Christmas Colours

Christmas at All Saints has a beauty that lifts the heart. Hundreds of candles illuminate the church ( a big job for the man with the match!) The tree scintillates with light and colour. Then there's the vestments.. purple on Christmas Eve; gold on Christmas Day and red on the feast of St Stephen. The vestments were made by Peter Stringer, an artist with needle and thread. He has left behind a legacy of colour and beauty to inspire.

As I donned the gold chasuble of Christmas I asked myself again "Why wear this?" It is extraordinarily beautiful. It speaks of the beauty of the Lord. That is the point, I guess. It isn't about me it's about God. Everything in worship should focus upon God.

I preached at the AoG Conference when I was 26 to a crowd of over 2000. I worked at the sermon with relentless enthusiasm and quite a bit of prayer. On the night I knew I couldn't have done better. I looked pretty sharp too in my aubergine suit and pink and aubergine tie. Two years later a young man said to me, "I remember you preaching at the Conference." "What do you remember," I asked. "I remember that aubergine suit," he said, "it was amazing." I wanted him to remember the sermon but he remembered the suit.

The suit of the 26 year me made a statement about me. The chasuble of Christmas made a statement about God. This Christmas at All Saints we again beheld the beauty of the Lord.

The Bible's tough bits.

Morning prayer is at 8.30 in each of the 3 churches of our team in turn. It is open to all but frankly it is usually just myself and my Curate, Laura. We don't get to read our favourite 'nice' bits of the Bible but faithfully use the lectionary for our OT and NT readings. So the other morning we were confronted with the grizzly spectacle of "vomit covered altars and no spot without filthiness." (Isaiah 28) Not the most inspiring picture first thing on a morning when you have just had your breakfast!

There are as many hearting sinking as heart lifting bits in the Bible but it is all Bible! Some times it is more brutal truth than blessed truth. When I was a prison chaplain I was often asked for a Bible by prisoners. I usually encouraged them to begin with the Gospel of John but some insisted on starting with the Old Testament. One shocked criminal said to me, "It's very violent this Bible! I didn't know God was so bloody vengeful and vicious." I felt a slight fit of pique that a violent robber serving 6 years should offer a moral judgement on the character of God!


Scripture is difficult. Exclusive devotion to sugar coated verses is not honest. A more questioning theology may lead to vulnerablity but it has a ring of reality. God is in the reality not the sentimentality.

Congratulations Paul and Katie

I'll never forget the 15th March 1979. Barbs and I set off at 5am in snowy conditions to travel to Croyden. In the back of the car we had an empty baby carry cot. At Birdhurst Lodge we were introduced to a little baby boy who looked up at us with dark eyes that knew far more any 5 week old baby ever should. We loved him instantly. He was ours. Adoption is an amazing process. In no time we were travelling back up north with a full carry cot.

Thirty years have slipped by. The dark eyed wise child is 30 years old and 6 feet five inches tall. I still have his little red velvet boots and remember how his little fat foot felt in them. His feet are now size fourteen and a half . The promise of wisdom in his 5 week old eyes have been fulfilled in his 30 year old life. In 1981 our joy doubled as Sarah arrived in our lives. What a blessing these two are to us.

Last weekend our son got engaged to Katie. He saved the big question for the evocative surroundings of Central Park, New York. The saga of the ring has too many complicated twists and turns for this little blog. Sarah was neck deep in the conspiracy and there were times pressures that took it right to the wire. However the ring arrived and Katie said "yes" and there is photographic proof of of sparkling diamonds in the 3rd finger.

I am not naive or sentimental. I know I can be an infuriating Dad and Paul can be a gloriously impossible son sometimes. It is part of the job description! but I wouldn't change a detail of our personal history. I am grateful to God for the gift of these extraordinary children.

Entrenching a tradition.

I attended a course along with other clergy in beautiful Wydale Hall. The surrounding countryside beckoned me to an early morning walk. The grass was heavy with dew so I tucked my rapidly soaking trousers into my socks. I got back to the hall just in time for morning prayer in the chapel. I forgot about my tucked in trouser bottoms. Immediately after the prayers a fellow course member came to me and asked in all seriousness, "Is it part of your tradition to always pray with you trousers tucked into your socks?" I laughed but he didn't. I dispelled the idea that I was practising a trouser tucking liturgical tradition and explained about my walk!

