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.