Jesus Army: rebels with a cause or regimented rule-keepers?

“B-but that’s not allowed!” my friend spluttered, recently, at some minor infringement of some not particularly important rule at work.

I pointed out that it really didn’t matter, this time, for X, Y and Z reasons. But it didn’t make him feel any better. A rule had been broken – and rules are there not to be broken. Even if the rule is obsolete or unnecessary or just plain silly – well, that isn’t the point. It’s a rule.

It got me thinking about how different people are wired differently on this one. Some delight in rule-breaking. They’re the original James Dean rebels-without-causes. They just will NOT keep off the grass. Others, like my friend, find security in the rules, and find it upsetting when the universe is found to be not quite simple.

I probably occupy the rather dull middle ground. No great rebel, I, but I don’t mind a bit of humane rulebook tearing here and there either. Particularly if it makes life happier (and no-one’s going to disapprove of me for it).

But I think I must be slightly to the rebel side of the centre, even if only because I tend to admire iconoclasts and dissenters: the courage they have to stick their heads above the parapet, to declare the emperor naked. That’s probably part of the reason why I joined the Jesus Army.

And I have to admit, I tend to be slightly contemptuous of the rulebook types, my friend notwithstanding. For those who appreciate literary references, I’d like to think of myself as more of a Jean Valjean than a Javert.

But it’s not quite as simple, of course. Radicals and rule-breakers are important, but the quieter, less “sexy” virtues of duty, discipline, obedience and loyalty have their place, too. Let’s face it, we all (rightly) looked askance at MPs who took a “flexible approach” to expenses; we didn’t cheer them for their imagination.

It’s another of those paradoxes that I can only assume God delights in since he’s scattered so many throughout existence.

We need rules; but we must not be afraid to smash them to smithereens when they become soul-killing. We need freedom and humanity, but we must be prepared to have principles – and maybe to let them inconvenience us to the point of... well, dying for them.

After all, Jesus embodies both. Having rescued the adulterous woman from stoning, he tells her “Sin no more”. “Sell all that you have” he says to the rich, young, would-be disciple in Luke 18; a chapter later, half is enough for Zacchaeus. “Give to the poor” he says, but he’s having none of it when someone protests about a prostitute’s “waste” of expensive perfume at a dinner party. As for his famous disputes with the legalistic Pharisees, he also said “Practice and observe whatever they tell you.”

Something like this paradox is explored by author and emergent postmodern guru, Peter Rollins, in his book The Fidelity of Betrayal (if I’ve understood him, at all, which I possibly haven’t in the slightest). Rollins says that true faithfulness to God includes arguing with God and provocatively suggests that Christians ought to wear wristbands inscribed with “WWJD” – standing for “What would Judas do?”

I find this paradox runs through my experience of belonging to a radical church like the Jesus Army. On the one hand, we're very cause-conscious with songs about the Jesus revolution and plenty of holy rebellion against the system in our bloodstream. On the other, we put a high premium on lifestyle and holiness and have a healthy respect for, and need of, rules.

Rebel! Do as you're told!

Confused? Me too.

Isn’t it good to live in such a fascinating universe?

Psalm 101

(Part 2 of some reflections on living in intentional Christian community)

Psalm 101 is a song about the way that a king like King David, a ruler with a “heart after God’s own heart”, should rule.

But as I read it, the other morning, it struck me as a good prayer for those living in – and especially for those leading – a Christian community.

So here are a few very brief, very undeveloped, starting points for thought on leading a Christian community – from Psalm 101.

I will sing of steadfast love and justice; to you, O LORD, I will make music.

Any Christian community must spring out of worship. It must start from a heart response to God’s “steadfast love and justice”. If it starts from idealism, or legalism, or any “ism”, good or bad, it will not be true Christian community. Any leader of a Christian community must be a leader in worship. I don’t mean a guitarist or and organist. I mean that the first task of a leader in Christian community is continually to call the community back to God.

I will ponder the way that is blameless. Oh when will you come to me?

Having dismissed idealism – there must be at least of a dash of holy idealism – pondering and longing for “the way that is blameless”. Otherwise, Christian community, to misquote Chesterton, will not be tried and found wanting; it will be found difficult and not tried. Community is not realistic. As I said in my last post, it is impossible. But oh! I long for it. I’ll pursue it. I’ll live it. (Let the miracle begin.)

I will walk with integrity of heart within my house.

Leaders have to be the same through and through. No double standards, no hidden compartments. I find the word “integrity” shines a light inside me, searches out the darker corners. It’s uncomfortable. I need it.

I will not set before my eyes anything that is worthless.

And here’s a good example of integrity made practical. Job made a covenant with his own eyes, not to fill his sights with filth. My friend, Laurence recently blogged on this, not once but twice. It’s vital a Christian community be uncontaminated by the rubbish that fills page and screen all too often in our media-soaked culture. I’m not talking about some Simeon style pillar of lofty separation. The right place for an ark is in the water. The wrong place for the water is in the ark. Do the math.

I hate the work of those who fall away; it shall not cling to me.

Sometimes people walk away. Sometimes, it’s worse than that: people betray. One of the most challenging things about Christian community is to remain untainted by bitterness when people let you down. Not to let it “cling” to you. The danger is, you make a silent vow to yourself: “I will not love again”. This way lies the death of community.

A perverse heart shall be far from me; I will know nothing of evil.

“Perverse” – slippery. Some hearts you just can’t get hold of, like the bar of soap in the cartoon, they just keep slipping from your grasp. But community must be made from open, shared hearts. If hearts aren’t shared, in time nothing else will be either. A wise community leader must gently encourage the sharing of who we really are with one another. This can’t be forced. But a culture of trust will encourage it.

Whoever slanders his neighbour secretly I will destroy.

I’m fierce when it comes to gossip. People may as well set the house physically on fire. Gossip is as destructive. More so, in fact, because it tears down souls. “How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire! And the tongue is a fire.” I will stamp out gossip from our community. Woe betide the person I catch at it!

Whoever has a haughty look and an arrogant heart I will not endure.

Perhaps it goes without saying that pride and Christian community cannot mix. But I’ll say it anyway: pride and Christian community cannot mix.

I will look with favour on the faithful in the land, that they may dwell with me; he who walks in the way that is blameless shall minister to me.

It is a commonplace that a leader must be a servant in Christian community. And that is true. But a leader must also allow himself to be served. That too is humble. And a deep appreciation of the “faithful in the land” (not necessarily the famous) is important.

No one who practices deceit shall dwell in my house; no one who utters lies shall continue before my eyes.

