Two mothers walk into a...

...life. I know, it sounds like the start of some sad 'dad' joke, but Sunday was Mother's Day, and I was reflecting on the two mothers who have been important in my life: my mother, and my wife. They are two women, two mothers, who walked into my life, for which I will be eternally thankful.

My mother grew up in a little village in England. I'm not sure how she viewed herself growing up. She had two sisters, Elsie and Doris, and one brother, George. I don't know if her identity was as a sister or as the daughter of Bill and Mary, but eventually she met the man who become become her husband and my father and she gained an identity - Tom's wife.

It seems strange, but that's how Mum self-identified, and even how she later described herself for the twenty-one years they were married before my father died. She was Tom's wife. 

And then, one day, Tom was gone. I have a vivid memory of being told my dad had died, and, after some thought, racing downstairs to see my mum even though I had been told to stay in my room. I think my aunt meant well, I think she didn't want me to see the distress my mum was in, the completely out-of-control grief of a woman whose whole life had collapsed. 

She was sitting on a dining chair surrounded by relatives. She was moaning and weeping and rocking and resisting all attempts to calm her down. No one saw me as I edged closer, until I slipped through and knelt in front of her, grasped her legs and put my head on her lap. I didn't know what to do, I didn't cry, I just knelt there.

My mum always remembered the story like this: that her world and life was over and all she wanted to do was to die. She didn't know if she would have done anything, but she simply knew that with my father gone she didn't want to live any more. She just wanted to shut down and slip away. But then I put my head on her lap, and an internal voice cut through all her grief and pain, "You have to live for Tom's son."

Did you get that? Tom's son. She didn't even primarily identify as my mum, she was Tom's wife and I was his son. That set the tone for the next season of her life, she was no longer Tom's wife, she was now Jeremy's mum. Her identity still wasn't her own, it was linked to her role as a mother.

My mum was a strong, determined, sometimes obstinate but always compassionate woman who, with no training, ran the family business during and after my father' death, raised me, provided for me, moved across the world to give me the possibility of a better life, resisted any attempts to manipulate or coerce her (salesmen watch out!), and became the strong, dependable friend for many in times of struggle and difficulty.

A day came, I don't know when, but the day came she found out who she was. She was Joyce, and she found herself by identifying with someone else, someone who wasn't a husband or a son but was her Lord. My mum discovered her identity through her faith in Christ.

My wife is very different to my mum. Her childhood was different. It was difficult, full of painful memories. She grew up, got married and became the mother of four amazing children (that's not just a dad speaking, they really are!). Due to life experiences and the challenges they presented she has faced darkness and hopelessness. She has journeyed through that dark valley and rather than it breaking her, has found a way for that struggle to temper her and form her into the incredible woman she is today.

My wife is a strong woman, a compassionate woman, a determined and sometimes obstinate woman who is an example for our daughter and other young women in our community. I don't think she ever found her her identity in others the way my mother did, but I think she hid her identity, unsure of just who she was and lacking the confidence to truly be Vicki.

Today she is Vicki. She is brilliant and creative and generous and is achieving things she subconsciously always knew she could, but lacked the confidence and internal permission to attempt. I could write much more about my wife, but what is important is this, she found her identity through her faith in Christ.

Two mothers walked into a life, my life, two strong women whose identity and presence in the world was shaped and released through Jesus. They were/are his girls.

I wrote that last sentence, even though I don't like it or particularly agree with its inference. God's girls, what on earth does that mean? To be honest it sounds patronising, as if we have graciously let them into a club where they really don't belong but think it will make them feel a bit special. I don't like the whole, 'princess - daughter of a king' description floating around today, even if it's coupled with the idea of being a 'warrior princess' (images of Xena and leather and swords and an irritating side-kick flash into view). I don't like these descriptions, God's girls and princesses, because they fall far short of the incredible description that is given is the Bible, the description that empowers women and forges an identity that makes them strong and confident and fierce (yes, thank you Tyra and Next Top Model).

