Love your geeks

I was a teenager once. You may have been, too. Barely fifteen years ago, I was deeply insecure and stressed about things that strike me as deeply inconsequential now. My sophisticated Audrey Hepburn manner now may make it a surprise to learn that I was really quite a geeky sort at school. *coughs*

I wasn't part of the cool crowd. I wasn't part of the clever 'in-crowd' and I wasn't one of the really naughty outlaw-types either. I was just the tall girl with the silly bobbed perm who liked Narnia and football. I had my moments of bad behaviour, and I wasn't too shabby in the brain department when I put my mind to it, but generally speaking, I was just fairly ordinary.

I didn't really have much contact with the church in my early and mid-teens, and I always felt that, salvation aside, it would have been better on a social level for unhappy lonely me, if I had been involved in church.

If I was a teenager now, I'm not sure I'd feel the same. I caught five minutes of a youth conference speaker the other day, and a number of things stood out to me. The speaker was relaying a story about his pre-christian days, when he met a 15 year old christian. He gave the 15 year old a funny 'geek' voice, and called him 'Ronald'.
Apparently this youngster had approached him and expressed concern about the fire exits being blocked. The speaker presented this as something humourous, and his audience were giggling obligingly. Then he said

"Now, I don't want you to think I'm boasting about something I did when I was a non-christian..."

in a tone that made it perfectly clear that this is exactly what he was doing. More laughter all round and a smirk from the speaker...

"but I said to him...'You're 15 years old! You should be more concerned about starting fires yourself!'"

Oh, the hilarity. The audience could barely contain themselves at this rapier putdown to poor hapless 'Ronald'.

The speaker proceeded to exhort his listeners not to be 'wimpy' christians, but to be firestarters, go-getters, world-changers, yada yada yada. I'm still very unclear what he meant by 'wimpy' Christians. Christians who have the integrity and responsibility to be concerned that people might be trapped in a burning building?

Despite the laughter from his teen audience, I almost found myself there, an insecure 15 year old, trying to do my best to follow Jesus Christ, and not really being one of the cool kids who played an intrument or sang, and had a disdainful attitude towards practically everything. I found myself sitting in that audience, wincing inside because I knew I would never be one of the 'in-crowd', and that, even in church, that seemed to make all the difference.

If I was a teenager now, church would be the very last place I would want to be. The thought of gross-out games, a trendy sub-culture of skate t-shirts and indie music-style 'worship' seems to be different from the 'cool' people at school in precisely no way at all.

In this strange, slightly desperate race that 'youth ministry' has embarked upon to be 'cool', they seem to me to be, rather ironically, creating a new elite that excludes the very people that church should be a refuge for - those that society deems outcast. This isn't to say that church is just for geeks. But if your church has no place for geeks to feel just as loved as the MTV presenter-types, then you don't have a church youth ministry, you have social-club.

Sometimes, if you don't spend some time in normality, you'll go mad.

There are many things I really like. I still enjoy the musical insanity of early Queen records. Granary bread is a seriously luxury baked good and Waldorf salad made with peanuts rather than walnuts is creamy indulgence. I love Sci-fi of various shades. Quantum Leap was a big favourite in my teens. Doctor Who is a big favourite now. Yes, Frank, camp sci-fi is big in the muffin house.

I love reading. Sometimes it's just the feel of a bound book, heavy in my hands, and I'm content. I can read Pride and Prejudice through in an evening sitting. I love CS Lewis's Cosmic Trilogy, and I still have a sneaking fondess for Iain Banks' fiction. Peter Masters is always a pleasure to read.

I'm not a book-worm without distinction. There are things I can't read, no matter how much I try. Tolkien is like chewing cardboard, and I'm not big on maudlin pop-Christian authors like Max Lucado et al.

I'm spending some time thinking about the simple pleasures of mundanity, because I'm finding things are losing a certain savour under the weight of difficulty. I'm sure it will not stretch you to read these things. Maybe I shall even lose my readership because Doctor Who isn't something Christians should watch or something. Hey ho.

These are the little things that make me smile, not for anything deep or inherently helpful in them, but just because they remind me that life goes on, that human beings have this funny little survival mechanism that can find pleasure in the mundane and simple even when the world is crashing down round their ears.

I get a certain trait from my mother - that of black humour. Levity in the face of the monsters isn't everyones cup of tea, to be sure, but it gets me by. Do stay tuned here, I haven't quit blogging. But I'm kind of having to reign in all my 'fight' for the real world right now, and I just don't have the spare energy to be taking on the many things I'd like to, right now.

Anger rightly directed...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/scotland/5094884.stm

I'm not entirely sure an editorial would do this justice.

"Doctor, I asked you to kill both my babies, and one of them lived. I'm going to sue!"

a personal plea.

Anger is a horrible thing. I am sitting here, writing this, trembling with anger. A vulnerable member of my family is in desperate circumstances because of the incompetence of someone who had responsibility for them.

I wrote elsewhere that I am incandescent with anger. It's an apt description. I am tensed up, jaw set, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. I have the opportunity to phone the person directly, unloading both barrels of my dubious verbal ability to reduce someone to putty. I'm not going to do it. I'm going to make a formal complaint, for sure, but I shall go through the proper channels to do so.

