What I'm feeling

My thoughts are usually very well-structured, and so are my blog posts. This one won't be, because my thoughts and feelings are a bit all over the place.

Three days ago, our beautiful and precious dog, Ralph, was hit by a train while playing with one of his best dog friends, Mishka, and they both died. It was a horrible evening, and we are devastated. I know some of you won't be animal people and may not understand our grief, but we really have lost a huge part of our family, in a sudden and awful way.

We are grieving.

But I can't stay off social media. I can't stop checking the many supportive messages on Facebook and Twitter. And I also know I need to blog, so here I am. My online presence is so much a part of me (and this blog is a huge part of that) that I cannot process this all without doing so here.

So here's what I'm feeling

I'm feeling many things. I don't feel all of this all of the time, but I feel it all.

I feel devastated, shocked, sad, absolutely overwhelmed with sorrow at points. This shouldn't have happened. It doesn't make sense.

I feel confused. Why did it happen?

I feel emptiness. I can't get used to how quiet the house is, to not being woken up by him in the morning or having to put him outside last thing at night. There's something (someone) missing.

I feel closer to Mel that I probably ever have in our three and a bit years of marriage.

I feel it isn't real. If I'm honest, I don't think I believe yet that I'll never see him again. He's just gone away somewhere and he'll be back.

I feel totally overwhelmed and undone by the support, love and prayers of our friends, and especially of our church family at Gold Hill. Within 48 hours, our small group had rallied around, we had contact (a text, a tweet, a visit and a phone call) from each of the 4 pastors of the church, and we knew we had people to lean on. It was spectacularly moving for me.

I feel excited about the awards tomorrow night. This week has seen the highest traffic to my blog I've ever had. Messages of condolence were mixed on Tuesday and Wednesday with tweets, retweets and comments about posts. Which was an odd mix of emotions. But I'm still as excited at points as I was when I wrote on Monday.

I feel guilty for feeling excited about the awards tomorrow night. I should be sad, not happy. I should feel despair, not hope and excitement.

I feel numb a lot of the time.

I feel lucky to have shared these two and a bit years with such a wonderful, nosey, happy, friendly and enthusiastic-about-life dog. He taught me a lot.

I feel the need to say every couple of hours, in my head or out loud, "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away, blessed be the name of the Lord." It's the only act of worship I've got in me right now.

I feel like keeping busy, but often can't focus on whatever I've decided to busy myself with.

I feel happy when I think about the many happy memories of Ralph we have. We spent last night with the couple who owned the other dog. We spent the evening telling stories and laughing. It was beautiful.

Then I feel sad afterwards.

I feel no better for having shared all of this, but know it will have helped.

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I've changed my mind

I was asked a question recently as part of a staff retreat day: When was the last time you changed your beliefs? It's not an easy question, but a good one.

Why I don't like changing my mind

Changing my mind about what I believe is true has a lot of drawbacks. It means accepting that previously I was wrong. That knocks my pride. Given that I can sometimes (because of what I do and the way I am) be quite vocal about my beliefs, it means admitting to others I was wrong. That really knocks my pride. Also, because our belief systems are a whole organic body of interconnected ideas, it means having to rethink a lot of other things, and learning how to do things differently in light of it all. That's effort. Also, changing my mind about things I used to think reminds of the very real possibility that things I believe now are also wrong. I was wrong before, I could be again. That's probably pride again.

So, mostly I don't like changing my mind because I'm prideful, but also a bit because I'm lazy.

It's far easier to decide something is right and then just stick with it for life, being able to hold to it tightly with a clenched fist that will never be prised open.

Why I have to change my mind

Here's the thing, though. That's not good enough. It may be easier to have beliefs and ideas of truth that are like that, but that doesn't make it right. And after all, I believe that truth is to be entered into with a limp, not a stride.

I need to change my mind about things because (as much as I might not like to admit it) I can be wrong about things. I don't want to get to the end of my life and still have all the same convictions I do now, because it means I won't have discovered all the ways I'm wrong about things now. I'm fallen. I'm broken. I'm wrong.

But I don't want to stay that way if I can help it.

So, how about it?

