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| Soon to be oaks of righteousness (Isaiah 61:3) |
Monday, 10 March 2014
The Joy Challenge: Monday 10th March 2014
Sunday, 9 March 2014
The Joy Challenge: Sunday March 9th 2014
The beautiful Xanna reminded me of a Barrett Browning poem I texted her recently:
Earth's crammed with heaven, / And every common bush afire with God, / But only he who sees takes off his shoes;/ The rest sit round and pluck blackberries. Oh that today would be a day of removed shoes. A sabbath day of stopping, seeing, lifting up our eyes. The ridiculously happy daffodils strain their faces upwards to catch the sun and so must we. Stop. Look up. Look round. Breath in. Be changed. For we who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord's glory -n this heaven-crammed earth - are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory. Say what?! Be-ing transformed. Present continuous. Ongoing. Right now is the opportune moment to look to Him and be made new.
An electric Lent
My friend Phil has dubbed my Lenten behaviour electric. I am enjoying such a label. It is certainly the most exciting and meaningful Lent I have ever known. This year, the 40 Acts Challenge has forced me to consider Lent as a season of preparation not simply sacrifice: as Jesus prepared himself for the cross and resolutely set his face towards Jerusalem so his followers prepare themselves for a life that looks life his. Yes, such a life is one of sacrifice, of choosing to put others first, of in humility honouring others before ourselves but such sacrificial generosity is not drudgery. It is joyful. And thus, alongside my big-hearted ambition to bless others this Lent, I am also undertaking a ferocious pursuit of JOY.
G.K. Chesterton writes of God's joy like this: "Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
I want to be young this Lent and so each day I have been trying to send a joy abounding text. I've decided that others might want to keep track of my joyful pursuit thus I am also posting these texts here:
Tuesday 4th March 2014:
It is a beautifully crisp, sunn spring morning. The air is cold on my minted teeth and my breath belongs to a dragon. My feet crunch in the most satisfactory way over a thin scattering of frost that hugs itself round blades of grass and spiders' webs. The sky is not quite a peerless blue, its rim still tinted with the early morning haze of sunrise and lifting mist. The birds are alerting the world to the breaking of a new and glorious day, a gift of God for our enjoyment. This lent I am taking up the discipline of celebration, of recognising the reign of God in the ordinary, of being glad. Join me.
Wednesday 5th March 2014:
To continue with my rejoicing theme: what an amazing way to start the day: to get a text from a young person at 6:47am saying that she is praying for me. God. Is. Good. Happy Wednesday.
Thursday 6th March 2014:
The grand joy challenge. Day 3. Today's top joyful tip. God for a run. Stop in the middle of a random field. Check no one's watching and play Dizzy Dinosaurs with your heavenly Dad smiling on as you tip your face up to heaven and remember that you're his kid and he delights in you being just a little bit foolish. Here's to more silliness in our lives as we recognise God's joyful presence in our midst.
Friday 7th March 2014:
Bit more of a struggle to be joyful today as Im tired and grumpy and sweaty after a high speed cycle across a town full of irritating pedestrians! But rejoice. I say it again. Rejoice. Not because I feel but because He says. And so I choose rejoicing. Rejoicing in the pattern of light and shadows dancing upon clouds, in the act of breathing in deep down into my lungs and out again, in the first bite of an apple, in recognition that God's love is such that he cares intimately for each man, woman, child, student, granny. traveller upon this crowded train platform and has oh so much more time and patience for them than I do. I have three chocolate lindt bunnies in my bag bought on an impulse with the intention of giving away. Pray for the right recipients as I pray that I would have oh so much more time and patience for the wonder of God;s intricately created humanity.
Saturday 8th March 2014
What did you have that you did not receive? 1 Corinthians 4:7. This morning as the Derby sky is tinged with tangerine pink and the clouds look like animations from a Disney film, I am rejoicing in what God has given me for use in his Kingdom. Each of us is unique in our giftedness and those precious gifts are given to us that we might give away. To each is given for the good of the other. 1 Corinthians 12:7. And thus my creativity, painting, fincances, baking, dancing, energy, knowledge, speaking, guitaring, thinking...is my personal storehouse. Not a barn to be expanded and expanded and expanded but a resource to be poured out poured out poured out. Blessed to bless. What can I give cheerfully, joyfully, surprisingly today? For all that is not given is lost.
