Here are my theological reflections after six to eight months in my role as Rural Mission Lead for the Diocese of Durham. One of the things I love about blogging is that the editorial bar is much lower than it is for an academic paper, or a published book. In fact one of the joys of blogging is that it contributes to the process of learning to be more articulate. As an extrovert thinker, I’m processing… caveats made:
Over the last six to eight months of rural mission activity in both the Upper Weardale Benefice, and in meeting with rural clergy and lay leaders around the Diocese… I have been asking “O God, what is it you want me to do.” I have been seeking God in Upper Weardale wilderness spaces, going out into these wild spaces and praying. In addition to my duties as Priest-in-Charge, I have sought to be a visible priestly presence in the villages: sitting in cafes and on street benches praying. I have had some wonderfully serendipitous conversations when I knocked on wrong doors (because I’m new here and sometimes can’t find the right address). From all this I have some observations based in experience:
My first observation is that lay and ordained leaders in the churches I have visited have expressed feelings of isolation and loneliness. Sure, not everyone, but the overwhelming response I’ve had so far is a sense of being alone in ministry. This is odd given that we lead church communities and are part of a network of loving Christian support. From parishes to deaneries, archdeaconries and dioceses: we have Area Deans, Archdeacons, Bishops and a team of Diocesan staff to pray for us, guide us, and provide helpful advice should we need it. And yet, despite all this, there is an ongoing sense that each of us works out our parish ministry alone. When I met with these lay and ordained church leaders across our Diocese, I got the sense that people were glad to have someone listen to them and spend time with them. The most frequent response I’ve had so far is “it is nice to felt heard” (I paraphrase).
My second observation comes from the practical priestly ministry in Upper Weardale – leading three PCCs, a ‘Joint PCC’, and a Mission Task Group. I have have been leading a discussion on the ‘five marks of mission’:
- Proclaim the good news
- Teach and nurture new believers
- Respond to human need with loving service
- Challenge unjust structures in society
- Care for God’s good creation
With the local church leadership groups we have explored what mission looks like in our Benefice. As a rural community the imagery in our language calls upon the fields, rivers, and animals we see around us. For example, we know if there has been a fox, a rabbit, or a deer in our garden by the tracks they leave behind. A fox can’t pretend to be a deer, a rabbit can’t pretend to be a fox. Perhaps the muddy footprints the church leaves behind in the world are our tracks. If we leave behind tracks that look like the ‘five marks of mission’ we will know ourselves to be a missional church – this reminds me of the Bible verse, “by their fruits they will be known”. A church that is not missional may look at the five marks of mission and ask, what are we getting wrong? How can we make it look like we’re missional? This is what happens if the ‘five marks of mission’ are treated as a tick box exercise and we end up basically asking, ‘how can we fake it?’ In this second observation, my mind returns to psalm 127 “unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in vain”.
- Vain has multiple meanings. One might be ‘without hope’. Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour without hope: we can work hard, but we have no hope. God may still be at work, but if we have no hope that what we do will make a difference, then our labour will feel really hard and we will struggle to see results. We may even yearn for results to prove that what we’re doing has value – after all we can use the language of spiritual abuse to beat ourselves up: we are doing God’s work – so it must be the right thing. We were called to do this. We can’t stop. If God isn’t at work, then we may still succeed in what we’re doing, but we may have built something other than a church or Godly activity.
- Vain can also mean ‘pride’. Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in their own pride: whose house are we building? Is it God’s house, or our house? Again, we can be really successful in building houses to our own cleverness, and through hard work we may stand in front of God (and all humanity) declaring that we have done this for God… but in reality we may have done this for ourselves. Our salvation in this instance may be found in Jesus’ words, “whoever is not against us, is for us”. We may have laboured in pride, but God may still use this, however we should not be surprised to find ourselves echoing the words of Hosea, “God has torn us, but God will heal us”.
Have I contradicted myself? Someone once said to me, “remember, your motives are not pure, get over it and get on with it”. So, I’m not chastising those who labour without hope nor those who labour in pride. However both seem like hard work. Is this the route to burnout in the church? If Jesus said “come to me all who work hard and carry heavy burdens and I will give you rest”, then perhaps we are invited to step back from labouring without hope or in our own pride.
My third observation is based on a comparison between an intentional spiritual retreat and my latest cycling holiday. I went on a spiritual retreat in July, but it felt really flat. I returned to a place I’ve been on retreat before and although I prayed and read spiritual books, I didn’t really feel any new or refreshed insights into my relationship with God. However, on a cycling holiday in Scotland at the beginning of September I felt a much more intense experience of ‘God-is-with-us’. I suspect the difference is that on my spiritual retreat I was returning to somewhere safe and familiar, and on holiday I was pushing at the boundaries of my physical and emotional capacity. It is helpful to recall that ‘God-is-with-us’ is most noticeable when I am uncomfortable and in a place where I’m not fully in control of what is going on. I think about the Celtic Saints, exchanging food and shelter for the Gospel of good news and Christian hope. I doubt they felt in control, and yet the legacy of their evangelism has been long lasting.
