Sometimes it’s more important to love than to always have it right

Sometimes writing ‘flows’: this didn’t and its not what it could be, but the whole point of restarting this blog is to put something out- even if its incomplete and you can see the flaws.

There’s a story told in a Mike Riddell book that goes something like this:- A church shared a party wall with an adjoining house: it was known that the man of that house was violent. One Sunday, the church had a lengthy period of lively worship and as it ended and the planned silence descended came the unmistakeable sound of screams and fists hitting flesh. The worship leader panicked and got the worship group to play more songs to drown out the sounds so that the congregation could feel ‘holy’ once again. No one went round.

Many years ago I had a cassette album called ‘Treasure the questions’ by Martyn Joseph. I have a memory that my wife said something like ‘You have to listen to this this: you’re too definite’. I didn’t understand but as I hit my mid to late 20s gradually I did. The trouble was the songs I was singing didn’t deal with this: you didn’t have questions or doubts, suffering rarely happened and if any of these afflicted you, the Divine solved them, usually by the end of the song (which was invariably in G). It seemed to me- like the story above- that if that didn’t work, you sang louder.

I went back to Martyn Joseph and began to buy his music- I watched his brief career with a major label before he founded his own and followed his own, richer path. The music got even better, but the themes: questions, doubts. justice, got bigger. The questions were held, cradled even, but never closed down. However, there was so much hope: I felt it when I listened and more so when I watched- it’s rare that I’ve been in a gig and haven’t felt tears.

Much as the word is a cliché, so much describes my own ‘journey’;-

Living out here means nostalgia burns strong
For the forests of Eden where we used to belong
But we couldn’t remain there, that was a land we outgrew
But the wilderness she gives a far-reaching view
To brothers in exile

I don’t use the word ‘grown’ in the sense that others haven’t; much as I dislike the hubris of the certain, I think I dislike the hubris of the not certain more- I’ve no right to judge others- I could be wrong. Songs like that accompanied my move from church ministry. There are so many companions I have found in the wilderness; some of faith, some not sure and some who have left any kind of faith. Most seem to be united by asking curious questions and not rushing to an answer..

And….

And the pledge and the vow is ‘you find if you seek’
But what if you try and find nothing but bleak

So turn me tender again
Fold me into you
Turn me tender again
And mould me to new
Faith lost its promise
And bruised me deep blue
Turn me tender again
Through union with you

I remember first hearing that when I was driving and struggling to concentrate: the whole song summed up how I was feeling. It helped me: what is there beyond disillusion; cynicism or the chance of a different kind of hope?. It’s not a happy song- most of the best songs aren’t, but it’s a hopeful one. I’ll have that at my funeral: I guess that won’t be a happy occasion- unless you disliked me.

I could go on longer- much longer- but on Sunday we went to watch him again. I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve seen him in thirty odd years, but it’s always felt like ‘church’: anger pain, hope, celebration and with all those questions treasured and held.

Some people reading this or hearing me have said ‘are you still an evangelical?’ or even ‘are you still a Christian?’ I’m tempted to say ‘Why: is an answer that important to you?’ If I had more courage though, I’d like to sing:-

I’m on my way, I’m on my way
Every day a little closer on my way
I’m on my way, on my way
I’m running, loving, stumbling on my way

But I don’t.