LOVE YOUR ANEMONE

As I reflect on this report, the danger is that I become preoccupied with the statistics of decline, rather than overlook the Good News of the growth that we are seeing. There is even a sense in which I struggle to relate the editorial from christantoday.com to our situation here in Peterborough – this states that the Methodist Church is in a numerical nosedive and questions whether we can pull-out in time. Moreover, these figures are not new: I am not shocked. Whilst I do not wish to sound dismissive, the Methodist Church has been in ‘decline’ for the entire of my ministry to date. Despite this, I cannot deny that God is at work. I have seen lives transformed. In my early ministry, one person who converted to Christ stated, ‘I was not happy with who I was becoming. Now I am.’ Others made life-changing decisions, taking up careers that were in line with a sense of calling that God had given them. I have also encouraged people to take up office and they have blossomed through it. Thus, whilst there is decline, much of my time is spent managing growth. In the unlikely event that any of my ministerial colleagues feel that my response is in any way an attempt to big up the Peterborough Circuit, I would like to stress that I see little evidence from across our District that the Methodist Church is flapping like a fish out of water, gasping for air, expending energy as it tries in vain to do something significant. If I really did not have confidence in the Church, if I honestly felt that God was not at work, I would have left years ago.

Here on planet Peterborough whilst we do face challenges, the ground is not rushing up to meet my face; I am not sensing any unusual G-forces, and I do not feel a sense of dread. Whilst I could be in Kubler-Ross’ first stage of grief – which is denial (at being confronted with Death and Dying),  I do recognise the severity of our situation. Despite this, I see our decline as an opportunity to celebrate what is working, rather than lament what is not. As a Church, we need to focus more on inviting people to become involved in our corporate life, and we need to invest in evangelism (which, by the way, is not a swearword, and can be done sensitively).  Even so, the striking thing about Methodism is its adaptability and resilience. This is due, in part, to how it is structured, and how it balances local autonomy with national accountability. As a minister, whilst I identify with the local churches over which I have pastoral charge, my security rests with the Methodist Conference and the circuit in which I am appointed to serve. Chiefly, it is the ‘circuit’ (of churches) who meet as a ‘circuit meeting’ which serves as the principal driver for mission across Peterborough. Thus, even though local churches might close and/or a lack of funding affects staffing options, there is huge opportunity. It is more a case of game-on rather than game-over. By the way, we still have an opening for a part-time Pioneer Team Leader. If you are interested, do get in touch.

Whilst it might be tempting to dismiss the Methodist Conference as an ecclesial-administrative knees-up that is in a perpetual state of deliberation but going nowhere, we would do well to remind ourselves that Conference has made decisions that have been impactful and penetrating – whatever our view on the outcomes; four examples come to mind – Our Calling, Reshaping for Mission, Holiness and Risk, and Fruitful Fields. Those who might be sceptical of the institution, consider yourselves warned. In 2015, I revisited Conference to photograph its proceedings (all ordinands attend: Conference stands to receive them before their ordination). However, my heart sank when I arrived early and surveyed desk upon desk, complete with papers and binders, laid out as far as the eye could see. ‘Is this the powerhouse of the Church?’ I thought to myself. An hour later, during morning worship, and as Conference sung Sing the Faith 662; ‘Have you heard God’s voice: has your heart been stirred?’ I had to stop because I was so touched by the Holy Spirit and moved to tears, that I could no longer see through the viewfinder. By the way, whoever took the photographs of Conference this year did a superb job, and the coverage of the Conference, streamed live on the web, was excellent. If you are interested, it is possible to view the sessions of Conference again. I have had a good look and skipped through. There was not much evidence of death. In fact, I would suggest that the debate on Statistics for Mission should be compulsory viewing for Pioneers as an example of how practical ideas can be sharpened by institutional process.

