Because he rose

He is risen

I love stories! I devour novels and whilst I respect beautiful, poetic language, it’s a good plotline that makes me want to hide in a quiet place and keep reading.

Part of the joy of a story is the climax moment, just a few pages before the end of the book, when everything comes together and the various strands of the story connect.  We finally find out who did it, the couple finally disclose their love for one another and kiss in the moonlight, the villain is humiliated.

We can describe the events of Jesus’ betrayal, trial, death and resurrection in Jerusalem at Passover in AD33 as ‘the Easter story’.  I’m nervous about that phrase, in case calling these historic events a ‘story’ makes them sound made up, but the real life story of what happened is the climax of the story of the life on earth of the Son of God, Jesus.

This year in my preaching at St Chads, I’ve talked about stories a lot.  In our Living Free series, we’ve seen that our identity is found in God’s story and not the scrappy first drafts of the stories we tell ourselves.  And whilst God’s story spans from before creation into our eternity with him, the events of that weekend in Jerusalem are the key moments in that story. They, more than anything else, define our story too.

The world in which we live tries to make sense of life through a whole range of other stories.  Evolutionary biologists tell the story of natural selection, how millions of years of survival shaped what it is to be human.  (I keep meaning to ask one what the evolutionary advantage is of my hair no longer growing on top of my head, but my eyebrows finding a new gear of growth in my 40s!!). There’s the story of human progress, its fragility this week perhaps best shown by the Notre Dame fire, with the majesty of such a stunning a Cathedral built 800+ years ago, collapsing in one evening.  Or the story of political confusion, with egos battling for votes, appealing to greed and fear, and often finding fault instead of listening to constructive ideas.  Or the scary story of environmental crisis, with fossil fuels running out, plastics destroying oceans and the earth warming at a dangerous rate.  Or the myth of progressive tolerance, which has turned into bitter control of anyone in possession of different views.  These stories all have reality in them but they conflict in our minds, leaving us confused. And none of them answers the deep desire of our heart – to know God and experience his forgiveness.

The Easter story has one thing which none of these stories contains: Resurrection.

No humanly invented story of experience would include such a plot twist – death seemed like the end, but Jesus rose!  And his resurrection is more than the story of one man, one miracle, one empty tomb and some baffled Romans.  His story is our story. The God who created us on earth also created us for eternity. Humans gradually improving and then ecological or violence destroying is not the end of the story. Death, decay, devastation are not the end.  The great plot twist, Jesus rising from the dead, impacts how we read the earlier story and how we look ahead, knowing the story isn’t finished.

Because he rose. What he achieved on the cross was real.  The stain of sin is washed away, the gap between us and God is bridged, the enemy is defeated, sacrificial love is more powerful than selfish hatred.

Because he rose. Our future joy is real.  Life is greater than death, hope is greater than fear, and that heavenly banquet will taste amazing.

Cynicism or Sabbath?

Holy Saturday

“Joseph of Arimethea took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away.  Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting there in front of the tomb. Matthew 27:59-61 


The agonising tension of not knowing, no rest without resolution.

It was the very worst Sabbath.  The day set aside for renewal, for family, for togetherness, for delight, for recovering peace with God, celebrating work completed, resting in trust, living in hope.  None of that seemed possible on that Sabbath.  The darkest day, ended at sundown, feeling like it might never rise, tomb sealed with a stone, death and evil had won, hope extinguished.

Recently when reading the Bible, I’ve attempted to engage in stories by remembering that when you’re in a story, you don’t know the ending.  Holy Saturday might be a sunny rest for us, maybe the first BBQ of the year. But it was far from Sabbath rest for Jesus’ followers. The women left sitting in front of the tomb had no idea of what would happen the next day. 

Waiting is painful, because our brains feed on the pleasure of resolution.  Think of that surge of happiness you feel when the last piece in a puzzle is found, you know a quiz answer, a story is completed, a phrase of music returns to the original chord, that is the pleasure of resolution.  At those moments of resolution dopamine in released in our brains, giving a pleasure sensation.  When things are unresolved, stories unfinished, children don’t return on time, phone calls or texts not returned, we live in tension.  Our craving for resolution leaves us uncomfortable.

