Oh what fun we had, but, did it really turn out bad?
All I learnt at school, was how to bend – not break – the rules
Oh what fun we had but at the time it seemed so bad,
Trying different ways to make a difference to the days.

They say that storytelling is an art. I say that storytelling is as natural as breathing air.

After a busy weekend, workmates gather around the water-cooler to recount how their trip to the football went. A daughter rings her mum to tell her all about her child’s first day at school. Neighbours meet in the street and talk about the delays and problems caused by the local roadworks. Friends tell of relationship problems involving pain and hurt. Holidays remembered. Concerts shared. Tears shed. Laughter at how foolish we can be.

Stories. Stories. Stories.

I remember being told as a child to stop telling stories – implying that I was lying or making something up. But most of our stories are true. Most of our stories are a reflection of our lives, of what has happened to us, of what we’ve achieved.

I tell stories every Sunday through my sermons, every tea-time I share what I’ve done with my day, to my son I recall what life was like back in the day.

In my ministry I hear stories about the dramatic impact God has on people’s lives.

Stories. Stories. Stories.

This last weekend I visited the Burnley Mechanics (the theatre venue not the car repair emporium) to see Suggs: My life story in words and music. Suggs is the lead singer with the iconic 1980’s pop group Madness, and taking time out from his radio, TV and band commitments he is touring the UK to tell his story. Wistfully, humorously, honestly, he tells his story, interspersed with some of the bands hits. It all began – he says – because he turned 50, his kids left home and the cat died!

Stories. Stories. Stories.

The gospel is full of stories. They are our primary interaction with the Word of God. They draw us in, they challenge us, they comfort us, they disturb us. And just like with his Son, God loves our story. We read in Mark 1:

And a voice from heaven said, “You are my dearly loved Son, and you bring me great joy.”

What is amazing is that we bring great joy to God as well. Lives lived faithful for God bring him great joy. Even more amazingly, such is his grace, lives lived unfaithfully for God bring him great joy too. God wants to touch our lives with his love. He goes out of his way to win our hearts – he goes via The Cross. His story is the most amazing, the most compelling, the most welcoming. It says,

“The time promised by God has come at last!” he announced. “The Kingdom of God is near! Repent of your sins and believe the Good News!”

Tell God your story.

Happy days

It was recently Parents Evening.

And with our son at a very critical stage of his education we went along keen to hear how he was getting on and how we can best help prepare him for his forthcoming exams. We were very pleased with his progress. We were more impressed with his positive attitude and the potential that the teachers saw in him. There are some rough edges along the way, but none that can’t be smoothed out before the exams start. Hard Work. Hard Work. Hard Work. That was the message that came up time after time.

We went on to meet one of our sons teachers (whose name and subject will remain anonymous to protect the innocent) who spoke very encouragingly about his achievements. Towards the end of our allocated slot I asked the innocuous question: “Which approach should we take? Should our son have a lie-in on Sunday mornings to compensate for all the hard work he’s putting in, or should he come to church?”

Without a moment’s hesitation the teacher replied: “Oh, definitely, he should be at church. In fact, Rev Chappell, all his friends in class have been telling me what a legend you are!”

Now I know the word ‘legend’ is bandied around too lightly these days, but under the circumstances I thought it was the appropriate word to use!

We like to have our ego’s massaged. We like to be well thought of, to be admired. But with respect comes responsibility. Twice this has caught my attention in the past couple of days and made me think about this whole issue.

Some people think Luis Suarez is a legend. He’s discovered – in the harshest possible way – that with respect comes responsibility and he fell far short of what was expected of him. To behave with dignity and respect for others is part and parcel of being a legend. To extend the hand of reconciliation and forgiveness is vital. But you also have to behave with dignity and respect for yourself.

And this I didn’t know about Whitney Houston. Am I the only one not to know of her battle with drink and drugs? I wasn’t a big fan of hers, but she made good records and had a natural talent. I thought she just hadn’t recorded much in recent years and so was out of the spotlight. So it was a tremendous shock to hear of her unexpected death on Saturday, for she certainly was a legend. But she had few ‘real’ friends? She had alcohol problems? She had drug and prescription medication addiction? This I never knew. We can’t be a legend to others and not to ourselves.

