Thursday 30 June 2011

Enquirers Conference (Part Four)

So what next?

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TO: Vocation @ Church of Scotland
From: Spot
Subject: Extended Enquiry

Having attended the recent Enquirers Conference, I’ve given the whole calling thing some thought. I feel I’d like to enter into a period of Extended Enquiry, heading in the direction of Ordained Local Ministry. Can you please send me the application pack.

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I've taken the red pill – Let's stay in Wonderland and I see how deep the rabbit-hole goes.

Tuesday 28 June 2011

Enquirers Conference (Part three)

So what did I get out of it?

Well I genuinely feel I'm being called to something. I was keen on being a reader a few years ago, as I have helped lead worship, and some people actually liked my various sermons. So I went along to the Readership talk, but this time it just didn't feel quite right. The speaker was a great guy, and really was enthused with his role as a reader, but something wasn't there for me.

The two deacons that were speaking sounded like they have the most rewarding lives. They were doing God's work in their communities and were doing it amazingly well. They came from the more troubled areas in the West, and demonstrated that God's love can cement a fractured community back together. But while I have the utmost respect for them, something wasn't right for me.

It was the Ordained Local ministry that seemed to fit me best. I've had a sort of feeling that the Auxiliary ministry (now OLM) was where God was nudging me, and the more I heard abut it, the more "right" it felt. I need to go away and think seriously about whether this is really what God is wanting for me.

I had went to this conference knowing that whatever I’m being called to do, I can’t do anything that will get in the way of Mrs Gerbil. One of the first people I encountered had a husband who will be starting university this year (probably encountering Mrs G at some point.) , and was exploring her own call. We agreed that the traditional role of ministerial spouse, doting housewife, cakemaker and Guild member wasn’t for either of us. Then there was the husband and wife who are ministers in adjoining parishes. Then another minister whose husband plays a regular part in worship, and finally, the friend of mine, a deacon whose wife went to conference with Mrs G. All of these couples work well together, so I’m a bit happier about doing my thing. Whatever that is.

There was one conference delegate who I had a private discussion with late on the second day, and during our discussion we considered a few options. It would have been nice if we had longer to talk. (For obvious reasons I can’t reveal the discussion.) Sometimes I feel awkward giving advice , as I can’t believe anyone would take me seriously. If you ever read this, I hope that things work out for you and you continue to explore your call, wherever you end up.

More follows...

Sunday 26 June 2011

Enquirers Conference (part two)

So now with part two of this series, having already done a middle, I'll go back to the start.

The Enquirers conference is one of the key stages of the whole Enquiry process. If God is calling you to become a Minister, Deacon, or Reader, then God is going to send you to an Enquirers conference. Or more precisely, He'll give you a rough direction then you find your own way to Dundee.

So the best way to approach an event like this is to do whatever registration is required of you, then find a person with a name badge. Slowly approach them, smile, and ask if they are here for the conference as well. They smile, say yes, and after you have exchanged pleasantries, discussed the weather and the large amount of Take That fans on the Glasgow train, you realise that the other party is here for a Star Trek convention. You make your apologies and go find your own species of convention goer. The green skin should have been a giveaway...

(Actually, when I worked for a large bank I was at a work convention at a hotel in Edinburgh. Part way through the evening I had managed convince the HR Director to add my beer tab to his account, and was trying to drink through the bank's 2001-02 profit margin. Looks like I am the reason for the bank bail-out. After a few too many free drams I went out to the lobby to recover. There was a convention of rail users in the next room, and one of their party tried to convince me to buy a train. Apparently all I had to do was buy the train from Canada, with finance from the far east, then lease it back to Network Rail for them to haul ballast at night. I think I signed something, so I may own a train. I hope Network Rail can hang onto it, as the driveway is a bit crowded for a class 66)

So a couple of Enquirers were gathered on the lawn, then the group slowly expanded as more and more people arrived. The usual pleasantries, along with some more probing questions about what we wanted to gain from the conference. This is the point that you realise that there are plenty of people there who are in the exact same boat as you. Knowing they have a call of some description, but wanting to probe it a bit more. It's the point you realise you are not alone.

