A Sabbatical Update from London

It’s a gorgeous day here in this suburb of Carshalton, about 14 miles south of London. I always tell the Londoners that I bring the Texas sunshine with me–which is generally the case!  I understand, however, that we will probably get rain tonight and it will be considerably cooler by the weekend, with highs then in the 50’s.

Sunday is the beginning of the Queen’s Jubilee celebration here–on that day, it will mark the 60th anniversary of her coronation as Queen of England.  Although we tend to think of the monarchy as an outdated, archaic institution, there is something quite powerful about it as it gives a sense of continuity in the midst of constant change.  The family here will head to London to see the Queen’s Flotilla, where over 1000 boats will traverse the Thames in honor of this event.  My son, Jonathan, works from an office that overlooks the Thames, so we shall watch this in comfort and style!

I’ve spent the last two days touring London.  It took quite a bit longer than I had hoped to heal from my pre-sabbatical surgery. Starting this extensive travel just over two weeks after the surgery did not help, so it wasn’t until Monday that I was well enough to go.  During those tours, I heard over and over again from the tour guides something like this, “And this building was burned in a fire/bombed in WWII/destroyed by battle but was rebuilt in . . . “

Resilience–and a willingness to dig out yet one more time after yet one more time of destruction–have kept this place alive and vital.

For hours yesterday, I tramped up and down stairs, in and out of towers, limped over cobblestone streets, and read snippets of history as I explored the Tower of London.  Most of us think of it as a place of execution. People such as Anne Boleyn, wife of King Henry VIII and William Wallace, (AKA Mel Gibson in Braveheart) were indeed brought here for beheading or to be drawn and quartered.

But it was far more than that. Kings and Queens resided there, along with all those who would make the royal lives possible.  Coins were minted, food was grown, wild animals were kept for entertainment, armaments and artillery created and stored–all the things necessary for life.  AND, the people prayed.  I spent time in the 11th century chapel of St. John the Evangelist near the top of the White Tower in the middle of the whole complex. I could see the priests, royalty, and commoners coming to this space, right next to the primary royal living quarters, offering and receiving the sacraments, making their prayers, hoping for yet another day of life in their very uncertain worlds.

Nearby the Tower is the oldest church in London, All Hallows by the Tower, originally built in 675 AD!  The majority of it was destroyed in WWII, but  parts of the original building remain, and the church itself stays a strong force for Christian witness in this place.  I went to the crypt below the Sanctuary and prayed in the little chapel there, which dates from around 1280 AD.

Again, death and life–such power in knowing that.

I took a cruise on the Thames, hearing from the captain some of the history of the buildings and bridges around and over that river.  The Globe, the theater where Shakespeare presented many of his plays, has long since been burned–but a replica has been built. Twice a day, one of his many plays are presented.

Possibly the most important landmark in London is also a church, St. Paul’s Cathedral, designed by Sir Christopher Wren.  Sir Winston Churchill, that great statesman and leader of England during WWII, is said to have asked, after a night of major bombing  and much destruction by German aircraft, “Is St. Paul’s still standing?”  That symbol of faith helped keep the hope of the nation alive during that dreadful time.

Tomorrow, I hope to attend the noon Eucharist at Holy Trinity, Brompton. This is the church where a ministry called “ALPHA” began that has expanded around the world. ALPHA is a place for adults to come together around a meal, a short lecture and then discussion groups to explore the Christian faith in an open, ask-anything way.  Would love to see us implement this great ministry in Krum.

But today, on this sunny, beautiful day in London, I am writing, I am catching up on laundry (to see why that is necessary, read this part of my blog on how lightly I packed) and will go this afternoon to see my six-year-old grandson perform in a school play.  To become far more acquainted with my grandchildren (Joshua, six and Sami, four, here in London; Kate, nearly five, Wesley, two and baby Kinzie, six weeks, in NYC) has been great joy.  For me, this has been the hardest part of my calling as pastor.  As many other clergy have noted, we don’t get three day weekends, and the times that are often especially set aside as family days for many, such as Christmas and Easter, are our heaviest working times.  So I thank you, the good people of First UMC, Krum, for giving me this opportunity to spend these weeks with them, and for this time of rest, reflection and healing.

I miss you all a great deal.  I miss our worship, our conversations, our work and play together.  I ask you to stay faithful as I make the same request of myself.  We are called to be the light of Christ and light burns best and brightest when it is connected to others.

With all blessing,
Christy

Mystery Worship Four

Note:  this is part of an ongoing series.  Mystery Worship One is here;  Mystery Worship Two is here; Mystery Worship Three is here.

Sunday, May 20, 2012, brought me to the Chiltern Church,described on their website as an independent, evangelical church with a heritage from the Plymouth Brethren Church.  I chose this church for one simple reason: I could walk there.  Nearly every other church in the area is a good two mile hike over very hilly streets.  This one was a simple 1/2 mile stroll over fairly level ground.  Because I was walking, I wore fairly casual clothes, but not jeans, and walking shoes.  Dress was fine–church very casual.

