Quite Chubby!!

My wife has just informed me that my profile picture shows me as 'quite chubby'.  Hmm, well rest assured that I am on a diet and I don't look like this any more - honest. As you can see from my new picture here, you may struggle to recognise me were you to come across me in the street.
The diet is more of a Lenten semi-fast.  In my attempt to walk alongside Jesus on the approach to Easter in my very imperfect way I (I should say my wife, friend and I) have pledged to eat healthier meals.  In practice that means smaller meals and more headaches.  If fasting is supposed to transform us, all I can say is that I am sorry for my churches over Lent.  I am feeling either ravenously hungry and clock-watching for the next 'meal' or light-headed and not sure of what I am supposed to be doing.  I've not asked for any sermon feed-back of late.
I wonder if Jesus' friends failed to recognise him when he returned from the wilderness
(Matt chapter 4) -  perhaps like the two disciples on the Emmaus road who failed to recognise a transformed Jesus.  I'm looking forward to Easter Sunday as much as being transformed!
Chubby indeed!

May I sit down please?

I'm at the District Minister's Meeting (Methodist Minister's Synod for those in the know) and as such it has some quaint ways.  One is that ministers can't just retire but have to ask for permission.  They call it permission to sit down (presumably from riding one's Methodist horse around the circuit).
One of the retirees (all of which were allowed to sit down by the way - I guess one day we will be refused on account there are fewer and fewer of us now) gave thanks for all those people who had been influential over the years and who had encouraged them and 'I wouldn't be here today had it not been for their support...'.What will people say about us?  Encourager? Supporter? Helper? Friend? I am concerned that with our selfish society (and I include our  churches here) this vote of thanks is likely to be heard less and less.

Marcus Borg

I came across this blog concerning Marcus Borg.  It struck me because, like the blogger, I too like to read Marcus Borg and find his (and Dominic Crossan's) approach to explaining the Scriptures generally very useful.  But then his take on the resurrection is hard to accept.  I read one of Borg's books recently when he was talking about St Paul being a mystic which made me wonder about my God.  I am looking for more of a real experience of the Trinity via a spiritual encounter.  These two - real and spiritual - aren't always happy bed-fellows for most of us.  I mean I want to experience God and have a real encounter.  Does that mean he has to be physically real or is the spirituality I'm seeking expected to transcend our three dimensional world?  Hmmm.  Maybe

It's not all bad then...

There's a lot of bad news in the world and if you're not careful it's easy to become cynical and suspicious of everything and everyone.  I saw this story of fair play which challenged me.  Having gained a goal in an unsporting fashion, the lucky manager of Borham Wood FC, Mario Noto, directed his team to allow the opposition to score a goal against them.  You can see the incident here.  See, it's not all bad!

Wally

I had a dream.  Last night I dreamed I was a lift engineer.  I shan't say too much more or someone will analyse it and tell me I need a week in the sun due to stress etc.  However, it reminded me of Wally.  Wally was a friend I knew in Boys Brigade.  When I lost contact with him he was training to be a lift engineer.  I liked Wally because he was a sincere person.  When he was about 19 he believed that God was there but couldn't see him so he set off to find him.  He had a brand new Honda 250cc Super Dream so distance was no object and he went to every big Christian meeting he could to find God.  I thought he'd give up after 6 months of searching and not finding him but he didn't.  After about a year of travel across the country God was still elusive and he was feeling rather low.  However, he knew God was there somewhere and he persevered.  One day I heard that Wally had 'found God'.  Wally was never the same.  The last I heard he qualified as a lift engineer.  I lost touch when I moved away from London but Wally's searching for God has stayed with me.  He doggedly looked for what he could not see and touched the untouchable.  God does that. 

Last Retreat

And finally on the retreat...this was my final retreat.  You are only allowed to go in the first three years of ministry - then you have to go with the grown ups for much deeper contemplation - a bit like junior school to senior school I suspect.  But then I wonder if they will have the same feel.  One of the strangest aspects of the retreat was the key.  By that I mean there was no key to your room.  In fact the only key I saw was in the outside door.  Whilst you were kept safe from pirates and marauders from the outside, you had to trust all your worldly goods to the honesty of your companions.  If you don't have much to begin with, then you've not got much to lose.  I, however, disobeyed the rules (no work to be done - at all!) and took my lap top and did work.  It was a peculiar feeling to walk out of the room with lap top and external hard drive and all my work therein, on the bed (it was a small room) and trust the rest not to pinch it.  I never thought they would, but it was a strange feeling never the less.  On Monday evening I'm leading a service of Christian unity.  Somehow I think this story may feature somewhere.