Observations from material I’m re-reading:
I have returned to some reading from my formative years: Christianity Rediscovered by Vincent J Donovan, The Go-Between God by John V. Taylor and Three Mile an Hour God: Biblical Reflections by Kosuke Koyama.
Vincent Donovan first highlighted for me the difference between the missional imperative to respond to human need with loving service and the proclamation of the good news. In his experience, the people he had come to share the good news with didn’t know this. They thought the Roman Catholic Church had come to build schools and hospitals. They had no idea that there was a God and God had been incarnate. I have observed how our rural churches tend to lean heavily on our loving response to the suffering of our neighbours – and we don’t want to use these acts of service as a cover for evangelism. There is a healthy skepticism about ‘bait & switch’ evangelism: i.e. inviting people to one thing, and using this as an excuse to talk about something else (namely religion). However – our churches have also learned that when they speak about the good news of Jesus Christ they get pushed away and rejected by those they’ve come to help. I have discovered that this is perhaps because many people can’t articulate what the good news of Jesus Christ actually is. If we are trying to get people to come to church… a) that’s not good news to a lot of people, and b) we haven’t explained what coming to church is, means, or even why it might be something good. In terms of the five marks of mission, unless we are a community that knows how to proclaim the good news, and teach new believers, then the marks we leave in the mud are the marks of a social enterprise. We look like a food bank, a toddler group, a choir… we don’t look like a missional church. I feel there is more to unpack here.
John Taylor helped me to understand that it is God who sows the seed, God who brings the growth, and God who is active in a missional church. There were several things I have been reminded of:
- The relationship between mind and body. “It is vital for our understanding of the Holy Spirit to recognize […] it is the power of personhood which holds together body and mind in unity.” i.e. we have ‘spiritualized’ our soul (and the Holy Spirit) to be something ethereal, far off, special, and accessible only to those who have the knowledge of accessing God this way. John goes on to write that identifying the movement of the Holy Spirit may not only be something consciously done, but also unconsciously done… or even understood physically – in our bodies and without words. He warns that if we choose to limit our capacity to see God’s movement, we might miss something important. It is possible that walking across the moorland hills may be as good a way to hear the Word of God breathed into our experience, as sitting in Vicarage study writing a blog or honing a sermon. My further note to this: I have found myself more aware of the Holy Spirit’s action in Weardale when I am out in the Benefice’s villages and hills (whether in company or alone) than I have when spending a day in front of a computer screen… no matter how important the governance issue may be.
- “Mission is often described as if it were the planned extension of an old building. But in fact it has usually been more like an unexpected explosion. By recording the growth of the church in mainly institutional terms we have suggested a slow, even expansion and maturing, whereas the great leap forward and the equally sudden collapse have been such common features of the story that we should have had the modesty to recognize that the Breath of God has always played a far more decisive part than our human strategy.” – I’m back to my reflections on the house builder who labours in vain. I am concerned that the way in which we speak of mission, encourage others into mission, and even fund mission all come from a desire to be in control. For example, we have a conference called, “Leading your church into growth”. I have been three times and I love it, but… we may be guilty of creating ‘process driven church growth’, rather than ‘spirit led church growth’. I know those who lead the course would be hurt to read this – and that this is not their intention. I love them dearly, but I worry that what they say in the course, and what delegates hear is not the same thing. Essentially, it isn’t their fault, it happens because we create a human culture of ‘if only I had done it the right way, the church would have grown… like it did for others’. What is it about human nature that causes one person’s success story to become another person’s guilt? I am concerned that the way we wrap this in prayer may be merely giving lip service to Missio Dei.
- Discernment of the Holy Spirit – or something else. I am not a priest who feels comfortable with the language of spiritual battles or demonic forces, but I am also wary of dismissing it. I returned to this again with a little bit from John’s book where he reflects on Peter getting out of the boat… “Lord, if it is you…” If it is you: Peter was wary about this figure approaching across the waves. Peter didn’t get out of the boat until invited by Jesus, and he even walked on water for a bit until he became afraid. I’m beginning to ask myself, how do I discern that the Holy Spirit is at work in Upper Weardale, or in Durham’s rural parishes, and not something else. More reflection needed.
Kosuke Koyama’s book is worth reading even if only for the poetry of the images created. I love the idea that God moves through God’s good creation at a pace we can all keep up with. I ride a bicycle, and more recently (due to the size of my Benefice) I bought a motorcycle. I move at a pace which allows me to get places. God moves at a pace that allows God to be places. In ministry, and in the discernment of the work of the Holy Spirit, Kosuke reminds me that patience is key to church growth. The more we move at God’s pace the more likely we are to have encounters which are alive with the presence of the Holy Spirit. This requires patience. I wonder if this is a call to return to the pre-pentecostal patience of the apostles. More reflection needed.
So. These are my theological reflections from the first six to eight months in my three year post of Rural Mission Lead / Priest-in-Charge of Upper Weardale. I continue to be grateful to the Diocese for the gift which liberates me from work and sets me free to be a disciple of Jesus Christ.