Icon

It feels like a familiar friend now. Shifting chairs, carrying boards, carting hay bales, moving ramps, setting up viewing areas, turning up the volume, welcoming visitors, calling for paramedics—Malmesbury Abbey Skate is back and it feels oddly normal to have a 21st century skate and scooter spectacular taking place in a 12th century abbey. This year we’ve even added a hula hoop workshop. (I’ve been working hard on a pun on ‘hula’ and ‘hallelujah’ to go here but as we go to press nothing cringemakingly bad enough has emerged.) One of our churchwardens tried hula-hooping out recently and seemed like a natural. The hula hoop I tried seemed to be a bit of a snug fit for some reason.

Ideas are dirt cheap. In a creative place like Malmesbury Abbey there is a continuous stream of them, not least from my own head. I have a rule of thumb that if one person comes forward with an idea I ask them to come back with 4 people totally bought into the idea before the conversation continues. We’re looking build on what God is birthing in the Body of Christ, not just to do random stuff.So Malmesbury Abbey Skate is one of those rare diamonds of an idea that has be born, and grown, and earthed itself in the life of our church  and our community. And more. Malmesbury Abbey Skate has actually made Malmesbury Abbey more like Malmesbury Abbey (that is a long winded way of saying it was/is prophetic.)

I love our Holiday at Home; I love our Advent Carol Service; I love Creative Response; I love working with BBC History & BBC Wiltshire. I love the soft play in the Café and our Weekend Away and our Holy Week Festival, and I love the possibility of drowning the Archbishop of Canterbury. I love our series in John and my new small group. All of these new things of God breathe new life into me and into the mission and worship of the church. It’s all profoundly good, and of God. But the Icon (Skatepark) within the Icon (Abbey) happens next week.

God is always gloriously doing a new thing. In the 12th century the new thing was the abbey we worship each Sunday. In the 16th and 17th century the new thing was the Bible and worship in the English language which still sustains us today. During MAS 2014, next week, I give thanks that the God who built the Abbey has not left the building.

God is here, God is light, God is love. Bring wheels.

passers-by

The violinist Joshua Bell stood with a 1713 Stradivarius in his hands, lifted his bow, and started to play the Chaconne by Johann Sebastian Bach; composed just seven years after Antonio Stradivari made the particular violin he was holding.  The composer Brahms was so in awe of this piece of music that he once wrote that if he had written it the ‘excitement and earth-shattering experience would have driven him out of his mind.’ But for this performance Joshua Bell wasn’t at the Boston Symphony Hall, where two days earlier tickets to hear him went for $100, he was busking at L’Enfant Plaza metro station in Washington DC, to see if commuters bustling by on their way to work would stop. They did, to buy their Washington Post and their daily lottery ticket as usual, but would the beauty and grace of Messrs JS Bach and J Bell cause them to break their routine for a moment, would a crowd gather, would Joshua Bell make enough money to get his cab back to the hotel?  Just a handful of over 1,000 passers-by stopped to listen; the virtuoso made $32.17.

The Old Testament prophet Jonah is not known to have played the violin, but something he said while in the (joshua) belly of a fish came to mind as I read the Joshua Bell story: 

those who cling to worthless idols forfeit the grace that could be theirs. (Jonah 2:8) 

A secular version of Jonah’s words might be, ‘those who get their priorities utterly wrong miss out on the life they were born to live.’ A preacher’s version of this would be ‘worship the wrong god and you’ll live the wrong life’ - try it in a Deep South accent. Joshua Bell’s version would probably be ‘if you haven’t got time to stop and listen to the music that JS Bach wrote you’ve probably lost touch with the God he worshipped.’

So this is advance notice. March 5th, Lent is coming. No doubt there will be intense chocolate avoidance, and I am currently conflicted over whether I could actually function without fresh coffee (answer, no.) But Lent is actually an audit, a hearing, we stop and listen to our lives, and ask if there is any time in there for us to stop and listen to God. Think about this; from March 5th the violin case is open.

Bubbles

I divided them into two groups. We were on the ground floor of our Junior Church building, and I was leading Bubbles. It had come to this. Splash were making quite a bit of noise upstairs, perhaps some discipline issues there, but we soon settled down nicely in Bubbles. Everyone drew around their hands, then coloured them in, some using glitter pens but others settling for a dependable felt tip. When they had finished, I asked them to write their name in the corner – it’s nice not to lose your work when you run back into the Abbey. We sang ‘Jesus is the Son of God’ to the tune of ‘London Bridge is falling down’ and we then did a really, really big shout – it’s the Bubbles song after all; yay! I checked that nobody needed the toilet, and then we talked about the Antichrist.