Never one to make a tradition, the next day I tried the coffee house three doors down.  I wish I had gone there first, it being warmer and more friendly. As I settled back and unfolded my newspaper I had this uneasy feeling...I raised my eyes to see the couple come through the door who, yesterday, had been so keen to sit in my chair with me.  Now, I was beginning to think uncharitable thoughts like, 'do people who go to more than one church have more than one reserved seat?' and 'were they going to forcibly evict me from this chair as well?'  They eyed me closely and had that look in their eyes.  I stared back and gave them the Clint Eastwood look - go ahead: make my day.  I was up for a fight over that chair and lost my appetite for my morning coffee.  They backed off and I claimed the victor's spoils!  I wanted to go but felt obliged to remain and make the most of the hard-fought battle of the chair.  So I stayed there for a good 10 minutes, keeping a careful eye over the top of my newspaper.  Having remained for what I thought was an appropriate time, I got up to go and walked back to the safety of the retreat house.  As I walked away I was tempted to look back over my shoulder to see whether they had make a dash for my chair.  However, not wanting to be turned into a pillar of salt, I set my face like flint and carried on.  I'll never know if they enjoyed the warmth of my seat.  It's probably for the best...

On Retreat

I'm on retreat somewhere in the depths of Yorkshire and it's been an interesting stay so far.  First of all, I have to go on this retreat 'cos that's what the denomination tell me I have  to do. Well, all the ministers got talking (as they do) about things in their churches.  The subject of reserved seats and 'my chair' phenomena came up.  There were stories of times long ago when seats were reserved for Mrs so and so or when Mr Thingamy kept losing his chair so he wrote his name on the bottom of it and up-ended anyone he found in it...  We wondered whether this was just a church thing or not.  We thought it probably was.  May I just add this story into the mix:
This morning, I woke up early and walked into town for an early morning coffee and a read of a (good) paper.  The young girl, still asleep I fear, opened the doors at 07.02am which is when I walked into her dream and woke her up by ordering a FlatWhite.  The coffee shop in question is really quite large and I chose to sit on the right hand side.  Nobody else was in the shop.  I sat down and began to read.  Two other people came in and sat directly behind me, squashing me into the table.  'Strange', I thought, 'there's a whole empty shop here  to sit in and they sit next to me'.  I subconsciously checked my wallet - yep, still there.  Anyway, I shuffled over a bit for more room, but was soon followed by the back of their seat, nestling between my shoulder blades.  Had I been a celebrity, I could have understood their desire to drink my coffee and sit on my lap but... well, as it was still early, I felt a call of nature and hoped the usually occupied toilet might be free for once: it was.  90 seconds later, I'm out and feeling like a new man only to find this couple sitting in my seat.  See, it's not just in churches that possessive seat hoarding takes place.

A New Year and a few changes

I hope this new year will be special for us all and that we expect to encounter God in a fresh, new way.  I'm not sure what this year will bring for me and the family but I am looking to see God anew and to see lives changed for the better because of God.
In the pages above the blog I will post my diary month by month (as best as I can) so that you can see where I hope to be over the month.  Ministers normally don't do this but I believe that I need to be more open and consequently, more vulnerable. My plan is to spend part of each week in each of our churches.  This is a departure for me as I like to respond to things as they happen and am not used to tying myself to any particular location or time so please bare with me as I make changes to my normal operation.
If you particularly want me to attend a meeting or event, then let me know.  I should already know about it, but there is always a chance it hasn't been noticed - so let me know.
I wanted to get round to visit people more than I have in December but the poor weather has stopped my plans here. Hopefully January will be kinder.
Take care and may we find the Trinity in all that we do.

