High Functioning Depression

I think it's fair to say I don't really talk about my depression. It's something I see posts about a lot, on social media. Mental health acceptance is the new 'trending topic' - it even has it's own trendy tattoo. It's perfectly okay now to admit that you're struggling, that you need help, that you need people to cut you some slack, especially if you're a part of the mummy culture wars in which everyone silently judges everyone else whilst shouting at the top of their voices that people need to stop judging them.

The truth is, people tend not to realise that I have depression. It's trendy to talk about it, but I don't. My depression has lost me jobs, friends, hobbies, homes, and very few people know about it. My therapist told me that this is because I am a "high functioning sufferer". I am a high achiever. For all intents and purposes I look like I'm coping. Beautifully. I have two young children, two and a half years and four months old respectively, and I am a pinterest mom - we create oceans in bottles, play with homemade play dough, do treasure hunts in the back garden. I have a good job, a lovely home, a wonderful husband, a normal life. At first glance, and second glance, I don't seem to tick any of the boxes of a person with mental health challenges. I don't have days where I can't make it out of bed. I don't have break downs, I don't self harm, I don't stop doing things or seeing people. 

But my depression is pervading. It eats away at me, making it impossible to look in the mirror, tricking me into believing my family would be better off without me, eating away at my patience and fuelling my frustration, twisting every word spoken to me into poison daggers to use against me, sending my brain into overdrive as analyse and re analyse every moment of every day; what I could have done differently, how I could be better, how can I do more. 

I am not the only person I know who suffers from this particularly invisible version of an already unseen illness. In fact I have a close relative who is in the same predicament. When we each found the other was in therapy it came as a great surprise, despite the fact we see each other regularly. We are known as extroverts, the life of the party, the orators, the opinionated. But in reality we are fuelled by our insecurities, our self doubt. At times, our self loathing. 

So why am I choosing to say something now? Why open up about something I have tried to be private about for the best part of 15 years? I have deleted this post four times already, each time deciding that it is the same attention seeking behaviour that makes me cringe when I see it plastered all over social media. But then I change my mind, and I wonder where I would be now if someone I trust hadn't looked at me and seen it. Seen beyond the veneer and pointed at something I knew was true but had buried, ignored, fooled myself about for years. Because I think there are far more like me than I could even guess. I think there are hundreds of people slipping through the cracks, because their depression doesn't fit the mould, because they function on an every day basis as though there is nothing wrong. 

There are so many options now for those living with depression and anxiety, but for those who do a fantastic cover job, it's almost impossible to access them. Mental health services tend to want to put people in boxes, tick off symptoms, assign labels (see above!), and if you don't fit, it's difficult to find help. But it does exist. Asking for it is the first (and often hardest) step.

If any of this rings a bell - if you have been stretching a version of yourself over your depression, or if you think you might recognise this in someone you know, please don't stay silent. There are so many options. CBT has been life saving and life giving for me. Just start a conversation...

Why I won't be celebrating tonight

I've come out of hiding, briefly, to comment on what is a monumentally important day for our country. Many have awaited the day of her death for many years, and undoubtedly there will be those cheering in the streets tonight, and some even lining up for a chance to dance on her grave.

I am, I must admit, one of the millions who despised her. I believe that, though I was certainly too young to have known Britain during her time in office, I felt the repercussions of her decisions, I lived through the poverty my family were forced into, and I felt the despair of my parents searching and seeing no way out. I have no way of knowing if the abuse that took place in my family home would have occurred without the constant financial stress, I have no way of knowing if my parents marriage would have deteriorated as quickly and as toxically had they not had to fight for survival the way that they did, had they not had to make the choice between heating or food on a regular basis. I know some will think it ludicrous to even suggest such a thing, but last week I listened to people suggest that six children were killed because their father was on benefits, so it seems all things are up for grabs. All I know is that, despite many calling out "you weren't even there", I feel that I have inherited the right to comment, inherited the right to hate what she did to me and my family.

Despite all this, however, there will be no champagne corks popping in my living room this evening (and not just because I'm pregnant), just as I was not amongst those who celebrated when we "got Osama". I hope there will never come a day when I celebrate the death of another human being. I was genuinely heartened today to see the moderate, respectful and compassionate words being used by Facebook 'friends' in regard to her death. Though many have more cause than me to hate her, on the whole, I am proud to say, my associates' messages were those of respect for a woman's life, and concern for her family.

But that isn't the only reason I shan't be calling up my friends for an impromptu celebration. The legacy of her government has by no means died with her. I am, it has been reported, part of the first generation since World War II to face a worse lot than our parents. Cuts to welfare, disability allowance, tax credits, a tax on bedrooms as ridiculous and unfair as the poll tax she herself introduced, few prospects of buying an affordable house and even fewer prospects of being approved for a mortgage, all seem to make for an extremely scary world into which I am soon to bring my child.

I will not be celebrating the death of Margaret Thatcher this evening because I know, along with many others who hold on to the tarnished reputation of being 'left wing', that the death of Thatcher was never what any of us wanted or needed. While Thatcherism is still the dominating influence for the country's economic policy, while more children are plunged needlessly into crippling poverty in the name of austerity, while more families are left without hope of working their way out, none of us has any reason to celebrate.

What is Church?

It's been an extraordinarily long time since my last post... I wonder if I remember how to do it? I can only apologise for my absence in the blogging world, I've been trying very hard to concentrate on a piece of work that I'm doing for my NAM (Newly Accredited Minister) studies. In fact, the only reason I'm allowing myself and brief repartee to write this post now, is that I'm going to write about my essay.

You see, I'm stuck. I didn't give myself the most specific topic in the world, but I had in mind the specific area I wanted to write about. So I've been trying to answer the question "What is Church?"
Broadly, that doesn't seem like too difficult a question to answer; I can hear you all now saying things like "Church is the people of God", or "Church is the sacred act of worship", or "Church is that really dull place that my Grandma used to take me". And the truth is, none of you would be wrong. But that's not quite what I'm getting at.