G.K. Chesterton writes of God's joy like this: "Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”
I want to be young this Lent and so each day I have been trying to send a joy abounding text. I've decided that others might want to keep track of my joyful pursuit thus I am also posting these texts here:
Tuesday 4th March 2014:
It is a beautifully crisp, sunn spring morning. The air is cold on my minted teeth and my breath belongs to a dragon. My feet crunch in the most satisfactory way over a thin scattering of frost that hugs itself round blades of grass and spiders' webs. The sky is not quite a peerless blue, its rim still tinted with the early morning haze of sunrise and lifting mist. The birds are alerting the world to the breaking of a new and glorious day, a gift of God for our enjoyment. This lent I am taking up the discipline of celebration, of recognising the reign of God in the ordinary, of being glad. Join me.
Wednesday 5th March 2014:
To continue with my rejoicing theme: what an amazing way to start the day: to get a text from a young person at 6:47am saying that she is praying for me. God. Is. Good. Happy Wednesday.
Thursday 6th March 2014:
The grand joy challenge. Day 3. Today's top joyful tip. God for a run. Stop in the middle of a random field. Check no one's watching and play Dizzy Dinosaurs with your heavenly Dad smiling on as you tip your face up to heaven and remember that you're his kid and he delights in you being just a little bit foolish. Here's to more silliness in our lives as we recognise God's joyful presence in our midst.
Friday 7th March 2014:
Bit more of a struggle to be joyful today as Im tired and grumpy and sweaty after a high speed cycle across a town full of irritating pedestrians! But rejoice. I say it again. Rejoice. Not because I feel but because He says. And so I choose rejoicing. Rejoicing in the pattern of light and shadows dancing upon clouds, in the act of breathing in deep down into my lungs and out again, in the first bite of an apple, in recognition that God's love is such that he cares intimately for each man, woman, child, student, granny. traveller upon this crowded train platform and has oh so much more time and patience for them than I do. I have three chocolate lindt bunnies in my bag bought on an impulse with the intention of giving away. Pray for the right recipients as I pray that I would have oh so much more time and patience for the wonder of God;s intricately created humanity.
Saturday 8th March 2014
What did you have that you did not receive? 1 Corinthians 4:7. This morning as the Derby sky is tinged with tangerine pink and the clouds look like animations from a Disney film, I am rejoicing in what God has given me for use in his Kingdom. Each of us is unique in our giftedness and those precious gifts are given to us that we might give away. To each is given for the good of the other. 1 Corinthians 12:7. And thus my creativity, painting, fincances, baking, dancing, energy, knowledge, speaking, guitaring, thinking...is my personal storehouse. Not a barn to be expanded and expanded and expanded but a resource to be poured out poured out poured out. Blessed to bless. What can I give cheerfully, joyfully, surprisingly today? For all that is not given is lost.
Tuesday, 4 March 2014
Minted Teeth on a Dee Dah Day
This morning was an astonishingly beautiful morning. Thanks to a puncture yesterday, I wandered up to McDonalds at a leisurely pace - instead of cycling in a last minute panic - to meet a friend for coffee. I have been reading John Ortberg's rather wonderful book, The Life You've Always Wanted, and have been struck by the way he talks about joy. He tells a story about his daughter Mallory and the way she taught him about deliberately choosing to rejoice, instead of missing the opportunity:
“Sometime ago I was giving a bath to our three children. I had a custom of bathing them together, more to save time than anything else. I knew that eventually I would have to stop the group bathing, but for the time being it seemed efficient.
Johnny was still in the tub, Laura was out and safely in her pajamas, and I was trying to get Mallory dried off. Mallory was out of the water, but was doing what has come to be known in our family as the Dee Dah Day dance. This consists of her running around and around in circles, singing over and over again ‘Dee dah day, dee dah day.’ It is a relatively simple dance expressing great joy. When she is too happy to hold it in any longer, when words are inadequate to give voice to her euphoria, she has to dance to release her joy. So she does the Dee Dah Day.
