Absolutizing the present

The other night my friend, who’s also a Jesus Army leader, experienced the worst meeting of his life.

It was truly appalling. A fellowship meal without fellowship, a love feast without love, he’d left it with his heart in his boots, wondering what the point was. Why go on? Did anyone else care at all?

That spiritless meal with those who were supposed to be his deepest comrades in the cause of Christ, left him feeling bereft of hope. So much so, he went into a room, lay on his face and cried out to God. “Why, Lord?” he cried. “Why, oh why?”

As a believer in quick and prompt answers to prayer, he shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when just four days later, his little church group had one of the best meetings he’d ever experienced. Fellowship flowed, love was abundant, spirits soared.

All was well and all manner of thing wast well; my friend went to bed a happy man that night.

Telling me about both meetings the next day, we both chuckled at our ability to see no further than the immediate circumstances, good or ill – particularly as leaders who do, in fact, care a great deal about our churches. How easy it is to measure our entire reality by what has just happened, by how things are right now.

A mentor of mine calls this “absolutizing the present”; being unable in that moment – be it of agony or ecstasy – to conceive of reality being anything else ever again.

I’ve often called to mind his wisdom, and sometimes it’s saved me from spiralling down into cynical hopelessness, prompted by some discouraging incident (or, for that matter, soaring off into the stratosphere over something encouraging, which can be as unhelpful in the long run).

Of course, the account I gave earlier of my friend’s two meetings was exaggerated. But that’s the point. Our feelings do exaggerate things: they absolutize the present. We have to be disciplined with our feelings at times (as my wise mentor also says, “Emotions make good servants but poor masters”). We must learn to keep some poise.

Sure, that Friday wasn’t so good. But Sunday’s coming. Oh – and that Sunday’s followed by a Monday.

In the final analysis, it’s probably not nearly as bad – or as good – as it seems.

Face(book) up to the future

Yesterday morning at Coventry Jesus Centre, Andy, one of our regular preacher-men, announced that the title of his talk that morning was: “The Opportunities and Potential Pitfalls Presented by Facebook and other Social Media Websites”.

Snappy. He’s a master communicator is Andy.

Actually, Andy is indeed a very good communicator. Nevertheless, he, like many Christians in my church and beyond, has been unsure what to make of “the social media revolution” as some are calling it.

On the one hand – as a video Andy showed us yesterday showed – social media such as Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and all the rest are here to stay. Recently, Facebook crossed the 30-million-users mark in the UK. That’s half the population. This is, quite simply, the way people communicate these days. Any church with something too say (and really every church should have something to say!) can’t afford to ignore the possibilities offered by social media.

On the other hand, there are as many potential pitfalls in social media as John Bunyan’s hero, Christian, faced at Vanity Fair. From flirty pictures, to gossip, to just plain worldly time-wasting, Facebook et cetera can be a veritable Slough of Despond for the unwary pilgrim.

Andy spoke carefully, and what he said can be summed up fairly well by a verse in Paul’s letter to the Colossians:

“Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity.”

“Be wise” – avoid the pitfalls. In particular, don’t do on Facebook what your conscience wouldn’t let you get away with in the rest of life. Gossip is gossip, whatever the medium. Unkindness is unkindness. Lust is lust. Time is too precious for Farmville.

But – “make the most of every opportunity”. If half the population of our country is on Facebook, we need to be there. If we’re called to bring the message of Jesus to the people, we have to go where they are and speak the way they speak.

The right place for an ark is in the water. (Yet remember that the wrong place for water is in the ark!)

As something of a social media enthusiast, I may have been more enthusiastic in my endorsement of it all. But I realise there are real issues that need to be thought through, and I think Andy did a good job of treading the fine balance.

I’d like him to do a part two, in which he unpacks in more detail some of the creative ways we can “gossip the gospel” through social media, some ideas for how we can best chain this Leviathan and use it to add strength and effectiveness to our communication of Christ.

How about it, Andy? Up for it?

Backwards is forwards

There's a few videos on YouTube with poems that say one thing, then scroll backwards and reverse their message. Here's one. Here's another.

We've shamelessly nicked the idea and written our own poem in this style. We're going to make it into a dramatic item to be be performed at Trafalgar Square when the Jesus Army hold our annual festival there (this year on June 25).

