Contagion or Carcinogen?

The whole thing with this church planting malarky has weighed on my mind for some time. For those of you who don't live within the scope of an Oyster Card and therefore not in HTB heartland, a church plant is nothing much to do with Mrs Miggins and her flower rota, or indeed the lovely chap who tends to the weeds by the gravestones. 

No, this is far more important. 

Church planting is de rigueur around London and environs and refers to the creating of a new church community, often within old disused church buildings or the local school. The art of the church plant is exemplified by the Church of the Holy Trinity in the Archdiocese of Brompton, who regard it as a gospel imperative (the 'making disciples' thing). The simple fact is, if you leave a spare bedroom un-used for too long, one of two things will happen: you will pay tax or else your spare bedroom will be planted by the planters and a church dedicated St Flossy in the Wold will be created among your detritus. Church plants are also easy to spot for there are some common characteristics in each

1. There will be a polyvinyl Alpha Course banner outside

2. The Pasta will be wearing the obligatory hoody and have a funky modern hairdo, goatee and that church-plant fringe thing

3. The Pasta's name will be abbreviated from that given at their baptism (often with a 'z' added for extra funkiness)

The fact is, in sitting here and writing this, I have been absent from my own church building for a few minutes, and I am already sure that Muff and Baz have taken over the joint to create the next branch office of Alpha International. 

Now, as the meagre parson that I am, with a church community to love into the Kingdom, I find that the greater burden on my reverential shoulders is manifest in the need to keep the present day subsidised so that tomorrow has half a chance. I am largely a fundraiser to maintain, if I am lucky, the parochial status quo. Most incumbents across most parishes across Christendom face the same challenges, unless of course they are those Johnny-come-Latelys from the fecund breast of the HTB mothership. They pitch up, rip the hoarding down from the crumbling carcass of St Silas under the Wardrobe, by their own effort paint it and make it look pretty, install the rock act and the obligatory sound desk, and crack on. Are they worried about the bills? Possibly. But what is the case is that they are ready to use the re-enlivened St Silas by the Bedside Cabinet as launch pad to a new church plant.

I have often pondered this gentle spread of the planters across the territory. That they are of a single breed of ecclesial expression, that they all seem to have the same theology, that their outward face is often mitigated by the same nurture course - this, I confess, worries me. That I sit in some measure of fear for my parish community when I eventually leave because I am quite sure that a planter is already being cloned in readiness to take over and turn the altar into a drum kit - that worries me. That they are all the same worries me too as I believe passionately in the diversity of the church. That there seems to be no future place for Christians born as I have been born worries me, and there are times when, in my less charitable moments, I feel that this relentless church planting is carcinogenic. Not all church communities are the same, of course, so why are all church plants the same? 

The fact remains, though, that I know that what the planters are doing is right. They are broadcasting their seed so that new Christian communities can grow. Rather than being a carcinogen, they are in fact contagions for the Gospel and rather than wish to wipe them from the face of the Earth, wish that my 'tribe' could learn a lesson and see the very real need for all types of church plant in the breadth of expression that the Lord must surely favour. Us catholic types surely have it easy. We don't need sound-desks and drum kits, my name doesn't have to be changes to Davey and I am delighted, thank you very much, with the Pilgrim Course. All I need therefore, for a church plant is a cup, a plate, and the heart for it. 

In my little parish, thriving though it is, I have neither the first idea or the apparent resource to accomplish any sort of plant, as I see it. I don't have an International Corporation to which I can claim a place at table to help me. I do, though, want to see the church of God grow. I grant that in this part of London I am HTB-locked, so what do I do? I am so locked into the the need to have church pay its way in the present day that the idea of sending out some good folk with a roll of cash seems impossible. I so want the church that I love grow and thrive. It is an exciting time to be a Christian and the world is hungry, but I have been born into a tradition that seems to favour the liturgical moment and not the risk of a tomorrow in the dust and uncertainty somewhere new. As someone that I know (who is much wiser than I) put it  - we need more mission-minded Catholics so that we can be contagious too.