Deceit vies with gossip for the “public enemy number one” position when it comes to building community. Suffice it to say, that anyone fluent in the “devil’s native language” is unlikely to build the community of Christ. They need to learn the language of truth, openness and humility.

Morning by morning I will destroy all the wicked in the land, cutting off all the evildoers from the city of the LORD.

Not the kind of declaration very likely to elicit the response “Nice sermon, vicar”. Yet I’ve been relearning the importance of zeal. Zeal for God’s house. Not tramping around the place like the police. But unafraid to confront. To lead. Because once you’ve glimpsed the “city of the Lord”, the purity of God’s new kingdom society – it matters too much to settle for something shoddy.

Room 101

(Part 1 of some reflections on living in intentional Christian community)

Room 101 is the creepy torture chamber in George Orwell’s novel Nineteen Eighty-Four. In it, the sinister “Ministry of Love” attempt to subject a prisoner to his or her own worst nightmare, fear or phobia. For Winston Smith, Orwell’s main character, this is to be attacked by rats.

My Room 101 would be a massive, dark, tank of water, containing just a great white shark – and me. Maybe I watched Jaws too young, maybe it’s the sharks’ jagged down-turned maw and lifeless, black eyes, maybe it’s because sharks have us at such a disadvantage in water, their natural element.

Luckily for me, living in Coventry, I’m hardly at daily risk of shark attack.

In Coventry, I, like many others in the Jesus Army around the UK, live in an intentional Christian community. I like living this way. I find it inspiring. I find it brings out the best in me. There are times when it can be hard (more on this anon). But generally I’m a fan of Christian community living, and I recommend it to Christians everywhere.

But I know that for some people, the very idea of sharing home with other people (beyond their actual family – or maybe even including their actual family!) is downright horrifying. Some agree with Sartre: “hell is other people”.

For some, living in community may even approach their idea of Room 101.

I remember a Christian colleague, when I was a teacher in a Coventry secondary school, saying to me, “I could never live like you do” (she meant community, rather than my poor dress sense or any other undesirable feature of my life; I know that because we’d been talking about it.)

“I could never live like you,” she said. I was tempted to retort, “Of course you could, if you let the Holy Spirit fill you with love like the first church in Acts 2” or some similar biblical harangue. I’m glad I didn’t – not least, because it would have been rude, and love isn’t rude according to the same New Testament that glowingly describes the first Christians’ communal living.

But I’m also glad I didn’t because it would have been glib. Living in Christian community isn’t the kind of thing anyone should do on a whim. It is a tough call at times and in order to stay committed to it, you have to have a strong call – from God. You have to know God is in it. I passionately believe that Christians living together in community demonstrates God’s new society in a way that shouts louder than any words can. I urgently wish more Christians would embrace such a call. Hang it all, I’d love some to move in with us.

But I’m not going to say it’s easy.

What I might have been better saying to my colleague is something like this: “You’re right. You could never live that way. Neither can I. It’s a daily miracle.” And then, maybe, I could get away with asking, demurely, “Do you believe in miracles?”

You can’t live in Christian community – long-term – without believing in miracles.

There’s the miracle of forgiveness. Any long-term relationship needs that for survival, but in community, forgiveness has to happen without natural ties that help marriage and family life to survive (like children, sex and in-laws) – it has to be sought and found in God’s heart. Believe me; we don’t spend all day in Christian community floating around on clouds contemplating one another’s perfections. Sometimes I want to wring some of my fellow-communitarians’ necks (if I can get to them before they wring mine).

There’s the miracle of financial sharing. We share all our money and are therefore accountable about how we spend: it’s not “my” money, it’s “ours” (actually, it’s God’s, which ups the ante even more). We tread the constant fine line between being answerable to one another in our spending and living simply, and not “policing” one another in a way that limits trust and hinders maturity.

There’s the miracle of harmonising our differences. I like bold wallpaper. He likes hot curry. She likes peace and quiet. They like board games. He likes to take the paper to his room to read it (and often leaves it there). She likes people to say hello in the mornings (and can feel offended if they don’t). He likes slightly risqué humour. I like to talk with my mouthful over dinner. She likes... well, you get the picture. And (as if I needed to say it) each of these likes is someone else’s loathe.

There's the miracle of the mugs. Where do they all disappear to? (Actually, I think that one may be a demonic miracle...)

There’s the miracle of one heart. Despite all our differences, in our shared community and church life, in its weekly pattern of meals and meetings, being and doing, commotion and calm, we find, over time, that we have one shared set of deepest desires. It’s difficult to put into words.

Perhaps some words that we were given say it best:

“Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

To Corinth with love

I seem to remember Michael Green once wrote a book on 1 Corinthians with this as its title. Certainly, love is central to this letter.

I've been writing a series of little studies for the Jesus Army on 1 Corinthians and here are my thoughts on the closing chapter of this wonderfully varied correspondence, with its unifying strand of the call to 'agape' love.

If love is central to this letter, it is also central to this closing chapter: 'Let all that you do be done in love'.

Love is practical, not just a fine feeling, but worked out in actions. Paul spells out his plans for financial sharing between (mainly wealthy) Greek Christians and (mainly poor) Judean Christians. This is partly so that there may be equality, but also reflects Paul’s wider concern for unity between Jew and Gentile in Christ.

Love is personal, not just a concept, but about real people. The Corinthians, with their love of impressive speakers, were to receive Paul’s co-worker Timothy with respect, even though he sometimes lacked confidence. And devotion to Paul was not to prevent loyalty to God’s other workers.

Love is plainspoken, not soft or sentimental, but straight-talking: 'If anyone has no love for the Lord, let him be accursed. Our Lord, come!' True love for Jesus will love what He loves and long for His coming. Paul ends by expressing his love for the Corinthians: a love that will be sorely tested (as 2 Corinthians shows) but will survive – perhaps by grace alone!

Searching questions linger after reading: How freely do I share my money and possessions with fellow Christians who are in need? How committed am I to working out relationships, with respect and without partiality? And perhaps (for me at any rate) most searching of all: how honest, how straight-talking - how real - is my love?

Two weddings and a resurrection

I haven’t blogged for quite some time. Not to get whiney with excuses, but life gets so busy. No really, it does: tomorrow some good friends and members of our church house group are getting married and holding their reception in our community house and garden. I’m speaking at the wedding. And the week after that, a brother from our community house is getting married – and I’m the best man.

I think I now stand justified in having been a little busy.

Anyway, all these nuptials have got me thinking about marriage. It’s been hard to think of much else.

My father-in-law wisely says, “There are three really important ingredients in a successful marriage: communication, communication, communication.” (More than a hint of Blairishness in this utterance, but I like it nevertheless.)