Maybe we'll make a video and post it as a response to the ones on YouTube. In the meantime, here's the poem. Read it down the page (obviously!), then back up from bottom to top to get the idea.

We are a lost generation
And we refuse to believe that
We can change the world
We realise this may be a shock but
God loves us
Is a lie, and
Money will bring us happiness
The truth is
God doesn’t care about people
We refuse to believe that
We can trust him
We will live our lives according to these beliefs
There is no God
It’s just empty talk to say
That Jesus died to save us
That divine compassion brings purpose to our lives
Is a reassuring thought however
It
Is a self-deceiving fantasy
We can be free without God
Our existence has no grand meaning or purpose
In a world without faith
There is freedom
But with God
Life is an endless cycle of guilt and shame
Without him
Everything makes sense
It is ridiculous to think
We need God

Wrong. It’s time we turned our lives around

Come to Trafalgar Square on June 25 and you can see the drama!

And another thing, God

I am fed up with happy songs.

I’m not saying that joy isn’t a profoundly Christly sentiment, or that there’s any special virtue in misery. I agree with St Teresa of Avila who famously prayed for deliverance from “sour faced saints”.

But yesterday in our Sunday morning worship, as we sang song after song about how great God is and how happy he makes us, I wanted something else. I was feeling frustrated. Perplexed. Questioning.

Why this, God? I wanted to ask. And why that? But the songs were busy declaring goodness and glory. They weren’t asking anything.

Oh dear, I thought, maybe I’m in the flesh.

On Sunday nights, after supper, I usually set an hour apart for prayer, walking in a local park (we’re blessed with a big, beautiful one with trees and gentle hills).

Usually, I just walk and think – about our community, our church, people I care for, and myself (not always, I confess, in such a self-abnegating order). I pray in tongues quietly, as I think. More often than not I’ll settle on one or two topics on which I’ll express myself to the almighty, best I can. Sometimes I “hear” a divine response – a word, a mental image, or just an impression be it of peace or urgency or anything in between. Sometimes God just listens, a patient parent, to my childish prattle.

Last night I found myself chewing on some of the frustrations and yearnings I’d been feeling, in particular, the situation of the Jesus Army nationally. Putting it frankly, it bothers me that we’re not doing better. Fully aware as I am of the dignified wisdom in sayings about God’s calling to be “faithful rather than successful” (attributed to another even more famous Catholic Teresa), it nevertheless deeply concerns me that we are so often frustrated in our endeavours around the UK.

There is much to be thankful for – from individual lives changed to new Jesus Centres and our expanding network overseas. Yet there’s planty of heartache as some of our churches fail and quite a number of our newly baptised disciples slip back or fail to continue in faith. We’re not growing as we long for. Our northern front, from Liverpool to Leeds, is nigh-on a scene of desolation. We need many more leaders if we’re to plant the churches and communities we’d like to – and as we do really believe God has called us to.

Is God unable to bless us? I found myself asking God whether there was some "master sin" afflicting us corporately, hindering us, blocking God's blessing. Of course, we’re a church of sinners (no church I know isn’t), but it seems to me that, at heart, we genuinely desire to be faithful to God’s call.

I was left with the question hanging on the night air as I arrived home. It was one of those nights when God didn’t seem especially talkative.

Then this morning I read Psalm 44.

O God, we have heard with our ears,
our fathers have told us,
what deeds you performed in their days,
in the days of old…
But you have rejected us and disgraced us
and have not gone out with our armies.
You have made us turn back…

Often in the Bible, such agonized prayers are followed by a confession of sin. Israel’s exile, for instance, was recognised by the prophets as having been the result of the nation’s rejection of God. But this psalm doesn’t take this stance. Instead, it contains the following surprising lines:

All this has come upon us,
though we have not forgotten you,
and we have not been false to your covenant.
Our heart has not turned back,
nor have our steps departed from your way…
Yet for your sake we are killed all the day long;
we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered.

This last line was quoted by the apostle Paul as a description of the experience of the Christian Church. Given that, whenever Paul quoted Old Testament scripture, he always had the whole passage in mind; and given that the passage in which he quotes this is about groaning and aching in prayer for the fulfilment of Spirit’s plans; and given that Paul knew quite a lot about setbacks and desires frustrated – I think we can see such frustrations as all part of what it means to be God’s people in the world.

