lurchersontheedge

Just beginning

Texts of Redemption: using the Scriptures well on urban estates

I am child of an urban estate and a priest on an urban estate. Thus this paper at one and the same time is an attempt to make sense of Christian sacred texts on a largely white outer estate in Birmingham and an almost cathartic exercise as I explain my own relationship with the Book that enabled me to escape from an estate.

Any comments on this beginning would be welcomed.

It is some time since I mused about bumbling. This in part because I have been a little too busy to bumble; and also because it is frowned upon by some of my colleagues and friends, who like focus and consistency.

When I arrived in Bartley Green on 21 September 2009, little did I know that I would be involved in selling a church building and drawing a line on a significant piece of ministry. St Francis Church and Community Centre in Woodgate Valley is part of my Parish. St Francis started life as a local ecumenical project, jointly ‘owned’ by the Church of England and Methodist Church. It had its own congregation, which dwindled over time through people moving away, sadly dying, moving to other churches. Worship as a regular Sunday morning activity lapsed around 8 years ago.

As providence may or may not have had it, an opportunity arose to pass on the responsibility of the building to another church. The practicalities of the sale went well, but consumed much brain power. The pastoral side did not go as well. When you get bogged down in paper, people seem to have less of a priority. The trouble is when the paper is dealt with; people’s pain can be far more acute than it otherwise would have been.

The work on Woodgate Valley will continue without a building; indeed the Youth Project is partnering with a number of other organisations with the Church as a, if not the, leading player. The Community Work will continue. Thus the outcome could be better than it was.

Service of Thanksgiving and Commitment

I have learnt though that it is better to bumble, and to bumbling I shall return.

In the Name of God, revealed as Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Announcement of Good News can be uncomfortable as well as bringing comfort. This is particularly true if the news involves change, and good personal news always has the habit of creating something new. The words ‘change’ and ‘new’ are full of life and vibrancy; and therefore as such can bring a measure of chaos.

I well remember going into Firth Park Comprehensive School in Sheffield to get my ‘A’ level grades. In those days, no sealed envelope but displayed in public on the science prefab window. I had passed. In the midst of the pleasure, it had been a long road, 12 months earlier the words ‘O’ and ‘F’ had been written alongside my name; there was a slight unease; what was I do now. This is not unnatural. Good News often involves choices.

The prophet Isaiah announces good news to the people of Israel. Judgement is finished. Salvation has come. Comfort, comfort my people, declares the Lord God. It is a pivotal moment in the Book of Isaiah, and a turning point in God’s dealings with his people and his world.

The prophet declares that it is now a time of hope for the people of Israel; rather than one of judgement. The people of Israel had been humiliated. They had been taken (some of them) to the city of Babylon, exiled away from their homes, cultures, and place of worship. By the rivers of Babylon: they had wept, and found it impossible, (at first) to sing songs of praise. In exile, the people had discovered afresh, what their ancestors had told them: God, their Yahweh, was king and God. Isaiah adds a new dimension to this narrative: God has conquered Babylon. Their humiliation was over.

Words of comfort and hope give the possibility for change; of life being different. This is not always an easy message to hear. ‘Good News’ can be too much! On that August day when I saw my ‘A’ level grades, it was too much. I remember freezing with fear rather than thinking of those around me of the opportunity for University. The people of Israel too had the possibility for allowing themselves to imagine themselves as God intended them to be. If there is one prayer that I have for us as a Christian community it would be that we would be willing to imagine together that God truly is on our side. Good News creates choices.

Births – and indeed the lack of them – have the capacity to cause frustration, joy, angst and indeed confusion. John the Baptist was born into a family who desperately wanted him. His parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth were considered past the age for children, and according to Luke’s story of Jesus, the archangel Gabriel had informed Zechariah that he and his wife were to have a child, and call him; John.

Zechariah did not greet this message with joy. This was not because he did not want a child. Indeed, he and his wife would have known much social shame in not having children. There would have been the sympathetic look as well as the furrowed brow, unhelpful advice and unwise platitudes. Zechariah had learnt to live with all of this; serving God without bitterness and anger.

The words of the archangel are met with disbelief. Zechariah could not imagine them to be true. He could not move into a place of hope. Too often, we are like Zechariah unable to move into a place of hope.

