As far as I'm concerned, national identity is nothing to do with where you are born; the patch of land you happened to find yourself on as you entered the world is nothing more than a geographical accident. For me, national identity is more of a heart thing, it's a place and a people that you feel a connection to. In this light, to quote Will Shakespeare's King Harry V, "I am Welsh, good my kinsman!"
I love my adopted homeland. I love the people, I love the history, I love the mountains, I love the passion of this ancient country. However, there is a flip side to every coin, and one of the character traits I really do struggle with in my beloved Cymric culture is a deep and inherited suspicion of anything new, and more often than not a stubborn refusal to change. This character trait has always been alive and well in the church (as any valleys vicar could tell you); it's even been said that the great 18th century Evangelical Revival in Wales was the Reformation arriving two hundred years late! Now, even this 'flaw' comes from a noble place of sorts, for in the annals of history Welsh stubbornness has been the only thing that has prevented the country and (especially) language from being lost, but it does make things rather tricky for anyone wanting to push any boundaries. Pioneers, for example.
It could be argued that Wales is the ultimate place for a pioneer minister to be called, because you really are pushing boundaries in every conceivable sense, but it is really freaking draining. I mean REALLY draining. When so much mental and emotional energy is used in explaining to other churchy types what you are doing, and even once you have being given a lukewarm, "this guy's mental, best nod and agree just in case he pulls out a banana and tries to stab me with it" sort of pat on the back, there isn't much left for doing what you're being called to do - show people that God loves them in a meaningful way.
Because that is ALL we are trying to do folks! I promise you! No hidden agendas for world domination. No secret plans to turf you all out of your churches and turn them into crack dens for Jesus. We want to try doing things differently because it really is needed, but most pioneer ministers have a deep and profound respect for our ecclesiastical history. In fact, for many of us it is pioneers of the past that inspired us in the first place. We NEEEEEEED help though. We need encouragement. Sometimes we need the benefit of the doubt.
I know it's a tall order, but think you can do it? Please?
Cymru am byth!
Friday 29 March 2013
Tuesday 26 March 2013
We are Llan
Pronounced with that strange, throaty, flem-hocking sound that English people find it so hard to verbalise, Llan is the new name for our embryonic, new monastic community. Sunday was a special day in the life of our little band of pilgrims, not only was it our first Palm Sunday together, but it was also the date of our very first not-a-church meeting. I say not-a-church meeting, because it definitely was NOT a church meeting. Nope. Church meetings (or PCC meetings, if you're more of the Anglican persuasion) are what traditional churches do, but this is pioneer church baby, we have to do everything differently. However, not-a-church meeting is a little bit of a mouthful, so instead we called it a 'community life' meeting.
Eight of us were present for this historic occasion. Eight wonderful, opinionated, passionate, out-spoken people all with their own thoughts, feelings, attitudes, moods, baggage and slightly different understandings of what on earth they were doing there. The agenda for the meeting was exciting and I had a very clear idea as to what we would have accomplished by the end of it. I was optimistic it was all going to be very straight forward.
I've often said that most of the world's (and Church's) problems would be solved if everyone would just agree with me. Unfortunately, our meeting was one more confirmation that the chances of this happening are slim to none. After we finally decided that the best way to decide on a name for ourselves was to have a vote (which necessitated a vote in itself), I was getting quite nervous that the name I thought would be the best one (obviously the one God was clearly leading us to) wouldn't be selected. I breathed a surruptitious sigh of relief when the vote came in very strongly in favour of Llan (if you want to know what Llan means, check this out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Llan_(placename_element).