It got me wondering if this could be how some traditions are born. Someone does something oddly inexplicable and someone observing thinks, "that must be the thing to do" and joins in. Before long a bunch of people are doing it and no one knows why. A new tradition is brought to birth!

So "Why?" is a question we need to apply to all our actions. If we don't we may find ourselves doing the things we have always done just because we've always done them; thinking the things we've always thought just because we've always thought them and saying the things we've always said just because we've always said them. So we settle for a sealed system of orthodoxy instead of a journey of discovery.

"Why?" Well I'm the Anglican - Rector of a 1000 year old church.. so where to begin...

Remembrance

Remembrance Sunday brings back memories of huge parades with every uniform organisation in the community out in strength. I joined Birtley Boys Brigade when I was 10 so that I could march with them. It was a mistake. I hated it. I paid one shilling for the badge but quit the week before I was due to receive it. So I never marched in the big parade.


This year in our Act of Remembrance at All Saints, Bob, (Squadron Leader Robert Vollum DFC) recited the familiar words of Binion, "They shall not grow old as we that are left grow old..." Bob is 88 and stands as straight as a ramrod. The remarkable thing is that he has grown old. So many of his comrades never did.



Bob, a man of firm Christian faith, flew many missions in world war two. He remembers one occasion when his plane was hit by flack from a lurking flack ship. The plane limped home. When they landed the crew counted 32 separate holes in the fuselage. "It was a dicey do," said Bob, (RAF understatement!) We were privileged to have Bob, wearing his Distinguished Flying Cross along with half a dozen other medals, to lead our Act of Remembrance at All Saints.

And then there is Afghanistan. Today a heart broken Mum complained about the Prime Ministers hastily scrawled letter of condolence. Her name was mispelt and the mispelling of her sons name clumsily corrected. Ed Miliband pointed out that the PMs handwriting is appalling, partly due to his one blind eye but that he gives time to writing these letters.

Maybe the real issue for this bereft Mum is not a lousy letter but that all she has is a lousy letter instead of a son.

Sabbatical over

Today is All Saints day and my first day back at All Saints Church. The Church was full. The children presented me with a "Welcome Home" card which they had made. It was very touching.
It is good to back.

I have come back refreshed. I have come back with new enthusiasm and purpose. There is a lot to be done. There are a myriad opportunities in this parish. I haven't come back with any master plan but with a sharper focus.

Prayer has never been a really easy option for me. I struggle. However this time has led me to a deepening experience of the joy of prayer. Contemplative prayer with an emphasis on reading, reflecting, responding and resting has become part of this journey. I hope to ensure that it will be part of the continuing journey.

This is called a Sabbatical blog and now the Sabbatical is done I wonder what next? Do I quit these ramblings or find a new voice? I will give it some thought. There is a lot more I would like to say.

Prestatyn revisited.

I was Minister of Calvary Church from the age of 28 to 38. Ten good years. This is where our two great kids arrived in our lives and took over completely! This is where Barbs taught the Welsh English! We loved the place and the people.



When I arrived here the church was a basic brick box. We built this church using one master builder whilst all labour was supplied voluntarily by the men of the church. I'll never forget the night we manhandled the first 7 hundred weight girder into place using a primitive block and tackle under hastily erected search lights. The rain was lashing and the wind was howling as we perched precariously high up on scaffolding. Phil Hodgson, who knew a thing or two, announced, "You are all going to kill yourselves," and promptly went home!



The worked progressed as the money came in, mostly through sacrificial giving. Progress was slow at times. I remember, one day standing in the middle of the building site when work had ground to a halt. My three year old son, Paul was with me and he looked up and said, "Our church isn't finished yet is it Daddy?" When I gravely answered, "No son it isn't finished yet," he looked at me with a sudden rush of childish enthusiasm and said, "Shall we finished it this afternoon Daddy, you and me?" Long before Obama said it my little boy was affected by the "Yes we can" philosophy. He lifted my pessimistic mood and inspired me that day as he has often done since.