Over the Friday evening and the Saturday morning you are sent in shifts round a series of speakers, from Mission and Discipleship, Ministry of Word and Sacrament, Crossreach, Diaconal Ministry, Readership and World Mission You do three 30 minute sessions on the Friday, and three on the Saturday. Along with this there is acts of worship and sessions from the key speakers. I was pleasantly surprised to recognise one of the speakers as a the husband of one of Mrs Gerbil's friends from her enquiry process. We had met up a year ago, so it was nice to be able to catch up again.

While there is a lot to cram in to 24 hours, at no point did it feel rushed, and there was always time to reflect with your fellow enquirers. There was also space left in the schedule to be able to have a private chat with the speakers.

The thing is, you will never get all the answers in the space of a day. This conference is only a beginning.

But what did I get out of it? More to follow.

Enquirers Conference (part one)


5 blooming am. In some religious orders, I'd probably have been up two hours ago, but this of the Church of Scotland - 11am is fine for worship, thank you very much. There was a sign in every room saying the shower, hair straighteners, kettles (or probably even respiration) would set off the alarm. So there were at least three women standing in the car park wrapped in towels. I hope someone had recently pissed (or worse) in your shower. My sense of Christian calm only appears after the third cup of tea.

And thanks to Tayside Fire and Rescue for turning out so quickly. I know we've dragged you out of your bed as well.

So having been well and truly woken up, I decided to go for a walk into Dundee to see if there was a bacon roll available. A city in the early hours looks like every sort of post apocalyptic movie you have ever seen. No cars, no people, in fact I think I only saw one other person before I got to Desperate Dan and Minnie the Minx. Sort of creepy, un-natural. The bustling city without the bustle.

On the way I passed the entry to the Western Cemetery. The gates have the sermon on the mount cast into them, in a series of iron plates. The gate posts have panels, about three foot square, with a series of biblical verses in them. The stonework is badly corroded and the verses are in a sorry state of disrepair. If the gates are ever repaired, I know that there will be outcry about the council reinstating the verses on the stonework. Letters will be sent to the Courier, and the council, most probably written by white atheists, complaining that the council might cause offence to Asian Muslims. Nobody ever seems to ask the Muslims, although in my experience, they aren't that bothered.

How many churches does the centre of Dundee really need? Two of them surrounded by the Overgate Centre with a third just over the road. There's something about this that doesn't feel right. A house divided can't stand. Lease them out as a designer shopping outlet and use the money to fund a united church and community centre on a central brownfield site.

Dundee was waking up as I returned to the West Park Centre. Morning reflection and meditation at 7.30 before breakfast at 8. Just a nice spell of reflective calm before the day began.

The rest of the Enquirers conference follows over the next few posts.

Saturday 25 June 2011

Rude awakenings.

Fire alarm at enquirers conference. 5 @:;()/$%&ing am!

Friday 17 June 2011

Enquirers Conference 24th-25th June

I'll be at the Enquirers Conference next week, hoping to hear more about the various ministries, callings etc. I'm hoping that life may make more sense afterwards - an ambitious goal...

If you are going, enjoy yourself, ask loads of questions and remember that you are not the only one with your head up your nether regions about the whole calling thing.

And if you see a confused looking, biking gerbil, please say hello

Sunday 12 June 2011

The rise of the robots.

Isaac Asimov stated three rules of robotics which are...

  1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
  2. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
  3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
But there's a problem. You see these rules were created by a human, and in particular, a human that made his living selling sci-fi novels. When the robots rise up against us, a set of human rules aren't going to make a blind bit of difference. Feel free to stand in front of the oncoming independent robot army, waving your white flag on a stick. Rule one is definitely not going to apply.