The service turned out to be quite challenging for me, although I’ve not yet been able to pinpoint why.

The facility is located right in the middle of a very nice residential area and looks very much like the houses surrounding it, which makes sense as it was originally a house in the neighborhood. Only real difference is the larger front garden (I have become very British in my terms already here!) which is fully gravelled and could hold 12 cars.

According to the website, the service began at 10:45 and also that lots of provisions had been made for children and youth activity.  The service did actually begin at 10:47 and very much fulfilled the promise of paying attention to younger people.

I had arrived at 10:38, and was greeted warmly at the front door and handed a Bible along with printed announcements.  No bulletin or order of worship included.  The worship space could hold at most 120 people and was comfortably set up with movable chairs (wooden with small cushions).  No hymnals, screen placed with very good sight lines. I sat near the back on the far right–no aisle next to me, just a wall.

At 10:47, the worship leader, Barry, greeted us with a cheery “Good morning!” made several announcements and then invited us to stand.  At this point, the worship center was about 1/2 full, but within the next few moments, went to about 75 or 80% full.

Before the service started, a woman named Helen came over and introduced herself but other than that, people just talked with each other and paid no attention to me.

Music was lead by a worship team, but couldn’t see exactly what was there.  Definitely a keyboard, possibly percussion, and two voices, one male, the worship leader who wore a lapel microphone, and a female, whom I had to strain to see.  The sound was not well balanced–the female vocalist had inadequate amplification, and the worship leader’s voice had too much.  Words to songs were on screen–fine when I knew the tune, but, as usual, problematic when I don’t.

After the first song the leader, Barry, seated everyone and immediately launched into a long object lesson that was part children/part adult lesson using an arrow in a bottle to indicate how God leads when we make God first.  After that, we were told (not invited) to stand and to do the motions to “Our God is a Great Big God.”  I did stand but declined to do the motions.  After that song, the smaller children left for their time.  Barry told us we’d sing two more and then the youth would also be dismissed for their separate time.

During the songs, whose titles I can’t remember and whose lyrics were unfamiliar to me, I began to consider the words of many of our hymns and worship songs and how confusing and strange they must seem to the person who has not heard this kind of language for years.  I am beginning to think we should explain each song before we sing it so the words actually have meaning and purpose.

After the two songs, at 11:07, Barry went into a lengthy explanation of the purpose and meaning of prayer and then told us we should plan on praying aloud or silently or whatever seemed best for the next five to ten minutes.

I found myself getting alarmed by his explanation–what was going to expected of me? I really hate forced group prayer–times when I’ve been told “gather into groups of two or three and each of you offer prayers about such and such.”  Fortunately, that experience was not on the radar, and we just went quietly into a time of prayer.  The woman next to me was the first to speak verbally, and she uttered a lovely prayer of thanksgiving.  Several other women followed (maybe this is the only time their voices can be heard?) and then finally one male voice piped up.  Barry took it from there and closed it a few minutes later.  No Lord’s Prayer offered.

One more song, during which the offering was taken and the bags brought forward and handed, almost surreptitiously, to Barry. No formal presentation of the money to God, no words to indicate the act of offering being an act of worship.  Visitors were told they were under no obligation to give (I put in some cash anyway).

Barry seated us and then gave us a page number in our Bibles and read, quite exquisitely I must say, Matthew 4:1-10, the story of the temptation of Jesus.

At the point, 11:25, the minister, Dave Hitchcock, walked from the back and stepped up on the platform and behind the small lectern there.  He also offered a hearty “Good Morning” and then spent the next ten minutes talking about honoring someone who had been a long time servant of the church but who only leaving his ministry position and not the church.  Here is where the insider language became so challenging to me. He referred several times to Janet and what she would do and to Brian and how hard he had worked.  All true, all utterly incomprehensible to me and very dis-connecting.

Dave finally got to the message about 11:35.  On the screen was sinister black and white photo of a blurred man in the background holding out in front of him a large apple.  That image stayed the entire time of the message as the pastor spoke about our enemies.  The word “Enemies” was in large font to the right and top of the image, and the words Passion, Position and Possessions appeared in conjunction with the pastor’s explanation that the temptation of Jesus was along the line of the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh and the pride of life.

The message seemed to be well delivered, but lacked depth and good preparation time. Lots of illustrations, but never could quite figure out what he hoped would be the response.

He finished at 11:55 and Barry came up again to lead us in “Be Thou my Vision” with multiple stanzas I’ve never seen before. We were dismissed and invited to stay for coffee and I thought it was time to go, but suddenly, everyone sat down.  Dave came strolling down the center aisle.  Then people just turned to each other and began to talk.

