Ekklesia - Church as Gathering

I've recently been preaching at a couple of Church Anniversary services, where I was reflecting on the nature of the Church. One of the things I said was about Church as Gathering, drawing on the root meaning of the Greek word that we most often translate as 'church' - ekklesia. Here's what I wrote: maybe it might speak to you.

In our gathering we bring together our diversity, our different gifts, abilities and graces, our unique contributions, to create a rich, wonderful grace-filled community of God’s people.

There is no better community on earth than the community of the Church. Here we bring our joys and triumphs and celebrate together; here we bring our trials and temptations and struggle together; here we bring our pain and our failures and weep together.

Here we are welcomed and accepted for who and what we are: whatever our age; whatever our bank balance; whatever our skin colour; whatever our gender; whatever our orientation; whatever our ability – or that’s how it ought to be.

The focus of our gathering is a table, and behind that table is a Cross, and on that table are the symbols that remind us that, whoever we are, we are united by a common – and yet an uncommon – love. We gather because of that love: the love that we have, however fleeting at times, for the God who loved us so much that he gave himself in Jesus Christ for each one of us.

There are times when that love will bring us to eloquent speech, to raptures of praise and thanksgiving. There are others times when our gathering will be struck dumb as we look desperately for evidence of that love in a world of pain and conflict and hatred: when we struggle to see God anywhere, and we wait the whisper of the breath of God on our cheeks and the faintest murmur of a word from God in our ears and in our hearts.

Greenbelt at 40

For many years now I have been aware of the Greenbelt Festival, but have never been to it: until this past weekend when, with many thousands of others, my wife Jude & I drove to Cheltenham racecourse and enjoyed the life of Greenbelt.

It wasn't my first experience of a festival - back in the late '70s and early '80s I shared in the many joys of Glastonbury (before it sold out to commercial interests), Knebworth and Reading, and in 2006 - after a 25 years gap - survived 2 days at Leeds. By then my attitude to the mud and music had changed somewhat (does the music have to be that loud?). So when it was suggested that I go to Greenbelt this year, memories of these events came to the fore.

So what was it like?

Greenbelt is a very different animal from those other eventss. The music is only a small part of what the festival is about: it's as much about art, literature, theology, worship, justice and peace as well. The constituency is strikingly varied: all ages, races, spiritualities, theologies and orientations; people of faith, little faith and no faith, and yet with an underlying purpose for justice. The theology is open, radical and inclusive; the food varied and eclectic - it's the first time I've eaten Tibetan cuisine!; and the overall atmosphere is quite simply divine (in the true sense of the word).

We shared in comedy with Milton Jones, who also talked about the importance of faith to him, and why he doesn't do church gigs. My mind was stretched in debates about the purpose of marriage; what women want from the church; and the radical theology of John Caputo and Peter Rollins, Marika Rose & Lucy Winkett (still processing most of it, particularly the Rollins). We chatted with Vicky Beeching about being real in a virtual world, and I met Twitter followers 'in the flesh' for the first time. We broke bread together in small groups within a congregation of thousands, strangers and friends united in a common loaf and cup and a common Christ.

Musical highlights included the London Community Gospel Choir, going strong after 30 years; The Temperance Movement, a great rock outfit, with elements for me of the Stones, Frankie Miller (remember him?) and Bob Seger (with balls) about them; Thea Gilmore; and a wonderful last night set from Courtney Pine.

I make no bones about being an ageing hippy (albeit a sell-out with short hair ;) ), and for me the seminal festival was Woodstock in 1969. I'm old and wise enough (?) to realise the naivety of the 'Woodstock' ideal of peace, love and understanding - an ideal that lasted at best for the 3 days of that festival in August 1969 and had completely evaporated by Altamont 4 months later. But that ideal is no less a good one to aim at now than it was then, and comes close to my understanding of what Jesus was trying to say when he talked about the Kingdom of God/ Heaven. Jesus never defined the Kingdom, he only ever alluded to it, but I have come home from Cheltenham with a sneaking suspicion that he might today say 'The Kingdom of Heaven is like... Greenbelt.'

I'm already looking forward to Greenbelt 41 in August 2014!

Fulfilling Ministry

During the course of my annual appraisal I have been confronted by this question: 'Consider aspects of your ministry which have been particularly fulfilling.'

I had to stop and think.

Ministry - in its institutional sense - has been not just a part of my life, but has been my life, for the past 26 years (if you count the 3 years I spent in College in between my first 2 years and the last 21 years as a Circuit minister). It's not just what I do; it's what I am. So I don't often think of it in terms of fulfilment.