Perhaps I can see the benefit in letting go of some beliefs in favour of new ones because I have changed my mind quite a bit recently. Here are some examples:

• My beliefs about the fundamental goodness and badness of humanity has shifted significantly recently.
• My understanding of the person and work of the Holy Spirit has changed quite a bit in the last year.
• I have a different view of 'mission' than I used to.
• My view of what preaching should look like has drastically changed in recent times (though I don't always demonstrate that in practice - see above, re. pride and effort).
• I no longer have a view of language, words and grammar that see them as unchanging. Language evolves, words don't have fixed meanings. This has been a pretty big thing for me (also, check this out!).

Some of you reading this may have been on the receiving end of rants about some of those pre-change (especially the grammar one...) If so, sorry about that!

So, what about you? When was the last time you changed your mind? And when will be the next time?

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Time to dream

Google is well known for allowing employees to spend 20% of their time not working on whatever it is they're meant to. They can play around with anything that gets them excited, and Google owns the results. As a result, Google produces loads things it never planned to want. Like Google Maps.

Here are two stories about me in a similar vain.

Story 1: a new colleague

In March, a new staff member joined us at church. He's great at what he's here to do, and a fantastic guy. But what I've appreciated most is that he'll chat about what he's working on or thinking about. He'll notice something in the Bible or have an idea, and instead of staying in his office to mull over it by himself, he'll step out and share. We'll chat about it, and then go back to our work. It doesn't take long.

Rarely is there any obvious practical application in mind. Most of the time it's just, "Hey, I just noticed this and I think it's cool! Don't you think it's cool too?"

I've noticed a few things as a result of this. First, I've really enjoyed it, and it's made me look forward more to going to work. Second, I've started sharing more about the things I'm working or thinking on. Third, it has raised the level of my work. If I'm thinking about something and come across an idea that I can't get my head around then instead of saying "Hmmm... I'm not sure, I'll just ignore that", I share it, toss it around a bit with others and develop it into something cool. My time management has got better. My preaching has got better. My attitude has got better. I work harder.

So if you're reading this, cheers dude!

Story 2: dreaming dreams

Yesterday, over lunch, Mel and I started talking about something we'd love to do in our lives, a project that will hopefully one day be possible for us. It's not the first time we've talked about it, but we fleshed it out a little.

With smiles on our faces and a lightness in our hearts, we made plans and dreamed up ideas. We thought about things which get us excited, the gospel which inspires us and the values that drive us. And we thought about how we'd love to live it all out. The conversation flowed, and there were a number of "Oh my word, that would be amazing!!" moments.

Because of the nature of the project we have in mind, we know it won't happen right away. Not long ago I thought that made it a little pointless to talk about in detail. It would only get us frustrated that we weren't doing it now... But I was wrong. We need vision and inspiration. We need to be able to dream big dreams, look to the future, and get excited. Why? Two reasons.

First, unless we're dreaming those dreams now, it is unlikely ever to happen. We need to keep the passion and excitement alive, to keep the drive now precisely because it can't happen right away.

And second, it infuses today with a new sense of meaning. I went back into work after lunch yesterday and had a new desire to work harder, commit more. I could see in the things I was doing new motivation, because all of it is building towards something bigger. Whether that 'something' is the thing we have in mind or not doesn't matter just yet.

But I've been reminded of the gospel and values we have, and even if the project has to wait, striving after that gospel and those values cannot wait.

Doing this more

So I'm promising myself that I'll do all this more. I will dream dreams with Mel. I will keep having ad hoc conversations with colleagues. I'll explore things that get me interested even if I have no idea what 'practical purpose' they will serve. I'll try to think big, not small. I'll imagine new things, not just rehash old things.

In today's very busy world where we barely have a moment to breathe out sometimes, I think we all need to learn to do this more. We can't wait till we have the time. We need to make the time. I don't want to live my life so bogged down I never have time to dream.

Who's with me?

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Keeping things fresh

Out of the last seven Sundays, I have preached at a church service on six of them. This has been new for me. In the past, I have usually had around a month between sermons, which has allowed each one to fester, for me to be able to mull it over and prepare over a longer period of time.

So these last almost two months have been very different. I've had to keep up the pace of studying, planning and writing. I've had to be quicker, and I've had to keep going for longer. It has been a fantastic learning opportunity, I've enjoyed it very much, and I'm very grateful to the leaders of the three churches who let me loose in their pulpits.

