Open wide...

I read a remark by a small child the other day. Whilst speaking to a children's evangelist, he picked up a Bible and said: "It's easy for you. It's all in here, all you have to do is read it out!" Simple - but he had a point. I like the story of the little girl who was praying at the end of the day. Her mother overheard the following comment as the child came to the end of her prayers: "Dear God, please look after Yourself, 'cause if anything happens to You we are all in big trouble."

I've always been a collector of remarks that make you think. They are very helpful to spread amongst the anecdotes when speaking in public. How about this one: "Most of the problems in this world are either caused by people who are trying to be important, or by those who think they are important." One of my favourites is a line from Arthur Miller's play All my Sons, in which one of the characters says: "There are some people who would rather see the whole world hang than admit that they were wrong." And George Bernard Shaw authored a few good put-downs, too. Commenting on foxhunters, he referred to "the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable".

It seems from the Gospels that Jesus, too, had the ability to use the one-liner to prick the bubble of pomposity or underline a truth. My favourite is His reply to the fault-finding Pharisee, when he said: "You strain out a gnat and swallow a camel". I think Jesus had a great sense of humour. Mark Twain once pompously said: "It is my intention to one day explore the place where Moses was given the Ten Commandments." He received the reply: "Why don't you stay in America and try and keep a few of them?".

With pomposity often comes a sense of superiority and power. I find the words of Jesus to Pilate most telling: "You would have no power over Me unless it were given to you". The late President Kennedy was once quoted as saying. "We all inhabit the same Earth, we breath the same air and we are all mortal".

A rich man died. A friend inquired: "How much did he leave?". "Everything" was the reply.

Of Dreams and Caravans

Recently a friend's wife had a dream, which she passed on to me. It went something like this:

She saw me riding in a traveller's caravan, heading out into the desert, away from a large town. The message of the dream was:

'Turn back to the safety and security of the city.'

I was grateful for this dream and went on holiday! - to Port Isaac, a pretty, slumbering fishing village in North Cornwall, where every piece of land is used and the houses are shuffled together and tumble towards the sea. The scenery, of course, is wonderfully inspiring and ideal for coastal walks.

One bright morning we decided to walk to Pine Haven, a rock strewn inlet on the Cornish Coastal Path. At this place we decided to have some time with the Lord. Having finished our prayer time, I said the word 'Shalom'. At that moment, a great squadron of seagulls, some 100 birds, began gliding into the inlet. Silently and without effort, they rode on the wind and one by one landed in the sea forming, over a few minutes, a bobbing island of white. I then threw a large stone and a couple of seconds later I heard the dull plop above the sound of the waves. Looking down some minutes later, we saw that a cloud of foam had formed on the surface of the sea, riding the waves in a gentle rhythm. Suddenly, Jenny noticed what she thought was a person swimming near the foam. In turned out to be a seal who, having broken the surface, seemed to be clapping his flippers in joy.

In the afternoon we travelled to Tintagel, the fabled home of King Arthur. Regardless of whether it is true, it's certainly a good story! High on the cliffs, we looked down from the precarious wooden steps that cling to the side of the rock face. The mist thrown up by the waves refracted the bright sunlight. It was a glorious view; the hazy sun threw a great area of liquid gold onto the sea: A photographer's dream! The warm wind blew strongly in our faces as we made for the top of the promontory. It seemed such a wild place. Far, far below we could hear the waves echoing as they crashed against the unforgiving rocks. Now, here on the top, there were only the remains of a walled garden, a well and some foundations which made slight grey patterns amidst the grass. What a vantage point though! Out across the water the sea continued to reflect the racing clouds and the golden sunlight.

Then came the finale of what had been a wonderful day. Turning at a T-junction on to the Port Isaac road there, on the verge, was a traveller with his two horses. Parked behind them was a beautiful caravan, decorated with bright colours. I hadn't seen one in years and years. In that one moment the dream became reality!

Crunch Time?

