Here we go again..........

You could be forgiven for thinking that the US was the only place on Earth there was an election going on.

While the quality of candidates both here and there are about on par, you probable won't get  wealthy business people from the US suggesting we need a dictator to step in, as we have here in Australia!!

At the very basic level you would hope our political leaders would be the voice of the voiceless and not the wealthy!!

Sure perhaps an enquiry into the union movement is needed, so is one into the banking and finance sector, sadly the issues with the bank/ finance sector are not seen as moral issues, only of the safe schools program or marriage equality are deemed to be the only 'moral' issues up for debate.

We ought to be providing housing for the homeless, shelter for the asylum seeker and support for those who have issues around their mental health.
Sadly these issues are left to smaller political parties with weird names.

So as we become further disillusioned with our politicians we sail towards a 'hung parliament'.

If we do have a 'Hung' Parliament lets hope its 'Well Hung"!!!

'popup church'.

POPUP is an informal get together of people, who have faith communities, but sometimes like to to discuss, vent, encourage, be encouraged and heard in a different setting.
Today three of us spent one and a half hours drinking coffee/hot chocolate and discussing matters of faith and personal stuff.
We are quite different, rather than look for differences we share what we have in common and challenge and are challenged to think and rethink what we believe and why.
It is always good to listen and be heard, and to go away knowing we love and care for each other.
One person who is a regular, has recently moved back with partner and family after a time of separation,another is a single dad coping with all the stuff of life and who hangs out with 'dangerous' people, then there is me, who struggles to make sense of doubt and faith.

Together we travel this road we call 'our faith journey', and together discover the importance of life before death!!

It's a mixed group, crazy group, and its sinners and saints together making sense of life

TAKE MY ADVICE I DONT NEED IT.

A recently spotted Tshirt with words, take my advice I don't need it, caught my attention.

Not having ever being big on offering advice however, it did ring a few alarm bells for me!!

It was a reminder to be a 'do as I do not do as say kind of person'.

It's easy to tell others how to act, behave…..add your own favourite here!!

It reminded me of Jesus, much more than 'being an example' Jesus 'exampled'.

So I will take my own advice first.

Still Small Voice

In the bigger scheme of things, where you have your morning coffee in not that important…..right?

Maybe not, but sometimes you have to listen to that 'small still voice'.

Recently as i was riding into the city for my daily loitering activities, I had my mind made up where i would go first and get a long black!!
As I neared my destination, something, I call a 'still small voice' suggested an alternate venue.

I listened, and went to another cafe instead, had my coffee and you guessed it nothing happened, that is until I was skulking back to the bike, when out of nowhere a pair of arms came around me from behind and I got a bear hug.

It was a bloke I had met once, at the funeral for Les, which I wrote about last year.

We hugged and chatted for a time, which was good for the heart!!

We parted company a short time later, and I now listen more carefully to the 'small still voice', maybe just maybe its God and maybe I should listen.

PS Please don't tell The Ruth, she says I never listen!!!!

Don't stop dreaming

One of my grandsons, Atticus a beautiful boy aged three going on 20, was asked by his mother if he had a good night sleep?

'Well i did but my head didn't "
"Oh really? How come?"
"My head just didn't have any dreams".

We need dreamers don't stop dreaming.

church isn't a DENOMINATION

Baltimore - where the "Star Spangled Banner" was written is a nice place. That's about as effusive I wish to be about this small but strangely charming city.



Again though, like Denver and certain parts of Houston, it's the people that make the place special and I mean extra special.

Wandering the centre city of Baltimore took me a few minutes and after talking to a very nice police man (in a fast pursuit vehicle, all the criminals must be overweight) I made my way towards the meet up point for my lift to #BreakingBread. Thank you Julie, I would never have found it on my own!



 

So three ministers walked into a church, a Lutheran, a Presbyterian and an Episcopalian. And that's not a joke - Jenn, Sara and Jason run Breaking Bread. I don't know the history or who did what with whom but Breaking Bread is another one of those simple church ideas that are just outstandingly wonderful. It's not rocket science to do this sort if thing but wow it is very powerful, and those of us who haven't thought of it before go, "I wish I'd thought of that!" 

All it is (and I don't mean to sound like I'm putting it down, I'm not I'm raising it as high as I can and jumping up and down shouting "WE ALL SHOULD DO THIS...") all it is, in essence, is a simple service, a simple meal and and a simple Bible study. #BreakingBread's brilliance comes from two things - the atmosphere and the people.

I may not have the order of the next bit quite right but you'll get the general idea.

