Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

Anita Mathias's Blog on Faith and Art

Rolling with the Pentecostals. And Listening to Heidi Baker

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 Englishness and Pentecostalism: Can you think of more antithetical things?So watching the English version of Pentecostalism or Charismatic-ness always amuses me. It’s like the watching the English morph into Americans–or Nigerians.I am spending six days at the Pentecostal River Camp in Gloucestershire.

* * *

I came to RiverCamp with some Brennan Manning and John Eldredge books to listen to on my iPod as I walked by the river.

Well, it turns out that the River in River Camp is metaphorical. Duh!

It, in fact, describes my favourite river in the world, the river which flows from the sanctuary in Ezekiel 47 1-12.

Googling my own blog, I see I’ve written about it repeatedly. It is the river of creativity, of refreshing, renewal, and forgiveness—the only river in which you want to live. Where this water flows, the salty turns sweet. Trees on the banks of this river bear fruit every month. The fruit is good for food and the leaves for healing.

* * *

Heidi Baker spoke. Heidi is 53, but has the figure, energy, zip and personality of a bouncy teenager. She tells stories with absolute child-like delight, and jumps up and down with excitement as she tells them!!

Her life is her sermon. She apparently knows Christ as few do, and operated in a different dimension altogether in which miracles are normal.  Then she goes on stage and tells stories of the myriad miracles she has experienced in the course of her daily life in which she steps out on a limb daily, and it is more powerful than any theological sermon.

I have heard her thrice before, twice in Oxford, and once at New Wine in Somerset, but always gain new things from her (often repeated) stories. Well, she puts it this way—you may have been pregnant before, but when it comes time to push, you feel something!!

* * *

Heidi was severely dyslexic until the age of 16; her teachers mocked her inability to spell. After prayer for healing, she was healed completely of dyslexia and went on to get a Bachelor’s, Masters and even a Ph.D (in Systematic Theology, for heaven’s sake!) from Kings’ College, London.

I LOVE that story. The molecules in the brain can be healed just as much as the molecules in the body, the dyslexic receiving a Ph.D, just as later, her husband, Rolland Baker, who had advanced dementia, was miraculously healed.

I was myself was completely healed from a long, long burn-out ( the result of a toxic cocktail of overwork, stress and depression) which severely affected my reading speed, and my ability to concentrate for long hours after humbling myself by requesting prayer in a healing service at church in April 2010. The week I started blogging!! I wrote a sardonic post about the grammar of the healer—and later humbly realized, heck, grammar wasn’t essential to heal!

Without that complete healing, which restored my ability to read, write and concentrate for long hours, after a severe burn-out and intermittent depression which had lasted for many, many years, I not would have been able to blog or write successfully!!

Remember how Naaman was told to wash in the River Jordan (2 Kings 5).  Sometimes, healing or the spiritual gift you seek comes because you humble yourself and take the time to go and ask for it. (And often, the healing will come from someone who you may well feel supercilious about.)

* * *

One reason I find Heidi Baker inspiring is that  she makes following Christ sound joyful and easy. Listen, hang in there, press in, pray constantly, obey.

Heidi snorkels in the ocean outside her home in Mozambique. She goes knee-deep, then waist-deep, puts her face in, kicks her legs , lets go, and looks into an amazing new world.

Stepping into the Kingdom is like snorkelling, she said. Leave shore, go deep, deeper still, and look at your world, a new world, with the eyes of faith.

* * *

Here’s another story she told. When Heidi was 18, a Christian preacher came to her college, and said that God gave him a city. She sat in front, smiling, nodding, and thinking, “What a jerk!! Gave him a city!! As if God would give him a city.”

And she said she saw a vision of angel, pointing at the man, saying, “He’s telling the truth. Listen to him.”

And she collapsed saying, “Then give me a nation.” Do you hear her ambition? Nothing to be ashamed of in ambition for things of the Spirit.

She asked for the poorest, most desperate nation on earth, which was Mozambique.

She is building a university there, and has seen some of the 10,000abandoned children she has adopted and educated become professors, journalists, architects, doctors, nurses and preachers.

I recently chatted to a missionary to Africa who told me that Mozambique is one of the continent’s great success stories. Surely Heidi has played a part in this!

Anyway, lesson: Just because we’ve never heard of being given a city by God doesn’t mean it’s not true.

Just because we have never seen an angel (I haven’t, though I experienced angelic protection and deliverance numerous times) doesn’t mean no one does.

* * *

When we lived in Manchester where Roy as a Distinguished Visiting Professor in Maths at the University, we went to another healing meeting, for the aforementioned burn-out. The speaker, an American, kept pointing to corners of the room, saying, “There’s a large female angel there, over you in pink.” “And, you, sir,” pointing to a mild, inoffensive Englishmen, “God is doing something in you. I see angels around you.” The man turned around startled; so did I. Didn’t see any angels. I didn’t, at least.