Why It Just Isn't Alright

I can't talk to the kids today; I have too much to do. Actually, I haven't seen them for months because you know those annoying golf matches - they just need to be played. I can't tell you how they are doing because I have broadly forgotten what they look like. I have to assume that they are doing alright - their mother is a good and loyal sort and I trust her to look after them. I'd have seen them before now but I prefer to have a lay-in and get more valuable sleep; I work hard, you know that. Surely it would be easier if didn't have to meet up so early, but that isn't all. They want so much time and I just don't have the time to give to them these days. I have about an hour a week, no more. I'll give that to them if they could cope with seeing me a little later in the day so I can enjoy another coffee when I wake. And guess what; I am not going to feel bad. You cannot and will not make me feel bad because if you ask them they will tell you that I love them. I don't have to see them to still love them; they have always understood that. They know that, just ask them. And before you say it, of course I love my kids; I always have. They are everything to me. There isn't a thing that I wouldn't do for my kids, so don't go claiming otherwise. 

Dear reader, please put down your pitchforks and your torches. I understand how the words above must make you feel; that I am some sort of pratt and a poor parent. Were these words true and situation real, then of course you would be right and I would no more deserve my kids than they to be exposed to such an appalling parent. But - the thing is, if you replace the "kids" with God, you have the great myth there before you: that you don't have to go to church to be a Christian. 

I accept that there is a fundamental difference between spirituality and organised religion. I accept that for many a regular habit of corporate worship is difficult, that life can and does get in the way from time to time - or indeed because the simple act of getting out of the house is beyond the physical capabilities of some. What I am sure of, though, is that a belief in God is to be in a relationship of mutual love and trust akin to that of parent and child or between lovers. We galvanise these human relationships with temporal proximity or indeed some effort to keep those relationships alive if some distance exists between the parties concerned. 

The thing is, the top paragraph is a (not widely off the mark) caricature of some of the comments that I have been privy to in recent years. They fall into the same categories: that Christians don't need to go to church; that "I don't like a service that goes on too long, say over an hour; that church should be there at my convenience (like a shop, for example). I have witnessed efforts by priests to curtail their services to that of time compliance, for example - never daring to exceed the expected time-limit. 

Why would we treat God like that? Why would we apply to God those things that we wouldn't apply elsewhere. When we go to the cinema, do we pass over the blockbuster that we had hoped to see because it exceeded 90 minutes in duration? Our world is fast becoming one that is "on demand" and "to convenience". We can store and hoard television so that we can watch it when we want to. Shops remain open all night on the off chance that we exercise our democratic right to buy jam tarts in the wee-small hours.  

What would happen if God treated us in a like manner? What if God was the parent in my little narrative at the top - only available at his convenience? What if God rationed us to 59 minutes a week, or simply didn't bother because he favoured time with his golf bats? What if God ignored us because he simply couldn't be arsed today?

So, it is the start of a new year. Have I just upset you be describing an all too familiar situation? Have no fear - the relationship you have absented yourself is still there; still real. And thankfully for you and for me, God will simply be delighted to see you again. Enjoy!

Giving and Receiving

'Tis the season to be jolly and all that; a  time to give and give in abundance; a time to fling millions at the retailers so that we can gather unto our fecund breast the trappings of the baybee Jeezuss. 

I find myself a little confused.com!

I have, in recent weeks, become familiar with the therapeutic encounter and in that setting there are rules that establish the basis for trust and openness - themselves pathways to healing. One of those rules, in the group encounter, is that there is to be "no care-taking"!

Care-taking in this setting refers to that instinctive response (in many) to reach out and offer care to one in distress. If one who is expressing him/herself does so through the visceral haze of tears, or else a rictus grin or the black depths of fury, there is to be "no care-taking". Leave them to cry; let them express their ire. The reason for this is clear, in therapeutic circles:

"The hand that gives is above the hand that receives".

I have pondered this for a few weeks now, in light of the phrase found in Acts that we all know: "It is more blessed to give than to receive" (Acts 20: 35). I have pondered this hard as I have tried (and yes, often failed) to model my meagre existence on this tenet of faith. That there is an inherent power imbalance had never occurred to me, and I am left wondering.  