Modern technology is training us to rush to resolution.  In our accelerated culture, you can sell anything that reduces the discomfort of waiting and brings quick resolution.  

God knows the end of every story, but loving us doesn’t always include disclosing his full plans when we think he should. He’s in charge, not us.

Because modern life helps us avoid waiting, we have no training for it.  When we are delayed, we rush to other ways to reduce the discomfort, one of which Is cynicism.  Cynicism is making up a negative story (usually with a dose of blame) to try and make sense of what we don’t understand.  That can be an easy way out from having to live with mystery.  

This Lent as a church, we fasted from negativity, including cynicism.  I’ve discovered that part of fasting from cynicism has been choosing not to have all the answers, not having to find a quick fix to those things that don’t make sense.

Sabbath is usually about resolution, ending the week by returning to God.  When God instated Sabbath in creation, it was because his work was finished on the sixth day.  When Jesus died on the cross, in the afternoon of the sixth day of the week, he too declared “it is finished”.  But until he rose, those he loved didn’t know what he had completed.  

Not everything is resolved in time for Sabbath, and so we find rest through trust. Choosing to leave what we cannot resolve in God’s hands ready for the start of the next week.  That Saturday must have been agony for Jesus’ disciples and the women who supported him.  They didn’t know the outcome of the story, they had no idea of the glorious history changing surprise that awaited them the next morning.

So how do we wait in trust and not cynicism?  

Are you in a Holy Saturday right now?  A situation that isn’t yet resolved, an illness that isn’t healed, a broken relationship where forgiveness isn’t forthcoming, or powerlessly waiting for a decision?

Cynicism seems like the easy way out.  Rather than wait for God’s resolution, it’s tempting to jump to create our own story, to think that knowing best is better than not knowing what’s going on.  But God has another way – the way of trust and not cynicism.  He does know the end of the story, his resolutions are better than we can imagine.  

The Resurrection teaches us that there is always hope.

Good Friday: Jesus and Blame


 “He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth;  he was led like a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep before its shearers is silent, so he did not open his mouth. By oppression and judgment he was taken away. Yet who of his generation protested?”  – Isaiah 53:7-9 


 “When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered, he made no threats. Instead, he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.”  – 1 Peter 2:23


This weekend is a festival to celebrate the historic events which are the basis of our hope.  Today’s very name, Good Friday is the greatest expression of what it means to live in hope and not negativity.  We re-tell Jesus’ story of the Cross and Empty Tomb to remember that our sin is dealt with, we’ve left the grave and we live in Resurrection hope.  The very worst injustice – evil crashing down on the only fully innocent man.  Death and darkness become the source of hope when God re-tells his story.


As a church we have fasted from negativity through Lent, committing ourselves to intentionally abstain from criticism, cynicism and blame. A key part of our fast from negativity has been to fast from blame.  Blame is a means to defend ourselves, telling a story in which I am the victim and ‘they’ are evil.


Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes: ‘Nowadays, to win sympathy for your cause, you have to establish your credentials as a victim.  This has overwhelming advantages.  People empathise with your situation, give you support, and avoid criticising your actions.  It has, however, three drawbacks: it is false, it is corrupting and it is a denial of humanity. A victim is an object, not a subject; a done-to, not a doer.’


We could call Jesus a victim. An innocent man was betrayed, falsely tried, lied about and executed. Yet he chose not to behave as a victim.


Amidst the many beautiful ways Jesus walked through the Easter story was that he never blamed anyone. He did not open his mouth, he did not protest, he didn’t lower himself to the identity of victim or defend himself by blaming others.  The very nature of the cross was him taking on responsibility for humanity’s sin and rebellion against God, which is the very opposite of blame.

Blame is the first step of revenge, something which Jesus taught us not to do. He didn’t retaliate, he made no threats.

