Still small voice

God spoke to me three days ago.


Okay, I may be mistaken there: He may not actually have spoken, but I'm pretty sure that he did.

For many of the arrogant atheist troop this admission that I may be wrong could seem like evidence for the prosecution. I can assure you that it isn't, because God has definitely spoken to me before.

When God sent an angel to speak to Zechariah, we're told that Zechariah was gripped by fear (Lk 1.12), the reason for this fear probably being that God hadn't had any direct contact with people for 400 or so years. Zechariah didn't know where to put himself. I felt the same the first time God spoke to me: I was gripped by fear, and I felt a certainty that if I looked up at God I would die, right then and there. So I rather sensibly stared at the floor.

This time, there was no sense of an all-powerful force, which is what leaves me feeling a bit uncertain.

By chance I started reading Listening to the Voice of God by Roger Barrier. I wasn't looking for another book, I'm still only part way through Chavs and They **** You Up, but it caught my attention and I ploughed through it. As a result I realised that I had been longing for God to speak to me again, even if it meant scaring the cr*p out of me, but that I wasn't really listening. So for a while now I've been attempting to really properly listen, and that's when I heard something.

A very quiet something, but a something which felt right. This thing I heard (I can't call it a voice, it didn't come via the ears for a start) seemed to be pointing out that my bedroom was a mess and that I needed to tidy it.

How prosaic is that? Tidy your bedroom. Was it God, or just my Gran?

Anyhow, because I can't be sure whether it really was the Big Man or just my own guilty conscience I've decided to test out the instruction, for forty days. Jesus had the wilderness, I've got a three-bedroomed terrace. At least I can get to the fridge.

Christingle

Christmas Eve means many things, in our house it usually means the last minute panic when we realise that we haven't bought a present for one of Charlie's friend's kids; the final inventory of Christmas dinner components, and the Christingle service.

The kids love everything about it, especially the sweets: it's usually jelly babies in our church, so unceremoniously impaled on cocktail sticks and jammed into an orange. It's quite barbarous really when you think about it.

Now I have to be honest here and say that the service doesn't do a great deal for me, but then it's not supposed to: it's about the only service in the year that our congregation are prepared to devote to children, and so it's targeted at their needs. Still, I go, because it's not about my needs, it's not about me.

So this year, thinking that it's not about me, I went that step further and volunteered to help prepare the oranges -- it gave our kids the chance to catch up with their friends who were also at the church, and it helped the Sunday School teacher who was up to her elbows in sweets.

"Where are the candles?" I asked, digging a whole in the top of my thirtieth or so orange.

"We aren't using them this year, we're trying these instead." Sunday School teacher said, pointing to my right.

I looked and to my horror I saw a bag full of... glowsticks.

"Glowsticks. You can't use glowsticks."

Despite my usual apathy about the whole Christingle thing I was incensed. And this is me who thinks people should embrace change. Arrogant Atheist chuckled inside me.

"Don't tell me, tell her", Sunday School teacher pointed to a woman sat quietly on another table cutting the red tape that symbolises spilled blood. I could tell that I had hit a raw nerve.

Red tape lady looked at me defiantly, "I'm only thinking about the safety of our young people. My heart's in my mouth when I see all those little girls with their long flowing hair just inches away from the flames. It makes me shudder, it really does."

Of course red tape lady has a point. I would be devastated if my children went up in a ball of flames because of careless Christingle handling. But thinking about it from the perspective of risk assessment, severity and likelihood, I was compelled to comment.

"Yes, that would be awful, but how many times have we had candles in this church, and how many accidents have we had?" It was a cunning move as I already knew the answers: many and none, respectively.

"But it would only take one," red tape lady countered, "And I couldn't live with it on my conscience, I really couldn't."

"I suppose you're right. But it's just not the same." I had to concede.