One man who was a legend was Jesus. I know Mark’s gospel is only forty-five verses into its story, but by the time Mark chapter 2 comes along Jesus is a legend. People are flocking to hear him speak, to be refreshed, renewed and revitalised by his sheer presence. He has what it takes. He’s got dignity. He’s got respect. He’s full of grace. He’s aware of everyone around him. He knows people’s needs. He knows people’s thoughts.

And more than that, he could see potential in others. It wasn’t all about him. And where he saw hope and belief he reinforced it by acknowledging it. Bold belief.  Courageous faith.

“Son, I forgive your sins.”
“Get up. Pick up your stretcher and go home.”

God still speaks to us today. When others would seek to condemn us or put us down he picks us up. He heals, forgives, wipes away our tears – he makes us legends. Isn’t it about time we started behaving like one?

Happy days

Doesn’t it annoy you when people don’t do what you say? It does me.

You tell them, when you’re using the photocopier only do 19 copies in sort mode as it causes a log jam anything over 20. Then there you are, in the middle of your sermon, or worse, watching a football match, and your phone goes. It Agnes from the Bible Group: “Just trying to do 30 copies of the order of service for the Summer Bible Revival Meeting and the photocopier’s jammed. Can you sort it?” AHHHHHHHH!

But, on the other hand, how good do you feel when someone does exactly what you ask. It’s Youth Club Friday night. The following day it’s the Monthly Coffee Morning. Even though you’ve asked the Youth Club to tidy up after themselves you know it’s going to look like a bomb site. Then when you get there – can you believe it – it’s spotless! How good is that feeling?

Which one do you like the best? (At this point Harry Hill would shout ‘FIGHT!’)

I ask that because both those scenario’s occurred in today’s gospel reading.

A leper came to him, begging on his knees, “If you want to, you can cleanse me.” Deeply moved, Jesus put out his hand, touched him, and said, “I want to. Be clean.”

Jesus dismissed him with strict orders: “Say nothing to anyone.” But as soon as the man was out of earshot, he told everyone he met what had happened, spreading the news all over town.

In many ways this reading blows me away. Because here I discover the God who wants to do miraculous things in my life. And yet… What about those times when I want God to do something and nothing materialises? Am I not asking the right way? Am I not asking for the right thing? Am I not moving Jesus compassionately enough? Is my faith not sufficient? Why? How many people have been there and got the tee shirt?

In a moment of humility I suppose I ought to say what about the other way round? What about those times when God wants me to do something and nothing materialises? Guilty as charged, your honour. Bind up the broken-hearted, strengthen the weak, feed the hungry, welcome the stranger – who me? That’s my job? Thought it was the looking pious/reading Bible job description I’d chosen.

And rippling under the surface of both those scenario’s I can hear God saying, ‘My grace is sufficient’. But I’m weak and sometimes that doesn’t seem enough.

On those occasions when I am able to see his grace working in my life, to see the miraculous at first hand, what then? Am I a blabber-mouth? Do I shout it from the roof tops? Can I get it into 140 characters to put on Twitter? Does God have to go into hiding because I’ve made him so popular? Let me think… erm, no.

But the miraculous does happen. Can I hear an Amen?! In fact, every day is a miracle. Every day I meet with God’s amazing resurrection power – in my family, in my friends, in the beauty of the world all around me. I see his healing. I see his forgiveness. I see his love. I see his grace. And often in the most unexpected places, in the most unusual ways.

We often long for the spectacular, for the loaves-and-fishes type of miracle touch upon our lives. I reckon that blinds us to the way that God silently and gently works in us everyday. Oh yes, and another thing. The leper said, “If you want to, you can cleanse me.”Sometimes I get a sneaking suspicion that I prefer to be a sinner, rather than a saint. I ask for a miracle, but deep down I fear one happening. Wouldn’t God expect something of me in return? Could I give him that? Or is that what grace really and truly is? Amazing grace.

Happy days

I recently read a fine introduction to a blog on Mark 1: 29-39.