The danger of becoming stale

But it has also made me aware of what I guess I've always suspected. The danger that through the repeated process of doing something you enjoy, it can become less exciting. Or that it can lead to not taking it seriously, thinking it less important.

Please don't misunderstand. During these weeks, I have not found preaching less exciting. Nor have I taken it seriously or thought it less important. In fact quite the opposite. But I wonder how much that is because I knew this opportunity in itself was a great opportunity and I relished it. If the next seven Sundays were the same, the seven after that, and the next seven, and so on... What then?

The answer is I don't know. I might never fall into monotony or become stale. But I might – I see a danger. Things could become dry. There could seem to be less urgency. "It doesn't matter if I'm a little lax in my prep this week – I'll always have next week..." I feel it could be a slippery slope.

I'm sure this danger of things becoming stale – or lifeless – is true no matter what it is that one's gift is or whatever role one plays. I suppose this is why Paul, when giving instruction to the Romans (chapter 12) urging them to use their gifts encourages some attitudes that will stop things getting stale. For the gifted giver (who's giving could become a duty), they must remain generous. For the gifted leader (who could stop taking her or his role seriously), they must be diligent. For the person with the gift of mercy (who could so easily get so bogged down with the weight of the world on their shoulders), they are encouraged to pursue cheerfulness.

I wonder what the corresponding advice should be for those who preach?

How to stay fresh?

So, once again I have no real answers as I near the end of my post. But I do have some questions. I am tremendously grateful to those who have allowed me to preach, especially to my own pastor who has really invested in me and been such an encouragement. Not least because it's helped to open my eyes to what it may be like for me in the future if I do end up in a position where I am teaching or speaking regularly and over a sustained period of time. I want to keep my eyes open and be proactive in making sure things stay fresh. So, some questions...

Do you preach or teach regularly? If so, is there anything you have found helpful in warding off these tendencies?

Is there something else which you do so regularly that it can become stale? Have you got any advice?

Have you gone through periods where your job or your ministry has felt like it is just going through the motions and there was no life in it? How did you get out of that rut?

Are you in that place now and have no idea what to do? (Please tell me, even if not publicly, because I'd love to pray for you and try to be of some support and encouragement.)

Or anything else you think might help...

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"I am sorry"

I was going to post another in the 'Christlike' series today, but instead want to do something else. In one sense, this post won't include anything original from me, because I want instead to bring to your attention a series of four very moving videos, all posted below.

They are four poems, written and performed by Joel McKerrow (whose website can be found here). In them, he offers four apologies, for four different parts of him: the white part, the rich part, the Christian part, and the masculine part. I have a few reflections, but please watch them too.

I, also, am sorry

I'm white, rich (at least on a global scale), Christian and masculine (male, at least), so these poems are as much about me as they are about Joel. From what I've seen of him, I don't believe he is an active perpetrator (in his words, he didn't 'pull the trigger') of any of these four atrocities: white superiority, rich oppression, Christian oppression or male dominance.

I don't think I am. At least not in the big ways he talks about, and at least not often. And yet as I watch each of these videos I associate far more with the perpetrator whose confession he voices than I do with the victims to whom he pours out his heart and his apology.

And, like Joel, I wish to say that I am sorry.

The Power of Confession

On one level it isn't for me to say that. Having not taken part in the crusades, having not lived my life handing out racist slurs, and so on, it isn't for me to confess to those things. They are not my guilt. They are not my sin.

But for two reasons, I feel an apology is appropriate. The first is that, really, I'm sure that I am guilty. In small ways, I am certain that I share some of those attitudes of white pride, wealthy entitlement, Christian 'holier-than-thou-ness, and male brutishness. I'm sure I do. Even in ways I don't even realise, I am certain that in these areas I must fall, because it is so easy to. And rather than carrying on and saying 'These videos must be about other people', it is important to stand up and say 'I'm sorry'. If only because an important part of confession is repentance – a change of direction – and it will help to strengthen my resolve not to feed into such oppressive mindsets or systems.