“He believes in angels,” I whispered to the tune of the Abba song, “I have a Dream,” to my daughter, Zoe,  then 10, each time he saw another angel. “Ssssh, mum,” Zoe whispered. Apparently, she had been brought up to believe one should behave oneself in church!!

I later realised how stupid I was being. Just because I had never seen an angel does not mean that the speaker did not see one. Or the controversial Todd Bentley who says he sees an angel called Emma scattering gold dust. Yes, really. (He really says so,

There is always water

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Do you remember Joshua’s outrageous prayer, “Sun, stand still.”

On the day the Lord gave the Amorites over to Israel, Joshua said to the Lord in the presence of Israel:

“O sun, stand still over Gibeon,

O moon, over the Valley of Aijalon.”

So the sun stood still,

and the moon stopped,

till the nation avenged itself onb its enemies,

as it is written in the Book of Jashar.

The sun stopped in the middle of the sky and delayed going down about a full day.  There has never been a day like it before or since, a day when the Lord listened to a man. Surely the Lord was fighting for Israel! Joshua 10:12

* * *

I once asked my Bible study group if they had ever prayed a huge prayer– and what happened next. And we heard a faith-building flood of stories.

And here was one which struck me. A woman told us of the time she, aged 28,  was leading a team of 18 year olds on a gap year at a mission project in at an orphanage in South America. There was a drought, so tap-water was mostly unavailable. And the water ran out in the orphanage.

The 18 year olds freaked out, “What should we do; what should we do?” My friend who had no idea herself, so said, “Let’s pray.” And they did–had a little prayer meeting asking for water.

Even as they were praying, there was a knock on the door, and an old farmer they had never seen before or since, said, in Spanish, “I’ve heard you’ve run out of water. I have a well. I have come in my pick-up truck, and can take you there.” And so they scrambled into the pick-up with every container they had, and there was water.

* * *

Even in times of drought, there is always water. There is 35 times more freshwater underground than in lakes and streams. There is fresh ground water, even in desert regions. (Seriously, perhaps development charities should prioritize digging wells in drought prone regions of the world?).

I thought of Heidi Baker’s transforming vision, “There is always enough.”

And I thought: there is always water when we are sad. We might need to quieten down and dig deep within, or deep into Scripture for the water which Jesus gives,  a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:14).

* * *

And as for ideas, there is no writer’s block in heaven. God is always thinking, his thoughts towards us are like the grains of sand on the seashore. Part of our job is to quieten down, get out of the way and listen.

Creative blocks are caused when we don’t tune in to God, when we don’t slow down enough to sense his smile on us and our work. (And often, when there is unforgiveness. Then we need to forgive ourselves, forgive God, and forgive all whom we perceive as contributing to the block.)

We might need to realign ourselves with Jesus for streams of creativity to flow out of us, for Jesus promised, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink.  Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” (John 7:37).

* * *

 We are never without water, spiritually; never without grace. The rain of grace is always available. When things seem dry, and wild fires rage, we need to ask the Holy Spirit to rain down on us, in mixed metaphor tongues of fire. And prayer for the Holy Spirit, according to Jesus, is a prayer which is always answered. (Luke 11:13)

And thanking God for what we have, for the equal opportunity blessings which persist when all seems lost, opens our eyes to the goodness of God.  And restores our joy–bringing rain to our parched, ungrateful hearts!

 

God can’t keep his hands off us when we ask for healing, because that is his nature. It takes faith to receive it, though