I'm all for inclusive language in translating the scriptures, but there's one aspect that is so often lost. One example, "But to all who receive him - all who believe in his name - he has given the right to become God's children" (Jn. 1:12). Yes, but no. God has done away with the social constructs imposed by gender (Gal. 3:28, Acts 2:17), yet he has given the right to be sons of God, as the original says. Without unpacking the whole cultural context suffice to say that a son had rights and privileges a daughter didn't, but in Christ we all, male and female, have been welcomed as sons with all the rights and privileges that implies.

There are, however, current cultural and social difficulties with referring to women as sons. There is the implication they have to be other than they are to gain acceptance and value. So perhaps a better way to think of this whole-hearted welcome into the life of the trinity is that we are all, male and female, heirs of God.

Two mothers walk into a life as women who have found their identity in the one who frees them to confidently face life as heirs of God. They are women, they are mothers, and they are/were* followers of Jesus who have found their true selves as Christ is formed in them.

Thankfully my daughter is like her mother and grandmother. She is strong, confident, determined, and sometimes a little obstinate (ok, that might be from me), she is a young woman who has found her identity in Christ.

What of the women in your world? What of the mothers and daughters and wives and sisters and friends around you? What of the mothers, the women who walk into your life? What of the men? What of the fathers and sons and husbands and brothers and friends around you? How are you encouraging them, men and women, to find themselves, their identity, their strength and presence in the one who seeks to free them to be 'children and heirs of God.'

*My mother passed away in February 1997.

The middle seat

Susan sat next to me on the flight home from Melbourne. She was a lady around my age, friendly, and didn’t scream in horror and demand a change of seat when she discovered I was a pastor.

Susan’s story was interesting. She was a single Mum who had raised three children in country Victoria. She worked hard, began her own business, and gave her kids the best she had. Once they were grown she started to travel, including backpacking through Europe three years ago, and a desire to do the El Camino walk. She seemed strong, determined and adventurous.

But then she shared other aspects of her life. The struggles, the difficulties, some of the pain and disappointments she has faced and continues to negotiate. As I listened I realised that not only did her adventurous side challenge my relative complacency, but the difficulties that confronted her were, in many ways, the same ones we all face at different times and in slightly different contexts.

John sat on the other side of me. I had thought that I had an aisle seat which meant I could (if I chose to), ignore my fellow passengers and lose myself in a book. But God has a sense of humour and made sure I was in the middle of two people who were willing to chat the flight away.

I’m glad he did; God seems to know what he is doing.

John had been in the army for most of his life and now worked as a truck-driver. He was involved in the Malaysian conflict, was in one of the first Australian units into Cambodia following the overthrow of Pol Pot, and served with UN forces in Mogadishu, Somalia (echoes of Black Hawk Down?). In other words he was deployed to almost every crap-hole the ADF was involved in during his years of service.

He had a failed marriage behind him, had trouble sleeping, was subject to anxiety attacks when on planes, and drank too much on Anzac Day. As I listened to his memories of the Killing Fields and other deployments I thought about these consequences and wondered, “Is that all?” He saw and experienced things I thank God I never had to, and if I had I’m sure the list of issues I struggled with would be a lot longer than John’s.

He told me of family tragedy, and of his pride in the accomplishments of his new wife and his children. As I listened to John it reminded me that the people in his world are often the reason people join the ADF, to maintain our way of life and to remind the world that injustice and oppression isn’t acceptable.

Whatever the politics that landed John in those far off places, he did a job, and came home to other difficulties and challenges and to resume his role as husband, dad, and mate.

Susan and John, acquaintances, chance meetings on a place, who I’m confident, in other circumstances might have become friends. They both had a story, they both shared memories of difficulty and of accomplishment, they both had hopes and dreams, they both had families they cared for deeply. They were just like me.

As I read the gospels I am struck by something that I think we can often neglect - the people Jesus met. We know about the miracles, we read (even if we don’t always practice) his teaching, we see this journey from manger to cross to empty tomb and assign meaning without stopping to consider the steps, the thousands of steps he took to get there.

Those steps were full of people. We read about them and give them descriptors like, ‘the woman at the well,’ ‘the blind men,’ ‘the lepers,’ ‘the prostitutes and tax-collectors’, ‘the scribes, Pharisees and Sadducees,’ and so on. Some of them have names, Mary Magdalene, Lazarus, Martha, Mary, Peter, John, Judas, Nicodemus. Whatever their descriptor, whatever their name, they were people. They all had stories, they all navigated a life filled with difficulty and accomplishment, hopes and dreams, and even families they cared for deeply.

