Part 7 - Once More Unto The Breech

So suddenly here I was, adrift from any kind of church for the first time in a long while. And initially I didn’t have any problem with that at all. A few months later another (admittedly maybe over-hasty) e-mail from myself to my ex-vicar resulted in the rest of the family leaving the church as well. No need to go into the detail, but suffice to say that the experience left a nasty taste with us that has taken a long time to heal.

That summer we went off to Greenbelt as a family, something that we had been doing for a few years (Greenbelt has remained a constant throughout these years). On our return we felt that, after six months or so without church, we really wanted to be part of a worshipping community again. So we started looking around. Friends that we had made at our previous church (he was a Chaplin at the local higher education establishment) had recently moved themselves, for similar reasons to us (they had been part of our homegroup), to another Anglican church a little further from us. So it made sense that we go and try them out. This church was a much more traditional, almost Anglo-Catholic style of Anglican church, what with it’s robed choir, sung psalms and strong use of liturgy. And yet, having now become used to the Anglican experience, this didn’t seem alien, and in many senses was very attractive. And so, principally because of the presence of this other family (who had children similar ages to our own) we decided to make this place our new spiritual home.

Again, we threw ourselves into Church life, although a little less so than before (a definite trend emerging here!). To my later regret, I let myself get flattered into being part of the PCC, and almost instantly regretted that. This was dryer than dry, and whilst I appreciate that the kind of stuff that happens at PCCs has to happen at some level in all churches (I’d had similar roles in both previous churches), this was something that seemed just so divorced from what I thought a life of faith should be about that it became more than just an irrelevance – it was actually a distraction from faith. However, the vicar at our new church was one that really had time for me, and I for him. He was open, willing to listen to my occasional ramblings, and most importantly seemed to appreciate some of the questions, doubts and uncertainties that were still haunting me. Through him, I got to lead a semi-regular reflective service that gave me a real sense of purpose and belonging that much else in that church did not. That seemed to find a niche for a few people, but it never seemed to get any real traction within the church, and once again I felt that what I was wanting from a faith community (although I don’t know I’m too sure what that is) was not what the vast majority there wanted. Once again I was out on the edge, sometimes struggling to hold on.

During this time a couple of things sustained me. The first was a group set up by a friend of mine, Bob, that was an attempt at a kind of church-in-a-pub. Dubbed Edge of Belief, it brought together on a occasional basis a bunch of people who were similarly struggling to find their way through a life of faith, just to chew the cud and listen to each others stories. That tailed off after a few years, and a little while later a much smaller group of friends (primarily instigated by Larry) came together on a similarly ad-hoc basis to do a similar thing. Both of these shared some similar characteristics (which were also something that the earlier homegroup experience also shared); they were free and open opportunities for people to tell their stories and listen to others; they were intrinsically relational, deriving their strength from the human relationships that flowed from that sharing of stories; and they served a particular need at a particular time, their existence never outlasting their usefulness.

Back at Church, I was still trying to make things work out. I’d applied to be a Reader (a lay role, who can preach and lead services), and had got accepted to do that. This was a continuation of previous dalliances with more formal roles in the church – I’d even contemplated a full-time Minister / Vicar role in the past, but never really progressed it. Having been accepted, however, I realised the nature of the role would have left me firmly committed to this parish, to this church. Given that I wasn’t really feeling too at home here, and also given that the nature of may faith really didn’t seem up to the kind of rigorous investigation that such training would inevitably require, I chickened out. I think I used some kind of excuse about work and family commitments, but I think that was probably just that – an excuse. I was really getting to a point where I realised I needed to back right off from any kind of formal church role, because I was really acting out something that wasn’t true to who I was or where I was coming from.

Looking back, I think that this event was maybe the realisation that has brought me to where I am now. But more of that later.

[Next>>> And This Is Where It Ends / Begins]

Part 5 - Revelations In The Post

Greenbelt re-appeared back in my view in 1994. Since that initial conversion experience I’d been once (1989), and it had hovered in the back of my consciousness in the intervening years. I don’t remember how the 1994 trip happened, but I went off with Steve for the weekend, and had a great time. The general ethos of Greenbelt really clicked with me, and this felt like a community that was willing to push boundaries and explore.

This seemed to chime with where I was at. Becoming involved in preaching and worship leading had been great, but it meant putting my own faith under the microscope more and more. I was doing some lay-training, was reading around subjects, and whilst this was giving me material for sermons, it was also leaving me with an uneasy feelings – that things maybe weren’t so neatly packaged as I’d have liked, and that there were loose ends that I really didn’t want to start unraveling.

Part of this was probably prompted by a couple of trips to Taize in the late 80s / early 90s, which had done two things – opened my eyes to the validity of a broader Christian experience than the one that I was used to, and made me appreciate silence and simplicity in worship.

Anyway, I decided to go to Greenbelt again in 1995. And this turned out to be one of those pivotal points in my faith journey. Glancing through the programme, I noticed a series of talks with “The Post-Evangelical” label. Looking more closely, I was intrigued with the description of what was being presented, and decided to along and hear Dave Tomlinson, who was giving the talks. I knew nothing about Dave or his back-story at this point in time, but something about what was being described in the programme clicked with me. Well, for me, and for many others, the book that accompanied that series of talks (launched at that Greenbelt) was one that really opened eyes. Suddenly – or so it seemed – we were being given permission to ask all those awkward questions that we’d quashed to the back of our minds. The Post-Evangelical paints a picture of somebody who had been fully-immersed in the evangelical world, and yet who had found it ultimately unfulfilling. And who was now striking out beyond those narrow confines to recognise the vast breadth of experience, both ancient and modern, that was Christian. Yet (and this was – I think – the key factor that made it resonate with me) that experience was always coloured by that founding evangelical experience. This “new” experience was one that, almost by definition, was defined by what it was rejecting.