When we walk into the sacred space, we each come with our own set of expectations. And despite what we may think, these expectations don’t differ a great deal from person to person; very often they are simply degrees of the same thing. Some may feel more comfortable with an hour long expository sermon, for example, while others prefer a discussion approach, while still others are looking for something more interactive, kinaesthetic experience. On the surface these seem like different expectations, but in reality, all of these are expecting some form of teaching. Similarly, it is important for some to spend the first forty minutes of a service singing worship songs, led by a group of talented musicians in order to get ‘lost in worship’, whereas others require the robust theology found in the hymns of old, and others still find their peace in singing the great Psalms. All have an expectation of sung worship. Again, some enter the sacred space with a desire to speak the words that are familiar to them, to follow a liturgy that is well used and well known, while others expect to be led in extempore prayer, drawing on the emotions that have been built up in the preceding song, and others find the church service to be a place where the silence pervades, and their conversation with God can be personal and self-governed.

Now I suppose why it is that we have come to expect these things from "Church" is by the by (or at least the work of another section of this essay). The question I seek to answer is what, of this very long list of things that we have come to expect from church the world over, is actually non-negotiable. By which I mean, what are the things that we cannot throw away, we cannot strip back, without losing the very essence of “Church”. In some sense we live in a culture today in which all things are up for grabs. Generation ‘Y’ is a seeking generation, experimental, questioning, technological, sceptical and politically disillusioned. I'm not totally convinced that they are looking for the kind of structure that "Church" in this rigid form offers. I don't have any answers for this, and to be honest, I don't believe that there's just going to be some model that we can all copy which will rectify the problem once and for all. But I get the feeling that if we want to connect with Generation Y, it's going to be important to think like them (which is somewhat easier for me, being a part of that generation myself), and we're going to have to do church in a way that works with some of those attributes.

At EBC we recently opened a Craft Cafe. A bunch of us (some Christian, some not) get together, enjoy some home-cooked food (thanks to my good friend Tracy, who is a much better cook than I), have a chat over a brew, and get creative. Most of us are addicted to pinterest, so we usually just experiment with things we've seen on there. And we talk. We talk about all sorts of things; the news, our health (several of us suffer from depression, bi-polar and other mental health issues), our families, our neighbours, and very often we talk about where God fits into all of that mess. We don't sing, we don't pray, and we don't read the bible. But I can't shake the feeling that on a Friday afternoon, we're doing church. So far, though, no one agrees with me. At best it has been described as a stepping stone to church, like an Alpha course, to get people interested in coming to church. Except (and I probably shouldn't admit this), I don't really aim to get them to come on Sundays, because what we have at that cafe each Friday... works. It's relevant, and interesting, and fluid. 

Could it be that this is as much an expression of Church as St Paul's Cathedral, or St Aloysius Oratory, or Bloomsbury Baptist Church, or Spring Harvest? If the answer is yes, then it would seem that pretty much everything is up for grabs, and what gets the label "church" is much less obvious than we first would have imagined. If the answer is no, then I can't help but feel that the "Missing Generation" are going to be permanently AWOL.

Some thoughts on assembly

Well it's been a rather long weekend, and I'm still not quite back in the valley up north, but during my short stop over in Birmingham, I thought I'd spend some time reflecting on my second Baptist Assembly. I'm sure I'm just adding to many others out there already, and for what it's worth, Andy Goodliff has written much of what I want to say in his own post (here), but I hope that by echoing some of what he's said, the appropriate people might take notice, and see that those young people that the assembly wishes to engage and listen to, are indeed sharing their opinions.

• Firstly, I too wish to express my disappointment at the 'bookshop' at assembly. What a load of claptrap. To find Wayne Grudem sitting on the shelves at our annual gathering whilst the union is trying to affirm women in ministry seems to send mixed messages to me. Are we encouraging our ministers in particular, and our churches in general, to read theology, to read about their baptist history, to read the work their baptist colleagues are writing? Or are we just wheeling out the crowd pleasing rubbish that doesn't really challenge anyone to think too hard about anything?

• I know it's going to be unpopular, but what's the deal with Tony Campolo? He was a stand up comedian at best. And he wasn't funny to anyone under the age of 30. Seriously, don't make the point in one breath that more young people should come to assembly, and those young people should share the main services, and then in the next breath invite Tony Campolo to speak. Perhaps the reason younger people (young ministers especially) aren't interested in assembly is because we're still interested in the bible and in theology, and it seems to me that assembly doesn't seem too worried about engaging with that. Ironically, I think it was Tony Campolo that decided it was ludicrous for the young people to have a separate meeting. Hilarious.

• It gets my back up when people complain about the futures process. Mainly because I've been following it quite closely and so it's become an issue that's quite close to my heart. I know I'm privileged to have access to a computer, and being in my 20s means that I can use all the technology needed to access as much information as is out there. And I get that some people feel that it's not that easy for them or their churches to get the information. The thing is, like many others, I'm the minister of an older congregation, many of whom are not on the internet and don't have computers. And yet my congregation know what's going on with the Union; they know about the deficit, they know there's discussions going on about the reshaping of the Union, they know that associations are going to look different soon, they know that Didcot will be shrinking, they know Home Mission grants will be changing. They know all this, not because of the internet, not because of the (excellent) beyond 400 blog, not because of Phil Jump's regular emailed updates and prayer calls, and not because the BUGB website has published all the papers and conversations on their website (though all of these things are helpful, and have been made available to them). They know what's going on because I talk about it. All the time. I tell them where things are and where things are going. I let them know what I've heard and what's being said. And I ask them what they think. Because if I'm talking to them about it, when they surveys come round, we can fill them in, together, and have some sort of consensus about what we think about all of this as a church. I can't help but feel if a church doesn't know what's going on, it's more of a reflection on the minister, rather than the futures group.

• Not a big fan of the day conferences. Not because the one I went to wasn't engaging and interesting (it really was - the Whitley lecture was as excellent as always), but because it meant there was a lack of space. There wasn't time for conversation with others. Between Saturday being taken up by your choice of conference, and finishing on Sunday evening rather than Monday morning, it felt like there wasn't a lot of time to reflect on what was being said/heard. I think I'd prefer to go with the shorter and more varied options, allowing people to dip in and out during the day.

