Hard sayings — afterthoughts

My last talk, on the hard sayings of Jesus, had a couple of unexpected consequences. 

 The first happened almost immediately after that morning’s service, as one of the congregation (let’s call them ‘S’) took me to one side to express how upset they were at what I had said. The mention of Jeremy Corbyn had caused that person to feel very upset — the thought of him being in charge was the source of much fear and anxiety — and that they had found it difficult to listen to the rest of the talk, and to engage with the whole service. 

 The second consequence came later that week when another member of the congregation (‘F’) had a very confrontational conversation with the vicar about the inappropriateness of allowing party political statements to be made from the pulpit. They then left the church vowing never to return. 

 There are a few of things to unpick in this tangled knot of stuff. 

 Firstly, to acknowledge that it takes a great deal of courage to be honest and open about our feelings, and though ‘S’ and ‘F’ dealt with it very differently, both were under the influence of their emotions. ‘S’ was able to muster up the courage to have a quiet conversation with me and to clear the air, while ‘F’ wasn’t, and they ended up venting their frustration publicly, and with the wrong person (‘F’ has never spoken to me since, and I suspect they won’t in the future). 

 The second thing is to look at what actually took place to cause such upset. It’s very likely that at the mention of a political figure, those people with strong political views are going to connect my words with those views and possibly (as ‘S’ pointed out) tune out of the rest of the message. 

 For me to look at the parallels between Jesus and a present day figure is not to suggest that that figure is in any way like Jesus, nor even for me to endorse them. It’s just a way of helping people see things in a way that’s more accessible. 

 When Jesus said that the kingdom of God was like a mustard seed (Mark 4.30-32), he wasn’t saying that the mustard seed was God, and he wasn’t saying that mustard seeds are the best type of seeds, he was making a comparison based on one trait of mustard seeds (their phenomenal growth). 

 Oh, and to be clear, in comparing Jesus’s parable with my talk, I’m not saying that I’m Jesus, nor is my teaching as good as Jesus’s. 

 The third thing is about worship and my role. I believe that I am called to preach and to teach, but I’m not called to prevent people from worshipping God. If I say something that causes someone to stumble in their walk with God, I will have to be answerable for that come the final judgement. So there is a big responsibility on me to get it right. 

 At the same time, getting it right doesn’t mean that I have to avoid challenging people. Like St. Paul, I’m not trying to win the approval of human beings (Galatians 1.10), and if I have a message on my heart that I believe I’m supposed to share, then share it I must, despite the consequences. 

 Ultimately the irony is not lost on me that this happened when the gospel reading was on Jesus’s teaching causing people great offence, and my teaching on that reading caused great offence. 

 And again, this is not me saying that I’m Jesus.

Food banks

I'm not one for gambling really. Never seen the fun in it.

In our office though there are a few opportunities to have a 'little flutter', including the 'scratch off syndicate': about twelve staff members pay a pound, buy scratch cards with the money and split any winnings.

They decided last week that if they had a medium sized win they'd split the profits between themselves and the local food bank.

They ended up with £10 spend on food items, and I volunteered to help choose what to buy. Partly because I thought that was the right thing to do, but mostly because I had nagged them into thinking about people less fortunate than themselves, which led to a long debate about the fairness of society (all of which is too boring to go into now).

So, anyway, we chose Aldi as the store to spend the money in, because it's pretty inexpensive so obviously the cash goes further. Or does it?

You see, it seems like a simple job: spend a tenner on food; put it in the foodbank; job done.

But it's not that simple.

First of all you have to think about what people need.  This bit is helped along by the foodbank giving a list of items that they're running low on.  This week it was sponge puddings and instant mash.

But then there's the quantity vs quality debate.  You can buy quite a lot of budget instant mash with £10.  But I wouldn't give it to my dog -- seriously, the stuff looks like it has the nutritional value of wallpaper paste, and that's not good for anyone, much.

We bought the instant mash on this occasion because it was specifically requested by the foodbank, but we decided never to buy it again, instead we'd go with something better.  Even tinned potatoes would be preferable to the stuff we bought.

And the next factor to be considered is ethics: take tuna as an example.

Should you buy cheap tuna, knowing that it is probably net-caught, which is a practice that endangers other aquatic life, including the dolphin?

