Multiply India Retrospect

"when can we get together?" Nathan and Sam both pressed me.  We found a free Thursday evening, and booked in at Kings for tea.  Nathan and Sam had heard very little about Steve being in South India and then Myanmar and UAE.  I hadn't got their full story from Cuttack, Odisha, either. "Come on, Steve." Nathan encouraged.

Steve reminded us that we'd ruined his attempt at snatching some rest before flying south to Kerala, when we discovered Nathan's laptop was missing at Bangalore airport.  His flight was uneventful, but Daniel, who was due to follow an hour later, found his service was cancelled.  Steve waited several hours in the inhospitable airport until Daniel finally arrived on the last scheduled flight of the day.  Their time spent with Daniel's friend, Dennis, has been a delight.  But later, in Thrissur, the hotel was dingy and the delegates attending the conference not the promising catchment they'd hoped for.  Checking in for the onward flight to Myanmar, Daniel found out that visas aren't available for Indian nationals on arrival.  Steve was left to head for Kuala Lumpur on his own, as so grateful to find me waiting in Yangon airport.

Nathan took up his account of the Church on the Streets staged in Aizawl, Mizoram.  The young people's group that had promised to support the scene had been brave and spontaneous.  Next day, Colney took Nathan and Sam to the Jesus Army rehab out of the city.  They'd immediately clicked with the team there, working in very sparse conditions.  "What do you need?" Nathan had asked.  "A carpenter to build us more furniture here, and then teach the guys some skills, so they can move on from their addictions to something constructive."  Nathan asked him to put a figure on this.  Something like £5,000 would see it sorted.  Back at Colney's home, Nathan put out a Facebook page, and within hours netted some hundreds of pounds of pledges.  That's now been passed over to one of our veteran church members, who has the business experience and time to see it comes to fruition.

"Cuttack was something else," Sam chipped in.  "We arrived in the middle of a Hindu festival.  I found it quite intimidating. This group of young guys came up to me and were trying to get me to dance. 'C'mon, dance for the god!' they pushed me about."  Hannah, Sam's missus nodded vigorously.  Sam had experienced a few scary moments on the trip, including the road accident in Bangalore when his autorickshow had run into a van.  However, the visit to the boys home/orphanage had melted his heart, and been more than compensation.  "They all lined up yo welcome us, in red cross teeshirts.  Oh, the enthusiasm in their worship!".  "Yea, that's what got me in Mizoram, too." Nathan added.  "I wanna do a video that will inspire us to get into worship like that."  Sam and Nathan rounded off with their comedy-film routine of getting through security at Mumbai airport.

"I was chewed up about some of the things that went wrong," I confided.  "We had these big misunderstandings about what Steve's described about Thrissur; Butch arriving in Myanmar and how the whole budget for Yangon got out of schedule.  I'm trying to pick my way through it all."  I wasn't sure whether to go into detail.  "We've always said that every new Multiply activity we embark on stretches our leadership relationships more."

Nathan got us back to a more positive note.  "Who are we going to follow up?"   "Ah, the MILC conference in May/June next year is going to have three tracks."  I explained,  "One for the existing AMEN guys, then two each invitees that they see as key players either in their home scene or for a new place; then a J Gen track for younger folks, or leaders working with them like we do at RAW - again, about two each."  "Wow, that's great!"  Nathan and Sam were excited.  They fired off a load of names they're in contact with on Facebook.  "And don't forget the Intern scheme," I added.

"While we're on follow up," Steve joined in, "Greatheart, you really must get someone to take on some of the admin side.  I watched you dealing with the travel, the finances, the conference equipment - and after you'd done all the planning...  It was too much."  "Well, it was first time for you guys, so I wanted to smooth the way."  I explained.  "Yeah, but you're going to tell me the same about Zambia next year," he persisted.  He's right, there's still lots to work on.

Dave stuck his head round the door and offered us all tea and flapjack.  "Tell the others about the train home," I nodded at Steve.  "From Manchester airport, I fell asleep and went right past Crewe, so I had to double back from Sandbach," Steve explained.  "I did 20,000 miles in 15 days on eight flights, like clockwork, then missed my train connection!  The whole household turned out at Rugby station - with flags.  The other passengers were gobsmacked!"   "C'mon Greatheart, when are we going again?"  Nathan spoke for all of us.  "I think next it's got to be Delhi, to try to cover the northern third of India.  Who knows?"   It was way past 11.00pm, and I had to drive back to Sheffield.  It had been special. 