The milkman popped a note through our door this morning, apologising for having to put the price up. Nothing particularly unusual about that these days, I'm afraid. In fact, it's difficult not to notice the steady climb in the cost of just about everything: food; energy; transport; insurances; taxes; and so on. Every government department, and every business, is desperately trying to maintain its revenue stream, whilst at the bottom of the food chain, ordinary men and women are watching outgoings rising, whilst income is either pegged or decreasing. Am I alone in thinking that things can't continue for much longer before whole economies start to implode?

The Church makes much of personal repentance and salvation and rightly so, but this mess requires repentance on a national scale: By the businessmen; bankers; politicians and heads of state who have helped create it. No grass-roots movement; this has got to come from the top. And at the head of the queue must come the Church and its leaders. Let's be blunt: our Lord gave the Church the privilege of taking His good news of salvation to the hurting masses and it dropped the baton and retired to the changing room to nurse its blisters, leaving the arena to the opposition.

Oh, sure, there are plenty of people, usually those with an interest in maintaining the status-quo, who'll say: "You can't" and "You mustn't upset people", but there's a world out there, waiting to hear something that will give them hope. Besides, whilst the oposition is saying "No", Father is saying "Go" so, whose point of view do you value the more?

The voice of one crying: "In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord!"

Life's Rich Tapestry

What do a Scots piper, McDonald’s and casting stones into water have in common? Well they are all aspects of the rich and varied work that the Lord has called us into this year.

This Saturday (11th September) we shall be celebrating the 70th anniversary of the Battle of Britain. This memorial service, which features an interview with a 93-year-old ex-pilot, will include contributions from a number of sources. God always seems to like surprising us and, sure enough, three days ago a lady rang up and asked if we would like a piper to play before and after the service.

We look forward this Sunday (12th September) to another opportunity to preach the Gospel. Last time the choir sang on the High Street we were accompanied by a number of very loud car horns. McDonald’s seemed to like us, too, because they kept their door open. We shall see what happens this time!

Last evening (9th September) we celebrated Rosh HaShana, or The Feast of Trumpets. About 85 people sat down to a wonderful meal and we shared teaching about exciting future events. During the evening we identified with the Jewish celebrations by casting stones into water, symbolic of casting our sins into the sea. How wet yours truly got was in direct proportion to the gusto with which some people did this!

We have had an unexpected invitation from a large department store in Tonbridge to sing some Christmas music. This time I think the adjoining Sainsbury’s will keep their doors open!

Right on Queue...

We're standing in the queue at Lille station, waiting to buy a ticket to Bruges. In front is an English couple. We are waiting at the 'English spoken' ticket office. In front of them is a lady in earnest conversation. Our train goes in 15 minutes. Time drags on. The lady is still talking. The hands move on and we have 5 minutes left to catch our train. She is still talking. We have missed our train. Just before we run out of time, the man in front of us, with a dejected look on his face says: "She's not going for three weeks!" Some seconds after that the lady finishes her conversation and rushes past us head down - but I don't think with embarrassment.

Sometimes life sends you these little things, like darts, to gently irritate! But it all turns out right in the end. On arriving at Bruges we are confronted with that steady fine rain that slowly but surely soaks you. Dull skies, bad photographing weather. Invest in an umbrella. Good shots however of the sightseeing boats cruising the canals with the myriad coloured roof of umbrellas, like some Roman siege engine. We are frustrated, moving from lace shop to chocolate shop window shopping and marvelling at just how many things you can make out of Belgian chocolate. Having had a wonderful meal in the town square the sun finally comes out. Blue in the photographs, reflections on the water, contrasts. This is good stuff. So thank you lady at the ticket office. Our delay, caused by you, enabled us to enjoy a sunny river cruise and good photo opportunities. If only life was that simple!

We are busy preparing for aBattle of Britain memorial evening at Tonbridge Baptist Church on September 11th. We had a wonderful time interviewing William 'Jimmy' Corbin, a 93 year old ex-Battle of Britain pilot. We are using the interview as a filmed insert for the evening. Marvellous man. Straight talking. (We've had to do some editing!) Trying also to get in touch with a pilot at Biggin Hill who has a Spitfire for a hobby. We are trying to get an overflight on the evening. If you don't ask you don't get!