To us they are words on a page (or on a screen…), but to Jesus they were people. He stopped to talk with them, eat with them and even party with them. He listened to their stories. Why were they prostitutes? What caused them to become a scribe or Pharisee? How did they deal with the pain of rejection as a leper, or the socio-economic reality of being blind?

He listened, he heard, he was one of us for a time and engaged with us in our world. The miracles were a sign, the teaching was a new possibility for life, the people were the reason he came.

I read a lot, I talk, discuss and debate a lot, I do stuff and I plan more stuff to do. But in the end, it’s the people that matter. Sitting on a plane talking to two strangers and listening to their stories I was reminded of the value and dignity of every life and the overwhelming love of God for each of us.

Two hours. That’s all our flight was, two hours. But I don’t think I’ll forget Susan and John easily, or their stories. You see they reminded me that Jesus is less concerned with what I think or read or write or do and very, very interested in whether I stop and listen and give time to the people he died to set free.

Who’s around you? Whose story will you listen to? Who will you take the time to stop and notice?

Surrounded by Miracles

Last week I flew to Melbourne. It was an early morning flight, a very early morning flight, and typically I didn’t sleep very much the night before, so I anticipated a restful journey. The people seated next to me were accommodating and set the tone by falling asleep immediately after take-off. I made the mistake of losing myself in a cryptic crossword for a while until I no longer was able to drop off, and the three boys seated in front of me alternated between fighting with each other and chanting meaningless phrases before breaking into laughter.

Occasionally their father would lean across the aisle and tell them to, “Shut up!”

We landed early in Melbourne, usually a good thing, except that I was waiting for a friend to land and that turned my two hour wait into a two and a half hour wait. So I bought a sausage and egg muffin and coffee at Hungry Jacks, and proceeded to read whilst making the breakfast last as long as possible.

The coffee was no better luke-warm than it was fresh - or what passes for fresh in an airport fast food outlet.

As much as I was enjoying my book, I am, by nature, inquisitive. People who know me might suggest that I’m nosey, but I prefer ‘inquisitive.’ I take notice of the people around me, a little like Sherlock Holmes without the acute deductive ability, and wonder what their lives are like. Everyone is interesting, everyone has a story.

The man sitting next to me had engaged the father of the family next to him in conversation. It was a loud conversation, it wasn’t my fault I could hear that he was a truck driver from the country who was finding it a tough life at the moment and had a few hours to kill before catching a bus home. The father seemed genuinely interested in what the truckie was saying, his wife and teenage children didn’t.

I had the thought that, being a little gregarious I could have engaged the truckie in conversation when I sat down. The Christian part of my brain said I should have done and looked for a ‘God’ opportunity. The tired and under-caffeinated part advised me not to be so stupid and get back to the book, you don’t want to try and be pleasant this morning…

I noticed the airport workers grabbing a bite before, during or after their shift. The middle-aged woman staring at the planes and wondered if she was seeing someone off, greeting them, or just wishing it was her leaving life behind for a while. I noticed the young couples who were excited about their holiday together, the teenagers who were fixated on their mobile phones, and the requisite retired couple who ate quietly, never speaking to or even looking at each other and vowed once more that would never be my wife and I.

I noticed the family sitting across from me, mother and father, two kids - a boy and a girl - and the grandparents. I wondered if they were all going away, or if the parents were and the others were seeing them off, or if the grandparents were and the parents wished it was themselves. Then the mother noticed the odd middle-aged man who had obviously finished his breakfast looking at her family and I quickly looked away.

As I said, I’m inquisitive.

And then it occurred to me as I sat there with my empty wrappers, coffee dregs, kindle, and the voice of my truck driving neighbour still bemoaning the hours he had to work just to make ends meet, that I was surrounded by miracles.

Each person in that airport is a miracle. Each person on our planet is made in the image of God and is known and loved by their creator. Each one is unique, has their own hopes, dreams and sorrows. Each one has a story.