The second reason isn't about me. It's about non-white people, the poor, non-Christians, and women. Most people (if not all) in these four categories will at some time or another have suffered at the hands of people who share my colour or wealth-bracket or faith or gender. I don't think I am a large part of the oppressions they will have faced, but I can try to be part of the solution. And they need to know that white, rich, Christian men aren't all out to get them. Some of us – many of us – are there to stand with them, to love them, to treat them the way they should have been treated all along. For people who have all their lives been subjected only to people like me who would treat them like dirt or like second-class citizens or like a project or like a thing, my apology could mean so much. They need someone to say 'sorry', and that person could be me.

So I stand with my brother Joel and say: "I am sorry."

Here are the videos...

For the WHITE part of me...



For the RICH part of me...



For the CHRISTIAN part of me...



For the MASCULINE part of me...

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3 hours, 7 minutes

This is a little story about me.

Two days ago, on Sunday, I wasn't feeling very well. I've been having back problems for a couple of weeks, and the medicine I was taking helped the pain but had the side effect of quite bad nausea. So on Sunday I had stopped taking them. The back pain was returning, but the nausea was still there.

Sunday was also a busy day. I was leading a service in the afternoon, and preaching at our church in the evening. During the afternoon service I felt very sick indeed – I had to step out for a little bit. As I got into the car to drive back to pick Mel up and head to our church to preach, I did not feel good at all.

I looked at the clock in the car. 4:53, it read. I knew the service in the evening would be over by 8:00 and I really wanted to be able to preach well. It felt very important to me. So I prayed:

"God, you know the discomfort and pain I'm in, and the sickness I feel. Please can I have 3 hours and 7 minutes without back pain and without nausea. That's all I really need to get through this."

Over the next couple of minutes as I drove, my stomach settled and I felt at ease. I started to forget the sickness, and think instead about the upcoming task of preaching. I picked up Mel, drove to our church building, and prepared myself. The odd flutter of nerves, but nothing more. I felt ok. Our senior pastor prayed for me. Mel prayed for me.

The service went on, I preached, and it went extremely well – I believe people were genuinely moved and helped by what I said, and I was able to speak and move freely. The service ended. Mel and I decided to pop in on some friends who live just next door to the church building on our way home. As I walked into their sitting room and sat down, my back started hurting again. I looked at the clock:

8:00. 3 hours and 7 minutes after I had prayed. (Part of me wished I'd asked for 4 hours and 7 minutes.)

The Moral of the Story

So, why tell this story? I like this story, and it encourages me, but we often hear these little stories of God's provision, of answering prayers. But what is the moral of this story?

That God is good? Well, not really. If I only believe God is good because He did this for me, what does that say? That He wouldn't be good – or would be less good – if my symptoms hadn't been held at bay for a few hours? That He won't be as good if I ever have to preach while in severe pain or while very sick? That doesn't sound right.

Maybe it's that God answers prayer? It certainly is an example of that, but surely that's something I should believe anyway, whether He has said a very obvious 'Yes' to something I have asked of Him in the last few days.

Or I could draw from my story evidence that God values the preaching of his word. He wanted to protect me so I could preach well. But does that mean He doesn't value the ministry of others who have to serve in the midst of pain, or that when preachers do get and stay ill then they are bad preachers?!

I don't think any of these is the lesson to draw from the story.

No Morals

In fact, I think there are no morals. Not in that sense anyway. Stories are wonderful, and they show us examples of all these things which are true. But they are never the reason that something is true.

God isn't good because He helped me. God doesn't answer prayer because He answered prayer. God doesn't value preaching because He valued mine on Sunday.

He just is good. He just does answer prayer. He just does want His word to be proclaimed.

God is God. If something is true of Him, it is true of Him, whether I see it or not, experience it or not, feel it or not. I really struggle with something I see quite a lot – our theology being shaped or defined by our own experiences. Instead, our understanding of our experiences should be shaped by what we know to be true anyway.

Stories are good. Testimonies are fantastic. I share this story, hoping it will be some encouragement to others as it was to me. It is an example of God's grace for sure, but not the only reason we should believe in God's grace.

We believe things because they are true, not because we feel them. But if they're true, we can expect to feel them every so often.

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Afraid of my gifts

I was talking with someone I look up to and admire deeply a while back, discussing some of my frustrations in a particular situation. As if I needed to excuse my feelings, I said "but maybe it's just because I'm too young and idealistic."

