Being Born Again Through Baptism (part one)

"Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." (John 3:3)

In one of those conversations that takes legs of its own, I was chatting with a man at the weekend, and the subject of baptism, and being born again came up.  (Conversation used to be so much easier when it was all beer and fast bikes.)  He had joined a quite outgoing sort of church, but occasionally felt a bit left out.  Every now and again, an adult would come forward to be baptised, and they would give a testimony of their life so far.  Some of these testimonies could be quite revealing, but they would build towards a point where they encountered God, turned away from whatever wrongs they had committed and through their baptism cleansed of all previous sin.

Now the two of us were in agreement that to stand up in front of a bunch of complete strangers, and spill out your life story takes guts, and we thought anyone in that position was taking a very brave step.  But he said to me that he occasionally felt a bit uncomfortable, because he never had that sort of moment.  He had never known of a time where he wasn't a believer, and while his faith may have had stronger or weaker moments, it was always with him.  I'm glad he brought it up, because I've felt the same way.  Does an adult baptism with a testimony of someones life make those baptised as infants feel uncomfortable?  How do we avoid this discomfort?  How do we get adults to identify with their baptism as a child?

And what of those who believe in re-baptism?  Does this weaken the baptismal message?  I know this isn't a CofS thing, but there are those for whom re-baptism is a valid idea.

And that's about as much though as I'm giving that for just now.  I've just finished my essay on Mark's portrayal of the Twelve.  Now I'm moving onto my Sacramental Theology essay on "Why do we baptise children?"  I suppose the first thing to ascertain is who "we" are, because if I asked that question amongst some groups, the answer would be "we do not."

Plenty to think about.  I may come back to this post in a few weeks.

Fifty Acts 7. An Episcopal Adventure.

I had planned on going to the Catholic Church yesterday.  From the City Centre, I started walking towards the Catholics, when a little voice said “go to the Episcopal service.”  Ignoring it, it came back again.  “Episcopal.”  The more I thought about going towards the Catholic church, the more I’m being told that Episcopal is where I need to be.  I’m not going to have to go out of my way to get there, as I’m going to walk past the Episcopals, but my plan for this Sunday was Catholic, and that was where I was headed.  The voice felt about as present as the voice that got me into this whole ministry thing in the first place.  So at the pedestrian crossing, I give in and cross the road, agreeing that I will go in, but only if the service is at 11am.  I am not walking in late.

So a few minutes later and I’m inside my first Scottish Episcopal service.  This really is a new experience for me.  I’ve done a couple of Church of England services, so I’m aware that the three books in front of me are going to come into use soon enough, guided by the order of service.  I decide to keep an eye on the person who is sitting in front of me and I’ll stand when they stand, sit when they sit, and otherwise pay attention.  Inevitably I get lost, and I’m looking up the wrong book at the wrong time.  I’m not organised enough for an Episcopal service.  Anything could happen if I tried to lead one.

The service of Sung Eucharist begins, and the priest, server and choir proceeds in.  There’s plenty of reverence for the communion elements, and as far as I’m lead to believe, to Episcopaleans, that really is the body and blood of Christ up there.  It’s while I’m sitting there that I realise I’ve not really given all this a lot of thought, despite studying sacramental theology.  And I’m probably not all that Reformed™ because I’m not all that sure what I’m supposed to be reformed from.  So as the service progresses, I came to realise that, perhaps that really is Christ up there.  As Christ can be in all things, then if we truly believe he’s there, then maybe he is. 

The order of service states that Eucharist is open to all in their tradition, but I’m not that keen on going up to receive.  Partly because I’m not wanting to get something wrong and upset the spiritual calm of my fellow worshipers, but partly because I’m not entirely convinced that I’m happy about receiving lumps of Jesus.  I don’t feel spiritually clean, so I adopt a middle ages position and receive ocular communion – I’ve seen, I’ve been present and I’m saved. 

Unfortunately, in a small congregation, it’s hard to be unobserved.  When I was chatting with the priest afterwards, a very pleasant chap who is retired and was filling in due to a vacancy, he did mention that it’s open to all and I was welcome. I told him of my concern for my fellow worshipers, but he did say they wouldn’t mind.  Perhaps next time.  We discussed the presence of Christ in the elements, and he told me of a quote from Queen Elizabeth the First of England:

Christ was the word that spake it.

He took the bread and break it.

And what his words did make it

That I believe and take it.