I just don't quite know what to do with my anger. My very first response was to go very quiet. I feel like a volcano, with streams of molten rock about to surge forth. Then I kicked the lounge door and screamed. Then I fell to my knees and prayed "Lord, help me not to sin in my anger, please give me wisdom." I probably should have done that first.

I don't think I have ever felt quite like this. I have three small daughters that require my loving attention today, and I am petitioning the Lord minute by minute for self-control. I can see that's a good thing. How often do I have the opportunity of a constant reminder of my sinfulness and need of Him?

If you happen upon this post today, please pray for my family and I.

The only thing that matters.

In the midst of summer heat, hectic life circumstances, illness and whatever else might be around the corner, I find myself paring down what I dwell on, in my head.

The one thing that is occupying me at the moment, to the exclusion of much else, is the Gospel. I am daily aware of the fallen nature within me, and I am constantly reminded of a fallen world.

Yesterday, my husband and I sat and wearily watched Peter Masters on UCB tv. The children were in bed, we were exhausted, and my head was throbbing with the migraine that has been intermittent for the past 4 days. And after Dr Masters preached we felt much better, as we always do.

And then, we listened to the story of Fred Charrington, and my heart was absolutely thrilled, yet again, to hear a testimony of Grace.

One of the things that I have really been encouraged by recently is the unstoppable nature of the gospel. It makes pragmatism the most ridiculous enterprise. How can I possibly 'package' the bad news of coming judgement? Surely the sweetness of the gospel is in the reality of it - present a soul with it's own wickedness and the penalty for it, and grace is truly astonishing.

I used to be concerned - perhaps because of my own hardness of heart - that warning of coming judgement would fall on deaf, cycnical ears. You could tell a man of it, and receive indifference. This used to really, really stress me out.

But you know what? Now it just shows me how unstoppable the gospel is, because its power lies in the work of The Holy Spirit within a heart. To a man who will shrug his shoulders when warned of impending, inescapable doom, the gospel is meaningless - even if you twist it into Evanjellybean 'Jesus wants you to be happy' nonsense.

So all the pragmatic methodology in the world won't make the slightest bit of difference - because it is our own sinfulness we must acknowledge before God, and that is something we see by the Light of the Spirit. If we don't do that, we haven't come into the Kingdom, even if we have a T-shirt, a fancy bible-case and we're on the feeding-the-poor rota.

It goes a long way to dealing with the fear of man when you realize that this hard message of judgement-and-yet-grace is the only way that hard-hearted man will come to be saved.

Who are we trying to help when we adopt pragmatic methods? Are we truly trying to save those losts souls which everyday inch closer to eternal damnation? Or are we actually displaying our own unbelief in the singular, narrow way of salvation that the Lord has made? We may believe that we ourselves are saved by faith, through grace alone, but do we think that others will not be saved that way?

How ridiculous would it be for a man to insist that he wants to go Glasgow, and get on the bus to Worcester.

"But the bus route to Worcester is prettier"

Maybe so, but it won't get you to Glasgow.

The gospel of grace - the news of judgement, and the sweetness of that judgement taken by Jesus Christ on the cross in the place of the guilty - this is the only route to Life. I only wish I had more opportunity to tell people.

Because it's there

There are many times in our lives when we will face a defining moment - a decision we will have to make that will say who we truly are. For good or ill, it will very often be what we are remembered for, or at least what we ourselves remember and cherish or regret.

Mark Inglis is a double amputee who had a daring plan to climb Everest. It's a story of human daring and endeavour, thick with metaphor of triumph over adversity. For an able-bodied person, the determination needed to make the climb is formidable. For someone who doesn't have any legs, there's an added dimension.
He reached the summit, and made his way back down. An astonishing achievement and a world record.

And yet.

On the way up, Mark Inglis came upon a stricken climber. Having already made his way to the top, David Sharp had run out of oxygen on his descent, and was close to death. There was little that could be done for him - he could barely move his eyes. Inglis had oxygen enough to make the climb and back, he had none to spare for anyone else, and precious little time to stop.

And so he went on. A total of 40 climbers went past David Sharp, and passed on by. Each of them had a defining moment there and then. Each one of them had an ambition to reach the summit, and a story of human endeavour. Each of those stories should be inspiring.

But sadly, Mark Inglis and his fellow climbers have merely displayed the selfish heart of man. It is possible for anyone to climb a mountain, Inglis has proved you can even do it without any legs. It takes much more than drive, daring or determination to leave aside that ambition and stay with a dying man in his last moments. It takes courage.

Mark Inglis left a man to die alone so he could fulfil an ambition. That was his defining moment.

If you flaunt it..

Given that gay 'marriage' is once again in the headlines, both in the UK and the US, I had a thought I wanted to share. I often find myself frustrated that this is so often the issue that Christians are associated with. No doubt many of my readers feel the same.