Last month we had a wonderful time with the choir outside Christchurch in Tonbridge, singing to the High Street. The sun was out, the people listened, even MacDonald's kept their door open. And we had cars hooting their horns. We want to do it again, only this time on a Saturday morning.

What else have we got? O yes. September 5th - the first of the Autumn feasts, the Feast of Trumpets. And when the last trumpet is sounded, we don't want to be late for that. Unlike our train to Bruges...

Spiritual Blues and Honest Emotion

I am nearly through a book called 'A Song for Jenny', the story of lady called Julie Nicholson, a priest, who lost her daughter Jenny in the 7/7 bombings in London. It has been a long time since I have read such a searingly honest book, stripping bare all the emotion of bereavement and the associated feelings. She made the headlines because she courageously decided to resign her position as a priest, because she could not find it in her heart to forgive the bomber who had killed her daughter. As she poignantly says: "We didn't lose Jenny, she was stolen from us".

I found it such a refreshing book as well as deeply encouraging. There was none of the trite evangelical jargon that seems to crawl out of the woodwork whenever anyone takes on the subject of forgiveness and offering advice when they themselves are fortunate enough not to have anything major to forgive. As C.S. Lewis wrote: "Forgiveness is a wonderful idea until you yourself have to forgive someone".

The book is a journey through the early stages of bereavement and what stands out is this woman's humanity. No short-circuiting here. As she says: "Forgiveness is complex".

I found it a timely book to read, as I am about to embark on writing a musical about Job. Poor Job! His four friends were fine until they opened their mouths! In exasperation, at one point he says: "O that you would be silent, that would be wisdom indeed!" I am sure that, given the right circumstances Julie, like Job, would find herself being given all sorts of so called well meaning advice, most of which would be judgmental, unhelpful, and deeply debilitating.

That's why I like the psalms. I read one today; it spoke exactly into my situation. Some of the psalms have been called the 'spiritual blues.' All human emotion is there, laid bare, just like Julie's story and Job's story. And in that honesty there is a tremendous strength in weakness. Real situations, real humanity, real emotions and no slick answers. Just mysteries.

I warmly recommend Julie's book.

Touching the Face of God

I shall never forget the first time I walked into King's College Chapel in Cambridge. It was a building that literally took my breath away. The sheer beauty of the magnificent ceiling and the great ribbons of colour from the stained glass windows caused a great sense of awe. It was in these wonderful surroundings that we heard Evensong. It reminded me of another building where we had heard the same service, the glorious St. George's Chapel in Windsor Castle. What an incredible sense of history we experienced listening to the beautiful liturgy of the service, knowing that only a few feet away was the tomb of Henry the Eight and his Queen Jane Seymour. It is a historical fact the Hitler gave orders that Windsor Castle should not be bombed as he wanted to use it as his headquarters when he had conquered England.

On Sunday, Jenny and I walked on the Downs east of Lewis and the great panorama of southern England lay spread out like a myriad green carpet. Above us, 70 years ago, the Battle of Britain had been fought and won. When Hitler turned his attention to the cities of England and gave the RAF a miraculous respite in order to repair airfields and regroup, the stained glass in King's College was removed and stored. On Friday we shall return to King's to hear a concert of Monteverdi's Vespers and hopefully, if the weather is good, spend some time punting on the Cam.

What a glorious place England is, with its incredible history and its wonderful places of worship. That is why we must do all we can, in the strength that the Lord gives us, to preach the Gospel and thereby continue to give a reference point and a hope to all who seek the true meaning of life. Those who built the magnificent ceilings in King's and Windsor are long gone, but their legacy lives on in the inspiration and refuge that these buildings give. An airman, killed when he was just 19 years old, wrote a poem a little while before he died, called High Flight. He wrote:

'Oh I have slipped the surly bonds of earth and danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings'.

He closes with the words:

'Put out my hand and touched the face of God.'

For some, gazing up at the ceilings of King's or St George's Windsor, or just gazing into the sky on a summer afternoon, must feel that in some way they too have touched the face of God.