He challenged me quite strongly. I was told, "Don't apologise for that. You are young, and you are idealistic, and neither of those is a bad thing." He also told me off for being apologetic about being intelligent and well educated. These too are good things, I was told. I needed to hear this.

I've been exposed to people who are intelligent, know they are intelligent and feel it gives them the right to look down on other people who aren't as intelligent. I've also known people for whom the prestige of the institution where they were educated, or the grade they came out with, give them that sense of superiority. I think that in trying not to be like that, I had run too far the other way.

Being good at being different

I have a degree in Theology from Oxford University. There. I've said it.

Statistically speaking, the chances are you do not (unless, as might be the case, the only person who reads this blog is my wife, in which case it is extremely likely). That does not make me better (or smarter) than you. I genuinely believe that. Nor does it make me worse than you. I'm learning to believe that. But what it definitely means is that we are different.

In a sermon on Spiritual Gifts on Sunday (the best teaching I have heard on the subject), there was a huge stress on just that. We are different, and we should relish that. We should celebrate that. I should not be too proud to be me, nor apologetic that I am me.

We need to learn to be different, and we need to learn to be good at that.

The sermon also touched on a problem that often exists in churches – that of some gifts being esteemed so much that there ends up being a hierarchy. Preachers are more important than servants. Prophets are more vital than administrators. Leaders are worth more than followers. And so on. Those kinds of mindsets exist, and we all know it.

But that's not being good at being different.

My own dilemma

So far, this post could seem a little disjointed, because I've talked about two different things:

1. My own tendency toward suppressing my own gifts so as not to make others feel small
2. The problems with certain gifts being elevated

But these two things are very related, because I have a real struggle, something that I find very hard and find myself battling with often. I believe (as do many who know me well) that I have gifts of preaching, teaching and leadership.

I am convinced that to ignore those giftings would be to be disobedient to God. To say to anyone who gives a gift, 'No thanks!' is rude. But I worry about feeding into a culture where those who have gifts that make them more visible are considered more valuable. I fear making people think they are lesser because I lead and they do not, or because I preach and they do not. I fear making those beautiful and amazing people who are servants and givers and have tremendous faith (all gifts I admire so much) feel they are worth less than they are, worth less than me.

It isn't that I think to preach or lead is to do all those things. Here in Chalfont I have seen modelled fantastically powerful preaching and authoritative leadership which does the exact opposite, releasing people into the worth and the gifting and the freedom for which they are intended. I know it is possible to do this well, to be different well.

I'm honestly just very scared that I won't do it well. And that I'll do damage.

A way forward

So, what to do? I'm not quite sure. This isn't the part of the post where I answer my own question. I am trying to think on all these thoughts, and adopt patterns and attitudes which avoid all the potential dangers I've outlined.

I'm getting somewhere, I think. But I'm sure I'll continue wrestling with this one for a while, hopefully I will remain conscious of all this. I sense that if I cease to be, that's where the real danger might begin.

If any of you have any thoughts on this, I'd really value your thoughts? Am I being too sensitive? If you know me well, do you think I do perpetuate and encourage those wrong mindsets? Be honest! Do you have any advice or have you seen people (with whatever gifts) really usefully affirm and encourage those with different gifts?

I would really appreciate any thoughts on this, perhaps more so than on other posts.

Amendment
Since first writing this post, I have reflected further (and particularly due to some feedback given) and felt it right to make a few further points.

It has been pointed out that, in the way I wrote this post, I may unintentionally be endorsing the culture that I am worried about perpetuating.

Why is it relevant that I studied in Oxford, but I don't mention other differences we likely share? I don't think it is, but the wrong culture which I don't want to play into makes that into something many become proud of and many feel intimidated by. For me, it is simply something that is true.

Doesn't the fact I am tempted to suppress gifts so that others don't feel small mean I do think my gifts are more 'dazzling' somehow? I don't think so, but sadly the culture that often exists puts such gifts on a pedestal, even if those who exercise them try to do so humbly, as I try to.

If I did come across in those ways, I am sorry. If as you read you saw hypocrisy, I apologise for that. My real problem in all this is with a culture that says so and so is more valuable because of X or Y. I don't want that to be said of me, and I don't want to say that of anyone. Perhaps I should have discussed this more generally, instead of talking about my own struggle within such a system. That could have been clearer.