It was this permission that the book presented which, for me, brought to the surface all sorts of questions. No longer were these doubts and uncertainties things to be ashamed of and hide from. They were seen to be a valid striving and searching, something that would encourage growth and development, not something that would hinder it. This was new and exciting territory.

Of course, the destination when pursuing these questions may be a lot less certain than where I had been heading previously. And I think that was something that I didn’t appreciate until later. In hindsight, the implications of opening this Pandora’s box weren’t clear to me at the time. But once that lid was off, there was no chance of getting it back on again. There was no reverse gear on this journey (however much, in subsequent years, I might have wished for one).

Coming back into regular church life I had a new boldness. I realised that there was a broader church out there, and that the narrow experience that I’d grown up with was not the be-all and end-all. And I tried to incorporate that into what I did in preaching and worship leading – not being overtly challenging or difficult, but trying to broaden things out, introduce a broader palate. And most significantly, I think, becoming less interested in giving answers, and more interested in raising questions.

But through all of this I was still ultimately convinced that my task was – in some small way – to transform that small area of church that I was a part of. It was to take what I’d found, and somehow infuse the church with that spirit. I wasn’t turning my back on it. I genuinely wanted to change things, to make a difference. There was still a future to be had here.

[Next>>> Part 6 - Changing Sides]

Part 2 - I've Found What I Didn't Know I Was Looking For...

Well, before I knew it I’d turned 16, finished my ‘O’ Levels, and was contemplating starting 6th Form. No real direction to be honest, nothing much to get too wound up about. And church was still there, a pervasive background to my social life. Girls had entered the frame recently as well (a small group used to hang around with the older BB members), and so a fairly average (if slightly straight-laced) teenage lifestyle was in train.

And then I got an invitation to go to Greenbelt. Alan and Celia were friends of my parents, and were involved in leading the BB company that I was part of. I’d never heard of Greenbelt at the time, but they must have said something to make it sound interesting, because I accepted their invitation, along with a number of other young people from the church. So off we trudged, and found ourselves in a tent in a huge field with thousands of others. I was no stranger to camping, having done a lot of it with BB. And I was no stranger to the Christian sub-culture, having been exposed to plenty of that through Church. I don’t really remember what we did there – I have recollections of wandering around the main village, and the toilets stick in my mind, but other than that there is nothing too much that sticks in my mind.

But what I do remember is the Sunday. On Sunday morning, Greenbelt holds its Communion service. This is the point at which the whole of the festival comes together to celebrate communion. This year Cliff Richard was playing at Greenbelt (that very evening, in fact) and as a consequence the crowd was quite large – 30,000 or so. As we sat there in that service, 30,000 people all partaking of this one uniting ritual, it suddenly all made sense to me. I don’t remember this being prompted by anything any individual said or did, I just remember thinking that here was something that really mattered to all these people, something important to them, and I wanted some of it. I remember saying a prayer of some sort, a prayer of surrender to Jesus (I’d heard templates of this prayer plenty of times before, so I knew the words to say), and that was it. It was kind of like finding that last piece of the jigsaw, the piece that finally enables you to make sense of the whole of the rest of the picture. I knew all the background, I’d heard it all a thousand times before, but something about that gathering of people made it real, made it make sense in a way that it just hadn't before.[1]

And so, filled with this new life and purpose, I proceeded to tell everyone around me about this wonderful, miraculous event that had just changed my life. Except I didn’t. I don’t think that I really said much to anybody about it. I certainly don’t remember talking to my parents about it (I think the first time that really came up was when I brought a Good News Bible with some Christmas money). And I don’t really remember talking with anybody else very much about it either. However, somewhere along the line, it did prompt me to start going along to the Youth Club at the church. This not only introduced me to a wider group of friends (including more girls – yippee!), some of whom were for more overtly Christian than I would have been comfortable with before. But it also, slowly but surely, pulled me in to a scene that started to help me to make sense of that experience at Greenbelt. It gave me a language to describe my conversion experience, and gave me a framework not just to understand where I was, but where I should be going. Suddenly here were people who understood what was going on, and were able to show me where to take it. And it made sense. It really did. I was so glad of that. Life was falling into some kind of place, and here was something solid and principled on which to base it. God was suddenly something real, someone who was part of my life, every single day. And with that came a really strong sense of community and fellowship with a like-minded group of people. By this stage BB was starting to fall apart a little, but here was something more than adequate to take its place. I threw myself wholesale into this community (which may have been helped a little by a recent girlfriend!), and found within it a sense of purpose and belonging. I may not have been consciously looking for it, but now I found it, I knew this was what I wanted.

[Next>>> Part 3 - Wading Into The Water]

[1] The other life-changing event of that Sunday took place that evening. Somewhere in the evening main-stage line-up, sandwiched between something like Garth Hewitt and Sheila Walsh, an upcoming Irish band had blagged their way onto the running order. That band was U2. And that 15 minute set was the start of a life-long following of the band.