• The lack of time to converse meant that I actually really appreciated the tweeting. It meant I was able to hear the opinions and thoughts of people in real time, who were sitting on the other side of the room. If we're going to pack that much into the weekend, I think it might be wise to keep some kind of virtual conversation going. However, I would prefer it if we didn't have to substitute real conversation with tweeting. Given the choice, I think I'd rather have the have the space to talk to other people in reality, rather than tweeting.

• I think on paper London was a really good idea, but in practice it was a bit of a disaster. It was way out of our price range as a church, which meant we had to stay in a youth hostel. It was pretty disgusting, but we took the hit because we feel it's really important for the church to be represented at assembly. I got slightly annoyed at people talking about churches not coming to assembly, when it was a massive sacrifice for smaller churches north of Birmingham to be there. Travel was expensive, accommodation was expensive, food was expensive. And it was faaaaar. 2 hours from Rossendale to Tamworth (to drop the dog at the in-laws), 3 hours from Tamworth to London. Another hour from the station to where we were staying. I was tired before we'd even started the Assembly! Some of the other guys from the valley flew. Our budget didn't stretch to that. I don't know if there were people there who came from further north than East Lancs, but if they did, kudos to them, cause I'm not going again if it's in London.

• Aradhna was awesome. I'm so impressed that assembly had them. More of that. I would have preferred that to Noel Robinson and his band. The band were great, but I'd like to see us stretch ourselves to learn new things and open ourselves to new experiences more often, rather than singing the same songs ad infinitum. And seriously, what's the thing with repeating lines and choruses of songs for ever and ever amen? It doesn't get more holy the more you sing it. You wanna know what'll get the youth interested? Aradhna. Something that's a bit different. Music that's an experience. We're a generation looking for spirituality, we're a generation that travels, and wants a connection with different cultures. More of that please.

• This was the last George Beasley Murray lecture. I have nothing to say except how sad that it. And I really, truly hope that it'll be replaced by something equally as engaging and informative, which still gives voice to our brightest and best Baptist theologians.

Anyway, I think that's quite enough of that. I can only hope that after sitting through an entire session of people saying there weren't any young people present, and we need to hear the voices of the under 30's (must admit that was a little disenfranchising), that we'll actually do something about that, and  some people will start listening to those of us in the union who are screaming at the top of our lungs.

Happy Birthday Paul

Recently, Andy Goodliff published a blog post which attempted to compile a list of Baptist saints (if you haven't read it, you can find it here). It was a rather fun exercise in Baptist History and Heritage, and one thing Andy is excellent at is making that particular subject compelling. It got me thinking, at the time, about those Baptists that, for me, stand out as history makers, influencers, and indeed, true Baptist heroes. Obviously, there are some names that immediately spring to mind. Who can deny that Martin Luther King or Charles Spurgeon were truly great baptist men? And of course, for me, Violet Hedger, the first female to train for Baptist ministry in the UK had to be included in the list. John Smyth, our Baptist 'father' must be included, William Carey, Andrew Fuller, the list goes on.


But today, Baptists around the country should come together to celebrate the birthday of a man, who in a hundred years time will have left such a lasting impression that to exclude his name from this list would be nigh impossible. Today is the 65th birthday of Baptist theologian (and former principal of the college I attended) Professor Paul Fiddes. He is not simply one of the most renowned Baptist scholars of today; his contributions to Christian writing and scholarship would be difficult to parallel. And today I wish to add my voice to so many others (Andy Goodliff, Simon Woodman, Sean Winter, Louise Polhill, and Catriona Gorton to name a few) in wishing Paul a very happy birthday, and thanking him for his work, his effort, and his influence. I genuinely count myself as extremely privileged to have had the opportunity to study under his guidance.


Many people have already given some of their favourite quotes from Paul' works. The one I'd like to add to the pile comes from a chapter that Paul contributed to a book he edited; "Faith in the Centre", which has been a crucial part of my own formation and ministry:

The story [to which the Christian church bears witness] then is the result of meeting this speaking God in many times and places. It is the pattern that the community of God's people places upon the meetings of God with Abraham in the pains of Ur, with Moses at the burning bush, with prophets in the temple sanctuary out in the wilderness, with wise men in their schoolrooms, with people in the triumphant experience of exodus and in the despair of exile. Finally the story is shaped by meeting with God in the face of Jesus Christ, on the dusty roads of Galilee, at the humiliation of the cross in Jerusalem, and in the unconfined fellowship meals with the risen Lord. The story is human response to revelation, inspired by the Spirit of God. The story is also the place where God's people can encounter God again even as they tell it; the telling of the story is a rendez-vous with the God who desires to be open to us and draw us into the fellowship of God's own life.

As the church reflected upon this story it re-told it in a more doctrinal form, in the shape of the Trinity. The story was nothing less than God's mission from eternity; it was the story of the Father sending forth the Son into the turmoil of human history at a particular moment in the person of Jesus, and the gathering into God of many sons and daughters through the persuasion of the Holy Spirit. The Trinity is the greatest story of all, the supreme meta-narrative.

The church of Christ therefore has a culture, which takes form in a structure of words. The story has come into being in a particular language, in particular places. As Lesslie Newbigin puts it, the Christian community offers a 'plausibility structure' for explaining the world, as all cultures do. It has its own way of linking events together into a coherent whole, in which it finds hope for the future.

Paul Fiddes (ed.), Faith in the Centure: Christianity and Culture. Oxford: Regent's Park College. 2001, pp 79-80.

Happy birthday Paul, and thank you for sharing your inspiration with us so often, and so beautifully. 

What is leadership?

Recent events in my life have led me to question what it means to be an effective leader. After all, isn't that what I'm supposed to be - a leader? And an effective one, at that?
At church last Sunday we had an exercise which was not about leadership per say, but threw up a lot of questions about leadership in general, and, of course, my leadership in particular. The activity was an attempt to begin looking at the vision and mission of our church in Edgeside. To begin with we watched the following video:



After watching the video, the church split into three groups to try and pull apart what the video was saying and how we felt it might or might not relate to our mission in Edgeside.
And I found that, interestingly, the views were polarised into two clear groups. One group felt very strongly that a both/and approach needed to be used, that mission must happen both inside and outside of the church building, and that it is important that we work together as a team, minister and congregation, to do this.