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The Light of the World
William Holman Hunt
 Do you remember the story of The Scorpion and the Frog from the dramatic film, “The Crying Game?”
The kidnapped black British soldier tells his softy IRA captor Fergus the story.
“Scorpion wants to cross a river, but he can’t swim. Goes to the frog, who can, and asks for a ride. Frog says, ‘If I give you a ride on my back, you’ll go and sting me.’
Scorpion replies, ‘It would not be in my interest to sting you since as I’ll be on your back we both would drown.’
Frog thinks about this logic for a while and accepts the deal. Takes the scorpion on his back. Braves the waters.
Halfway over feels a burning spear in his side and realizes the scorpion has stung him after all. And as they both sink beneath the waves the frog cries out, ‘Why did you sting me, Mr. Scorpion, for now we both will drown?’
Scorpion replies, ‘I can’t help it, it’s my nature.’”
The story apparently is both an African and a European folktale. It was an epiphanic moment when I watched the film 20 years ago, as I was struggling with a difficult and exploitative person, who continued taking advantage of us. I realized that some people cannot change their behaviour. It is their nature. I was wasting my time being outraged. Accept the way people act as their nature, and adjust your dealings with them accordingly.
Someone who has lied to or about you, gossiped about you, taken advantage of you, or exploited you will very likely do it again. It is their nature. If you continue the friendship because of their other redeeming qualities, be aware that you will be stuck with the restaurant bills, for instance.  And if the villainous one is in your church, smile, but avoid being in a small group, or in situations which require self-revelation with them.  Answer their questions with wariness.
                                                         * * *
And sometimes, conversely, you meet lovely people full of kindness. And here is the kindest of all.  “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.” God is good, because that is his nature.”
(And his nature often annoys his followers who ask, “Why do the wicked prosper?” See how Jonah reproaches God for having mercy on Nineveh. “I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity.”) 
                                                     * * *
I have heard a couple of speakers recently, John Arnott and Patricia Bootsma among them, saying that God would never send us sickness. Sickness comes from the Devil. It is always God’s will to heal. Jesus never refused a direct request for healing. Death made him weep. Smith Wiggleworth, interestingly, believed the same thing.
I have been interested recently in how different people have vast faith for different things. Mueller and Hudson Taylor could raise millions by faith alone. Heidi Baker and Bill Johnson have records of remarkable healings. Isabel Allum who I heard last week started off with a rather tedious account of satnavs, medicine, diamond earrings and power tools found after prayer.
 “The measure—or limits—of our faith is our anointing,” I read today in a fascinating book by R. T. Kendall called “The Anointing.” Those who understand God’s nature of generosity, of provision like a river, experience God’s miracles of provision. Those who understand God’s heart of compassion, how Jesus found it hard to keep his hands off sick people, expect and experience miracles of healing.
Nicky Gumbel asked Rick Warren recently at the Leader’s Conference, “Why do you think God has used you so powerfully?” Rick Warren, “Because I expect him to.”
Faith is like the rainbow bridge between heaven and earth, between God’s power and our need.
Or perhaps we could say faith is the key inside our front door that opens it to the power of the Christ who stands outside and knocks.
I honestly believe that when we ask God to touch us, to heal our emotional wounds, to heal our suffering bodies, he does. It may be seismic, or it may be the start of a process, but he does. He does not keep his hands off us—spirit, mind, soul or body when we ask for healing; he does touch us, though perhaps not in the way we asked him to. But it takes our faith to appreciate this. Ever more is being understood daily about the interaction of the mind and the body (for instance, in neuro-linguistic programming), so obviously our faith, and our positive self-talk has a role in continuing to seize and embrace this healing.
                                         * * *
I had been feeling unwell, and exhausted for the last couple of weeks. And so, as I went on my prayer walk, I prayed for God’s healing hands to reach into my inner being, and touch and heal me. I also prayed that they would reach into my spirit, emotions, mind and memory, and heal what hidden scars, wounds or memories might have contributed to my weight loss battle.
And I sort of felt his hands touch me. It was amazing. I came back feeling well and energized. The two week battle with a cough and exhaustion was over. I was happy.
* * *
Apparently, the phenomenon of healing coming and going is not uncommon. A friend of mine has had chronic neck and back pain (undiagnosed, perhaps SPD) for years which gets better after prayer, and then relapses. What’s going on? Peter sunk once he took his eyes off Jesus, once his faith wavered. I wonder, if–once we take our eyes off Jesus, once our faith wavers, once our horrid negative sick-making self-talk begins—our healing also begins to fade.
I believe Jesus desires vibrant health for us, and I am going to keep my eyes on Jesus, and prioritise my health. It feels a bit self-indulgent, perhaps, but in this season of life, my physical, mental, intellectual, emotional and spiritual health all seem intertwined. My following of Jesus is intimately entwined with his call to make life-style changes to be physically stronger and healthy, and emotionally positive, and full of praise.J
by Sharon George
From Ffald-y-Brenin

Listening to Isabel Allum in London. Chasing the Wild Goose of the Holy Spirit. Part II

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 For most of my adult life, I’ve been guided by this thought of Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Why go to drink from other men’s wells, when you can stay home, and be in touch with the internal ocean.”So I avoid listening to speakers on the importance of reading the Bible, of loving your spouse or kids, or praying, or worshipping, or writing daily, or reading poetry daily—preferring to go off and get on with it.

* * *

But yet, there is a time for learn, and a time to be inspired.

When we lived in Williamsburg, Virginia, I worked before a large picture window facing our backyard. Giant iridescent dragonflies flitted around our pond. Monarch butterflies fluttered in their mating dance. Ruby-throated hummingbirds came to our feeders. There were brilliant cardinals and cheeky blue jays.

And I, nose in book, was often oblivious to this world humming with life and colour. Until I looked up.