But it got me thinking: what do I most enjoy about this way of living? What is it that makes it worth getting out of bed in a morning (something I tend to do quite early)? There were two things that came to mind, but before I touch on them I want to take a step back, and consider something that happened at my Ordination in June 1994.

When Methodist presbyters are ordained by prayer and the laying-on of hands, they are presented not with a certificate of Ordination, but with a Bible. Mine sits on my prayer stool and I use it in my personal devotions, but it also stands as a reminder to me of the heart of my ministry.

Before a person can be accepted for training as a Methodist presbyter they must first be an accredited preacher. The Word of God is central to who we are and what we do. So the things that I find particularly fulfilling revolve around the Scriptures.

First of all, there is preaching and leading God's people in worship. Surely there can be no higher calling than to usher people into the presence of Almighty God, and to interpret God's timeless message for today. Yes, there are times when one wonders whether it was worth bothering (!), but more often than not the glimpses of God's glory outweigh the frustrations.

Secondly, there is the related act of sitting with a group of people and reading and discussing Scripture together. I've done this in churches, in homes, even in retirement and nursing homes, and the collective wisdom that is shared is, at times, quite humbling. God's word speaks through ordained and lay; young and old; trained and untrained; male and female. There is something holy about coming away from a passage thinking, 'I never saw it that way before.'

So I'm grateful for the question: when the less fulfilling aspects of this life crowd me out (as they sometimes do) I can remember what makes this life worth it.

"Sing and make music..."

I was prompted to think about music and musicians this morning, as I was reminded that today is the Feast of St Cecilia, the Patron of Church music.

Music is a very important part of my life. I don't think a day goes by when I don't listen to music, and thanks to the wonders of digital technology I can now carry my music collection with me wherever I go, and listen (almost) at will. Music can aid relaxation, or can stir one to action. My tastes are diverse, with everything from Bach to the Beatles, from Stravinsky to the Sex Pistols, and from Miles Davis to Iron Maiden. My particular predilection is for Progressive Rock, from the 1970s to today - the great thing about Prog is that it keeps on evolving and pushing the boundaries, which can only be good in the end, as fresh musical expression is found.

Music has the ability to lift the soul, to raise the spirits, and to burrow truth and beauty deep into the psyche. Charles Wesley, through his hymns, used popular music of his day as a way to teach Christian doctrine to those who couldn't read the Bible. At this time of year, as Christmas approaches, I'm always amazed at the ability of music to stir memories of times past, and to bring Scripture to mind. Handel's wonderful combination of stirring music and Old Testament prophecy in 'Messiah' is just one example - I cannot read those words without hearing his melodies: the two for me are now intertwined.

I belong to a Christians tradition that was 'born in song': worship just doesn't seem like worship to me if it doesn't include singing. Having spent the last weekend away on a course it seemed really odd for the times of worship in which we shared to be non-musical. That's part of who I am. St Paul (if 'twas he) urged the Ephesian Christians to 'speak to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your hearts to the Lord' [Eph 5:19] and that, to me, is the most natural expression of devotion and worship.

I found the following quote in Butler's 'Lives of the Saints'. At the end of the chapter on Cecilia, he writes:

"As to music as an amusement, too much time must never be given to it; and extreme care ought to be taken... that children be not set to learn it very young, because it is a thing which bewitches the senses, dissipates the mind exceedingly, and alienates it from serious studies, as daily experience shows. Soft and effeminate music is to be always shunned with abhorrence, as the corrupter of the heart and the poison of virtue."

I'm not sure I could agree with any of that. What do you think?

• How important is music to you in your life?
• How important is it to you in your devotions?
• John Miles wrote: 'To live without my music would be impossible to do'. Do you agree?

Frustrations and joys

One of the things I love about my life as a Presbyter in the Methodist Church is its unpredictability. However much you try to be proactive and plan ahead, there's always something that crops up to take you by surprise and demands that you react in the moment.

One of the things that really frustrates me about my life as a Presbyter in the Methodist Church is its unpredictability. However much you try to be proactive and plan ahead, there's always something that crops up to take you by surprise and demands that you react in the moment.

I've just come though 'one of those weekends' -  a long weekend, really, because it all started on Thursday evening. Some background: I have responsibility for one church in Sheffield, but two congregations - we brought the two together under common governance and trusteeship in September 2010, and a large part of my work focus over the last 15 months or so has been on forging stronger links between these two Christian communities. In the past we have socialised and eaten together (always popular) and studied and shared fellowship together. Last Thursday saw the start of a short (4 weeks) course on faith-sharing - a course produced by the Methodist Church called 'Talking of God'. What frustrated, no, saddened me about was the numbers that turned out, particularly the numbers from one of the congregations (not the one where the meeting was held). Like the Great Banquet, there were many valid reasons for not being there, but after I'd put in so much work preparing for the evening I was a little disheartened.