The crucial question is whether Conference (and we as its ministers who are sent to serve in our circuits by Conference) can work in partnership with others to bring about a change of culture in our local churches. As Stephen Skuce’s research into Reshaping for Mission highlighted, whilst we can promise much on the mission outcomes, and restructure well, the effort counts for little unless it equips our local churches to engage more effectively with their local communities: the wheels need to turn and the rubber must hit the road. Significantly, our memorials on fresh expressions and fundraising probed this issue. Rhetoric on its own is not good enough. Permissions, practice and processes must fall in-line with what Conference decides. The notice of motion, put by Elaine Lindridge, that all churches should be required to construct a mission plan or an end of life plan within two years, and how this developed, is a case in point. The end goal is that local churches should reflect on their mission seriously. The challenge for the Conference is how to develop something that will have a consequence for those who are reluctant to participate. Ministers need more power to their elbow when confronting churches that might be financially rich but performing poorly in a missional sense, living a life where their security comes from funds that sit in a bank on a rainy day (when elsewhere in the circuit it is lashing it down), and not from any real grasp of Methodist purpose. Herein, there may be striking parallels with John Wesley’s Second Sermon, ‘The Almost Christian’, wherein Wesley points to how we all need to guard against having the outward form of religion, but lacking a depth of relationship with Jesus Christ. This makes the difference between our being ‘Almost’ there, rather than ‘Altogether’ there. Our first calling as preachers is to ‘save souls’. Whilst this language may appear a little archaic, our congregations need to remember that their purpose is to do more than keep worship going on a Sunday and shut up shop for the rest of the week, or if we have customers, to leave them to their own devices, assuming that a self-service ‘take it or leave it’ mode of operation will be enough to grow the church. I hope that Conference’s decision that this notice of motion be passed to Methodist Council proves to be a wise one, in that what we need is action, rather than this idea to be kicked into the long grass.

The reality of ministry; managing growth and decline

During my own ministry, I have observed how churches can have periods of stability or decline, followed by periods of significant growth. I have seen three churches close. At other times, new things have emerged. Today, in some of my churches, Jesus declaration that ‘The harvest is plentiful and the workers are few’ has come to fruition. I am co-ordinating efforts in two to welcome newcomers properly. Note that I speak of welcoming, rather than membership. In one, we are co-ordinating ‘meet and greets’, helping newcomers link with me as their minister, and our key pastoral leaders. In the other, I am writing to newcomers who have been with us for some time, sharing our conviction that they are already part of us, letting them know that if they have any questions about faith we are available, and inviting them to think about taking up membership. The challenge rests in meeting each person’s individual needs, rather than giving an ‘Eh up! We are running a faith and membership course if anyone is interested.’ For us, long gone are the days when we can hold a yearly confirmation course and expect a crowd to arrive en masse (as per my Anglican upbringing). This might be appropriate in some places where people have similar needs – and we have used this approach before – but I am not convinced it would be right for us now. Some people are seasoned Methodists who can transfer straight in. Others are committed Christians from other denominational backgrounds who need time to acclimatise to our Methodist way of working (and, I hope, gain the confidence to challenge us about how we operate), whilst others are exploring or are new to the faith. Everyone has a different need. So, we are making sure we welcome people but are meeting their needs individually.

Membership, the principle way in which the church measures commitment to a local congregation, can for a challenging issue for some. Personally, I value everything that membership offers; it enables people to affirm their faith, to assert their belonging, to have a say in decisions, and to take up certain roles in the church. However, some people are not comfortable with this formal sense of belonging. Unpacking this is often complex. For me, the objective is not necessarily membership, but assuring people that whatever they decide, we consider that they are part of us and that we want them to make our church their spiritual home. Unconditional love – which is the love that we want people to experience and share as Christians, can by never, by definition, be conditional on membership. The challenge for anyone who dislikes the membership concept however, is to find an alternative system that fulfils our obligations under charity law whilst preventing trusteeship becoming something that rests, in the worst-case scenario, with a small, powerful, but insular group of leaders who decide on everything and ultimately constrain growth.

In these two churches, whilst we have lost some members who have gone up to glory or moved out of the area, we have made new members – and crucially these new members have taken up leadership roles. I take much encouragement from this. It demonstrates that whilst membership figures might make churches appear static, or even in slight decline, the churches concerned have the capacity to welcome and nurture new talent. To welcome newcomers and to help them find a role in the church, irrespective of whether membership appeals to them or not, requires us to understand our purpose in making disciples, and a willingness to adapt. We may need to sit in a different pew (and I mean this both spiritually and practically), to give way to the voices and opinions of others, or to allow someone to take on a task and do it differently to how we would do it – oh, and more than that – to have the humility to thank them when we realise that they have done it better than us.