* * *

So too, spiritually, I can plod. Not in distress, but not on the heights. Not unhappy, but not filled to overflowing with the joy of the Lord either.

But there is so much more. And when you listen to speakers who have scaled higher altitudes of joy or peace or hearing God’s voice, or experiencing miracles, you feel, “Okay, girl, there’s immensity around you. Keep climbing.” And this great cloud of witnesses spurs you on.

* * *

I am chasing the wild goose of the Holy Spirit, and the best thing about this chase is: I am guaranteed to succeed. On the most sacred promise. If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” Luke 11:13.

“Everyone can play,” as John Wimber famously said. And everyone who asks for the Spirit receives. It’s a democracy. Like the great democratic marriage feast of the Lamb.

How much of the Holy Spirit will I receive? As much as I am willing to make room by daily repentance. By making time and clearing room. By inviting him to come.

Will everyone who asks receive the same amount? Nope. But that’s more or less okay with me, because I know the King, and I trust him, and know he’s fond of me.

And he will give me as much of the Spirit as I can stand at any given time and as I make room for by repentance, surrender and decluttering my heart and life to make room for him.

* * *

Healthwise, I’d had an awful week or so. A cough. Feeling feverish. Sleeping badly. Exhausted during the day.

So when I saw Isabel Allum was speaking in London, I thought, “Why not go?” I am low-spirited because I am feeling so grotty, and it will be refreshing.

And so I went.

And it was interesting enough.

* * *

A critique of the Toronto Blessing, and the Charismatic Movement is its similarity to magic. I recently chatted to a lovely new committed Christian about how she renounced the occult, including an addiction to fortune-tellers and clairvoyants, which was escalating financial problems, since she was contacting them several times a day, sometimes. Why? I asked. “The hope that something good might happen. The need to know,” she said.

And so, Isabel Allum packed out a hall, because she has a reputation as a prophetess. And what did people hope to hear? Predictions of destiny, greatness, “favour,” “plunder,” becoming famous, receiving the nations as an inheritance?

And I? As I said, I wanted to relax in the presence of God, soak in the things of God. And yes, I wasn’t averse to a prophecy. A confirmation of destiny, though I do have a good idea of what God is planning to do, and is doing in my life. He spoke to me when I was 21, on the day he unleashed my writing gift, out of the blue, and confirmed it last summer. So, I am a bit embarrassed that I wanted a prophetic word, such as was given to me for my daughter Zoe by Patricia Bootsma, but, hey, I did.

By the grace of God, however, I have had very clear direction for the rest of my life, of the path I should take, and now–all I need to do is take it, which is not the easiest thing. Steady step by step, and Paradise Lost gets written, and you reach your Promised Land. A thousand prophecies or none, it would still take obedience. It would still take work. It would still take sacrifice.

* * *

A lot of things Isabel was talking about were I guess “magical.” Stories of lost satnavs, medicines, diamond earrings, tools, appearing. She was like a jazz artist, one riff generating another.

It struck me that we each have faith for different things. For instance, I have faith in God’s financial provision. I pray with faith, and over the years, have experienced many miracles in this realm.

Bill Johnson has faith in God’s “creative miracles”—growing new limbs and new organs. And so he sees that happen. And Isabel magically retrieves lost objects.

I love the rich concept of the Kingdom, a mansion with many rooms. And it means different things to different people. Heidi and Rolland Baker’s concept of the Kingdom is probably closest to Jesus’s—the blind see, the deaf hear, the dead are raised to life, and the good news is preached everywhere.

But there are other aspects of the Kingdom. It is joy. It is peace. It is serenity. It is, as Ann Voskamp paraphrases Paul, being, “worried-full for nothing, thank-full for everything, prayer-full in all things.”

* * *

Isabel talked about a young girl working with her, who went to work in an organic greenhouse, and prayed in tongues all day. And the business boomed, and the plants throve, and the profits rose. The simple act of prayer brought the Kingdom into the greenhouse. I have heard the same stories come out out of Ffald-y-Brenin, once they started praying blessing on neighbouring farms and businesses.

 

And that too is the Kingdom. Praying through your day. Seeing God’s hand in little things (Isabel gives examples of parking spaces, and things being marked down in the grocery store just before you get to that aisle. Seeing it as God’s provision fills our life with joy.) Being thankful. Praying big prayers.

* * *

The medium is often the message. Isabel, a Costa Rican, whose Hispanic accent I often had trouble following, spoke childlikely with a continuous smile. The joy seemed real.

Ah, what prevents me living like that, praying through my day, thanking God for his goodness to me, both evident goodness and goodness I accept by faith? Rejoicing always, praying constantly, in everything giving things. Nothing stops me from trying to live like that! And so I will.