My wife and I have been meeting Mat and Georgia for the past few weeks, talking through marriage. A lot of what we’ve talked about that makes for a healthy marriage comes down to good communication; open, honest, frequent communication.

Anyway, at their wedding I’m going to talk about the story in the John’s Gospel when Jesus attends a wedding and helps out at the bar. Well – more than helps out, if you remember. (More wine, anyone?)

Ironically, given my earlier musings about the importance of communication, the story starts with what looks like miscommunication between Jesus and his mother. (Actually, reading between the lines, I think they knew each other well and there was a fair amount of sub-vocal communication going on. Certainly, Mary ignores Jesus’ apparent refusal to sort the wine – and Jesus does indeed “sort it”.)

Result: a miracle. Yet it wasn’t just a magic trick, however useful it was to the wedding party (running out of wine would have been a major social disaster). This miracle was, according to John, a “sign”.

A "sign" communicates. It point beyond itself, points to something.

John’s Gospel starts with that mystical passage about “the Word” – not a word on a page or a word in your ear – but a word who is a person: Jesus. And the “signs” all through John’s Gospel point to who Jesus is. Feeding 5,000 people – “I am the Bread of Life”; opening blind eyes – “I am the light of the world”; raising a man from death – “I came to give life”...

All these signs, from changing water to wine on, point to the ultimate sign, the one that Jesus referred to in this story as “my time” – the cross.

The cross says everything God wanted to say to us. The cross shows the love of God.

How? Love, true love, is a promise: “I give myself to you, I give myself for you”. Four dear friends of mine will be making such promises over the next two weekends (er, in two separate pairs - lest anyone start saying that the Jesus Army are embracing polygamy!)

The Hebrews had a special word for God’s love – hesed – which means “covenant love” or “promised love”. God wants to commit himself to us and looks for our committed faithful love in return.

But people mess up, they’re unfaithful, they break promises. And this is what the cross means – God takes on all the unfaithfulness, he bridges the gap. He renews covenant, he promises love forever and removes all the blockages into himself, swallows them up in himself.

Maybe this is why Jesus’ first “sign” took place at a wedding. Maybe this is why the bible describes God’s love for us as like a bridegroom for his bride.

Certainly this is the journey these two couples have ahead of them: exploring, learning and going deeper into this God-kind-of-love, this hesed kind of love. They’re going to have to forgive, many times. They’re going to have to take each other’s wrongdoings at times and not let it be the end of the relationship.

And that’s why they need to invite Jesus to their weddings, like he was invited to that wedding at Cana. To invite Jesus into their marriages. He’ll turn their water into wine; he’ll give them the love they need. (Oh and by the way, he’ll bring "his disciples" with him!)

And that’s why we all need to invite Jesus into our lives: he’ll turn our water into wine, he’ll give us the love we need.

In fact, Jesus actually will be at these coming weddings – because he actually is alive today. That’s what John hints at in his wedding story when he says it all took place on “the third day”, like Jesus' resurrection.

When Jesus rose, he poured away all the old stale water of our messed-up human failure. He started everything again. He starts a new world. He's getting married. We’re all invited.

FriendlY

A wise elder in my church was musing a while back about what it is that draws people to belong to Jesus and to his church. I listened carefully and haven't forgotten what he said.

His generation, now over 50, he suggested, were attracted to causes. He's a baby boomer, grew up in the sixties, one of the "Ban the Bomb" generation ("get with the counter-culture, man"). Many of his generation flocked to join a radical church like ours in the early seventies. Indeed, "radical" is a word they groove on. (Younger generations are less keen, maybe because "radical" has come to mean something like "suicide bomber".) They revel in appeals for "blood, toil, tears, and sweat" which make their hearts beat faster and their eyes mist over. (Maybe, somewhere deep inside they long to display some of heroism of their parents, the war generation.)

The middle generation - that'll be my lot, in their 30s and 40s - Generation X as they have been called, are a generation more affected by post-modernity than their idealistic forebears. They can be suspicious of causes because they're suspicious about anything that claims to be "the answer".

But they're big on experience. If it's a buzz, they'll give it a try. Events, excitement, exhileration are three big Es for this middle generation. Trying to get commitment out of them is a tougher call, but key to winning their attention - and beyond that their heart - is to hold out a real, life-changing encounter with something (or Someone) undeniable.

The youth of today? Teens and 20s, Generation Y as some (rather unimaginatively in my view) call them? Well, said my wise sage, they revolve around friendship. It's about your network, your group, your gang - say it how you like, it's about who you belong to, rather than what.

Hence the huge popularity of online social networking with this generation. Many a British 15-year-old will share what he's doing and how he feels about it (banal though both may be) with dozens of his mates, via Facebook, before he even brushes his teeth in the morning. And he'll receive several replies, even if they only consist of lols and rofls and other arcane online acronyms, meaningless to anyone over 25.

For them the key is "Come and belong".

Now, of course, there's a danger of huge generalization in such thinking. Generation Xers like me can, in some cases, be fired up with commitment to a cause. (I like to think I'm proof of this. And I value my friends immensely, too.) Gen Y don't mind some excitement now and again, either, and they too can rally to a heroic vision. As for those idealistic baby-boomers - well, frankly, they're getting on a bit. Sometimes people settle down, if you know what I mean.

But the point is - and this, I think, was where my wise instructor was taking me - if we're going to reach the up-and-coming generation, we have to think relationally. It's most emphatically not about becoming hip and wearing baseball caps backwards in our 40s (as my mate, Aidan, pointed out recently). But church must be a place of love and friendship, not just a boot camp - or diary of coming events. Of course, church, at its best, is precisely that: friends. John the Apostle even calls church "the friends".

We need to rememer this: call them to belong - before they believe (and certainly before they behave!) Major on networking, making links, keeping in touch, being there - even if "being there" means you're their Facebook friend or you let them know you "like" what they're up to, via an online click.

Sure, we want such connections to blossom into face-to-face (indeed heart-to-heart) friendships (see old John again). But we ought to realise that online networking actually counts for a lot with the rising generation. If we oldies are inclined to look down on it as second rate (compared to "real friendship"), we should be careful, especially if we want to win their hearts. For them, friendship is friendship, whatever the medium.

So here's an idea: let's all be friends.

Look - you're on tele!

Check this out - an intro to New Creation Christian Community (er, that's the big mouthful name for the community we're part of, which in turn is part of the Jesus Army). Hope you like it - it's an advance installment of a series coming out soon (look out for Thea - she lives in our house!):

Right

Found this quite amusing:

When you write copy, you own the right of copyright to the copy you write, if the copy is right. If, however, your copy falls over, you must right your copy. If you write religious services, you write rite, and own the right of copyright to the rite you write.