Then just as it seemed that the matter was concluded red tape lady, to paraphrase the words of a famous song, went and spoiled it all by saying something stupid like "Besides which, it's absolute murder scraping the wax drips off the tiles after the service, it really is."

Aha, the truth will out: This was never about the safety of the little people in our church, this was all about the complaints from the cleaning crew who struggled to get back up off the floor after they'd scraped up the dribbles from wayward Christingle wielders. I felt vindicated.

In reality the glowsticks idea was a bit of both, and it made sense to at least try them, even if only to see that people didn't like them.

As for me, liberal Christian that I profess to be, it seems that I'm as susceptible as anyone when it comes to comfort in my traditions, I really, really am.

Annus Horribilis pt 2

It's a fairly well known saying that what goes up must come down. Well, I can testify that what goes down must come up.

I had been sinking deeper and deeper into depression while Charlie was in hospital, finally reaching the lowest point as she went into theatre. When the time finally came to bring her home I felt like a huge weight that had been pressing down on me had been lifted. I wanted to make the most of every moment, to right the wrongs of the past, to climb every mountain. I had so many ideas for how to improve the world that I felt like I might burst.

In 1995 Troy Griffin invented the reverse bungee, a new fairground ride where the customer is secured to the ground while the cords are stretched to capacity, and then the pin is pulled firing the punter into the air.

That punter could have been me: getting Charlie back fired me into the stratosphere.

The reverse bungee effect continued throughout July. On the fairground the cords gradually return to their resting state and the customer bounces around aimlessly, in life it was rather the same, never knowing whether it would be an up day or a down day.

Things started to calm down as we moved into August, there was some semblance of normality once again, and then we had a visitor who would turn everything upside down.

Arrogant Atheist

For many years I had nothing to do with Church, or religion, or God -- note I am not saying that God had nothing to do with me, that would be foolish.

In any case, I had been a churchgoer for as long as I could recall; been baptised in infancy and confirmed at 13. At 14 I decided to join a local theatre group and in a very short time my church attendance dropped off to nothing.

Thinking back to that time, I realise that no-one questioned my leaving the church, not the vicar, not my family, not my friends in the choir. I know that I am responsible for my actions, but leaving was not a conscious decision to make a statement, it was more a tailing off, something better had come along. Would I have stayed with the church if someone had asked me? I genuinely have no idea.

But regardless of that, the fact remains that I did leave. I left, and found that Sunday mornings could be lazy mornings: hearing the church bells ring was no longer a cue to rush for the door, it was just another noise outside.

At some point between 14 and going to university at 18 I had developed an arrogant atheism. I had gone from a benign disinterest in all things religious to a smug self-righteousness: I knew there was no God and I could happily argue with any believer until the end of days.

This was a false persona that I had created. False in that I could not have cogently argued my position, I was in fact repeating clever remarks that I had heard here and there.

This is a rather long-winded way of explaining that now, as a believer in God, I have a remnant in my mind of my previous self. So I quite often find myself questioning the beliefs I have come to accept. There are still many issues that I cannot resolve, and I have a thought which says "Yeah right, and you think there's a God? Pshaw."

Annus Horribilis pt 1

Is it fair for me to describe this year as my worst ever? I think so, after all it's my life so I should be free to designate the years as good, bad or indifferent as I see fit.

But of course I'm being subjective, bad things have happened before. Have there been more bad things occuring this year, or is it simply that they're fresh in my mind. Well, let's consider the evidence.

January to April were pretty good: the book was taking shape, I was on top of the housework, even a job looked like it might be on the horizon. Then May came along and things changed.

I'm going to gloss over some of the details, because of embarrassment, questions of relevance, and a desire to keep this relatively brief. So here's the short version:

Charlie was in pain, excruciating pain for several weeks, which culminated in us going to Accident and Emergency. This was bad because I didn't like to see her suffering, and worse because I hate hospitals, I loathe them. A completely irrational response I know, but that's how I am. Anyway, we saw the doctor, got the treatment and went home.