And for that inspiration, I am happy I looked up from my books, and saw a bright ruby-throated hummingbird flutter through an English May; iridescent dragonflies sweep, and monarch butterflies on their prophetic migration.

At Play in the Fields of the Prophetic

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Okay, when I started playing, I was sceptical of people who suddenly ask you to give “a prophetic word” to the person next to you, as Rachel Hickson did at St. Aldate’s.I was sceptical as I wrote, but, in fact, a highly meaningful, writers’-block-breaking “word” was then shared with me.
So on Friday, I was at a conference led by Patricia Bootsma of the Toronto Airport Fellowship, with more playing with the prophetic. We were asked to give words and images to people, sometimes those next to us, and sometimes those who stood behind us, sight unseen.
There is something presumptuous about this putting on the spot. What if God does not give you a word—what should you do? Would the person be disappointed? I actually panic that I will not have something to say. But, in fact, God did give me words and images each time, and I hope they meant something to the people I shared them with.
The “prophetess,” Patricia Bootsma, was down-to-earth, and, interestingly, seemed to be leaning into the spirit, hearing what he was saying, as she spoke. She was tuning into the flow of words and images, as I do when the tap for a poem or blog post or essay is turned on, and it’s flowing, and I am writing fast as if to dictation—and then how annoying it is when a child or spouse walks into the room, and the flow is lost, forever. Similarly, Patricia got annoyed with people writing as she spoke, or chattering in the room in which she was tuning into the spirit and listening.
I had my first Charismatic experience when I was 17, three decades or so ago. And I have never had a prophetic word spoken over me which used information the speaker could not have got, except supernaturally.
So Patricia comes up to me, looks at me, and says, “You have a daughter.” “Yes,” I say, “two of them.” Then she says, “I have a word for your elder daughter. She is going to be a leader, a leader in the Church. Satan has brought many things against her, but she will overcome. And your prayers for your daughters will be answered.”
I was stunned—particularly as this was the destiny I had seen for my older daughter, Zoe, from a young age, and because she has been having a rough time recently. What a wonderful word of direction and encouragement, spoken from someone who did not know me, or know I had daughters.
The other prophetic words from conference attendees were “You shall run and not be weary; walk and not faint,” which was the word and image God gave me in response to my request last week. (And I went for a 40 minute run today, got my best time ever, and was not weary!!)
Then we had to share a character from Scripture with a person who stood behind us. The person shared Joseph on the throne, meeting his brothers who betrayed him, forgiving them. Joseph is a key figure for me, and I have blogged about the lessons from his life numerous times.
Interestingly, the room was full of friends and enemies from my old church, which had been a painful, toxic experience for me, in which I had been betrayed, lied about, and slandered, while leading a women’s group. And those two women were there.
I sat at lunch with a group of women from my old church, including an African immigrant, who, among other back-stabbing, fabricated an entire conversation I supposedly had with her, and went with it to my co-leader and the rector’s wife. It took me ages to get over the shock of those sheer lies, and to forgive.
And then, I saw her again on Friday, and it was Phooey. I no longer cared about what she had said. I no longer cared that she got what she wanted (I resigned the leadership in a fit of pique, and she led the group in my stead). I was no longer shocked at the slander and lies. I was like, “So what? Who cares?”
I suppose it was because like Joseph I had been fruitful in the land of my suffering. That the things they had meant for evil God turned to good. Phew, when you are divinely enabled to forgive, and it is all done and dusted, what a relief that is!
I looked around the room and saw friends from my old charismatic church, about 6 of whom I’d had many lunches and teas with in my house, and theirs. I was wondering if I belonged in that charismatic church, rather than my new regular evangelical church.
And so the last image shared with me, again by someone who didn’t see my face, was of a wall being built, and there is one space missing, one brick missing, and that was me. I was reassured that I do have a role to play, a ministry in my new church which will slowly be revealed to me. I am co-leading a group, and I will pray for wisdom to share, and love.
So, interestingly, the random prophecies where we shared words, images and verses with people we did not know (and sometimes whose faces we did not see) worked—not because of any prophetic ability on our parts, perhaps, but because of the goodness of God, who is always speaking, is never silent, and really desires to communicate with his children.

 

Sunday Church Services: The Bread, Roast, Cake or Icing of the Christian Life?