And I think Paul had in mind the prayer that concludes the psalm:

Awake! Why are you sleeping, O Lord?
Rouse yourself! Do not reject us forever!...
Rise up; come to our help!

Shocking. Surely the psalmist should be telling God how beautiful he is, or how lovely it is to be resting in his arms, or how happy we are – not telling the almighty to wake up and remember his covenant obligations? Not suggesting that God isn’t with his people and he jolly well should be because his people have been faithful? Dreadful theology. Can hardly believe it’s in the Bible.

In fact, I reckon there’s a place for this in our praying and our worshipping. An important place.

“Come on, God! (Groan.) Go out with our armies! (Ache.) Rise up! Come to our help! (Sigh.) Don’t let us go down the pan! (Yearn.)”

We need songs and prayers that express longing, express questions, express groaning, even express impatience with God.

Time to read a few more psalms – and write a few new songs.

Questions, questions

I got thinking as I sat on the loo (pardon the details, but that was how it was). Why are there 360 degrees in a full circle? Why not 400? Or 3600?

It probably has something to do with a base 12 numeral system. But someone, somewhen, must have decided that 360 were about the right number of degrees to cover the range needed. After all, if there’d only been 12 degrees in a circle, navigation would have been a tad haphazard.

Where am I going with this?

I’ve been thinking a little about questions and how we answer them. Some are mathematical or scientific or historical and with a little research a reasonably comprehensive answer can be found. I could probably “Ask Jeeves” or consult Wikipedia and find out the answer to my musings on degrees in a circle.

I suppose a pure mathematical question can be answered with a pure mathematical answer. But not all questions are so tidy – or so pure. Even this one probably leaves a few imponderables up in the air. Once you introduce science, you leave the realm of unsullied logic and get into the murkier territory of hypothesis and experiment – not to mention finance (“who gets the grant?”). Descend to history, and you’re soon in the ash cloud of human motivation and political struggle.

And when it comes to ethics or philosophy or (heavens!) theology? – Can there be such a thing as a pure answer, unsullied by human jockeying for power or money or even just the base desire for popularity.

Postmodernism says “no”. Every answer, every story (especially the big ones which claim to answer questions as they go along) is just about human power games.

As a result, everything’s fundamentally suspicious, and therefore uncertain. All that remains is the story you write for yourself – and that can change next week if you like. Because, actually, we shouldn’t even trust ourselves.

The “big answer” of modernism, Science, has been found wanting because the “big answer” of the Enlightenment, Reason, has been found wanting. The “big answer” of the Reformation, the Bible, has not so much been found wanting as not found because the Enlightenment threw it out. And as for the “big answer” of medievalism, Mother Church, she is now only fit to be the arch-villainess in children’s books by Philip “postmodern” Pullman.

We’re on our own folks under a cold sky. As Samuel Beckett expressed it, we’re sitting under a tree waiting for Godot – but he never turns up. “Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful.”

The problem is that no-one I know can actually live in a world with no answers. (Friedrich Nietzsche tried it; he, at least, had the good grace to go mad.)

So lots of little answers flood in. Life now consists of a new pair of trainers. Because they are The Meaning of Life, they are given names like “Fire” or “Passion”. Life consists of the latest film in which someone triumphs against adversity while we sit watching them, cramming popcorn into our mouths before going home and putting the bins out. Life consists of the latest Playstation game. Or how many friends you have on Facebook to tell that your doing “nothin much” right now. Or – darker – life consists of anonymous sex via internet porn.

For the record, let me just say that I don’t think everything about postmodernism is wrong. Some big answers need to be treated with suspicion. Sometimes science needs its capital “s” confiscated. Sometimes relationships are more important than “getting it right”. Sometimes we do have to accept that we can’t know everything and make friends with mystery. Sometimes “being” is enough and “doing” needs to pipe down.

At its best postmodernism is humble because it recognises that modernism was about human pride. A movement that is “post pride” is not a bad thing – as long as it doesn’t become cynical and, ironically, take pride in not believing anything.

What if there is a story that’s true? Not just mathematically, purely, inhumanly true – but historically, messily, humanly true?

What if there’s a story that puts not knowledge, but love at the heart of everything? A story that starts in a garden and ends in a city because human life does have a direction and a destination?

A story which doesn’t try to hide the mess, the humanness, the sullied motivation and confusion of its protagonists?