When I was on placement when training for ordination, I had opportunity to work with Stephen and Esther. Esther was extraordinarily nervous; and many things had contributed to this. I remember doing a session on being made in God’s image. Her response was personal and unusual, she skipped church the following Sunday to ride a bike in the local park. She had never been deemed ‘good enough’ to have a bike as a child and for her to ride was liberation. Imagining what it might be to be made in the image of God had a powerful effect on Esther. I trust imagining that we might be the people of God for Bartley Green will have a similarly galvanising effect.

Zechariah and Elizabeth though were to receive the gift of no ordinary son; but one who would herald the Messiah. It would he who would baptise Jesus and encourage people to follow him.

John by doing this imagined a different future for himself. As the firstborn son of a priest, he might have been expected to serve in the Temple. Instead, he opted to spend time in the wilderness. He learnt not to be constrained by expectations and follow his own. His parents allowed this by giving him his name. For Luke, John’s name was no accident.

I am called Kevin because my father when he went to register my birth simply had forgotten the name he and my mum had agreed. It could have been worse, I suppose; he could have called my Lynn which is what I would have been called if I had been a girl.

John was the name the archangel had said he was to be called, and in confirming this; Zechariah was freed to speak.

The Baptist is comforting yet uncomfortable figure. By this I do not refer to his healthy eating habits or his desire for the latest chic design in camel skins. Nor his oratory, which was both simple and effective calling politicians, religious leaders and a monarch to account. I refer to his relationship with Jesus.

‘He must increase; I must decrease’ was his maxim. This is a phrase that John seems to have embraced and meant.

My prayer for myself is that I mean it too. That I might be shaped by my desire to serve Christ, whatever the cost and wherever he wills. I pray that beginning in this parish of Bartley Green, we might be able to point to Jesus, and say to others: ‘Look, there is the one who meets all your needs’ or to put in the words of the Baptist, ‘Behold, the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world’.

Many moons ago I was part of the Religious and Theological Studies Fellowship (RTSF). It started life as the Theological Students Fellowship (TSF) and was part of the Universities and Colleges Christian Fellowship (UCCF). Through my involvement with the UCCF movement, I was – and still perhaps am – involved in the Tyndale Fellowship for Biblical and Theological Research (TF) which is also part of the UCCF family. I was its erstwhile Secretary for around three years. I say this because I remember that one of the tenets of the UCCF was “Commitment to Truth”. For UCCF, there was, and still is, a notion of objective truth. I actually still believe truth can be objective as well as subjective, and am comfortable with the notion that Christ Jesus is the only way there is to salvation; but content with the fact that such a proposition is for more flexible in divine hands rather than my human ones.

I remember whilst a member of the RTSF Executive Committee – how we thought it was grand in those heady student days to be on a committee of national significance – attending a conference in Malvern (I believe it was celebrating the work of Archbishop William Temple), encountering members of the Student Christian Movement (SCM). I went along to their meetings to find that (to me) they defined themselves over against the UCCF. This is not surprising given that the roots of the SCM and UCCF sprang from the same place. They are in fact siblings, and thus allowed to quarrel. Even 20+ years ago, the issue for the folks within SCM was the perceived injustices of UCCF Christians to those involved in same-sex relationships. I endured what I remember to have been three rather antagonistic conversations where I was ‘tried’ for the perceived crimes of evangelicalism. This is how I remember it rather than perhaps the reality of what happened. When I reported this to my UCCF and RTSF colleagues, the views of those from SCM were dismissed as ‘liberal’ and thus had nothing to offer. I was a rare bird even then, going to both groups happily enough.  I find that I go to neither grouping now, or derivatives of them, whether Affirming Catholicism or a DBF. I associate with Fulcrum (www.fulcrum-anglican.org.uk) because it seems to me to be a safe place for all, and a space for evangelicals, like me, to be themselves and express themselves.

A little earlier, I lamented that people from the different tribes of the Church no longer had a place or space or even inclination to meet. Why ever this is, it is a sad loss.

There is a NT model for remaining in unity despite diversity. Actually, it would be fairer to say that there are NT models for doing so. We do not realise this because we have forgotten how read, hear and engage with the NT, gently dispensing with bits of it we do not like. Perhaps sadly I might add, we do not make time to read it.

I do not for example suppose that the Apostles Paul and Peter had much in common. Nor do I believe that the theologies of Paul and James, the brother of Jesus overlapped entirely. I do think though within the NT there are examples of differences being embraced. There are models to do it; we just need to be brave enough to see them.