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File:St Andrews Church Oxford.jpg


I have been wondering about this.  About a year ago, we left a large Anglican Charismatic city centre church where we had been for six and a half years, and after a couple of months of checking out Oxford churches and Christian communities (oh, the tedium of it!!) settled on a very nice North Oxford evangelical church.
Now, geographically, it’s just a couple of miles away, but in human geography, it’s an exploration of England’s famous class system as one moves from a city centre church to North Oxford (which, for my non-Oxford readers, is distinguished by massive, hideously expensive houses occupied by successful academics, writers, journalists, lawyers, doctors, businessmen, venture capitalists and hedge fund traders who retreat here after a day in the City, and of course, many wannabes, mortgaged to the eyeballs, one pay cut away from financial disaster). I know the terrain well, because my girls have gone to private school in the centre of North Oxford for 7 years.
But, it’s not just geography; it’s style.  The Charismatic Church was a bit of circus; well, think of it as Crufts. Bounding golden retrievers, prancing poodles, adorable labradoodles, the odd pit bull terrier or rottweiler thrown in. The worship is loud. The word people use to describe it is “American.”
And the worship leaders, “Look-at-me, yeah-Aren’t-I-cool?” performers, with American names like Martyn or Lauryne scream the lyrics. Flashy videos and slick audio-visuals give you the church news. All very slick, hip. When I was new, an older lady and a younger one, gave me the same tip. Bow your head, press your fingers against your earlobes, and then the noise, oh sorry, music, subsides to quite a pleasant level. You see that gesture rather a lot.
But then, but then, and here’s why I stayed for six and a half years. Suddenly, the spirit descends. And Martyn and Lauryne belting out vacuous, vapid lyrics they’ve penned two days ago, somehow fade away, and the Rector and Parish Vicar and their wives, who, it’s rumoured, bitterly scheme and intrigue against each other like Medici church politicians or characters in Downton Abbey, and bound onto the stage with competing visions and revelations from the Lord, the vision du jour, all that blessedly fades away too, and the music fades, and suddenly, you see Him seated on the throne,
And the circus, the zoo atmosphere melds into the eternal menagerie
Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all that is in them, saying:
   “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb
   be praise and honor and glory and power,
   for ever and ever!”
And you feel the spirit descend, and wash through you, and you are temporarily purified of all your snarkiness, and you are filled and you feel ecstatic.
Worship is the most selfless act there is. It’s not about us; we are totally lost in someone else. We reach the deepest peace in which the self sloughs off and flies away.
                                                   * * *
Well, then I started worshiping in North Oxford. Church here is sedate, refined and sophisticated. It does not feel like a cross between the circus and Crufts. It feels like… like… well, North Oxford!!
The worship leaders are low key, more about the music than themselves. They have normal English names like Phil and Pete. They don’t play repetitive, anemic lyrics they’ve written that week.   They draw from old wells, as well as new. It’s quiet, restrained, and, a word, many refugees from the Charismatic church to this solid evangelical church use  “has integrity.”
But though both churches are Evangelical Anglican, one wildly charismatic, one mildly charismatic, the differences in style are significant. 
Whereas the charismatic church used minimal liturgy, this is liturgical. Having grown up Catholic and been bored in church, a thousand times too often, I hate liturgy. In the charismatic church, the rector’s wife, who rather liked the sound of her own voice, would rush and gush over unending prayers, prophecies, proclamation, declaration, while the congregation grew restive. Here they were prewritten out and read out. How do you pray along with a prayer someone else has written? By the time, you’ve tuned your consciousness to pray for the Queen, they’ve gone through Cameron, Oxford and Missions.  
                                                * * *
Worship has rhythms much as making love does. Detaching from the world, entering into the presence of God, worshipping him. Changing from a bouncy, golden retriever style of worship to a more formal, stately style is proving harder than I imagined.
I am finding it surprisingly hard to sink into worship on Sundays. My most vivid church experience happens in small groups; I like and respect the people in my small groups, one a women’s group, one a couple’s, many of whom have quickly become my friends.  That’s where iron sharpens iron for me,
When I first became a Christian, and was church-shopping, an older Christian magisterially told me, “Find a church at which you can best worship God. Everything else is a fringe benefit.” I have up, till now, followed that advice.
But I now believe he was wrong. A Church is people. A community of people to love, invest in, grow with, grow into friendships with.
If you have been in a church for a while, and given of yourself, and served, and made no or few real friends, should you change churches? It’s a difficult question. I have twice changed churches for this very reason, that I wasn’t real friends with anyone (and, this is an indictment of me: there was no one whom I particularly wanted to be close, deep friends with!)
If you have little with common with the church community, community is harder to find. It may be time to try a fresh church. There is no sense in accepting mediocre, boring or bad situations. Odds are, it will be better. If not, you could always return!!
And so I have chosen my new church for the community, the people, rather than the worship services.
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We switch to the evening service, and I realize that more Sundays than not, I am skipping church. Sunday is a non-work, non-adrenaline day, when I suddenly realize that I have been running tired for a while. By 6 o‘clock, I am too tired, too sleepy, haven’t exercised, so feel the depression which exercise normally filters from my body. I wonder if exercise will make me feel happier that going to church. Or a nap. Or personal prayer.
I read and write intensely Monday to Friday. On Saturday, I read and write, but less intensely. And it’s so lovely then to truly, truly rest on Sunday, to not go anywhere, not even to church, which is 20 minutes away.
My husband and daughters go to church, but I stay home often, and pray and read scripture instead. For a few weeks, it works. I have amazing, refreshing, soul-shaking encounters with God, with clear guidance. I hear His voice. It’s praying where it itches, rather than listening to a sermon, hoping it connects with where you are. A targeted encounter like a one on one tutorial, rather than a lecture. It’s reading scripture and letting it speak to you, rather than listen to what Scripture said to someone else. Oh, and it’s perfect for an introvert!!
 Blog posts flow on Sundays while the family is at church. And they are good.
                                                                * * *
But then, I began to feel restless and distracted on those Sunday evening. Ha, that’s what Lewis said what the value of church attendance in Mere Christianity. A single stick fallen out of the fire will blaze brightly for a while, and then burn out. But many sticks together will together blaze brightly!
I am not modelling the value of church attendance (which I do believe in!) for my daughters.
 The thing about communal worship is that when you are bored, the music can lift you into a state of praise and worship far more effectively than you can lift yourself.
We all have poor spiritual peripheral vision. We focus on our current preoccupation, and the aspects of faith which have been most vivid and real to us that week. But there is always so much more about God which we haven’t realized or have forgotten. Going to church reminds us of them. The lyrics of hymns written by those who have experienced God more deeply, more lovingly, more devotedly, lift our tepid spirits.
Similarly, a good preacher can see amazing things which have evaded us in a text we have read dozens of times. Until I moved back to Oxford in my early forties, the preachers were always older than I. Increasingly, that is no longer the case. Sometimes, they were born, when I was in college. Ouch!! Just a little bit harder to take seriously. Just a little bit easier to get bored and restless during their sermons.  And listening intently: ah, a good training in grace and humility. Might as well start practising for the decades when all the preachers will be younger than I am.
Another reason to go is other people.  You both offer and receive social support, warmth and encouragement over coffee.
On Sunday, I feel that rest will be better than dragging my sluggish self to church, but then I land up writing often. On Monday, I am far more tired if I have not gone to church, and feel as I have cheated myself out of the day of rest I looked forward to. I do relax in church! In fact, it’s like going to the gym for me. I’d often rather not go, but then I feel so much better afterwards for having been. And in practice, I am less motivated and more tired on Mondays if I have written on Sundays, and end up taking a half day off.
I was getting a bit worried about how many Sundays I was blowing off church, when I was asked to co-lead my small group, from which I’ve been getting so many of the benefits of Christian community, love, encouragement, spurring on. I sighed with relief when I was asked to lead, as I knew it would solve my blowing off church struggles. I’d feel silly leading a group in a church whose Sunday services I don’t regularly attend.
  
