Wednesday 17 December 2014

Enjoying the journey

I sat in Madrid airport and began writing this blog and reflecting on the past few months which do resemble my pilgrimage from Winchester to York. Energy sapping, totally exhausting days, travel and then the long waits at airports (reflection time, like Narnia’s "The wood between the worlds."). So below is a brief summary of our journey.

The last week of my sabbatical was spent at the Desiring God Conference in the US.  A rich roast dinner of prime beef, carved to mouth-sized pieces, by our chef and teacher John Piper; an amazing man of humility and grace who opens the bible and leaves you hungry for more of God.

Returning home it was so good to reconnect with Citygate Church and to hug dear friends as well as catch up on all the post Westpoint news.

Within two weeks we were flying again and this time to India.  We arrived at Kochi and stayed with our good friends Arun and JoyAnne.  The first night after arrival I woke to the "alien in my gut" experience.   Lying on the cool marble floor in agony, I was reminded of those dear friends around the globe praying for us.  Twenty-four hours later, I was fighting fit and enjoyed being with Robin and Rani in their brilliant church.

Bangalore was next with Steve and Debs Tibbert, for 2 days fellowship with leaders.  So encouraging to find a number of city churches reporting excellent growth.  The rest of the week was time with other leaders being stirred to pray for this great nation of India. 

Returning to the UK, we spent the next weekend with Grant and Suz in Plymouth, teaming with John Groves and also speaking at the Spirit and Fire celebration.  The following week we spent two days as Citygate elders praying and seeking God for 2015 - an intimate time - and excited by the plans God has for Citygate.  I can’t wait to see them unfold.  Having Mick Taylor in the room is a God-send - another pillar in the building of this incredible church.

From Bournemouth, it was off to Madrid for a church and wider NF churches weekend with me and Lee & Stacey Yarborough speaking.  God was all over this time with many significant Holy Spirit moments. The church in Spain (and Portugal) is in a new season of growth and salvation. We were truly blessed to be a part of this and to hang out with our dear friends - Kevin, Ness, Mike and Jessica.

Now we were home for Christmas, no more international travel till February and a time to reconnect with our family and church family. We managed to squeeze in a hog roast at Camberley for Mark and Bev's final send off - a moving tribute from the church to this faithful couple, as well as excitement for the new church plant in Newbury.

Last week we gathered as UK based NF apostles for catching up and prayer for the nation and our partnering together in this.  It felt like someone had opened a window, and fresh air filled our lungs as we breathed out our shared hopes and dreams for our nation; an intimate time and so encouraging.

So now to Christmas, and this special weekend where I will be speaking at our traditional Carol service.  I love preaching the gospel, and on this, the 100 year anniversary of the WW1 Christmas day peace, I am asking God for many to get out of their trenches and embrace the Prince of Peace.

Thanks to all who pray for Heather and I.

Much love, Guy

Monday 15 September 2014

Reflections of a Pilgrim

Sitting in a cottage in Northumberland a week after my walk, with my leg immobilised, causes me to  reflect on the highs and lows and lessons I (and maybe others) might profit from this 300 mile
pilgrimage.

"Blessed are those whose strength is in you,
Who have set their hearts on pilgrimage,
As they pass through the Valley of Baca
They make it a place of springs."

Psalm 84:5

1: Pilgrimage was and is a community activity.  The isolation and aloneness were brilliant for worship, prayer and reflection.  However life is to be shared, others are to be a witness to your life, be it breath-taking scenery, the wet drudgery of muddy fields or the deep relief of a pub that is open!  The pain and discomfort of walking (valleys of Baca) were quickly forgotten in the beep of an SMS from family and friends saying, "well done" or, "you can do it"!

2: Our strength comes from God.  The last 6 days were incredibly painful and as it turns out because of a stress fracture in my lower leg.  Will power and grit had to give way to a doctor's authority
saying two weeks complete rest.  I am not good at resting or waiting.  I like doing. I find myself a reluctant student often  sitting in God's classroom with Jesus underlining the text, "apart from me you can do nothing"!