Hopefully the robot ray gun will leave enough of your remains for me to sweep you up into a small pile. If you're lucky, your last journey may even be through my Dustbuster. I will let your family know that your last words were a brave but optimistic "Klaatu barada nikto", not the "oh shiiiiiiiii......" you uttered as you realised that rule two was no longer on the table.

The robots are on the rise. Come with me if you want to live...


Yes, I know this is meant to be a reflective journal. It's my blog, why can't I be reflecting on ray gun wielding robots?

Thursday 2 June 2011

Go away! We're worshiping!

It’s Sunday. 10.50am and after a pretty heavy life of drink, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, and especially after the chemical fuelled experience that will forever be known as last night, you find God. You weren’t even looking for him, but in a strange sort of way, God enters your life. You woke up, and he was there. (some smug smart arse will later tell you that he has been there all your life. While this is true, there’s always some sanctimonious halfwit ready to spout Christian soundbites to the newly converted. Slap them. Blame it on a throwback to your former life and all will be forgiven. I’ll probably thank you.) Yet, as a special sort of calm descends over your life, and you finally realise what’s been missing, you decide to start afresh.

10:55am. After briefly saying thanks for your new life, you decide that you want to go to church. There’s a building at the end of your road that might be a church. Well, you think it’s a church. There’s a cross on the wall, but the only thing they ever seem to do is a good line in coffee mornings. Looking out the window you see a few people walking in a churchward direction, all carrying an A5 sized purple book. Thinking that this is probably the bible, you hope you can borrow one. (In the future you will realise that it’s a hymn book. Church of Scotland members don’t carry bibles.) You make yourself presentable, grab a handful of change for the collection and proceed with haste out the door. You are on a mission.

11:03am. You arrive at the church. Slightly late for the 11am service, you plan to slip in the door, slide into a pew and go un noticed. From the inside you hear an organ striking up a tune that’s familiar from childhood – something about all things being bright and beautiful – with vocal accompaniment by the purple book people.

11:04am and things are getting puzzling. The main door is shut and locked. The side door is similarly sealed. There isn’t even a window you can look through as they are too high and mostly obscured glass. There isn’t even a doorbell. Realising this probably isn’t the best church for you, you decide to go to the pub.

11:21am. On the way to the local hostelry, you walk past a church with the doors open. You slip in the back, while someone comes over, gives you one of the purple books, says hi and asks you to stay for a coffee afterwards. You realise you have landed.

And that’s almost but not quite based on real events. A local church has a nasty habit of closing the door as soon as the last person has arrived. 11:01am and the doors are shut and bolted, leaving latecomers to peep through the windows, or hope you can be let in when the Sunday School is turfed out. The justification is that “stuff might be stolen. We’ve had bags go missing.” And I know the actions of this local church are repeated elsewhere.

This is supposed to be the house of God. I know there’s a chance that things can be stolen, but you are not a Christian organisation if you only let in the converted, and only do that on a human timetable. God doesn’t work fixed hours, and I know of and have witnessed many occasions where people have turned to the church because they feel a need. If God lands in someone at 11:23, who are we to turn them away? We should be more open, and by leaving the doors wide, we should be visibly open. If you are worried about security, have an elder standing by, not as a patrol, but to welcome all visitors. Give them a hymn book, invite them for a brew and make sure they get a decent seat. What if you locked Jesus out of his Father’s house? Would he walk away, or kick the door down?

Because I’ve been locked out of a church once, and I can genuinely say that I was late because I was doing a bit of work for another congregation (and as a result, ultimately, working for God.) so I arrived as the first hymn started. Ultimately, it was an unpleasant little church, and I was glad to leave it, shaking the dust from my feet as I left.

But the next time God sends me to your church and I’m locked out, I will bang on the door until I am allowed to enter. For you do not know the day or the hour when the Master (or the Gerbil) will return.