Challenging the narrative of closure

As I look back on the last four years in Peterborough, it is not so much declining membership or a lack of commitment that has been the major challenge. Rather, the task has been one of helping churches find a way of operating that works for them, especially if they have fewer people to carry out key tasks. It is not only the smaller churches that struggle in this.

More widely, and throughout my ministry, the challenge has been one of reversing what I now term, ‘The narrative of closure’. This, I feel has been embedded across the connexion since well before the advent of fresh expressions. Unconsciously we seem to have sent out the message that unless we can meet every Sunday morning throughout the year (or in the afternoon if you are in a rural area where farming families shaped their worshipping life around tending the herd), we are somehow not a ‘proper’ church. To this day, when regular Sunday worship ceases to be viable, or when we cannot find enough people to fill the necessary roles, local churches collapse in on themselves and fold. Very often there is simply no energy left to explore questions of how they might retain a presence and a mission. People have nailed themselves to the cross of Christ rather than carried it, or carried it for so long that they can carry it no further and have collapsed under its weight.

Quietly, I have banned talk of ‘closure’ in my circuit, in the sense that if there is no other option but to allow this to happen, then so be it. But nationally, I remain unconvinced that the apparent end of the road is really the end of the road for some of our struggling chapels. There are other options whereby a church can remain open; as a class of another church or as a circuit project for example. Often there is the possibility of allowing a local group to fulfil its godly potential, even though it might be judged as sub-ecclesial by others. The irony, especially when there has been a discussion about how smaller churches might be inhibiting our wider mission (by draining resources) is that sometimes they exhibit a level of resourcefulness and community engagement that is disproportionately higher than larger churches who think too much of themselves. This is certainly true of one of my smaller churches which has been the only one to grow its membership recently and raise over £80,000 to repair its roof. More than this, it has been able to couple its fundraising with community development and mission in a way that is seamless. Another of my smaller churches offers its building as a venue (providing a space where young people from other denominations can meet, and being used by community organisations every day of the week). Its most recent innovation has been to start a Foodbank in partnership with Churches Together. Whilst the future might not be entirely secure, at least we are moving forward with integrity.

What do we do with the statistics, and where might fresh expressions fit?

The report is neutral in its tone, but as one would expect it generated considerable discussion at Conference. The role of the Statistics Office is to collect and present our statistics in an accessible and understandable format, and in this, they have excelled. However, my experience of fresh expressions does not fully resonate with the report, which quite correctly states that membership is not the only means of measuring people’s commitment. I find myself wanting to shout from the rooftops that fresh expressions may have an important role in reinvigorating church life. We cannot airbrush them out of the conversation as some phase that seemed like a good idea at the time, but we have now gotten over. My central argument is that by now we must have approaching 3,000 fresh expressions; something that has been widely celebrated over the past decade. If these groups are following the Fresh Expressions definition, these will be ‘new forms of church intended for those who are not yet members of any church’. The question of how many of these churches have what might be termed ‘ecclesial intent’ formed part of my doctoral thesis and my conclusion was that few were thinking in this way. Nonetheless, Fresh Expressions has given rise to a profound shift in attitudes towards creating new fellowship groups, and new forms of mission. In some cases, fresh expressions provide a lifeline to dedicated Methodists who need more than what their local church offers on a Sunday morning. The section on how the Church is focused on AGAPE attendances (Activities, Groups, Associations, Programmes and Events) is deeply encouraging; we are reaching approaching half-a-million people – a third of this activity is focused on work with children and young people; 37,000 attendances report as fresh expressions and 12.7% of new AGAPE activity is fresh expressions based.

Ensuring that Practice and Discipline is fit for purpose

Herein there remains a deep question about how we take other forms of church seriously (which begs the question ‘What is church?’) and how our process and discipline might unlock the potential that we already have in our midst. My research suggested that this was often lacking, and that the ecclesial development within fresh expressions was inhibited, rather than aided, by our practice, discipline, and local church culture. We require membership to form a new church. A new church requires twelve members (whereas in existing churches, this number can decrease to six). Methodist members can be members of only one church. Conference’s response to the memorial referred to a report which acknowledged that, ‘a number of fresh expressions have become churches in the circuit where they reside’ (but this was not qualified in the original). Whilst I welcome our insights being included in the Church’s ongoing reflection, it seems to me that the Methodist Church, whilst attempting to retain the best of its tradition and discipline, is reluctant to reduce its grip on its established process and disciplines. How we apply and interpret these disciplines is also important. Personally, I like the idea of fresh expressions being subject to a different set of Standing Orders.

