Foodbank

I'd like to say we're not bowing to the inevitable.  But we are.  Sheffield Jesus Centre is joining the relentless army of faith-based organisations setting up crisis support for the hungry.  There are already 13 centres in Sheffield.  Our nearest one, which I shall refer to as S6, is overwhelmed.  Already 42 agencies refer in to them.  We're opening as a satellite, to share their load in a copeable way.

In the city, many centres are independent and some are part of the Trussell Trust network.  S6 is number 275 in Trussell's impressive roll-out.  Andy and Chris are the two main drivers.  We've spent the first months of 2013 getting to learn their operation.  There's also a monthly get-together for anyone involved or interested in Sheffield, which we've ended up hosting.

Margaret came to train our volunteers.  The procedures are tight.  Trussell Trust balance on a fine line between helping genuinely needy clients and avoiding longer-term dependency.  Whatever else you say, that's vital.  They also have pre-set selections of food items.  There's an element of discretion, where stocks allow, just so that clients feel valued.  Donations come partly through nationally-agreed arrangements with big suppliers, and local collections, also mainly involving supermarkets. 

We had to learn about how a session runs, how to check off the vouchers and the pick-lists, and what to do with exceptional cases.  Each parcel weighs 10 kilogrammes, so a mum with kids may have quite a cargo to negotiate.  We spotted that the Foodbank may create a confusion about the other food donations was already offer.  So we'll need to keep the services and respective teams distinct.  When we start, we'll pick up our day's supplies from S6, and report back any issues.  Meanwhile, we're sending some of our folks over on a Tuesday morning to learn the rope.

Trussell's voucher, distribution and stock replenishment systems are all computerised.  This was an impressive early investment, and has enabled the network to grow rapidly.  There's also a systematic volunteer registration process, so that our Jesus Centre people will need to sign up individually (with free training).   The Trust works through churches and Christian groups like ours, which is where they began, and where they feel the operation works best overall.

So, May 11th and 12th will see our volunteer team outside the local Waitrose.  There we'll attempt to charm the great Sheffield shopping public into sparing some donations.  We open on Monday June 3rd.  A great adventure.

Criminal Justice System

"Do you understand how the legal system works?  Are you interested..?" read the flyer.  The two-hour introductory session fell in a free slot in my mid-week diary, with the venue just across the road, and an offer of food.  So I chanced attending.  Our membership of the Broomhall Group of Groups (GoG) has delivered access and invitations to an interesting range of local community activities.  I mostly find myself a novice and a listener.

"Turn to the person next to you and discuss what you want to get out of this course."  Led in our facilitator, Rosie.  The flipchart bore the words Information, Issues, Action.  "I'm clueless," I turned to my table-neighbour.  "I've just come to see what I can learn".  Over my shoulder I caught, "What's this all about?  I came expecting a Hari Krishna meeting.  It was on last week.  You'd think they'd let you know if they scrapped it".  Oh-ho, I was looking forward to what would go down on the flipchart for that feedback contribution.  Call me a dinosaur or subversive if you wish, but I hate those group sessions that descend to the level of sharing ignorance, or opinions.

I need to explain some background.  Some four years ago, there were unhappy rumblings about the level of street drugs crime in the neighbourhood.  The Police mounted an unannounced Operation Mach to flush out supply - dealers.  It resulted in an impressive haul of convictions.  Over 20 custodial sentences were handed out.  However, the local community was outraged.  Broomhall is home to the largest population of Somalis outside of Africa.  The local residents lacked the cultural familiarisation to accommodate such intrusive Policing methods.  There were suspicions of entrapment.  When arrested, suspects were given little information about access to legal representation.  Seemingly disproportionate bail conditions were imposed.  Some convictions were followed up with deportation orders.  And inevitably, some parents denied their children could ever do such a thing.  Success came at a high price.  In fact, GoG largely came into existence to patch up the torn social fabric.