It was good to be back and meet with old friends and to see the many good things that are happening there. I never left anywhere with more pain. I never return without pleasure.

Sabbatical - the end in sight.

I've got an outstandingly competent Curate. That's why I've been able to take this Sabbatical without anxiety. Laura has orchestrated everything, applied her considerable pastoral gifts and preached excellent sermons. Over the past 40 years of ministry I have had a hand in training a number of people for the ministry but Laura has something really special. I think she could end up wearing purple.

One little boy has missed me. His name is Bradley and he said to Laura, "Why have you sent Father Ian away and stolen his clothes!" Well I'm looking foward to being back at All Saints.

I've lost count of the number of church services I've attended over these sabbatical weeks. I've been to High Mass with clouds of incense, chanted psalms and glorious music. I've been to arm raising, hand clapping, barn storming celebrations with palpable enthusiasm. I've shared in every shade of Christian worship from tin tabernacles to cathedrals but it will be good to be back at All Saints where if you wait in prayerful stillness you can hear the rustlng of angels' wings.

Hadrian's Wall Coast to Coast.

Got back last night. Walked 104 miles including the final bit from Wallsend to the sea. There is something about walking across England that brings a sense of euphoria. The hills of Northumberland are wild and remote territory. They are glorious and atmospheric adorned by the wall the Romans built in AD 122.

It is surprising how many Tea Shops we found along the way. David has a faculty for sniffing out a Tea Shop up to 3 miles away! For my part I was duty bound to seek the refreshment of "Jennings Cumbrian Ale" each evening. Well, it is a matter of family loyalty!

The experience of long distance walking brings you into touch with 'the sacrament of now.' As Tess Ward says, "The natural world is a visible reminder that we are made, loved and sustained by God, and that our changes, like those of the seasons, are held in a divine flow and rhythm."

I like that. The breeze in your face and your feet on the grass sharpens that perception.

Cycling in the Cotswolds

It is more than 4 decades since I arrived at Bible College. I was two weeks late. It was a Monday afternoon when I was shown into room one. It was a luxury free, spartan space with 7 beds. I was told that the 2nd bed on the right was mine. The 3rd bed on the right had a dishevelled pile of blankets on it. Suddenly a grizzled face appeared from under the blankets. I recognised my friend Allan who I had known since we were 17. "Why have you come here Ian?" he asked, "They are all mad here." I soon found my place in the asylum!

Strong friendships were formed in those days that have stood the test of time. Many are people that I do not see regularly, but they have always been and will always be loyal and trustworthy friends.

It has been good to spend some time with Allan this week cycling in the Cotswolds. We have talked and laughed. We have put the world and the church to rights and commiserated with one another over the loss of youth and the aches and pains of the 60 something cyclist! It's been great. So here to friendship...

Wakefield through the lense of memory.

The famous Smith Wigglesworth died in the vestry of this church at the funeral of the Pastor, Wilf Richardson. Jimmy Salter emerged from the vestry to tell the waiting congregation. He said something to the effect, "We are gathered today for the funeral of Wilf Richardson but I first have to announce that just 5 minutes ago Smith Wigglesworth joined Wilf in heaven." A pretty neat way to go.

I don't recall the event. I was 22 days old and didn't want to be away from my Mum. But in Wakefield it was a much repeated story in my youth. The date was 12th March 1947. Wilf Richardson was succeeded by Albert Mellors who was my Pastor. He always had a twinkle in his eye and never preached a short sermon!

Wakefield revisited.

I attended two services today, one in Wakefield Cathedral and one in Wakefield New Life Christian Centre. Both played a big part in my life as a teenager. I was a pupil of The Cathedral School which meant I was in the Cathedral regularly. As a family we worshipped at "Glad Tidings Hall" (now New Life Centre.) As a 12 year old I was embarrassed about the name. Sitting in the Rovers Return on Coronation Street Ena Sharples and Minnie Caldwell often talked about "Glad Tidings 'all" where Ena was caretaker. When the school bus drove past our church the children roared with laughter. They were all bemused that we had our own bit of Coronation Street in the centre of Wakefield. I did not admit to belonging!

