by James Webb
The twelfth chapter of Hebrews starts with a vaguely threatening verse: ‘Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.’ Read more
I have an overactive imagination. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it isn’t. It’s helpful for my writing, for one thing, but on the other hand, it’s very easy for me to miss what God is doing right in front of my face because I’ve drifted off into one daydream or another. Read more
The other day I was walking aimlessly around the church building, and I found myself wandering down a corridor I had never been down before. I’m not usually the adventurous type, but I thought I’d see where it ended up. At the end of the corridor was a big, thick, old wooden door. As I said, I’m not the adventurous type, but I took a look anyway.
The door opened into a large room, and it was absolutely full of people. There were all kinds in there, old and young, men and women. Anyone that you could imagine was there, and they were all busy with something. There was a group of people painting the walls, and a group of people setting out chairs, and a group of people cleaning the carpets, and all sorts of things going on.
I thought they must be preparing for some type of church service or something. Everyone was working so hard, and the room looked amazing. I mean, it’s hard to get the feel of a room right sometimes, but these people had nailed it. The way that everything was set out, the colours of the walls and carpet, the clean windows, the smell. I don’t know exactly what it was, but it was without a doubt, hands-down, the best room I had ever seen anywhere in any church ever.
I stood in the doorway watching them work for a while. One of the painters ended up near me, meticulously applying some magnolia to the wall beside to the door.
“What time does it start?” I said.
“What?” he said without looking at me. He was giving all of his concentration to the painting.
“The service, or whatever it is you have here. What time does it start?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“It must be soon though? The way everyone’s working so hard.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Well, how long have you been doing this?” I said.
He stopped painting long enough to shrug. “A while. Days. Months. Maybe longer.”
“Months?” I looked around the room. All these people working so hard. For months? “But it shouldn’t take months to get a room ready, should it?”
“The wall could always do with another coat,” he said. “You know how it is. You’ve just finished and then you notice a patch that needs touching up. A fingerprint or smear that needs covering. It’s the same with the carpet. And you’d be surprised at how much work has to go into getting the chairs just right.”
“But why?” I said.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“Why are you doing this?”
He finally turned his attention to me. “Because the room has to be ready. We have to work hard to get the room ready. It’s the way to please God.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah,” the man said. “God wants us to work hard. It pleases Him. Then we get to go and be with Him forever.”
“Huh,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”
“That’s how it is. Would you like to join us? The guys in the kitchen could always do with one more. There’s just so much washing up.”
“No,you’re alright,” I said. I looked at the watch I wasn’t wearing. “I think I’ll be going now.”
“It’s your soul,” said the man. He went back to his painting.
I backed out of the room and carefully shut the door. As I turned to leave, I saw the sign above the door. It was quite small. I hadn’t noticed it before. It read ‘Welcome to Hell’.
(A serious thought became this not-so-serious poem. I’m not sure that the ten-syllables per line experiment really works, nor am I totally thrilled with the rhyme in the last verse, but it’ll do.)
Have you ever discovered something big
hidden away in a minuscule place?
Maybe something obvious, but more like
a raindrop that’s reflecting a child’s face.
We’re used to seeing small things in the big,
like grains of sand hidden amongst a beach,
or the grains of truth buried deep, hidden
within a major politician’s speech.
What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever noticed
hidden away inside something that’s small?
An elephant in a matchbox, perhaps,
or maybe nothing that silly at all?
As for me, I bet I’ve got you all beat,
for I had the most magnificent find.
You see, today I found the universe
in a scrap of bread and a sip of wine.
As I sit here and type this I genuinely feel like the world is a poorer place. I don’t think I’ve ever known a calmer presence and a more gentle gentleman than Dick. Some eventful things happened to the Veseys over the years, but I don’t need many fingers to keep track of the number of times I’d seen Dick anything other than serene and unruffled. I don’t often write about my time at Hayward’s Heath, but you shouldn’t read anything into that. It’s been a key part of my journey so far, and I am thankful for the experiences that I had there, and very thankful for the people that I met and worked with. The leadership team at the church was a fantastic group, and that included Dick, the ubiquitous elder, first at Sussex Road and then at Harlands.
Dick and Hilary have been generous and supportive of our family over the years. It was Dick, with his giant pastoral heart, who took it upon himself to keep me informed about the people whom we loved, and who loved us, back in Hayward’s Heath while we were sunning ourselves in Australia. At Hayward’s Heath, I was blessed to be in a church that sometimes tolerated but often appreciated my experiments in preaching, but in writing this I have realised that Dick was probably one of the most ardent supporters of my pulpit adventures. I don’t want anyone to feel left out, but when I think about the people who were most encouraging and positive as I wrestled with my gifting, Dick is one of the first faces to come to mind.