The night I went Rev Jason wasn't there and Rev Jenn was leading and Rev Sara was in charge of the food. You kind of just walk in and do stuff. I was ordered (nicely) to help lay the tables - cutlery and candles were what I did, and they look great.

Being the summer holidays they weren't expecting a full house only about 20 (I'd love a Bible Study of about 20). Four tables were set up, some food was prepared (mainly asparagus, THE vegetable of Breaking Bread) and things began. It started with a simple service of singing and prayers and a very simple (but amazingly profound) Communion service in which we all stood and served each other the bread. It was a very moving experience and God was there, in the eyes of the homeless guy across the circle from me, in the smile of the person handing me the bread. It was another Holy experience in a borrowed church hall. 

The wine was shared around our tables and the act of moving from one place to another between the elements was great. It made me feel like what we were doing was communal (all in the circle together) and yet also individual as we drank from our own cups in our places by the table. Again very simple ideas brilliantly done.

After the service (which was maybe 10 minutes) we went for the food like ravenous beasts, sharing talk and laughs at the various tables. This wasn't rushed and there was a feeling of community there - hard to describe but there was a 'freeness' to the proceedings that can only come from everyone wanting the same outcome. I'm sure that doesn't do it justice but it's hard to describe.

After seconds Jenn (the Presbyterian (yay for John Calvin)) led us in a Bible study that I will not describe here as I intend to use the idea at our church (she'll never know!!). Once again the way it was done was simple yet the content was very thought provoking and the discussions at our table was deep and serious.

It was a wonderful night (everyone helped with the clearing up as well) in which a stranger from a long way away was made to feel very much part of a worshipping community. He was offered food and spiritual comfort, companionship and conversation, teaching and love. It was all very New Testament, early church, true Christian Community in action stuff and I loved it. I'd go every week if I didn't live 8,500 miles away.



Thank you to the Breaking Bread team, you are the real presence of God at work!!

 

church is for EVERYONE (even little green kids)

Well I’m still in Texas (I’m not but the blog is, so stick with me, I've only got one more after this blog from here), and I’m feeling like a big kid.

Why????

I’m on my way to NASA!

Anyone born in the late sixties or early seventies will have a special place in their heart for NASA.

A year before my birth men walked on the moon for the first time; As I was being born Apollo 13 was in trouble; I watched the first shuttle launch in school; I saw the first shuttle disaster on tele; I wanted to be an astronaut!!!!

So here I am on the way to the Mission Control in Houston. I’m not going to go into detail here - this is not a tourist blog but the tour was great, a real high point of my trip. There were some amazing things to see - a real NASA skip (with NASA written on the side); Mission Control but the biggest thrill, however, was the Saturn 5 rocket!!!



I made a model of one of these when I was a child, it had a little Neil Armstrong and everything. I knew the scale of a man to the machine but seeing it was MINDBLOWING!

Huge doesn’t do it justice - the jets of the rockets had a 40 ft diameter and there was 5 of them - this thing is unbelievably big; massively large; unfathomably vast. Even that doesn’t make it clear how big it is!



 



 

I mention it because I have been in awe of the this machine for years and as amazing as it is it was nothing to how I felt that evening. My hosts (Megan and David) took me from NASA to a suburb of Houston to the Grace Lutheran Church where we met the pastor Lura Groen.



Grace is a fantastic little place in a hip neighbourhood of Houston that does some utterly amazing stuff. The three things I want to mention are -

1. The Neighbourhood food bank that was going on when we arrived.

This is such a simple idea - local growers bring their produce to the church where a local co-op hires some space and sells good, local grown food for fair prices. Everyone wins - the church gets a working presence in the community, the community gets fresh local food and the growers get some money. WIN/WIN/WIN. Simple and brilliant.

2)   The work they do with Homeless teens.

Lura gave us the grand tour and one of the big things the church does, in conjunction with the other organisations, is to have a ministry to the local homeless youth, many of whom are gay. On Thursday evenings there is a drop in session held at the church with a safe place to talk (the church board has made the best room in the building available to the homeless - that speaks volumes, it says ‘you are valuable AND you are welcome', words these kids may not here from anywhere else. There is a clothing bank and a food bank where good (hip) clothes and healthy food are available. They also supply things that we take for granted but to the homeless are luxuries - toilet paper, sanitary products, batteries etc. It is an amazing work that is not only needed but also really well done - Simple and Brilliant!