On this particular occasion, I was irritated. ‘Mallory, hurry!’ I prodded. So she did—she began running in circles faster and faster and chanting ‘dee dah day’ more rapidly. ‘No, Mallory, that’s not what I mean! Stop with the dee dah day stuff, and get over here so I can dry you off. Hurry!’
Then she asked a profound question: ‘Why?’
I had no answer. I had nowhere to go, nothing to do, no meetings to attend, no sermons to write. I was just so used to hurrying, so preoccupied with my own little agenda, so trapped in this rut of moving from one task to another, that here was life, here was joy, here was an invitation to the dance right in front of me—and I was missing it.”
I feel like I have missed many opportunities to dance of late. I've been struggling with some undiagnosed bowel issues for a long time and it's left me down and weary and all together fed up with plodding. But this morning as I felt the cold spring air on my minted teeth, and turned my face up towards the blue sky, still tinged with the haze of dawn and rising mist, I allowed the birds' song to alert me to the presence of God and the sheer joy of a new day. This Lent, instead of giving up, I'm taking up and one of the things I'm taking up is joy - the discipline of choosing to rejoice instead of wallowing. This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalm 118:24) An invitation and a challenge - am I going to let myself rejoice today? Am I choosing to rejoice as I am commanded to do? (Philippians 4:4) I'm going to give it a go.
Saturday, 1 March 2014
It is more blessed to give than to receive
In my bible reading this week I came across these famous words which, interestingly enough, don't really come up where you expect them to. As he leaves the Ephesian church behind in Acts, Paul reminds the brothers and sisters of something he had heard that Jesus once said: ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ This has become one of those hand me down sayings - much in the way that Paul himself probably received it - but it has lost its radicalism. It has become somewhat twee, a hearsay, a blithe aphorism that doesn't really mean much. The question is, is it true? Is giving good for us?
I've been challenged of late by Pioneering folks at Ridley and Chris Duffet, a somewhat unlikely, but marvellous, evangelist about what it means to get involved with what God is already doing. It's made me wonder how we managed to make Christianity so mind numbingly dull. If there is a creator God and his love for humanity is such that, not only will he marvel at the beauty of his creation and concoct a ludicrously costly salvation plan to bring them back into relationship with himself, but he will also invite them to partner alongside Him in redeeming the rest of the planet (Romans 8:19-21) and changing the world - how did we manage to narrow that down into a set of rules and structures mostly confined to within church walls? To a one off profession of faith and a lifestyle which - other than missing out on a Sunday morning lie in - looks little different from anybody else's?
Surely there is more to it than that? The thing is, I think there is. I'm beginning to think that God actually wants us to be involved in what He's doing; that He's actually acting and speaking all the time and we can either tune into it and keep in step (Galatians 5:25), or miss out. This seems to be what Jesus says: "“My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I too am working...Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does." (John 5:17-19) God the Father is always doing and God the Son listens to him and does; whatever Dad does Son does. Like Father like Son. And now, through the cross, we're the sons. We're the daughters who should be doing what we see our Father doing. But half the time (most of the time) we're missing it.
A couple of weeks ago, I went out to do some creative evangelism with another Pioneer at Ridley. As we prayed before hand, I had a picture of a little kid running into his parents' bedroom and jumping onto the bed in excitement shouting, "What are we doing today, Daddy?" The sense of a Dad who has fun plans for a Saturday morning and a little kid who can't wait to find out what they are; who is so excited about the possibility of just doing what his Dad is doing that he's run in at 6am - interrupting his parents' well deserved lit in - and started leaping around. What if following Jesus was a little bit more like this? Like getting excited about what God is doing and asking to be involved with it? Like being a little kid who's willing to get involved with his Dad's crazy plans because he trusts him and knows that - even if those plans seem a little foolish or scary, they're good plans because they're Dad's plans.
That isn't a boring lifestyle. It's an adventure. How could building a kingdom - a kingdom full of peace, and healing, and hope, and transformed lives, and restored relationships - ever be boring?