There is an old and not terribly funny joke about a sea captain who was at the top of his profession. He had earned a reputation as one who could make excellent decisions in times of crisis. People did notice, though, that just before it was time to give his orders to the crew, he would go down to his stateroom, open his safe, and pull out a slip of paper and read it. Then he would stride on deck and make the right call.  Naturally, curiosity was high.  It was no surprise, that, when he died, one of the first things the crew did after his funeral service, was to gather in his stateroom and watch while the first mate opened the safe and pulled out the well worn slip of paper.  He read it aloud:
Port left, Starboard right.

In difficult times, the captain knew to remind himself repeatedly of the basics. The captain’s little slip of paper held information that everyone already knows. But it was his secret, the basic source of his ability to act.

Now I have a confession to make. Not long after I committed that story to my clipboard the web browser I was using crashed. And that was quickly followed by the blue screen of death. When normal service was resumed – following a particularly slow hard drive scan – I couldn’t find the website that I gleaned that story from. So, whoever you are, I apologise for not attributing that quote to you at the beginning of my blog.

I also must admit to you a dilemma I’ve just resolved. At first, I wasn’t going to write that last paragraph. I was going to pass that story off as my own research. It was going to be my little secret. You’d think I’d been harbouring that joke for a number of weeks and saw the connection with the story from Mark’s gospel and you’d immediately think what an insightful preacher I must be. My little secret.

But it’s not a secret. Because I’ve just read about the keeper of secrets. The man who swore demons to secrecy. The man who instructed us to pray in secret. The man who knows what we do in secret. The man who knows what secrets lay buried in our hearts.

And this man of secrets calls us to boldly proclaim who he is. Of what he has done for us. Not to be deceitful, or arrogant, or self-seeking. But to point to the man of grace, the God of glory.

As Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount:
You’re here to be light, bringing out the God-colours in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We’re going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don’t think I’m going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I’m putting you on a light stand. Now that I’ve put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! – Matthew 5: 14

It’s a humbling life. I know, I’ve met the man who touched my demons.

Happy days

There’s a phrase that has become an almost ordinary, everyday expression of life. It has found its place in the vocabulary of many because of the popularity of a television advert. You know the one I mean?

Ronseal – it does exactly what it says on the tin.

Comedians use it in their acts. Teachers force home the point with it in their classrooms. Mates say it to each other in casual conversation. I’m sure that even a preacher or two has uttered the words from the pulpit.

If I’m to believe what Eugene Peterson says of the gospel of Mark, then someone in the crowd said it about Jesus – ‘A new teaching that does what it says?’

Everyone there was incredulous, buzzing with curiosity. “What’s going on here? A new teaching that does what it says? He shuts up defiling, demonic spirits and sends them packing!” News of this travelled fast and was soon all over Galilee. (Mark 1:27,28)

What we’re talking about is the authority of Jesus. In his teaching. In his signs and wonders. In his life. Straight talking. Plain and simple power. No-nonsense, no baffling, no waffle. Jesus stood in the synagogue and held their attention for hour after hour as he talked, answered questions and mesmerised everyone with his confident manner.

His authority was inviting. His authority was gentle. His authority was sure. His authority was inclusive.

I’d give everything for 2 minutes of that in my sermon on Sunday! To hold the complete attention of my congregation. To address each one at the right level of engagement. Not to bore the pants off them. Not to lose my train of thought or go off at a tangent. To actually get my point across in a humorous yet wise way.

Over the last couple of months I’ve really enjoy visiting the weekly blog of Larry Patten over at larrypatten.com. I’ve discovered through his blog, that Larry has put into words – far more succinctly than I ever could – the thoughts that are forming in my mind. For the first three Sundays in Epiphany he’s written some real good stuff, and this week especially, he hits the proverbial nail on its head, with a blog entitled Not Limp, Tame, Cautious or Safe.