As is often the case, heaven’s gain is our loss. We will meet again, but in the meantime we carry on. This is what it means to be the church of Christ, the body of battling believers striving to bring the Kingdom to the Now, but dreaming of the Not Yet.
Welcome to St. Ronald’s,
May I take your order please?
We can give you a serving of Jesus,
With an extra helping of cheese.
We can do a Resurrection Burger,
And a side of Holy Ghost fries,
As long as you like it LOUD,
We don’t do any other size.
We’re all about convenience,
You don’t even have to stay,
No-one really likes washing-up,
That’s why we do takeaway.
Sure there’s other restaurants,
And other places you can eat,
But we’re cheap and quick and easy,
And we won’t disturb your sleep.
Don’t worry about nutrition,
Or if we’ll make your soul fatter,
As long as you leave feeling good,
Then quality doesn’t matter.
Our menu’s tailored just for you,
Our staff will help you to begin,
Our manager is God Himself,
But I’m not sure He’s ever been in.
I am not musical but I love music; it’s such a clever idea – noises that sound good. Also, I like it when people put words to the backdrop of said music. I believe that they’re called ‘songs’.
Like most people, I have my own personal taste in music, but it’s a taste that seems to put me at odds with the Christian majority, a fact I find hard to believe. Surely I can’t be the only one who thinks that most church services could be improved by the introduction of some Dubstep?
When I was a teenager in the 90s, the Christian music I was familiar with didn’t do anything for me. As for the lyrics? Well, let’s just say that I felt more of a spiritual kinship with someone like Kurt Cobain than I ever did with Matt Redman or Martin Smith. One of the best things that ever happened to me at university was meeting Terry Wright. During Fresher’s Week, Terry sat next to me in a chapel service purely because I looked like the type of person who was into the same music as he was. He was wrong, but only because I had never heard anything like it before. Terry had an extensive knowledge and collection of alternative Christian noise from such labels as Frontline, R.E.X. and (my own personal choice of the mid to late 90s) Tooth & Nail. It was a revelation to hear these bands playing music more to my tastes, and singing about their faith in a way that resonated with my bruised and growing soul. Take, as a random example, a simple verse from The Prayer Chain‘s song, Dig Dug:
Can you hear my heart beat?
Do you even know my heart?
When I hold the doubts of Thomas
As hard as I hold your promise?
I never heard anything like that sung on a Sunday morning, but it was exactly the sort of honesty that I was desperate for at the time. Although I am no longer the angsty teenage nightmare that I was then, I know that a lot of the music I listened to during that time has supported me through my difficult journey over the years, and still provides the foundation for my own personal expressions of worship. I might write a bit more in the future about specific albums and songs that have been meaningful to me (hopefully with fewer distracting hyperlinks…), but I’ve wanted to write something like this for a while; partly to share something that has been influential and might give a bit of insight as to why I write the way I do, plus also as a belated thanks to Terry for first exposing me to those particular noises that sounded so good.
Crowded together on this train, heading to the city;
Only this is taking much longer than I had hoped.
Nobody seems to care about my needs;
Sitting there, with their loud conversations, loud music, loud chewing.
I can’t believe this is happening.
Do you hear him? He’s singing along to the music on his headphones!
Enjoy the music, go on! Don’t consider what I might want;
Really, all I want to do is read my book in peace.
Oh, now what’s this? Another stop at another station.
There’s a man getting on. I hope he doesn’t sit next to me;
He’s, shall we say, rather on the large side. I bet he smells too.
Everyone’s smiling, watching as he makes his way down the carriage;
Right and left, right and left, he looks for an empty seat, and stops next to me.
Sure, sit right down why don’t you? What else could go wrong?
Bad parents, messy eaters, I’ve got them all;
Everyone, it seems, is out to ruin my day.
This would be a really nice journey if it weren’t for them.
The headphone singer seems to be getting louder;
Even Gandhi would have punched this guy by now.
Relaxing, this ain’t!
This is the worst group of people I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet;
How did I end up in a carriage with them?
All we’ve got in common is our destination;
Now I’m expected to put up with all their nonsense?
You’ve got to be kidding me!
Our friend, Mr Fatty, has fallen asleep!
Unbelievable! His head’s on my shoulder! My shoulder!
Right away he starts to snore.
Somebody help me – I think he’s about to start drooling.
Every time I think I’m going to get some peace, someone like this comes along;
Let’s agree that, in future, I should only travel with a certain type of people;
Very nice, clean, good-looking, low maintenance people.
Everyone, in other words, who’s like me.