Around the room we divided equally between immigrants - essentially these who experienced the heavy handed treatment, and a more detached long-term resident contingent.  Ali and Saeed were vigorously translating, as the sense of powerlessness and injustice poured out.  The flipchart pen squeaked.  My pose of respectful silence was well chosen.  Eventually, Rosie passed round a suggested timetable for future sessions, and announced that chicken and rice was now up for grabs. 

Session 2 produced a group agreement, and then we were post-it-noted to death, as seems to be obligatory in learning events these days.  But the heartfelt personal accounts continued to flow.  One mother had heard youths arguing adjacent to her flats.  Fearful for her son, she rushed outside 'without even realising I wasn't wearing my veil'.  The asymmetry between the halves of the room grew.  "Concerns and Opportunities" clustered around safety of children, lacking a voice, and poor communications with the Police on one hand, and on the other amenities for recreation, cultural and educational events.  We pored over a flowchart of the journey from crime to sentence (www.cjsonline.org/lcjb/dorset).  I was getting hooked. 

I discovered, however, that the Jesus Centre hasn't penetrated into subconscious of the locality.  No-one included it in the post-it notes of identifiable community resources.  But as I walked back from last Sunday morning's church meeting, Mary and I passed Sahra in her dark chador.  She smiled - slightly self-consciously - and wished me (in Jesus Army jacket) good afternoon.  An unprecedented moment.  I was even more hooked.

For Session 3 a local defence lawyer agreed to take questions.  He distinguished between pre-charge and post-charge bail terms.  After Operation Mach, one young guy, finishing his A levels, had been excluded from the area and his education was wrecked.  Ali and Kaltum, both fluently bi-lingual, added to the grim litany, relating how they'd been sent away from arrest situations blatantly so that the suspects shouldn't be able to access legal representation - or even know that they could.  They'd both also been Police challenged to give their names and details at incidents, but knew their rights sufficiently to refuse. 

Our man described the difficulty of getting fingerprints and DNA records destroyed when suspects are found innocent, or even when a case is dropped.  His firm has been fighting one case for 12 years.  Even after winning the appeal at the European Court of Human Rights, the records remain on database.  In 2014, there'll be a massive cut in Legal Aid access and average suspects will get a raw deal.  In my morning prayer time I'd read chapters four to seven of Matthew's gospel.  I'd arrived at the training with my spirit strengthened by the dynamic justice of the Kingdom of Heaven.  Now I sat dismayed at the broken state of everyday life for my neighbours, not least the clash of modern UK societal values with expatriate African Muslim culture.  Christ came to reconcile all things: how should I, in His name, respond?

Next week we get representatives from the Police, and the week after from the Youth Justice Service.  It's a totally compelling experience.

Driver Training

We have a new qualified driver training instructor.  After years on traffic duty, Andy became a Police trainer for pursuit drivers.  He told me that six fatalities a year caused by chases isn't best for their PR.  He also did escort training for royal occasions and the like, when to stop is to end up a sitting target, and not good for security.  I don't know which he was offering.  My motorway manners have tamed down over the years; but then again, Sheffield has the slowest average traffic speed (11 mph) of any city outside of London (8 mph).

I've had more than the average share of instructors.  Before the Church signed up for a regular programme, we had various candidates offer us a sample drive.  The first time I sat in apprehension as the instructor systematically demolished Alan, one of our most competent guys.  "I don't know how it is on your side of the windscreen, but it's dry on mine - so turn the wipers off..."   Alan also had a habit of dropping his hand onto the gear lever.  Our man put his hand over it.  "You can hold hands with me if you like, but you're not fiddling with the lever when you're not making changes".  We swapped over and Ed was next.  "Well, Ed that was remarkable.  We've just discussed the procedure for safe overtaking: mirrors, indicate, manoeuvre.  You managed to do that one entirely the wrong way round: manoeuvre, indicate, mirrors."  And then for me: "Is that your rule in life - always accelerate into a hazard?"

One day I got sent out together with my old mate Dave.  He drove first.  We headed away from Skaino via M1 junction 16 to the A508.  There we pulled into a layby for an initial debrief.  The charming instructor turned ferocious about Dave's lack of observation, speed control, etc.  Dave exploded: "You mean that after just 20 minutes you can tell me what sort of driver I am?"  "I could tell that by the time you'd left the car park."  From the back seat, I couldn't resist a smile, too.