And so, to bring us back to Jesus' aphorism, giving is better than receiving. Our God is a giving God. He's generous to the extreme and he invites us to partake in that generosity. Not only because it's what we should be doing but because it's good for us - it's joining in with Dad's fun time Saturday plans, not Monday morning's job list. Mike Pilavachi tells a story about paying for the car behind him at a toll booth on a road; about the tingly feeling of doing a totally random act of kindness for a stranger, about the goodness of blessing someone else. This morning, my lovely friend Jax and I went out for a coffee. The cafe was super busy and two of the workers were off sick. The manager was stressed and run ragged - so much so in fact that she brought me a cup of tea with no actual tea in it! What was the Father doing in that situation? What was the ever-giving God up to and wanting Nic and Jax to participate in? I think what God was up to was wanting someone to appreciate this woman - to show that she was noticed and cared for and doing ok even in the middle of a chaotic shift at work and difficult colleagues. And so, we bought her flowers. Nothing spectacular, just a handful of flowers from the conveniently placed florist next door, and she was gobsmacked. I didn't try and make it something deep and meaningful - I just mumbled that she seemed like she was having a bad day and left the flowers on the counter, as she stood there amazed and unsure what to say. And do you know what, it was exciting. Really exciting. That tingly feeling of having given without expecting to receive. Only I was receiving. I was being blessed back in abundance - which perhaps solves Phoebe's age old question of whether or not altruism can ever be truely selfless.
I begin to waffle. But I wonder if life following Jesus was always intended to be more of an adventure than we have made it. Jesus said he could only do what he saw the Father doing, so perhaps we should ask God more often what he's doing, where he's already at work, and what his Saturday funtime plans are, so that we can get involved. Sons and daughters hanging out with their Dad changing the world together. That sounds pretty good.
I've been challenged of late by Pioneering folks at Ridley and Chris Duffet, a somewhat unlikely, but marvellous, evangelist about what it means to get involved with what God is already doing. It's made me wonder how we managed to make Christianity so mind numbingly dull. If there is a creator God and his love for humanity is such that, not only will he marvel at the beauty of his creation and concoct a ludicrously costly salvation plan to bring them back into relationship with himself, but he will also invite them to partner alongside Him in redeeming the rest of the planet (Romans 8:19-21) and changing the world - how did we manage to narrow that down into a set of rules and structures mostly confined to within church walls? To a one off profession of faith and a lifestyle which - other than missing out on a Sunday morning lie in - looks little different from anybody else's?
Surely there is more to it than that? The thing is, I think there is. I'm beginning to think that God actually wants us to be involved in what He's doing; that He's actually acting and speaking all the time and we can either tune into it and keep in step (Galatians 5:25), or miss out. This seems to be what Jesus says: "“My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I too am working...Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can do only what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the Son also does." (John 5:17-19) God the Father is always doing and God the Son listens to him and does; whatever Dad does Son does. Like Father like Son. And now, through the cross, we're the sons. We're the daughters who should be doing what we see our Father doing. But half the time (most of the time) we're missing it.
 |
| What are we doing today, Daddy? |
A couple of weeks ago, I went out to do some creative evangelism with another Pioneer at Ridley. As we prayed before hand, I had a picture of a little kid running into his parents' bedroom and jumping onto the bed in excitement shouting, "What are we doing today, Daddy?" The sense of a Dad who has fun plans for a Saturday morning and a little kid who can't wait to find out what they are; who is so excited about the possibility of just doing what his Dad is doing that he's run in at 6am - interrupting his parents' well deserved lit in - and started leaping around. What if following Jesus was a little bit more like this? Like getting excited about what God is doing and asking to be involved with it? Like being a little kid who's willing to get involved with his Dad's crazy plans because he trusts him and knows that - even if those plans seem a little foolish or scary, they're good plans because they're Dad's plans.
That isn't a boring lifestyle. It's an adventure. How could building a kingdom - a kingdom full of peace, and healing, and hope, and transformed lives, and restored relationships - ever be boring?