In the service, there was a reading from Jeremiah and a reading from the Gospel, yet the priest said that he wasn’t going to base his sermon on those readings, but from a different part of Jeremiah.  (I should have asked if he was obliged to have the original readings and wasn’t allowed to deviate.)  The reading he chose was  around Jeremiah 37:17 where Zedekiah asks “Is there any word from the Lord?”

Well as I’m sitting there, I’m thinking to myself, I don’t know about you Jeremiah, but the words of the day seems to be “Try Episcopal”

Next week may be Catholic, but I’m starting to think I’m getting sent places for a reason.

Trick or Treat. Really? Tonight?

It's Saturday 27th October 2012.  I kid you not, the thing I wrote about in my bike blog just happened.  Two chldren dressed as witches, with parent at the end of the garden path, knocked on my door, stuck out their hand and said Trick or Treat.  I politely declined their request, noting that it's not halloween.

Here's the original post in all its glory.

Trick or Treat? It’s begging. Just go away.

(or how to fail with the compliments of the season.)

A previous year, early in the evening of the 29th October and there is a knock at the door. I open, expecting the usual suspects of chuggers, double glazing, Mormons etc but instead I am met with a youth, not much shorter than myself, wearing a cheap “Scream” mask.

“Trick or Treat” he exclaims, holding out his hand expectantly.

I reply “No thanks” and gently close the door, for fear of crushing various body parts in the doorway. I wasn’t in the mood to educate the youth in his epic fail, but I should have let him know a few things…

First of all, it’s the 29th October. It’s not sweets or money you need, but a diary. Did you not notice the lack of similarly attired individuals in the area? I appreciate that this is a large housing estate, but it’s not a mail shot you are doing. If you really want to make a bit of money, speak to one of the takeaway proprietors and you could deliver a menu or two at the same time.

Second, aren’t you a bit old for this? The time to stop “Trick or Treating” is when you have grown tall enough to reach doorbells unassisted. You can resume when you are old enough to drink. Until then, please grow up.

And that mask, really… When I was younger than yourself, we used to spend weeks making our costumes, getting it all together, so if you’re not prepared to put as much effort into your costume as I would, then please don't darken my door. Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not a cheap “Scream” mask, as you actually spent a bit more and got the one that has fake blood pouring down the front. Tasteful. I see now that you have tried to speculate to accumulate.

Now that I’m on my rant, “Trick or Treat?” This is Scotland, it’s called Guising. If you want to use an American tradition to make some money, then go get a job in McDonalds. You will be less disappointed working there than when I refuse to contribute to your continuing economic development. I believe you will also get an occasional free burger.

Shall I even mention the tumshie lamp that you are clearly not carrying. Get a big one and you can go home to haggis, neaps and tatties knowing that you have contributed the core of your lamp to the evening meal.

And in looking at you, do I even know you? I know all the wee folk round here, and you don’t seem familiar. Casting the net a bit wide, aren’t we?

Were you trying to scare me? If you want a scare in return, I’ll answer the door with a chainsaw. I have done this before, and the caller went running. In my letter of apology I did suggest to the TV Licensing man that it was probably a bad night to make house calls.

And when we went out guising, we told a joke or two, sang a song or generally entertained. Yes, I am finding this entertaining, but for all the wrong reasons. So we’re getting to the crux of my argument. If you are going to knock at my door and expect a donation from me with no possibility of return, then you are not guising, you are begging. Now go away and stop bothering me.”

SLAM

Something Missing

I can't remember how old I was when I went to Sunday School.  8 or 9 ish.  I do remember that the church didn't have big enough halls for the Sunday School, so it was held in the school.  On a Sunday.  None of that rebranded Young Church for us in Little Dounreay, because the name fitted the day and the location perfectly.

I think I went for at least a year, but I stopped going, and I don't remember why, but I'm sure it was my choice.  It was only in my 5th year at secondary school that I started going to church, and on the first visit there I was invited to join the Youth Fellowship that was being formed.  This lasted for a couple of years, but while we had good fellowship, there just wasn't enough youth, as we all moved to do other things, be it university or working elsewhere.

So there's a good bit of Christian fellowship I've missed out on .  Just at the point I was starting to think about matters of faith, I was on my own, and because I'm such an anti-social person, I didn't seek out any Christians of my own age.  In fact, the thought of gathering with a bunch of Christians would have been a scary idea.  In some ways it still is...  I've not been around like minded people as we explored our faith, and seen how our concept of God and the bible can evolve over time.