Source: Observer.com

Or, should you spend that little bit extra on pole-caught tuna, which is considerably more environmentally friendly?

Well, we agonised about it in the shop.  (Seriously, we discussed it for about 10 minutes). Finally we went with the ethical option, knowing that people eating it couldn't care less because they're hungry, but also knowing that we could care less.

The conclusion for me was a long time coming, but actually quite simple: people are hungry and will eat whatever they're given; the cheap stuff is nutritionally substandard; the expensive stuff is preferable; therefore, if you're gonna add to foodbank stocks, spend more money.

In the end, a tenner wasn't enough to buy what we set out to get, and to meet our own standards, so we spent about £12, and that felt right.

In future, when I buy anything for the foodbank, I'll be setting myself some standards:

1. There has to be enough stuff to feed a family of four for a full meal
2. If I wouldn't buy it for my own family, then I won't buy it for someone else's
3. If I think it might hurt our world to buy something, then I won't do it.

Anything else is like a grasshopper: it's just not cricket.

Christingle II: candles v glowsticks

This isn't a revenge thing, I want to be clear on that. It's so often the case with sequels that part 2 is about revenge. If anything this is more like sequels in being a gratuitous attempt to cash in on previous efforts.

I've been thinking quite a bit about the merits of both candles and glowsticks, and trying to see some theology in it all. This isn't as mad as it may first appear: we have to remember that the whole idea of the Christingle is the symbolism that children can learn from. So let's recap:

The orange represents the world,
The red ribbon represents the blood of Christ,
The four cocktail sticks represent the four seasons, or the four directions on a compass (the four 'corners' of the world)
The sweets represent the gifts of God, either physical gifts like the sweets themselves, or spiritual gifts such as kindness and patience
The foil is apparently only there to catch the drips from the candle, although I remember one clever clogs suggesting that the foil reflected the candle light, and so it could represent us, reflecting Christ's light.
Finally we have the candle, or the glowstick, which symbolises the light itself, and is a reminder of Christ, "the light of the world".

So, candle and glowstick, the pros and cons:

The candle is traditional, it's the source of light that many people had to rely on in the days before electrickery, in fact candles have been around since before the incarnation (I was going to say since before Christ, but that would be stupid). They also have the advantage of being reusable, at least until the wick is burned away.  The candle is also dangerous -- which started this whole thing off -- there's the risk of burns from the flame or scalds from the hot wax.

Meanwhile the glowstick is much safer, unless you know someone with a habit of biting into plastic tubes to get to the yummy dibutyl phthalate, hydrogen peroxide, phthalic ester or phenyl oxalate ester. They are relatively modern too, and so they appeal to young people.  But glowsticks are a one-shot deal: once the glass vial inside has broken the various chemicals mix and a reaction takes place that causes the glow.  After the reaction has taken place the chemicals become inert (or inactive) and the glow fades.  It can't be reproduced in that one glowstick.

The question of  which is better isn't simple, we have to think theologically and practically?

Practically speaking, while the candle carries a greater likelihood of harm, it is reusable, less expensive to produce and won't end up in a landfill. As it's more socially responsible it probably just wins out over the glowsticks.

Theologically there isn't that much to choose between them: they both produce light, which is what this is all about; the glowstick will eventually fade, but the candle will eventually burn away to nothing, so neither one represents the eternal light of Christ very well; there are places where a candle cannot burn, such as under water or in windy conditions, but the glowstick better symbolises God's ability to shine in any place, and as such might just beat the candle.

Finally, I want to return to the issue of risk: we spend a good portion of our lives trying to assess our environment, staying in control of the risks, managing and minimising them at all costs. We want to be protected from dangers. The truth though is that God is dangerous.  God is not some amazing wish-granter that we can blow out when we've got what we want; and if we try to misuse him we will get hurt.

Whatever we use, we need to remember that our God should be respected at all costs, and to avoid the risks is to avoid Him, because we can't have one without the other.

We also need to include the tin foil, whether it's needed to catch the wax drips or not, because the reminder that we are there to reflect the light of Christ into the world is really very important.

