A few degrees of separation

I'm going to write today about one of the hardest lessons I've learnt doing this pioneering ministry lark, and one that is a constant struggle to get right. My most burning passion in ministry is to see communities of committed disciples that are authentic, real, vulnerable, honest and have trimmed themselves of as much BS as is possible. A place that is safe for people to come and be vulnerable, where they don't have to fear being used as guinea pigs for a bunch of amateur spiritual physicians who want to heal, save and liberate everything in arms reach (read most Christians). To facilitate this environment as the leader, building relationships is crucial. Without deep relationships, the community will never develop the intimacy needed for vulnerability.

Because the thing is, vulnerability is difficult. We have all been hurt and bruised in our stories, and the mind rebels against this idea of letting its guard down in case the bruises are ripped open to become deep wounds. Unfortunately, in so many peoples' experience of church, this is exactly what has happened. So we play at being vulnerable, we pretend that we are sharing our true and honest 'prayer concerns' with each other, knowing all the while that those things most important to us, those facets of our beings that are darkest, most messed up and most broken - those things we could NEVER tell anyone. The potential pain is too great.

So deep relationships are important. However, it's not as simple as that (when is it ever?), because there is a real danger. A leader wants to create relationships within her community so she throws herself into the friendships, meeting up with folk for coffee, organising social events, cinema trips, nights out, meals, anything that would create the fertile ground for relationship to grow. This community becomes her main friendship circle, she is invested in its members just as they are invested in her and each other. And...it begins to work. Deep and real friendships grow. Vulnerability begins to emerge. The dream is beginning to be realised.

Here's the danger. In the midst of this process, somewhere in the milieu, she loses perspective and her sense of purpose. The friendships become the the goal, the reason for their necessity is forgotten. The little community is happily revelling in its own insular reality where everyone loves everyone and we look after each other, where the universe is fine as long as we stick together. It becomes harder and harder to see anything outside this circle of loveliness. The community becomes gated by walls of its sense of shared vulnerability. When it comes into contact with 'outsiders', the in-jokes and private conversations give a clear if unintentioned message: "Sorry, if you're not one of us already you really can't be one of us. Unless of course you prove to be 'our kind of person'. Then you can can definitely be one of us'. And because the leader is as much in the mix of all this as anyone else, there is no one to recognise what is happening. The community has become a clique.

I've come to the conclusion that a few degrees of separation between the leader and the community is necessary, and it is painful for me to say that because it is painful to do. Someone has to stand slightly outside the circle, to keep watch for the waifs and strays who God brings along, to remind the community of its purpose. This may mean that the leader will always feel slightly like an outsider in his own community, and possibly the other members will feel he is as well. Perhaps this is one of the burdens of leadership. I wonder if Jesus felt something of this as his lads were getting to know each other, laughing, joking and hanging out? I don't know. I do know though that the leader has a calling and responsibility, one that can weigh very heavily at times.

But, vulnerability and relationships are still key. How does one facilitate these while maintaining something of a separation? Ask me in a few months. Haven't quite figured that one out yet.

Thank you Jesus that I suck

Failure is great. My favourite illustration for this uncomfortable truth is one I read in a book (which, conveniently, I can remember neither the name nor author of) and goes a little something like this. Imagine you are holding a piece of string in your hands, one end in each. One end represents you and the other represents God. When we screw up and end up causing all sorts of damage to ourselves and others, it's as though the string is cut with a pair of scissors - the connection between the two ends is broken. However, when we admit the screw up to ourselves and God, the two ends get retied in some form of reef knot (I imagine). Hurrah! However, it's not long before we screw up again. *snip* But then we admit. *reefy* Screw up. *snip* Admit. *reefy* It goes on...*snip* And on....*reefy* And each time this lovely little cycle is repeated, what is happening to the two ends? Yup, they're getting closer.

<Pause for dramatic spiritual effect>

Like I said, failure is great. It's God's favourite tool for bringing us closer to himself, ourselves and other selves. We learn from failure, not necessarily straight away, but we do. Over time, bit by bit, our minds are transformed as they try and assimilate the knew knowledge gained from yet another botched attempt. You know that thing where you can fold a piece of paper and then tear along the crease to make a (relatively) straight cut? I NEVER used to be able to do that. I got sooooooo frustrated with ripping bits of paper that looked like they had been mauled by a dog. Then, one day, I just...did it. Nothing conscious changed, I didn't read a 'dunces guide to ripping paper', something clicked. My sneaky brain had learnt without telling me.