I have recently made an assumption about the under 25 age group where I thought that they may be more tolerant and open to new ideas, however one person I shared this with suggested the opposite.  That young people may be drawn to more evangelical churches and Christian groups with more fundamentalist beliefs..  Another person agreed with this, however they suggested that it was the fellowship that was important, and that they may go along with the stance of the group in order not to rock the boat.  A third person had experience of being in a more evangelical church group and being told "if you don't believe in X, then you are obviously not a Christian." so there was a social pressure to conform.

Unfortunately, the one person (or persons) I really need to speak to is a group of Christians aged under 25, and I don't have many of them in my social circle.  I want  to know what they are thinking, about life, the universe and everything. 

So here's my request.  If you are reading this, and you know of a youth group I could visit, can you please leave a comment with some sort of contact details.  All my comments are moderated so your details won't be published.  In return, I'm happy to answer any questions they may have, and in particular about how a 36 year old Gerbil found himself moving towards ministry.  I'm based around Edinburgh, but I can be in most of Scotland in a couple of hours.

And I promise to bring doughnuts.You can't say fairer than that.

This year is getting more and more interesting.

Fifty Acts 6. Getting the Measure

I visited a church in the city yesterday, to get the measure of the place, and I had some great conversations.

The only problem is, I can't blog any of them, as there's some things we shouldn't be talking about.  I'd probably get flung out.

So instead, let's have a musical interlude.


That about sums it up.

Jimmy Savile.

A year ago I wrote of the passing of Jimmy Savile. I had forgotten about this, only rediscovering it when i went back through this blog. I had thought about taking it down, but I'm leaving it there for a couple of reasons.

First of all, until any allegation is tried in a court of law, a person shall remain innocent until proven guilty. As the courts do not (any more) dig up the deceased and try them, he remains legally innocent.

Secondly, religious institutions have had many headlines of late where abuse cases have been swept under the carpet. We have to be honest about the actions of our past, because just because you claim to be Christian does not mean you live a saintly life.

Thirdly, I do not want to start down the route of revisionism, keeping only the bits I feel comfortable with.

So the original post will remain. A reminder that trust can be betrayed, and even the most upstanding member of society can have a very dark past.

The Sound of Silence

(Hello darkness, my old friend...)

Last year I wrote this wondering whether or not I could get away with a silent sermon.  No noise, no nothing, just reflective calm.  A time to pause and reflect on the world.

Then Mrs Gerbil had her own take on silence the other day.

Now, according to the BBC, St Peter's Church, in East Blatchington has released its own CD of silence.  Not complete silence, it's still the atmosphere of the church, with odd voices, and cars passing by, but it's still a reflective, quiet calm. 

So do we need more silence?  If you could borrow an anechoic chamber, with no other distractions, how long would you last before you craved noise?




P.S. if you are a BSG fan, Google for the Sound of Cylons.

Fifty Acts 5. A Big Kirk

A short hop to the city centre saw me visit a pretty big church.  Now I like church interiors, and the older the better so today I wasn't disappointed.  Despite going past this church on many an occasion, and being inside for concerts, it's the first time I have experienced worship there (edit. It's the second.I went a couple of years ago)  I arrived in time to be able to sit and get my bearings and observe the building and the people around me.

The building.  Well it's certainly well looked after with carved heads sticking out of odd places, observing in lithic silence.  When it comes to carvings, I often wonder who the carving depicts versus who it is meant to depict.  Something supposedly depicting a long dead saintly visage will probably bear a more striking resemblance to someone who was working in the mason's yard at the time.  And you should never upset a stonemason, otherwise your face will be the next carved Judas. 

The live humans around me were pleasant enough, not over-enthusiastic with their welcome, but sincere and good to speak to. I was feeling a little under-dressed, but as I never wear a tie to work, I'm not about to start wearing one on a Sunday.   My pew-mates, an organist and her friend, and I sat to the very end to hear the church organist finish.  While there's a place for the modern, an expertly played organ just cannot be beaten.  My two pew-mates agreed entirely.

And here's the thing.  I'm quite a traditionalist at heart, so I'm still not entirely comfortable with more modern music.  Despite being brought up on a steady diet of Status Quo, Guns n Roses and Metallica, I think guitar bands just aren't for me in a church.  And yet on the couple of times I went away with my Youth Fellowship group, the band added considerably to the worship.  Praise bands seem to take up so much space, and yet, just consider the size of an average church organ.  Organs dominate a room, both with their powerful resonance and their sheer scale, but they seem such a natural thing to be in a church.

In 1909, Andrew Carnegie gifted a pipe organ to Burntisland Church.  I'm told that objectons were so strong to the presence of an organ in the church that it sat outside for a couple of days after it was delivered due to an argument over whether it would be allowed in the church.  100 years later and  the same organ is going strong.