I think Jesus was inquisitive. He took the time to notice people, to actually see them. It didn’t matter whether they were rich or poor, whole or hurting, humble or proud, respected or rejected, he saw them. He saw the miracles that they were, the stories they lived and the possibilities they represented. Every individual carried the potential to touch another life with one act of kindness, one gentle or encouraging word, one generous gesture. Every individual carried the potential to remind someone else that we aren’t alone on this planet, we are connected, and even without realising it somehow echo the broken, flawed and damaged echo of the God in whose image they were created.

Or, conversely, they could do the opposite. They could touch another life in a way that echoes the hurt, pain, injustice, greed, selfishness, indifference and hate that are so much a part of the human condition and our experience of life.

Each person, you and me, have the opportunity each day to be more human or less human, more like Jesus or less like him, to image the possibility of a kingdom and a life that isn’t like our current experience or to surrender that hope and do further damage to ourselves and others by the way we behave.

Every day we are surrounded by miracles. Every day we have the opportunity to remind our world that there is a different way of being human, a way that actually sees those around us and engages with the hope of a new and better tomorrow. Some might call it, ‘being the change you want to see’; Paul called it, ‘…the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labour is not in vain’; Jesus called it, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’

You don’t have to be in an airport to see the miracles and the possibilities around you. You could be in a shopping centre, in a school, in a University, a workplace, a kindergarten, a park, a car, or anywhere there are people around you. All we have to do is look, notice, be attentive to those around us.

In his steps

I remember, as a young boy, walking over the Yorkshire moors in winter with my dad. In case you weren't aware, the moors in winter are covered with a white blanket of snow. The landscape is stark and beautiful, the air is crisp and cold, and when you breathe out through your mouth you can see your breath, when you breathe in too deeply it sears your lungs.

I walked with my dad. Often, for fun, I walked behind him and, to maintain the untouched purity of the landscape, placed my little feet in his footsteps. That way it seemed that not only were we the only people around, but there was only one person trekking across the moors. My dad laughed at my escapade, thinking I just wanted to be like him (which I did), but to me there was something beautiful in the sea of white marred only by a single line of foot prints.

This is the memory that came to mind as I reflected on the scriptures for our faith community leading up to Good Friday. It's an odd memory for Easter, but it revolves around that disturbing passage in 1 Peter 2:21, "To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps."

The context is that of suffering for being a Christian, something millions across the globe endure, but mostly, we in the West are free from. The church as a whole seems to have taken one of two extreme positions on this verse, both of which distort the New Testament depiction of the Christian life. The first is that to be a Christian is to suffer, and we should embrace and celebrate suffering. In the first century, despite the revisionist history that is present today, the reality was that to be a Christian meant, for the most part, suffering.

Jesus clearly indicated that whilst in this world there would be trouble, that the Christian walk was a difficult one, and that his followers would have a 'cross' to bear. But he, and the other New Testament writers, also describe a life of joy, peace, overcoming, freedom, acceptance, and soul-nourishing community.

The other end of the spectrum ignores the realities of this verse, or at least diminishes them, and presents the Christian life of one of untold 'blessing' and extravagant prosperity. To follow Jesus, in this reinterpretation of New Testament Christianity, knows nothing of taking up the cross and following in his steps of enduring and identifying with the suffering and oppressed. Rather it presents the Christian life of one where God intends for everyone to be rich and healthy and uncompromisingly successful in all they do.

Neither of these perspectives represents the Christian walk to which Christ calls us or that expressed in the New Testament. Neither engages with the core of this verse in 1 Peter and the power to transform our lives and communities.

The underlying theology of this verse recognises that in the suffering of Christ and the struggles of his followers in this fallen world God has and is birthing the new creation, the kingdom of God, that will one day be consummated with the return of the King - Jesus. Paul powerfully describes this in Romans 8 where he compares the Christian life to the birth pains a woman experiences in labour. This is powerful because not only does it indicate that we are participants in the story of God bringing the new creation but, like Jesus, we live in the reality of confident expectation of the resurrection.

This is where the Easter story collides powerfully with the command to follow in his steps. Good Friday was Christ suffering with and for his creation, but with the expectation of resurrection on the Sunday. His death both birthed a new reality, a new creation, a new way of being human in this world, and promised the experience of a future hope now. To follow in his steps is to endure the challenges, the difficulties, the struggles of this life. To overcome some and to endure others. To resist injustice and oppression and to demonstrate forgiveness and grace and love. And in doing so, in following in his steps, every believer participates in some way in the reality and promise of his kingdom, in the hope and presence of a new way of living, and in the shadow of the cross and the transformative power of the empty tomb.