"I just want you to drive normally,"  Andy began the half-day session.  "Well, just so you know, I never drive except I'm up against a deadline for a meeting or whatever."  I wasn't making it easy for him.  "There's just enough time to make it up to Sheffield and back, and then you'll get some idea."   "Go on then," he surprised me.  "Let's get to the motorway and see how we do." 

At the junction I got into one of those lose-lose situations: a lorry ahead of me on the sliproad, two cars tucked in behind me, and two lanes of lorries on the motorway.  I'd been giving Andy a running commentary.  "At this point I'd clog it and get rid of the rest of them."  He remained silent.  I picked the wrong gear.  The overtaking lorry was about to pull into the gap as I hit lane 1 at 80mph.  "That wasn't very clever..." I offered.  "I'd have moved straight into lane 2."  Andy surprised me again.  "Foreign waggons: you can't tell what they'll do."

Half way through, we'd picked up a nice bit of sunshine, and were pottering round some unfamiliar A roads in Leicestershire.  "I tend to concentrate more on roads I don't know," I explained.  "The trouble is, I do most of my driving on routes I know too well."  Andy responded, "You just gave me a nice smooth ride for the last five minutes." Then I spoiled it all by failing to note a blue van turning right.

Heading home, back on the outside lane of the motorway, we were in sight of our exit.  I nodded, "There's a nice gap just up there, but I'll need to speed."  "Yes," Andy agreed, "That's a nice gap".  Back at Skaino, and into the training cabin for a debrief.  "Well," he paused, "You're a thinking driver, but have some bad habits.  Speed's the worst".  I couldn't disagree.  "But I'll bet you haven't got any points on your licence."  It was true.  Thinking driver.  Andy wrote on his report: "An enjoyable morning."  I can recommend him.

Serious Snowdon

I have to be careful here.  I'm aware that there's something of setting an example at stake, and all hasn't been, er, quite as it should have been.  But I'm not quite apologising, either. 

It started a couple of weeks ago, with Jack hinting at doing a sponsored walk.  Snowdon was "one option".  One day I'll explain about Enneagram types and why righteousness matters so.  "If you're thinking of climbing Snowdon, I'd like to go."  I decided to tackle fire with fire.  "What have you got in mind?"  I braced myself for inflation.  "Andrzej wants to come."  It is in the nature of the apostolic to die between two criminals. 

Of course, it was Jack's birthday coming up on Friday; and school holidays, so that would include Titus.  Then, inexplicably, we needed to take two vehicles.  Then, equally suddenly, there was the prospect of some camping overnight beforehand.  Like I said, inflation.

Last time I climbed Snowdon I was 21.  I did it twice in two weeks, as an officer in a boys' camp based in Anglesey.  We always stuck to the Watkin Path up, and the Pyg Track or Miners Track coming down.  A decrepit local hire coach would come round from the Beddgelet Road to the Llanberis Road to pick us up.

We settled for the Rhyd-Ddu Path.  My SatNav (or, in Cymric, SatNaf), said 3 hours 20 minutes drive.  "We'll need to be on the mountain by 8.00am," Jack instructed.  I've never before got up at 3.00am.  4.00am or 4.30am to catch a flight, yes.  But I intended us to be away at 4.00am, and there were bacon rolls to heat up in the microwave ready for when we stopped for breakfast.  And untold goodness-knows-what may await us on M56 and the North Wales coastal route.

Viv's conversation faded out after an hour.  When, just after 6.00am, I stopped for petrol nor far short of Conwy, no-one stirred.  Breakfast would have to wait.  I'm sure I went through two sets of speed cameras at roadworks.  The mountains looked like huge Stollen cakes.  The still lakes offered awesome reflections.  Mist trailed from Snowdon's peak, but we hoped the weather would continue to brighten.  The van appeared and Jack and team tumbled out.  They hadn't bothered to pitch a tent, just crashed out in the vehicle.