When I was 10 years old, I went to St James and St Christopher’s Church, Shiregreen. Stan and Henry had been wardens for generations, and George had replaced Henry. When the time came for Stan to be replaced, Janet stood for election. I had heard several men offering the opinion that it was not right for a woman to be a Churchwarden. Being brave and foolish, I offered this opinion to Janet myself. Janet completed disarmed me. She bent down, hugged me and planted a great big smacker on my lips. I am not sure what child protection policies this would breach today, but my older less brave male worshippers duly observed what had happened; and Janet served as Warden for several years. As far as I know, she did the job in an exemplary way.

When I was training for ordination. I spent lots of time on placement. I worked alongside a woman incumbent. I remember vividly in September 2000, going into school, and being introduced as “Kevin, and he is training to be a vicar”. This was met with some incredulity by an eight year old girl; as pricelessly she said, ‘but he is a man’. In her limited experience, all this girl had known was Hilary the Vicar.

The Church of England General Synod has the opportunity in July 2012 to proceed with the consecration of women priests as bishops. I am a simple theologian really; and it seems to me that a priest can be a bishop if that priest is called to be a bishop. Whilst it is politically understandable why a previous Synod did not choose to say women could be bishops as well as priests, it is a theological nonsense.

General Synod should pass the Measure overwhelmingly. It has the support of the Dioceses of the Church of England. The stumbling block seems to be an amendment passed by the House of Bishops. In a nutshell this amendment seems to suggest that those opposed to the consecration of women priests as bishops can request that a male bishop who shares their theological objections can have oversight over their parish.

I do have sympathy with those who cannot in conscience accept the ordained ministry of women. I have particular concern for those ordained prior to the decision to ordain women as priests. I simply do not understand why the Church of England continues to ordain to the priesthood those who do not believe women can be ordained. There is theological breadth and generosity, which is gloriously Anglican – and creating a recipe for disaster. It is perfectly possible to allow people to remain as faithful Anglicans without the bells and whistles of legislation, and for there be graciousness for this to happen. There is no such thing as two integrities within the Church of England, which appears to suggest that there can be two churches in one. This was not the wording nor intention of the legislation. What there is, is one theological belief and the grace and space to allow folks to disagree with integrity.

I do not argue that women priests should be allowed to be bishops out of a concern for justice or equality; but because the essence of the Gospel is found in the ancient baptismal declaration: There is no Jew nor Greek…. male nor female….; all are one in Christ Jesus.

It is Christ who makes us all whole. Let us do this; and then get on with the important stuff of being a Church to the nation; otherwise that Janet might come after me again.

The Church of England has had an interesting week. It has conducted countless funerals, weddings and baptisms. It has visited many in need, sat with the dying, taken acts of collective worship in church and community schools, prayed in people’s homes, offered prayers in churches, sat on church councils and the committees of other agencies. It has been behind the creation of a number of food banks and community initiatives. All of this has gone on relatively unnoticed and perhaps under appreciated; except by people who have directly been in contact with the church by law established in its various guises.

The Church of England made a statement. Suddenly everyone noticed. Peoples wagged their fingers, even some of those who thought they were the Church of England thought that the statement should not have been made.

I refer of course the Church of England response to the government’s consultation on possible legislation concerning the marriage of same-sex couples. I am an Agnostic concerning this matter. I admit firstly that some of my fellow evangelical Christians have treated gay people as less than human. I am ashamed of that. Secondly, I am aware that some Christians appear to want to jettison years of Christian doctrine, ethics, understanding our sacred texts almost without a pause for breath. I despair about that.

I am aware that many of my friends have signed the ‘not in my name’ response to the Church of England’s response to the consultation. I have not done so. It is not because the manner of the response was appropriate. It was not. It is not because I cannot try to empathise with those who long to have their relationship blessed in the sight of God; marriage in Church is what (I think) those who are gay and Christian want. For me it is because of opprobrium heaped on those who put out the report by those who did not like it.

I also struggle with the fact that we have lost the ability to disagree with grace. It may be that the Church of England’s capability of holding together divergent views has diminished. If it has been permanently lost, then I would argue that would be of far more significance than reaction to a response to a consultation. It should not surprise us that we have lost the ability to gracefully disagree; we no longer go out of way to move beyond our tribal groups. People on both sides of the debate talk at rather than with each other. In my email inbox this week, that has been the accusation made (of me) that I do not ‘get the need for justice’ and from another perspective that ‘I risk compromising my standing (what standing?) as an evangelical interpreter of the scriptures’. Without personal relationships, we will make statements that cannot be understood nor appreciated because we will never have shared hospitality with those whom we disagree with. When the Church of England can no longer provide a place to do that; it will cease to be the Church of and for England.