A Pakistani woman seated next to me turned to me and introduced herself and we had a nice chat.  I asked why people didn’t get up at this point, and she seemed confused at the question.  A couple of others near me introduced themselves and then I decided to skip the coffee hour and head out.  As I neared the front entrance, the friendly greeter who had originally given me a Bible asked if I were a visitor and said “Would you please sign the visitors’ book so I don’t get in trouble?” He said it with a genuine, inviting smile, and I happily complied.  Another gentleman spoke with me for a few minutes and then as I left, the pastor was at the door and we chatted a few minutes.  After thanking him for the time of worship, I “outed” myself and told him who I was.  I may be reading a little too much into this, but he did seem to visibly cool when I mentioned I was a pastor.  Oh well.

Additional points:

The nearly invisible female vocalist was the only woman with any role in worship leadership.  This is not surprising given the theological heritage (Plymouth Brethren) of the church, but it had been a while since I’d been in a church where women were so invisible and it certainly spoke to me in an uncomfortable way.  I remember one time several years ago at the church where I serve when we also had a female director of music.  On one particular day, the liturgist was also a female, as were the greeters and acolytes.  One visitor, who never returned, mentioned, “Gosh, this church only has women in leadership.”  Not the case, but it certainly looked like it.  We need to watch the message given by those in visible leadership roles.

There was no congregational response to the reading of God’s Word. This is normal to non-liturgical churches, but I noticed how much it bothered me not to stand for the Gospel reading and also not to acknowledge that reading with words of thanksgiving.

I was also intrigued to note that while the worship leader got the more flexible lapel microphone, the pastor had to be content with a fixed microphone on a stand.  No moving around for him!  I just have a feeling this is also part of a hidden power play there–something was just wrong.

As for Dave, the minister: One of the things he did was show the “Wrong Worship CD Infomercial,” a funny parody of contemporary worship songs where the focus goes from God totally to self.  This video has been around for a while and is quite well done.  But it is over three minutes long, and needed to be edited to less then 90 seconds.  Just took too long. Dave was clearly quite unsure about the technology before showing the video, and either needs to learn to use it, or to make sure that whoever is going to be using it knows what is going on–and how to edit down lengthy videos.  By the time the video was over, I think many had attention elsewhere.

As I listened to Dave, I also noticed he told several self-deprecating jokes and poked a lot of fun at himself.  Normally, when I either do that or am in a space where it is done, there’s a lot of genuine audience response and good connection built.  But something just seemed very off here.  I have to be careful here and respect that I’m worshipping with a lot of reserved Brits, but  . . . it almost seemed as though there was some floating hostility toward Dave. At the very least, an unwillingness to enter into the story with him.  I remember feeling very, very troubled by it.

Very simply, I personally would not return there, primarily because of the vibes I picked up.  I wish I could be more explicit about it, but can’t find the words to explain it other than I was spiritually uncomfortable there.  This past Sunday’s venture brought me to the Chiltern Church, http://www.chilternchurch.org.uk/, described on their website as an independent, evangelical church with a heritage from the Plymouth Brethren Church.  I chose this church for one simple reason: I could walk there.  Nearly every other church in the area is a good two mile hike over very hilly streets.  This one was a simple 1/2 mile stroll over fairly level ground.  Because I was walking, I wore fairly casual clothes, but not jeans, and walking shoes.  Dress was fine–church very casual.

The church is located right in the middle of a very nice residential area and looks very much like the houses surrounding it. Only real difference is the larger car park (I have become very British in my terms already here!) which is gravelled and could hold 12 cars.

According to the website, the service began at 10:45 and also that lots of provisions had been made for children and youth activity.  The service did actually begin at 10:47 and very much fulfilled the promise of paying attention to younger people.

I had arrived at 10:38, and was greeted warmly at the front door and handed a Bible along with printed announcements.  No bulletin or order of worship included.  The worship space could hold at most 120 people and was comfortably set up with movable chairs (wooden with small cushions).  No hymnals, screen placed with very good sight lines. I sat near the back on the far right–no aisle next to me, just a wall.

At 10:47, the worship leader greeted us with a cheery “Good morning!” made several announcements and then invited us to stand.  At this point, the worship center was about 1/2 full, but within the next few moments, went to about 75 or 80% full.

Before the service started, a woman named Helen came over and introduced herself but other than that, people just talked with each other and paid no attention to me.

Music was led by a worship team, but couldn’t see exactly what was there.  Definitely a keyboard, possibly percussion, and two voices, one male, the worship leader who wore a lapel microphone, and a female, whom I had to strain to see.  The sound was not well-balanced–the female vocalist had inadequate amplification, and the worship leader’s voice had too much.  Words on-screen–fine when I knew the tune, but, as usual, problematic when I don’t.

After the first song the leader, Barry, seated everyone and immediately launched into a long object lesson that was part children/part adult lesson.  After that, we were told (not invited) to stand and to do the motions to “Our God is a Great Big God.”  I did stand but declined to do the motions.  After that song, the smaller children left for their time.  Barry told us we’d sing two more and then the youth would also be dismissed for their separate time.

During the songs, whose titles I can’t remember and whose lyrics were unfamiliar to me, I began to consider the words of many of our hymns and worship songs and how confusing and strange they must seem to the person who has not heard this kind of language for years.  I am beginning to think we should explain each song before we sing it so the words actually have meaning and purpose.