The other group, however, (and I must stress that I was very clear that there were no wrong answers) were adamant that the church's mission was to draw people into the church, and get bums on seats, and most importantly, that doing that was my job as minister and leader of the church. Again, let me stress that I'm not make snap judgements about right and wrong here, merely opening the question as to what it means to be a leader in the church.

Because the truth is, that second option is really quite appealing to me. It means that the boundaries of my job are very clear. I'll know what success looks like, because I'll be counting my numbers (and the pennies in the collection plate) each week. I'll know to spend my time working on projects that bring people to church on a Sunday, on door knocking and leafleting and marketing. Our lovely new website (www.edgesidebaptist.co.uk), and the beautiful posters we make can be evidenced as me doing my job. How wonderfully easy that sounds. And even better than that, it means I don't really have to equip my congregation to do anything. I don't have to try and empower anyone, or relinquish control over anything. The most I need to ask of them is to take a few leaflets each week and push them through some letter boxes. Other than that, I can just do my own thing, and hope people follow. Simples.

But as I turn that prospect over in my head, I can't help but feel uneasy about it. Beth Alison's recent post on the beyond 400 blog (if you haven't read it, you can find it here: http://www.beyond400.net/entry/11-why-i-am-a-baptist) tries to explain something of what it means to choose to be a baptist, to be a part of this strange denomination of independent and interdependent local churches. As I reflect on what she's said, I can't help but be reminded of the reasons that I am a baptist, and primarily that is the church meeting, a place where any member of the church can speak and be heard, where the people of a local church come together and try to discern the will of God for themselves.

It strikes me then, that perhaps to be an effective "leader" of that church means being a bit backwards. I don't get to do my thing and try and get people to follow along and join in. Instead the emphasis gets turned, and my job begins to look a lot harder. Instead I have to help the congregation to articulate the direction that they need to go. Instead I have to help the people of the church find confidence in their own dreams and vision. Which means I have to relinquish control, and try to stretch the imaginations of the people who rely on me to dream for them.

So what does does it mean to be an "effective leader"? Well, as far as I can tell it means faith, obedience, and the ability to know when to lead and when to follow.

40 Beyond 400

There's a very interesting project going on at the moment within Baptist circles, in which 40 baptists from all over the country, and from very different situations are being asked to write a short reflection on the future of the Baptist Union. If the Baptist Union wasn't in a great deal of financial difficulty right now, I suspect this project wouldn't have happened, but I'm not convinced it wouldn't have needed it anyway. I think, if I've gathered it correctly, the point it to creatively reimagine a union for the future; to ask questions about our current structures and to prophetically create a picture of the BU which respects our 400 year history and sets us in good stead for the next 400 years!

I was privileged enough to be one of the 40 who was asked to contribute, and terrifyingly discovered that I would be among the first few to offer my thoughts. However, I am incapable of doing anything in a straight-forward manner, so I decided to write a poem, which attempted to encompass some of the questions I have about the way individual churches and the Union as a whole operates, and imagine a way forward from here. There was some extremely robust discussion surrounding it, for which I am thankful. I've copied the poem below, and hope that this might encourage those who are not a part of the Baptist Church, indeed not a part of the church at all, to join in a conversation about what church looks like today, and what it should look like in the future.


The fact is, at my tender age, I grew up on a different page
I don’t come from a position of tradition or division
Christianity is relatively new to me
But clearly something made me say “Hey, I like the Baptist Way”
Some people may not agree with me, my delivery or the way I see it
Cause I’m not inclined to grieve what is lost if all that is lost is how much it will cost
For this project or that – is that our way of giving back?
People feel like they’re the one nobody cares about
Maybe we could just be there to try and hear them out
Do we really listen to all the pain and the derision?
Do we then take the decision that a group will solve it all?
Is it mission or ambition that makes us count every baptism,
Every seat filled with another… Jesus lover or something other?
Maybe if we’re listening our witnessing won’t look like we’re trying hard at fitting in.
When we look at making changes are we doing it in stages?
When did minister become synonymous with leader?
Cause I thought our leadership came from the Teacher
When did doctrine become synonymous with dogma?
Because I thought my call came from God the Father
Are we open to being Spirit Led?
Or are we limited to being Sunday-fed.
Is this what Smyth and Helwys meant? Have we forgotten about dissent?
Does the extent of our dissent come down to being hell bent on voting rights
Who’s in, who’s out and if we have any doubt?
Can we have the tricky conversations about ‘sticky situations’?
Can we affirm what went before, but move towards a different door?
And on the other side we might find an open mind to other nations, relations, orientations
Building reconciliations to those whose beliefs bring us grief.
Maybe a Union of the future would facilitate hate for intolerance and love for the other
Maybe a Union of the future would not put themselves above us
But hear voices from the margins because that’s where Jesus stood and if I could I would
Want to listen to diversity not just you and me who studied Moltmann’s philosophy
Yet when I look at who shapes us it’s the same old faces
It’s the voices that I’ve heard before pointing towards the same old doors
We talk about priesthood of all believers; that God speaks through whom God will
But still do we hear those whom we fear, or steer clear of potential controversy?
The tree of Jesse grew out of a stump
Yet when it comes to inspiration, is the best we can do *Phil Jump?
To single out the names of people who can ‘lead’, succeed, exceed every standardised test,
Is that what’s best? What about the rest?
Who holds the Union up? The academics or the ones who make the cup
Of tea or coffee for the likes of you and me?
If we’re looking for a future that is brand new and improved, maybe it’s our attitude
Must we talk about ingratitude?
Maybe in our conversation we need a little variation
Could it be our idea to be here, to be a listening ear,
And not provide answers but ask the right questions?
Perhaps in all this confusion we could kill the institution and stay true to the movement
Moving forward a little more would give us room for the improvement
That is needed to succeed and find the future that we need.


So join in. Church isn't what it's supposed to be. We've messed it up in a whole host of ways - how do we go about redeeming it, and bringing it back to being a community of liberators, empowerers and radicals?


*Phil Jump, Regional Minister of the North Western Baptist Association (and all round stand up guy) has given permission for his name to be used.

Darkness

I was sitting alone, in the dark. In front of me I could see nothing, save for my breath misting out before my eyes in the cold air. There was an emptiness about this place, a feeling I couldn't shake. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be in the dark.