Searching for the North at Bishopthorpe

Every month or so, an e-newsletter titled 'Spirit Level' pops into my Inbox.  It's complied by a lady called Janet who represents the Churches Regional Council (CRC), a body originally set up by the Yorkshire and Humberside Regional Development Agency.  The dozen or so former RDAs have been phased out as such, but CRC marches on.  Spirit Level is a fascinating digest of church activities.  I've attended several events and downloaded some excellent material from its content and links. 

The October one caught my eye:   A day conference for mission practitioners, church leaders, theologians and missiologists to reflect together; What is distinctive about the North of England?  What might be a proper and fruitful relationship between the North and South for the mission of God in England?  Is there a Northern gospel?  The date was free, the price modest, and it was at Bishopthorpe Palace, York, a quick hour's train journey away, so I booked. 

There must have been worst places to be on the day.  The morning sun was clear and bright, and the mature trees in the Palace grounds flushed with autumn colours.  Along the gravel approach, through the arch, up the terrace steps, and enter by the front doors (not the generally used Reception) to collect my badge.  It's the paintings, or should I say portraits, that set the tone: all clerics one imagines of high status - in varying poses and vintages of dress.   We were ushered into the State Hall.  I counted fourteen portraits high around the walls, then amazing mouldings reaching the ceiling.  Through the large sash windows, the Ouse flowed wide, fast and dark brown along the rear garden terrace.  Most of the delegates were in clerical dress of contemporary mode.   "I feel like a lion in a den of Daniels," I observed to Gavin, our facilitator for the day.

The housekeeping announcements introduced us to a beautiful brass bell suspended in a wooden frame to be rung as a fire alarm.  Malcolm, the Archbishop's Chief of Staff, welcomed us and led the opening prayers.  He apologised that the Archbish was unable to be here - away in Canada.  Then we had our first morning plenary session: a set of compelling statistics presented by Kate Pickett, professor of epidemiology at York.  (You can see the presentation, done by her colleague and co-author on http://www.ted.com/talks/richard_wilkinson.html).  The studies include aspects of health, quality of life, social capital compared across 23 counties.  Her basic conclusion was that inequality in incomes causes more harm than low incomes (per se).  And the relevance to the North of England was that when things start to get bad, they get worse faster and more pronounced for poorer regions.  Kate invited a Christian response of speaking out against destructive inequality.

Over coffee, I met several other folks from Sheffield, though the total catchment ran for Newcastle to Nottingham, and across both sides of the Pennines.  Session two was the turn of Steven Cross, Bishop of Sheffield.  He spoke of two strands of analysis at work in the diocesan churches: first, congregations know the gospel but need guidance on how to launch mission.  Two: churchgoers aren't clear on the gospel, and that's where we need to start evangelism efforts.  As for the North - he described the narrative as 'tragic, rather than romantic', and that may be some distinctive.  Bishop Steven also provided a necessary balance to the earlier session, by reminding us that our salvation isn't economic, but from the Kingdom of Heaven.

Just before the lunch break, Gavin introduced how the afternoon whole session would run.  The programme said 'open space technology' - we we intrigued.  A bunch of upturned table tops were lined the front, ready for sticking up flipchart sheets.  "Here's how it goes," Gavin explained (I later learnt these rules nare specially suitable for theological reflection - or TR). "First, we agree our topics - anything that's been stirred up this morning, or that we felt was missed.  Second, we accept that in the gathering we have all the needed talent and experience to make real contributions.  Third, the law of two feet - if we're not making progress in the present group, we move to another."  He waved a marker pen, "So, who's got the first topic?"  A lady vicar sprang to her feet and spoke about a recent announcement that Northern towns in the grip of economic decline should be left to die.  "How do we bring hope and meaning in places like this?"  "You can lead group 1 on that." Gavin scribbled on the flipchart, nodding.  Having collected eight groups, we headed for lunch.

Two lovely sister in grey habits were gliding between adjacent admin offices.  I asked them if they live in, and explained my community background.  I bumped into two guys from the University of Carlisle, who similarly were engaged in a community experiment.  Lunch was sausage casserole and mash, followed by apple crumble.  And there were seconds.  "I bet you wouldn't get that if we were meeting in Winchester," I commented to three Methodists at the long oak table.  I skipped the stroll round the gardens that others had opted for, so I could familiarise myself with the format for the groups.  Fresh from our own trustee training session, I wanted to focus on key points.