After half an hour, my phone popped up a signal.  I told Mary where we'd got to.  "Really you should let the Mountain Rescue people know your plans."   "Yes, dear."  But no. 

About halfway up we hit mist, which then turned to rain.  We togged up in waterproofs.  Lying snow extended up the path.  At one gate we stepped down from the drift to climb over.  It was getting to be hard going.  Every other step produced slips, or sinking through the harder crust.  "I just want some forward traction!" I shouted to no-one in particular.  At points we weren't exactly sure of the path, despite the frequent cairns and a sporadic trail of earlier footprints.   

The Bwlch Main ridge loomed.  "I can't believe we've got to go along there," I muttered.  But we did.  Now slips and sinking were serious, not just slowing.  I was jerked from my self-preoccupation by Titus up at my heels.  He couldn't resist speeding up as we came to any temporary descent, but took my warnings attentively.  We criss-crossed over from one side of the ridge to other to find the most manageable route. 

Then, the marker stone appeared where the Watkin Path merges in.  And without warning, out of the gloom ahead, the Visitor Centre.  Is it intentionally reminiscent of Noah's ark?  Elation made the last few yards a pleasure.  Solid drifted snow extended up to the Centre roof.  No cup of tea, then.  We carefully picked our way up the ice-coated steps to the summit trig-point for a photo.   

We sank back behind the Centre wall and de-briefed.  We'd all found it pretty scary.  We agreed that if the weather had been colder, or windier, or snow had started falling, we'd have called a halt.  We'd stick together for the descent.  We found sliding down some drifts as useful as trying to pick our way by foot. 

Viv was out in front when we realised we hadn't found the main path.  For a minute it was grim.  Jack fumbled for a map and announced we'd inadvertently diverted to the alternative South Ridge route.  That's alright then.  We trudged on to the final steep decent and emerged from under the cloud blanket.  Glorious views all around.  Exhilaration.

We were back in the car park by 3.30pm, and gratefully topped up with hot drinks.   On Sunday, AJ emailed me a BBC News link.  Three climbers were rescued by helicopter off Crib Goch.  "Was that you?"  Hmmm.  It could easily have been.  Good birthday, Jack?

Leicester Again

Three months on from our visit in January, we were due to spend another weekend in Leicester.  Of course, we knew we'd be welcome at Springfield.  But I needed to put myself in Richard's path, at Narrow Way, so we could have a leisurely catch-up. 

Saturday afternoon brought the first bright and warm weather of the year.  The only hiccup on the drive down was when I took the wrong turn of Narborough Road into a one-way street.  Smitten with sunstroke, Mary forbore to chastise me. 

You've got to hand it to the saints there, they've got simplicity well evident.  The uncluttered downstairs reception rooms displayed a restrained and tasteful set of framed pictures.  The spotless brothers' bathroom offered one tube of toothpaste and one shampoo bottle.  It's interesting how the prophetic naming of our community houses works out. 

Members and friends arrived for tea, and set up a buzz of conversation.   Afterwards groups purposefully set off for the evening's events.  Mary went to Springfield for the craft activity.  Richard headed for the outdoor exercise equipment in some local park.  I stayed around and chatted.  There was a promise of evangelism later on, and I'd come prepared with some extra layers of clothing.  However, as folks drifted back home, I realised it would be silly to head off out when everyone had finally regathered. 

We got onto the inevitable issue of how we're going to transition to the rising generation taking over the church and community.  I explained how I'd tried to equip our congregation to identify biblical foundations for our practices.  (Without obvious success, I fear.  So now I have the challenge to overhaul my style of communication.)  Leicester is solidly on the list of cities for our intended new-style "Tesco Express" Jesus Centres.  We talked about the prevailing spiritual atmosphere.   We tried to imagine how it would all work out.

Sunday morning I was up early to finish of some preparation for the morning's teaching that Richard had asked me to take.  I wandered into the kitchen to get some toast.  There was no marmalade in the kitchen "spreads" cupboard.  Simplicity indeed.  But, ha!, there was a large tub of chocolate covered Brazil nuts disguised as margarine.  Bonus!