The Daniel Fast

2 At that time I, Daniel, mourned for three weeks. 3 I ate no choice food; no meat or wine touched my lips; and I used no lotions at all until the three weeks were over.

Daniel 10.2-3 NIV There are times when even the most devout of believers may feel distant from God. In almost all cases this is because of things going on in the believer's life, and they are lucky if someone points out to them the barriers that have appeared. I was lucky this week, someone made an innocuous remark that left me in no doubt that I had been convicted of the sin of faithlessness. For weeks I have cast around fruitlessly, grumbling and blaming God. What I haven't done is pray more. Why not? Because I am a foolish human who forgets God's grace faster than the Israelites did in the desert. Anyway, I decided that it was time to take action, and the form of action taken was suggested by Ben Patterson in his book Deepening Your Conversation with God. He pointed out a time when he had fasted for forty days along with some of his congregation. He said that the act of fasting focussed his mind in important ways. That was what I wanted. So I chose to fast. To make sure I was doing it properly I decided to do a little research. See how people fast in the manner of Daniel in the Twenty-First Century. I'm not sure if I should be amused of horrified, but within minutes of looking through web pages on the subject I found advertisements for the Daniel Fast Cookbook, nutritional information and a reminder to check the labels on processed food to make sure there are only Daniel Fast friendly ingredients. This all sounds a little too muck like letter of the law vs spirit of the law to me. If I'm wrong no doubt I'll get struck by lightning.

Just, wow

It's been about 10 days since someone broke into my car. It took about 5 days until I realised that my church keys were missing. I couldn't be certain, but I was fairly sure that the keys were in the car. I was lost, and more, I was defeated. Today, I step out of the local service station and a guy is struggling to start his engine. I send up an arrow prayer. "Lord, please let his engine start". And lo and behold, it does. Sat in my own car I'm thinking, God, You are amazing, there's nothing you can't do if people ask. And then boldly I ask: "God, if I could ask for one thing, I'd like my church keys back." As I pulled up outside my house I felt the strongest urge to go two doors down and look in their hedge. There, in the EXACT spot I stood by were my keys. Lord: You are amazing.

Awards

It's that time of year: when the great and the good in the world of entertainment turn out on the red carpets and try to out-glam one another, when the winners try to look surprised and losers try not to look nauseous. Yes it's time for the Grammys, BRITs, Oscars, BAFTAs. It's awards season.

PPI

Welcome to the wonderful 21st Century. One of the most striking things about this brave new world is the adverts: "Have you had an accident that's not your fault?" (by the way, if it's an accident then it happened unintentionally and no-one is the aggressor, yet those adverts usually portray the other party as some kind of evil villain--they aren't evil, even if they are feckless).

The companies behind these adverts tend to present themselves as champions of the people, defending the little man against the big corporations, and yet many of us are able to see through the facade and label them 'ambulance chasers'. But these last couple of weeks have for me really shed some light on the truth behind these kinds of adverts.

I received a telephone call, informing me that I could be entitled to lots of money if I was missold Payment Protection Insurance.

Well, I knew something they didn't. I've never had a credit card, or car loan, and while I have had two mortgages, I claimed the PPI back on one and the other was in joint names with my ex-girlfriend. I was the least likely person to need their help.

"No, no," they assured me, "The banks have put billions aside for these kinds of cases, if you had PPI you could still claim, it's your right".

For whatever reason I went along with the call as they processed my information.

Interesting fact #1: I could be owed over £3,000, and my champions only want 30% for helping me get it.

The call ended, and I felt uneasy, something just wasn't right about it. Yes, I may have been missold insurance, yes I may be owed money that would come in very useful, but I'd benefitted from PPI. Without it, we may have ended up homeless when I lost my job.

I received about a dozen calls over the week, and instead of telling them that I wasn't interested I kept stalling. I admit I was being cowardly, perhaps hoping that they would get bored. Ha Ha.

Anyway, during one of these telephone calls they were doing some important form filling when the crucial question was asked.

"Your first mortgage, was that solely yours?"

It wasn't. I told them that it had been in joint names with my ex-partner. Hope glimmered, perhaps this was my opportunity to bow out gracefully.

There was a pause on the line, followed by: "And do you still get along with your ex-partner?"

I do not, I told them our split was acrimonious and we hadn't spoken for over seven years.