After the two songs, at 11:07, Barry went into a long explanation of the purpose and meaning of prayer and then told us we should plan on praying aloud or silently or whatever seemed best for the next five to ten minutes.

I found myself getting alarmed by his explanation–what was going to expected of me? I really hate forced group prayer–times when I’ve been told “gather into groups of two or three and each of you offer prayers about such and such.”  Fortunately, that experience was not on the radar, and we just went quietly into a time of prayer.  The woman next to me was the first to speak verbally, and she uttered a lovely prayer of thanksgiving.  Several other women followed (maybe this is the only time their voices can be heard?) and then finally one male voice piped up.  Barry took it from there and closed it a few minutes later.  No Lord’s Prayer offered.

One more song, during which the offering was taken and the bags brought forward and handed, almost under the table, to Barry. No formal presentation of the money to God, no words to indicate the act of offering being an act of worship.  Visitors were told they were under no obligation to give (I put in some cash anyway).

Barry seated us and then gave us a page number in our Bibles and read, quite exquisitely I must say, Matthew 4:1-10, the story of the temptation of Jesus.

At the point, 11:25, the minister, Dave Hitchcock walked forward and stepped up on the platform and behind the small lectern there.  He also offered a hearty “Good Morning” and then spent the next ten minutes talking about honoring someone who had been a long time servant of the church.  Here is where the insider language became so challenging to me. He referred several times to Janet and what she would do and to Brian and how hard he had worked.  All true, all utterly incomprehensible to me and very dis-connecting.

Dave finally got to the message about 11:35.  On the screen was sinister black and white photo of a blurred man in the background holding out in front of him a large apple.  That image stayed the entire time of the message as the pastor spoke about our enemies.  The word “Enemies” was in large font to the right and top of the image, and the words Passion, Position and Possessions appeared in conjunction with the pastor’s explanation that the temptation of Jesus was along the line of the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh and the pride of life.

The message seemed to be well delivered, but lacked depth and good preparation time. Lots of illustrations, but never could quite figure out what he hoped would be the response.

He finished at 11:55 and Barry came up again to lead us in “Be Thou my Vision” with multiple stanzas I’ve never seen before. We were dismissed and invited to stay for coffee and I thought it was time to go, but suddenly, everyone sat down.  Dave came strolling down the center aisle.  Then people just turned to each other and began to talk.

A Pakistani woman seated next to me turned to me and introduced herself and we had a nice chat.  I asked why people didn’t get up at this point, and she seemed confused at the question.  A couple of others near me introduced themselves and then I decided to skip the coffee hour and head out.  As I neared the front entrance, the friendly greeter who had originally given me a Bible asked if I were a visitor and said “Would you please sign the visitors’ book so I don’t get in trouble?” He said it with a genuine, inviting smile, and I happily complied.  Another gentleman spoke with me for a few minutes and then as I left, the pastor was at the door and we chatted a few minutes.  After thanking him for the time of worship, I “outed” myself and told him who I was.  I may be reading a little too much into this, but he did seem to visibly cool when I mentioned I was a pastor.  Oh well.

Additional points:

The nearly invisible female vocalist was the only woman with any role in worship leadership.  This is not surprising given the theological heritage (Plymouth Brethren) of the church, but it had been a while since I’d been in a church where women were so invisible and it certainly spoke to me in an uncomfortable way.  I remember one time several years ago at the church where I serve when we also had a female director of music.  On one particular day, the liturgist was also a female, as were the greeters and acolytes.  One visitor, who never returned, mentioned, “Gosh, this church only has women in leadership.”  Not the case, but it certainly looked like it.  We need to watch the message given by those in visible leadership roles.

There was no congregational response to the reading of God’s Word. This is normal to non-liturgical churches, but I noticed how much it bothered me not to stand for the Gospel reading and also not to acknowledge that reading with words of thanksgiving.

I was also intrigued to note that while the worship leader got the easier to use lapel mic, the pastor has to be content with a fixed mic on a stand.  No moving around for him!  I just have a feeling this is also part of a hidden power play there–something was just wrong.

As for Dave, the minister: One of the things he did was show the “Wrong Worship CD Infomercial,” a funny parody of contemporary worship songs where the focus goes from God totally to self.  This video has been around a while and is quite well done.  But it is over three minutes long, and needed to be edited to less then 90 seconds.  Just took too long. He was clearly quite unsure about the technology before showing the video, and either needs to learn to use it, or to make sure that whoever is going to be using it knows what is going on–and how to edit down lengthy videos.  By the time the video was over, I think many had minds elsewhere.

As I listened to Dave, I also noticed he told several self-depreciating jokes and poked a lot of fun at himself.  Normally, when I either do that or am in a space where it is done, there’s a lot of genuine audience response and good connection built.  But something just seemed very off here.  I have to be careful here and respect that I’m worshipping with a lot of reserved Brits, but  . . . it almost seemed as though there was some floating hostility toward Dave. At the very least, an unwillingness to enter into the story with him.  I remember feeling very, very troubled by it.