There is a certain schyzophrenia involved in putting myself into these two contexts on the same day but nothing I won't recover from.

Lunch with Tom

A sumptuous lunch today! Weight Watch points off the scale! When I was the Anglican Chaplain at HMP Doncaster Tom was Methodist Chaplain. Prison ministry is a serious business but there were times when Tom and I laughed so much the tears rolled down our cheeks! The humour kept us sane in a place where sanity is in short supply. When I left we decided to meet every couple of months for lunch to catch up and to keep the laughter alive.

Tom has been on Sabbatical too. He finished when I started. I discovered we had similar sabbatical objectives. His was 3 fold - to be healthier in mind, body and spirit. Mine were 2 fold - to fitter both physically and spiritually. I forgot about the mind. I guess I was thinking that spiritual health involves mental health. However the development of the mind deserves special attention. Tom has virtually written a book and learned portrait painting during his sabbatical! His mental equipment is smarter than mine to start with!

As for me, well two out of three isn't bad. In any case talking to Tom today was good for my spiritual and mental health. That lunch was a disaster for my physical health! Still, two out of three....

Ian and Lynwen 30 years on.

This weekend Barbs and I saw friends who we haven't seen for years. Ian and Lynwen were young people in Aberaman Church where I became the Minister when I was 26. (The figures are still the same just the opposite way round!) Ian was studying for the ministry at Mattersey and Lynwen was studying Music at Cardiff University. They were a gifted couple and lovely with it!
They still are but not so young now.

For 30 years they have served their Church in Wellingborough. This weekend was a celebration of those 30 years - a surprise organised by their daughter Rebecca. There was much to celebrate. They have grown a great church family now housed in a beautiful building. It was great to be with them.

The holiness of Holy Island.

My Dad's first car was a 1934 Ford Popular. He bought it in 1957 so it was already 23 years old!

He was so proud of it. As a 10 year old boy I was embarrassed by it. Our neighbours the Scotts had a 1956 powder blue Ford Zephyr that purred. Our Ford Popular coughed and croaked when it did anything at all. We often set out hopefully but there was never any guarantee of arriving!



Holy Island was one of those destinations. It was before the causeway was built. We drove across the sands following the poles that indicate a safe crossing. I feared that our car would end as one of the ghostly wrecks. There were pictures of them on the Island - a salutary lesson to those who did not take seriously the onrush of the tide. But we made it. Such a relief!



So it was as a 10 year old I was captivated by Linsdisfarne. It has such a vivid history. But I also knew it was a place of prayer. From here the Gospel was carried into a pagan world. I could not have put it into words as a 10 year old the mystery of Lindisfarne but I knew there was something holy about Holy Island.



I sensed that again as I completed the Cuthbert Way last weekend. It has been spoken of as a 'thin place.' In other words a place where the separation between earth and heaven is gossamer thin. Of course there is a sense in which every place is holy because 'the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof.' But as I stood on the shore in silent prayer I felt like taking off my shoes.

Reading the Cuthbert Way!

Cuthbert loved the Gospel of John and the Psalms which he called, "the complete David." That's why whilst walking St Cuthbert's Way I made these two books my reading discipline. Cuthbert is said to have known John's Gospel and the book of Psalms by heart. Hardly surprising as the monks of Lindisfarne met 7 times a day for prayer and worship. It was a response to Psalm 119:165 ('Seven times a day I praise you.') All these gatherings were scripture based. As Helen Julian points out in her book 'The Lindisfarne Icon' the whole of the Psalms would be read every week. So little wonder that Cuthbert knew the 'complete David' completely.



During these Sabbatical days I have attended all kinds of churches including charismatically vibrant churches whose worship is exciting. But they don't read the Bible any more! No publicly anyway. Not exciting enough maybe. The preacher reads out his text but there is no separate reading of scripture as part of worship. Reading the Bible and church belong together.... you'd think!!