A story in which one obscure family – just like everyone else only more so – is chosen, from whom one obscure family member turns out to be the storyteller himself.

What if that storyteller gathers all the wrong answers, warped motives and proud delusions in the whole story, brings them all to an end in a chapter called Death, and opens a new chapter called Resurrection?

What if Godot arrived? What if something happened, somebody came, and it was awesome?

What if the possibilities are endless? What if there’s everything to live for?

What if that story is still being written and we have the opportunity for a part in it?

Only questions. Just asking.

The path

My friend Wilf wrote this poem yesterday. I like his poems. His words are simple; his thoughts are deep and worth pondering.

Testimony -The Path

No path could have been more hopelessly wrong
Than the one You led me along
But no other path could have brought me through
Intact sane warm and strong

So many times my protective skin was flayed
Leaving every raw fear displayed
But they were the times I cried to You
And learned to be unafraid,

In times like that You made me;
Answering my prayers and those You saw hidden
In the ones You didn't answer,
And I was given strength
By those who had little for themselves
I was helped to stand
By those who often fell
And if I can look on life now
With wise calm eyes
It is because of those crazy troubled times.

Countless alters on a road of strife
Hardly noticed among the rubble of life
But they are witnesses to
My trembling heart before Your knife

Many have walked a sharper road
Than that which I have trod
But these petty trials led me to You
And made me a man of God.

Saved!

This is a bible study I wrote today for the Jesus Army to use as part of our weekly discussion over the scriptures each Tuesday evening.

I always find Paul's letter to the Ephesians widens my horizons, so I thought I'd share the inspiration, and post the notes here.

In Ephesians 2, Paul describes our great salvation in Christ:

* We are saved from 'the course of this world...the prince of the power of the air...the passions of our flesh' [v.2-3]. The world, the devil and the flesh form an ungodly ‘trinity’ which held us bound and made us 'by nature children of wrath' [v.3].

* We are saved by grace [v.5]. No human effort can earn our salvation – it is the gift of God [v.8] because of his 'great love' [v.4].

* We are saved to 'sitting in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus' [v.6]. We have the awesome privilege of being united with Christ, the ruling Man.

* We are saved for good works as 'his workmanship, created in Christ' [v.10]. The result of salvation, springing from our renewed nature, will be to work, build and pray towards new creation now.

For, through the death of Jesus, God has created, 'one new man' [v.15], the new humanity, in which all are united to become 'the household of God...a dwelling place for God' [v.19-22].

As to what it means, practically, for us to be ‘seated with God in the heavenly places in Christ’ or for us to work, build and pray towards new creation - well, we'll be discussing that a week on Tuesday. Pray for us!

Jesus Army: church of the (ungrateful) poor

At lunchtime the other day, I went into a small town near where I work to meet an old friend for coffee. When we came back to the car park where I’d parked the Jesus Army minibus, we found a bloke sitting on the tail plate.

“Can you help me?” he asked, pointing at the word “Jesus” on the minibus. He had a wild look: matted beard, big pack on his back. To be frank, he was slightly scary. I opened my mouth to ask what help he’d like, but he was already saying, “No, I can see you’re going, don’t want to be any trouble. I just wanted to know about the Jesus Army.” I got halfway into saying, “It’s ok, we were about to leave, but what would you like to know?” But on the word “leave” he interrupted again in a sudden change of mood.

“F*** off then” he growled. “F***ing Jesus”.

Taken aback, and with half an eye on my friend who looked (like I was) a touch disconcerted, I asked him what he needed, and told him about the Jesus Centre, in the next town, where he could get some help.

“Take me there,” he said, and he pointed to his shoe. The sole was coming off. “I trod on glass,” he added plaintively.

“We’re not going there now,” I said, about to ask if he’d like the bus fare. But before I got to that, Hyde had taken over from Jekyll again and F-words being fired at me like bullets.

Now for a confession. I’m not proud of this. In a moment of horrible right-wing vitriol I wanted to yell, “F** off yourself, then, and get yourself a f**ing job, you scrounger!”

I didn’t, thank God. Apart from anything else, this man was not well mentally. Instead, I waited patiently, then explained again about the Jesus Centre, blessed him, and got in the minibus. As we drove out of the car park, I saw him swoop down on another guy, pointing at us, and gesticulating. I think I can guess the theme of his animated speech. (Something to do with “f**ing” and “Jesus”.)