Since our last weekend, the congregation's move to a new community centre for Sunday mornings.  "It's going to be acoustic." Richard had announced.  I took my guitar.  The band weren't sure what "acoustic" entailed.  My experience is that instruments keeping in time and a decent vocal lead for any chosen songs are essential.  That was all I could offer. 

Just before the "off", already past the 11.30 deadline on giving out teas and coffees, Clive popped up.  "Keep if brief, chief.  We've got to be cleared up and gone by 1.30."  Oh, great.  There were four brother over from Norway, too, and introductions were due.  I didn't take out the copies of my notes.  I shared about our times of prayer and finding a bit more the the Holy Spirit moving back home.  Everything had bounced along okay. 

At lunch Jan poked me some questions about our businesses and why I hadn't quite managed to retire.  Then Mary and I found our way over to Springfield.  Teatime included some special jams and cakes from the visitors.  Dave came for an update on J Generation activities. 

Everyone gathered for a time of worship, and to pray for the four Norwegian brothers.  Their church is in Lothen, about two hours' drive from Oslo.  They have a mission work in Romania, and are considering community: quite a plateful.  They like Multiply, too.  Marius told me, "The country is beautiful.  But in winter we have two hours of sunlight, from 2pm to 4pm."  Hmmm.  Thanks, but no thanks.

Back home everybody but Barrie had already gone to bed.  We'd missed Harriet's birthday.  I noticed how cluttered our house is.

Leicester - January

At some point towards the end of last year, probably between a Sunday leaders' breakfast and Friday morning walking the A57, I concluded that if I found time for Multiply travels then I also needed to give my UK responsibilities an equal shot.  I quit "pole position" on the Sunday morning meeting teaching, and cleared my diary to get some weekends in other regions. 

So, the first weekend of the year found Mary and I visiting Leicester.  Pretty memorable it was, too.

On the Saturday evening two car-loads buzzed into the city centre for evangelism.  Clive, probably working on the basis that what doesn't kill you must do you good, teamed me up with Alex and Dave.  They're both graduates of the Jesus Army Action outreach, and had also led four days of outreach in Swansea.  Well, at least I could hold the "Free Healing" board without getting into too much trouble. 

We headed for group giving out nightclub of flyers.  "Any of you need healing?" Alex launching right in.  After exchanges of glances, they pushed forward a guy who admitted he'd got a sore wrist.  Alex and Dave prayed.  They guy shook his arm.  "Hey, that's better!" He blinked.  With a few warm exchanges, we moved on.  Next we met three Street Pastors.  "Good to see you guys.  Busy tonight?"  Another spontaneous prayer.

"We'll head up to McDonalds, it's usually good there."  Alex and Dave nipped along the pedestrian zone, passing a couple of old friends along the way.  "When we went to Swansea, it really boosted our confidence," Dave commented.  "The folks round here remember us before we found the Lord."  He seemed bold enough to me. 

Suddenly Alex was tied up with one guy, and Dave with another, when a third group turned up.  "I'm an atheist," the guy in front announced.  "Yea, but you're the one with the bad neck!" his mates goaded.  "I don't believe in this stuff," he protested vainly.  "You might get to after..." I heard myself reply.  I prayed.  He looked doubtful.  "Feel any difference?"  "Not sure."  "Let's pray some more."  "Hey, look at this, I can move my arm and shoulder!" he confirmed.  

We stayed on the streets a little more than an hour.  I noted that eight of the nine people we'd prayed for had spoken of an improvement.  We bumped into two or three guys whom Alex and Dave had chatted with and prayed for before.  

On Sunday morning, the congregation seemed smitten with absentees.  The band was down from the customary keyboard, two guitars and vocals, to a solitary guitar and co-opted singer.  I noted, because we're still trying to work out the best arrangement.  It had all spiced our appetite for more.