While the passages condemning homosexuality are quite clear, they also make up a very tiny portion of scripture.
Christians, on the whole, unless their surname is Phelps, do not recite a mantra every morning along the lines of 'I hate Homosexuals!'

Yes, it is a sin, and yes, as many good hearted people will point out, it's not a sin that is worse than any of the others that are listed in scripture. Sin is sin is sin.

But the reason it so often is the topic du jour among Christians, particularly in the media, is really very simple.

Adulterers don't march down city streets demanding the right to cheat on their partners. Liars don't set up school advocacy groups to make young liars feel more accepted. Extortioners aren't lobbying parliament for special priveleges so they can set up protection rackets on an equal footing with local police.

Homosexuality is probably the most vocal sin around, closely followed by child-murder (but society does at least seem to be getting a little more squeamish about that nowadays).

So, yes, homosexuality isn't any worse sin than lying or fornication. The people of God should be faithful to speak out against all things that show foolish humanity's dark hearts.

And when the public start wearing badges with 'Liar Pride' or 'I love my adulterous son' then I hope you'll find Christians still answering, voice for voice. But right now, the homosexual lobby is the only group of sinners pressing for everybody else to tolerate, accept and condone their specific sin.

Are we writing sermons or funeral eulogies?

There were some beautiful pictures of churches in the local paper this week. Apparently it was all due to English Heritage putting them on the list to preserve them. This isn't one of them, but it's the nearest old fashioned church to our house..


Now, nothing says England so well as a pretty church.

But, as I read about the plans, it reminded me of other 'cultural' events that have taken place in recent months.


There have been various exhibitions round the country in museums and so on, displaying the inner workings of the human form. Cadavers were displayed with layers of skin and muscle stripped back, and various pickled body parts were laid out for the public to inspect. Human anatomy is a gruesome and compellingly fascinating business.

I have no problem with the anatomy displays. I think anything which reminds us of our mortality is a jolly good thing. And the reality is that it was but meat on display. While I have no doubt that each one of the people represented will one day rise, to judgement or glory, right now, the body parts are inert and soul-less.

And when I read the story of the pretty little churches, I couldn't but help thinking of these dead things.

Heritage organizations can spend their money, beautifying the decaying roof timbers, replacing cracked stained glass and fortifying crumbling steeples. The public can be free to wander round, and it will certainly be educational to look at fonts and chancels and lady chapels with Mother's Union banners dustily hanging there.

But, without a beating heart and without a soul - without the believers actively involved, without the breath of the Holy Spirit enabling these once-dead believers to do the work of the Kingdom, and proclaim Jesus Christ and Him crucifed, these buildings are no better than slabs of dead meat.

I've been in Anglican churches that were no more than civic centres. I've been in Anglican churches that were full of believers straight-jacketed by the demands of a heritage listed building. So, I have no problem with heritage organizations taking on the financial responsibility for the maintainence of these buildings.

But it would be ironic indeed to have the fossilized trappings of the 'Christian country' and the word of the Lord nowhere to be found. There might be a comfy-cosy feeling of familiarity, but you should feel no happier visiting than you would in a mortuary.

With deepest apologies..

It's dreadful, really it is, to have Phil Johnson say that my blog is always worth a read, and to be posting light. I'm sorry that anyone popping over on the strength of Phil's sterling recommendation isn't going to find much to challenge this week.

Goodness, I've even been given a 'can do better' comment by Dan Phillips, so you can tell I'm below par. Actually, that's very much the truth. The whole household has been under the weather with a nasty virus, and I really haven't had time to sit and concentrate on any of the posts I have in draft.

You know that feeling? You're staring at the screen and you already have three or four reasonable thoughts and coherent sentences, but you just keep reading the same three words over and over without taking them in.

I'm preparing for my eldest daughters fifth birthday as well. Seems to me that 5 is the first landmark-type birthday you're likely to remember, so we're actually putting the effort in this year.

I'm sure it makes me a bad mother, but we haven't really bothered with parties before now. My girls don't go to nursery/preschool, so their circle of acquaintance is more limited than other children in our family. And apart from photographs to look back on when they're old and a sugar-rush, I don't think kids get too much out of hyped-up parties when they're very little.

I think the toddler party can often fit in too well with the 'children-as-pets' mentality, too. But that's just us - if you have a three year old and you're having a party, don't let my curmudgeonliness put you off.

Anyway, the point is, we're having one this year for my five-in-a-month-year-old, and it's going to be a tea-party. We've had a talk about the guestlist, and I asked her which friends she wanted to come. I made a couple of suggestions - her 4 year old cousin, and her five year old friend from church.

She agreed emphatically and then reeled off her own list which included my best friend's 11 year old nephew, her grandparents, the Jehovah's Witness lady who visits, my missionary friend Karen, 91 year old Joyce from church and a number of others.

Anyone who has ever contemplated home education will have come across the hardy-perennial 'socialization'. As I listened to her list this wide variety of people my nearly 5 year old considers her friends, I was once again reassured what a lot of bunkum it is.

While this isn't quite a 'this is where I am today' post, it is worthwhile, when feeling physically ill, to spend time giving thanks for the things that are all well. My daughter is one of those things.