Imagine the Yorkshire moors in winter. Imagine the pristine, white snow, marred only by that single line of footprints. Imagine that, instead of the stark beauty of the landscape, the image represents the cold, harsh, difficult 'lostness' of a world that is desperately hoping for the promise of new life, a new way being that is just and free and peaceful and, well, warm.

Imagine now those steps, those perfect, pristine steps first walked by Christ. And now imagine hundreds and thousands of others seeking to walk, imperfectly and often stumbling, in those steps. The imperfections actually widen the breadth of the steps, disturb more of the snow, create a path that draws us ever closer to the centre, to the first steps of Jesus. Imagine the steps of followers of Christ across the globe who are struggling and enduring and overcoming and all the while carrying the light and hope and reality of the resurrection.

The power of Easter is a man hanging on a cross, an empty tomb, and the invitation to all to participate in this great story, this great promise that one day it will all be different.

And one day starts today.

Holes

I was having a bad day, you know, one of those days when you just wonder what it’s all about anyway. You’ll probably tell me you don’t have days like that, I’ll know you do.

Circumstances and situations had combined to get me down and leave me despondent. So I sat down with my best friend (my wife) and just poured it all out. At the end she gave me some perspective and reminded me of some positives. My reply went something like this, “Yeah, but darlin’, you know me as well as I know me, possibly better. You know my weaknesses and flaws, the holes in my character. I just don’t know I’m the person I should be.”

Her reply was brilliant, “It’s not the holes honey, it’s the solid bits around the holes, that’s what makes the difference.”

The solid bits around the holes.

We all have holes, parts of ourselves and our lives that aren’t up to scratch. We all have flaws, weaknesses, areas of struggle and difficulty. We all know we could be and do so much more if it wasn’t for these aspects of ourselves. And yes, they are real; and yes, they need work - but so long as there are solid bits around them we have the resource and capacity to do that work and grow and achieve.

I’m not having a day like that day right now, and although I can acknowledge the holes, I can also appreciate the solid parts of me that surround the holes. I think that one of the important activities of life is to recognise and strengthen the solid areas and in doing so reduce the holes - fill them in. Sometimes that requires actively filling them in, but often it’s a case of building on our strengths and that can reduce some of the holes along the way.

I like cheese. I like cheese a little too much. I love a good triple cream brie, a soft and flavoursome camembert, a sharp and tangy matured cheddar, a strong and pungent blue, or a sweetish, nutty swiss, complete with holes. But here’s the thing, it isn’t the holes I enjoy, they are nothing, it’s the bits around the holes, the actual cheese, the part that holds the flavour. Are you getting the metaphor? The holes don’t make me who I am, they are just there, and although unlike cheese they actually do play a part in my personality, the essence of who I am resides in the bits around the holes - the good bits, the bits that contribute to family and community, the bits that add to who I am rather than detract from who I am.

In Christian-speak we might call this growing in Christlikeness, in secular-speak (ok, so I made that desciptor up) we might call it personal growth. Both ‘speaks’ have the same intent, growing more human, becoming more like who we and everyone else wishes we all were. Biblically we talk about humanity being made in the image of God, but we have seen that image damaged, distorted, cracked, yet Jesus shows us what that image should look like and the journey of faith is to respond to the work of the Spirit to conform to his image, to re-image God in our lives.

Tom Wright has a concept of what this looks like that resonates with me. He says that if Jesus is the perfect human, then the journey to image him is to become more human. However, for people who embrace the opposite of the values and virtues imaged in Christ (hate, envy, greed, injustice, unforgiveness etc.), they are, in effect, de-humanising themselves. It’s an interesting thought. It means that everyone is somewhere on the spectrum, everyone is somewhere on the journey. It means that when the holes are growing I’m heading in the wrong direction, but when the bits around the holes are strengthening and increasing, I am growing as a person and into what we were always intended to be.