At present, I believe that we are neutering fresh expressions rather than learning from them. Whilst fresh expressions can grow from local church initiatives or circuit projects, and can begin from a ‘class meeting’ (small group) construct, the requirement of what they must live up to seems decidedly one-sided. It seems incongruous that the Church can, on the one hand, celebrate fresh expressions and on the other, overlook their potential. Or say, ‘That’s great. But when you look like us (the wider church that is in decline) we will consider you valid’. During my research, I reflected a great deal on how our church culture and process denied fresh expressions the warrant to become anything more than circus sideshows to the main event. Perhaps one of the most troubling conclusions was that whilst a minority within the Methodist Church were sceptical of F(f)resh E(e)xpressions, no one was able to offer an alternative. Now we have reached a tipping point. Notice of Motion 110, adopted by Conference, which encourages circuits to form new societies is an interesting one because this is exactly what we hoped some fresh expressions will aspire to become. I suspect that this suggestion might highlight further how our provision and processes for ecclesial formation are a blunt instrument for our present context. Where are these new members going to come from? What church can spare twelve members to form a new church? Does anyone appreciate, in the case of new members, the length of time it takes to nurture people in faith to the point where they may well consider membership? Whilst it is true that new church councils can be supported by members of existing churches, the basic requirement on the number of members required to form a church still stands, and a member cannot belong to two churches in a legal sense (unless you live in another part of the world for half of the year). Whilst there are some circuits that could plant new congregations using a ‘seeding’ model, in many cases this would deplete what we already have. We need a better model of churchplanting other than merging churches, forming LEP’s, setting up circuit projects to authorise work or designating declining churches as ‘fresh expressions’. Whilst these may be effective in some cases (and it would be good to have published examples), in effect, they by-pass route 1 in Standing Orders.

Thinking ahead

It seems to me that our most significant challenge is to recognise where the success stories are, to learn from them, and to pass the lessons on. Admittedly, this is where Fresh Expressions – the national charity composed of representatives from multiple denominations – is at its weakest. It is strong on vision and examples of the work, but weak on the processes, discussions, and authorisations that have given rise to it. In fairness, this is beyond Fresh Expressions remit, since it is committed to renewing churchplanting across multiple denominations; it does not have to concern itself with the details of how this is delivered in partner Churches. Worse than this – and I say this as a proud supporter of Fresh Expressions vision – the movement has constructed its argument on the premise that the Church is failing in its missionary task and that we need to do something different. Whilst they might be right, this is an unhelpful point to press, because if fresh expressions are to be incorporated into the life of the church, its leaders will need to have confidence that Methodism can indeed embrace them. This is precisely where practitioners, having started in the sunshine, end up stumbling about in the dusk. I am not sure that we need more faith in God. I think that we need to have faith in the Methodist Church, and in ourselves, which is quite a different proposition. One thing that I do know is that we will not encourage this by highlighting our failures. Organisational change – and repentance in the gospel – begins by being honest and recognising that the way we are operating is not right, that we need to change, that we can change if we want to, and that this is our responsibility. Finally, I am reminded that we, as ministers are sent into our circuits by the Conference, and that there is a difference between managing decline, and providing leadership when and where it is needed. Let us pray that what has been discussed and proposed at Cconference will indeed have a real impact locally.

On The Wireless June edition Finalb

I keep thinking back to that conversation when Jesus forgave me and told me to care for the other disciples. I remember the sting of the salt on my face as I wiped my eyes dry. I remember the sense of peace that came with knowing everything was settled, and that surge of tiredness as I let go of my guilt. I remember feeling assured that from that point, Jesus was going to strengthen me. At the same time, I felt a sense of fear – fear of the Lord – as I realised how Jesus had made me responsible for the others. I must not fail.