I realise that the consultation and its response are important. I do not belittle that. A much bigger question might be, when was the last time you sat down and spent time with, and listened to those you disagree with. There might be a gospel imperative to that from time to time.

It will always be easier to shout and write leaders columns than to offer hospitality and time to those you disagree with.

I have found myself sat in the cafe of the Creation skate park in Moseley, Birmingham as my 10 year old demonstrates his prowess on his scooter, and devises ever more interesting ways to persuade me to enhance his scooter.

I am supposed to be writing for the Grove Booklet Educational Series on schools and churches working in partnership. I sink a little lower in the excuses for not getting on and doing it; by reading. I am reading Crossover City, which is edited by Andrew Davey. Its subtitle Resources for Urban Mission and Transformation whets my appetite. I find myself impressed by Bishop Laurie Green’s almost autobiographical piece, devour the chapter on the connections between the Eucharist and ‘Bring and Share’ by Mandy Ford; and finally come (in terms of the book backwards) to the chapter by Peter Robinson on evangelism in the urban context. I find Robinson readable and for the most part persuasive.

I come across one particular quotation that has meant that I have turned on the laptop, skipped past note on the desktop which cries out ‘get on and write for Grove’ and begin another blog. Robinson writes:

“In baptism, regular Eucharist and the cycle of the Christian calendar, worshipping communities come to understand the patterns of devotion and ethical behaviour that are consistent with the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The worshipping community in the midst of the diversity and vulnerability of human life represents an alternative means of engagement with the complexities of the contemporary city”.

The theologian, pastor and prophet in me all leap for joy as I read and type these words; and then I think how untrue such a statement is in reality. It is not that I do not want it to be true; I most certainly do; but it just does not seem to be, for me, that is. It is not true because in my experience, we have lost sight of the big picture. I am not convinced that those who are regular members of our worshipping community actually know enough, experience enough, feel enough of the big picture to even know that they can connect up their community with the overarching narrative of the Incarnation and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. Indeed, why should they, when a good number of the people I know who are in authorised ministry (my pool is limited to the British Isles) would not be able to paint their own lives in the context that Robinson alludes to.

We are unable to do this because we have lost the ability to tell the story of God. Churches are able now with great eloquence to tell the stories of their local communities. Churches can speak with a local dialect – and that is brilliant, and should have us dancing whatever our favourite particular jig is. Let me be straight: it is not that we have lost confidence in the story; we just no longer know the narrative.

This brings me back to half a thought that I had yesterday at the same skateboard park when trying to pen some words for Grove. The recent Chadwick report comments that schools should be part of the package which provide children and young people ‘with a life-enhancing encounter with the Christian faith and the person of Jesus Christ’.[1] When I read that I wondered how many teachers, governors et al would feel equipped to do just that. Reflecting on Robinson’s words, I wonder how our people will ever be able to connect up to the big picture, when we train leaders who no longer know the story.

I want to go on to suggest some answers, but the truth is all laments should begin, once stated, with silence – and those other words ‘get on and write for Grove’ on becoming more and more insistent.

Trinity Sunday is I am afraid to say my favourite holy day

I am aware that might sound strange, but one might imagine that you are getting used to me by now, and realise that strangeness might well be my middle name, the initial being of course ‘S’.

Someone should have asked the question, ‘why is Trinity Sunday your favourite holy day’. Surely, the Easter triptych of Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter day should be more than enough competition; that is without mentioning Christmas, the Ascension, Pentecost or the Patronal.

I do not delight in Trinity Sunday because of the opportunity that it presents to come up with an innovative explanative of how the three persons in the Godhead: Father, Son and Spirit relate to one another

–          ice, water and steam for example

–          the three parts of the shamrock leaf

–          or the fact that someone could be a mother, daughter and sister

Each illustration has its merits, but each does not do justice to how the Godhead interrelates; and indeed each one might be considered ever so slightly heretical.

I do not enjoy Trinity Sunday because it gives me the opportunity to dust off some of my weightier theological tomes, and indulge in some further study of the Early Church fathers. That of course would not be a bad thing; and indeed I believe that if the church loses touch with its theological forebears it will become a pale imitation of what it is meant to be.