3)    Wednesday Night Worship

We arrived in time for the Wednesday Night Communion service. This is a small service held in a small side chapel. As with the House for All Sinners and Saints the liturgy was very traditional and yet was so fresh. It was a simple gathering where prayer, music and short sermon were shared and then we gathered around the table and shared the communion elements. It was made VERY clear that this was an open table and EVERYBODY is welcome. These weren’t just words spoken out of habit - this was a heartfelt invitation to all who wished to hear and come that this table was open to them!! It was formally informal or informally formal - in all the tradition and well known words there was an openness that was so wonderful to be a part of.

The service at Grace Lutheran struck me as living up to that verse that says we must accept the things of God as a child. It wasn’t childish but it was child-like - simple, profound and somehow very truthful. The service (indeed my whole experience was) simple and brilliant.

But what has that got to do with the SATURN 5 rocket - well this - as impressed and awe-struck as I was by the technology of the 1960’s that had 1,000,000 components and put men on the moon I was not as impressed or as awe-struck with that as I was with the wonderful work and the presence of God that I saw and felt at Grace. THAT was amazing in every sense of the word.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They welcome they extend goes as far as green, alien children - honestly, it was in their stained glass windows - look-

 



I couldn't put this in anywhere but I must tell you y'all; I touched moon rock!!!!

church IS people

You might have guessed by now that I really liked Denver. The city is meh but the people are WOW! To finish the Denver part of this blog and this trip I want you to meet 2 more folks. Vivian and Lotti.

 

This is Vivian.



I went back to City Park on Sunday morning to help with the Homeless Communion again. I arrived quite early, about 11, and just watched as the under privileged of Denver gathered for both spiritual and physical food. It was a warm day so instead of sitting in the sun they just laid their bags in a queue and went to sit in the shade. As I stood under a tree and watched a young woman came over to me and asked, “Do you want me to pray for you?”

This shocked me, and I didn’t reply, she said again, “Hi, I’m Vivian from one of the local churches, I’m not Jehovah’s Witness or anything weird, I’m just a Christian - would you like me to pray for you?”

“Yes please” I stammered.

“What shall I pray for? Do you need a roof or some food?” I must admit this made me re-think my ward-robe, to her I looked homeless! I thought it was a Denver Hipster look but apparently it was Denver Dropout - oh well, it could be worse, I could have looked like a tourist.

“No thank you” I said, Im travelling through.

“OK” and uncorking a bottle of oil she anointed my head and prayed a simple prayer for a traveler.

She said “God bless you” and walked on. I watched, she went up to every homeless person there (about 90 of them by the end) and asked each one of them. She got about a 70% positive response but not once did she get any abuse or bad reaction.

With those who wanted she anointed them and prayed with them, chatted for a couple of minutes and walked on. She never asked for anything, she never seemed harsh or angry. Just a young woman doing what little she could to help spread the love of God.

It was oddly lovely to watch. She will never read this blog, I doubt I’ll ever see her again but I pray that God blesses her in all she does. If you have a faith, please include Vivian the prayer girl in your prayers too.

 

Meet Lotti - my new friend Lotti.



After the Communion service in the park I need to head to the House for All Sinners and Saints. I put it into Google Maps (my new favourite app by a mile) and it told me to walk two blocks and catch a number 20 bus which was due in an hour.

Off I went and found the bus stop. Sitting on the bench was a guy so I sat down and said, “Hi.” People seem to do that here.

He looked straight at me - “Did you just say hi to a black fella?”

“Ummm, yes I did.”

“Well Lord bless me, today is a good day!” He said. “Not many folks would say hi to an old black fella like me, are you sure you want to?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Hi, I’m Siôn.”

“Well Sharn (that’s how they say it here), it sure is good to talk to you, I’m Lotti.”

We shook hands. Well, no thats not true, I extend my hand, and so did he and then we did some weird synchronised swimming kind of thing with our hands and fingers and thumbs.

“Did yer get that?’ He asked.

“Show me again” He did. And about 10 tries later he was satisfied that I could do it. “Well done boy. Dap me.”

I looked puzzled - “Put your fist out like this” - I did, so he punched me in the hand. “That's dappin’. We do that when you get something right.”

I’m a total social native now.

Lotti and I sat and talked for the hour the bus took to come. He found out I was a minister - “You ain’t like no white preacher I ever seen - they don’t talk to the likes of me.”

"Thank you” I said and meant it.

He loved the fact I had come from Australia but, “There are better things to do in Denver than talk to Lotti.”