3: We live so much of our lives in coffins of metal.  The motor car has transformed all of our lives but not always for the good.  We hear, see, smell and feel nothing of the world and the seasons unfolding
around us.  We rush, we lose perspective on time and distance (just popping down to the shop 3 miles away is a two hour return walk!) and we remain blind to so much of God's incredible creation. 30% of this journey was on back roads and the road kill tachometer included owl, snake, badger, fox, rabbit, pheasant and sadly 4 roadside shrines to motorists.

4:  British footpaths must rank the Eighth Wonder of the modern world.  They cross and crisscross our tiny nation allowing walkers to roam free.  The majority were well posted especially the more famous ones; The Viking Way, Pilgrim Way, Wayfarers Way etc.  However I did find some in sad neglect, overgrown and almost lost.  The other challenge is to engage in the battle with modern landowners, some of whom seem to delight in confusing the amateur orienteerer  or by putting
obstructions in the way.

Ultimately we are all pilgrims in this world making our way towards home, a lasting city, a terminus point of rest.  Along life's paths we do get lost and other dear pilgrims leave us and we feel that aloneness each day.  But life is to be lived.  God has purpose in each valley or mountain experience and we need to be good students always learning and always encouraging the faith  steps of others.

Monday 8 September 2014

Pilgrim Day 11 - 12

Pilgrim 11


Today I walked from Gainsborough to Goole, a distance of some 24 miles. The first part was on a back road but very straight, and it was obviously popular with the boy racers.  You feel quite vulnerable as a walker when a hatchback blasts past you doing 60mph.  I was glad to turn onto footpaths and crossed many corn fields with tall upright vegetation that concealed you as in a jungle.  Wheat fields and hay meadows took the remains of the morning.  Near a town called Laughton I plunged into deciduous woods, eerily quiet apart from the occasional
tweet or squawking of a pheasant. The advent of autumn announced with the arrival of many different types of fungi.  Emerging from the woods I arrived at the high sided banks of the River Trent and was to follow its course for the next 6 miles. Signs of flooding were still in evidence, even sandbags along a few house walls.  I guess the most prolific wildlife of the day were the jet black slugs, there were hundreds of the things and inspired this poem:

I contemplate the lowly slug with fearsome reputation.
Perhaps he is a gentlemen in Darwinian mutation?
His shiny suit is casual brown and sometimes darkest black,
No condescending baubles to wear upon his back.
Slug dines at finest places, in palaces and parks,
Eating what's before him, without critical remarks.
He does not rush, he will not hurry
An aristocrat who refuses worry.
His variety is endless, no food can bring a halt
Apart from one exception, the white stuff we call salt.
Gentlemen leave their calling cards, wherever they may dine
And so does Viscount Slug, his signature is "Slime".


The last few miles into this highly industrialised port town were sheer murder.  The shin splint that began to develop a few days ago was in full vigour making every step a challenge.  I virtually fell through the doors of my B&B.


Pilgrim day 12


The final push for York.  Like The Fighting Temeraire, this barge left dock early under the cover of deep mist and made my way silently though the long grass on the banks of the Ouse.  It was soaking wet those first few hours which was balm to my sore left leg. The sun steadily burnt off the mist to reveal a beautiful day and lush green
pastures alongside the river.  I met four different herds of cows on the tow path who were in bullish mood!!  They would either sit on the top of the bank or group themselves en masse at the exit stiles refusing to move.  It would not be until the last few steps they would get skittish and bolt past me.  I felt quite small and vulnerable.


After 7 or so miles along the river I turned North for York.  The day was the hottest one so far but the terrain mostly the harvested fields of wheat and corn.  I made good time and Heather's texting told me we would rendezvous at the same time.  As it was she beat me, and had to wait and watch as her skinny (lost over half a stone) limping, bearded husband crossed the finishing line.  What a joy to finish and in the arms of the wife you love.

Friday 5 September 2014

Pilgrim Days 8-10

Pilgrim Day 8

A surprisingly hard day because of rain and freshly ploughed Rutland clay. It stuck to your feet in huge clumps slowing progress and being impossible to shake off. I waddled along like a swan with webbed feet. I am sure I had more weight on my feet than in the rucksack at times. Each footpath led me over yet another ploughed field and the rain was relentless. After 4 hours of this I decided to change route and keep to the lanes, slightly longer but more pace. Inspector Morse could have easily followed these muddy prints that went on for miles.