So back to church. It’s still a bit sedate for me, compared to the bouncy Charismatic style I had got used to. Nobody belts out the lyrics, waves their hands in air, or dances! But, come on, if I truly believe prayer works, I could pray that it increases its bounciness quotient. I could even pray that on Sunday evening, in church!
* * *
Okay, to answer my question, is going to church on Sunday bread, Sunday roast, cake or icing to the Christian life.
To answer Anglicanly, it depends. For a new convert, bread or roast, I’d say. You only know as much of Christ as he has revealed to you. You need to go to church to absorb more of the concentrated theology in the liturgy (I don’t like liturgy, but that’s what its fans claim), to absorb concentrated theology in good hymns and worship songs, to learn scripture and its interpretations through the readings and sermons. Your faith seems less quixotic in a packed church.
But once you have been a Christian for a while, it’s a relationship. You will still love and rely on Jesus if you haven’t stepped into a church for a month. You will still need his strength and wisdom to get through the day. The church service is encouragement, refreshment, motivation, sweetness. A bit like Christmas cake with marzipan icing. You can do without it, but you and your life-blood are sweeter for the encounter with it.

“The Holy Spirit is always positive. Satan is always negative” John Arnott (Toronto Airport Fellowship)

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Here are some interesting quotes from the book Grace and Forgiveness by John and Carol Arnott. I am mulling them over


“Every negative thing and thought is always of the Enemy, and every positive, life-giving, up-lifting thought is always of the Holy Spirit.”


” When we judge others, it almost always comes out as an accusation. We judge and accuse others and unwittingly find ourselves in agreement with the “accuser of the brethren.”


“Instead we need to take our speech in the opposite direction. Instead of judging and accusing others, we need to build others up, encourage and edify them. We must bless and not curse, forgive and not accuse.”


“Settle this issue in your heart. The Holy Spirit is always positive, and Satan is always negative.”


