This Sunday just been was a strange and unusual day. Let me recount a few experiences.
Sunday Morning At Milford Baptist.
I spoke at both morning services here. There is some interesting context. The 9am service is smaller, made up of young adults and older members of the community. The service is contemporary and relaxed. The 10.30 service is predominantly older people, very traditional in style with piano, organ and a worship leader at the podium. The chairman of the board has recently complained vigourously to the interim pastor about his invitation to women speakers – I’m the second in the space of 6 weeks.
Needless to say, there is a nervous sense of trepidation and heady excitement at the invitation, opportunity and the challenge. The message I wanted to share seemed clear. Being communities that are fearless in the face of one another’s darkness, forgiving, accepting and welcoming the humanity within our stories. I shared the story of a young man in our youth community who came to ‘confess’ his grappling with feelings and questions of homosexuality to become a Christian. At his baptism he told the whole community his story. I talked about the fearlessness of a community that can convince anyone of the safety, security and love of a people for a person.
In the first service, I could be natural, funny and challenge people. But the challenge for me was in choosing words of humility, words carefully chosen with respect, kindness, tenderness and gentle, hopeful vision casting… for a congregation most of whom have been travelling on the journey much longer than I. Amongst the crowd were a number of ex-pastors and well-regarded leaders within the Baptist church. I wouldn’t rate my contribution as one of my best – I was rushed and harried in the preparation. However, I take heart that no one in the second service walked out, as I was told the threat was close and that those who responded to what was said were all older than I. Much much older than I.
One woman came up to me, in her eighty-somethingst year. She told me of the story and the darkness in her life that she has never told anyone. That God’s transformation in her life is remarkable but noone knows her as anything but an upstanding citizen. She was certain that God is prompting her to share her story and I am also – for she has a beautiful soul and her honesty and bravery at an age where most of her peers are desperately trying to grasp hold of their final dignities… is one of the most admirable things I have ever observed. In our brief ten minutes, I feel like I have met a lifelong hero. Oh that when I am old, I can be as humble, as human, as honest and as fearless as Frankie.
Another older gentleman wrote to me by email quoting the lyrics of an old song..
Thank you for coming to be Jesus to us on Sunday morning (I was at the 9am service, middle, one row back). I am so grateful that you came to talk to us about the things that God told you to with the real life, tender, honest and wooing words that made Jesus real. Thank you for the story telling, the laughter and the invitation to welcome the Jesus way.
I am an old Christ follower: old in the way that Keith Green wrote in his song “My eyes are dry, my faith is old, my heart is hard, my prayers are cold… but I know how I ought to be, alive to you and dead to me: what can be done for an old heart like mine? Soften it up with oil and wine, the oil is you, your Spirit of Love, please wash me anew in the wine of your love”. Your being, not just your words, was oil and wine. Your God-word at the end (old Pentecostal types like me still think of prophetic words!) was right; a sword and healing invitation in one, and for having the courage and wisdom to speak it, I thank you.
I think this email will remain one of my favourite pieces ever.
I remain convinced that if we can be fearless in the face of our humanity, we will walk ever closer to the Divine in each one of us. There are lots of theologians that will dislike my choice of words, but when I see those who are ahead of me still coming to terms with their own stories after all these years.. I think giving people permission, the tools and the desire to ‘own their stories’ is invaluable to the local and meta-narrative. For the two – I am glad that I was able to be part of something God is doing, that is always a privilege. For less pure motives, I’m glad that there is positive feedback happening about a woman speaker in that place, because there is sense of heartbreak and pride about the gender issues that have been so troublesome for my friend the interim.
Go be fearless – learn from each other.
Sunday Lunch at Patey St.
We celebrated our traditional Christmas Tree decorating with friends and family around the tree. It was a quieter one than usual, a number couldn’t make it. But technology made the difference for Roni, who decorated her tree with us via Skype. The food was the traditional feast we love, the decorations looked just as familiar on the tree and the beauty of being family with plenty of hangers on grew on me again. It was great to break the diet for the sake of Godly celebrations with people that I love and taste wine. We had to come up with new decorations since the renovations at home, but it was a wonderful opportunity to be tangibly and physically involved in creating something new that will become part of a tradition.
Sunday Night Worship at Windsor Park.
I’ve been waiting three weeks for this night. I was so anxious to get home and lead the people in worship. I related to David’s cry, his remembrance of leading the procession into the temple. More so, I have been anxious to talk with my people about our identity as one people, the joy of what we have when we get to be together. I spoke about my experience of isolation at Passion – that when we are together, I don’t want to worship just out of my own experiences, but out of our collective stories. To sing for those that can’t, for those that are sad. To sing praises, sorrows, lamentations, supplications on behalf of… oh yes.
It was grand to invite people to look one another in the eye and take hold of one another’s hands – to physically ‘connect’ with one another. As we were doing it.. there was noise, laughter and an ever increasing energy in the room. There is this theory about releasing energy from the people in the room. It felt good to be together, to be laughing. To be acknowledging something unique and special about gathering together to sing or participate in any form of ‘worship’.
Tash McGill 