"I thought Hull had low church attendance because they'd never heard the gospel," the lady vicar related.  "I took a funeral of a family man in his early 40s, and afterwards went to see his wife.  'Is there anything I can do to help...?' She replied, 'I've got rats in the garden and mice in the house; there's water running down the walls.  My two boys are up in court tomorrow and my daughter was brought home - found in a alley.  And I've had no money since the funeral.  Where would you like to start?'"  The tragic narrative.  My group (held later) concluded that sincere worship, and sharing testimonies of experiences with God created an authentic spirituality.  Gavin gathered up the flipcharted contributions, and hinted that another conference may follow.  They need it: mission hasn't really penetrated average parish consciousness.

Back at York station, I had a coffee with Joe, my grisly friend who use to come to our Jesus Centre every week.  "Had a holiday then, Joe?"  "A day at Scarborough."  "Well, York itself isn't such a bad place," I consoled.   "I stay out of the way," he muttered.  A month back I happened to be passing the Minster.  'Here,' this Yank calls over, 'Just to be clear - is this pre-war?'  I glared, an' said, 'It's pre-America.'  I just stay out of the way." 

Sheffield Praise Day

In national Church terms, the big splash for us locally is Sheffield Praise Day.  It's traditionally held about the third Saturday of October, at the International Conference Hall in Ponds Forge.  We have a coach-based evangelism/outreach campaign in the city centre for the few days leading up to the event.  Of course, it's a different experience for everyone: here's my version.

The Centre's main hall needs to be carpeted.  It's got one of those classy wooden sprung floors, with multiple multi-coloured court lines for multi-sports events.  Ponds Forge is one of the fussiest venues we hire - not necessarily a bad thing - so protecting the floor requires fine-tuning attention.  

We employ three grades of adhesive tape: first your standard black gaffer tape for sticking together the edges of the sections of carpets - that's the bit you most see.  Then special-purpose dark blue gaffer tape, used where the edge of the carpet overlaps the wooden floor - this has a different adhesive that won't cause damage.  Third, a very expensive white double-sided tape NEC (National Exhibition Centre) approved, , that goes under the carpet to prevent slipping - this goes down first.

Thursday evening, ten o'clock, finds Mark, our events manager, parking his trailer and van next to the loading doors.  Off come the rolls of carpet - dark blue, pale blue, dark grey, pale, grey, and (this year) billiard table green.  It's all ex-exhibition stuff that Mark looks out for throughout the year, and blags as needed.   Seven of us local guys have turned out to help.  It feels like a 50 meter walk to the far end of the hall, where we drop the first pile.  Then we work our way back towards the entrance.  Viv's in charge, and selects the first pieces to roll out.  They will run under the stage, and provide a straight edge for positioning the remaining sections.

 Viv entrusts me with the white tape and blue tape, and I settle up against the far wall, working across towards the banked bleacher seating.  I've brought a cushion to kneel on, a Stanley knife and a pair of black sticky gloves.  Last year, on the same task, I didn't use a cushion, and regretted it.  The rest of the guys are with Viv selecting and laying out the rolls that will match up best, by colour and then width.  Malcolm suggests to Mark, "You could have made this process simpler by numbering each piece of carpet last time."  Mark doesn't answer.

Before long, Jack and Carmino are onto the black tape finishing off, with the characteristic 'squit, squit' unpeeling noise.  I muse if this may be why it gets called duck tape.   Jack shuffles along backwards with the roll, while Carmino picks his way forward, one foot in front of the other, to stick it down.  An hour has passed, and now the process gets repetitive and more tedious.   For example, some of the carpet was first laid upside down.  Mark decides to move the colours around, so the green is all under the bleachers.
approved, that goes under the carpet to prevent slipping - this goes down first. 

Having finished the far end, I gather up the scattered rubbish and head towards the entrance end.  Viv floats around with an air of uncertainty, then pulls out a section of dark grey and replaces it.   "Jack," I call over, "am I right in thinking it was about this time we has some bottles of pop, last year?"  He grunts. 

We've all slowed down, but Mark now summarises what he'd like us to finish before we pack in, leaving him to tinker around in the morning.  With a fresh objective in view, we're more focussed.  Carmino joins me in the black tape routine.  He peels off and I stamp down.  Jack appears with a 2-litre flagon of Cola and an eight-piece pizza.  We're on the home straight.

 It's half-past-midnight when we climb into the vehicles and head homeward.  Mark will pull his van round to the carpark and crash out in the back, so he's ready to let in the rigging team early.  On Saturday the punters will arrive and enjoy the event, I imagine giving no thought to the carpet.  After all it's just like it was last year, and every Praise Day before.  I guess that's the idea.