Until now, I have not been able to take in the rest of what Jesus said. I do remember Him saying that whilst today I am in control of my own destiny, this would change in the future. He said that there would come a time when I would have to stretch out my hands, and that someone else would lead me to where I would not want to go. I am still not quite sure what he meant by that. I shudder at the memory of what Jesus battered body looked like, and the rope burns on his wrists. Does Jesus mean that one day, I will face death just as He did? If so, it does not bear thinking about.

If you had asked me a week ago, I would have said the resurrection is the only thing that defines us. People remember the Essenes because they commit to a life of poverty. People remember the Pharisees for their commitment to the law. People remember the Sadducees for their commitment to the Temple. Meanwhile, we are becoming known as the Christ followers who insist that their leader is not dead. A week ago, still basking in the glory of it all, I would have defined us as the people of the resurrection. Now I am not so sure. You see, the resurrection is only half the story. We cannot celebrate the resurrection without acknowledging that Jesus went through the death. He lived our life, died our death, and bore our griefs. Death and resurrection belong together. At first, this might seem morbid. But this is what has given me comfort as I have questioned what the future holds. If I am killed, I like Jesus will be resurrected. I simply pray that my death is not torturous. If I am taken, I pray that I will be taken quickly. But I do not fear death. None of us does.

Jesus spoke freely and often about the fact that he would be put to death. As I look back I feel humbled – ashamed even – about how we responded, especially when I compare this to the confidence that we have now. The resurrection has secured our faith. I remember when Jesus told us that one day he would have to leave us. ‘Don’t let your hearts be troubled’, He said, ‘Believe in God; believe also in me.’ We lost all sense of proportion. I remember Jesus saying something about His going to heaven and preparing a place for us, and that we would know the way to the place where he was going. But His words made no sense. Thomas became exasperated with Jesus, ‘Lord we do not know where you are going, how can we know the way!’ And then Philip challenged him. He said something like, ‘We’ll believe you when we see this Father in heaven that you keep referring to. Show us the Father!’ Then Jesus berated Philip for his lack of belief. In Jesus mind, Philip had seen enough. How much more did Jesus need to say? How many more miracles did Philip need to see? Meanwhile, I was confused and holding my head in my hands.

I understood where Thomas and Philip were coming from. Until then, we took much of what Jesus said as figurative. He spoke in parables all the time. It was one of the ways in which he used to avoid conflict. Don’t misunderstand me. Jesus was never afraid to confront people – it was simply that if He did so, it would be on his terms. Jesus was a master at speaking in parables, saying enough to allow people to find the truth for themselves, but not so much that he would be arrested. So, often, after Jesus had spoken, we would discuss amongst ourselves whether we thought Jesus meant us to understand Him literally. I remember, on one occasion in the early days, when Jesus declared that he would suffer, be put to death, and then be raised after three days, how I became indignant. I thought he was talking nonsense but he scolded me. ‘Get Behind me Satan’ he said. That put me back in my place.

As we journeyed with Jesus it was easy to accept that he had power over the underworld and all the raging spirits that wreak havoc on us – we had witnessed him calling on God to calm the storm on Galilee. It was easy to accept that God through Jesus could bring healing – we had seen so many healings that we had lost count. It was easy to see that God through Jesus could meet our needs – we had seen him feed five thousand. But we were still unsure, especially when Jesus spoke of his own death, about whether Jesus meant us to understand him literally. It was not until we saw Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead that we began to think this. When we saw how the authorities responded to Him in Jerusalem, the sense of foreboding began to penetrate even deeper. By the time that Mary anointed Jesus’ feet with burial oil, things had become overwhelming. And so, at the beginning of Passover, when Jesus spoke about his dying again, we were all in a very different frame of mind. He said, ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.’

We were beside ourselves. Whilst we accepted that by God’s power, Jesus could raise the dead, the fact that he would not just die, but be executed, seemed to go against all the good that God was doing. And we also began to think about what we stood to lose. Who would lead us? What would become of us? We who had given up so much to follow Jesus? So Jesus’ words of reassurance seemed hollow. As far as Thomas saw it, Jesus had no plan. Philip, ever the practical one, agreed.