I think my attitude to music in church comes back to my attitude to music in general.  Sometimes I may not appreciate the style, but I can certainly appreciate when it's played well.  So whether it's a century old pipe organ, your Taylor guitar*, or the Young Church on the kazoo, play it like you mean it, God is listening.



*Did you hear about the broken Taylor Guitar?  A true tale of customer service in the social media age.

Fifty Acts 4. A Baptist Church.

This was another first for me.  I've never been to a Baptist church before.  I had been to this building before, for a Youth Fellowship service many years before, but I had never been anywhere besides their halls.

It was a warm welcome.  Alittle too warm, as I found myself sitting on top of one of the heating pipes.  I moved forward a row to sit with the hospitable people in the less temperate row in front.  Churches the world over seem to come in two temperatures, too hot and too cold. 

The church itself sits on a hillside, and the layout of the church is dictated by the terrain.  The sanctuary is upstairs, with the halls downstairs.  There is so much of a slope that I thought the two people that served me my cup of tea afterwards were unnaturaly short, before I realised that, once you are in the hall, there's another couple of steps down to the kitchen, so the serving hatch , from their side, is about chest height. I had a chat with one of the members afterwards, and they told me about the plans for making the building a bit more accesible, but it was going to cost a good seven figures for even minor modifications.

I wasn't sure exactly what to expect when I went in.  Perhaps I was expecting more modern music, but worship started with a familiar "Praise my Soul the King of Heaven" lead by the organ.  Later in the service the band lead the music, but they were playing as part of the service, slightly off to one side, and not dominating.  Their take on "Amazing Grace" was a slight reworking of the original, familiar but refreshingly different at the same time.

The regular pastor lead the service, however he handed over the pulpit to pastor from Brazil who was visiting his family in Scotland.  The fact that he didn't speak English was not a barrier to a well delivered sermon.  His daughter did an amazing job of translating, although she may have had a lucky escape.  The regular pastor told me afterwards that in Brazil he is known to go on for a couple of hours.  At 15 minutes or so, he was hardly breaking a sweat.

As I go around churches, I am telling people what I am doing and they are really supportive.  There is an agreement that we are all one church, so it's good that we meet up occasionally to share worship.  Every congregation is different, but we all worship the same God.

Oh, and they make a decent cup of tea.  Never let a tea bag die in vain.

I'm really looking forward to my Sundays now.  I'm meeting some amazing people, all with great talesof their own. I've no idea where I'll end up, next week.

What do we do with the Bible?

Some rambling thoughts...

In my first church, in the quaint fishing village of Little Dounreay, every Sunday,  the congregation would stand and someone woud carry in the large church bible.  This would be placed in the pulpit, then the minister would proceed in afterwards. I only ever went to the 11am service so I'm not sure if someone quietly removed it after the 9.30 when everyone was having a brew between services and repeated the ceremony for 11.  I certainly don't recall any ceremony to remove the bible after the minister left.

Now this wasn't the only bible in the church.  There was a bible at the lectern, and another on the communion table, not to mention the one everybody was handed as you went in the door.  There's about 100 copies of the same book already in the room when the big version comes in.  And then the minister rarely if ever used it.  It was somewhere to rest his notes.

Having now seen many churches in action, some never bring a special bible in, as there's always one in the church.  Some go the whole hog and parade it in, and others bring it in, but with no acknowledgement from the congregation. 


I had a bible study group with a guy from India.  He was a recent convert to Christianity, so he was great company to be with, asking lots of questions and making us consider our faith and what we believed.  Now bible study night involved us spreading out on sofas, chairs and the floor, with tea and cakes and reading bibles of various translations.  Bibles were getting passed round and because some of us were on the floor, the floor was being used as a reading surface.  Our Indian friend was a bit concerned that we let the bibles touch the floor, as in his culture, the floor was considered to be a dirty place (even when spotlessly clean) and nothing you respected would touch the ground.  We explained that to us, it was the Word and the message that was important, and not the object we had decided to write them down in.  Nonetheless, after that night, the bibles were always kept clear of the ground, out of respect for our friend.

Looking at this from a historical perspective, a book was an exceptionally valuable object, and the book in question contains the Word of God, so I can understand a bit of veneration.  I believe there's a fine line between respecting the Word and worshiping the book containing the words.  The later seems to be a bit idolatrous.  Should we stand and show a bit of respect for the Word coming in or is that just not the reformed thing to do?