The church (that august body of good men and women) is equipped with many gifts that it would bestow upon you if you so allowed it. We do charity a good'n. We'll cure your homosexuality with the Holy Spirit if you want us to*. We'll lob you a hand-out if the need arises. We'll fling water and oil around to solve your spiritual dis-ease. Yes, we can do all of that. But where is power in this?

Let us forget that it was Napoleon Bonaparte who expressed, so eloquently, the power imbalance so often present through the acts of giving and receiving. It does sometimes worry me that we the church will claim to have them the answers for you the sinner. We will look at your life and tell you where you have gone wrong and bring with us a remedy. Actually, I would go even further. We focus heavily on giving as a virtue because we cannot happily receive. So few of us feel worthy of a God-gift so we shy away from receiving such a grace as that, and defer to giving as the thing that we should be doing. 

Again, I write this only for myself - as one with an all-too-quick comment to help you fix that which is broken. I am often too quick to give worthy advice, the answer, a solution. I am learning that just sitting and resisting the urge to "give" means that I remain an equal to the other person, and in real danger of receiving a moment of grace in being party to the story of another. It is certainly a male thing to do the quick fix, but I wonder if it is also an innately (and well intentioned [on the whole]) Christian thing? 

* The author of this blog does not regard homosexuality to be a disease like some do. I do not believe that you can be cured of it or should be cured of it. I cannot be cured of my brown eyes or my boyish grin - and why not? Because I was born that way. I condemn homophobia in all its forms - including that which regards it as a curable disease. Enough said. 

Christians Who Know Best

Those of us who are perhaps more liberal than others theologically find that we become a source of reassurance to other Christians who have been exposed to a particular behaviour on the part of other Christians. I call myself liberal but only insofar as I am not harshly dogmatic. I know my Scripture and take a perspective in my faith that regards that the works and desires of the Lord are constantly unfolding. 

There are those, however, who take a different stand-point. I cannot say that they are wrong, and would never presume to think that they are - but I do wonder about how these levels of certainty are born when found in some of my bothers and sister in faith. 

I am fairly certain about a good many things, but by no means all things. My head and heart is but one place that God speaks and I am not the best listener. I try and I fail, and as a priest, I often worry. Yet, and it happens quite often, that people cross my path or the path of those in my 'care' who walk with absolute convicted certainty. They KNOW God's will, they KNOW God's plan and they KNOW what the right and wrong of that is. And because they KNOW it (as distinct from 'think' it, 'believe' it or maybe even 'suspect' it), will have a clear plan for the world. I am sure it is great if you have that certainty - but so many people do not.

I can't pretend to fully understand the mind of my beloved wife and adored children - what chance do I have with my other best-friend, the God of the Universe and Everything?

The problem with those who are certain of all this stuff is when they meet someone who is less certain and indeed less equipped to fight the advancing conviction that seeks to compel them on. Experience has taught me that people like that come away feeling like they are somehow deficient or indeed insufficient. The spiritual disposition of many Christians is one of willing uncertainty. They probably think that they don't 'do' it right, but proceed in faith and let God do what God does. Some give up and we lose them from our churches forever. 

I speak to many people whose opening gambit is of the order of "where am I going wrong?" or else "how do I do it right?", or else "how do I become a better xyz?". Then I have those who tell me that after a conversation with one who KNOWS, they feel like a failure and very much like giving up. I reach for Psalm 139 very frequently, or else speak of the road to Emmaus. I hope it helps. 

This post serves two purposes really. To the 'certain' Christians I would gently ask you to consider whether you have ever had doubts, how they felt, and whether certainty (often a blind form of that certainty) would have helped you. If you have had no doubts at all, then frankly you trump Jesus himself who did. Then to those Christians who feel that they fall short, or worse have been made to feel that they fall short by other Christians (wittingly or otherwise) - God is bigger than any Christian I have ever met - and I am fairly certain that God can cope with your foibles. To quote Michael Ramsay (badly), if you want to love God - great. If you can only manage to want to want to love God, then God delights in that too. 