Our only conscious role in this is to keep trying, and the only thing that can stop our brains from doing their job is us, by giving up. The problem is we get to 'failure saturation point' where we just cannot bring ourselves to make any more effort, where we can't face that horrible sinking feeling anymore of another energy-sapping attempt down the drain. So, we stop. And then we find reasons that justify us stopping, reasons that we desperately try and use to stem the hemorrhage of depression that erupts from the wound of unrealised potential.

I'm thinking about this now because I've been considering Llan and the amazing second chance God has given me personally in being part of this vision. The previous community I helped establish, Solace (a bar church), was awesome in so many ways, but as I have reflected on it over the last couple of years I have seen the mistakes I made, some of which I cannot deny contributed to the community's end. In spite of this, God, in a display of what can only be described as somewhat reckless grace, has called me to pioneer another community.

It's been said that the Holy Spirit is the 'enemy of apathy'. For me, Llan is testament to the truth of this. "No sitting on your laurels" He whispers, "no feeling sorry for yourself, no making excuses. Come on boy, you've been given a purpose, now pick yourself up and crack on."

Failure is great. Exhausting, painful and harsh, but still great.

    

Bouncing monks that explode

Al Murray, plain-speaking Cockney comedian and publican, gives his take on the pioneering brilliance of 'British thinking'.

(I won't do the accent)

"British thinking", says Murray, "is about combining things and making something greater than those things from those things." And the perfect example of this? The bouncing bomb, an ingenious concept that won Britain the Second World War with no help from anyone else at all. Not any. At all. Nope.

The Guv explains, "Now plenty of people have made things that bounce over the years, and plenty of people have invented things that explode, but only the British, with British thinking, took those two separate and rival ideas, jimmied them together, and come up with the bouncing bomb."

Okay I admit, the humour is lost somewhat in transcription, but the point is still valid. Pioneering is about coming up with new ways of doing things based on stuff already there. And this is hard.

I was watching an AWESOME episode of Time Team yesterday. Tony and the gang had been asked to investigate an ancient site on Mull in Scotland that turned out to be a sixth century monastery, set up by one of St Columba's original monks as a mission centre to the local area!! How amazing is that!!? I was literally glued to the screen as they uncovered the chapel, the alter and finally the bones of said saint buried beneath (who wouldn't be?). At the end of the program, as always, they explained the purpose of the building, and I'm not ashamed to say I had shivers (and maybe a tear)
while Tony described how those brave, pioneering monks travelled all over the area to establish monasteries in completely hostile territory, winning over the local populace with works of kindness, hospitality and compassion. Their legacy is still felt today.

There's a reason why the term 'breaking new ground' is used to describe fresh ideas. Every pioneer has experienced the back breaking, seemingly futile work of repeatedly hammering away at a thick layer of bedrock to reach the fertile soil beneath. All new concepts face not only the incongruous scepticism of people who don't get it, but also the hard graft of making the idea a reality. Being the first person to try something is a pain in the backside. You have to do all the research, all the planning, make all the mistakes, go through all the failed tests, come up with all the solutions yourself, while everyone else looks on bemused. However, if those intrepid boundary-pushers don't give in to the pain and push through, breaking through the stone bit by bit, then the results can be world changing.

This is the pioneer's lot, her calling, her vocation...to boldly go where no one has gone before and pave the way for others to follow. It's a lonely road and not for the feint hearted, but, well, would she have it any other way? Nope. For the pioneer, not walking the road is more painful than any struggles she might face on it.

So here's to the chap who managed to make bombs bounce, the gang who brought Christianity to a new country, the women who secured their own right to vote, the folk who decided that big round rock in the sky needed exploring, the bunch who convinced parliament that slavery was not an acceptable basis for a system of economics, the bloke who was killed whilst crusading to bring racial equality to a country...

Pioneers all. We salute you.

Hail Julius! Er, I mean Jesus!

You can say what you like about Julius Caesar, but the boy got results.

"Right fellas, see that Gaul place over the mountains? Let's go and give them a right royal Roman style kicking!"
"Er, why boss?"
"Because we're Romans, and we can!"
"Hurrah!"

Sometimes a part of me, a teenie weenie little part, wishes there could be a bit more of the Julius Caesar in pioneering ministry. You see, when one has a vision, it is very clear and obvious the place that one needs to go and the best way one needs to get there. It is not, however, equally clear and obvious why other people can't see things the same way.

Llan had its second 'community life meeting' (NOT church meeting) last night and the main item on the agenda was reflecting on our core values. Sticking with the Julius Caesar analogy for a tad longer, here's a rough summary of how it went:

"Right fellas, see that Gaul place over the mountains? Let's go and give them a right royal Roman style kicking!"
"Er, why boss?"
"Because we're Romans, and we can!"
"Yes, er, sorry boss but the plan is still a little fuzzy for me. Why Gaul? Seems to me an awful lot of effort for a load of stinking barbarians living in a place that rains all the time. What about them Spanish? Seems like a much better idea."
"Yes, but..."
"And why do we have to go around giving everyone a kicking anyway? Why not invite them for a cup of tea and a chat? Isn't living side by side a better idea?"
"I see your point, but the vision..."
"Yes, how did we decide on this vision again? I don't remember any meeting to discuss it..."