Is there enough evidnece...? Part 2

A couple of posts ago I mentioned that I recently had a conversation with someone about mission and evangelism and that we were talking different languages.  To help me explain this difference I was reminded of a situation between a senior pastor and his three junior pastors (sorry it's an American story. When will we Brits come up with stories like this?).
The senior pastor of a number of large churches visited three of his junior pastors to make sure they were following the programme that had been set.  The agreement was that the churches would pursue a missional focus from now on.  The three junior pastors had been working hard to deconstruct their failing structures and to encourage the members to live lives as followers of Jesus and to share the Good News wherever they went.  This was no easy task and the congregation were finding great difficulty in accepting that it was their own responsibility to take Jesus out of the church not just the mission team's job.  The senior pastor was unimpressed and asked, '...but where are your programmes and projects?  All the other churches have projects happening.  Get some programmes happening or look for some other church to minister in!'.  This was an uncomfortable conversation because from all they had read, they believed they were turning around the tanker and (slowly) becoming missional.  Four months later the senior pastor called them in to his office.  The junior pastors were being obedient to a missional understanding and consequently they had no fancy project or programme.  Although people in the congregations were engaging with God more fully than before and starting 'works of God' in the work places of the non-churched it was not an official programme with budgets and rotas.  The three junior ministers were last seen clearing their desks.
Being missional is not and cannot be about programmes and big spends.  It's about sharing the encounters you have with the Father/Son/Holy Spirit and living out that relationship.  I felt sorry for the junior pastors.  If the senior pastor should ever read this blog, I would just like to point him to Alan Roxburgh's book, The Missional Leader.  In the introduction (p xv) he writes, 'Just as it's  [the church's] Lord is a mission-shaped God, so the community of God's people exists not for themselves but for the sake of God's work.  Mission is therefore not a programme or project some people in the church do from time to time; the church's very nature is to be God's missionary people.  We use the word missional to mark this big difference.'
For those people interested in church mission in the West, Roxburgh's  books are a good entry reader.

Rose Wood

I woke up at 5 O'clock again this morning.  It's becoming a habit, brought on because I am faced with lots of things that I have no control over. Anyway I woke up thinking about Rose.  It wasn't a dream but a waking moment if you know what I mean.
Let me take you back to the late 1960s; to Underhill Road in East Dulwich.  Rose was a lady we sometimes saw passing the prefab.  She was very tall, walked faster than Billy Whizz and always wore a headscarf.  She was no Audrey Hepburn, but the type of lady you saw walking up and down our road all the time.  She was also a nervous person but the only glimpse you got of that was the rate at which she chewed her gum (Maxi Mint as I recall). She had three children - David, a middle one whose name I can't recall and Wendy who was my age (about 9).  I always thought they were lucky because they lived in a real house made from bricks and they had a front room which they never used. Rose was full of life and more energy than a power station and when she looked at you she caught your attention and fixed your gaze. It was like she could see into your very soul.  She was more together than my mum and for that I think I admired her.  Then one day she lost her sparkle.  In hushed tones my mum told me her husband had been run over on his moped going to work.  What made it worse, she said, was that he had been run over by a lorry that rolled back on him in a traffic jam.  As a 9 year old I agreed that this death was cruel and worse than being killed by a car.  I don't think Rose would have agreed somehow.
This morning at 5am I had the overwhelming desire to go back in time and hold Rose's hand.  I haven't thought about Rose for 40 years and in the dark of my cold silent bedroom I wanted to travel back in time and hold her hand and tell her it will be alright and things will get better and that Jesus is here to help you and he will restore the years the locusts have eaten and ...I can't.  I hope somebody did back in 1969.

Is there enough evidnece...? Part I

Can I just make one thing clear (please)?  Being evangelistic is not the same as being missional.  I had a conversation with someone recently and it was soon obvious that we were not talking the same language - more of this later.
However, these are just terms.  What is important is our relationship with God and how that is lived out, day to day.  When I was growing up and 'learning my trade' in a solid and very sound Baptist church in Bromley, a question was often posed to us teenagers: 'If you were arrested and stood trial for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?'
This little question has gone out of fashion now but it is still pertinent and perhaps is worthy of being resurrected. I think it is an important question because it goes to the heart of being missional and I don't think we have ever really come to terms with what it means to live out our lives as followers of The Way. If we had, we wouldn't be writing about what it means to be missional or arguing about the demise of the Church in the West.

Did he really say that ?

Yesterday saw protests directed against the government in London.  Photographs and news reports did not make good viewing.  This morning BBC TV broadcast an interview with Professor Martin Povey from University College Union who had participated in the demonstration against increasing tuition fees.  He said, 'the atmosphere was absolutely marvelous'.  I had to stop and take notice here.  He sounded like some World   War I general glorying in war although this is unfair in retrospect.  He then said, 'we need education.  We need a future.  I think some people got angry, and frankly understandably so when you see your life being taken away...'
I wonder if the families of dead soldiers would see paying for education as a life or death scenario. I wonder if the soldiers who have no arms or legs due to IEDs and terrorism would see the professor's comments the same way. Come on, Prof.  you're supposed to be the cream of the cream.  Start thinking of others like these soldiers did, eh.

How good are you at saying no?