Catching up.

Last week whilst walking I hadn't any access to the internet so some catching up to do. Talking about catching up I thought when I walked through Yetholme, soaked to the skin at the end of day 2, that I had a great chance to catch up with old friends over a cup of tea. I saw the name "Pinfarthings" on a fine looking house in the middle of the village. A light came on in the dim attic of my brain! "That must be where Bob and Ruth live," I said to myself. When we both lived in North Wales Bob Harrison told me that he would call his house "Pinfarthings" when he found the home to bring up his family. It stirred in my memory that at some point they had moved to Yetholme. "Pinfarthings" is a little village in Gloucestershire where Bob had spent some happy times. So here was a bit of rural Gloucestershire on the Scottish borders. I was so confident that I was already saying, "Put the kettle on" when the door opened. Instead of the grizzled whimsicality of Bob's features I was greeted by the rounder face of a complete stranger. A friendly stranger who invited me in for a cuppa.

I discovered that I was 17 years too late! The new occupant knew of Bob's work as an Evangelist, his association with the village mission and his work among young people in Yetholme. So he had left something worthwhile behind. It would have been cool if he and Ruth had still been there. But I don't think they moved just to avoid me! It brought home to me that we are all on our journey through life and sometimes our paths cross. Sometimes not. We carry the connections. I'm glad of those connections that have enriched my life and brought joy to the journey.

St. Cuthbert's Way

I set off last Wednesday to walk the 62 miles of St. Cuthbert's Way.Weather less than perfect after the first glorious day. Severe weather warnings by grim faced TV forcasters turned out to be accurate. The worst September day in decades in that part of Scotland. N0 weather proof gear is weather proof enough for these conditions. So I was very wet! Paths became streams. Streams became raging torrents. My feet were squelching with every step. I stopped in a wood to wring out my socks. I could have filled my water bottle from them! Didn't, honest. Wet feet in wet socks in wet boots but squelch free. Luxury!

I met no other walkers. Liminal time. That's what I love about walking. Between starting out and destination is the space between. Nothing to distract. No futile attempts at multi-tasking! No tasking at all! All that's to be done is to free the mind. Creative thinking can happen here. Prayer too and thanksgiving to God for the splendours of his creation. I sang spontaneously to entertain the sheep!

I encountered two young men rounding up bullocks on 4 wheel motor bikes. (The men were on the motor bikes!) I stood back to wait for this operation to be completed before walking on. However I was disconcerted when 5 bullocks broke lose and came running at me. This was when I discovered that if there is an olympic event for leaping gates I could qualify! All part of the adventure.

That second day was a great day despite the rain. Something or someone made my pilgrim path glow.

Handswoth re-visited.

I was Pastor at Handsworth "Full Gospel Church" from 1987 to 1994. My Sabbatical wanderings took me back there this morning. They were always warm, welcoming and generous people and still are. It is 15 years since I was at a morning service there. The 'Handsworth Youth' of those days are now veterans - youthful veterans with a sense of humour which was evidenced in the annual church show. Ray Burton's comic songs made me cry with laughter. He and Paul Bennett's performances were supported by Jonathan, Terence and Michael. They were side achingly funny. They are still warm and welcoming people who know how to laugh.



So today was a very good experience for me. The young people leading worship were musically gifted. Loud! But here I show my age! What was on offer today clearly has a strong appeal. These Sabbatical visits remind me that there are many different kinds of churches for many different kinds of people.



Iain was the preacher today. He came to Handsworth as Youth Pastor during my time there and is now part of the leadership team. It was a good sermon with depth and it was well delivered.



This morning I remembered some of the lovely old people who were there when I came to Handsworth now long gone. I'm glad to have been a part of the church's history.

Fit for living.

As far as possible spiritual fitness and physical fitness should go hand in hand. Focusing on those two things is a sabbatical intention. So getting the right exercise, eating the right things and staying in the right weight range are good objectives. Sarah and I are signed up to Weight Watchers. Her focus is keeping me focused. She lets me get away with nothing! Her body is now so re-educated that a hotel full English breakfast made her very sick last weekend. Fat rejection!
In projectile mode! She has lost 18lbs and is 3lbs from her goal weight. An inspiration.

