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.
Friday, 10 February 2012
Monday, 30 January 2012
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.
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.
Friday, 23 December 2011
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."
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."
Tuesday, 13 December 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, 10 November 2011
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.
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)