I headed for a village for a late lunch and prayed for a pub. Like many a village pub on this walk it was "closed"!

Criss-crossing 3 counties in one day I realise how the church tower is universally the first landmark spotted. Buildings built for the worship of God now mainly in neglect their graveyards overgrown, even the names on gravestones illegible. Musing on the news and the dark clouds of terror and abuse I marvel at the local church.  They are beacons in the darkness, sign posts to the lost traveller, and communities that centre truth and goodness in the heart of our towns...

Those of another generation may lie forgotten, their names erased, but not to God. They have walked their pilgrimage and fought their fights and if we but stop and listen we hear God's encouragement to us to seize the day.  Whatever the churches faults it has no equals in terms of the good it can do.

Pilgrim day 9

A beautiful day for walking and I left Grantham at quite a trot looking forward to flat farmland and no more than a 24 mile walk. I soon left the scaffolded tower of Grantham behind me and headed for the pretty little village of Caythorpe. The Stone houses are beautiful and clearly this is a land of Millers as you keep finding windmills in assorted disrepair and none to date with sails on. At Brant Broughton I found a little garden of Eden donated by the church to its community. I sat and ate my lunch and watched the aerial display of numerous small tortoiseshell butterflies enjoying this paradise. 

From here to Lincoln the walk just got harder. It seemed every field was freshly ploughed and twisted and tweaked my ankle like a pinball in an amusement arcade. Got to Lincoln in time to see its canal, churches and castle. Made the mistake of then walking to B&B another 3 miles out of town!

Pilgrim day 10

Leaving beautiful Lincoln felt sad, would have liked a day to explore.

The morning was one of navigating waterways, canals, ditches with high sided paths that tracked their course. It was sunshine all morning and a few late season fishermen took their chance along the canals.  I managed a needed pint of shandy in a beautiful village pub and then headed into a very different farm scene. From arable to livestock, horses, bullocks and some very friendly sheep. I climbed into this field to be greeted by a dog sheep. A black faced animal than ran excitedly towards me. Then bleating to his mates he managed to gather for me quite a following. Took a picture to remind me of the good shepherd that loves his sheep. The last part of my journey took me around an old WW2 airfield. Wasn't difficult to imagine the Spitfire pilots waiting for that phone to ring and taking to the skies once again.

Tuesday 2 September 2014

Pilgrim Days 5 - 7

Pilgrim day 5

Navigating Milton Keynes first thing was like doing the ups and downs of a crossword puzzle, 4 letters beginning with e?  At 7:30am, the paths were deserted; a few early morning dog walkers, a jogger or two, but nowhere the office worker walking?  I suspect, looking at the roads, that the motor car has conquered all.  So it was an isolated pilgrim that traversed parks, saw beautiful lakes and made his way to the charming old village of Milton Keynes with its parish church.  The horse chestnut trees are in abundance here and I reflect on how, with my dad and then my own sons, we collected bagfuls of these shiny treasures.  The conker season with awl, string and a drop of vinegar produced champion nuts and nutters in the Miller family.

Crossing the M1 took 1.5 hours from the centre, hunting for the one footbridge, and it felt wonderful to escape into the flat Bedfordshire countryside.  I spotted my first butterflies today as they braved the
strong wind to hold onto the occasional flash of autumn sunlight.  I crossed ploughed farmland tucked up for winter, as I journeyed to Cranfield village.  My ankle had by now flared up and so I kept mostly to the roads as I hobbled into Bedford.  The city was busy and my radar was searching all things Bunyan.  The Bunyan museum, though small, did not disappoint and an amiable curator took this willing pupil around each artefact. I sat in a mock cell and reflect the isolation, 12 years in prison for preaching in the open air.  But what a heritage - Pilgrims Progress is the most widely printed book after the bible and I suspect Harry Potter.  What Christians of influence came from around Bedford, and what dear Christians today originate from here, men and women I deeply love and respect.