You know what? I don’t think there was. He was a Veteran of Vietnam, he used to drive trucks for a living. He laughed a deep booming laugh ever time he could, he shared wisdom and stories in equal measure. He talked of his family and obviously loved them to bits, and they him. He spoke of how he hadn’t been to church for 45 years because he’d been told God didn’t have time for him and that he wasn’t good enough for the Kingdom. I lost it at this (as those who know me you can imagine), “What rubbish! God’s got more time for you than some guy in a suit who would tell you that. Did you go to Sunday School?”

“Every week, in my best clothes” he said.

“Tell me the stories of Jesus that you remember,” I said. “Who did he spend the most time with?”

He thought about that for a minute, a far away look in his eyes.

“Well, let me see, I remember something about sinners and lepers and some little tax gatherer up a tree.”

“Do you remember the story about the good church people he sat with?”

“No, sir, I don’t recall that one.”

“Because it’s not really there - Jesus didn't go to the folks who thought they were good enough, the suits and the preachers, he went to where people didn’t think they were good enough.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, Lotti I am, take this.” I gave him the little Bible I carry in my backpack for when my iPad runs out of battery. “Read the New Testament, that starts here. Tell me what you think."

“I will” he said.

The bus arrived, we got on. He went and sat down. “Can I sit with you?” I asked.

“You wanna sit with me?”

“Of course I do”

"Really?"

We sat and continued to talk. This was his area, people he knew got on. He introduced me to them all. We talked and laughed, we ‘shook’ hands in that strange way he taught me. There were lots of daps and smiles.

About 20 minutes later Lotti looked up and said, ‘I missed my stop, it was five back that way.”

He stood and pulled the bell chord for the next stop.

“Thank you Siôn, it’s been a real blessing, and I ain’t used that word properly in 40 years.”

We ‘shook”, we dapped and then he dragged me from my seat and hugged me. With tears in both our eyes he got off.

He thinks he was blessed - ha - I was Godsmacked again by the God of mysteries and surprises….

 

End note - Since I wrote this on Monday I got a phone call from Lotti yesterday - he went to his his local church on Monday and spoke to the pastor who backed up what I said and Lotti is going on Sunday to church for the first time in 45 years. He promised to call me next week and tell me how it went. Please pray for Lotti too.

 

P.S. I just re-read this - Please don’t think this is story about my Great American Evangelistic Crusade and my amazing powers to save the lost and wandering or how holy and wonderful I am- it is not that at all, if you think that please read it again. It is a blog about how God reaches into everyday life and does HIS thing. All I said was “Hi”, I’m pretty sure my input stopped there - the rest was God, not me (except the hand shakes, that was totally me, and I can still do it!!).

*DAP*

Church does NOT need to be complicated

At the beginning of this blog I want to thank Jerry and Nadia for letting me take part in something so holy. Thank you.



Denver has a huge, not so hidden, problem. It has a lot of homeless people. In 2013 Denver was estimated to have a population just short of 650,000 and just over 11,000 of them were homeless. That’s nearly 6% of the population without anywhere to live.

Considering the work that Bubba has just started it was good to see some of the stuff that is happening to help this forgotten section of society.

As you walk down the main street of Downtown (the 16th Street Mall) you can see lots of the homeless just sitting around. I mentioned this to Nadia and she suggested that we go and hang out with her friend Jerry Herships as he did a homeless communion.

Jerry founded AfterHours Church (www.afterhoursdenver.org), go and read about it, it’s such a great work.

 



 

One of the many things Jerry does is manage a daily homeless feeding program with Communion if you want it. A lot of the churches of Denver now take turns in running it. At midday, everyday, many of the homeless of Denver (we gave out about 100 lunches the first day I was there) gather at Civic Park and form an orderly line waiting for their food. I went more than once to help and I watched them gather from about 11am, placing their bags in line and going to sit in the shade to chat or read or hang out. A few minutes before noon the team of workers would turn up. The first time I went it was Jerry who turned up, opened a battered picnic table with the words

 

Jesus was homeless.

the foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.

Luke 9v58

on the top. A loaf of bread, a cup of grape juice and a cross were laid out and the ‘service’ began.




It was super simple….

The people file past and are offered communion - most say yes - a little bit of bread is dipped in the cup and handed to them with the words, “A reminder that God loves you”. Some say Amen, some just bow their heads, others just smile and say thank you or God bless you. They move on and are handed a bag of food and a bottle of water (the second time I went there was even dog food). It is very dignified, each person is treated like an individual and loved for who they are.

I helped to hand out bottles of water and each person, without fail, had something nice to say to me. From a simple thank you or a God bless you, to the one that nearly made me cry - “We all appreciate what you guys are doing, not everyone will say it but thank you.”