My Dad died this year just before his 90th birthday. He had a strong heart and a keen mind to the end. From his mid eighties his mobility diminished. His life became so confined it was no longer truly living. I hated seeing him shuffling painfully towards death. He hated it too. He finally quit in favour of heaven because he had had enough. I've thought lately of the coiled spring of energy that he used to be. He was a Sales Director and Pastor travelling 1000 miles per week. He got home Friday evenings to lead a Bible study, pastoral work Saturday and preaching twice on Sunday then back on the road on Monday. He relished every busy moment. Unable to stand on his own two feet was not the end he wanted.

"As my days so shall my strength be" is a Bible verse that I have always known though I can't remember the reference. It suggests the gift of strength coinciding with the gift of life. Strength to live fully until life is fully lived. It's a worthy objective; a noble ambition and a prayer. My prayer. No one knows what life will dish up. But we must do all that we can to live with energy and enthusiasm to the end.

Nikos Kanzantzakis speaks of his spiritual quest in his book 'Report to Greco.' In the early chapters he wrote of his Father "The Captain" who was a towering figure of a man who worked and fought tirelessly for the freedom of Crete. Years later when visiting Mount Athos he met a monk who had known his Father as a young man, "How is he now?" enquired the monk. "He just sits in the corner sorrowfully and silently waiting to die," replied Nikos. The monk was horrified, he said, "such a man should not die like that. The mountain should quiver from the impact of his fall whilst still reverberating from the pressure of his footprints."

Not an end that limps but leaps. Strength and days woven together. No guarantees but a good goal to aim at.

Army Cadets

Just had a busy few days in Otterburn Army Camp. (A statement I never expected to make in this life time!)

Our son Paul is in the military and Barbs and I and his sister, Sarah are hugely proud of him. Before he went to Afghanistan he made a DVD. A collage of stills and videos of him growing up from infancy to the present, set to music. Very moving. We couldn't watch it whilst he was in the war zone. We could only pray for his safe return. Our hearts go out to those parents whose sons have returned in a flag draped coffin.

We stepped into Paul's territory recently when we visited him in the USA. He is on exchange to US Air Force for 2 years and is Flight Commander running the combat and technical training school on a large Airbase in Georgia. My little boy whose first 3 words were "Mummy, sweeties, football" (not necessarily in that order!) is now this 6ft 5" commanding character who calls forth respect and trust from his men. He made the right choice of career and it has been good for him though not without its moments of anxiety for us!

So having a son in the military has made me think of young people who set their sights on a military career. They often begin in the Cadets. Part of sabbatical exploration has been to see hundreds of these young people at their annual training camp. I've met energetic, enthusiastic young people full of hope and high ideal. I've met some great volunteers including the chaplains who endeavour to meet the spiritual needs of these young people and lay a foundation of faith.

Army food takes no account of calories! Sugar, fat and carbohydrates were in plentiful supply!
Also sleeping in an Army billet meant encountering men who could snore louder than me! Life is a great and constant learning experience!

York today.

My lovely daughter Sarah tells me I am not quite getting the hang of this blogging thing. Too long. Not pithy enough. Must try harder!

York today. Visited All Saints the Pavement. Stood in pulpit where Wesley frequently preached. Waited for tingling hands and feet - nothing!

Attended mid-day Eucharist in Minster. The rhythm and cadence of Book of Common Prayer have beauty and power for anyone brought up on King James version as I was.

Immersed in history again - York where Constantine was proclaimed Emperor; York where Cuthbert was consecrated Bishop; York where my daughter Sarah got ejected from a club for having a ketchup fight!! Well not all history is glorious. It can be messy too.

Walking the Heritage coast from Runswick Bay to Whitby yesterday with the iconic ruins of Whitby Abbey in my sight made me think of history. When I went to Doncaster 40 years ago the church was just over 40 years old. The older people used to talk with shining eyes about the days when Stephen Jeffreys held his mission in the hall in John Street in 1928. For me it was like being asked to peer through the swirling mists of antiquity. It all just seemed too far away.