I sat for some minutes. Too afraid to stand, too afraid to move. And after a while, there was a voice. At first I wondered if it had been my imagination, for it was so low I could barely hear it. But as the seconds wore on, the voice steadily grew louder, or at least, I found myself more able to hear it. At first I was unable to make out the words, but could hear there was a sweetness to it, and it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It was velvety, luxurious, golden. As it got clearer I could make out the words. "Follow me" it said. "Follow me and I will switch the light on for you. Follow me and I will switch the light on and you will know all things. Follow me and I will show you the truth. All you need to do is follow"

As I was about to stand I heard another sound, a different voice becoming clear in the oppressive silence. This was different from the last; hard and coarse and strong like an un-plained piece of wood. It was saying something different. "I'm not asking you to follow me," it said "and I can't provide a light for you to see. But I can promise to always hold your hand and walk through the darkness with you."

So there I was, faced with two choices. To follow in the light, or to be accompanied in the dark. Slowly, I held out my hand. Just as I was wondering if I should say something (for how would the voices know which I'd chosen?), a rough hand grasped mine. Its skin was hard, like that of a workman, and yet I found it strangely comforting. We walked together for some time, chattering often at first, but then after a while we walked in silence more and more. As I stumbled and felt my way through the darkness, hand in hand with this... stranger, I wondered if I'd made the right decision. I asked the voice regularly why it wouldn't switch the light on. "The other voice offered me light... why did I choose this darkness?" I would ask.

More and more, as the days went on, I argued with the voice, resenting it for keeping me in the dark, asking what truth it was keeping from me that the other voice had offered.

Finally one day I snapped. Unable to take the overbearing darkness any more, I stopped, and demanded to know why it was necessary to walk in the dark, what truth it was that was being kept from me.

The voice was quiet for a moment. I held my breath, and realised how terrified I was that the voice would leave me. "You wish for me to tell you the truth?" the voice asked me. "I have walked with you hand in hand in the darkness all this time because the truth is, my friend, the light is already on."

Theology and The Church

This time last week I was in Edinburgh, at a conference put on by the SST. The theme of the conference was Theology and the Church, and it was excellently run, with some extremely high quality papers given.
The question of the place of theology in the church is one that has been asked over and over again, and one that particularly interests me since making the (not so easy) transition from studying for a degree at Oxford, to being a full time baptist minister "oop north".
It struck me, when I first arrived here, as sort of odd that there were so many people in ministry who seemed to think my academic pursuits would get in the way of my ministry. There isn't a lot of room for theology in church ministry, I was told. Over the past few years I have heard that sentiment repeated over and over again.

I trained for ministry at Regent's Park, Oxford, which in my opinion is, of course, the only place to train (I kid). But one of the massive privileges of training at Regent's is the exposure to a real Oxford education. I did my degree alongside other Oxford students, went to lectures with other Oxford theologians, took tutorials with Oxford tutors. Perhaps my zeal for Old Testament is even, in part, due to the fact I was tutored for Old Testament at Christ Church college. I adored my time there, and though I arrived feeling as though I'd be out of my depth for three years, I slowly learned to swim, and by the time I left I had grown to love academia and the pursuit of theology.

And yet for me, I felt that there were two clearly different sides to my life at Regent's: the degree, and the ministerial training, and it was during the latter that I discovered the church's distaste for theology. I was told, on many occasions that my 'choice' to be a college based student studying for a degree, rather than a church based student getting practical experience was a barrier to really being formed as a minister, as "theology is all well and good, but what has it got to do with running a church".

This is an interesting question, and one that I have been reflecting on a lot since becoming a minister, and attempting to run a church. In the past few weeks I've been told several times to stop blogging. My theology, it seems, is getting in the way of my job. What an interesting place to be in. I wonder if the state of the church, both in general, and specifically here in the valley, has been affected by the divorce that has occurred between church and theology. If ministers aren't 'doing theology' I wonder what it is they are doing? More importantly, I wonder why they're doing it.

While I was at college a fellow student expressed concern for me, that understanding salvation was all very well and good, but how was I going to get through leading my first funeral if I was only equipped with words from books. Since being here on this estate I've been asked outright how I feel my interest in theology is going to reach these people, who I've been told have no concept of or interest in theology.
Well I guess that depends on what your definition of theology, doesn't it? Because when I led my first funeral, understanding my own position on salvation was extremely helpful. When speaking to a church member who was dealing the suicide of a family member, I'd say theology was pretty helpful. When engaging with people who live on the estate (which I live on) who 'know nothing of theology', I've found that not patronising them when it comes to matters of God, Religion, and Prayer has made our conversations as engaging for me as I hope it has for them. In setting up new ventures, such as the tea room I have opened, I've discovered that thinking through what it means to be church by reading the thoughts of people such as John Colwell (Living the Christian Story) and working out what it means to be hospitable through writers such as Letty Russell (Just Hospitality: God’s welcome in a world of difference) are an imperative part of the process. Unless I know why I have this feeling in my gut that it is important for me to do this that and the other, unless I understand why I believe what I believe, whatever it I embark on is going to be messy, and a little pointless.

Perhaps my ministerial formation wasn't as rounded as my colleagues who were placed in churches, but I get the feeling that it was much more useful than they give credit for. My 'theology' is what equips me to make decisions, it's what equips me to relate to people, it's what equips me to do everything I do here, and reflect on it before and after.

The conference in Edinburgh was a great start to a conversation that needs to continue between theology and the church. I can't shake the feeling that there is a gap between the two that needs to be closed. Newsflash. Ministers are in the business of the theology. Stop running away from it guys, and we might actually accomplish something that doesn't look to the outside world hypocritical, rushed, or simply pointless.

Tolerance and Transformation

‘With the backing of their openly lesbian pastor, a Baptist church in Raleigh, North Carolina has voted to prohibit her from signing marriage certificates until gay couples can marry too.
The congregants said in a formal statement that current North Carolina law - and the language proposed for a vote next year on an amendment to the state Constitution - discriminates against same-sex couples "by denying them the rights and privileges enjoyed by heterosexual married couples." "As people of faith, affirming the Christian teaching that before God all people are equal, we will no longer participate in this discrimination," the church's statement says. The vote was unanimous and brought tears to the eyes of some of the 100 or so members who stood to vote in favor [sic] of the “statement on marriage ceremonies.”’