The phone rang and I was busy.  Not recognizing the phone number and being intrigued I answered it.  'Hello this is Bob from the Halifax.  Can I confirm this is Timothy Moore speaking?'  Well, there was no problem with admitting who I was and I thought I might get this testing question right. 'Yes' I confidently replied.  'Are you the Timothy Moore who lives in Shepley?'  'Yes'.  'Can I ask you to confirm your date of birth for security reasons?'  At this point and with work pressing on me I felt the need to ask why a stranger purporting to be from a bank (boo, hiss) wanted my date of birth.  'For security reasons'.  'But I know my date of birth.  You phoned me, I didn't phone you.  Why should I give you my date of birth?' I asked him again.  the reply was predictable. By now I'm a bit ticked off.  'Are you selling me something, because I didn't phone you and never asked to buy anything?'  'We do sell products' he said.  It was his turn to be confident with his reply.  'Well I don't want to buy anything'.  Bob was a tad huffy now and said a curt goodbye and the phone was once again free, as was I to get back to work. I felt bad for not giving my DOB and for leaving Bob on a sour note.  Why? It's funny how innocent people can quickly feel guilty for not giving over personal information. It's not as if he had a gun to my head and all I had to do was put the phone down.  I used to be good at saying no.  What's happening to me?  Am I becoming too Christian or just losing my youthful playfulness or something worse?

Services in December 2010

December 2010

December
5th:   Scholes Communion 10.30am
10th: Scholes: Carols around the Christmas tree 7pm
12th: Shepley Drama 10.45am
        Gatehead Carols and brass band 3pm
        Shepley Christingle service 6.30pm (this is always fun!)
18th: Shepley Cafe carols 6.30pm (a very relaxed family service             with video clips, quizzes and coffee)
19th: Brockholes Communion 10.30am
        Scholes Carols by candlelight 6.30pm
24th: Shepley Village carol service with Shepley Brass band in the village
         Gatehead Christmas Eve service 9.00pm
25th: Shepley a short morning service 9.30am
         Scholes a short morning service 10.30am
26th: NO SERVICES TODAY IN THE CIRCUIT

I'm back !!!

I thought that with all the changes that are happening it was time I got back to the blog to keep everyone updated.
The story so far...
well, I finished the Masters degree. The dissertation went down well (with some people and I'm sorry to all the Fresh Expressions people who might not have agreed with the research. If you want to know more, just ask me) and I've been asked to give some lectures and to publish some articles although time is a bit short. and I might not do that.
But more importantly, the circuit is moving on and things are changing fast - praise God! The trouble with change is that it is all well and good when it only affects others, 'yes! We need to change!!' The trouble is when it affects you personally :( However I am very pleased to announce that i will now be taking on pastoral charge of two more churches - Wooldale and Brockholes so now I have 5 churches which is much more like the Methodist norm.
I will update the changes when possible on the blog. As I want people to know where I will be preaching I will update the blog in a three monthly cycle. Hopefully the circuit will create its own website and this can revert to a conventional blog again, but until then...

This has been a bit of a week for remembering. First there was Sept 1st - the outbreak of WWII. Then there was September 3rd, when the allies declared war on Germany. September 2nd was when I made my first career choice - that was in 1985, not 1939 by the way and September 7th 2008 was when I took my first service as a probationer minister in the Holmfirth circuit. So you can see it's been quite a jolt for my 'holiday' brain which is having trouble coming back to reality after a few weeks of R&R. This last year has given me lots to think about and right now God is talking to me about my relationship with him, especially about prayer and my expectations.
I began to think about all the new people who have just started ministry and was wondering how yesterday went with the first service. I expect it was a good feeling and that they probably got something 'wrong'. Communion seems to be my biggest pitfall because when I follow the book I seem to forget something. In the past I have forgotten to take communion myself. Yesterday at the joint Methodist/Anglican Covenant service I served the other three servers with the bread then forgot to give them the wine. I hurriedly tried to make it look like I had planned it that way, but the truth is out! I made (another) mistake. At the end of the service a good friend hurriedly approached me. I thought I knew what was coming and was about to be very honest. 'You've forgotten the offering' she gently told me. Doh!!!
This has been a good year. War has not broken out or even been declared. The congregations have been very generous with their probationer minister for which I am truly grateful. I pray that those starting in new ministries will find the forgiveness and support that I have in the past twelve months and that yesterday was a great day.