There was a longer pause: "Do you think she'd mind if you claimed."

She would, she most certainly would. I told them so.

"I just need to talk to my supervisor." I was put on hold, occupied by the Girl from Ipanema.

Eventually my representative came back on the line. "My supervisor says there's no problem. If you don't tell your ex then she'll never know."

Now, as I was the one to pay the mortgage over the course of our relationship, it could reasonably be argued that any monies paid over were mine, and it could further be argued that as we are no longer friends I owe her nothing, but even so, to say that there's no problem felt very unpleasant.

Interesting fact #2: my champions apply the rule that ignorance is bliss.

I ended the call with an unpleasant taste in my mouth. I think it was bile.

Transformation

Essentially 2011 was an awful year, yes there were some positives, but on a scale of one to ten 2011 was crap. I can help but feel that it happened for a reason though.

It really all started with my desperate desire to play the lead part in the local operatic society's production, I even prayed: let me get the part of Tevye, I NEED that part.

I got the part and my world started falling apart.

Now as I look back, I realise several things. Firstly, I survived everything that went badly; secondly the thing I had prayed for offered me no comfort when things did go wrong, and it lost its shine; thirdly, I am a stronger person than I had previously thought; and finally, adversity didn't change who I am, it helped me see who I really am and realise that potential.

As St. Paul said:

Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.
[Romans 12.2]

It's happened. I have been transformed.

And to paraphrase David Warner in Mad Dogs, happiness isn't about gaining new things, it's about seeing what's already there. I was trying for years to achieve something, without knowing what it was--and that's foolish--when what I should have done was look inside and see what goodness already existed and help it to grow.

Spare Time

Let's consider the idea of spare time for a moment. It's one of those concepts that's so ingrained in our culture that we rarely stop and think about what it actually means.

Spare time: time which is leftover, extra, surplus, time which is unfilled with necessary things.

This is a notion that I'm struggling to make sense of, the idea that there are a number of things that we have to do and the rest of our time can be spent on leisure activities. Who came up with the distinction? Who decided what's a necessary activity and what's leisure?

There are 168 hours in a week, in this modern age many, if not most, people work full time, that's usually between 36 and 40 hours a week. Let's for argument's sake take an average of 38 hours, leaving 130 hours. We're encouraged to sleep for eight hours every night, (56 per week), which leaves 74 hours. How much of those 74 hours is filled with necessary jobs, and how much is leisure?

I would like to propose a suggestion: that dividing our time into' work' and 'leisure' is a human deceit, that we have somehow convinced ourselves that work is something we have to do in order to afford our leisure activities.

Now, I have four jobs, three children, a cat, a dog and a ridiculous amount of house work, we don't have much money so I tend to bake a lot of cakes and biscuits for packed lunches and snacks, we have a wood burning stove to heat our home, it's economical, but the wood needs collecting and chopping: spare time is a rare commodity for me.

Leisure is not rare however, because I enjoy most of what I do. For many years I had the mindset of the rest of the world: "what do I need to do today, what do I need to get over and done with, before I can enjoy myself". Now I see things differently: "What is there to enjoy, in what I'm doing now?"

That would be my fatherly advice to one and all: that there is no such thing as spare time, because it is our duty to make the most of what time we have, and to prevent our lives from becoming one long string of chores and misery, we should look for the positives in everything we do.

Jeremiah 29.11

There's a worship song that has great significance for someone I know, to spare their blushes I will call this someone "Wensleydale". Whenever I hear it I think about their testimony, about the way in which this particular worship song led them to a life-changing decision. Today as I listened to it I thought about that life-changing decision and how it has led to a life that is frequently crap.

I accept that 'crap' is a relative term, I further accept that the alternate choice may have been crapper (or should that be crappier?), but in any case I know that Wensleydale would agree that their life hasn't been great since that life changing decision was made.

Old Arrogant Atheist commented on this earlier:
"You've got that little fridge magnet of Jeremiah 29.11. It says God has plans to prosper you and not harm you. How has Wensleydale been prospered?"

I floundered, I hadn't got a clue, that passage and the riches that are implied within have always been a sticking point for me: I can think of so many people who have been harmed by life, so many who have done everything possible in the vain hope of prospering. God never seems to answer their prayers, and his plans for them involve council estate accommodation, no income and life threatening addictions.