Pilgrim Day 6

Bedford folk were enjoying their weekend lie in as I left and headed west to a village called Bromham.  The path snaked its way across farmland and I was able to keep a good pace for most of the morning.  Lunch was a sparse affair, a few Tesco sushi bites and a packet of crisps.  I now headed for Wellingborough but finding a way in was like picking a lock, too many by-paths.  The problem is signs, both their lack and then when you find one it points in an altogether different direction.  I was quite frustrated navigating this city and then crossing the last 7 miles to Kettering.  A kind farmer pointed me over his land and shook his head in pity to hear I had come so far.  Today didn't feel like a Saturday - I missed my staple final football scores of the afternoon with my son Joseph.  It was a good deep bath I sank under, reflecting 6 days gone and 160 miles covered.


Pilgrim Day 7

The prison warders of my boots summoned the cowed prisoners of my toes, blisters, nails and ankles to their confinement once again.  Their sentence was a shorter 23 miles to Oakham but detours added 3 more miles and they looked dazed and battered at their evening open doors.  Leaving Kettering, I crossed mainly harvested wheat fields.  Occasionally I came across the "land trawlers" bright green tractors ploughing, turning over the rich brown Rutland soil.  Following them in their hundreds, sea gulls not diving for the small silver fry of our oceans, but juicy brown earthworms.  Their actions mimic shoppers at the New Year sales barging and grabbing, then emerging with guttural shrieks.

My route led me along Eyebrook reservoir, a stunning piece of water where trout anglers flicked and retrieved their flies, and herons stalked along the shallow banks.  I grabbed half an hour for lunch and
rested in the sun watching a nearby boat.  The last 7 miles to Oakham took me mostly on farm tracks passing many cheery cyclists in their Lycra looking condescendingly at this hobbling scruffy hiker in need of a shave.  The Admiral Hornblower is my resting place tonight.

Monday 1 September 2014

Pilgrim Days 1-4

Pilgrim day 1

Buzzing from Westpoint, I arrive at Winchester Cathedral around this huge edifice built for the glory of God despite Oliver Cromwell shelling it!  A city with great Christian influence, Alfred the Great made Winchester his capital city. It was a few yards from here that I would preach at the Buttercross every week as a young man, and a few yards further, stands a converted cinema where hundreds now gather to continue to build a great city and church I dearly love.

I head North past the first meeting place of my school sweetheart, Heather.  Heading up the Andover Road I pass Peter Symonds where a frightened 12 year old ran away from boarding school.  I head to South Wonston then across fields to Whitchurch.  The rain is unrelenting and I am soaked to the skin when I finally find a cosy pub. The problem with stopping is your body gets vocal. The feet mention blisters and the legs soon threaten
strike action. I get moving before they convince my brain.  

British footpaths are a nightmare. They give you the first direction, a nudge in the right direction but then abandon you in every farmyard or road junction. My maps soon were soaked through, mushing together like left over rice. This meant that the last 5 miles I was walking blind with two huge blisters making every step painful.  A very hospitable Travel Lodge receptionist on greeting this drowned walker, gave me a big towel, a warm welcome and a room.


Pilgrim day 2

It's raining, making it hard to get going.  Newbury was an hour's walk on busy roads so I took time to grab a Latte and dry off in the centre. First words I heard were of a mother calling her daughter, "Grace come here," and felt we do need to plant a church in Newbury. The cross-country walk North was beautiful, with the constant shrill call of the buzzards.  

Finding a way to cross the M4 was exasperating and wasted a good hour or more.  It felt like leaving the Shire when I finally achieved it. My feet were very sore and the footpath now completely overgrown with brambles and nettles. A slip and twisted ankle later I carried on but more slowly, down to about 2.5 miles an hour. By now my water bottle was empty so I headed for a pub a mile off the track.  It had closed down. Hope,deferred can make the heart sick. So a short-cut back across fields only to be stopped by a farmer in his 4x4. Explaining my mission he granted me continue but sadly not in his jeep. It took a long time to traverse these Berkshire hills and when I finally arrived at Abington I soaked in the bath for 30 minutes like some wallowing hippo. Sheer bliss.