That old boot

I recently had a disagreement with a man over that do or die issue of parking. The problem was that I had parked outside his house and he felt only he should park there. It was the first time I had parked here and was standing across the road for the entire 34 minutes. We exchanged views for about ten minutes and we seemed to be totally incapable of seeing the other side of the argument. He reminded me of an old boot I once had.
I was about fourteen and rather sweet on Katrina, a Canadian girl from my old junior school and I wanted to ask her out. I got the chocolates (Milk Tray) and my mum had just bought me a top from a rather good jumble sale so I was almost ready to knock on her door. I just needed a pair of shoes and had to resort to raiding my dad's wardrobe where the Christmas presents were usually stored. Unfortunately there was no excitement here, just an old pair of winkle picker boots, two sizes too big with the leather sole hanging off. Ever inventive, I rushed up to Mr Williams, the cobbler in Upland Road and asked him to stitch the sole. I only had to wait two days and my boots would be wearable and Katrina would be mine. When I went to pick them up Mr Williams was angry. I mean really angry. In fact he was puffing. 'I broke three needles on that' he said, pointing to the boot which now to my eyes was looking rather like I felt, a deflated balloon. He seemed to go on forever and only after this tirade did he thrust out his hand and demand 50pence (probably less than one needle cost). I didn't understand why this was my fault and asked my mum about it. After telling me not to worry, she struggled to finish off her sentence. 'Well', she added, 'he's got a child who's a bit...a bit..well funny'. It seemed that Mr Williams was not the only one who struggled to communicate. It was strange considering our family had it's share of physical and mental disability. Mum seemed unable to say 'Downs syndrome' and once again I was trying to interpret what someone was saying but having great difficulty.
This had been a difficult week but at least Katrina would be mine. I knocked on her door and we talked a bit. I offered her the chocolates which she accepted and closed the door on me. Maybe she saw the poor stitching on my over-sized boots and thought better of it. Whatever the reason, she didn't fail to communicate her feelings. So long and thanks for the chocolates. I never saw her again.
Even Jesus' communication techniques seem a little obscure with parables that people are incapable of understanding. But with important issues like parking you'd have thought the Lord might have made a concession. It seems these too need to be shrouded in the mystery of God.

Yesterday in church

We have an annual open air service at one of my churches. Still being new to the ministry means I am constantly asking what has been done in the past (not wanting to reproduce a previous theme if possible) so that we can be fresh and hopefully look at Scripture from a different angle. Yesterday we remembered Gospel stories that were lodged in our memories - perhaps because we were told them in Sunday School lessons or from our private reflections. We then talked to the person next to us and discussed why they were in our memories. We then wrote down the title (like 'woman at the well') and pegged them on a washing line in the church garden. Later the church was the crowd from the Feeding of the Five Thousand (Mark 6 and John 6). I told the story using the congregation who dressed up appropriately as people who may have followed Jesus. We also threw in a few contemporary suggestions like a diver (thanks Roger), policemen and Turkish belly dancer etc. The point was that on the line was our collective memory/history and putting them on the washing line in a roughly chronological order (which was an interesting exercise!) was a pictorial representation of our living history. These accounts were chosen for a good reason and we looked to think where God had been in our lives. Being the crowd (hopefully) fused a new memory of another story but this time we were all together so we now had a collective memory and just as we acted out the story, so we are encouraged to act out the Gospel accounts that are lodged deep within us.
Did it work? I think it did. Would I do anything differently? I used Mackerel for the fish - I'd go to Morrison's earlier next time and get Sardines - they don't smell so much!

who are you?

As a part of my dissertation I am researching some Fresh Expressions of church. I phoned up someone yesterday who heads up a FE and had a great conversation. Great that was until he asked, '..where do you stand on this...? What's your theology?' Now this is the question I've been dreading. In fact Hazel and I had been talking about this just the day before. I have been doing a lot of talking lately at meetings and churches and have often mentioned my conservative evangelical roots, especially my formative years at Bromley Baptist and Honor Oak Baptist churches. I remember them and the leaders with great fondness, putting me on a very stable road to pursue my christian life. So when someone asks me what my theology is I find it hard to reply. I am now a Methodist minister and have been exposed to a lot of different theologies, from conservative evangelical to pentecostal to Third Wave Charismatic to liberal and that includes the House Church movement and New Frontiers (Heaven help me!).
I told the chap I was talking to that I was probably a Post Evangelical (after Dave Tomlinson's book. He needed some clarification on this which I didn't want to give. I am forever trying to get away from labels because they don't say who I really am. Jonny Baker makes this point on his recent blog. Here he suggests he is more Catholic (I presume it's with a big 'C' 'cos everything he types is in trendy lower case. I expect there is some deep theological reason behind it) than he thought. Today I picked up a book by Rob McAlpine called Post Charismatic? which does a good job of describing me too.
In truth what I have found is that, rather like a bendy bus, I am having to flex and be remoulded rather than try to force God into my pre-determined doctrinal box. This is a painful process and as yet I can't say what I am. Does this make me a wishy-washy Methodist who doesn't know which way up he is or a faithful disciple who is waiting on Jesus for the next instalment to be revealed? Don't answer that!