I am unconvinced that anyone accepted Jesus’ assurances or his promise that those who believed in Him would do even greater things. That is why I feel so humbled. The resurrection exposed our unbelief. Now we have seen the proof with our own eyes, trusting Jesus is easy. Whilst we might face uncertainties, God has everything in hand. But I pray for those who will, in future, hear those same promises of God, I pray that they will accept what God has to say as a matter of faith. I pray that they will question less than we did. I pray that they will be able to let go of that desire to be in control or to know more than they need to know. I pray this not because this limits God in some way. I pray this so that they will save themselves the grief and panic that we felt. I pray this so that they may grow in faith, rather than be suffocated by the anxieties of this life. And as for us, if death is indeed around the corner, we will not be distracted because we rest secure in the knowledge that death is not the end. Whilst we long for Jesus to be with us, we know that he is present in a different way. We are still receiving reports of how he is appearing to others. We know that he will return, but meanwhile, God is moving so powerfully that we have little time to sit and contemplate.

I keep thinking back to that conversation when Jesus forgave me and told me to care for the other disciples. When you look back, what you remember about your most sacred moments is curious. I remember the sting of the salt on my face as I wiped my eyes dry. I remember that sense of peace that came with knowing everything was settled, and that surge of tiredness as I finally allowed myself to let go of all that guilt. After working through the night, I was ready to sleep for a week and struggling to concentrate. I remember how I absorbed the fact that Jesus was going to build me up again, and there would be no let-up in the responsibility that had given me. After that, my immediate thoughts, what with Jesus saying ‘Tend my lambs’ and ‘Feed my sheep’, were of how Jesus expected me to lead, following his example as the Good Shepherd.

I have not been able to take in the rest of what Jesus said until now.  I do remember Him pointing out that whilst I am in control of my own destiny today, in the future that would change. He said that there would be a time when I would have to stretch out my hands, and that someone else would lead me to where I would not want to go. I am not quite sure what he meant. Until now, the resurrection has dominated all our thinking. We have been overpowered by life. But now, as I remember Jesus’ words I shudder at the memory of what Jesus battered body looked like, and the sores on his wrists that came from where the guards had bound him. Does Jesus mean that one day, I will face opposition and death just as He did? If so, it does not bear thinking about.

If you had asked me a week ago, I would have said the resurrection is the only thing that defines us. People remember the Essenes because they commit to a life of poverty. The Pharisees are remembered for their commitment to the law. The Sadducees are remembered for their commitment to the Temple. Meanwhile, we are becoming known as the people who follow Jesus and believe in the resurrection. This has been God’s way of telling us that Jesus is indeed, His Son. The resurrection has coloured everything and is forcing us to think about Jesus’ teaching in a different light. So yes, a week ago, still basking in the glory of it all, I would have said that we were the people of the resurrection. Today, however, I am not so sure. You see, the resurrection is only half the story. We cannot celebrate the resurrection without acknowledging that Jesus went through the death. He lived our life, died our death, and bore our griefs. Death and resurrection belong together. At first, this might seem morbid. But this is what has given me comfort as I have questioned what the future holds. If I am killed, I like Jesus will be resurrected. I just pray that my death is not a torture. If I am taken, I pray that I am taken quickly. But I do not fear death. None of us do.

I feel humbled when I think about the difference between how we responded as disciples when Jesus predicted his death, and the people that we now becoming. We still miss Jesus but we know he is present – and besides, reports of how he is revealing himself to others are still reaching us. We know that he will return, but meanwhile, God is moving so powerfully that we do not have time to sit around and contemplate. The resurrection has made our faith in God more secure. We are so different compared to how we first responded when Jesus told us that one day he would leave us. ‘Don’t let your hearts be troubled’, he said. ‘Believe in God; believe also in me.’ The minute he said that we lost all sense of proportion. I remember Jesus saying something about His going to heaven and preparing a place for us, and that we would know the way to the place where he was going. But Jesus words made no sense to us. I remember Thomas becoming exasperated with Him, ‘Lord we do not know where you are going, how can we know the way!’ And then Philip challenged him. He said something like, ‘We’ll believe you when we see this Father in heaven that you keep referring to. Show us the Father!’ Then Jesus berated Philip for his lack of belief. In Jesus mind, Philip had seen enough. How much more did Jesus need to say? How many more miracles did Philip need to see? Meanwhile, I was confused and holding my head in my hands.