A short post. Less than a couple of hundred words. And yet today this short paragraph pulled me out of the darkness of depression and reminded me why I answered this call to ministry in the first place. It was never about carpets or curtains or the picture that's been in June's loft for the past decade. It was because I had a vision, a vision that the church needn't be a place where discrimination is openly fostered and exclusion is the norm. I followed a call to a vocation that I knew I would love and hate, and would want to affect with every fibre of my being. I knew that the church had the potential to be a place of openness, tolerance, love, grace… but I forgot. I forgot that the church had the ability to be anything other than cruel, egotistical, poisonous, and malicious.

But today, I read this article and remembered what I’d dreamed, what I had so desperately wanted to work towards. A community of people who are driven, inspired by Christ to stand up and be counted, speak out against injustice and inequality, whatever it looks like. A community of people who are not divided by petty differences, but instead united before a common cause. What this church has done is a beautiful thing, a thing that would bring a tear to the eye of him in whose name they have done it. I daresay over the coming weeks and months they’ll be in for a hard time from many who call themselves “Christian brothers and sisters” (but are clearly more interested in pointing out the specks in other people’s eyes than trimming back the forest in their own), and I hope they will be strengthened every time they open the bible and see in those pages the same kind of radical action for justice that they have displayed.

So this is me, laying my cards on the table. I completely agree with them. That homosexual couples are not afforded the same rights, securities and privileges as heterosexual couples is completely absurd, and we have no excuse, no defence for our discrimination. It is time to change. And I won’t sit by aimless while nothing is being done. I am an instrument of change. Get used to it.

Blazing Effigies

For those who were interested in my Halloween and Hypocrisy post, there was an interesting article in the Baptist Times this week that caught my eye. I was very interested to discover that the church in the valley who were most worried about my halloween party 'encouraging evil and dark spirits' held a Guy Fawkes making competition. The child who made the best guy would get to burn it on the bonfire. I couldn't help but chuckle. Anyway, for those who are interested, I've copied the article below.

The Baptist Times

11 November 2011

Page 7

The Baptist Times

11 November 2011

Page 7

The Baptist Times

11 November 2011

Page 7

American Antics

So I know it's been a while since I last blogged, but I have a very good reason this time. I took my very first trip to the states a couple of weeks ago to spend some time with the people I love out in Georgia. It was magical. In fact I very nearly didn't get on the plane to come back. The food was great, the weather was great, the company was great, the entertainment was great. I loved Atlanta, I loved Peachtree City, I loved Dahlonega, I loved Columbus and I loved Butler. And I loved all the people I spent time with in those places. But there was something stopping me. Something that just made it impossible to drop everything and move myself over there forever (other than my husband, of course). I spent just under two weeks in Georgia, which meant I was there for a Sunday. And so I went to church. Well if any of you were ever wondering what church in middle class suburbia, GA is like, here's a video of what I experienced.



I was left somewhat speechless. You see while I was at college we all sat around watching these youtube videos about starbucks church, and worship stars, and laughed at them. But here I was. I walked up and got my coffee and doughnut holes (something I didn't know existed), and was then welcomed and ushered to my seat in the balcony where what was displayed in the video above was executed with precision. The sermon was about the importance of saving our money. An interesting topic, considering Jesus' words about not storing up treasure on earth, and selling all we have to give to the poor. But that's for another day.

What interested me was the impact this style of worship had on the people in the congregation. The feeling was strangely familiar, despite the fact I've always attended small churches with little musical abilities. I couldn't quite put my finger on it at first, but quickly began to realise that this was very similar to every big concert I've seen at the NEC, or the NIA. It was a great performance, a show. People could choose to sing or not, and it would have no affect on the overall effect. Which seemed odd to me, really. I couldn't help but feel like this betrayed the point of worship. I began to wonder why it was necessary to have the bright lights, the staging, the musical trills by the worship leaders. More and more I was reminded of the X Factor. When did worship become a showcase of talent? I understand the need to ensure that we give our best to God, but this didn't feel like that. It felt pre packaged. It felt like there were a lot of egos involved. It felt like an awful lot of money was being spent on stuff that didn't matter.

I dunno. I have no answers. Something about this kind of worship was doing something for these people. But I couldn't shake the feeling that it was the wrong things that were drawing people in. I couldn't shake the feeling that Jesus wouldn't be as impressed with what was going on in that building as some of those people thought he would.

Halloween and Hypocrisy

So I'm having a halloween party. At church. For the kids who come to our children's group.

I know, I know, I'm evil right? Playing with dark forces, encouraging 'the dark side', being unholy or whatever. Trust me, I've heard it all this week. It's amazing how easy people find it to comment before hearing a single thing about it. What I've planned is a Christian event, and there's no arguing with the content - we'll be talking about bible stories; Adam and Eve with apple bobbing, Ezekiel 37 with skeleton games, Lazarus with mummy challenges, the armour of God, with halloween costumes and of course Jesus light of the world whilst carving pumpkins. There's no arguing that this is an overtly Christian event. But it seems none of the other ministers in the valley are interested in that. You see, it's the name that's evil, the connotations it has that are going to lead people astray.

But you see, I'm confused. And once again I find myself wondering if it's because I wasn't brought up in the church, but I just don't understand the logic behind burying our heads in the sand and trying to pretend that Halloween just doesn't exist. Is the hope that, if we never mention it to the kids who we're involved with, they'll just ignore it too? Or are we hoping that if we keep telling them not to do it, they just won't, despite the fact their friends are, their schools are, and in lots of cases their parents are encouraging them to? Well if that's our hope, then more fool us.

I've been told a lot over the past fortnight, that I'm not biblical, the having a party like this is directly going against God' word. And yet I look through my bible and what jumps out at me are all these stories about the people of God using culture and mythology to talk about who God is, stories about Jesus meeting people where they are, speaking to them in their language, using metaphors and images they understand.