Pilgrim Day 3

Welcome sunshine and an early start to get to Oxford for coffee. Sat on the steps of the Martyrs memorial and felt moved by the inscription, statues and thoughts of these great heroes of the faith. The statue of Thomas Cranmer (2 July 1489 – 21 March 1556) holding out a bible -  the leader of the English Reformation and Archbishop of Canterbury during the reigns of Henry VIII, Edward VI and finally Mary I.

C S Lewis taught at Oxford and met nearby in a pub with the "Inklings", an Oxford writers' group which included Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien. Down a side street I found yet another inscription to John Wesley's first Methodist church meeting in Oxford! 

From Oxford a long and beautiful cross-country walk to Ashendon, a really remote village.  The paths criss cross farmland and are impossible to keep to as the farmers plough and plant so as to obscure any marked way. Often you have to drop onto country lanes but fast drivers make this a nerve-racking experience. Last 4 miles were the hardest of this pilgrimage yet. Ten hours walking, each step like walking on broken glass and my mind imagining a hot bath and bed.


Pilgrim Day 4

Probably the best walking day yet. The fields to Waddesdon were alive with swallows grabbing their last meals before their pilgrimage South. The hedgerows are full of food and colour. Purple blackberries,elderberries and sloe contrast with the vivid reds of the hips and Lords and Ladies.  

Over this journey I had to cross 3 fields with young cows that would follow me, all skittish and playful with their snuffing and puffing making me more than a little nervous. For a good part of the walk I followed the North Buckingham Way which meant easier navigation.  Beautiful little villages appear over hill tops, welcoming the traveller, and I do find it quite inspiring that most of these hamlets have Wesleyan Chapels or Baptist Churches. I think of Commission's 'Start, Re Start and Multiply'!

The hardest part of the navigation is the crossing of main roads and this was certainly the case today. Milton Keynes is just one series of crossings so it was with great relief I arrived at the Premier Inn and soaked my mangled feet in an antiseptic bath!!

Thursday 14 August 2014

Pilgrim Three

I am writing this blog as a pre cursor to a pilgrimage I want to take straight after Westpoint 2014. I want to visit great Christian landmarks where people built, prayed, preached and influenced the nation and nations.  In preparation I am looking back over my 38 years as a Christian and viewing it as a pilgrimage with caricatures of key folk I met along my path. This is part 3.