I could see where Thomas and Philip were coming from. Up until now, we took much of what Jesus said as figurative. He spoke in parables all the time. It was one of the ways in which he used to avoid conflict. Don’t misunderstand me. Jesus was prepared to confront – but he was always in control of what would happen, and when. Jesus was a master at speaking in parables, saying enough to allow people to find the truth for themselves, but not so much that he would be arrested. So, often, after Jesus had spoken, we would discuss amongst ourselves whether we thought Jesus meant us to understand Him literally. I remember, on one occasion in the early days, when Jesus declared that he would suffer, be put to death, and then be raised after three days, how I became indignant. I thought he was talking nonsense but he scolded me. ‘Get Behind me Satan’ he said. That put me back in my place.

As we journeyed with Jesus it was easy to accept that he had power over the underworld and all the raging spirits that wreak havoc on us – we had witnessed him calling on God to calm the storm on Galilee. It was easy to accept that God through Jesus could bring healing – we had seen so many healings that we had lost count. It was easy to see that God through Jesus could meet our needs – we had seen him feed five thousand with five loaves and two fish. But we were still unsure, especially when Jesus spoke of his own death, about what he meant. It was not until we saw Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead that we began to grasp that he might be speaking literally. We became aware that the authorities were already plotting to kill Jesus and we fled to Jerusalem. Jesus followed on later. When we witnessed the scenes in Jerusalem this sense of foreboding became even sharper. Things became unbearable. When Mary anointed Jesus feet with burial oil it was as if she was giving up and accepting his fate. And so, when, at the beginning of Passover, Jesus spoke about his dying again, we were in a very different frame of mind. He said, ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.’

We were beside ourselves. Whilst we could accept that Jesus could raise other people from the dead, the fact that he would be put to death seemed an affront to what God was doing. We did not have the capacity to believe that God could raise Him from the dead. All we thought about was how his death would be a failure, and what we had to lose. Who would lead us? What would become of us? We who had given up so much to follow Jesus. His words of reassurance seemed hollow. As far as Thomas saw it, Jesus had no plan. There was no instruction of what we should do when the time came. Philip, ever the practical one, agreed. Philip had faith, but he did not have enough faith to simply trust Jesus’ Word.

I am not sure that anyone accepted Jesus’ assurances, or his promise that those who believed in Him would do even greater things. We were preoccupied with our questions and, if I am honest, thinking only of our own survival. That is why I feel so humbled. Our lack of faith has been exposed. Now we have seen the resurrection; the proof with our own eyes, it is much easier to believe. It is much easier to accept that God has everything in hand than was the case before. But I pray for those who will, in future, hear the promises of God – that they will question less than we did. I pray that they will be able to let go of that desire to be in control or to know more than they need to know, so that they can receive all the blessings that God has for them. At times, our scepticism, or our desire to know God’s plans in detail, undermines what God can do. As for us, we will concern ourselves only with what today brings and strive to live faithfully for God. And if death is indeed around the corner, we will not be distracted because we rest secure in the knowledge that death is not the end.

The weight of that conversation is still sitting heavily on my soul. ‘Do you love me more than these?’, ‘Do you love me?’, ‘Do you love me?’…‘Feed my lambs.’ ‘Take care of my sheep.’ ‘Feed my sheep.’ As if it were not enough for Jesus to forgive me and make his peace with me, he then tells me to look after everyone. I know that God can do all things through the power of the spirit but, at the same time, I am aware of how fragile and vulnerable I will become if I do anything but trust in God. I am conscious that there is no room to be lukewarm in my commitment. It is either all or nothing. It is like standing with my back on the edge of a precipice but looking forward to paradise. I am still fearful that I might lose my balance and fall back.

I must admit that despite all that Jesus is, how he speaks of the others seems quite old-fashioned. Almost romantic. No one could describe any of us as pretty! Quite the opposite. Most of us are hardy, practical people. Some of us look more like spent wrestlers than rabbis. None of us looks vulnerable, like lost sheep But I understand what Jesus is saying and why he is saying it. We might look strong and rugged on the outside but on the inside, we are weak. How we all behaved (apart from the women) – how we all scattered and denied all knowledge of Jesus once he was taken from us – shows what the worst in us can amount to if we lack courage. I also understand that Jesus is pointing to how God wants his leaders to be good shepherds of the sheep, and how I must be different from those who have failed in the past. Part of me wants to be a leader; the part that wants to react, confront and commit. Meanwhile, another part of me so easily longs for the journey to end here, and to settle for the quiet life. Sometimes I have the boldness of a lion, but the timidity of a mouse.