Let's face it, if God can love me and put me in a collar, he has both a sense of humour, and the ability to deal with whatever you feel you have in shorter measure. Rejoice and do nothing else but know. 

1                 O Lord, you have searched me out and known me;  
you know my sitting down and my rising up;
     you discern my thoughts from afar. you know my sitting down and my rising up;     you discern my thoughts from afar. 

2                 You mark out my journeys and my resting place
and are acquainted with all my ways. 

3                 For there is not a word on my tongue,   but you, O Lord, know it altogether. 

4                 You encompass me behind and before
and lay your hand upon me 

5                 Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
so high that I cannot attain it. 

6                 Where can I go then from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence? 

7                 If I climb up to heaven, you are there;
if I make the grave my bed, you are there also. 

8                 If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, 

9                 Even there your hand shall lead me,
your right hand hold me fast. 

10               If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will cover me
and the light around me turn to night,’ 

11               Even darkness is no darkness with you;     the night is as clear as the day;
darkness and light to you are both alike.  

12               For you yourself created my inmost parts;
you knit me together in my mother's womb. 

13               I thank you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;   marvellous are your works, my soul knows well. 

14               My frame was not hidden from you,
when I was made in secret     and woven in the depths of the earth. 

15               Your eyes beheld my form, as yet unfinished;
already in your book were all my members written, 

16               As day by day they were fashioned   when as yet there was none of them. 

17               How deep are your counsels to me, O God!
How great is the sum of them! 

18               If I count them, they are more in number than the sand,
and at the end, I am still in your presence.   

19               O that you would slay the wicked, O God,   that the bloodthirsty might depart from me! 

20               They speak against you with wicked intent;
your enemies take up your name for evil. 

21               Do I not oppose those, O Lord, who oppose you?
Do I not abhor those who rise up against you? 

22               I hate them with a perfect hatred;
they have become my own enemies also.  

23               Search me out, O God, and know my heart;  try me and examine my thoughts. 

24               See if there is any way of wickedness in me  and lead me in the way everlasting.

The Sour Faces of Those with Faith

And another thing ...

We in the world of faith and all that would tell the world that we fear secularisation. Indeed, the likes of Lord Carey and the 'Ashamed' brigade would lead us to a place where we proclaim, from our rooftops, that we are not at all ashamed. 

Recently, the BBC did something remarkable. It set aside much valuable schedule time to the end of improving the lot of people with less than the typical British Christian in material terms, in terms of hope, and in terms of basic human survival. Aunty's employees gave of their time to add to the event of Comic Relief in its 25th year and to the end that they corporately raised shy of £80million. Marvellous; thank you; great! Is not Comic Relief as a venture something very much in the vein of the mandate of Christ to feed, clothe and protect?

It was with no small measure of sadness, then, that I read that after such a significant charitable act, helping many countless nameless children and families, that the BBC was caused to make an apology. To the dictators of the Third World? To the regular viewers of Eastenders?

No. The BBC had to issue an apology to God-botherers; Christians. 

The report said that 2,200 people complained at Rowan Atkinson's portrayal of the Archbishop. I watched it, and I thought it was hilarious. It was alarmingly close to the mark at times, but - and lest we forget - it was comedy, satire, humour, wit. One can only reasonably assume that the 2,200 people who complained were Christians. Christians without a sense of humour. Christians without a sense of joy. Christians who are afraid because their belief in God is somehow too fragile to contend with humour.

If ever a ball were to be kicked into one's own net - then this is the equivalent. Comic Relief made fun of almost everyone in what seemed to be a gentle, affectionate, harmless way. Yet it seems that Christians are so afraid that Rowan Atkinson joking that prayer doesn't work, a claim made in a programme of conspicuous comedy, comedy aimed at alleviating suffering, might just have done some harm to our cause. 