Part 3
I saw in my vision that the highway upon which I followed was often hedged on either side by strong interwoven shrubs whose willowy arms seemed to sway and encourage my steps along the highway called the Gospel.  It was a rugged path with many travellers upon it.  A few dispirited and sombre souls warned of dangers ahead but most pilgrims were just happy to open their knapsacks and share their few belongings and food.  Every few days I would stumble upon sign posts that marked clearly the ancient paths along which I now trod.  That is not to say the journey was mostly flat or routine.  The Gospel highway led me through freezing rivers, into rich pastures, and pleasant villages where I would often rest awhile, and of course the breath-taking high mountain passes of faith. Seldom along the highway did I manage to reach the mountaintops, but on those few and rare occasions I noticed a profound change in my step and vision.
Over one long stretch of path I was joined by an enthusiastic rugged pilgrim who wore on his coat a dazzling array of metallic geeky  badges, ‘Smile Jesus loves you’, ‘One way Jesus, and my favourite  ‘God doesn't believe in Atheists, therefore they don't exist’.
I asked his name - "Barney short for Barnabas son of encouragement," he replied, only too willing to engage in my journey so far.  He was a ball of energy, coiled tight as a clock spring, exploding with every new sight with applause and delight.  Each day we grew closer and my heavy steps felt lighter from his presence.  One particularly hard day as we rested by a stream and I massaged two growing blisters on my little toes he addressed my miserable countenance.
" Feet are amazing, aren't they? Our whole motion, balance, even destiny, are determined by these magnificent wonders we call feet.  Isn't it a good thing that the Master didn't bid us walk on hands or cartwheel along his road?”
Frankly I was irritated by his positivity and thus replied, "Do you ever tire of wonder, or wows and whoopies!  Do you never grow so discouraged that you swear or rant?"
His reply remains with me every day and spurs my steps, "But of course - the road is hard, the journey dangerous.  But I have learnt this important truth: that I must firmly resist discouragement as firmly as I resist all other sins! Discouragement has taken out many a great servant of God, who is deceived into believing this is in some way Godly humility. It is a trick of the enemy and used when all others fail."
We were overheard by two fellow travellers who drew alongside. Their names were Snob and Sniff, and their noses matched their names. "Hey now Barney we meet again with your ridiculous badges and happy air. And to you fair pilgrim (they now looked at me) don't be fooled by the false enthusiasm, energy and encouragement of young Barnabas. He gives away his family fortune and forgets that Christianity is a serious business and not for the simple of heart who walk around with a grin on their faces. Time and disappointment will soon sour his face and teach him true wisdom beyond those of flattery."
Barnabas smiled and shared his bread and good humour with equal extravagance.  And so after a short respite, Snob buttoned his ecclesiastical overcoat and allowed Sniff one loud blow in his handkerchief and they were gone.
"Good riddance to those two," I muttered, "How do you deign speak to them, let alone listen to their counsel?  I would not trust their words or motives."
Barney laughed, "Love is our highest calling. I have made a decision before God to always believe the best in others.  As for judging motives, I can hardly tell my own."
“But they took your kindness for granted and accused you of falsehood and flattery?"
Barney stopped his work, and looking me in the eye, said, "We can live in shadow lands, in black and white blandness, or mix them to grey living. Or we can choose to see the world in colour, to rehearse its beauty, its form and variety. A fool can spot a weakness in another but it is grace that identifies and draws out the good. I have been given a life, a name, and I choose each day to colour my world, to dress others in Joseph's multi coloured coats. Flattery is false and selfish. It pretends and manipulates to your face for its own selfish ends. Encouragement seeks the good in others and promotes their interest above your own."
And so we walked and talked, shared and prayed along the highway. A meal with Barney left me drunk with joy. A hike toward the rugged mountain top had me running the final few steps spurred by the roar of this marvellous saint. Of all the characters I have met upon my journey there is none whose company I have more enjoyed.

Notes
I love the accounts of Barnabas in scripture Acts 4:36, Acts 11:22-26, Acts 13: 2 ff. He models joy and encapsulates the spirit of Phil 4:8 "Whatever is noble” etc..
Writing this latest makes me so grateful to God for the Barnabas characters I have so been inspired and helped by in my Christian life. I think of my wife, Heather, refusing to be a victim of difficult life circumstances, but joy filled and cheering my every step. I am indebted to men like Malcolm Kayes, Greg Haslam, Mike Shore, who laugh at life's challenges and roar encouragement to this mountaineer.  I have been so helped by Terry Virgo with his kind Barnabas wisdom that have shaped my leadership and attitudes. And to the many other Barnabas folk in my life, Steve Tibbert, Dave Stroud, Jeremy Simpkins and so many others, I salute you.

Tuesday 10 June 2014

Pilgrim Two

This is part two of my Blog called Pilgrim. I am setting out this August on a pilgrimage from Winchester Cathedral to York Minster and will journal each day’s experience. Thinking of this journey has caused me to reflect on my Christian pilgrimage to date and what follows in story form relate to key change moments in my walk.

PART 2

The road in those early years tended to be fairly flat and unremarkable. Of course there were twists and turns but my eyes stayed focused on my feet, fearful at any moment I might slip and lose the highway for ever.  It happened one day that the path turned upwards and became more hilly and wooded and behind one such summit I heard music, beautiful music that rippled and coursed through glade and hedgerow. Laughter echoed from bough to bough as there before me appeared two women clothed in beautiful shining fabric of sequins and tassels. Twins clothed identically and looking to unaccustomed eye exactly the same. One was called Joy and the other Grace. I was bewitched at both their beauty as well as their kind words.
They bade me sit and washed my soiled tunic and bathed my blistered feet. And then in earnest talked about my journey!

“I have found the road to be hard and the way difficult. I have grown tired with rule upon rule, my thought life condemns me and I consider myself worse now than when I first begun."