I was thinking the other day and remembered that time when we were travelling with Jesus, and He spoke about how he was the ‘gate for the sheep’. It took place just at the point where things were beginning to turn nasty. We were in Galilee and we knew that some of the leaders were already plotting to kill Jesus. So, we urged him to go to Judea. We thought, ‘What have we got to lose?’ If we stayed in Galilee, the authorities would catch up with us. Besides, how could Jesus raise his profile whilst hiding away in some rural backwater? In the end, we went on ahead and Jesus followed in secret. We could see the tension between the leaders and the crowds. They were losing their grip. The scent of fear was already in the air. Those who wanted to know about where Jesus was, or say anything positive, whispered it. Then, halfway through the festival, Jesus appeared at the temple and began to preach.

He was like a cat in a snake pit as the teachers of the law questioned his authority and ridiculed him when they saw the people’s hopes raised. When the people began to think for themselves and question whether Jesus could, indeed, be the Messiah, the leaders tried to ridicule Him, along with anyone who supported him, by saying that he was demon possessed. But Jesus confounded them all with his plain-speaking, his claim that he had been sent by God, and the promises that he made to the people. The truth has something about it that is resistant to ridicule; the more they tried to decry Jesus, the worst they looked. Then, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus came across some Pharisees and Teachers who were about to stone a woman for adultery. Again, the leaders tried to undermine him, by asking whether he would obey the law. Jesus silenced them by writing on the ground. I don’t know what he wrote before wiping it clean, but whatever it was, they shuddered with apprehension. When Jesus said, ‘Let he who has no sin cast the first stone’ they scattered. These exchanges were relentless. On another occasion, as Jesus talked with the people and declared that he had been sent by God, the authorities were keen to twist this and accuse him of blasphemy. But Jesus was clever. He said enough for the people to make up their own minds, helping them to piece together the fragments with answers that all pointed in the same direction. I remember one of the clearest statements being, ‘You are from below, I am from above.’ He was nonetheless still lucky to escape intact. Then, the final straw for Jesus came on the Sabbath, when he healed a man who was born blind. Despite all the evidence – not only from the man who was healed, from all those who had seen the change in him, and from his parents, the Pharisees would still not accept that Jesus was from God. Jesus, the misfit from Nazareth, whose parentage was questionable, and who did not possess any formal learning qualification, did not fit their understanding of the kind of person that God could be at work in, let alone the kind of person who could lead a band of disciples and form a community.

Then Jesus lost it. To be honest, he did not lose it. Jesus never did anything without reason. But it was one of the few times – apart from when he turned the tables in the temple – when I saw an outpouring of His righteous anger. He was indignant. He shouted, ‘I am the gate for the Sheep’…‘I am the good shepherd…’All who have come before me are thieves and robbers’…’I am the gate…whoever enters through me will be saved. In other words, I am not like these leaders. I am faithful: they are not. I can be trusted: they cannot. My message comes from God and is pure: their message is human and self-centred. But the Pharisees could not understand Jesus’ figures of speech. So he pressed the point home relentlessly. He declared with such force; ‘I am the gate; whoever enters by me will be saved. They come to rob, kill and destroy: I have come that they might have life, and have it to the full.’ In other words; ‘Choose Life. Choose me and only me.’ The response from the leaders was much the same. Discredit Jesus by saying that he was demon possessed. But not all of them were convinced. Some did begin to think. If Jesus was possessed, how come he managed to heal the blind man in the first place.

As I think about Jesus being the gate I am led to think about my role, and how Jesus is urging me to stay with – to abide with them. I am just realising that to follow him is to give my life to this work and to support the others. It is to live, breathe and sleep alongside them. It is to preserve His teachings nd deter those who would prefer to domesticate them – or to distort them do that they might be used to justify and armed uprising. Our task is to follow Jesus wherever He leads. The Kingdom of at God is in hand. God is doing a new thing. There is no room for being lukewarm or complacent. Stepping back is not an option.