Very simply, I personally would not return there, primarily because of the vibes I picked up.  I wish I could be more explicit about it, but can’t find the words to explain it other than I was spiritually uncomfortable there.

Have We Lost Our Core Purpose?

Rev. Tom Griffith recently wrote an article about the structure of The United Methodist Church where he states that the core business of the church is NOT “making disciples of Jesus Christ.”  He writes,

If we truly believe in the Wesleyan concept of God working through God’s prevenient grace that brings a penitent to the point where s/he is ready to accept God’s saving grace, we must admit that we are not the ones who are doing the “saving” or creating of new disciples. That is God’s job!

Griffith goes on to say this:

Rather, our core business, from no later than 1840 on, has been the creation of worshiping congregations or communities in every possible geographic community.

He also states,

It was the job of those congregations, not to “save” peoples’ souls but to give to those whom God had “saved” a place where they could live in Christian community and grow in their discipleship.

This is a pretty radical statement, and it makes huge sense to me.  I personally have wrestled for years with the question, “How do I make a disciple of Jesus Christ?” No matter how I parse the question, I end up with the same answer: I can seek to live as a disciple, but for me to “make” a disciple indicates a power I just don’t have over the life of another, nor is it a power I should have.  That is in God’s hands–I am a participant in that task but not the primary mover.  I do not save people; I offer them a way to hear and respond to the saving grace of Jesus.

I am in the midst of writing a book about the church as garden, and am more and more aware that it is my job to create good soil where the seed, AKA “the disciple,” may grow, reproduce and serve others, but I myself can’t make the seed do its job.  I can only create the best place for it to live into its potential.

The actual growth of the seed is very much in the hands of God and is also affected by multiple outward factors, such as weather, systemic diseases, unexpected pests and dozens of other things that are out of my control.  My primary job is to provide rich and supportive soil so the seed can grow well. That’s what the worshiping community can and should do.

I look afresh at Matthew 28:17-20, here from The Message translation.  After the resurrection, the eleven disciples are looking for Jesus.

The moment they saw him they worshiped him. Some, though, held back, not sure about worship, about risking themselves totally. Jesus, undeterred, went right ahead and gave his charge: “God authorized and commanded me to commission you: Go out and train everyone you meet, far and near, in this way of life, marking them by baptism in the threefold name: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then instruct them in the practice of all I have commanded you. I’ll be with you as you do this, day after day after day, right up to the end of the age.

Jesus has the authority–and gave a responsibility to those who followed him closely: “Go out and train everyone.” That is what Methodists have historically done by our methods. That’s what makes us Methodist.  We train those who are responding to that glorious prevenient grace by giving them a place to grow, thrive, and reproduce, and in so doing, feed the world.  When we are not doing that, we have lost our way. And that is best done by the local connection where people can indeed say to one another, “How goes it with your soul?”

Out of these worshiping communities has come some of the greatest good offered to humanity.  Hospitals and other significant health care movements, schools and universities, food and clothing for those who need it, political action to address systemic societal injustice, and courageous voices to speak prophetically about sin and oppression.

The problems come when those great goods become the reason for the worshiping communities to exist, i.e., when the local communities have purpose only to keep the things outside the immediate community alive.  When that happens, the core purpose has been breached and we find ourselves desperately trying to keep the lifeboats in working order because the mother ship is rapidly sinking.  Lifeboats are wonderful–but we really need a healthy mother ship as the base.

To touch yet once more then, on the structure of The United Methodist Church, here may be the problem:  the function of the lifeboats have taken priority over the health of the main ship.  There are times when, as pastor, I find I must actually protect the congregation from yet one more initiative by a lifeboat ministry because to support it means taking a plank out of the side of the main ship, i.e., the local worshiping community. Eventually, we’re all going to sink.

Can we wait for the next General Conference to address this, or expect that those who benefit most from lifeboat ministries to change their focus?  Perhaps it is up to those who have been given opportunity to serve the core purpose of the church, the local communities of worship, to take a powerful stand for our health and vitality, while retaining our holy responsibility to the larger connection.

London Schools, Uniforms and Innocence

I spent yesterday afternoon at a programme (I’m working on my Britishisms!) put on by the fifth form girls, 10 year olds, at a fairly posh but not absolutely first-rate British public school for girls, aged 3 to 18.  I’ve learned that is called public because anyone who pays tuition can get in, but in the US, we would call this private.  The school is girls only–their brothers generally attend an all-boys prep school about four blocks away.  Most schools here, and about all tuition-paying schools, are sex segregated.

As is also the case with nearly every school in the UK, the students wear uniforms. For this school, the youngest girls wear loose-fitting checked lavender and white dresses.  They have lavender jumpers (those are “sweaters” to the uninitiated), lavender blazers with the school crest embroidered on them, black maryjane  style shoes and white knee socks.  The fifth form girls who put on this program had graduated to lavender and white checked button-down shirts, navy a-line skirts hitting several inches above the knee, and the same jumper, blazer, shoes and socks as the younger girls.  For sports (i.e., PE, with their favorite sport being “rounders,” similar to softball, I think), they put on navy shorts.  All have identical bags in which to carry their books and other school needs.