A funny thing happened after this decision had been made. Finally, after 7 months of meeting together, we had a name. We had an identity. We were Llan. There was an almost palpable feeling of...connection in the room. It was as if that act of deciding on a name - which came from the collective group as opposed to being imposed by any one individual - was a kind of mortar that helped cement us together a bit more. We took one more step down the road of ownership, of community, of knowing who we are. The rest of the meeting was pretty chaotic, the subjects covered ranged from thinking about our diary to asking what each of us individually wants from Llan and how we might go about getting it (that was a fun one). Even as the desires, hopes and dreams of each person pelted my brain like stones that I despereately tried to gather up and hold together, I knew that in this crucible God was forming a small, humble, comparatively insignificant corner of his kingdom, but one with super-human potential. And that corner is called Llan.
Eight of us were present for this historic occasion. Eight wonderful, opinionated, passionate, out-spoken people all with their own thoughts, feelings, attitudes, moods, baggage and slightly different understandings of what on earth they were doing there. The agenda for the meeting was exciting and I had a very clear idea as to what we would have accomplished by the end of it. I was optimistic it was all going to be very straight forward.
I've often said that most of the world's (and Church's) problems would be solved if everyone would just agree with me. Unfortunately, our meeting was one more confirmation that the chances of this happening are slim to none. After we finally decided that the best way to decide on a name for ourselves was to have a vote (which necessitated a vote in itself), I was getting quite nervous that the name I thought would be the best one (obviously the one God was clearly leading us to) wouldn't be selected. I breathed a surruptitious sigh of relief when the vote came in very strongly in favour of Llan (if you want to know what Llan means, check this out: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Llan_(placename_element).
A funny thing happened after this decision had been made. Finally, after 7 months of meeting together, we had a name. We had an identity. We were Llan. There was an almost palpable feeling of...connection in the room. It was as if that act of deciding on a name - which came from the collective group as opposed to being imposed by any one individual - was a kind of mortar that helped cement us together a bit more. We took one more step down the road of ownership, of community, of knowing who we are. The rest of the meeting was pretty chaotic, the subjects covered ranged from thinking about our diary to asking what each of us individually wants from Llan and how we might go about getting it (that was a fun one). Even as the desires, hopes and dreams of each person pelted my brain like stones that I despereately tried to gather up and hold together, I knew that in this crucible God was forming a small, humble, comparatively insignificant corner of his kingdom, but one with super-human potential. And that corner is called Llan.
Pioneer Ministers Anonymous
Hi. My name's James. I'm a Pioneer Minister.
There, I confessed it. I know it's a bit of a grandiose (not in the least pretentious!) title, but that is how I have come to understand my calling and I believe how an increasing number of ministers, vicars, priests, bishops, popes and chaplains are coming to understand their calling. The problem is, it's difficult to stick your head above the parapet and say to people, "yes, God has called me to serve him as a collar-wearing (or tie, or cassock, or leather jacket) rev but no, I don't think he wants me to be in a church or parish, he wants me to do something new." There are raised eyebrows, rolled eyes, snorts of derision, sighs of resignation and, most of all, questions. SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!!! So, I thought I'd start writing a blog to diary my life as a self-confessed, God-called pioneer minister, partly to answer the questions of folk who think we're a couple of epistles short of heresy, partly to encourage other PMs (Hmm, too much?) who are getting depressed by the scepticism, and partly, well, because I like talking about myself.
So, here goes...
There, I confessed it. I know it's a bit of a grandiose (not in the least pretentious!) title, but that is how I have come to understand my calling and I believe how an increasing number of ministers, vicars, priests, bishops, popes and chaplains are coming to understand their calling. The problem is, it's difficult to stick your head above the parapet and say to people, "yes, God has called me to serve him as a collar-wearing (or tie, or cassock, or leather jacket) rev but no, I don't think he wants me to be in a church or parish, he wants me to do something new." There are raised eyebrows, rolled eyes, snorts of derision, sighs of resignation and, most of all, questions. SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!!!! So, I thought I'd start writing a blog to diary my life as a self-confessed, God-called pioneer minister, partly to answer the questions of folk who think we're a couple of epistles short of heresy, partly to encourage other PMs (Hmm, too much?) who are getting depressed by the scepticism, and partly, well, because I like talking about myself.
So, here goes...
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