I doubt that Rowan Atkinson wearing red horns and speaking in demonic tongues could do more harm than the simple fact that 2,200 Christians complained. Ashamed of my faith? No. Ashamed of the people who would judge the efforts of others to raise money to save kids from death? Most definitely. 

There is a very very small gap between this and seeking to kill those who dare to satirise our Prophet of choice. A very small gap indeed. 

It Starts Here

A little while ago I wrote, in the light of the unfolding Jimmy Savile scandal, about how it is that people can be hurt by other people and that they don't feel able to speak out. 

Recently, someone that I didn't know communicated a claim to me about someone who I did know. I needn't go into details, but the person accused in that situation was someone I have known since a child and have nothing but kind remembrance of. The person making the claim was a stranger to me, and so it was that I did - perhaps instinctively - that thing that so many victims fear that the church would do or has done in the past and brushed aside claims as simply "ridiculous". 

This isn't a post about that situation specifically, but more about how it is that I reached a conclusion instinctively, and that I am far from alone in doing the same in like situations elsewhere. I ponder this a great deal at the moment, and this post is where my thoughts rest currently. 

I think that for Christians at least, the default position is an optimistic one. We are a people who believe in forgiveness, a people who claim a 'good news' that must surely colour our world-view, a people who for the most part are good-hearted people and for Christians, deep down, I wonder if our instinct is to assume the best, particularly of another Christian. Perhaps inevitably, we based our judgments on our own experience and where I have not been hurt by someone, find it nearly impossible to believe that they are capable of hurting others. We focus, by our injunctions and teachings, upon the good in someone - which quite possibly means that that we lose the art of acknowledging their potential darker side. 

I am not sure that there is a sin in any of that. I am not sure that we can change our mindset, and that perhaps  if we did, so much would come unravelled for us. It is perhaps true to say that churches are easier to steal from, that other Christians are easier to be abusive to, and that Christian communities more ready to forgive than to act through the channels of the law. I may be wrong, but I know those who have transgressed in all of those ways and have received a Christian-flavoured leniency that wouldn't reflect the sanctions (and concomitant help, even) of the world beyond the doors. As a people of love, as we claim to be and strive to be daily, I wonder if we have lost the ability to sense, acknowledge, or then believe that someone we see as good can be bad in some way.

I have failed in that recently, though I hope that I have taken a more balanced view now (and for the record, this is not a parish matter where I minister). However, what I have learned is that perhaps I need to take more realistic view of the sins of men and women. I am not perfect though I think I am good. I have messed up many times, and so must others. I think it comes down to how we love properly. Loving through rose-tinted glasses isn't proper love. Loving someone capable of darkness - that is perhaps what Jesus would have us learn to do - to love someone despite their failings, not after disregarding those sins in a fit of ill-conceived grace. Proper love is not instinctively defending offenders in favour of victims because we think we know different. For me, it starts here. It starts now.

Having Their Cake and Blessing It

Before I start, apologies for the lengthy absence. It has been a period of time characterised by spending time away from home for all sorts of reasons, though chief of which was our week away in Wales. Lovely, ennet!

I have returned to the Blog in fine fettle, rested and ready for the steady acceleration to the festival of moment of the birth of Jesus; you know, Christmas and all that! For me, that will bring with it my beloved mince pies, my less beloved Away in a Minger but the overall sense of fluffy red and gold that insinuates itself into every fleeting thought. Nice. 

I have also returned to this Blog with a bee in my bonnet (and having been to Wales, have mastered the art of saying "bumblebee" in the Welsh accent. Stonking). I digress. I witnessed something today that annoys me, believe it or not. 

I am a priest, a vicar, a God botherer - a worker for the Lord. When I am asked to officiate over a funeral, I think it is reasonable for the mourners to expect that I will lob in the odd prayer, a little Bible if you will, and allude to the resurrection somewhere. Some may, in line with a trend I am fast disliking, expect me to use the death of their nearest and dearest to sell my church as a value-added to death. Either way, the funerials will be Christian, overtly, proudly and honestly. 