He says:
“A nervous writer, I worry if my words are too domesticated. Tame. Limp. Cautious. Safe.
I was influenced by something else, something read in the last week. Early in Mark’s Gospel, after Jesus taught at a synagogue, his listeners—his peers, colleagues, fellow Jews, neighbours—admitted to amazement. Why? He spoke with authority…
…If one sentence I write—or one paragraph or novel—ever wields a hint of Gospel-like authority, it’s because I’ll reveal humility. I believe that’s an essential aspect of what Jesus demonstrated in a long-ago synagogue. Human. Humble. Humility. From the Latin, humilus (low), humus (earth). Jesus’ authority was rooted in humility. Serving the other, not self. Nourishing the soul, not a bottom line.
His goal, with apologies to Facebook, was not to be liked, but to be honest from first word to last nail.”

Are our words too tame, limp, cautious and safe? What about our actions? Are they too timid as well? Another common phrase currently going the rounds amongst the more macho in our society tells people to “Man up”. (It might just be a man thing!) As Larry pointed out, it’s not the case that we need to “Man up”, we just need to be humble. To be true to ourselves. To serve the needs of others. To be authentic to the core of our lives that declares that we are made in the image of God, we are his children.

Do our words reflect the glory of God? Do our actions give praise to Him? Do we believe in the Bible? Do we believe in Jesus? We should do. After all, it does exactly what it says on the tin.

Happy days

I went to a football match last weekend. A football match at which I could sit back and enjoy the game.

You see, it wasn’t Leicester City. Leicester are my hometown team and I follow their fortunes with bated breath. Living 100 miles away I don’t get to as many matches as I would like to, but this season I have managed to see them on 9 occasions – where they have won 2, lost 4 and drawn 3 games. And all through those games I’m nervous and anxious. I’m fretting, I’m shouting, I’m singing – my son says I even occasionally swear! I’m up and down out of my seat, I’m kicking the ball, heading it towards the goal, putting my head in my hands, jumping in the air with joy, throwing my programme down in frustration. I tell you, at the end of the game I’m more exhausted than some of the players!

But last weekend I went to Old Trafford, the home of the current Premiership Champions, Manchester United, to watch them play Bolton Wanderers. And I sat there quite relaxed. Soaking up the atmosphere – one of 75,444 spectators in the stadium. My son and I had great seats right behind one of the goals. I enjoyed watching the silky skills of Giggs, Welbeck, Nani and Valencia. I gasped with the crowd when Wayne Rooney missed a penalty. I cheered when Paul Scholes scored the opening goal. I felt vaguely happy walking back to my car after the game that I’d seen a good game and enjoyed myself.

It’s not like that with rotten Leicester City…

And I have heard other people describe aspects of life like that too.

The other day I asked someone if they’d enjoyed a special dinner they’d cooked for their family, and they replied that they’d been too busy to enjoy it.

And it’s not too surprising that some people view church in the same manner. Sunday School teachers, sidepersons, committee members – all too busy giving they miss out on receiving.

But it’s more. The church itself is a barrier. The institution. The structure. The people. The programmes. The tradition. It stops people receiving, or even hearing, the offer of grace that God so lovingly bestows on us. People are anxious, aggrieved, aggravated – and the church cannot smooth the road, open up the path.

How different from those first encounters between Jesus and the disciples – Andrew & Simon Peter, James & John. Without a moment’s thought they dropped what they were doing and followed Jesus. All that Jesus said was, “Come, follow me, and I will show you how to fish for people!” There must have been something about his presence, he must have given off an aura, a charisma that was impossible to resist. They must have seen a great hope, a great expectation in his words, in his life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not putting the disciples on an impossible pedestal. I know only too clearly how human they were, how many times they would get this faith thing terribly wrong, how often they would become the barrier and stumbling block to God. I fear that the disciples would be mortified by the veneration they have received from the church – in the words of the great hymn, “To God be the glory…”. And we are so similar to those first disciples.

We need to rediscover that Jesus of old. The one untainted by our misrepresentation, our preconceived ideas. We need to be enthralled by his charisma, to give ourselves wholeheartedly to him, to resist seeking him just for power and prestige. And in turn, we need to offer God’s love and grace to others in a pure and honest way. For some it will be too late, they are too disillusioned by what they have seen. But still others are listening, are wanting to hear, waiting to follow.

Jesus said, “The Kingdom of God is near! Repent of your sins and believe the Good News!”

If we can accept that invitation, if we can be still enough to place it on our hearts, if we can avoid complicating that message for others then there is still hope for us all.