Stuck on this journey together, they could at least put my needs first.
Daisy wiped the tear from her cheek with a perfect white handkerchief.
“I know you all understand my struggle. It’s just so…so hard,” she said. “Oh, that sounds silly. To say it’s ‘hard’. I just don’t know any other word.”
“It’s a perfectly good word,” said Thomas, reaching out and patting her on the shoulder.
“And it’s perfectly accurate,” said Maureen, her lips stretched in a thin line. Daisy nodded glumly.
Maureen continued. “That’s why we’re here. To support and help one another. We all understand. We ‘re all in the same boat here at the Over Eighteens.”
The Over Eighteens had been meeting weekly at Thomas’s house for the past year. There were seven of them. Daisy, Maureen and, of course, Thomas were the founding members. Billy (no-one called him William) and his wife Trish joined soon after, shortly followed by George. Jayne (yes, that was how she spelled it) was new to the group. This was her first meeting.
Every Thursday morning they gathered around the coffee table in Thomas’s lounge, squeezed on sofas (and chairs brought in from the dining room) and encouraged one another. That was the purpose of the group, to share and encourage, and to share and encourage in one particular struggle. The name Over Eighteens referred not to age, but to weight. The only thing in the group that could be called thin was Maureen’s lips. Everyone bore the same burden, of struggling with their size.
Thomas glanced at his watch.
“I think that’s enough for today.” He looked over at Jayne. “It’s been excellent to have you here this morning, Jayne. We always finish with a…well, I guess you could call it a creed of sorts. We say it together, you know, to make us all feel like we’re united in this.”
Jayne nodded nervously.
“Just listen, and you’ll pick it up soon enough,” Thomas said, nodding at the rest of the group.
“We agree that we’re overweight,” the group said, in unison. “But we don’t want to be. We’d like to be thin. In the meantime, we will support each other, listen to each other’s struggles without judgement, encourage each other and look forward to the day when we are all our perfect weight.”
Silence settled on the thoughtful group.
“Now,” said Thomas, clapping his hands together, “who wants a cup of tea?”
There was a chorus of responses as Thomas stood up and moved through to the kitchen.
“You should come over for dinner sometime, love,” said Trish, smiling at Jayne.
“That would be nice, “ said Jayne, smiling back.
“Cor, yes, I love it when we have guests,” said Billy. “Trish always goes to town with the deserts!”
“I’m surprised you have any room left for desert,” interjected George. “After all, I saw how much you put away at the All You Can Eat Pizza Buffet yesterday!”
“You can talk!” said Billy, laughing.
Thomas returned from kitchen.
“Kettle’s on,” he said, placing a huge, heavy plate on the coffee table. On the plate was the biggest chocolate cake that Jayne had ever seen. “Who wants a slice?”
Hands shot up around the room. Jayne kept her hand down.
“Ummmmm,” she said, as though she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how to begin.
“Go on,” said Maureen, smiling with those thin lips. “Have some. Thomas is a fantastic baker.”
“I’m sure he is, but…” Jayne stopped.
“But what?” said Daisy.
“Well, shouldn’t we…well, I’m trying to diet.” Jayne bowed her head, as though she’d confessed to some awful crime.
“Oh, of course you are,” said George. “We’re all trying to diet, aren’t we?”
Ernest nods and grunts of agreement.
“The thing is,” said Daisy. Jayne looked up to see her wiping a thick smear of chocolate icing from her cheek with that no-longer perfect white handkerchief. “The thing is, that it’s difficult, isn’t it?”
More nods and grunts.
“After all, that’s why we’re here. Because it’s hard, as Daisy said earlier,” said Thomas.
“We’re all in favour of diets. That’s what we’re all after – the ultimate goal is losing weight – but it’s not quite that simple, is it?” said Daisy.
“I don’t know what I’d do without this group,” said Trish, through a mouthful of smushed chocolate cake, “to lift my spirits and help me feel better about things.”
“That’s right,” said Thomas, nodding. “That’s absolutely right.”
Jayne looked around at the group, as they grinned at her, encouragingly. She knew that she would feel more encouraged if they didn’t all have chocolate-stained teeth. She made a decision.
“It’s been lovely to meet you all,” Jayne said, standing up. “But I have to go now. The truth is, I think I’m in the wrong group.”
The gathering sat in silence as she left the room. After a short moment they heard the front door slam.
“That’s a shame,” said Thomas. “Now, who’s for seconds?”
I cried out to God for help;
I cried out to God to hear me.
Is it possible for God to ever be far from us? Does He ever withdraw Himself? We can debate these questions all day long, but one thing is certain – sometimes it feels like He’s gone away. Read more