Then Jerry called me over and asked if I wanted to give out Communion. Having watched I knew what to do but I did ask myself if I was ready for this.

I have lost count of the number of Communion services I have led - I have done services in churches and cathedrals, in homes and hospitals, by the side of the road and in hotels, to a thousand people and to just one but I don’t think I have ever got as close to what I think Communion really means as that lunch time in a park in Denver. It was a simple, beautiful act of sharing God’s love with those who may not get love from many other sources. The gratitude and dignity of the people was amazing. Even those who choose not to take the elements did so in a dignified and polite way.

As I stood there I saw Jesus looking back at me from every face that passed, I’m sure I got more of a blessing from them than they got from me, I was the one being ministered too. One man, when I asked him if he would like Communion, said, “I’m a Baptist”, I said I’m sure that didn’t matter and he replied, “Y’know, you’re probably right.” He took the elements and said amen and I was Godsmacked again.



That simple act of sharing bread and wine (grape juice actually, but let’s not split hairs) was so profound that I know I have been changed by it. I’m not sure how yet, but there was a clunk inside me of as I stood there as if God had turned a key and opened something inside me. As I said, I don’t know what yet but…..

Deliver us from Bigotry and the WBC

From those who religion requires bigotry, deliver us O Lord.

When I put this sign up last week I had a totally different blog to this one in mind. I had another rant about those who exclude people from their community because of made up, spurious reasons. I had it all drawn up in my head, ready to go. Since then I've learnt that Fred Phelps is 'near death' and it's changed what I think I should say.

For those of you who don't know who Fred Phelps is, he is the founder of the Westboro Baptist Church, possibly the most evil and pernicious cult that I'm aware of. They lower intolerance to a whole new level. Along with their very well documented hated of homosexuals (the church website is godhatesfags.com) they also admit to racism, mainly of Jews. WBC is most famous (infamous) for the way it pickets military funerals and those of celebrities and media people. As an example of their ideals - on January 15, 2006, Westboro members protested a memorial for 2006 Sago Mine disaster victims, a disaster in which 12 people died, claiming that the mining accident was God's revenge against America for its tolerance of homosexuality. This is the 'church' that Fred Phelps founded.

So when I heard he was 'on his deathbed' I will admit, along with many others I'm sure, to being quite happy about the news. I read the ideas spreading over the internet about how groups of people from various communities (including various churches, gay right groups and even the American Military) are going to picket his funeral. And I agreed with them - and then I went to Bible study last night and was Godsmacked by one isolated comment, in fact one isolated word.

In our Bible study, we've just started reading through the Gospel of Mark (in fact last night was our first study and we looked at chapter 1). We began by reading the first verse, "The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah, the Son of God." The question was asked, "So who was this Gospel written for?" I had my answers ready, as did my co-minister I'm sure, something like "A first century Jewish community, most probably", when from the group a voice said, "Everyone." It sounded to my ears like, "Durrrrr, everyone" said in that tone of voice that tells you that that's something everyone knows, and I'm an idiot for not seeing it. And I am - a complete idiot for not seeing and understanding it.

I have thought about that one word all last night and all today; everyone - the Gospel was written for everyone; the Gospel is for everyone; God's grace has no boundaries, no limits, no stop signs, it is for everyone. Just because I don't love Fred Phelps, and all his ilk, doesn't mean that God doesn't. He does and that one word, said in passing at a Bible study, has forced me to confront the limits of my grace and the limitlessness of God's.

Now it's quite easy for us in the Church to learn who we should love - and so we love those poor people in Africa, South America and Asia, the downtrodden, the marginalised, even the homeless and the Asylum Seekers. But for bigoted, gay hating racists - now where is my love for them.

You see what I realised from that one word last night is that God loves Fred Phelps. As hard as it is for me to grasp this totally bizarre concept, God loves Fred Phelps and all the members of the Westboro Baptist Church. Despite of Fred's hatred of practically everyone in the world, God loves him. It is not my place to judge Fred. I may hate what he does and what he stands for; I may (profoundly) disagree with pretty much every theological view he has ever expressed; I may stand completely opposed to his view of God and his actions in God's name; I may (and I will) speak out against his views of homophobia, racism and hatred but I have zero right, absolutely none at all, nada, zilch, zip to deny that God loves him and God's grace is broad enough to encompass him (though not his views, of course. I don't believe that God agrees with them at all). The God I serve is big enough and broad enough to love everyone, everyone.

This is the story of the cross, the story of Easter, the core of our faith.