Then there was Saturday morning. For the last few years one of the congregations has shared in an 'away day', where we can worship together, think, talk and pray about the state of and future direction of the church. This year I'd planned for it to be an opportunity for both congregations to share together - to talk about how we can better be one church on two sites. But again, the attendance from one congregation was minimal, and attendance overall was very disappointing (half those there disappeared at lunchtime too). Again the plans I'd made had to be shelved, and the productivity of the day was severely reduced. There was opportunity for us to pray together, which was positive and helpful, but I have to say that I came home thinking 'Why do I bother?'

On Sunday morning I was planned to lead worship with the congregation that had been conspicuous by their absence over the weekend. We presented JMA awards early on to those who had raised almost £600 for the World Church and Mission in Britain, and as the culmination of worship we shared Communion together. I'd decided to not use a set liturgy this week, but to pray ex tempore, and I have to say that it was one of the most moving Communions I've shared in for a while. God was so clearly present with us as we prayed and shared together, and a number of people commented after the service about how moving they had found it.

I'm glad sometimes that God continues to surprise us, and to meet us in our deepest need, in our frustrations, and in simple things like Bread and Wine.

If I could ask God one question...

Do you ever wish you'd kept a thought to yourself? A few weeks ago I had an idea for a preaching series, which was "If I could ask God one question...". Rather than come up with the questions myself I asked the congregation for suggestions instead, and for a few weeks nothing appeared. This week, however, a positive flood has come my way. Here's what I've got so far:

• Why does God in the Old Testament seem to be demanding mass slaughter, whereas in the New Testament God's message is about love?
• Are you the same God that is worshipped by other faiths?
• Why do you allow people who you know will do terrible things to be born?
• Why is it that the Jewish race has undergone such persecution over the years?
• Should we give all teaching in the Bible equal weight?

That should keep me busy! Any thoughts, anyone?

Home is where...

A phone call this morning has set me thinking about home. It was from my mother, to say that they have sold their house and are preparing to move into a bungalow. I knew this was on the cards - they've been talking about it for a few weeks now - but when the news came it took me aback, and took me back.

We moved as a family into that house in March 1967: I was almost 6 years old. I don't remember much about the previous house, a 2 bedroom terraced property, other than where it was and that it was nearer to church. The 'new' house had three bedrooms, which was important as there were now 5 of us in the family: mum, dad & 3 boys. As I was the eldest, I was allowed a room of my own, except when we had guests, when I slept on a camp-bed with my brothers.

I don't think it's too sentimental a thing to say that that house helped to make me the person I am today, principally because it was home. Even though I only lived there for about 18 years, it has always been home to me: a place I could return to at any time and feel as if I belonged, that felt familiar and comfortable. Since I left there I've had 11 addresses, and have never lived anywhere more than 6 years, but that house has been a rock, a place of permanence, amid the changes that life has brought. It was there that I received love and nurture, forgiveness and understanding.

The same could be said about the church in which I grew up. It was the place in which I was baptised, in which I was converted to Christ - probably more than once, and in which I received the encouragement of God's saints over many years. But, sadly, a few years ago, the building closed and the people became part of other fellowships. We drove past the place just the other week: the building has not yet been sold, and it saddened me to see the gardens that had once been so lovingly tended looking so overgrown - saddened me, because that used to be home.

I've written earlier in this Blog about place. But home is a special place: home is where we feel we belong; home is where we are accepted; home is where we are nurtured; home is familiar yet challenging; home is where we can always be secure and loved and welcomed. And yes, I know that there are times when home can be frightening and oppressive and abusive, which is anathema to me, but that is not part of my experience. Home is more than the address you live at, more than the church building you attend, yet they symbolise for me so much of what a true home is.

Home is where the key fits. That rite of passage when one is given 'the key to the door', a tiny piece of metal that allows one access to the home at any time, is symbolic of belonging as well as of maturity. I was trying to remember when I was given my key: I'm certain it was well before my 18th birthday, let alone my 21st. And soon it will need to be handed back (hopefully to be replaced with a new one for a new place, a new home).

I can't help but think of words of Jesus at this point: "There are many rooms in my Father's home." [John 14:2 NLT] It is in God that we are truly 'home' - accepted, loved, challenged, where we belong, where the key fits. Whatever changes in life, we can be sure of this.