At the last conference I was at, when our little discussion group was asked to look something up in the bible, about three quarters of us pulled out our phones.  Is it the same bible when it's an app?

So have we lost something by making the bible so readily available?  OK, we have translated it a few times along the way, but should we be more keen to remember that it's God at the heart of that book, and pay a bit more attention when the bible enters our church?  Or should we have a copy of the bible permanently present at the front of the church, as a clear indicator that it's the Word that is at the centre of worship?

Fifty Acts 3. Who calls the tune?

This was a new church to me.  One I was aware of in the City, but I had never visited.  20 years ago, they were spoken of in high regard as having a very vibrant youth group, second only to the one at the other side of town.  Until recently I would have said I was pretty traditional when it came to my worship tastes.  Then I went to a kirk up the road a bit and it sort of changed my mind.  Yes there were guitars, screens and no pews, but the place had a spirit to it.  Welcoming without being pushy.  Loud in places, reflective in others.  Complete.

So I went in to church for the morning service, and was taken aback by what I saw.  (Let's get some preliminaries out of the way, the welcome was warm and I didn't get the "who the ???? are you?" vibe that I've had in other places.)  At the front, two guitarists, a singer and a bloke with a clarinet were taking up two thirds of the dias.  The remaining third had the communion table with a cluster of chairs crammed round it, with the elements covered over.

The band started, but people still were milling about.  Some people sung along, a few more talked with friends, and as the first song changed into the second, the balance shifted from the talkers towards the singers.  Some people stood, some sat.

Then the band stopped.  Sort of.  While  the singer gave a call to worship, the guitarist made a rythmic strumming for no apparent reason - a sort of six stringed glossolalia.  Is there something about praise bands that says they have to fill every second with a wall of noise?  She is speaking so let's have some respectful silence.  I realised afterwards that there was no chance for silent contemplation.

As the service progressed, it was clear that the band picked what they wanted to play, with one exception, as the minister mentioned the one song that he had picked that week.  Then we got to the communion.  With a group of elders crammed round the off-centre table, the familiar communion took place, but the elders had to make their way past the band with associated PA systems, stands and cables, and while the elements circulated, the band played on.  The minister wasn't able to proceed with the various stages of the ceremony until the band had finished their song.  I'm ok with a bit of background music, but it's usually the sort of music that tails off when the minister, not the band, is ready to move on.

And then things just crossed my spiritual line in the sand.  The final song was Send the Fire where the lyrics say "And send the promised Holy Ghost / We need another Pentecost / Send the fire today"*1

Another Pentecost?   Seriously?  what's wrong with the Holy Sprit that's all around us, just ready and waiting for us to accept Him?  You want another one?  You want the easy approach where tongues of fire land on you without any effort on your part?  This didn't sit very well with me, and I'm not sure anyone in the congregation really noticed what they were singing.  

Ears ringing I left, probably never to return but praying for their salvation.  Or a power cut.
 
*1 1994 Thankyou Music (Admin. by EMI Christian Music Publishing)

Fifty Acts 1. An Induction

I've been to an ordination before, and something tells me I'll be at a few more over the next few years, but never an induction.

When the kirk does formal, it does formal well.  Processions of ministers in robes, on a background of a building that has been standing for over a century really looks the part.  While there's a call to modernise and rip out everything that' old in churches, there's some things we should hang on to, and that consistent approach to those who are called to serve should remain. 

The congregation played their part responding well when questioned about supporting their new minister.  Their response was slightly muted when the Moderator asked if they would commit to putting their hand in their pocket and supporting the church financially.  Thanks for reinforcing the Scots frugality!

Sobering to note that there will be at least two ceremonies of similar nature taking place that are centred around two members of this household in the not too distant future.

I was reminded of my last conference where one of the candidates noted that we are expected to undertake our role cheerfully.  I wonder if this well known minister took the same vows...

Conspiracy Theories

I discovered the most awesome thing today.  I was reading one of the conspiracy theory message boards, of which there are a plenty on the web.  Aparently there's a shady underground organisation that has infiltrated the top level of society with creatures that look something like lizards in human form.  Members of this organisation are out to impose a new world order by secretly infiltrating organisations.  Politicians, bankers, royals, they are all in on the act.  But the best bit of all, it includes ministers of religion! 

Cool!  I get to become a reptile! 

Or maybe I already am...

Mrs Gerbil, I've got a plan for the manse garden

Watch this past 1:30 and you'll see what I have in mind...


Or will that upset the Board and Session...?