In my mind Fred Phelps is a bigot and his views are things from which we all need delivery. His ideas and ideals directly contravene what I read in my Bible and the faith that I hold so dear. But what one word, mentioned in passing, has done is confront me with God's love and confound me with God's grace. I must realise that what God offers is for EVERYONE, and it doesn't matter one jot what I think - this is what God's love is and this is what God's grace does.

He gives it freely to all humanity, even to the Fred Phelps', the Siôn Hughes' and the (insert your name here's) of this world. And I've been taking it for granted that I was, at the very least, on the right track. But....

My love, my tolerance, what little grace I have are all limited. Finite. As hard as I may try all my perceived goodness has limits (quite narrow ones if I'm honest). But here's the big thing; the massive lesson I learnt this week; the Godsmacking truth that we must all grasp if we're going to change this world - GOD HAS NO LIMITS. To impose limits on him is to become another Fred Phelps - confining God to love only those you love, and the Almighty is far bigger than that.

Think on these things as we journey through Lent. Think of the worst person you know of; someone who, if push came to shove, you would say you actually hated. Well, guess what? God loves them every bit as much as he loves you. It's a very hard idea to wrestle with and an even harder one to live out. Let's pray we can.

Godsmacked pt. 4

Turning off the machine that goes ping.

I've stood there only twice and both times half of me wished to be anywhere else in the world and the other half knew I had to be there. Where is there? There is at a bedside in an Intensive Care Unit, with a grieving family and a dying person. I can never get over the bravery people show at these times and how these families cope with the unbelievable strain the loss of a loved one puts on them.

One day in November over a decade ago there I was standing 'there', by the bedside with a family gazing down at Rachel, a 24 year old woman with major injuries from a car accident that wasn't her fault. The family had just listened to the doctor be ever so nice but however he phrased it we couldn't escape the fact that he was saying that he was sorry but Rachel was clinically brain dead and it was just the machine keeping her breathing. We couldn't say she was alive as technically she wasn't anymore, Rachel had gone it was just the machine that goes ping keeping her lungs going and the only sound in the room was only the machine that goes ping, going ping.

The family were being as good as it is possible to be in such a terrible situation, crying quietly, talking softly and being so exceptionally brave it made me want to weep even more just watching them. We had said our prayers and our goodbyes and now the machine that went ping needed to be turned off.

The family knew it had to be done, but brave as they were they couldn't do it, but they didn't want the nurses or the doctors to do it, they were stuck, in a stasis that they couldn't break. They were the ones who had to do this, not the staff, it was a very personal thing.

I knew the family well, very well. I'd been their minister for over 5 years, played rugby with their son, driven Rachel to University and helped them move her into her new digs, eaten at their table, laughed with them, sang with them, prayed with them and now I was crying with them. I knew what had to be done, I looked at the weeping mother, the father with the red eyes and grim smile and then the son, my friend, my fly half, the one who knew from my look if it was a pass or a kick that was coming, who knew the plays I wanted to make by the way I looked at him. He just nodded, it said everything that needed to be said and that was all that was needed. I turned and press the sequence the nurses had shown us and the machine that went ping went ping no longer.

I turned to walk away, to leave the family to their grief, "Thank you, please don't go, you're family too." was all I heard before it hit me.
Looking back, if I had expected the Godsmacking, I expected it when we were told Rachel was gone, or maybe when we turned the machine off. Not when the family, in their moment of deepest grief asked me to share it with them.

But it was then that I was Godsmacked, then when the Almighty reached out and shook me by the spinal column, then that a verse of scripture jumped into my head. It was not a verse that, in hindsight, I would ever have thought of as appropriate in that situation. There are many that are, that can bring great comfort in times of deepest trouble , but 1 Corinthians 13 v. 7 isn't one that I would have thought of at such a time. (I know now that it's 1 Cor 13 v. 7, guess what, I looked it up again),

"Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

The love they had, for Rachel, for each other, for me and for God was indeed bearing up under the worst of things. The love they had wasn't questioning why God had done this, it still believed. The love they had knew that God was at the centre of the grief and was not the cause and it was this that gave them a hope to go on. Their love was enduring, enduring the most terrible of losses and carrying on and so were they.

It was through this situation that, Godsmacking as it was, I saw the power of the love of God. We sat, a little group and one more person joined our huddle, we didn't see him come, we didn't see him there but he was as present as any of us and his tears were as wet as any of ours, his love as genuine - bearing, believing, hoping and enduring. He does that all the time, what ever the situation, whether we feel that love or not. Godsmacking isn't it?

