material.  Though it calls for rock-breaking assaults on our barrenness, it's safer, and inevitably more fruit-bearing.

Suddenly, I'm more alarmed by the predominance of misbeliefs around the place than I am by the existence of sheer unbelief.  How stupid we are ever to think that something natural, secondhand and eroded by usage  should recommend itself to God for inclusion in our faith.  What a perilous journey the third Century apologists led us on when they co-opted Greek thought into service to the gospel.  How each generation parades a different selection of relevant, self-evident, universal half truth to bloat our pretentions and dilute hoped-for penetrating insight.  I could name some; but if you've been following me - you do it.

And I was at peace about my missing thought tracks, precisely because they present the Lord with space I won't interfere with, to generate growth.

Just yesterday I was reading a bit of Isaiah 53: a tender plant springing from dry and sterile ground (verse 2).  I've met dry and sterile ground in the United Arab Emirates.  Isaiah's message is "God will bring salvation from somewhere you wouldn't conceive of".  So we have pregnant virgins and green shoots in the concrete.  Praise God for such conceptions; may they fill the place.  How we need them.

The Anxious

You know I enjoy our monthly local Key Leaders gathering.  Last time I threw out the invitation to pause with eyes closed to let any anxieties flicker into more conscious focus.  Say, the sort of reaction you get when your least favourite neighbour asks "for a chat", or a chase-up email or note drops into your in-tray.

We defined anxiety as: "Imagination captured by something negative, so you experience an emotional knock-on and your decision-making is challenged".  When we came to share in turn, the guys were pleasingly honest and open.  We identified:

1. Social pain: because there'd some excruciating element in the interaction.

2. Abandon: you'll be found left standing alone and unsupported, exposed and vulnerable; it seems your destiny.

3. Pride/vanity: your reputation, self regard, status, etc, will get demolished.
 
4. Emptiness and resource deficit: you won't have what it takes in competence, accomplishment, ability to manage the context, time, contact with God, relevant knowledge.

5. Correction; that will destroy you, because you associate it with rejection; your fragile self-worth will be bankrupted, having got it wrong (or even just being charged with this).

6. Losing the argument, losing initiative in the conversation, losing control of the decisions in hand, forcing down your cherished truth claim, falling under the power of the verbally adept and belligerent.

7. Disqualification through ignorance or infringement of the rules.

8. Your decision-making processes will crumble; else you will need to endure conflicts of disinclination or dissonance.

9. Don't upset mummy (or some current female primary figure: many Christian leaders need deliverance from this.)

10. Exposure where we've been in the background, shadows; or able to deflect attention, responsibility and unpleasantness from your threshold.

11. Fear of corruption: compromise of your righteousnesses, integrity and person will pitch you into guilt and defilement.

12. Ending on the wrong side of authority through carelessness, indolence, procrastination, deceit, subterfuge, discontentment.

We'd banned the too-general "failure"; but interestingly physical violence didn't get much airing.  The fearful thing is that all these serve to undermine our confidence, which is a key attribute to delivering secure leadership.

Dear Justin

Loz was impressed that I manage to churn out a blog a week (on average).  The secret is that at Leaders-in-Training residential weekend in June, I agreed with Duncan that he'd text me every Saturday to see if I was getting something published.  The next thing Loz commented was whether I'd really join the connected generation by doing shorter blogs.  He finds mine lengthy.  Hmmm.

So here's a series of minis.  We'll start with an open letter to Justin Welby.

Dear Justin,
I'm sure you've had lots of advice, but hey, there are some things you can't get enough of, so here's mine.

1. Forget about women bishops.  When, in crisis, the cultural mood swings back in favour of mothers being at home, then what a bunch of clueless twits you'll all look.  The custodians of family values, caught with with your gaiters down.  When I hear Christina Rees saying, "The Church of England has been betrayed by the Laity", I'm reminded of Richard Nixon's assertion that "the will of the people mustn't be allowed to interfere with the democratic process". Just listen to yourselves!  A church that marries the culture of the day inevitably gets jilted when sentiments move on.  

2. Be the last white European primate of your communion.  Whatever it takes in canon law and UK law, get it sorted before you retire (or resign).  If it's true that the modal Anglican member is a 22-year-old single woman living in Africa, with education up to "A" Level, let's see it in the positioning of your government.  Head for the global south.  Get there before the Vatican!  Leapfrog GAFCON. 

3. Remember the gospel is about transformation, not reformation.  This is the big divide, not gays, traditions, political persuasions, ethnicity, disposable income.  Don't get on the "More education", "Economic solutions", or "Dialogue" bandwagons.  The cross in our redemption, sanctification and glorification is necessary, sufficient and non-negotiable.  (I'm sorry you don't share our theology of baptism, but that's not a show-stopper.)

I'll be praying for you, as expect you now won't be able to accept an invitation to Men Alive or Sheffield Praise Day.

Hypothermia in Coventry

There were three good reasons why Sunday morning needed to go well. 
1. We were in Coventry, and I wanted to serve the saints well with my input; they've been battling on a few fronts. 
2. We'd spent Thursday evening laughing at the local Mystery Worshipper reports from Ship of Fools website.  I'd explained to the guys that I always give our Sunday Celebration events a crisp start.  One day Jesus Fellowship will be on the radar.  A timely call to raise our game where applicable.
3. Andy from Coventry had given Monday's Leaders' event an entertaining run-down on what not to do when taking a neighbourhood-style public meeting.  He'd be there; and I needed to acquit myself honourably as a matter of example.