Etc. etc. Long story short, the very definite plan that I had of where we wanted to be by the end of the meeting was not reached. Instead, we all came away with melted brains.

Veni vidi vici indeed.

The way of Julius does seem much simpler, unfortunately the way of Jesus is different. The way of Jesus insists that He is in charge, no individual person, which sadly includes me. In spite of the long and meandering discussions I really do believe God was there and teaching us stuff at the meeting, specifically that first and foremost in his kingdom is the value of love. It was as though JC was saying to us, "Seriously guys, if you can't love each other when you don't agree, you're really on to a non starter with any other grand plans you might have. At least if you're serious about doing things my way that is."

Touche. Good point well made. Last night's meeting may have frustrated some of my plans, but I have this uncomfortable feeling it was completely in keeping with the plans of Him Upstairs.

That's what comes of following Jesus and not Julius I guess.

Be thin for Jesus

Thin places: no, not a reference to the church halls, leisure centres and other generic community hubs that host slimming world meetings; these are special locations in which many folk have testified to having strange and otherworldly experiences. The idea is that there are some places in this otherwise mundane and drab world where the veil between our reality and a hidden, spiritual reality is particularly thin, and it is possible for crossover and interaction between the two worlds to take place. This may seem a little bit too Derek Acorah for some, but don't consign it to the BS waste bin too quickly. The idea is an ancient one originating in the mists of ancient Celtic mythology, where the heroes of Britannia and Hibernia would find themselves transported to an idyllic land of wonders after sitting on a hill, or venturing into a cave. There have been many archaeological finds of offerings given to various gods, spirits and movie stars native to this archipelago deposited in lakes, rivers, trees and caves that were considered thin places. Later, Christians came along and nicked the idea (standard) and started dedicating these same spots to their saints (albeit taking it one step further by burying severed heads, hands and other grizzly appendages).

So why this splurge of useless information? Well, recently I've started taking the idea of thin places seriously. Being a good Baptist up to this point in my journey, I've never before been into bells and smells, regimented prayer times and other such religious paraphernalia, but in the words of Oz's favourite wicked witch, "something has changed within me." Since we started Llan back in September 2012, I thought it would be a good idea to try and establish a rhythm of prayer, as it seemed like the kind of thing a monk would do. So I invited anyone who was up for it to meet at The Gate at 8.15am to pray a morning office. Initially it was just me and one other from the community who attended, and now seven months on it's still just me and one other. Oh well. But that's not the point I want to make here.

Many folk might see having to come to a same place every day to say the same prayers as just another religious rule that doesn't mean anything, but in all honesty that is not my experience. Coming to this same place at this same time, going through the ritual of setting up our makeshift chapel (complete with print of Rembrandt's Return Of The Prodigal Son, stone Celtic cross and tea light), spending moments in silence to bring to mind God's love that is "new every morning", saying the same words from psalms and other ancient sources, holding our loved ones before God....it becomes something more than the sum of its parts. The light begins to represent God's presence with you in that place, the words begin to seep into your inner being and set your soul on fire with their truth, the picture begins to speak of God's mercy in a language that communicates directly with your spirit. That place, that time, that rhythm...it has become a thin place for me, a place where I meet with God.

I really, really hope that more people will come to see the mystery and power in rhythms and practises like this. They're not dead, they're very much alive. Thin places may not be found on a hill in Suffolk under a full moon any more, instead they can be found literally anywhere folk are able and willing to open themselves to the Ancient Spirit.

Learning from the past, adapting for the present, stepping into the future.

Llan: pioneering thin places since 2012.

Bring out your crap

I had one of those experiences last week that somehow, like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky, manages to instantaneously realign your perspective before you were even aware it was starting to veer off course. While shopping in Tesco (other supermarkets are available, and indeed preferable), I randomly bumped into a lady (let's call her Jane) whom I had met briefly a few months back. She seemed like a nice person, but didn't get to know her particularly because not long after we met she completely disappeared from the world's radar. I was told by other mutual acquaintances that she had been signed off by the doctor with depression. She wasn't answering e-mails, phone calls, facebook messages, nothing. Gone. Vanished Dynamo stylee.