The girls’ hair is done in ponytails, long braids or quickly french-braided.  A few have short, easy-care haircuts.  Those with nappy hair have it done in simple styles appropriate for their hair type or culture.  Because swimming is part of their weekly sports programme, hair is all easy care.

Katie, the ten-year-old cousin of my two grandsons, and whom I’ve just adopted as one of my own and who is also carefully teaching me proper British English, hand-delivered an invitation for me several days ago to attend the performance.

I walked into the hall just a few moments before the performance was to begin. I was immediately greeted by several of the girls, who had no idea who I was, but who knew it was important to show hospitality, and offered tea, coffee and biscuits (cookies, you Americans!).  They showed me where I could be seated comfortably and watch the show.

The hall was small, perhaps 25’X40’, with tables and chairs set up on one side for the visitors, and the girls seated closely together on the concrete floor on the other side.  No air conditioning, and the day was warm, but windows were opened for ventilation.

The students put on an old-fashioned talent show, with individual and small group acts interspersed with group songs where they invited the audience to sing with them.  We were treated to poetry, originally written drama, duets and trios singing current hit tunes, modern dance, clarinet and violin solos and a lovely piece (Pomp and Circumstance in honor of the Queen’s Jubilee)  with eight recorders supplemented with the clarinet.  One girl, who was a dead ringer for Angela Cartwright when she starred in the original Sound of Music, sang a solo with the voice of an angel.

It was beautifully done with only minor technology glitches and presented with much poise.  They had put this together in less than two weeks.

There was no giggling, silliness, shoving, or undue restlessness, especially considering the girls were sitting on that hard concrete floor.

And they all  (about 50 of them) looked like ten year old girls.  Really.  No pimp-inspired clothing although several were in costume appropriate for their parts.  No bare bellies, short shorts, adult make-up, artificially colored hair, or any other pretensions to puberty or young-adulthood.

They just looked like girls.  Because of their uniforms, their faces were unusually distinct and easy to distinguish from one another. When the programme was over, Katie immediately came to my seat and offered to fetch me another cup of tea (“not white, please” — I don’t like milk in my tea which is how it is usually served here). Several others passed the biscuits again.  All the girls came over and talked to adults they didn’t know–somewhat shyly, but very sweetly.

Later, when riding home with Katie and her seven year old sister, Grace, I asked them further about uniforms and makeup issues.  They love the uniforms–no worries about what to wear. They delightedly told me that no make up was permitted until 11th form, when uniforms are discarded and more facial adornment is OK.

They could just be little girls, playing sports, going swimming, moving freely (even in skirts–all girls do wear skirts to school here), keeping their hair back and out of their eyes to free their concentration, concentrating on  their studies, and slowly growing up.

They are also sheltered from multi-media.  Eleven year olds who want to get into a good-quality private secondary school (OK, it’s really public because there is no tuition, but it is called private because enrollment is highly selective) must take a set of exams and score quite well on them to qualify.  If they don’t make the cut, they can stay at their current school where their parents will continue to pay tuition, or venture into the low quality normal schools for the rest of their required education.

Because of those exams, the fifth-formers are employing tutors and are spending longer hours in homework and preparation. This is serious, and they know it. They are not going to waste time on TV.  As a result, fewer of their values are being formed by the media, and more in the schools.  Most of these types of schools are Christian-based, although many of the students are Muslim.  The children learn their prayers, basic Christian theology (non-Christian parents have no expectations that their own faith traditions will be taught or observed), good manners and responsibility to the larger community.

One major result: little girls get to be little girls here for much longer than they do in the US.  With all the challenges of living here, and there are many, the Brits may have this one up on us.

We hurt our children by over exposure TV and video.  Our children lose innocence too soon and also see their creative impulses disrupted by too much pre-packaged entertainment.  I doubt that my voice will change anything here, but I did need to say this. We in the US are going to pay dearly for letting sex and violence saturated media rear the next generation.

Mystery Worship Number Three

Note:  this is part of an ongoing series.  Mystery Worship One is here and Mystery Worship Two is here.

 

For Sunday, May 13, my first Sunday in the UK, I had intended to go to Trinity Church Sutton,  but discovered that they were combining services with Sutton Baptist Church, and the Anglican St. Nicholas Church. The three churches, all located almost next to each other, have combined services monthly in the evenings, and yearly during the main service time (10:30) on Christian Aid Sunday. Sunday, May 13, Mother’s Day in the US, was Christian Aid Sunday in the UK.

The three churches that combined–St. Nicholas, Sutton Baptist, Trinity Church Sutton:

Curious, I prevailed upon my daughter-in-law to get me to that combined service. She knows the area well as it is near the school my grandchildren attend. It’s about two miles from their house–in time, I hope to be able to walk that far without even thinking about it, but am nowhere near able to do that right now.