We came to be in Coventry because Saturday was our annual Multiply UK conference at Cornhill.  We'd promised to stay down when we had an event like this, and do a Sunday morning in Coventry (or maybe Leicester, next year).  Mary hadn't been to Tree of Life, and they gladly offered us their new guest room.

So I opted for a long walk on Friday morning, to disengage from my desk-bound persona and problem solving mindset.  I clocked up 16 miles walking out along A57 (Manchester Road) to the Shefield city boundary: there's a roadside footpath all the way.  By getting up early, I did it between breakfast and lunch, and it left me pleasantly expended and a bit leg weary.  It was pretty nippy going out, with a fair head wind.  The temptation with this kind of blast of fresh air is to come indoors and attack the pantry: cup-a-soups and slices of toast, etc.  (This phenomenon lies at the heart of articles headed, "The myth that the gym will lose you weight.")   I resisted.  The lunches at Multiply conferences are memorable events, and worth attacking with a sharp appetite.  Out in the sticks, I got a few prompts for the Sunday teaching and worked until 11pm getting the notes sorted.  That made me late for the weekly barbecue, and we had an early start on Saturday to get to Cornhill.  I don't know about you, but sleep deficit always creates heat deficit and a tendency to compensate with snacking. 

After Multiply, we arrived at Tree of Life when the tea things had been cleared away.  I'd stopped off at Skaino office to print off the notes for Sunday morning.  The evening household meeting was in Tree of Life's huge lounge, and it was on the chilly side.  In fact, I couldn't detect that any heating was running.  But I was looking forward to a bite of supper, and a chance to warm up before bed.

At this point I need to explain my travelling habits.  I usually take a sleeping bag when I'm staying over for odd nights.  This seems a little discourteous to the hospitality, but has sound sense.  First, my feet stick out beyond the end of a standard bed, and second I generally sleep better with some covers over my head.  Any attempt to achieve a satisfactory bedding arrangement with a normal quilt always proves hopeless.  So an XL sleeping bag is ideal.  This time, I'd weakened, and only brought the cotton liner.  I was mostly concerned for my feet.  I suffer with cold toes.  When I say suffer, I mean it: it's not just a conventional turn of phrase.  But I didn't want to entirely despise the kind offer of a new guest room.  Foolish.

I also need to explain about the Multiply lunch.  It's long been a point of difficulty for our international brethren that UK "church" food is "cold" - both thermally and culinary-wise.  So, there'd been a special effort this time.  Chicken curry was on the menu, along with a fine selection of greens.  I loaded my plate with peas, sprouts and green beans.  Surefoot and I were in deep conversation about White & Bishop and Internet, etc, when I stuffed in a mouthful of beans.  Only, not beans: perniciously firely green chili.  I believe the expression is "chewing on a marine flare".  Steve offered me a glass of milk, but I was beyond reason.  (I wasn't alone: one brother confessed he had three glasses of milk before normal service was resumed.)  My appetite was promptly extinguished.  (I thought I may be, too.)  Even the overflowing dessert dish of cheesecake and fruit salad failed to rekindle my constitution. 

So here, some ten hours later, was the prospect of supper, and with my assulted intestines I couldn't be bothered.  There would be no hurry over breakfast in the morning.  Sleep deficit and the progressive chilling down to about minus sixty degrees in the lounge gave the casting vote.  I crawled off to bed.

The guest room was indeed new.  So much so that the radiator appeared never to have been commissioned.  And the single cupboard contained no spare bedding.  I left on one pair of socks, and hunched up so the quilt came over my shoulder.  The was no comforting spread of warmth that wafts you off to sleep.  Now, I know enough physics to grasp that clothing and bedding are only insulation.  It's my body that needs to generate the heat.  It wasn't happening.  I groped over the side of the bed to find my Jesus Army jacket - an extra layer pressed into faithful service for many years.  (There were no coat hooks on the back of the new door, either...)   Another quarter of an hour - no difference.  Now I was faced with the big question: could I bear to get out, put on my fleece top and second pair of socks? 

I'd remarked to Mary that the last time I could remember a room this cold was in Slovakia, one bitter February.  Then we'd devised an expediency of wearing a complete set of clothes each night.  This had the corresponding disadvantage of  limiting the wardrobe for the daytime's activities.  And it had included wearing a woolly hat all night.  Well, once-upon-a-time bedcaps were standard.

I re-dressed and tried again.  At this point the chili began to make its presence felt.  Twice in the last twelve months I've had Delhi belly.  A year ago in Delhi (surprise!), and in June when we last stayed in Coventry.  It was all without prior warning.  With "normal" diarrhoea you generally feel queasy, headachey, unwell, offering some kind of anticipation.  Now, having been twice caught out, I wasn't trusting anything.  I'd ingested a gut-full of subversive spice, and I feared the worst.  I just lay and fretted and shivered.

The long night drew on.  About two sleepless hours later, I was at least not getting any colder.  But that was a small consolation.  The prospect of being in any kind of state to breast with Sunday's challenge slipped away.  I reviewed my miseries: Friday's long walk and lack of sleep to recharge my metabolism; the chili; the Arctic household meeting; my abandoned sleeping bag.  A succession of unimpressive decisions.  Ahead: my bowels giving way and an energyless attempt at the main meeting. 

"Did you get any sleep?" I asked Mary.  "Oh, lovely; I slept like a log", she glowed back.  And indeed, the bedroom radiator was now working overtime in sympathy. 

I had to tell Simon.  He was concerned.  "Oh Greatheart, ten feet away across the corridor, I have spare bedding in my room.  Why didn't you knock?"  Indeed, why didn't I?