My friend and I talked about the incident. I mused on how sometimes at the Jesus Centre in my own town, Coventry, people can get abusive – and are fairly regularly eye-wateringly ungrateful for food and other essentials that they are being given for free (or heavily subsidised).

Any idea how fussy people can be about how they like their fried egg – even one they’re getting for a few pence?

But I realised years ago that giving “the poor” the right to complain, the right to be ungrateful, is in fact an important part of affirming their human dignity. Why should only the rich have the right to complain? Or even the right to be ungrateful? Nobody thinks twice if a rich person complains in a restaurant if he doesn’t like his food. Why? Because he has money on his side.

Well – we revolt against money being the main measure of human worth. That’s one of the reasons I joined the Jesus Army. It’s a church of the poor.

The Dickensian view of the “grateful poor” can be deeply patronising, and part of our gospel work is to take complaints from the poor smilingly – and recognise something of justice restored in it.

So I didn’t feel I’d responded very well to the bearded brother in the car park. Maybe I should have given him my shoes. Maybe I should have taken him to the Jesus Centre. I’m quite sure I would have been sworn at a lot more for my troubles.

As it was, I drove away. And though I prayed for him, I felt uncomfortable as I recalled the biblical warning: “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?”

Here it is, then: my confession.

The one redeeming feature of the episode, perhaps, is that I gave him a chance to complain. And in complaining he was saying, “I too am human. I too am a king.”

Jesus still weeps

Bigotry and hatred too often join hands with religion.

Jesus reserved his fiercest rage for the proud religious and his most generous (and scandalous) compassion for those they considered socially unacceptable. It makes me ache with frustration and despair when that same Jesus is used today as a figurehead for prejudice.

I say 'that same Jesus'. In reality, of course, it's not the same Jesus at all. It's just the same five letters, J, E, S, U, and another S, used to rubber stamp fear and loathing.

The shortest verse in the Bible is 'Jesus wept'. I think he still does.

Of all prejudices, homophobia particularly gets my goat, perhaps because it is still viewed as somehow acceptable in some religious circles. People who would throw up their hands in horror at racism, for instance, find it acceptable to talk ignorant rubbish about gay people - and feel a warm glow of orthodox righteousness as they do so.

"Woe to you! Hypocrites! You shut the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. You neither enter yourselves nor allow those who would enter to go in."

(That was Jesus, by the way, with his goat got.)

Let's explore this. Faithfulness, tenderness, loyalty, self-giving - these are good things. They are Jesus-like qualities. Agreed? Yet some religious people would consign the faithfulness, tenderness, loyalty, sacrifice shown by a gay person to another to a bin labelled 'SIN'.

Because it happens to be Adam and Steve we're talking about, rather than Adam and Eve, their faithfulness, tenderness, loyalty and self-giving is rendered null and void. Worse, these virtues are given names like 'sodomy' and 'sin'.

I've even heard some religious people express the execrable view that heterosexual sex that is promiscuous or even exploitative is better than homosexual sex that is faithful, tender, loyal and self-giving - simply because the gender of the participants is the same.

This seems to me to be self-evidently ridiculous (and unutterable tragic). But it is held as orthodoxy in some quarters.

Let me be quite clear. I'm not advocating sexual moral chaos. This isn't about 'free love' (which in fact, comes with a very big 'buy now, pay later' label hidden in the packaging and is in any case nothing to do with love). Sexual morality matters. And faithfulness, tenderness, loyalty and self-giving matter. Promiscuous, exploitative, or even just plain selfish sex is a twisting of God's design. It is, in fact, sin - and brings all the pain, fragmentation and separation that sin always brings.

Human sexuality is too complex to be reduced to soundbites or formulae. But of this we can be sure: it is better saturated with the qualities of God's own nature - of love, in fact - than it is without them. Much, much better. So much better as to be a different thing altogether.

So I felt I had to sign a petition the other day to oppose the horrific anti-gay bill proposed in Uganda (see avaaz.org).

Human sexuality may be complex. Questions surrounding human sexuality may be difficult. But when we're faced with such flagrant abuse of humanity as is represented by such a bill, when the screeching calls for morality become this immoral, when hatred threatens to be enshrined in law - I for one have to speak out. I have to say no.

In the name of Jesus - no.

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.