We all have holes. It’s damaging if we focus too much on the holes, or if we ignore them. They are there, they don’t, however, define us. The holes themselves are actually only defined by the bits around them. So acknowledge the holes, but give thanks and appreciate the bits around them and, like me, give attention to the journey of becoming the kind of human being we all wish we were.

This world needs more people like that.

Never too Old

I had breakfast with a friend last week who just doesn’t seem to age. Now, whether that is because he looked old ten years ago, or looks young now is open to discussion -  but he just doesn’t seem to change!

He looks after himself, goes to the gym, watches what he eats and maintains a youthful, positive outlook on life. But I think the main point is that he just doesn’t allow the advancing years to change him. He continues to face the possibility and challenge of each day with with a positive attitude and a realistic understanding of his gifts and limitations.

This reminded me that in many ways age is no limiter of our enjoyment and achievement in life. Yes, there are some things that certainly do change, which is where being realistic comes in, but age is all too often allowed to be an artificial boundary to the things we can accomplish. I know people who are ‘old’ in their thirties and others who are ‘young’ in their sixties. Age isn’t ‘just a number,’ but it certainly doesn’t have to define who we are or what we do.

Our faith community has been going through the beginning of Luke’s gospel and we noticed something interesting: both Mary and Elizabeth had miraculous births, and both women were at opposite ends of the age spectrum. In all probability Mary was a teenager when she conceived Jesus by the Holy Spirit, and Elizabeth was past the age of child-bearing when she conceived John. God used the young and the old to accomplish his redemptive purpose.

We live in a culture that celebrates - almost idolises - youth. And that’s ok. I love the energy, creativity and expectancy that comes with youth. I seek to be open to new ideas and concepts, to embrace change, and to understand my faith with tradition rather than through tradition. There are many positives to our youth culture, and there are some aspects that need consideration. What is apparent, from the story of God and his interactions with his creation, is that age has no meaning to his purposes and work in and through our lives.

Joseph, Daniel, David, Mary, John the Baptist, the disciples (who were all probably teenagers) and Timothy are all young people who were prominent in the Bible; Abraham, Sarah, Moses, Noah, Caleb, Zechariah and Elizabeth are all people of more advanced years whom God used. Age is immaterial to him, you’re never too old.

We recently watched the movie, ‘The Butler’ about a man who works as a butler at the White House for various administrations from Eisenhower to Reagan. It’s a good story, and a good movie, and without giving anything away (I hope), at the end illustrates that no matter how old a person is, they can take a stand and make a difference.

Age brings certain limitations to most people, but our culture often imposes artificial limitations on us because of our age that are just that, artificial. Wether you are in your twenties, forties, sixties or whatever, as someone created in the image of a God who all to often defies the concept of age limitation, you have the capacity to create, achieve and explore all that life offers.

I know a lady, a remarkable lady, whose attitude to life is refreshing and who doesn’t allow her age (older than me) to define her or her enjoyment of life. She embraces life and new experiences with humour, curiosity and flexibility - despite the fact that she claims she doesn’t like change!

In one respect, age really is only a number. It is a number that proves that you’re never too young, and you’re never too old. Every one of us has at least one more great adventure left in us.

What’s yours?

It's Friday, and the updates are coming!

When Friday evening rolls around and I check the social media site whose logo appears to the left I know that for the next couple of days I'm going to be inundated with status updates and posts from pastors, church leaders and the 'spontaneous' posts from staff, leaders and interns 'begging' 'pleading' *encouraging* the people in their church to actually attend the services on the weekend.

This is odd. When Jesus distressed and confused people in John 6 by suggesting that they eat his flesh and drink his blood, many of those who had been following him left. Jesus asked the disciples if they, too, were going to desert him, to which Peter famously (because he got it right for a change) replied, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life."

If the person and words of Jesus are so compelling and arresting, then why do we have to cajole people to be present in a place and at a time when they are declared?

You are probably wondering if I have ever posted such status updates myself. No, yes, maybe...that's not important...what is important is that the church I pastor is no different to any other church (well, it is, but not for this reason), and we have as spasmodic attendance as anywhere else. The statistics on what percentage are at church and how often hold for us as much as for anyone else. So why?