Conservatives write Right copy, and own the right of copyright, to the Right copy they write. A right-wing cleric would write Right rite, and owns the right of copyright to the Right rite he has the right to write. His editor has the job of making the Right rite copy right before the copyright can be right.

Should Reverend Jim Wright decide to write Right rite, then Wright would write right rite, to which Wright has the right of copyright. Duplicating his rite would be to copy Wright's Right rite, and violate copyright, to which Wright would have the right to right.

Right?

Jesus - meet Jesus

Chatting to a couple of young guys from our Birmingham church this morning, Pete and Chris, they were telling me about an outreach campaign they've just held in which which they led a young man to Jesus; his name is - Jesus.

Yes. "Jesus has given his life to Jesus - quite powerfully actually," said Pete, a glint of irony in his eye.

Turns out this chap has led quite a wild life. Not long ago his escapades looked like they might land him a stay at Her Majesty's pleasure. Worried about this, and determined to change his ways, our man prayed to God, asking to be given another chance, not to be sentenced to imprisonment. While he was at it, he asked for he and his lady to have a child (they'd been trying for some time without success.)

Months later she was pregnant - with twins - and he was acquitted.

In gratitude to God, he wasn't content with popping along to church or giving a few crisp banknotes to Christian Aid. No: he changed his name, by deed pole, to Jesus . "Jesus Jeremiah" in fact.

When our Jesus Army team met him on the streets of Birmingham, they found he was very ready to be helped into making a Christian commitment, and he expereinced a powerful touch of God's love over the weekend.

They call him "JJ". Afterall, admitted Pete, it would be a bit confusing having two Jesuses around.

Night hours are long

A poem I wrote after a disturbed night:

Night hours are long
Minutes crawl lifetimes strung
Between seconds which drag and stretch
Like a murdered corpse
Trailing blood across a tiled floor
After the sudden sharp stab
The knife-edge jolt into wakefulness
The night horror quickly evaporates
Leaving only terror’s taste
And that strange static electricity
Amid the grains of grey half light
And each interminable tick of the clock
Or flick from one red figure
To another, to another, to another

And all the while thoughts congregate
Like a crowd at the gallows
Day’s innocent angels are night’s demons
And night hours are long
Pray them away these dark visitants
These satans of the night?
No Saint Antony I lie
Sweat-drenched lie breathless
As the red figures march by

When dawn’s first light, my amnesty
Arrives at the window
Only then I am saved
And then only by grace

And yet in quick bright hours that follow
I remember my captors – and laugh

Circle and triangle

I entreat Euodia and I entreat Syntyche to agree in the Lord. (Philippians 4:2)

I know two women who I’ve long thought I could blog about. For their sake, I’ll keep this anonymous, though I have nothing but the highest regard for both of them, and nothing I write here is meant negatively or critically.

These two women both love Jesus. They are both committed to serving him and other people, both live in the same Christian community, both want to see their church grow and flourish and bring honour to God. And being in the same house, they get to work at these shared aims together.

Yet this is where it can sometimes get a bit – well – tricky. It’s not exactly that these two women don’t get on. Actually, overall, I would say they have a solid friendship. It’s more that they’re just different. They can tend to communicate ‘past’ each other. Too long spent without any effort to communicate with each other and they’re thinking, ‘What is she thinking of?’ or, ‘Now why did she say/do/think that?’

They want the same things; they just travel in very different trajectories to get there.

If you’ll permit me to express it abstractly, one of them is a circle, the other a triangle.

‘Circle’ thinks in curves. She tends to feel before she thinks, is naturally spiritual and empathises easily. She flows well. People feel at ease with her. She knows how to have a laugh, too. Confrontation is not her strong suit nor is organisation (without a bit of concerted effort) – but people feel she loves them (she does) and, frankly, this makes up for most things.

‘Triangle’ is more spiky. People enjoy it when she expresses fire and vision, and she can be very inspirational. She’s articulate and has a strong personality. She thinks things through; she’s more motivated by ideas and the ‘big picture’ than the feelings of the moment. But sometimes people find her ‘scary’ and she can indeed lack patience. Perhaps people feel she’s insensitive (in fact, she knows this and agonises over it privately).

The interesting thing about these two women is that they are, in fact, a great combination. To misquote the apostle Paul, ‘If we were all circles, where would the angles be? If we were all triangles, where would the curves be?’

The key thing is this: they need to communicate. When their hearts are in contact and they ‘see inside’ each other, they really are a great combination and a source of strength to our community. Without regular communication, as I’ve said, they tend to stop understanding each other, until they may as well be speaking to each other in Greek and Swahili.

We’re all different. That’s certainly something to celebrate. But let’s keep talking, let's keep on communicating.

Y Jesus

Found this report interesting (from the Bible Society's Newswatch email):

Christianity a ‘faded memory’ for Generation Y

Most young people born since 1982 have only a ‘faded cultural memory’ of Christianity, a new Church of England study reports. Fewer than one in five of the age group – known as Generation Y – believe in a God ‘who created the world and answers their prayers’. A survey of 300 young people, published as The Faith of Generation Y, found that most were unconcerned with answers to life’s ‘ultimate questions’. Prayer was used to cope with family illnesses, bereavements or times of pressure, but a ‘secular trinity of family, friends’ and themselves were their main spiritual resource. However, despite their distance from traditional religion, the report found no active hostility to Christianity.

The beauty of temptation

This intriguing and haunting poem was written by a friend who lives in another Jesus Army community house:

The beauty of temptation

Lord Jesus help me
Help me in my weakness
To cling more tightly to you
And if my nails dig in
And cause your hands to bleed
It is because there is so much
So much that dazzles and draws
And tries to pull me
From you the Being and Source
Of all true beauty.
But if my heart were purer
And didn’t see the beauty in these things
The temptation would not be so fierce
Lord Jesus help me

Pretty deep. G.K. Chesterton once said, 'The man who knocks on the door of a brothel is really looking for God.'

We all hunger for beauty - that's our nobility; we all look in the wrong places - that's our tragedy.

New creation has begun

A quote from one of my favourite Christian authors, Tom Wright:

...made for spirituality, we wallow in introspection. Made for joy, we settle for pleasure. Made for justice, we clamor for vengeance. Made for relationship, we insist on our own way. Made for beauty, we are satisfied with sentiment. But new creation has already begun. The sun has begun to rise. Christians are called to leave behind, in the tomb of Jesus Christ, all that belongs to the brokenness and incompleteness of the present world. It is time, in the power of the Spirit, to take up our proper role, our fully human role, as agents, heralds, and stewards of the new day that is dawning. That, quite simply, is what it means to be Christian: to follow Jesus Christ into the new world, God's new world, which he has thrown open before us.