Then you get the Humanists, disciples of none less that Archbishop Dawkins (whose existence I refuse to accept). Their book, Funerals Without God, sets a clear scene for the punters. You will get a funeral without God (though interestingly, they refer to "God" as distinct to "a god" or funerals "without a make-believe deity" which is different - and means that they must have a view of the God I have a view on). If I went to a Humanist funeral (as distinct from the more honest and upfront civil ceremonies), I might expect some secular poetry, Elvis and happy reminiscence. 

Imagine if Reverend Father David Cloake pitched up without a collar (no, scrap that - some don't), without a Bible, placed a goat atop the box and catafalque, slit its throat and let it die as a blood offering to Grunthos the Flatulent. Imagine if I presided over a funeral service without speaking of the Lord at all. You'd have every right to kick my reverential butt!

Today, I witnessed a sharply dressed Humanist high-priestess (ordained into the church of Dawkins) offer Jewish blessings - truly. I have heard of Humanists employing the Lord's Prayer in their "ceremonies" (you know the one, Our Father, the one in Heaven, yada yada be His name). I saw her directive to the staff of the very nice crematorium asking them, at a future service, to pause to give people time for their prayers. She played Ave Maria (Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee). If this were retail or business it would surely breach trading standards. 

The thing is, I find the lack of integrity offensive. If people asked me for a funeral sans-God, I would have to decline. It is the right thing for me to do. If I were to stand up as a Humanist but invite invocations of a God I protest as delusion, I would be acting immorally. Simply put, it seems that they want their cake and to bless it. I would have far more respect for a group of people who told me I was delusional and therefore mentally unwell (for it is, I am sure, what they think) if they didn't then profit from our sentiment, literature and sacred texts.  At least true atheists have the honour to talk of God as I might be inclined to talk about pink elephants - which is to say that in either case, they just wouldn't arise in a conversation. 

Humanists Hiding Behind Anglicans (and Children)

As I minded my own business and went to collect the Twins Aculae from school this afternoon, some little chap or other pushed a high-gloss high-price leaflet into my hand. I confess to thinking that he didn't look like the sort to be pushing the next pizza place, so I read the thing. 

What you see here is the front top portion of the 120gsm publication. Wow, I thought, a faith group getting militant. Someone doesn't like Catholics, I mused. Naughty Catholics, I pondered, if this is right. I also thought happy-happy joy-joy thoughts for the kind  non-Catholic group who seemed concerned with the rights of my Anglican flock. 

Brothers and sisters: all is not as it would seem. This publication is from Richmond Inclusive Schools Campaign, and they have a website too: http://www.richmondinclusiveschools.org.uk/ Among the plaudits is just a small amount of anti-Catholic rhetoric and couched in the language of bile and stereotype (in my opinion). Me being me, I wanted to know who RISC were - a faith group? Some disgruntled parents who had failed by get baby Johnny admitted elsewhere? The leaflet and the website were no help whatsoever. The Humanist website was, however. They gave the game away, and blew the cover of our Humanist brothers and sisters who seemed at some pains to avoid their true identity. 

Now - I have no real objection to inclusiveness in our faith schools. Actually, I favour it over a tight admission policy because I don't think that any facet of church life should be that of a private-member's club. What I absolutely do object to is to campaigns that fight for our children and for other faith groups as a subterfuge for the real agenda. To argue a case for what you do want as a front for what you don't want is underhand, in my opinion (and dishonest). Let us be clear - the BHA don't give a rat's derriere for me as an Anglican, any other Protestant, Jew, Muslim, Hindu or Sikh. To them we are all deluded.

For my part, I think that the debate should be open, that we have a meaningful debate about school admissions policies - but in the open, as conspicuous interested parties - not behind campaign slogans and some disingenuous text. There is an increasing sense in some Christian circles that loving our neighbour (you know, that key Christian tenet) doesn't work well with "our neighbour isn't allowed in our school though". There are Christians who will debate this issue without resort to glossy semantic prestidigitation. I confess to being even more disappointed in the Humanists than I was before - and I didn't think that was possible. 

Give me a true atheist any day - at least we can talk properly. 

