Last night, I joined a church for the first time ever...

I've been a part of three churches in my life previously. Two were tagging along with my parents, and one I was paid to be at. But last night, of my own volition, I walked into a church (sunny), partook of the service (enjoyable), talked with people (pleasant) and drank orange squash (strong).

It was odd being at a church where I didn't know everyone. Where I didn't have to do anything, but sit and stand and worship and wonder. Where there was no pressure to do anything in particular, just be me, and allow God to influence the person that I am.

We were a rag tag bunch of followers last night. There were a couple of folks in wheelchairs. There were people who talked during some of the songs. There were a few music-based mishaps. There was me and my short attention span. But at the crux of it, we were church, all trying to follow Jesus in the best way we know how.

I'm glad I can be church with these people.

Grand Designs

In the last two months I’ve had three interviews. I’ve travelled up and down the country, lugging bags and suits onto a variety of trains. I’ve got into cars with people I do not know. I’ve stayed in strangers’ houses, eaten strangers’ food, shaken strangers’ hands and said with a knowing smile and a nervous laugh; “I hope we meet again.” I’ve explored churches and parishes and cities. I’ve spoken to any number of church leaders, be they ordained, or skilled in making cakes. I’ve thanked churchwardens and youth groups. I’ve met open charismatics, closet charismatics, male vicars and female vicars. I’ve made videos and nailed presentations. I’ve had hard questions and easy questions. I’ve answered questions about sexuality, sexual relationships, and gender issues. I’ve been able to smile and laugh and make mistakes and worry about them endlessly at night. I’ve said goodbye to interview panels and administrators. I’ve spent time in pubs and cafes, I’ve caught buses and I’ve waited for trains.

And I’ve had three ‘phone calls saying that I didn’t get the job.

And somewhere, in amongst all that, is a grand plan of God’s own design, that will end me up in the right place.

As long as that right place is at home, scrounging off my mother.

A smouldering wick

On Tuesday night, a new small group started up at our church, with me (somehow) at the helm. As we talked about church, and the Bible, I remembered something.

Why I work for the Church.

It was only a brief memory. It had something to do with helping people grow to love the Bible. It had something to do with falling in step with people who weren't quite sure of their faith. It had something to do with the Incarnation, and sitting in someone's living room talking about what matters most.

It kinda got lost in the rigmarole of administration and powerpoints and services.

But on Tuesday night, I remembered.

'He won't break off a bent reed or put out a dying flame, but he will make sure that justice is done.'

Jesus had HIV, doncha know?

The news came to my attention today, that a South African pastor had opened a sermon with these words:

"Today I will start with a three-part sermon on: Jesus was HIV-positive."

Churches and religious leaders are up in arms that this pastor could be suggesting Jesus was sexually promiscuous. But this is the point. HIV doesn't definitely equal sexually promiscuous. What it does definitely equal is marginalised.

It's poor rhetoric, in the sense that people are going to focus on the problem of Jesus having HIV, and not to underlying point that the pastor was trying to make, and that is: Jesus identifies with the outcast. Those that society and the church don't want much to do with: tramps, gays, HIV sufferers, single mothers and gang-members - Jesus is right there in the middle.

Thankfully, not every religious leader in South Africa has dismissed it:

"Amid the controversy, Reverend Siyabulela Gidi, the director of South African Council of Churches in the Western Cape, has come out in support of Pastor Skosana, saying his standpoint is theologically correct.

"What Pastor Skosana is clearly saying is that Christ at this point in time would be on the side of the people who are HIV-positive - people who are being sidelined by the very church that is attacking him," the Anglican priest says.

"Pastor Skosana has fortunately got the country talking, he's got the world talking and that is what theology is all about."

Well put.

Numbers

I like numbers. They're fun. Especially when people like Futility Closet make them fun. However, I'm pretty useless with them. I can just about find my way around a Sudoku, but only if it's 'normal'.

I like to see how many people come to my blog, because, well, I'm an egotist and I like attention. There have been times in the last few months where I have had 80 readers a day. It came to my attention recently that this had significantly slipped to a much less enjoyable figure to read.

And so, in my rather imitable way, I got thinking. What is it about numbers that denote success? Even if the venture was never meant to be defined by numbers? I've mentioned before on this blog (admittedly in rather crass fashion) that I wasn't really writing for anyone but myself, and the fact that people were reading this rubbish went to my head.

So, I again came to the conclusion that it was about writing for the sake of writing - nothing more, and nothing less. And just as I was thinking that, I got an email that told me I wasn't in the final of the Christian Blog Awards. And you know what? That's OK.

It made me wonder about church as well. What is it about church that means we measure success by numbers? Why not discipleship? Why not nurture of our brothers and sisters? Why not how a community lives out lives of worship? I suppose those things are difficult to quantify, while 'how many people turn up on a Sunday' is an easier target. Numbers are so easy, huh?

Bigotry

I can't believe I've managed to get the word 'bigotry' as the title. One of favourite words in the English language. Just rolls off the tongue, no?

Anyway, I read the Bible, so I forget that people like this actually exist:

So I'm pootling around the office, sorting out a few things, and the 'phone rings:

"Hi, my name's [unintelligible Scottish accent] and I work for BBC London. I was just looking through the local papers to find some human interest stories to pad out silly season, because there's no real news happening, and wondered if you were still doing your Holiday at Home event?'*

"Er, no, it's already happened."

"Oh. Well, send us an email next year, maybe, and we'll see what we can do."

Oh, the life of a church worker. The glamour and fame of... BBC London.



*sentence may have paraphrased from her actual spiel.