Last Sunday at 4pm we had a sort of back to front Sunday. At the break in our service instead of the Junior Church & Trax going out into groups and  the adults staying in, the adults grabbed their coffee and went out into groups, in the drizzle, and Junior Church & Trax stayed in the warmth of the Abbey to worship and have fun and learn and pray and party together. We even had a smoke machine in the Abbey; I thought the Reformation had got rid of those. So why did I have 16 adults in Bubbles, sitting  studying 1 John 2 together?

It was a chance for us ‘grown-ups’ to see a little of what it is like being a child in our church community. It was also a chance for us to say to our young people that you really, really matter, you are church; and we are committed to making Junior Church the best bit of your week.

The festival of noise and wheels that is about to hit the abbey (Malmesbury Abbey Skate) also functions on that level. Across the Church of England 48% of Anglican churches have fewer than 5 young people attending. It is crucial that the abbey says again and again to the children and young people of our community that this Abbey is yours, your culture is welcome, and the faith that you’ll find at the heart of it will shape your life and transform your future.

Broken and beautiful

Jesus tells a story about two men praying at the Temple in Luke 18:9-14. The Pharisee thanked God that he was a spiritual superstar; God I bless your name that I am so totally awesome! The other man, the tax collector couldn’t even bear to look in the direction of heaven, beat his chest with sorrow, and simply prayed for mercy. Consider for a moment which of these two Jesus would have the church be like, and you’ll probably quickly reject the Pharisee, and select the chest-beater; well done, there is significant truth in that. God would have us be honest, realistic about any mess that decorates our lives, and the Bible isn’t a big fan of those who exalt themselves. However the church is probably called to be the tax collector just a few moments later, after God has lifted him up—those who humble themselves will be exalted. For us, the story never ends on Good Friday.

I mention this because to be a vicar is to see both the incredible brokenness and the incredible beauty of the church. Just read any of Paul or John’s letters to their congregations and you will get that pastors-eye view; in fact reading 1 Corinthians is a particularly shocking experience that should put anybody off being a vicar for good. The Corinthian church was a mess with St Paul himself running it—what hope do you lot have?  And 1 John 2 begins with these uplifting words…’my dear children, I write this to you so that you will not sin.’ Don’t sugar coat it John, tell it to us straight. Broken.

But the church is also breathtakingly beautiful; a body functioning perfectly with each part valued; a building with each stone carefully placed; a light to the world.  God exalts the humble church; humility is a gateway, not a dead end. It is always moving as a vicar to see endless acts of quiet faithfulness and service continually sustaining and shaping the life of the church. Beautiful.

I write this with the year ahead of us as a fresh invitation to join with the imperfection and bring yours along too. Serving alongside one another, whether in a choir or on a skatepark, whether in prayer or in the café, whether in Junior Church or in a small group...you get the picture. We aren’t called to work, we are called to each other, and then together, on our better days, we’ll be the light the world is looking for.

Begin again

It’s false really isn’t it? The sun, moon and the stars are blissfully unaware of January 1st, or 2014, although they can be pretty useful in measuring things like days and months. Heaven itself probably doesn’t have a calendar; although I would concede that there might be a really big one with two dates on it—this present age when Christ is seated in glory, and the age to come, when Christ will come and their will be a new heavens and a new earth. We won’t need to buy a new one each year.

However the reflective element of a New Year beginning is a useful thing, it gives us a chance to begin again. At our 10.30am service on January 5th there will be a liturgy that helps that frank assessment of our lives and our discipleship, including a covenant prayer, found below, which in essence says ‘this life is yours, this year is yours, all that I’ve grabbed back over the last year, I let go of again.’ It is a moving and challenging prayer because at the heart of our sin is that stubborn unwilling self.

Then at 4pm on January 5th, four members of our congregation will be wading out into the waters of baptism, at the Activity Zone, and being baptised in the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit. I love baptisms because it is a joy to see the work of God in somebody’s life, to consider the potential of a human life in God’s hands, and to see God’s grace and mercy meet human sin and frailty.

I also love baptism because I think of the man that baptised me, a Methodist minister called the Revd Collins who I never met, and the pastor that baptised him, and the one that baptised him, and the unbroken chain of baptism within the church that stretches back to Christ’s first disciples (John 4:1-2). That is a breathtaking lineage to ponder. Who do you think you are?