Incumbency and Vases of Flowers

A wise man once told me to be careful when moving vases of flowers. It is not that vases of flowers shouldn't be moved from time to time, or even removed and refreshed. Of course they should, when the time is right and the need apparent. 

For "vase of flowers" read "what we have always done", and for "always" read "more than three times". I speak, of course, about change, and more particularly those changes that take place within a church. The unique factor of church vases of church flowers, is that beneath each one is a trip switch which causes an explosion upon the removal of it, like a landmine. Boom. 

I am fast discovering that curates are broadly immune to the effects of the explosion (largely through the protective layer provided by the training incumbent). The Vicar is not similarly protected, and so it is that the vicar's giblets and gizzards are at perpetual risk from all movements of the proverbial Meissen Monster. 

It endlessly fascinates me, and troubles me, the effect that change has (in large or very small measure) on some people. Some Christians, it seems, are pathologically afraid of change in many ways, and I have never fully come to terms with why. Even change born of a careful process of thought, prayer and consultation (and to make something safe and available for all) seems to cause an adverse reaction, often aggressively delivered. And so it is that I am learning to toughen my already world-hardened hide to cope with the fall-out from the Floral Relocation. 

Part of the job of Vicar, as leader in many ways, is to articulate the present. Once the present is seen and acknowledged (not as easy as that may sound), it is needful to make changes from time to time. As seasons change in all walks of life, things change - and in church life at least, the Vicar (or equivalent) is often the one who 'represents' the change tothe wider community, whoever may have been involved in the process leading to it. This is not always easy, as I am fast learning. 

Change is part of living, I believe. If I didn't change, Mrs Acular would be wiping my bottom and blowing my nose for me. If churches didn't change, they would still be convening solely in mud huts in the Middle East. I wonder sometimes if change is not viewed through the same lens as death - as wholly inevitable, but an unsavoury truth best hidden from thought.

I have many vases in the church where I work. The church is beautified by them all and they are receptacles for some stunning blooms. Yet I cannot say, hand on heart, that they will all stay where they are! Someone pass me my Flack Jacket ...

An Atheist and an Anglo-Catholic at Greenbelt

I was at Greenbelt this year, for a day - to be helpful. That I was nearly refused entry is a tale for another day, but I have to confess to having enjoyed the whole experience. I was able to draw some conclusions about how Christians ought to look, and I have resolved to think about buying a hoody in due course. The tie-dye patchwork dungaree things won't trouble my inner-monologue, but they too were much in evidence. 

But this, kids, is not what I sat here to write about. A mate of mine, known to many of you as Gurdur (on Twitter and other places), known to me as Tim - a finer antipodean resident of the German state you will not find, was also there. The thing is, he is an atheist. He styles himself as 'extremely' atheistic, which is to say that he not only doesn't believe in God, but that he really seriously doesn't believe in God. Hold in your thoughts that I do, of course. 

We spent a good amount of time on that day wandering together talking about many things, approaching stall-holders and taking interest in their 'product'. This followed one of those embarrassing social-media moments when, thinking you know someone really well because you have 'chatted' many times, meant that upon seeing him in the flesh for the first time, I greeted him as an old friend, embrace and all. He thanked me very sincerely and then asked who the hell I was. How we laughed ...

Tim is a remarkable man. He, like I, had experienced painful times at such gatherings in our pasts (though not Greenbelt, I should state). Be both felt like fish out of water, for similar yet wholly dissimilar reasons. In fact that sense galvanised us in our encounter, Christian to Atheist, as we moved about the place looking and watching. It generated, I thought, some rather helpful discussions - and I think helpful for us both. What aided us in this endeavour was a the fact that he is about the most open-minded man I have ever encountered, and I wasn't remotely interested in converting him. We were simply two humans, talking about levels of existence within our frameworks of reference. 

My day at Greenbelt was a source of much pleasure. Helping people work forwards in their vision to engage with Social Media was a particular honour for me. Time spent walking with my friend the atheist just about capped it off perfectly. 

The beer wasn't bad either...