I have been a church-attending Christian since I was twelve years old, that's just over thirty-eight years if you're interested. We were hard-core and went to Sunday School, then two (yes, TWO!) services on a Sunday and then prayer meeting/Bible study on Wednesday night. We weren't a big church, our pastor wasn't the greatest preacher, our music was ordinary. I remember one Sunday when the organist fell asleep during communion and his head fell onto the keys! He woke himself up, and couple more people as well.

I mean, our church wasn't the most dynamic thing you've ever attended and there were some weeks I just didn't want to go, but mostly I did because Jesus was - and is - simply captivating and his Word is compelling and where else would I be? Jesus has the words of eternal life.

So, again, why do we have to desperately remind people who have had their lives transformed by the presence of Jesus that we are gathering to meet, worship and receive from him each week. I mean, it's not as if we change all the time and it's difficult to remember is it?

I know everyone has an opinion on why attendance is so spasmodic and how to rectify it, but the reality is that over the years everything on those lists has been tried and found wanting. All that seems to happen is that people migrate from one place to another on an almost cyclical basis but the overall numbers and attendance remain the same.

Is that cynical? Yes. Sorry. But I'm one of those fanatical pastors who used to get angry every Easter. Let me explain. I think that the most important Christian celebration of the year is Resurrection Sunday. It's way more significant than Christmas. And I think that as a declaration to our community that Jesus is who he says he is and that he lives in and through his people, that Easter is beyond doubt the singular most important Sunday for Christians to be in their local church as a sign and witness to their local community.

Unless they go on holidays or to Easterfest. Oh, how I hated Easterfest! Each year members of our church, especially teens and young adults, would head off to listen to Christian bands play Christian music and hang out with Christian people and celebrate being Christian, so that when non-church attenders decide, 'What the heck, let's go to church and see what it's all about', they find the churches half-empty with few of the younger generation which just reinforces their presuppositions.

I've gotten better, honestly, I don't hate it any more even if I still think Christians should be in their local church at Easter. It's all a part of the one big thing though, why is it, every weekend, we have to go all out to get people to attend church.

Some people will tell me it's all about promotion and marketing and keeping the profile of the church in people's attention and something about the 'brand' and stuff. I get it, I understand that, but it seems to me that if the way to grow and strengthen something as supposedly other-worldly and transcendent as the church of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God is to do exactly the same as you would to grow and strengthen any other business, then surely it isn't so other-worldly and transcendent after all?

Ok, enough with the cynicism and uncomfortable observations. I *have* got an answer to my original question, and if you've hung in with me so far you deserve 'a medal' an attempted answer.

In John 6 a lot of people left Jesus, the other ones stayed. The ones who stayed were genuine disciples (although they had their wonky moments as well), the ones who left weren't really disciples, they were just following the 'newest-rabbi-on-the-block'. I'm not blaming those people, it's just where they were at, but it does cause us to ask a question doesn't it?

If Jesus promised to build his church, and asked us to make disciples, then what are we doing? I mean, it seems that the ones who are regularly there are probably disciples, and those who aren't...

...and that's ok, it's just where they're at. And maybe that's why we put the posts up, to encourage them to come along and hopefully something will change in them and they will become disciples and be the ones putting up the posts. And I guess that's all ok.

But (you knew it was coming didn't you), there's still this nagging feeling I have that there's still something wrong, some disconnect, some sneaking suspicion that making disciples is more organic than the event and the posts suggest. After all, they keep coming, every Friday and Saturday and Sunday and nothing seems to change, the statistics remain the same, and we still have consistently inconsistent attendance in our churches.

By now you've probably noticed something and had an insightful thought, "Wait a minute. Aren't you a pastor? And didn't you say your church has the same problem? So you're in the same situation as everyone else!"

Doh! That's what I get for my honesty. Yep, we have the same issues and the same challenges, but we are trying a different solution. So yes, when our monthly Gatherings come around I post that I'm looking forward to it and our church page does the same, because I'm genuinely looking forward to it and because it's only once a month so people do tend to forget ("Oh, was it this week?"). I just have this question, this thought, this desperate hope, that if rather than ramping up our marketing and promotions and social media profile we attended more to making disciples, then maybe we wouldn't need the marketing and promotions and social media profile at all.

Anyway, it was just a thought, I'd better go and check out you know what...