- From Simply Christian

More on silence

I once spent a summer's day walking on my own in some quiet woods and towards the end of it, I tried to spend some time in absolute silence - stilling even my thoughts.


After slowly calming my busy head for a while, I think I may have managed total silence for about ten seconds - though of course I wasn't counting.

It was surprisingly powerful. I remember, afterwards, feeling more alive than I had for ages, as though my senses were all highly tuned - and that after just a few seconds. Some friends laugh at me or say I'm 'going Buddhist', but it was quite something, and I'll never forget it.

I know that Christian or biblical meditation is about fixing your mind on good things (rather than emptying it) but I think there's a place for a 'noise purge' every now and then.

New ears resolution

I like New Year. A time to turn a fresh page and, yes, even make resolutions. The way I see it, even if a resolution does fizzle out after a few weeks, at least it probably brought something positive into your life that few weeks.

In our community, we're seeking to listen to God about next year.

We listen to God by pondering and listening in our own times of private prayer; also through the spiritual gifts we experience in our gatherings. There are simple prophetic words or glimpses of wisdom which can take the forms of symbolic pictures in someone's mind, the meaning of which they or someoen else will interpret. Most years, we have a special time near the turn of the year when we meet together to 'listen' like this, discerning our way forward.

I'm sensing God say 'Make space', so we've started thinking of practical ways we can up our levels of contemplation and 'being' amidst our busyness and 'doing'. Not just physical decluttering (though that's part of it) but introducing a bit more 'stop' amidst all the 'go' in life. I think this will be important next year - not just for me, but for the whole community I live with as well.

Another member has been speaking of the phrase 'steps onward, steps inward' and we've found inspiration through this to pray for members and friends who've lost ground in 2010 to regain it.

Our hope is that as we listen together, we will discern what God is saying to us, amid all that he is always saying to his whole church and the world. It's heartening how very often we do find a real thread running through. 'We have the mind of Christ' - together.

Eff and blind - a postscript

Following my sustained meditation on four letter words, I saw a book in a bookshop. I felt I just had to mention it here:


According to the author, saying the blunt little mantra that adorns the cover (minus the polite asterisks) 'is like massage for the mind – relaxing you, releasing tension, giving up on things that aren't working... it is the perfect western expression of the eastern ideas of letting go, giving up and finding real freedom by realising that things don't matter so much (if at all).'

I'm not recommending it; a quick flick gave me the impression it's mostly quasi-spiritual, self-help guff.

But it made me smile - especially after what I'd written.

Eff and blind but now I see

I swear it’s come up a lot recently. Swearing that is.

I’m not talking about “by my troth” style swearing, just to be clear. The other night, as I was reading to my two eldest children, my seven-year-old daughter was troubled when one of the heroes in the Chronicles of Narnia “swore by the Lion”. After all, isn’t swearing what only naughty children do?

Or Naughtie radio presenters. For the next day saw the ill-fated morn of James Naughtie’s BBC radio gaffe in which a spoonerised “Jeremy Hunt the Culture Secretary” meant Naughtie introduced said politician in less auspicious terms.

A brief explanation to my daughter cleared up the Narnian misunderstanding over the difference between rude words and strong promises. But her question started me thinking about words, and the difference between “good” and “bad” words generally.

Then the BBC incident. Then, later that day, a frustrated outburst of some colourful language from a good friend (who, because I want him to remain a good friend, shall remain nameless). It did him good really. And later still that selfsame day, an odd episode in which I quoted, with schoolboy glee, the King James’ rendition of Isaiah 36:12 to my boss (and immediately felt rather foolish).

Put them all together: they all got me thinking about swearing.

The BBC was inundated with emails following the Naughtie word; some saw the funny side, but as many were seriously upset, not least over those (including Naughtie himself) who had clearly found it funny. Words have power; especially, it would seem, swearwords.

The word which Naughtie inadvertently uttered live on radio is widely considered one of the very worst words in the English language. But it was not always so. Enter Chaucer, pillar of English literature. “Prively he caughte her by the queynte” he writes jollily of the secret amorous act of one young character in The Canterbury Tales. (Does it take an expert in Middle English to see the last word in the quotation is the direct forebear of the one so untowardly mentioned on the radio?)

Certainly words change their meanings and their impact over time, including in some cases “going bad”. One YouTube commentator felt the shock over Naughtie’s slip was nothing more than silly Victorian prudishness about “words related to bodily functions like sex and going to the toilet”.

If that’s all there is to it, I thought, then why not throw off these Victorian vestiges and reclaim the wonderful power of all those four letter words? After all, we all know there are certain times – of rage or of outrage – when only those words quite seem to cut the mustard. What’s more, as someone who spends much of my working life searching for the right words, indeed the most powerful and arresting words, should I not joyfully reclaim them? Lace my next Sunday sermon with a few effs? Pepper a tweet with some blinds?

Perhaps not. I recall the Apostle’s stern words. Christians are to rid themselves of “filthy language from their lips” (and presumably their pens, not to mention tweets).

But what exactly did Paul mean? After all, what was “filthy” for BBC listeners this week didn’t seem to worry Chaucer overmuch. What was the “filthy language” outlawed by Paul?

Surely it’s not simply about putting words in two lists, “clean” and “dirty”, “good” and “bad”? This seems arbitrary at best. One man’s swearword is another man’s poetry. No, surely the important thing is that our language speaks – beyond the words we choose – of something worth saying. As Paul wrote elsewhere, “Let your speech always be seasoned with salt”. It’s the flavour of the message our words bring that is important.

Could it be that sometimes even those verbal villains, swearwords, have their place?

I once heard that Tony Campolo, that consummate Christian communicator, when facing a large crowd at some evangelical conference or other, had opened with the question, “What the f--- is going on?”

Shocked silence. Campolo went on to describe the plight of South American street children before rounding on his audience and saying, “And look at you lot! You’re more concerned that I, a preacher, used a four-letter word then you are about this awful injustice.”

Point made, and I think made very well. Three cheers for the eff-word. Camplo’s message was, in fact, well-seasoned. But I wonder how many lesser mortals, hearing that story, have copied his shock tactics only to end up conveying little more than a smutty or upsetting cheap stunt?

The key, it seems to me, is the heart and spirit behind the words. It may, just very occasionally be absolutely right, like Campolo did, to use a “bad word” to drive home a good point or express something with sufficient strength. I’ve even heard it suggested that the Apostle Paul did something similar in the Bible, though his strong language there is usually made more polite in translation.