But whether a 365-day year actually exists in God’s kingdom or not, January 1st does give each of us a chance to recover from accidental living, life swept along by the world, and to return to intentional living, a considered life with God’s priorities and God’s word right at the heart. Now that might seem like a really boring sentiment to start the New Year with, and if that’s what you’re thinking please begin the New Year with a slap and a gentle rebuke from me. If you’ve ever read the Bible, or any Church History for that matter, boring is not the word you’d use to describe the life that is lived for God, and God alone. Have a holy 2014.

I am no longer my own but yours.

Your will, not mine, be done in all things,

wherever you may place me,

in all that I do and in all that I may endure;

when there is work for me and when there is none;

when I am troubled and when I am at peace.

Your will be done when I am valued and when I am disregarded;

when I find fulfilment and when it is lacking;

when I have all things and when I have nothing.

I willingly offer all that I have and am

to serve you, as and where you choose.

Glorious and blessed God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit,

you are mine and I am yours.

May it be so for ever.

Let this covenant now made on earth

be fulfilled in heaven. Amen.

       

        (A New Year Covenant Prayer)

Take 2

One question I have been asked consistently in the last month is this: ‘will The Malmesbury Nativity be the same as last year?’ I am really quite proud of myself; at no point have I answered ‘actually, it’s going to be twins this year.’ A longer and more helpful answer follows.

Last year we wanted a new mix. Carols that had a live band and nodded in the direction of the contemporary folk rock; actors who were trained actors, not vicars pretending; a set that brought everybody close to the action, rather have people 20 rows back straining to see; and something really ‘Malmesbury’ not a generic Christmas play. So we created a script with Aldhelm, William, Eilmer and Hannah Twynnoy as the story tellers—a play within a play. But what we also really wanted was the birth of Christ from the Bible; not The Snowman's Christmas Miracle or What the Donkey saw in the Manger One Starlit Night with the Church Mouse.

Our challenge was to take the birth narratives of the gospels of Luke and Matthew, word for word, NRSV, not a word changed or added, and bring them to life in such a way that over 1000 people wouldn’t realise that they had just been listening in to the Bible. This also meant that Simeon’s prophecy of Mary’s anguish (Luke 2:35) turned up before the Magi, and put the agony of the cross into the nativity story with subtlety, as Luke intended.

So is it different this year? No; St Matthew and St Luke seem pretty happy with their scripts and scenes 3-6 remain the same. And although we thought of introducing King Athelstan, we’re holding him back for a future year.

So is it different this year? Yes. The beginning and ending are not the same and we’ve added a new song. For those of you who remember last year, there has been some big change in the Old Man’s life and he won’t be listening to Sport’s report. You’ll just have to wait and see. 

Tickets are still available for 4 of the 6 performances. Young children are particularly welcome to come dressed as a shepherd ,angel, magi, Mary or Joseph.

2½

I sat in a group of about eight or nine vicars during the summer, pity me, none of whom were from this area and one of whom asked this question: ‘Does any one of you seriously want everybody on the planet to become a follower of Jesus?’ As I said ‘yes’ I realised that mine was the only hand that went up in the room—which really rather surprised me. I thought about my answer for a second, just in case I’d made a stupid, idiot mistake, or to consider whether it was a trick question. (I always remember the quiz contestant on TV who when asked who wrote Beethoven’s 5th Symphony answered ‘was it Handel?’) But then my maths A level came charging to my rescue, and I said ‘2½.’ Now it was their turn to look bemused back in my direction. ‘There are approximately 7 billion people on the planet,’ I said,  ‘and approximately 2 billion Christians of one flavour or another. Now if each of the 2 billion Christians were to be so inspired and flowing with love, mercy and truth that 2½ people become followers of Christ though their witness, well that would mean 7 billion followers of Jesus on the planet; job done.’

On reflection it was an over simplistic answer and not much of a mathematical model. On reflection I wonder why some people are vicars. And on reflection I think a more honest answer would have been 3½; because although I might have a half decent chance with the other 2½, I consider the turning of myself into a follower of Jesus to be a lifelong project with plenty of bumps on the road. But I’m glad that I did the maths. Because when somebody asks me why we work so hard to raise our game with our welcome and hospitality at the Abbey, when somebody asks me why we put on richly creative projects like Advent Carols Services and Skate Parks, and when somebody asks me why we cram about 175 people into weekly discipleship groups and will be running Alpha Courses incessantly, I know the answer—2½.

PS Please invite 2½ people to church this Christmas. You bring them along, we’ll tell them about Jesus.