Godsmacked pt. 2

Twinkle, twinkle lots of stars.

I'm a city dweller. I love broad streets and coffee shops, smooth pavements and signposts. They make life comfortable, easy and liveable.

Coffee shops are great and make getting coffee so much easier than having to do things yourself.  Saying, "A weak, skinny, vanilla latte with a shot of cold milk please," takes a fraction of the time, and is nowhere near as tedious, as planting a tree, waiting for it to grow, harvesting the beans, roasting them, grinding them, and of course not forgetting buying a calf, feeding it, watching it grow, learning to milk the cow, getting the milk from said cow, pasteurising it etc. I could go on about the vanilla beans and the processes involved in cultivating the orchids but I know nothing about that.

Smooth pavements are nice, they make moving around easier, as do signposts, they show you where you are going and help you not get lost. Trees don't perform this vital function, as they point in many and varied directions and don't have any wording or distances written on them, they look pretty but as a directional marker they are useless.

But I have not always lived in suburbia, I used to hear the sound of cows and sheep outside my window but now I hear the noise of traffic, car alarms and people. Little birds used to wake me up with their gentle song but that was a long time ago now it's big machines and the next door neighbours fighting.

Nights for me are now well lit, with street lamps and head lights, I no longer stumble blindly through dark fields hoping I don't follow Alice down some rabbit hole.

I like street lights and seeing where I am going but the dark does have some advantages...stars being one of them. Stars are Godsmacking in their own right, they need no help. They are unfathomably far away, some of them are larger than most of us can possibly imagine, others are so far away that they will have ceased to have exist by the time we see their light, the stars are truly amazing, Godsmacking. What we, light loving, city dwellers don't understand is that we only see a fraction of them. Get out to the countryside, wait for it to go really dark and all of a sudden the night sky isn't just dotted with one or two hundred stars, it is covered in billions of them! And there are other things too, if it's dark enough you can see the Milky Way, and if you know where to look you can see that there are planets, with patience you can even track satellites and watch for those elusive shooting stars we hear about so often in really tacky, love songs sung by really bad 80's bands.

It was on a night such, years ago that I was lying on a beach in Tresaith, Mid Wales, leading a youth Camp in an elipog (that's epilogue to you) and I was Gobsmacked, completely, again, totally by surprise. There were 20 or so youngsters (14 - 18 year olds) lying on the beach gazing up at the sky. "Why?" I hear you scream into your coffee, the one you got from a coffee shop and not one you made from scratch yourself.

Each of these youngsters was trying to count the stars in a certain section of the sky. Every so often a voice would cry, "50", because someone had counted 50 stars. These numbers were noted and we were up in the several thousands when God reached down from Heaven, grabbed me by the mind, shook me violently and went off laughing loudly at my confusion. The whole elipog I had prepared drained from my now shaken and confused brain and all I could was remember the two verses from the Psalms. (As I said last time I didn't know where the verses were but I've looked them up and they are Psalm 147 v 4 & 5.)

"He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name. Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit."

Twenty of us took about 35 minutes to get up to about 8000 stars and all of us agreed that there were a few more than that. God knows them all by name, not just our 8000 but the billions we never got to, indeed his understanding is beyond our measure.

Godsmacked pt. 1

To be Godsmacked is to be left speechless by the Almighty. Like its secular sibling, 'gobsmacked', Godsmacked implies an unexpected event. In the book of Acts in the bible Paul is Godsmacked on the road to Damascus; Peter, James and John at the Transfiguration could justifiably be called Godsmacked, that of course is not to mention how Joseph, Mary and the shepherds felt at various points in the Christmas story.

The action of being Godsmacked is not limited to the New Testament there are many examples in the Old Testament as well; Goliath - literally Godsmacked, Nebuchadnezzar on seeing Shadrack and his friends in the fiery furnace - Godsmacked, talking donkeys, heavenly ladders, large floods and burning bushes - all Godsmacking.

These are just a few of the many examples of scriptural Godsmacking. There are of course many other stories of people being Godsmacked - some dramatically like Martin Luther, others are Godsmacked more slowly like C.S. Lewis. However it happens being Godsmacked is not something you can ignore nor can you miss it.

Most Christians I have talked to have had a Godsmacking experience, for some it is a one off, never forgotten event for others God smacks them time and time again. There is no right and wrong when it comes to being Godsmacked - as there are millions of, as Larry Norman termed us, 'Jesus freaks' so there are millions of ways of being Godsmacked, here are a few...

Winds and waves.  