Both simultaneously burst into fits of laughter, "my my you're a serious one," Joy said, “it seems to me you need to be released from your prison of sobriety, joy is your inheritance and but the simplest form of gratitude”.

"Laughter and fun are frivolous activities and should be shunned by any serious disciple of Christ," I responded. This set them off once again into peals of laughter so much so that tears ran down their cheeks.

"Joy is the serious business of heaven," Grace said, “its absence makes one weak and prone to spiritual malady". “Are you Malodius or just out of tune?” said Joy falling into giggles once more.

My mind raced wanting to defend myself yet strangely my heart beat faster and ached for whatever  elixir these women had clearly drunk.

"Are you drunk?" I asked in my most pious voice.

"Yes," they replied, “a thousand times yes and so must you with living water that flows from the Godhead. It is your birthright."

"Give me this water,” I pleaded, holding out cupped hands to take from their supply.

"Hands aren't sufficient, nor cup, nor pot. It is an ocean of divine love you must swim in and swallow until every pore is saturated in the divine."

“Won’t I be drowned and lose my life?” I asked.

"You have never said a truer word," they replied.

Lovingly they came to me and placed their hands upon my bowed head. I wept, then laughed, then burst into song as liquid love squeezed itself into my mortal frame. How long I stayed in this place, I cannot say.

I know as I left that hill and as I embraced these dear sisters, my step was lighter, my heart happier and my tongue released in praise to my king.

Notes

Any first time reader of the book of Acts cannot miss the vital importance of the being filled, the outpouring from heaven, the reviving power, or coming upon of the Holy Spirit in fulfillment of the promise of the Father for the last days, "John baptised with water but you will be baptised with the Holy Spirit." Acts 11:16

The baptism in the Spirit is as real today as that first moment the Holy Spirit came upon me. It was like standing beneath a waterfall of love and light. It transformed me into a timid creature into much more of an ambassador for Jesus.

The women in this parable are combinations of special women I have met on the journey, women like Heather my wife, Vanessa Bartlett, Ruth Haslam, Grace Hosier, and Kate Walker, and true to the twin analogy Jacqueline and Jennifer from India.


Wednesday 14 May 2014

Iberian Conference 2014 - I sent you to reap


A farmer went out to sow and some seed fell on rocky ground! Many years ago missionaries left the UK for the Iberian Peninsula to sow the seed of the gospel.  They encountered hard soil, opposition, set back and tragedy.  Yet they set their faces like flint towards their God and his Great Commission. Their graves lie in the churchyards of these nations, gathering moss and seemingly forgotten.

Beyond human eye though, a seed spouts, it pushes down fragile roots through the dry dusty soil and small shoots appear above ground level.  A season of rain and more shoots appear and what looked forsaken and deserted now takes on the appearance of a garden, a planting of the Lord.

The huge joy of seeing what God is about in Spain and Portugal was our privilege last week. Hundreds gathered to tell their stories of how God was at work, with lives changed, ministries birthed and churches planted.

Let me share with you about A Fonte, now led by a 28 year old grandson of one of those first pioneers. The church has seen 10 people saved this year and they are baptizing folk most weeks. This is a New Testament community buzzing with life and reaching out with the love of Christ and believing God for 50 souls by the end of 2014! Out of their abundance they are reaching out to poorer communities with a new social project facilitated by a beautiful new mini bus paid for by Newfrontiers.

I could tell you of many breakthroughs in other churches, of battles, of amazing friends who have worked so hard to break up the soils of these nations to the place we find today. Let Heather give you another story:
"Every year we have the joy of visiting these folk in Portugal and more recently Spain, and every year I am struck by ordinary people serving an extraordinary God. Year after year long, before we came on the scene, these dear men and women have toiled, living normal life with their children, contending with all the things the rest of us do. Their reward is not fame or fortune but an eternal reward of souls reached and lives changed by the gospel. Now linking with small groups all over the two nations we are humbled by their determination. Portugal and Spain are beautiful countries famed as holiday destinations - the sunshine, the valleys, the sea, tasty food and wonderful wine. This time though, we were struck every day by the scent of flowers - orange, lemon and jasmine blossom as well as cascading roses. The promise of future fruitfulness was everywhere. With the heady perfumes even more pronounced as night fell the promise was tangible. That's how it felt at the conference, God is on the move, it’s a new day for these nations and one which will be marked by harvest."