I see Leicester are playing again tonight. I can feel another song coming on!

Happy days

I was recently staggered to read an article in my local newspaper about an initiative under way at our town’s college. A campaign has been launched to encourage students to achieve 100% attendance and improve punctuality. The message goes on to say that not only does the day begin better on time, but you achieve more if you’ve started the day with breakfast. To this end, the college are offering free tea and toast between 8 and 8.30am each week day. And for those who manage to achieve 100% attendance they will be entered into a monthly draw to win one of four £25 gift vouchers.

I might seem a little bit old fashioned here, but in my day (and we’re going back some!) the only reward you got for showing up on time was a green tick in the register. In my day it was an obligation, not a suggestion, that you turn up on time. Am I the only one who is thinking we are pandering to a generation that feel like they are owed something? Or am I just getting old? I know one of my favourite TV programs is Grumpy Old Men but that’s just a coincidence.

Is it also just a coincidence that the reading in the lectionary this week is ‘Come and See’?

The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. When he got there, he ran across Philip and said, “Come, follow me.”
Philip went and found Nathanael and told him, “We’ve found the One Moses wrote of in the Law, the One preached by the prophets. It’s Jesus, Joseph’s son, the one from Nazareth!” Nathanael said, “Nazareth? You’ve got to be kidding.”
But Philip said, “Come, see for yourself.”

In this day and age we need to have our churches filled with Philip’s. People who will say to friends and family, work colleagues and strangers, “We’ve found the Saviour, come and see”. You can say what you like about advertising campaigns and endorsement slogans, but the best way to sell something is by word of mouth. By personal invitation.

And many churches are embracing this philosophy – like it’s something new. In some ways it is, because for many years we have had a ready made audience, a congregation that turned up week after week. But now churches are struggling to see faces in a sea of empty pews. So we need to return to being Philip’s. People so energised by the power of the message and the presence of the Saviour that we want to bring other people to meet him.

Jesus didn’t offer free tea and toast. He offered free grace and eternal life. And those incentives and ideas we use to bring people into church are pretty similar to the methods employed by the college. They have a product they believe in and want their students to benefit completely from it. We also have a product we believe in, a Saviour we have entrusted our lives to. We should be as enthusiastic, we should be as passionate – as our local college tutors, as Philip.

Upon rereading my blog I noticed I said twice ‘In my day’. That is often a phrase that goes hand-in-hand with the thought that someone else is getting something for nothing. And perhaps I am the world’s worst for it. Don’t we begrudge people for what they have, almost to the point that we think they don’t deserve it? And this is especially true in the church. “Grace? You don’t deserve that. What have you done to earn it?”

Oops.

None of us deserve the grace that Jesus offers. But he holds us in the palm of his hand, he cares for us with an undying love. Despite the disdain we hold for others, despite the barriers we erect, despite the people we are – his grace is all we need. That is the point of the Gospels, and that is the point of this Sunday’s reading. This is the meeting place of the God who intimately knows us and loves us. Amazing.

Anyway, got to go, I’m parched. I know somewhere where they serve a good cup of tea and a crisp slice of toast – for free! Wonder if they have any Marmite?

Happy days

I remember standing in front of a mirror in my bedroom 25 years ago, felt tip pen in hand, gramophone turned right up, singing with every ounce of my being: “All is quiet on New Year’s Day, a world in white gets under way.”

Bono couldn’t touch me. I was on fire. I was dancing across the stage at Madison Square Gardens. I had them spellbound at the Sportshalle in Cologne. They called for 4 encores at the Hammersmith Apollo. I had them eating out of my hand at the De Montfort Hall (in Leicester – just in case you haven’t visited this world famous concert venue!).

Those were the days…

Why can’t every day be New Year’s Day? I say this for several reasons.

Firstly, the roads were so quiet at 9am. I travelled from Oldham to Hampshire to visit relatives and didn’t encounter one traffic queue, not a single hold up, not even a sign of any congestion. Why can’t every day be New Year’s Day on the roads?