By embracing halloween, explaining it's origins in All Hallows Eve, and allowing children to participate in this festival whilst injecting a Christian message into it, aren't we being more proactive against all this 'evil' stuff (unconvinced that the world is quite as dualist as my evangelical brothers and sisters in the valley tend to make out, but still) than ignoring it? Isn't this, too, meeting people where they're at, using culture and mythology to talk about who God is?

I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy, but I get the feeling that kids are going to hear about halloween one way or the other (unless we ban them from school, supermarkets, friends houses and tv for the next two weeks), and I'd rather address it at church and have another holiday in the Christian calendar, than do nothing and then condemn people when they get involved in it.

Seriously - how many of us will have decorated trees up both in our homes and in our churches this Christmas and not bat an eyelid at the pagan connotations? How many of us will buy Easter eggs and make shredded wheat nests with our kids at Easter and not for a second consider anything untoward? You know, Jesus spent a lot of his earthly ministry calling the religious leaders of the time hypocrites. Nuff Said.

Faith foundations and dedicated dialogue

Something strange happened today. I went to a meeting. Okay, that's not particularly strange at all, since my life seems to be made up completely of meetings and making the most of the time in between. What was strange, however, was that I went to the meeting as a brand new member, having never met the majority of the people involved, and left as the chair of the group.

I'm somewhat unsure how it happened. I was asked last week by a fellow minister if I'd like to come along to meeting of the interfaith partnership in Rossendale (RFP). I was encouraged to hear that such a thing existed, and so jumped at the chance to meet some of the members of the large Muslim community here.

So off I went this evening, expecting... well, I don't know what I was expecting really. Whatever my expectations were, I found myself surprised when I arrived. It was a small room, but then as there were only 6 of us, it didn't matter a whole lot. There was 1 member of the local Muslim community present, the chair(a Methodist), the vice-chair (an Anglican), an Anglican minister, a member of the local community partnership trust who was there for support, and myself. The meeting began by the chairwoman announcing her resignation. The meeting had an air of tiredness, which was freely admitted by the members. In the busy lives of those in church leadership, they explained, interfaith work very often falls to the bottom of the list of priorities, and when it is done, it is done with the last modicum of energy that they can muster.

We moved on to discuss the annual interfaith walk, an event where each year between 50-100 people come together in dialogue, walk around the valley and end with a celebration of food and fun. As we discussed this, the group started talking about other events that had gone on in the past, the tireless micro-level relationships that had been nurtured, visits to one another's places of worship, meals together, conversations, youth work, and so much more. During that discussion there were real glimpses of glory, moments when I could see all its potential and all of the hard work that had gone into it.

So when the chairwoman explained that she was resigning due to her lack of energy, and that she felt the group needed an injection of enthusiasm that it wasn't likely to get, and that we would probably have to come to terms with this being the end for the partnership, I wasn't quite able to let it go.

So here I am. Fresh blood? Perhaps. New energy? I hope so. I'm not sure if I'm up to the task, I'm not sure that I have all the right ideas, I'm not sure that I know what I'm talking about at all, but I know that I am dedicated to inter faith dialogue, and I'm dedicated to seeing the interfaith partnership in Rossendale fulfil it's potential. Because it is an imperative part of our life of faith.

Dialogue provides access to windows of understanding of how others define themselves and challenges us to grow in our own faith through the experience of the other. It necessitates a shift in paradigm, asking us to embrace those we have previously excluded or demonized. There are many different ways in which we exclude or marginalize others in different ways, ranging from assimilation, abandonment, indifference, and domination of the other. And our exclusion is also conjoined with the distortion of rather than simply ignorance of the other. As Miroslav Volf states, "it is a willful misconstruction, not mere failure of knowledge."

Exclusion often entails cutting the bonds of humanity that connect us as moral human beings and can generate a wide range of emotional responses, from hatred to indifference, and even the cursing of or killing of the other. The other emerges as an inferior being that either must be assimilated by being made like the self or subjugated to the self.

Dialogue is the first step toward accommodating or making space within oneself for the other. The challenge for both Muslims and Christians when they converse is to seek opportunities for interpretations that can make a community see the enemy in a new way. It is essential that we move away from defining ourselves over and above an enemy "other". This seems to me to be the only way of establishing authentic, peaceful relationships. In this sense, I believe we need to go beyond tolerating or understanding the other. More than ever, there is a need to embrace the other. This suggests a different function of dialogue, one that can bring the hearts, rather than just the minds, of people together. For us at the RFP, that means more than 6 of us sitting around a table and talking. It means moving out of our comfort zones and attempting to make room in ourselves for the other. This is a difficult journey for us to go on. Good foundations have been laid, but now we have to build on these foundations in order to demonstrate to our communities that dialogue between religions is a positive thing; it does not only entail relating the intensity or depth of our own faith but also witnessing and growing in it while understanding and respecting the faith of the other.

Standby. I expect there will be much more on Interfaith dialogue to come...

Fame and failure... It's all in a day's work

So, I've been ordained and inducted and am now undertaking my first official week as minister at Edgeside Baptist Church. And lo and behold I've found myself a bit of a local celebrity. Being the only woman in ministry in town, and apparently, wearing sparkly high heels a lot, gets you noticed round here. Needless to say, I'm being watched. Closely.

This doesn't bother me whole lot, except for the fact that it seems people are holding their breath to find out how I'm going to 'deal' with the other ministers in the area. Most especially the local Anglican vicar, who I met with a couple of days ago. He's a good guy, clearly passionate about the estate, and certainly doing a lot for it. He's a man with a deep commitment to live out the mission of God. Talking to him, I got a real sense that between us there could spring a fruitful partnership - we seemed to be on the same wavelength a lot of the time, and there seems to be a lot of opportunities for us to work together on initiatives for the good of the community.

'Well that's dandy,' I hear you say, 'what's the problem?' I hear you ask. Well it seems that such Ecumenical Partnerships are not the norm here. Not too unusual, I thought to myself, and decided that I would attempt to get to the bottom of why this has been - what exactly has been getting in the way of getting along. After all, there are several extremely important issues which sometimes make ecumenical work difficult. Our commitment to Believers Baptism, for example, being a non-negotiable for us, presents clear difficulties in trying to reach agreement about the meaning and practice of the sacrament within the life of the church, and what it's place in mission and church membership is.
There is the issue of ecclesiology. Being part of a union of churches, associations and colleges who covenant together, means that each Baptist church has freedom to order its own life and ministry. This has a knock on effect in several areas, not least that in Baptist Churches it generally takes a long time to get anything done - decisions go to deacons meetings to be agreed, then the church meetings to be discussed and agreed upon before anything can be started.