So, in finishing this blog, let me encourage every reader to never give up in their faithful sowing and praying for a God harvest in their church or nation. Harvest is God made but we can and must sow and water the seed of the gospel. I am so often reminded of William Carey–“I can plod. To this I owe everything.”  Plod on all plodders, we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.


Tuesday 25 March 2014

Pilgrim Miller

One of my favourite Christian books, one that has enthralled me over many years is Bunyan’s Pilgrims Progress.  The story is of Christian fleeing the City of Destruction, moving towards the hill of the cross, guided by key people he meets and eventually making his way to The Celestial City.  It is a story of chance encounters.  The characters he meets are vivid and memorable; many wonderful guides, but also enemies who attack and imprison, distracting and discouraging him from walking the King’s highway.

This year I am setting my heart on Pilgrimage: a walk from Winchester Cathedral to York Minster over 12 days.  My hope is to pray and worship my Creator but also to meet a variety of people.

In preparation for this walk, I want to talk about my life upon the Christian road and something of the characters I have met.  I will caricature them, not in order to mock, but to draw attention to traits you may find in others on your journey.  My heart in this is to encourage and equip readers to be an eschatological people, pressing heavenwards and being prepared to meet other walkers on your way.

I dreamed a dream, and in that dream I drew close to an old ragged cross and there I encountered God in the person of his Son Jesus who saved me, clothed me in fair raiment and pointed me to walk upon his narrow highway.  But it was not long upon this path that I came upon a man all in black with piercing blue eyes set in a thin, gaunt face.  His countenance was hard, his face lined by the ages through which he had lived.  Beneath him the ground turned hard and behind him a tortuous line of frosty footprints.  He beckoned to me with gnarled bony finger and drawing close was addressed with harsh gravelly voice,
  "And what pray are you doing upon this Kings Highway? You look unsuited for such a long journey, your garments simple and your rucksack too small to carry such burdens you must.”
  "Sir, I am young and but days upon my pilgrimage, and in need of counsel to aid me on my journey."
  "Ah so rest awhile and let me help you in the serious business of our faith" he said.
And so in that place, I stripped naked, abandoning the simplicity of Joseph’s multi-coloured robe, and in its place covered myself with the itchy hessian black overcoat of religious pedigree.  And so I sat, many a long time, learning from my sage friend the vital badges of this new community of travellers I was soon to be a part of.  This included the non-conformist uniform of polished shoes, suits, ties, short hair for men, long for the ladies plus obligatory scarf, and the all-important jellyfish handshake of greeting.  I learned when to stand or sit, to nod and Amen, to fast and tithe, as rule upon rule, list upon list and tradition upon tradition was added to my load.  I received the Law and was schooled in its mastery over me, were I to attain a right standing before my Father in heaven.  I was bound to a liturgy of austerity, spontaneity and informality.  Joy vanished in that classroom to be replaced by a grim stoicism, a life of No upon No, blood, sweat and tears where so many of life's simple pleasures were now off limits if I were not to find myself backsliding.  What a sad condemned prisoner I became and what a hypocrite.  Straining at microscopic religious gnats, I grew religiously fat by swallowing herds of spitting camels.

I lived condemned and condemning.  A prisoner to a perfect man and unable to see the path I had so happily started upon.

It was to be many years before I happened upon the next amazing characters.....

Notes to readers
We meet many religious well-meaning people upon life’s journey.  Never forget that it was the religious people who opposed and crucified the Lord of Glory.

  Luke 11:39: "You Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish but inside you are full of greed and wickedness......you neglect justice and the love of God.”
  Romans 6:23: “For the wages of sin is death but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
  Ephesians 2:8: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith- and this not from yourselves, it is a gift of God- not by works, so that no one can boast.”
  Galatians 2:21: “I do not set aside the grace of God, for if a righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!”