A week later I got a phone call to tell me that Charlie had been admitted to the ward and that they were planning a 'procedure' (oh, how I hate that word). Now perhaps it was the shock of the news coming by phone call, or the fact that she had been fine when she went to work, but something caused my brain to go into overdrive. I struggled to cope with the news, but worse I had to go back into the hospital.

When I got there I found that Charlie had been prescribed opiates and entonox to relieve the pain, and she was pretty high. She was a space cadet. This wasn't good for me: Charlie has always been my rock, the one to keep me grounded, and here she was, injured, in pain, drugged, and about to go for a procedure.

My mind circled around ideas of death and solitude. No-one could console me, no-one could even reach me. Only one person ever could at that point and she was out of reach. Compounding the problem was the fact it was a weekend, the operation they were planning kept being postponed whenever an emergency came in.

For three days I travelled to and from the hospital, part of me hoping the procedure hadn't been done, that she wasn't going under a general anaesthetic, part of me hoping it had been done and it was all over. All of me dwelling on the worst possible outcome and sinking deeper into despair.

Finally I got the call to say that she was going into theatre...

New Year's Resolution

It is Thursday, 8th December 2011. Perhaps a strange time for a New Year's resolution, but then perhaps not, after all Advent is the beginning of the new Christian year. In any case, I had an urge, an itch that needed scratching.

So here I am, a church leader with no church, resurrecting a blog that I struggled to update, even when our church was operational.

Why now?

For several reasons.

Number one: Georgia noticed the blogspot logo on my favourites bar. "One Twenty-Seven's got a website?" she said.

"Er, yeah. Well, it did." I felt sheepish, like I'd done something wrong, and maybe I have done something wrong. Maybe I've spent the past twelve months letting too many things slide. Things which matter.

Number two: I had two resolutions last year, and in my heart I was fully committed to these two: get a job and write a book. With 23 days to go, neither resolution looks set to be fulfilled. That leaves me feeling like I've failed, like I'm a failure.

Number three: 2011 has been my annus horribilis. The very very worst of my thirty four years on earth. A year of death and despair, of frustration and fear.

So here I am, a despairing failure who has done so many things wrong, needing guidance.

I'm going in search of that guidance this year, and I'm not going alone.

Much love x

Greatest Achievement

What is your greatest achievement?

For me, it has to be Faith. The idea that I helped to create something so amazing is a little overwhelming. She grows, she moves on her own, she interacts with people, she makes decisions. How mind blowing is that?

Other achievements we had tonight were conversions (where people accept Jesus into their lives), taking on a leadership role, and school certificates. All good stuff, and it's only right that we remember our achievements.

But (there's always a 'but' isn't there?) Jesus tells us that "human effort accomplishes nothing" [Jn 6.63], that it is the Holy Spirit giving us strength to achieve. What does that really mean?

Well, it means that whatever we achieve without God's help is nothing compared to what we can achieve with God. Consider the disciples: when Jesus was alive and they could rely on him, they kept making mistakes (in the Gospels they seem a little like circus clowns, bumping into each other, panicking, and so on). In Mark's Gospel the disciples aren't able to cast out a demon possessing a young boy, Jesus is suitably disgruntled.

"You unbelieving generation," Jesus replied, "how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you?"

Jesus has spent his time developing the skills of the disciples to carry on his work after he's gone, but they still can't do it. Why not? It isn't that they don't know how: they've seen Jesus do it before. What they lack is faith - "you unbelieving generation" - and it's not until Jesus has died and ascended to Heaven, and the Holy Spirit comes that they develop the faith they need. Faith enough to cast out demons left, right and centre, faith enough to bring thousands of people to Christianity, faith enough to go to their deaths declaring Jesus is God.

Now, I'm alright, I've got Faith twenty-four-seven (she's asleep at the moment, but she could wake up any time), the question is, how much faith do you have?