Parking in the UK is an ongoing nightmare, but she knew of a parking garage a couple of blocks away. I walked up a steep hill and crossed two busy streets to get to the building.

I arrived at the Baptist Church, the host church, four minutes early. Three different people welcomed me, one at the door, another with a bulletin and a third at the back of the sanctuary. I asked that one if there was any special place I should sit and she said “no,” so found a spot near the back in a nearly full pew.  The sanctuary seats 220 at maximum capacity. By 10 minutes into worship, we were at maximum with the three churches together.

About ten “juniors” (eleven and under) were dismissed to Junior Church shortly into the service.  With perhaps four older teens and a few parents, the rest of the congregation were a lovely ethnic mix with the vast majority over 65.

A complete bulletin contained everything needed for worship, all prayers, words to hymns, responses, etc.  Scripture references were in the bulletin, but not the Scriptures themselves.  When the readers prepared to read, they did announce the page in the pew Bibles, but there were no Bibles available.

The service began with a greeting from the Baptist pastor (I missed his name and it was not in the bulletin), and an explanation of the day.  He particularly noted how the offering for Christian Aid day would work, and that church members who put their offering in their own church envelopes would find such funds sent to their own church treasuries.

The hymns were familiar but the tunes were not, with no hymnals for guidance.  However, a nice organ and some great congregational singing (no choir) helped.

We focused on Sierra Leone. We heard a great summary of that mineral-rich but poverty-stricken nation.  One of the Scripture readers was herself from Sierra Leone and it was with great pleasure that I listened to the reading of God’s holy word from her accented English.

The pastor brought an excellent fourteen minute message on the question: “Does belief in God make it easier or harder to resolve human suffering?”  With the acknowledgment that such belief makes it harder, he explained that we are to serve in partnership with a good God who identifies with the poor and suffering and to take seriously our responsibility as people of comfort to do whatever we can to relieve that suffering in the name of Jesus.

A series of prayers and responses followed and then the Lord’s Prayer, printed in the bulletin in Krio, the language of Sierra Leone. We were all encouraged to pray that prayer in our own native tongues.  “Simply splendid” as the British say.

The offering was taken during the final hymn and we were dismissed.  Then . . .  well here is the major problem with a combined service. Each person thinks that all unknown persons are from one of the other churches. Not one person spoke with me or even met my eye.  I wandered around a while, trying to look lost and lonely (not hard at that point) and no one offered a hand or help.

I looked for the pastor, but he had quickly abandoned his post at the exit area.

Coffee, tea, juice and cookies (biscuits here!) were being served and I’ve no doubt that I could have partaken, but I honestly wanted to see if an invitation would be forthcoming without me making the initial move. Nope.

I looked for the restroom and noted that it was unisex with a glass front door.  Glad I could wait.

I left, unnoticed and unnamed.

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Other Critiques:

The Anglican Church website contains almost no information at all.  Would guess that this is very much a dying parish.  Trinity Church is actually a part of a denomination formed by connecting the United Reformed, http://www.urc.org.uk/  and British Methodist http://www.methodist.org.uk/ denominations together.  I haven’t figured this out yet, as they are also many Methodist Churches that are not part of the merger, I think.  Hope to find out more in a few weeks.

The Baptist preacher sounded just like a US United Methodist in his affirmation of present day kingdom of heaven work. I did not hear any of the types of messages more likely to be coming from a Southern Baptist Church, such as emphasis on individual salvation and the blood of Jesus.  Not at all what I expected.  There was no communion service this Sunday so I don’t know how that might have worked with the three churches.  It is clear they have worked together for some time and publish a joint parish magazine several times a year.  Would have liked to see a copy but didn’t find a place to pick up any literature.

Much insider language used.  With the way people were introduced and the assumption of much common knowledge, it appears that they are not in the habit of having guests or visitors.  This is something all churches need to watch especially during announcement time:  not everyone knows what is going on, and there needs to be a way to get information out that doesn’t leave the outsiders even more on the outside.

Speaking of announcement time: It seemed to me that nearly ten minutes were given over to it–very much distracted from worship.  But there really wasn’t much worship.  It was more an informative time.  We learned about Sierra Leone and learned how we might help, and I appreciate that.  But I saw no movement toward the transcendence of God, or acknowledgement of the Holy Presence.

The person who does the first read on my newspaper articles and offers important critiques asked this:

Does the lack of personal attention and responsiveness to you cause a deflation in your experience there or does the service itself carry the day?  For some people like me, it is the whole package deal that matters with the sermon standing out as the culmination of my experience.

This is an important question and deserves reflection.  How much does it matter to make some sort of personal connection within a worship environment?  I suspect much depends upon the assumptions we bring with ourselves when we go into worship. A number of years ago, I attended Mass at the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, France.  I had no expectation of being greeted or making connection with anyone there–I just wanted to experience the Mass in that place.  I also had no expectation of going back or being united with a worshipping community where we would be doing the work of growing to maturity in Christ in connection with one another.  And that is the crux of this:  living as a Christian is not a “long ranger” experience–to some degree, it must be done in community where we can sharpen one another–and learn to forgive one another.