Secondly, it’s a day of new beginnings. Debby and I don’t do New Year’s Eve. We don’t usually stay up until midnight! Consequently, on New Year’s Day, I’m bright eyed and bushy tailed. I feel almost like I did 25 years ago, stood in front of a mirror singing my heart out – full of energy, full of passion, ready to take on the world. And so it is with New Year’s Day. I have a purpose. I have momentum. I’m ready for all the New Year holds in store for me. Why can’t every day be like New Year’s Day?

But, most importantly of all, it’s a day of repentance. Mention the word and usually you can chill an atmosphere by minus 5c. Repentance means to regret, to feel deep sorrow for past sin, to turn your life around, to look God fairly and squarely in the eyes. And why can’t every day be like that? Why can’t every day be New Year’s Day?

The gospel reading for this Sunday has that at its very beginning. Life changing. A new leaf. A fresh chapter. John the Baptist in the wilderness preaching repentance, preaching baptism as a visible sign of change. And then there was Jesus – showing us the way, encouraging us, empowering us.

And all from a point of vulnerability. Of us emptying ourselves of all that rots and poisons our relationship with God. Of reminding ourselves that we are weak and in desperate need of God. Of embracing a forgiven and changed life that is the true gift of God.

All too often New Year’s Day happens just once a year for me, when really it should happen every day, or even several times every day! That I should meet the God of new beginnings, the God of forgiveness, the God of renewal, the God of grace at every turn of my life.

That truly is a Happy New Year.

Happy days

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 44,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 16 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but, I’m smitten by Mary (The Virgin, God’s mum, the highly favoured lady – just in case you wondered who I was talking about!). I know many Roman Catholics go the whole 10 yards on Mary and would certainly use a word like that. For someone like me though, who can’t quite understand the ‘Mary thing’, this is a surprising feeling.

Perhaps smitten is the wrong word.

Captivated? No.

Engaged? No.

I would say ‘identify with’ but it doesn’t seem to carry the force that I need.

Anyway, as I search desperately for the word, let me explain what I mean.

The Angel Gabriel appears to Mary, and in the New Living Translation we are told that Mary is ‘confused and disturbed’. This is the amazing thing. All the angel has said is ‘Hi!’ And Mary is left confused and disturbed.

I’m confused and disturbed. Because I know God has said ‘Hi!’ to me too. In fact, he’s said plenty more besides. But I’m disturbed. Disturbed because I can’t even begin to explain why God would speak to me. Disturbed because I can’t even begin to explain why God would want to use me – as a voice-piece or as an example. Disturbed because I know how often I fall short, how many times I sin and curse and hurt. Disturbed because I find this journey of faith so hard. Disturbed because I have so many unanswered question – of myself more than of God.

And if all that isn’t bad enough, I’m confused too. Does God know what he is doing? If I was in his shoes, then I would not be in his A-Game. I wouldn’t even be in plan B. Believe me, I know me, things are only going to crash and burn if God goes ahead and uses me. And I’ve a sneaking suspicion Mary would have said the same thing – all this Immaculate Conception and Blessed Virgin stuff is a real smoke screen.

We are human. We are defective. We are fallible. We should be confused and disturbed, because how the heck is God going to use us???

Grace.

The advent story is all about grace. The passion story is all about grace. The life of faith is all about grace. Pure and undeserving grace.
And because of that grace we have found favour with God.

Oh, wow, amazing. Say that again.

Because of grace we have found favour with God.

Isn’t that beautiful? Isn’t that wonderful. Something so undeserved, and yet so freely poured out for each one of us.

Three weeks into Advent and I’ve finally been bitten by the Christmas bug. No, I’ve not got a cold, or any other sickness.

I’ve opened the door into my heart because I’ve been overwhelmed. Why does God choose me to share his story with me? I don’t know. I’m confused and disturbed. But I’m also overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by grace. Overwhelmed by love.

In the New Living Translation Gabriel’s welcome to Mary is: “Greetings, favoured woman! The Lord is with you!”

Just listen to The Message, far better: “Good morning! You’re beautiful with God’s beauty, beautiful inside and out! God be with you.”

And that is the good news message. You and me. Everyone. We’re all beautiful with God’s beauty. Breathtaking. Amazing. Confusing. Disturbing. Wonderful.

Happy days