My first recollection of being truly Godsmacked was sitting, in my college room  in Aberystwyth, gazing out of the window one dark and stormy night in November many years ago, but before we stare out of that window here's a brief history of how I got there.

I am one of those Christians who cannot put a definite time on my conversion - having been taken to church at the tender age of 6 months (it would have been earlier but I was incubated for about 5 months, I hope it didn't involve a large hen sitting on me but it might have done, I don't really remember and in all the photos I'm obscured by feathers ). I cannot remember a time when God was not a normal part of my life. Understanding grew as I got older, I asked questions and made decisions about God and Jesus and miracles and church etc and my faith grew. I cannot say there was a definite moment of conversion, over time my prayers became more fervent and my conviction that I needed Jesus far more than he needed me became more acute. I moved from a church going child to a church going youth and then to a calling myself a Christian for I found  that I was following Jesus and was getting to know him as I read and prayed more and more.

Before you get the idea that the author was and is a boring God botherer it should be noted that on this slide towards Christ there were many high points - parties, lots of drinks, fast driving, accidents, loud bands, late nights and early mornings, fights, long hair, friends, mistakes, more parties, more drinks, road trips, weekend concerts, leather jackets, dinner jackets, flack jackets and lots of fun. The wonderful thing is most of them still happen, it just now Jesus comes with me. I'm not sure if the Son of God enjoys heavy metal concerts but he's been to a few and I've never heard him complain (it is true I can't hear much for days after a concert but I figure Jesus made the blind see so if he didn't want to go AC/DC again I'm sure I'd get the message).

So after many adventures, a brush or two with very nice policemen and a bit of traveling I ended up being accepted into the hallowed halls of academia or at least the bleach smelling halls of The United Theological College, Aberystwyth. I was there to study theology, but in reality I played lots of sport, drank loads of whiskey and did just enough work to scrape through my degree.

And so you find me at my desk one night in November, starring out of the window, trying to write an easy on the use of duct tape in Sunday School or some such interesting topic. Looking for distractions from this engaging topic proved easy - my window faced west, over Cardigan Bay and the ever changing vista of the sea was a constant draw for my duct tape weary eyes. This night was special however.

Many times I had sat in that self same seat and watched as storms came in over the sea. The lightning was always spectacular as was the effect the wind had on the waves but that  night was different. It was differenter from any other night I had witnessed there - I was about to be well and truly, completely and utterly Godsmacked.

Looking out I could see the storm building in the north and driving huge clouds ahead of it over the hill. It was black and bleak and brilliant. I always looked the other way (south) towards the harbour to see if all the boats were safely moored and as I did I saw the reflection of the storm in the window. That couldn't be right, it wasn't the reflection it was another storm been driven up from the south on a collision course with its northern brother.

In awe, and I use those words as they are truly meant, I watched as the winds grew stronger and the waves grew higher, as the lightning lit up the sky and the thunder deafened the town. But the best was yet to come, all the lights of Aberystwyth went out in a sudden flash and then night became day as the two storms met in the middle of the bay and literally tore each other apart.

The sight was unlike anything I have ever seen, and I watch the Discovery Channel A LOT. I could see everything from horizon to horizon. The lightning wasn't coming in flashes but was a constant burn in the night sky. The noise was horrendous as peel after peel of thunder echoed again and again and again. The rain lashed, the winds howled, the sea vented its fury against the land. Rocks were hurled 100s of feet into the air and flew just as far inland, windows were smashed, cars wrecked and some were even dragged by the fingers of the waves back into the watery depths to be driven by Davy Jones on the way to his locker. I learned later that no one had been seriously hurt but the damage bill ran into the 100's of thousands of pounds.

It was In the middle of this natural pyrotechnical display that I was Godsmacked - it came over me like one of the claps of thunder and lit up my mind like one of the flashes of lightning, a couple of  verses of scripture, I didn't (and still don't remember the reference, without looking it up) but I clearly heard the voice of my old Sunday School teacher saying, "The disciples went and woke him, saying, “Master, Master, we’re going to drown!” He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm.  “Where is your faith?” he asked his disciples.

In fear and amazement they asked one another, “Who is this? He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him.”" (It's actually Luke 8 v 24 & 25, but I had to look that up.)

Watching those storms hit the Bay and seeing the power they unleashed and then remembering that even the winds and the waves obey him, Godsmacked me. I was utterly speechless before the power of nature and the even more awesome power of God. I had found, or maybe re-found, the faith the disciples were rebuked for not having. If he can control all that fury he is worthy of the title THE ALMIGHTY, no arguments from me!