Then something clicked, and it made sense.

I could have sidestepped the attack by pointing out that Jeremiah was talking to the Israelites kept captive in Babylon. But I knew that wouldn't hold much water. After all, how can I argue that the Bible applies to us today, if I then avoid answering tough questions.

No, this tough question demanded a tough answer. The answer was 'Look at Jesse'.

Jesse's son would grow up to be the second king of Israel and turn the Israelites into a dominant race, his grandson would be so wise as to write the books of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes and the Song of Solomon (probably). His descendants would become a dynasty, and yet Jesse himself missed out on greatness by a generation.

Perhaps my friend Wensleydale made that particular choice not to prosper now, but to prosper in the next generation or, like Jesse's father Obed, in two generation's time. Perhaps the decision made was not to improve Wensleydale's crappy life, but to lay the foundations for his childrens' or grandchildrens' lives.

If Jesus was prepared to die to give humanity a better future, perhaps God's plans aren't so brilliant now, but perhaps they lead to the best future imaginable. God plays the long game, He is the Lord of all, and especially of deferred gratification

So if we're going to read Jeremiah 29.11, and take comfort from it, let's do it in its entirety:

11　For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Daily offices

Reading the Bible daily is actually something of a tall order: my hours are already filled, and so are my minutes. That means that something has to be given up.

For most of the past couple of weeks I have managed to find the required time in some form or other, but over the past couple of days I have been remiss. Tonight is a prime example, I was going to sit down with my Bible reading but Sky 1 was airing the third episode of Stella, and the second one was quite funny.

Had things gone the way I had wanted I would've watched Stella until 10pm, then pottered about doing some necessary jobs before being far too tired and going to bed. But my plans were thwarted: Sky 1 was experiencing a technical fault and there was no sound. So Charlie changed the channel, and I plonked myself down at the pooter (*computer).

From the other room I could hear that Charlie was watching a programme on Lee Mead and his rise to fame playing the lead in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat and now imagine my surprise when I look to see that tonight I am to read Genesis 40-42. Now, bear in mind that I had already missed a couple of days so I had some catching up to do, I didn't know just exactly where I was up to, though some might say I should've been able to work it out (shame on me).

"Ah", says Arrogant Atheist, "It's another of those coincidences."

I pity him, I really do.

The Burden of Proof

BBC1 aired Big Questions this morning. The topic was just one question: Is there any evidence for God? It was the usual bunfight and, as I so often note in situations like this, the believers weren't doing very well.

I noted with some distaste the rather catty remarks made by a few arrogant atheists. It was upsetting particularly because in their need to show how clever they were being they came across as rather desperate, and I knew in my heart that I had been exactly like that in the past. Smug and desperate.

The programme finished with no firm conclusions made, and of course no conclusion could be made. But certainly the impression was 'No'.

There is no evidence that God exists.
I was rather sad: it seems that believers must defend their position at all costs, and if evidence is required they will fail.

All of this has got my mind whirring. What happens when we turn the situation around, ask the opposing question: Is there any evidence for the non-existence of God?

I believe that the answer to this question too is 'No'.

There is no evidence that God does not exist.

The theist/atheist debate is never won by arguing whose position is correct, it's more about who is given the burden of proof. Certainly it can reasonably be argued that Creationism is unscientific; that the Bible contains some seeming inconsistencies; that all religions claim absolute truth while disagreeing over details. Yet none of these reasonable arguments go anywhere towards proving that God does not exist. Just that most, if not all, humans have got it wrong (either in part or wholly).

So let's try to approach this logically:

If there is no evidence that God exists and there is no evidence that God does not exist then the argument is rather pointless.

With this in mind the most logical position is that of the agnostic - the world of I don't know. If an agnostic then has some kind of supernatural encounter they may choose to take this as evidence of a supreme being and become a believer, or they may regard it as a dream or hallucination and continue to be an agnostic. Either of these positions could be seen as pretty logical.

At no point is it logical to take the atheist perspective because unless we know everything about everywhere, we cannot know for certain that there is no God.

To all atheists out there: sorry about that.

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.

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."

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