But here I am 40 years on from there looking back over what seems a disturbingly short span of time. Now I have more in common with those older people who in 1969 regaled me with heart warming stories of the churches beginning.


There were great characters. Joe Lucas was an old war horse of a character but no one could doubt his commitment to the church. He had fought in the World War I and in the trenches made a deal with God. "If you get me through this all the rest of my life will be lived for you." He was wounded when a bullet passed right through his leg but it did not touch a bone. He came home from war virtually unscathed. He told we wistfully that his return from the war should have been joyous but his fiance died of meningitis just a few days before the war ended. He came home to personal loss. "We'd promised to wait for each other," he said, then added, "but death wouldn't wait." He was an Elder of the Church for many years and a commanding character.


W.J. Thomas, a friend and colleague of Stephen Jeffreys was the first Pastor. His son Luther told me that his Father baptised 300 people in one service. He borrowed Chequer Road Baptist for the occasion. The Baptist Minister was shocked at this mass baptism and said to W.J. "Man it's like a sheep dip!" "That's right," was the response. "We just dip the sheep not the goats!"



The sight of the Abbey reminded me that 40 years is such a little speck in the great scheme of things. I thought about the Synod of Whitby in 664 AD. The great controversy was about calculating the date of Easter. It was Celtic practice versus Roman practice. At the same time dear Saint Cuthbert, not too concerned about arguing dates was concentrating his remarkable energies on preaching the Gospel. He was shortly to become the Abbot of Lindisfarne. No one in our history did more to open up the North to the claims of the Gospel. He should be patron saint of England in my opinion. He didn't slay a mythical dragon but preached the Good News and planted churches. He was the 'Fire of the North' of whom Bede said, "Above all else he was afire with heavenly love."

The familiar ruins on the cliff top sharpened my historical perspective yesterday. 40 years or 1400 years we are workers together with all who have gone before on a great project. The "great scheme of things" in the final analysis is God's scheme. We have a little part to play in God's plan. Sabbatical thoughts for me are about being sure that I play my part fully in this God-filled adventure for the sake of those who have gone before and those who will follow after.

Doncaster re-visited.

40 years ago I arrived in Doncaster to begin my ministry. I was 22 years old, full of eager enthusiasm but worried about the size of the task. It was a big church and I was arriving as Assistant Pastor with a particular responsibility for young people. My boss was Tom Beckett who immediately gave me the job of preaching every Sunday evening. In those days that was the biggest service of the week. The congregation was about 350 and I was used to speaking to the youth group or to the sympathetic and homely congregation at Sleaford so this was a big challenge. Tom had lost ground in his preaching and his clarity and precision of thought had deteriorated through illness. He got himself into some self inflicted verbal skirmishes as on the occasion when he was preaching on spiritual poverty and said, "We've got nothing in the pantry," and then by way of explanation added, "I don't mean pantry on the shelf the goods thereon being not!"



I loved those days. I enjoyed every moment of my 4 years in Doncaster. Barbs and I got married there on a budget of £100. The women of the church provided our reception as a wedding gift. Catering was their skill and they did a fantastic job for us. We furnished our little flat with 2nd hand furniture and it was a homely, cosy little nest.



So here I am back again 40 years on. The church building no longer exists. It was torn down a few years ago and rightly so. It was a fine building but was disastrously cut off from the community by the cavilier road planning of Doncaster Council, (as was St. George's). Now they have a centre among the people in Netherhall Road and the Church now meets in the large sports hall of Doncaster College for the Deaf. It was so good to see about 350 people in that hall today. I didn't know too many people but there were some who I knew of the older generation. They are now called The International City Church. It was good to see such an ethnically mixed congregation. The welcome was great and the welcome pack included 2 sweets. This reminded me of Luther Thomas who Ernest Anderson referred to as "A very sweet man" because he always welcomed everyone to church with a hand full of sweets. They are carrying on a good tradition.