Trinity Sunday is my favourite holy day because it reminds me of the fact that to we know God because we have experienced God.

God and God’s mission make total and complete sense in worship

For the Christian, God as Trinity becomes clear in the context of worship, particularly I suggest the Eucharist.

Worship is that point in time when we encounter and are changed. That is its purpose. God meets us so that we can see both what we are; but also what we could be. Worship is you and I accepting the invitation of God to change and be changed. Worship of the living God can be nothing other than participating in changing the world. It has never been, nor is or can be a neutral activity.

Bishop Tom Wright has said repeatedly that declaring the Lordship of God is a statement that also embraces that other gods do not have dominion and power.

Isaiah encounters the living in God in worship

Little is known about the prophet.

We know he is probably in the Temple. We are told that he sees God in the royal court, with cherubim and seraphim attending God. For Isaiah, heaven and earth intermingle as worship happens.

That is perhaps a difficult concept to get hold of; but words are stretched when we describe God.

The Eucharist has been seen as the cosmic feast. This is true within Eastern Orthodox theology as much as in the theology of the Church of England.

Isaiah hears the words of the Sanctus

We will sing the words of the Sanctus later

We are told that the glory of God fills the world

Being court up in worship was not a neutral act for the prophet.

He acknowledges that before God, he stands inadequate and short of glory.

When in our liturgy we come to the point of receiving the Eucharist, when perhaps we see the glory of God, we respond with the words, ‘we do not presume’.

One of the heavenly creatures comes to Isaiah, putting a burning coal to his lips. Worship is not just a cerebral act – although for people like me that is important – it is also something that touches all our senses.

For Isaiah this was a time of absolution, of being released from sin –

Sin is one of the loaded words – we trivialise it by assuming that sin is always big concrete things, rather than anything that

(a) takes away God’s rightful place in our lives and the world

(b) prevents us from being fully who God created us to be

Isaiah is absolved

In consequence he is free to choose in with the mission of God

We promise to join in with God’s mission every week, as we are dismissed.

Worship of necessity changes us

If we are not changed; we are not worshipping

How do we experience the Trinity in our worship?

–          Father-focused

–          Son-mediated

–          Spirit-led

Liturgy

Please change us, so that we can change the world

Without that worship however beautiful will be a clanging gong

Lord God, we thank you for this wonderful and diverse city of Birmingham in which we live and serve. We give thanks for the goodness, grace and compassion that Councillor Anita Ward has brought to the office of Lord Mayor. We pray that our new Lord Mayor will continue to uphold the fine traditions of the office: dignity, inclusivity and justice. We ask this in the name of Christ our Lord.

Rather peculiarly, I found myself offering a prayer (the one above in fact) at the Mayor Making in Birmingham Council House yesterday afternoon.

Inclusity, Justice, Compassion and Grace are things that I will be praying for my city over the next year. I will be praying such things for our new Lord Mayor too, but the nature of a city does not depend on one person, but on all us together.

These features are all hallmarks of the kingdom. Thus in the Council Chamber, in our homes, in our pubs, curry houses and schools; in our hospitals, care homes, bookies and shops, may we all be minded to say, ‘thy kingdom, thy will be done on earth as much as it is in heaven’ (translation mine).

I am spending two days with Practical Theologians in Brum early next week. What follows is my brief biographicalish reasons for wanting to look at the Bible and Practical Theology. I hope this will endenger some discussion on Monday and Tuesday, but thought the ball might wish to move before that. Let’s talk.

I am driven by one overarching question at the moment, which can be applied in a variety of different contexts. The question is ‘how is the Bible to make sense or be meaningful pastorally with, for and by those who have little knowledge of its contents’.

Such a question is as relevant to those who might regard themselves as regular worshippers in a church context as well as those that do not express their religious convictions formally. In the settings in which I have served as a priest, the areas have been outer estate parishes (largely white British in ethnic origin and meeting many of indexes of multiple deprivation) and the congregations invariably have been ‘gentle catholic’ in their liturgy and practice. Those familiar with the liturgy of such churches will not be surprised by the amount of Scripture that is read aloud (Old Testament, Psalm, Epistle and Gospel) on Sunday mornings and on other Holy Days; and indeed is peppered liberally throughout the liturgical structure of the service; and yet knowledge and understanding of biblical books are quite weak. Bible reading outside of church services apart from practising to read within them is rare. I am aware congregations which are by self-definition ‘evangelical’ might find such a situation strange; it is though my observation that even within contexts where scripture is regarded ‘automatically’ as authoritative, knowledge and understanding of the sacred texts is not as strong as it was even 20 years ago.