So yes, there are many reasons which ecumenical work becomes difficult, or simply falls to the bottom of the list of priorities, and so I decided to ask around to find out what it was that was stopping us from working together. The answer I received from 100% of the people I asked was not the one I expected. It seems that the Baptist Church here in Edgeside stopped working with their Anglican neighbours, because the Anglican Church was 'poaching all our recruits'.

And this is where I get confused. I wonder if it has something to do with the fact I haven't grown up in the church, or if its because I'm a relatively new Christian. The thing I don't understand is why mission is about bums on seats, rather than about building the kingdom. Am I the only one who doesn't care where people go to church? Does this make me disloyal? If the churches ecumenical mission was getting new people to ask questions about God, to want to belong to a fellowship of Christians, doesn't that mean it was a success? I didn't get into ministry to win any competition about who can get the most people into church, or to strike up rivalries with other ministers. I got into ministry to share the love and grace of God with the world. Am I a failure if they don't choose to worship at my church?

Because if that's the case, this is me, embracing being a failure. I don't think God takes much notice of ecumenical differences and so it doesn't seem to matter, as far as I'm concerned, where people choose to worship. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'll be the downfall of the church in Edgeside, but it seems to me that if we're worried about people not coming to "our" church, giving up engaging in mission with the local churches is only going to exacerbate the problem.

Hearts and Minds Conference, Regent's Park College

As I take my first steps into this new phase of life, where I push myself to be challenged and stretched as often as possible, it seems appropriate to begin my blog by reflecting on the conference I attended this week, Hearts and Minds: Baptists Doing Theology in Context.

I’m painfully new to this sort of setting, and had certainly braced myself for some of my more radical opinions to be jumped on and torn apart. But what I found there was a safe space in which, yes I was questioned, but also in which my voice was heard and thrown into an arena amongst those much more qualified and knowledgeable than myself with respect and interest, and I extend my thanks to all involved contributing towards such a supportive atmosphere.

The quality of the conversations were extremely high, and many highlights can be mentioned. Tim Presswood and Clare McBeath introduced us, in their creative paper, to the mischievous Dancing Scarecrow who goes with us in our suffering and playfully invites us to join the dance, and Tilii, who in our pain and suffering, gives us permission to ‘tell it like it is’. Anne Phillips’ ground breaking research ‘Daughters of God’ explored the faith of girls, and the metaphors and language use for our ‘tweenagers’. Sally Nelson’s paper on suffering was expertly handled, helping us to see the journey from bitterness to lament. Both plenary speakers provoked thoughtful and engaging discussion on different aspects of mission, with Stephen Holmes addressing why Mission needs Theology, and conversely, why Theology needs Mission.

For me, though, the best was saved to last, as Cathy Ross shared with us women’s perspectives of missiology. Her presentation was wide reaching, and provoked lively discussion, but it was her explanation of hospitality and mission that particularly struck me.

I really enjoy playing host, and over the past few years I have shared my dining table with a great many good friends, old and new. But Cathy’s exhortations reminded me of the difference between my situation now (which could probably be loosely defined as middle class) and my situation growing up (which was squarely lower working class). Though I now very much enjoy sharing company with people over a meal in my home, growing up I never invited friends home, never had parties at my house. I would have been mortified if my friends had found out I was poor, and more often than not we struggled to feed ourselves, let alone anyone else. We often had to choose between heat and food, and for a long time we didn’t have TV. I always felt bad that my friends would invite me over for tea or sleepovers and I could never reciprocate.

Why then, had it not struck me until hearing Cathy speak, that there are people in my congregation that feel the same? The church which I have the privilege of serving is on a council estate in the north, and its members come from a range of economic situations. Some play host often. Others never. Cathy’s suggestion that the Church become a place for this sort of hospitality, allowing all people to play their role in hosting seemed to me to be both simple and brilliant. Because of course the Church is meant to be a place of hospitality – radical hospitality, transcending barriers of gender, language, race, class, age and culture. All too often, hospitality is wrapped up in the idea of caring for so called ‘inferior people’ by those who are more advantaged and able to prove their superiority by being ‘generous’, rather than hospitality working on the notion of partnership and equality. On top of this, we usually limit our hospitality or welcome to those who are like us in terms of class, race, nationality, language, economic position, rather than practice the inclusivity of ‘unity without uniformity’. Jesus shared table with sinners and tax collectors, and that same radical hospitality shown by Jesus in the gospels must be our starting point. While the idea of hospitality sounds good, it is difficult to practice. It is an easy concept to embrace on the level of inviting friends over for dinner, but hospitality toward the stranger and the marginalised evokes a very different feeling.
As Letty Russell has put it, “God expects a unity that is rooted in our recognition that the growing diversity of the church and the world is a gift of God, rather than a threat to our own comfortable life and faith.”[1] She describes two models of unity, unity in tension, which assumes a dualist position of either unity or diversity, and unity in hospitality, which assumes that unity and difference belong together. True unity in Christ is not achieved through exclusion or domination, but by accepting the other and celebrating the other-ness.

So in my new post, that’s what I’m to shoot for. Piece of cake, right?

[1] Letty Russell, Just Hospitality: God’s welcome in a world of difference (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009). p63.

Welcome

Well, after silently following so many bloggers who have inspired, challenged and sometimes even infuriated me, I have decided to join the blogosphere. I have been tempted to do this on several occasions in the past but have had a pervading sense that I have nothing of any import to say.
However. It seems appropriate, as I take a step into a new phase of my life, to push myself to do something that scares and challenges me. So now, two days before my Induction into Baptist Ministry at Edgeside Baptist Church, I am popping up to say hello, and I hope that over the coming months and years I can slowly begin to hone my theological reflection skills, and become, as they say, "a reflective practitioner".

Whilst I'm far from being stupid, I must admit that academia has come as rather a challenge for me, and I am a little slower analytically than so many I read and converse with. Please bear with me. Practice makes perfect.