I'm also really appreciative of all the comments and feedback I've been given. I'm finding it very useful as I try to grow and use the gifts God has given me, while also trying to grow into the character and likeness of Christ, who I'm certain never made people feel worthless. And he raised a guy.

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Weeping the Truth in Love

When I was at university, I was in college alongside many people training to be church leaders. Part of their training was a week dedicated to the theme of 'Death and Dying', which aimed to equip them for that inevitable part of their ministry: people dying. As part of it, they were taken to a morgue and spent ten minutes on their own in a room with a dead body. The theory was, it was something they would almost certainly have to do at some point, and it would be useful for them to have some idea of the mix of feelings and thoughts that would come up at that point.

I remember one student say this: "I don't know why they're trying to get us to feel all emotional about the death of someone we didn't know. We don't need to. Our job when someone dies isn't to cry about it, but to make the arrangements, speak the truth and be strong for those who should be crying."

Jesus Wept

I can't imagine Jesus saying that sort of thing. I feel as though the incarnation models for us something really rather different from that. Jesus was faced with a world in turmoil – broken, misguided, lost. He did not make arrangements for us, speak the truth and stay strong. He did arrange for things to become different, and He did speak (and live) truth in the most powerful possible way. But that was not by staying strong for the rest of us who needed Him.

He became weak like the rest of us who needed Him.

In seeking to serve people, we need to love them. In loving them, we must care about them. In caring about them, we must feel for them. So when they are happy, we should want to smile. When they are sad, we should want to cry (or express sadness in whatever way we express sadness).

I feel as though any kind of ministry to people which maintains an emotional barrier between us and them is unworthy of Jesus. He does not model a work/life balance which means switching off the pain of the day when you get back home. He does not model 'staying strong' for the sake of others. Jesus wept.

I wept

What has sparked these thoughts? Yesterday, I went on my first pastoral outing with one of the pastors from our church. It was to a residential care home for the elderly. When we got there, we were told one of the residents, Mabel, had died that morning just a few hours before. We were asked if we could go up to see and 'say a little prayer for' her husband, Albert. They shared a room at the home.

We went up to their room and entered. I didn't expect Mabel's body still to be there, but it was. Their daughter was there too, who reassured us that Mabel had been a Christian. I followed my pastor's lead, and we knelt down in front of Albert whose blindness meant he couldn't really see us unless we came close, took a hand each, and offered our condolences. Albert expressed thanks to us, certainty that his wife was at peace now, with no more pain, and deep gratitude to his daughter who was now looking after him so well (despite just losing her mother). All of this through tears.

We prayed with and for him. Never have I been more aware, I think, of the deep power and hope of the resurrection.

And I wept.

Not in a chest-beating, ashcloth-tearing, ash-rubbing sort of way, but there were tears in my eyes. I had never met Albert, Mabel or their daughter before yesterday, but I shed tears for all of them as I sat with them and afterwards. And I think I was right to.

Weeping the Truth in Love

Paul famously wrote in his letter to the Romans:

"Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn." (Romans 12:15)

I don't know how my colleague at university would explain that verse. I wonder if he would speak of the difference between genuine and contrived emotion. We shouldn't just make ourselves cry to show solidarity with others. And I don't disagree. But I don't think that's what Paul is asking of us. Nor do I think it is why Jesus (or I) cried.

What Paul is calling us to and what Christ modelled for us is this: genuinely feeling the pain and sorrow that others feel. Not acting out their feelings, but really sharing them. If as Christians we do not feel the sadness of those we know, I think we need to ask ourselves why. If as Christian leaders we do not feel joy at the triumphs and sadness at the trials of those we seek to minister to and serve, I think we need to seriously question if we are in the right job.

Because death is sad. It's not how things should be. It tears families apart. It casts people into loneliness. it cuts short what is beautiful and good. We cannot just know this – we need to feel it. For ourselves and for others.

Our commitment to the truth does not exist just in our brains. If something is unjust, we must feel anger about it. If something is life-giving, we must feel joy. If something is awful, we must feel sad. And in all these, we must let those feelings show. The loving thing, and the right thing, is to feel the truth.

We do not just speak the truth in love. We laugh the truth in love. We scream the truth in love. We sing the truth in love. We tremble and shake the truth in love. We dance the truth in love.

And yes, we weep the truth in love.

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