“Even when God brings discipline and correction to our lives, He does so to save us from ruin. His intent is always life-giving and redemptive.”


Carol Arnott, same book
” A man reaps what he sows.” In the natural realm, if we plant one seed in the ground, we expect to reap a multiplied harvest. If we plant a single seed of corn, and only reap back one or two seeds, that is a terrible harvest. We expect lots of kernels to grow from that single seed. That is God’s law of increase.


 “Similarly, in the spiritual realm, if you sow seeds of love, joy, generosity, kindness, goodness, forgiveness and mercy, we will reap an abundance of those things back. But if we sow seeds of anger, judgment, bitterness, gossip and violence, we will reap those things, but in increasing intensity, like a crop of weeds.”

From our retreat at Ffald-y-Brenin, Pembrokeshire, Wales

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Enjoying our retreat at Ffald-y-Brenin in Pemrokeshire National Park in Wales.
It was running at full occupancy, and as Roy Godwin explains in his book, The Grace Outpouring,when there is a rumour that Jesus is to be found there, it draws crowds.
The place has been soaked in prayer and blessing, as Roy Godwin says, and there is something in the air. Our daughters had been given the bigger rooms with the bed and chairs facing the window, whereas we had the smaller room, with the bed and chairs facing away. Not good for someone who loves to read and write in bed facing a window. I wanted to swap rooms. A mini-tantrum ensued.
I tried blessing. “X, I know you are going to surprise us all with how good and kind and loving and understanding you are going to be.”
She pouted, but never mentioned it again, whereas normally, she would have persisted and pressed until she got her own way. Magic in the air, huh? The girls seems to be enjoying a mixture of prayer, Bible reading, and their own secular reading, and study, in Zoe’s case.
There is healing and faith in the air. I prayed for healing for the adrenal fatigue which I had suffered from for several years, since the early years of my marriage really, and perhaps before that. Its main sign was a severely diminished reading speed (from the days in which I could gulp down a book a day, and sit reading for pretty much 12 -14 hours at a stretch, which I used to do until my mid-twenties, very unhealthy).
Somehow, I felt I had been healed of this, and was surprised at how rapidly I was reading again.  I am reading a fairly dense but well-written readable book, Diarmaid MacCullough’s history of Christianity, rapidly and with great enjoyment. Of course, being self-conscious about reading speed and techniques is like watching oneself play the piano or touch-type. You will be watching yourself rather than immersing yourself in flow, and that will slow you down!
Normally, when I have the opportunity to pray for extended periods of time, I have an agenda. I seek God’s wisdom for this, blessing for that, direction for this…
This time, I just wanted to hang out, and see what he might have to say to me. God has been very kind to me over the last couple of years in terms of guidance and vision, and this time I wanted to pray
Search me, Oh Lord, and know my heart
Try me and know my anxious thoughts
I asked God to show me what he might see in me which he’d want me to change.
He pointed out a detail. Ouch!
·      * *
The one sure thing about God is that He is a giver. He is generous. He loves to give to those who slow down enough to receive—love to gives blessings, guidance, vision, wisdom. What James says is really true—if anyone lacks wisdom, he would turn to God who giveth to all generously.
One area God spoke to me was about reading Scripture, and I am going to return to my old habit of reading 5 chapters a day from today.
Another was about writing down the things I hear him say immediately rather than make a note to blog about them later. I am becoming distinctly middle-aged, and sometimes forget the depth of vision behind these scribbled noted.
Some days, in which I am receptive, I might hear God speak several times, and say several things. Other days, when I am dry, distracted, obsessive, hassled, I might not hear anything. So it would be good to cultivate the blog stack. And writing down things as I hear them, or divine them, or sense them, would mean I would have a blog stack without needing to spend the hour a day I spend on blogging (which means I could spend the extra hour to return to writing books, which is where my heart really is).
There is one area of my life in which I lack wisdom—I simply don’t know what to do!! I spent a couple of hours praying about this issue. If Jesus was here, in the flesh, and I asked him what to do about it., I am sure he would tell me. It’s a good desire, after his will. So, perhaps it just takes faith and receptivity to be able to hear God’s guidance, when Jesus is not here in the flesh.
I think we have a lot more wisdom and guidance at our disposal that we don’t avail ourselves of because we do not slow down. So I did, slowed down, about this long-standing question mark and puzzlement in my life, and felt I heard God speak and tell me what to do. More later…
And so I have had 3 days without any internet, or mobile phones. Loved it. Today however, the intensity got too much, and we drove into town to reacquaint ourselves with social media–twitter, blogs, facebook et. al.
But I learnt something–how MUCH one can read and write when the internet is switched off. I am going to turn it off for periods when we get home.