It was one of those awkward moments when you walk past someone you kind of know and recognise but you're not exactly sure. Your brain panics, bombarding you with a dozen questions in the space of a nano second: 'is it really who I think it is?' 'Does she recognise me?' 'Should I be polite and say hello on the off chance?' 'Can I be bothered with the effort of making conversation?' You know the type of thing. Anyway, there in the middle of the automatic doors we simultaneously decided we could be bothered to say hello to each other, and I'm so glad we did.

We were chatting for a good twenty minutes. Jane told me how, around six or seven months ago, her life just got too overwhelming and everything shut down. She couldn't face anything, at least nothing where there were any people. She left work, social groups, and church. Oh, did I mention she was a Christian? Yup. A passionate Christian woman in her mid twenties. That is, until the breakdown. She had to leave all that behind.

It was the pressure you see, the pressure she was under from all quarters, ESPECIALLY the pressure at church to 'be a good Christian'. Every week she heard sermons telling her to do this, do that, act like this, if you do this it's wrong, be a good example, show other people how great God is; and doesn't matter if you're struggling, just fake it. Fake it! FAKE IT!!!!!!!! It all got too much. She left it all.

But now, having been mentally and emotionally blasted by a phaser set to disintegrate, Jane was beginning to rise from the ashes. Slowly, painstakingly, but rising none the less. And she wasn't rising as the same person, with the same view of God. Is she still a Christian? Well, make your own judgement. She says she can't even begin to think about concepts like God or Jesus and definitely can't contemplate going back to church, BUT through her whole ordeal, even when things were at their blackest, she was constantly aware of a light that emanated warmth, and all she knew was that she wanted to be near that light. It was that light's presence which enabled her to come out of the valley of the shadow of death and begin to discover life. The desire to be near it was not forced, it was not something she was told she must do in a sermon, not something she would feel guilty about if she didn't; it was pure, unadulterated, simple desire. And it saved her.

It's important every now and again to remind yourself why you started doing something in the first place. My original, passionate drive to get into the whole minister thing was because of stories like Jane's, stories of people who just could not force themselves into the Christian 'box' they were given when they signed up. My own experience is of spending so much effort trying to conform to the pressures of religion and all the while never knowing anything of that rest which Jesus promised to his followers. I wanted and want more than anything else to be part of a community where people can come with all their baggage, all their crap, all their failures, all their weaknesses and not be afraid of showing them. A community of authenticity and honesty, where no one ever feels the need to fake it. A community where that warm, inviting, healing, mending, soothing light is ever present.

Thank you Jane, I needed that.

Super Massive Shiny Crosses

So yesterday I went to a rather auspicious and not a little intimidating conference for Anglican monks, nuns, bishops and priests to discuss new monasticism, new forms of church, new prayer movements and other new stuff. The point of the meeting was to talk about how to get faith communities engaging with British society, and where God might be leading us in this. I've been to a number of these types of meetings before but never one with so many awesome forms of attire, and I can honestly say I've never seen so many big and shiny crosses in one room in my life!! It was all quite impressive, especially situated as it was in Westminster House, surrounded by the architectural grandeur of Westminster Abbey, Westminster Chapel and with the Houses of Parliament not too far away (I found it quite cool that the square in which all these churchy type buildings were located was called 'The Sanctuary.' Maybe that's just me).

Bishop Graham Cray was the main speaker - the bloke in charge of fresh expressions of church in the Church of England (and the guy with the biggest cross) - and he spoke about all these new ways of doing things that actually weren't all that new at all. As the conference progressed, other speakers shared their stories, from old-school monks and nuns wearing variously coloured frocks, to one young guy with bleached blond hair cut into a mid-naughties 'Busted' style, but the same theme was emerging: new stuff is usually just old stuff that was once new stuff itself, repackaged for a new time and place.

As I sat there I couldn't help but consider this.The old and the new, repackaging, learning from the past, understanding the present, building for the future. This is the way of the pioneer. It's so important to remember that there is, quite literally, nothing new under the sun and all that we do today has been done before. Does this make what we do any less valid? Nope. the pioneer's role is to be a student of the past, to be inspired by the past, and to allow the past to be a welcome friend and guide as she steps out to do her creative thing. This is how it's always been, holding in tension the ancient, the imaginative and the contextual. It's not an easy thing to do, as there is SOOOOOO much scope for miscommunication, misunderstanding and mistranslation. Still, there's no getting around it. In this way JC himself was the pioneer par example, being inspired by God's ways of salvation in Israel's history for his brand-new-yet-familiar work of salvation on the cross.

This being the case, I need to get me a super massive shiny cross...a super massive shiny cross that plays mp3s and takes photos and protects you from virtual vampires and locates your precise theological position on the Calvinist scale. Ladies and gentleman, I have just invented the iCross. Awesome.