But such calculated strong language remains the exception that proves the rule. The fruit of the Spirit is self-control in this area as in any other. Christians should reflect the Life within them. This seems to be Paul’s main concern. Loose, crude, or derogatory speech can’t achieve this.

I find it easy to forgive poor Jim Naughtie his spoonerism and even his desperate attempts to stifle the giggles that followed all through the 8 o’clock news headlines. But as for those of us who hope to speak for Christ – we should remember the trenchant words of another Apostle: “If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God.”

That’s quite a responsibility. No short cuts. No cheap stunts. And no eff-words – unless I’m absolutely sure.

Little blog about silence

Things come round again. Like silence. Along with stillness and solitude, silence is a vital ingredient of life in Christian community. (I’d say it’s a vital ingredient to healthy human living of any kind, but that’s quite a claim, so I’ll leave it in parenthesis.)

And silence has been coming up again recently. I keep bumping into it. Is it the influence of The Big Silence, recently screened by the beeb? One of our senior leaders shared about silence at a recent staff meeting; another leader blogged about silence; a young leader told me the other day how his church household spent almost an entire Agape meal in deliberate silence (and some found it transformational).

“When we enter into periods of silence, we start to see things with greater clarity.”

The words of Christopher Jamison, Abbot of Worth Abbey, the monastery featured in The Great Silence. “We come to know ourselves, and come in touch with that deepest part of ourselves. That is our soul.”

Not that it’s all about a mystical version of an hour on the therapist’s couch. “The reality [of silence] is very different,” says Jamison. “We bump into our deepest selves.”

Our community, New Creation Christian Community, is one more marked for its activism than its contemplation, closely tied as it is to the work of the Jesus Army and the Jesus Centres. Our challenge, frankly as much as for the frantic secular society that surrounds us, is to find, make and protect silence and stillness within all that we do and say.

That said, people still say, when they come to our community houses, “Isn’t it peaceful?” (Sometimes the harassed members look at them gone out when they say it – but say it they do.)

I wrote a prayer a couple of years ago and still pray it now:

God, teach us silence, so that our words will not be empty, but carry power. Teach us stillness, so our activity will not be frantic, but fruitful. Teach us solitude, so that we can live in community. Amen.

I believe there are things to explore and dig into here. I believe this could be part of our journey into the future as a community.

Coventry Jesus Centre - a week in the life (part 2)

Check out this homespun and for real account of the place that means so much to me (part 2) -

Coventry Jesus Centre - a week in the life (part 1)

Check out this homespun and 'for real' account of the place that means so much to me (part 1) -

EDP in pictures

As promised, some photos from last week's London adventure.

On the bus: chatting to Andrew (who God told us we'd meet)


Sam talks to Joe and Viktoria. He was into Norse religion (probably because she was Scandanavian!)


These guys camped out to see the Harry Potter premier. I asked this bloke if he was a wizard (he sported a fine wizardly beard). He said he wasn't which was mildly disappointing.


Church on wheels: the Jesus Army bus


Well, I hear them singing in the streets...


Earnest conversation. It's a matter of (eternal) life and death.


Bethan, giving out Jesus Army Streetpapers (and looking rather pentecostal as she does).


Not that it was all wet, windy streets. The team unwound by, er, pretending to be goats.



This young Latvian man committed his life to Jesus on Friday night. Which is what it's all about really...

(For more of my pictures of this Jesus Army campaign, click here.)

Eat, drink and pray

I forgot my thermal long johns.

Wouldn’t normally be a problem, but last week I was on the streets of London until the wee small hours, for three nights. November nights are cold and I’d intended to wear that extra layer of insulation. As it was I had to resort to stamping and jogging on the spot from time to time.

Each month, for a three-night stint, a team of about a dozen Jesus Army soldiers take one of the church’s double-decker coaches and stay out late in London’s West End, serving food and drink, talking to people about the gospel, and praying with those who would like us to. We call it EDP - 'eat, drink and pray'.

Arriving on the Wednesday night at about 9 o’clock, a couple of young brothers and I decided to grab the atmosphere with a few songs. One played the guitar, one the bongos; I just gave it full throatle. After we’d sang for a bit (old gospel medleys mainly – ‘I’ve got joy’, ‘I’ve found a new life’) I turned round and saw a grinning face.

One chat later, I knew the person behind the face was that of Peteris from Latvia. He’d come to England a couple of year’s earlier and worked in Milton Keynes for a time. But Peteris’s luck had ran out when he had a forklift accident and lost his job. He’d drifted, ending up on London’s streets only a couple of weeks before I met him. He was grateful for the hot drink and appreciated the friendly company. He also told me how, back in Latvia, he’d been to a Christian meeting and been struck by the warmth and genuineness he’d found there.

The night rolled on. Many chats, many hot drinks. But Peteris stayed on my mind – and sure enough, the next night he was back. We talked again and he introduced me to his friend Georgs, also Latvian; they’d met on the streets.

The last night was an exciting night for the team, as several ‘words of knowledge’ (things people had sensed beforehand would come true that night) had come to fruition. ‘Someone’s gonna meet someone with the same name as team members’ – check, that was Andrew (we had two Andrews on the team). ‘Someone’s gonna be drawn to a draw-er’ – check, Bethan found herself very moved by the story of an old homeless man, only finding out later that he drew pencil drawings (he drew one of her). ‘Portcullis House’ – check, we went there and had a significant encounter with an ex-gangster who knew his need of Jesus (the person who gave us this word didn’t know there was a Portcullis House in London, and certainly didn’t know it was the main office block for the Houses of Parliament!) And so on. It does add a sense of working with God.

Peteris came back that night and we talked more deeply about what it meant to follow Jesus and be a Christian. He drank it all in. ‘Has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith?’ (James 2:5)

I was able to pray with him and help him pray his own prayer of commitment.

Frankly, there’s nothing better than that. I would go so far as to say that not even the birth of my own children quite compares with the joy of leading someone to new birth as they believe in Christ.

I put Peteris and his friend Georgs in touch with my friend from the Jesus Army in London. They stayed with them the next night and by all accounts are getting on well.

Being on the front line; serving many; sharing the gospel; I loved it.

Even without my long johns.

(Some names are changed. I'll put up some photos of the EDP tomorrow.)

A parable from real life

Last week, a young community-brother and I repaved the patio at the back of our house. (Those who know me may exclaim ‘What! James shovelling sand and mixing mortar? James lifting heavy slabs? James soiling his manicured writer’s hands?’ But it’s true. We even have photos to prove it.)