And so, to bring us back to Jesus' aphorism, giving is better than receiving. Our God is a giving God. He's generous to the extreme and he invites us to partake in that generosity. Not only because it's what we should be doing but because it's good for us - it's joining in with Dad's fun time Saturday plans, not Monday morning's job list. Mike Pilavachi tells a story about paying for the car behind him at a toll booth on a road; about the tingly feeling of doing a totally random act of kindness for a stranger, about the goodness of blessing someone else. This morning, my lovely friend Jax and I went out for a coffee. The cafe was super busy and two of the workers were off sick. The manager was stressed and run ragged - so much so in fact that she brought me a cup of tea with no actual tea in it! What was the Father doing in that situation? What was the ever-giving God up to and wanting Nic and Jax to participate in? I think what God was up to was wanting someone to appreciate this woman - to show that she was noticed and cared for and doing ok even in the middle of a chaotic shift at work and difficult colleagues. And so, we bought her flowers. Nothing spectacular, just a handful of flowers from the conveniently placed florist next door, and she was gobsmacked. I didn't try and make it something deep and meaningful - I just mumbled that she seemed like she was having a bad day and left the flowers on the counter, as she stood there amazed and unsure what to say. And do you know what, it was exciting. Really exciting. That tingly feeling of having given without expecting to receive. Only I was receiving. I was being blessed back in abundance - which perhaps solves Phoebe's age old question of whether or not altruism can ever be truely selfless.I begin to waffle. But I wonder if life following Jesus was always intended to be more of an adventure than we have made it. Jesus said he could only do what he saw the Father doing, so perhaps we should ask God more often what he's doing, where he's already at work, and what his Saturday funtime plans are, so that we can get involved. Sons and daughters hanging out with their Dad changing the world together. That sounds pretty good.
Friday, 8 November 2013
Was Jesus the Messiah?
I owe a great deal to Rob McDonald for his lecture last week on this topic, but wanted to gather some thoughts together about the myriad of things that ran through my mind as we considered this question. The first thing, obviously (!), was Monty Python:
Moltmann suggests that the question that should be central to all theologians is the identity of Jesus; to even say the words Jesus Christ is a kind of confession of identity: Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah, the anointed one come to save his people. But what does that mean? Who are we saying Jesus is when we say He is the Christ? And is that idea based on a set of pre-constructed religious notions or is it rooted in the life of Jesus as it's told in the Gospels? Put another way, is our knowledge of Jesus' identity essential Pauline in origin or gospel focused? I would argue that for most conservative evangelicals, our understanding of Jesus comes from Paul at the expense of examining his life. There is some kind of simplification where we know all the "tions" (justification, propitiation, expiation, sanctification etc) but forget about the historical man Jesus who actually lived and actually died. We cannot bend Jesus' life to a set of intellectual assertions that we have gleaned from Paul; we need to look at what Jesus' own understanding of what it meant to be the Messiah. Otherwise we end up with a too thin Jesus without any possibility of genuine relationship.
When we look at the Jesus of the gospels we start to see what kind of Messiah he thought he was. And it wasn't the Messiah that was expected. Jesus redefines what the term means. He isn't a political radical. Although in some sense he is. He isn't an action hero come to redeem Israel. (Luke 24:21) Although, again, in some sense he is. He is a real human being, a man of Jewish flesh living among God's chosen people of Israel. He is a human being in whom the fullness of God dwells. He is the one upon who the Spirit not only rests by remains.
We cannot come with a set of expectations about who God is, or what the Messiah might be, and try to apply them to Jesus but must allow Jesus to be the one who defines God. Jesus is not God's front to the world but the full revelation of God's character. (Hebrews 1:3 "The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being.") We can, in some sense, only find the meaning of God in what happened to Jesus. God is not lessened by becoming incarnate but made known to us in doing so. Thus, it isn't merely that Jesus is Godlike, but that God is Christlike. This is pretty mind blowing. What is even more mind blowing is that this Jesus who tells us what God is like (John 1:18 "No one has ever seen God, but the one and only Son, who is himself God and is in closest relationship with the Father, has made him known.") defines his Messiahship in terms of service: "The son of man came not to be served but to serve." (Mark 10:45) If the way we know what God is like is through observing the way God dealt with us in the person of Jesus, then God is not merely the one we are called to serve and obey but he is the one who serves and obeys. In some sense, to serve is as much what it is to be God as to be served; to be God is as much about obeying (as the son in perfect obedience obeys the Father) as it is about being obeyed. I think this is a profound truth missing in so much of our presentation of God. If we fully believe that Jesus is fully God then something of what it is to be God is to be the obedient and suffering servant. Thus, we need to allow our long list of words describing what God is like to be challenged by who Jesus reveals God to be.