Making sense of the Bible pastorally within the local congregations:

Given where I have served as a priest, much of my focus is trying to discern how the Bible might make sense in areas of significant deprivation. I am attracted by allowing people to tell their own ‘sacred’ stories. This in part is inspired by theologies of liberation and the work of groups like UNLOCK (www.unlock-urban.org.uk) and the Bible Society. I am also influenced by biblical scholarship produced in recent years by both N T Wright (Tom Wright) and Walter Brueggemann which have set great store in there being one overarching meta-narrative to salvation history; broken down into specific episodes, for example Exodus and Incarnation. Whilst theologically and pastorally it might make sense to connect our individual stories to the larger drama, how is this to be done when members of local churches increasingly do not know ‘the story’? This will be true of traditional models of Church, as well as of Fresh Expressions. Of the latter, many come to the Messy Church, which is led within my local church, without prior knowledge of the Christian story. Thus interpreting life issues in the light of the biblical text would be largely impossible, impractical and alien.

I have had some success in relating specific parts of the Bible (e.g. the Psalms and the Revelation) to the individual stories of people and churches, but am trying to engage with how this might be done with the sacred text as a composite whole (see ‘the Priest as Theologian’ JATE 1.2 (December 2004))

Making sense of the Bible pastorally with those outside of the Church:

Much of my time with those outside of church is spent either with the bereaved (preparing for, officiating at funerals and follow-up), preparing people for the baby being done and within the life of schools (primary and secondary). I have reflected a little on my experiences in ‘Working Class Dreams, Working Class God’ The Expository Times June 2010 vol. 121 no. 9 437-446. In most of these contexts, knowledge and understanding of the Bible and indeed of the Christian faith is limited. In all, there is always a desire to engage if time is taken to try to explain the relevance of faith.

Grace Davie noted, ‘The discrepancy between believing and belonging… is at its sharpest in urban working class areas. Here belief persists, but the expected reluctance to practice religion is compounded by a further factor, a mistrust of institutional life of whatever kind, the churches included.’ It is my observation, assertion, experience that this situation has moved on. People in urban areas want to be part of something larger, of an interdependent story’ if only to bring life to some lifeless situations, yet they do not look to the Church for such stories.

This does not mean that it is not possible for this to happen. In Bartley Green, the church runs a Youth Project, which is local council funded, which provides a safe place for young people, mentoring and help with training. It also is in the process of setting up a Food Bank. Both church members and those in the community believe such projects to be good things and do not question the church being involved these initiatives; but neither group make the connection between mentoring young people or feeding those in need with the Christian faith, as expressed in sacred stories found in the Bible.

In a previous context St Nicholas Church in Flimby hosted an art exhibition in October 2008 entitled Hungry and Thirsty displaying the work of Gloucester based artist, Paul Hobbs (www.arthobbs.com). Flimby is a former mining village, which sits between the Solway towns of Maryport and Workington. Whilst St Nicholas boasts a usual Sunday congregation of 18, Hungry and Thirsty attracted 422 people through the doors of the building over the course of 8 days. Adults and children alike were captivated by art work that touched on social issues such as old age, identity and fatherhood. Very few of the people who visited the exhibition would have been unaware of the attempt that was being made to relate faith, art and social issues. A piece of work captured the imagination of local people. It was entitled ‘Where’s your Daddy gone?’ For children, this raised comments such as, ‘I never knew my Dad’, ‘Dad does not live with us any more’, ‘I have a new Dad’. Adults lamented about their own experiences of parenting. Those observing the art work were surprised that the artist was inspired by the biblical stories, and again neither churchgoer nor non-churchgoer thought the Bible had stories that would speak to their situation. The Bible and the pastoral situation then are kept at arm’s length by both those in the church as well as those within the wider community.

I do not have any ready answers to use as templates that will help us remedy this situation, but I do remain convinced that it is through engaging with the scriptures that people of Christian faith begin to be able to convincingly tell their own stories; and that without being able to articulate the stories/rumours of God to those around them, then the purpose of the church, other than doing good works, remains hidden.

My research and praxis has not reached an articulate stage, but somewhat haphazardly seeks to bring my love of the stories of the scriptures together with the lives of the people with whom I worship, serve and live.