I was the labourer, my young brother the skilled tradesman. In the course of our work, I had to shovel several barrow loads of hardcore gravel into the wheelbarrow and round the side of the house to the worksite. At one point, my five-year-old son, desperate to be a ‘builder’, arrived at my side to help. He brought his plastic toy spade. And he started to shovel.

For each large shovel-load of hardcore I piled into that wheelbarrow, he contributed a few grains. He was proud of his achievement; and I was really happy to have him working at my side – because he’s my son and I love him.

Later, thinking about this, it dawned on me how very much this is like God and us. We may talk grandiloquently about ‘building the church’ or our ‘ministry’, but do we really think we’re helping God? In one sense, we’re not ‘helping’ him in the slightest. He is building his church. Our contribution is like a few gravel grains in a plastic spade next to his almighty shovel.

And yet... I believe God is happy to have us working at his side. We’re his children, you see, and he loves us. We really can help him. The work certainly doesn’t depend on our contribution (thank God), however much we may feel it does. Stressed-out strivers (like me) do well to remember it.

Yet God loves to call us his fellow-labourers. He loves to have us by his side, in the heat of the day, doing our bit. He loves us to feel satisfied with our achievements. In fact – he just loves us.

Let's talk about sex

Last Sunday morning’s talk was on sex. Andy, the speaker that morning, certainly had everyone’s attention. (How can my next Sunday’s sermon – on the epistle to the Romans – possibly compete?)

Of course, speak about sex and attention is pretty much guaranteed. The advertisers are onto that one: Andy himself mentioned the fact that on the road between his house and the church we were sitting in listening to him, there were at least two billboards using sex to market their products.

Another reason Andy held our attention that morning was, quite frankly, that he’s a marvellous speaker: clear, engaging, an apt analogy or memorable story to illustrate every point.

He didn’t pull his punches, either, as he took us on a trenchant tour of the New Testament’s teaching on sex and sexual purity. “Log fires are nice,” he said. “But light one in the middle of the lounge and you’re in trouble. Sex has its proper place too; it’s called marriage.”

“Keeping 'two chevrons apart' avoids crashes on the motorway,” he pointed out, “which is a good rule for male-female friendships in the church too.”

But there was another, much more unusual reason why Andy’s talk carried such impact, I believe, and it was this: Andy is celibate.

I don’t mean just ‘not-yet-married’; Andy, along with a couple of hundred others in the Jesus Army has made a lifelong commitment to remain unmarried in order to be freer to serve Jesus and love people. Do the adding-up. Yep: that means no sex at all for Andy – ever. For life.

This, curiously, gave him much more moral authority with which to say, to a hall full of people, that they ought to be sexually self-controlled. Think about it. If he’d been sitting there with his “lovely wife” on the platform (the kind that many American evangelical pastors seem to have beside them in the photograph on the back cover of their umpteen books), one might have been tempted to say, “Easy for you to stand there talking about self-control; what about those of us who aren’t cosily married like you?”

It occurred to me that very pillars of the New Testament that Andy was quoting were celibate, too. Jesus. Paul.

Not, of course, that married people can’t or shouldn’t address the topic. The New Testament gives us married Peter’s teaching about sexual conduct, too. Nor is celibacy a guarantee of purity, as the recent tragic revelations regarding Catholic priests have shown all-too-graphically.

Yet Andy, like many others I know (and like many, many thousands of Catholic priests and religious, by the way) is a sign of hope. He is a celibate for the right reasons: he loves people; he loves Jesus.

And his celibacy means he brings a moral and prophetic clarity to the sexual conversation.

We need it. Because all of us – married, single, celibate, engaged, attached, attracted, alone – are called to the same high vocation: to honour God with our bodies.

Spring in Autumn

There are seasons in community. I'm learning to roll with them and not worry too much if they don't fit my preferences.

I'd really like us to grow in numbers (apart from anything doesn't it look good when the stats are passed round at leaders meetings?); cue a season of quiet. I'd like us to experience peace; cue a season of clashes and 'relationship reality'. I'd like us to go deeper together; cue a season of intensive outreach and activity.

I'm not always wrong. Just most of the time. It's His fault really. The wind blows where it will. I suppose 'going with God's seasons' is another way of expressing what Paul called 'keeping in step with the Spirit' - letting His rhythms become our rhythms.

Anyway, where was I? Yes - the seasons.

So, on Thursday nights we throw open our community house doors and invite people for dinner. We call it a friendship meal. If you're anywhere near Coventry on any Thursday night, consider yourself invited.

It had been quite quiet for a while; on some nights only those of us who actually live in the house. But recently, we've been experiencing a bit of a Thursday night renaissance: lots of different people coming, lively friendships being formed, new people. It came just as my longing for new people had almost settled into acceptance that it was a season of 'consolidation' (the word we use when nothing seems to be happening). I was a little out of step with the season, that's all.

And right now it's great to have new people around. Too long without that and a community becomes stagnant and turns its energy in on itself.

So for the past few weeks we've had a houseful on Thursday nights. Last week it included a trainee vicar and a missionary family (and some skaters). Last night a young family that we're coming to love more and more were round (oh, and the skaters again - for about five minutes. Where did they go?)

Last night was particularly special because it was the birthday of one of our much-loved brothers - so we revelled in making sure he was well celebrated, sung to, bigged up, clapped. And we enjoyed sharing his cake - as well as plenty of life, faith, love & laughter.

I love friendship. It is, in essence, the heart of our faith. The cross speaks of friendship restored - vertically (God reaches down in atonement) and horizontally (we're reconciled to each other). Whatever the season, friendship will be somewhere in the mix.

But I'm glad that right now its bubbling to the surface. God is moving; new people are coming.

It's like Spring in Autumn.

Thank God.

Our people

Coventry Jesus Centre is our local church centre, which includes a drop-in lounge used mainly by homeless and disadvantaged people. Piers, the manager of the centre (also my dear friend, mentor, spiritual dad, and sometime rescuer), blogged this account of his fellow manager at the Jesus Centre, who described her recent journey from the Jesus Centre to the bus station.

"Down Lamb Street to post a letter. Outside the Sorting Office was NW - just been beaten up - asked for some money - gave him a little. Saw AS walking down. Walked down Bishop Street and along Corporation Street towards bus station. Saw DM and AM on bench by Transport Museum - waved. Saw NM on bench by bus stop - head bowed so didn't see me. Went into the bus station. Saw LE and AF being talked to by two policemen - nodded as went by. Went to bus stop. Saw SK sitting at table - a bit more sober than when previously seen after going on a bender from the dry house he had been in. Looking very battered. Encouraged him to make another appointment to go on the Bond Scheme. Asked for some money - gave him a little. Bus arrived and two guys we know (can't remember who it was) got off bus as I was waiting to get on - waved."