Chasing
It has been a long time. Over a year in fact, now that I look at the date. My friend Inge asked me to write to her to tell her some of the things I am learning whilst studying at Ridley Hall part time. As of yet, I have failed to do that and have been intending to for the past 5 weeks. And so, I write this with Inge in mind but also aware that it might be of interest to others that have followed my haphazardous blogging in the past. It's more than likely to end up as a mini series of blogs rather than one epic one but we'll start here and see how we get on...
I sat in a lecture this morning on the verge of tears. For those of you that know me well (Catz English, I am thinking of you and my reputation for one who loves - at least in theory - a devastating ending) you will know that this is quite a frequent occurrence. I am moved easily but, of late, have suffered a bout of compassion fatigue. I've found it hard to really love people and have felt pretty saturated by the mess of life. A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine cut off contact from me, seemingly, out of the blue. We have prayed and talked together almost every week for two years and the rejection hit me like a slap in the face. She struggles with depression and alcoholism and has been in and out of an abusive relationship for a long time. But before, when she's pulled out of her friendship, there has been a fairly quick reconciliation. This hasn't happened this time. And I feel guilty and fearful: guilty because of the nagging feeling of not having done enough; fearful because I long to speak with her and see if she's ok but haven't been able to do so. I don't know whether she's drinking. I don't know whether she's back with her partner. I don't really know anything and it makes me afraid for her.
This morning, Janie and Dave Beales spoke at Ridley about their experience of pioneering in Colchester and starting a movement of simple churches reaching out to communities. I asked them how they cope with disappointment and failure, with people who deliberately withdraw from community and any attempt to help, with those that might be lumped in the "too hard" basket. They spoke of a friend of theirs who died the previous year after making a commitment to Jesus and then becoming entrenched again in heroin. Did they feel like they'd failed him? Did they feel that God had failed somehow? Janie spoke with wisdom and compassion in her response and it felt like balm to my hurt and worry. She reminded me that we cannot chase everyone but we can only chase those who are seeking. When people withdraw back into the chaos and mess of life, we cannot always chase them there and pull them back. This is hard for those who have the heart of a pastor, the heart of a shepherd whose greatest desire is to see people healed and reconciled to God and to others. It's hard for those who always want to pursue and fix. But we can't pursue everyone. We can commit to loving long term and being there and standing alongside but we can't always chase.
That's God's job. (Luke 19:10)
I sat in a lecture this morning on the verge of tears. For those of you that know me well (Catz English, I am thinking of you and my reputation for one who loves - at least in theory - a devastating ending) you will know that this is quite a frequent occurrence. I am moved easily but, of late, have suffered a bout of compassion fatigue. I've found it hard to really love people and have felt pretty saturated by the mess of life. A few weeks ago, a good friend of mine cut off contact from me, seemingly, out of the blue. We have prayed and talked together almost every week for two years and the rejection hit me like a slap in the face. She struggles with depression and alcoholism and has been in and out of an abusive relationship for a long time. But before, when she's pulled out of her friendship, there has been a fairly quick reconciliation. This hasn't happened this time. And I feel guilty and fearful: guilty because of the nagging feeling of not having done enough; fearful because I long to speak with her and see if she's ok but haven't been able to do so. I don't know whether she's drinking. I don't know whether she's back with her partner. I don't really know anything and it makes me afraid for her.
This morning, Janie and Dave Beales spoke at Ridley about their experience of pioneering in Colchester and starting a movement of simple churches reaching out to communities. I asked them how they cope with disappointment and failure, with people who deliberately withdraw from community and any attempt to help, with those that might be lumped in the "too hard" basket. They spoke of a friend of theirs who died the previous year after making a commitment to Jesus and then becoming entrenched again in heroin. Did they feel like they'd failed him? Did they feel that God had failed somehow? Janie spoke with wisdom and compassion in her response and it felt like balm to my hurt and worry. She reminded me that we cannot chase everyone but we can only chase those who are seeking. When people withdraw back into the chaos and mess of life, we cannot always chase them there and pull them back. This is hard for those who have the heart of a pastor, the heart of a shepherd whose greatest desire is to see people healed and reconciled to God and to others. It's hard for those who always want to pursue and fix. But we can't pursue everyone. We can commit to loving long term and being there and standing alongside but we can't always chase.
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