Alive Festival Weekend

I'm not sure that I entirely like this 24-hour availability lifestyle, courtesy of data access, etc.  I was in the Jesus Centre setting up for The Burn when Mick emailed.  "There's been concern expressed about holding the Bank Holiday Festival in the marquee because of the weather and the ground conditions.  What do you think about transferring to Northampton Jesus Centre, and making the programme just Saturday and Sunday?"  There are some endurance challenges that you just don't need.  Thus it turned out to be.

The logistics of attending a Bank Holiday Weekend Festival are pretty impressive.  We start booking local accommodation at least month ahead.  About a week before we travel, we confirm numbers and meal arrangements.  Josh and Viv do a mega spreadsheet with all the vehicles we can summons (about 15) and all the passengers to fit in (usually 90-100).  Hence in recent years we've unified our travel arrangements so everyone travels of Friday afternoon and returns after lunch on Monday.  Not a chance this time: there was the "We're booked in for Friday night" brigade, and the "We're staying over until Monday" brigade.

The nearly 20 of us who were headed for Kings kept it simple.  On Saturday morning we loaded the van with bedding.  Andy dropped it off so we'd get sorted out that bit quicker at supper time.  We were due to lose an hour with the time change anyway.

I was anxious that without the traditional Friday evening warm-up meeting, folks would be milling around more intent on chatting with each other than engaging with the Saturday afternoon event.  When the time came, we had a full house, and an unusual additional ingredient - a full Channel 4 television camera crew.  Joe, the producer, announced that their interest was in "Living Stones as a non-biological family".  Non-biological.  Are they cyborgs, or something?  To be fair, I had been given advance notice, because I was due to take some baptisms, moved for the occasion from the customary tea interval into the evening event programme. 

Mick stunned some of the afternoon congregation with the challenge for single folks to defer marriage until they were 25, to give their best years to God.  I don't know why they were caught unawares; pastorally, this has been the best advice for many years.  It's particularly relevant where folks are selected to be part of a church-planting team or new community foundation, and need to balance the privilege of the call with responsibility to give it their best shot.

During the tea interval I caught up with Hilary.  She normally does all the meals for the marquee team from a catering caravan parked on the site.  "What did you do with the couple of free days?" I asked.  Sensibly, she'd resisted giving over the time to more audit work.  The day was beginning to feel like a speed dating event.  All the people you'd bump into over four days, but only half the time to spend talking with them.

Taking baptisms at Northampton Jesus Centre is an interesting challenge.  The tank is inset in the main stage.  It's so short that there isn't room to stand in the water, lest the poor candidate should crack their head on the steps when they get immersed.  To officiate you squat like a garden gnome over a fish pond, and lean forward you won't lose your balance.  I discussed the arrangements with Joe from Channel 4.  He had previously interviewed a brother from Birmingham, and the deal was that they would film his baptism.  We had two guys to baptise from Yorkshire.  I agreed that one of them would go first, so the camera crew could anticipate the best shots.  Being centre-stage, we introduced everyone so the whole audience got drawn in.  When I checked my phone, Josh had texted, "Stop playing to the camera".  Hmmm.

The great thing about staying at Kings for Bank Holiday Weekends is the Sunday morning cooked breakfast.  This being Easter Day, all the children seemed to be tanking up on chocolate, too.

At the morning event, John had a Jesus Centre spot.  He related how his in-laws had worked abroad, including Jordan.  Here they'd been at state banquets that involved four "sittings".  First the kings and top diplomats dined.  Then they withdrew to a second chamber and were joined by the next-level-down officials and guests.  After this spread, they went to a third room where anybody and everybody attended.  Finally the poor, outcasts and homeless came to the banquet.  This provides the background to Jesus' words, "The last shall be first and the first shall be last".

In the evening "Kids' Splot" teams of nine-year-olds competed to embalm a victim in the manner of eastern burials.  At the response time later, some interesting old friends sought out Mary and I for prayer.  There was an encouraging healing of one sister's knees (sorry it sounds strange).  Paul drove the minibus home.  I was impressed to find we were back by 11.20pm, until someone pointed out that all the clocks were an hour out. 

If you want to listen to the new dvd released over the weekend, Ignite, click on:
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