I found it a moving snapshot, illustrating life as a church of the poor. "We meet a lot of street folk," says Piers. "I can't walk through town without meeting some. They're our people in this big village; it's great."

(To read more of Piers' Jesus Centre blog, check out http://pierscjc.blogspot.com/)

Don't touch

The point of the drama, performed at our recent big bash on Trafalgar Square, was very simple. If there's a "Don't Touch" sign what's the one thing you want to do? Yep: touch.

In the drama (which used to be performed by my mate Loz and I, till we got so old we were retired off), clown A gets stuck to the chair when he touches it. Efforts to free himself just get him more stuck. Clown B comes to help him, but gets thoroughly stuck too. Clown C suggests they pray, which they do and are miraculously freed.

Simple enough, but it tells an all-too-familiar tale. How often have I got mired in stuff that is against my own rules let alone anyone else's - or God's?

Sin is sticky, whatever the brand. Gossip (usually disguised as concern) - yep, sticks to me too easily. Lustful 'skating on thin eyes' (on the internet or in real life) - yeah, impurity superglue. Manipulation or manouvering for popularity. Stick. Harbouring grudges. Stick. Anger and hurtful words. Stick.

I'm not trying to be gloomy. But sin gums me up if I touch it. And sometimes even trying to help others gets me in trouble. Self-pity. Stick. Superiority. Stick. Callous indifference. Stick.

Thank God for the truth the drama ends with. There's a way out of the glue-trap.

As one famous and very ancient cry for help puts it:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

A bang in a teacup

So physicist Stephen Hawking has blown up a media storm by claiming God cannot possibly be the Big Banger.

The Guardian ran a poll on whether or not you agree with his conclusions. But I was struck by the annoying secularist bias in the way the questions are phrased. Here was the choice:

'Yes. I believe in gravity, not divinity' (i.e. the two are incompatible and to believe in God I have to be a self-confessed ignoramus).

'No. God: Hawking 'not necessary' (i.e. believing in God means I'm not only an ignoramus but also quite prepared to dish out rudeness for my religion).

So, if I may, let me phrase my own answer:

'No, Hawking is wrong despite his enormous scientific intellect. The more wonders he explains the more I'm filled with wonder - and faith.'

Or as I tweeted it somewhat more facetiously late last night:

Science is hawking another explanation for everything today. The laws wrote themselves. Good night.

'Big Society'

Is the 'Big Society' David Cameron's biggest and best idea?

In a recent report, the manager of our Coventry Jesus Centre says, "Big Society means more involvement of charities, community groups and social enterprise in tackling social needs. We are doing that, so watch this space."

He then goes on to detail how Coventry City Council have donated a garage to us to store furniture for homeless people we are helping to house, and given us money for a van.

Is a new day of cooperation on behalf of the poor dawning? If it is, and if the Big Society is more than just a soundbite, then I will do what I never thought I'd do: declare a loud hallelujah for Cameron and his coalition.

We shall indeed watch this space.

Dishes and paradoxes

I heard a rumour the other day. Dangerous things rumours, particularly when - like this one - they're about yourself. But hey - I heard it and had to respond.

This time I heard someone had expressed the view that I don't set a good example when it comes to practical serving - like washing the dishes. After the initial fleshly reactions (why does my flesh always move faster than my spirit?) of hurt feeling and wounded pride, I realized two things.

First, it was a fair cop. I'm not to be found at the sink nearly as much as many others I live with in community. Secondly, there are reasons why that is the case and they're not all bad. (I promise this is not simply going to be an extended self-justification - I've got my pouting over now and I stand by point one, it was a fair cop and I resolved to be humble and get to that sink more.)

Yet, fairly often, I'm not at the sink because other responsibilities prevent me from getting there - anything from putting children to bed to preparing a meeting.

As I thought about this I found my mind ping-ponging between the fencing foils of a paradox. Thrust: you need to do the washing up more! Parry: no-one else can put my children to bed! Thrust: a leader must set an example! Parry: a leader cannot live for what others think! Thrust: imagine if everyone came up with their excuses and left the dishes to rot! Parry: the Body of Christ means we all have our different contributions... And so on and on.

Paradox is defined by Dictionary.com as something "that seems self-contradictory but in reality expresses a possible truth".

The Christian life is full of paradox. Perhaps this isn't surprising when you consider some of the Church's essential beliefs. (Is Jesus God or man? Er... yup. Is salvation predestined or freely chosen? Er... yup again. And so on.)

But - as the washing up rumour has already given away - right now I'm thinking not so much of those lofty theological paradoxes which have kept the sharpest minds of the Church whirring for centuries. I'm thinking of some of the more down-to-earth, daily seeming contradictions we have to negotiate as we live as Christians - and, in particular as Christian leaders.

For example - I've been learning over the past few months, sometimes painfully, that it doesn't do to be too concerned about what people think of you. People-pleasing is a particular danger to those involved in pastoral work whose daily work does, in one sense, revolve around being sensitive to how others are doing and feeling, and working hard to care for them. But it can all become tyrannical if I start to live with what people of think as my only guiding star. So I've been learning not to care too much about what others think.

But immediately danger looms. It's only a few short steps from thin-skinned over-sensitivity ('Oh help, I think I've upset you') to bloody-minded insensitivity ('Don't give a monkeys how I make you feel'). Somehow, I have to live the paradox: care about the effect I have on others - but not too much.

Live for the 'audience of One', as someone once put it - while acknowledging that that One is watching carefully how much I love and serve others.

It can feel like like walking a tightrope. As a good friend of mine often puts it, much of life comes down to a fine balance.

Here's another paradox, somewhat related to the first. For a leader it is particularly important to follow the apostle Paul's instruction "not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think". Too much of the "I'm the leader" mentality is a highway straight to pride.

But what about the opposite? "I'm just the same as everyone else and what I do doesn't matter; no need to set any example, no need to embody anything which anyone may find it useful to imitate." Well, clearly, that would be pretty rubbish leadership.

So: I'm just the same as anybody else - but people see me as a leader and rightly so: my example matters. Paradox.

Christian leaders: tender-hearted and thick-skinned; humble and confident; easily entreated and not easily swayed. Like Jesus, full of grace - and truth.

So this is what I've resolved: I'm not going to let everyone tell me to wash the dishes! And I will humbly let anyone tell me to wash the dishes.

I've got to live in the paradox.