The preacher was Peter Rolls a very competent communicator. I thought he laboured the idea that "Jesus is fun" but he clearly had a strong appeal to his hearers. One of the people I knew well, with wide eyed wonder asked what I thought of the worship. She didn't wait for an answer but showed me a large pair of ear plugs! "Wearing these is the only way I can cope with the noise !" she said. The "wall of noise" worship style can leave older folks feeling left out of the loop! "Coming here is to expereience a great live gig!" was a comment from the leader. But is a great live gig really worship? For someone who has been a worshipper all her life to have to bring ear plugs to church militates against the concept.

Anyway it was good to back at the place of beginnings. It is now a different church for different times. It has pulled itself out of the doldrums of the nineties to become a thriving community. I'm glad to have had a walk on part in its history and to have known and been influenced by some of Doncaster's finest people.

Mam Torr and beyond.

Yesterday was such a perfect day for walking. No mists hanging over the hills. All perfectly clear and glorious. Climbed up to Mam Torr from Castleton on to Win Hill, Lose Hill Pike, Hope and back along the river to Castleton again. One of the most perfect of walks any day but a great gift on a good day. "The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament proclaims his handiwork." (Psalm 19:1)



Gerard Hughes in his book "God of Surprises" suggests an exercise of meditative prayer that chimes with breathing. He suggests that as you breath out to picture yourself expelling something and as you breath in receiving something. For example; out - self, in - God; out - guilt, - in - grace; out - fear, in love; out - stress, in - peace. You get the picture. It is a pattern of prayer I often use whilst walking. Breathing and walking go together, quite consciously so whilst tackling the Peaks.



So for this Sabbatical journey my breathing prayers yesterday were, "Out weakness, in strength; out tiredness, in energy; out staleness, in freshness; out vagueness, in vision."

In other words this Sabbatical should enable me to return to my ministry with a new vigour and dynamism. After 40 years the next part of my ministry will be 'the finishing work.' I don't want to settle to retirement mode but for the final years to be fruitful years.

My good friend Roger,with whom I shared a room at Bible college 41 years ago is quickening rather than slackening his pace. Far from settling for leading his large and successful church on Long Island he is in the process of planting a 2nd church. I don't think he will stop at that. He's an inspiration. The final phase can be the most fruitful phase! When my church get their Rector back I hope they will notice a difference. If I don't return with renewed vision this will just have been a 3 month holiday and that is not the object of the exercise.

Today I went to Sleaford. It is a little bit of my history. I felt that part of this sabbatical pilgrimage thing should be to revisit the significant places of my journey over these 40 years of ministry and 62 years of living.





I am still questioning the value of this exercise yet I feel I should do it. Lines from Omar Kyam spring to mind; The moving finger writes and having writ moves on, Nor all thy piety or wit can lure it back to cancel half a line, Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.


So what's the point of revisiting the past. Well, I guess it's about evaluation. Did I read the writing accurately? Did I respond to it appropriately? Was I moved by the moving finger? What else to be learned?





So Sleaford, from where I took off to Bible College. It's a slow paced and picturesque Lincolnshire town that was my home for a while. Today I visited my Mum's grave. It took me while to find it. It must be 7 years since I was there. She died at 55 and would have been 90 if she had lived. 35 years have gone but her spiritual legacy remains. She was a Christian activist. She was never caught off guard because she was never on guard in the first place! She was a person of strong faith, real prayer and with an irrepressible sense of humour.

I prayed in the beautiful 12th century Church of St. Denys in Sleaford market place. It was a day for thanksgiving, a good day.

The Journey begins.

It will be 40 years ago this September since I began my Ministry. I remember driving to Doncaster in my little lime green Ford Anglia with some trepidation. It doesn't seem possible that 40 summers have slipped by since that beginning.

So here I am coming to terms with being on Sabbatical. I know it's only 3 months and that the Church will survive without me but will I survive without the Church!

People have been asking what I'm going to do. I'm going to do some long distance walking among other things. I'm doing this blog mainly for myself (actually, probably exclusively for myself.) It's a way of evaluating this spiritual journey.

My new blog

Started my new blog today. Sarah helped me set it up and has been bossing me around as to what i should do. She's actually typing this for me....