I’m essentially a deep introvert, and have had to teach myself how to walk with confidence into a place where I know no one. It doesn’t come naturally. Those with wonderfully extroverted personalities have never met strangers, and can make friends within seconds no matter where they are.  It is different for those on the other end of that personality spectrum.  A welcoming hand means a lot.  And that just didn’t happen here, although I seriously doubt it was by intent.  It’s just that no one thought about it–no one considered what would happen to the stranger who decided to show up that day.

All churches need to periodically re-evaluate the welcome and insider/outsider messages offered to strangers and help close the cracks that we are often simply overlook.

London, Sunday Evening

It’s been a cold, somewhat draggy day here.  Never past 50, overcast, damp.  Typical English weather.  I read and wrote all afternoon, and did some laundry.  The boys finally went outside to play, having exhausted their creativity inside.  No sweaters (jumpers here), no jackets, just t-shirts in this weather.  I think London children are tougher.

About 6:30, the doorbell rang and Ian, Rocio, Katie and Grace trooped in.  After their sweetness of keeping the boys last night, Adriana fixed dinner for all of us.  Roast chicken and pork, roasted sweet potatoes, white potatoes and carrots, huge fresh salad, freshly made guacamole–the usual extremely healthy feast fit for royalty that Adriana seems to be able to do with so little effort.  All for nine hungry people who enjoyed a good meal and conversation.

Rocio and I jumped on the clean-up. Other side to a meal like this:  lots of dirty pots and bowls, but we made pretty swift work of it, freeing Adriana for a few minutes.

I knew that Rocio and Ian were having trouble with their car, and it turns out it won’t even start.  Jonathan transported them back and forth (they live about 1 1/2 miles apart) and Adriana may need to take the girls to school in the morning  (their all-girls school is fairly near the boys’ prep school) or they will take the train in–just a quick hop by train for them.  No one thinks twice about helping out the other–it’s as natural as breathing for this very connected family system here.

Katie, the 10 year old, and I have become quite close.  She is teaching me “propah” British enunciation (she speaks beautifully–such things are carefully taught in the better schools here), and I am teaching her about the life of the mind and scholarly investigation and also enlightening her about teen girls in the USA.  Nice trade-off that we are both enjoying.  She’s invited me to a special presentation at her school on Thursday.  I will attend.  I’ve decided that two more grandchildren are fine with me.

Sami is having a meltdown.  Just too much happening this weekend.  School will be good for all concerned tomorrow.  Jonathan has to go to Madrid, Abu Dhabi, Berlin and some other place this week, and he’s dreading it but he’s helping get the kids to bed, will pack and be out of the house by 6:15 am.

And I continue to think about church, about garden, about fruitfulness, and wonder if I’ll ever heal from my surgery.  An ordinary day in this household.

Sunday Mornings Near London

It’s a rare quiet morning here in this household. The two boys spent the night with their aunt and uncle and cousins.  Jonathan and Adriana attended a formal dinner party and dance last night and are using this very, very rare morning away from the kids to sleep in.  Sami, the youngest, is extremely light sensitive and wakes the moment the sun comes up–and that is very, very early here, right now around 5 am.  Blackout drapes help, but nothing can stop some light from penetrating the room and awakening him.

I also wake early here, and use those early morning hours to read and pray.  Soon, I hope to add long, vigorous walks to that, but am just not able to do that yet.

Today, I shall be one of the few around here to attend a place of worship. There is a small independent church not too far from here, and I shall indeed walk, albeit slowly, to join them for a 10:45 am service.

I have spent a lot of time with Adriana’s friends here–mostly parents of the other boys of the prep school they attend.  A number of them were here yesterday, choosing to stay and chat with one another during Joshua’s birthday party.  Watching them, by the way, has led me to develop what I suspect is a near-universal principle: The Law of Inverse Attention.  In other words, the more parents in attendance, the less attention is actually paid to the children as the adults are so relieved to be talking to other adults for a while that they completely tune out and/or ignore their children’s misbehaviors.

Anyway, I’ve been in some conversation with them, all in their late 20′s to early 40′s, all highly educated, most multi-lingual, few actually born here in England, but transplants, as are Jonathan and Adriana, from multiple other nations. A goodly number are from Muslim backgrounds, quite a few from Roman Catholic.  None really practice anything.  The prep school is Christian, and the boys learn prayers and some basic Christian doctrine (and the Muslim parents have no problem with this nor do they demand equal teaching on their own religious traditions), but the parents chose it for the quality of the education offered there, not for its spiritual base.

They really don’t care.  They are good people, conscientious citizens, accomplished professionals, love their children (even as they ignore them!), and spiritually unconcerned.  Simple as that.  It just doesn’t matter.

That’s the world of the future.  Very concerning.