More from Rabbi Sacks:

“When bad things happen to an individual or group, one can either ask, ‘Who did this to me?’, or ‘Given that this has happened, what then shall I do?’…So different are these questions that they generate two modes of being: respectively a blame culture and a penitential culture.  The first focusses on external cause, the second on internal response.  Blame looks to the past, penitence to the future.  Blame is passive, penitence active.”

This is the way Jesus lived, died and rose again.

It was tempting for Jesus to look to the past and blame those who did this to him. Jesus looked to the future at who he was doing this for.

It was tempting for Jesus make himself a victim, a passive object of evil.  Jesus chose to be active, defeating evil and overcoming death.


Inspired by our saviour, we too can live free from blame, not just for lent but for life.  When we see pain, mess, brokenness, we can live in penitence, taking responsibility for our part. Recognising that we contribute to that brokenness and knowing that, because of the cross, we can be forgiven and they are not the end of the story.

Christian award ceremonies?



At 9am yesterday I was wandering around the Sant Marti hipster district of Barcelona sipping a flat white and enjoying some sunshine and the gentle buzz of a city getting going.


At 9pm I was in the city of London, in the oak panelled halls of a Livery company, sipping red wine and enjoying stories of bold innovative students sharing the good news of Jesus with their friends.

(being herded on a RyanAir flight in between was less fun)

The evening was the inaugural Student Mission awards, run by the Fusion movement.

An ‘awards ceremony’ for student mission … really?

Yes, that was my reaction.

Is ‘honour’ standing on a stage being cheered by the crowds or is it loving the person in front of you, regardless of any identity markers our world or our own choices place on us?  I believe it’s primarily the latter.  Jesus had some pretty harsh words to say about preferential seating (Mark 12v39).

Like everything, to understand this event, we need the context, not react to the headline.

Fusion were offered a generous gift of an evening using the Mercer’s Hall, right in the heart of London for this event.  It was a chance to tell the stories and celebrate the students in universities up and down the land, who are living radically, generously and full of faith, to bring the good news of the kingdom to their campuses.  These stories are inspiring, encouraging and profoundly counter cultural, they are good news and I’m up for shouting good news from the rooftops.  (You can read more about them here

fullsizeoutput_359f.jpegAs well as being a great party, like everything Fusion do, this was put together with joy, kingdom thinking and a passion to make Jesus the focus.  The student mission was rooted in local churches, but it was the stories of students themselves which were celebrated.  Over 100 stories were nominated, 40 shortlisted and there were awards in 10 categories.  Each winner has been offered a grant to empower these radical world changers to take more risks, develop new ministries and see more of their generation encounter Jesus.

I was on the judging panel of the event, I looked at every nomination and read their stories, saw their videos and discussed each one, I can’t remember any of their names this morning. (sorry winners!) – but I can remember their stories.

I can remember those who fasted, prayed, chose discipline to fulfil daily commitments to share grace and blessing.  I can remember those who put themselves out to pursue justice for the poor, those who offered constructive loving resources to help those with mental health, I can remember those who went out on the streets late at night, not to go clubbing, but to show care and listening support to those in distress from drugs, alcohol and broken relationships.  Those who found ways to discuss Jesus with their sports teams, invite friends to church and make new connections in order to listen and bless.
Celebrating these stories, and bringing people together to hear of the courage, commitment and contagious love of students wasn’t about creating celebrities or awarding success, but letting others know that those in our universities who let Jesus be Lord of their lives are making a real difference.  There are 25 million students in Europe, what can we as God’s church do to value our students and empower them to live out their calling now, where they can make the most difference?

An unreligious Christmas

angels-10One Christmas afternoon, in the midst of a present opening frenzy, (the bit before someone gets stressed by a missing present lost in piles of discarded wrapping paper) one of my sons hugged me thanking me for his present. ‘Oh, what is it?’ I asked. I hadn’t a clue what ‘we’ had given him.  That was when I realised, I was getting Christmas all wrong.


When I began teaching and writing on ‘hollow religion’, I used the image of a Christmas tree.  Something cut off from its roots, dressed up to look pretty, but now dead, sparkly but soon discarded.  I came to recognise so much of my Christmas had become like that. Many times, when normal life stopped for 2 weeks over Christmas, I had detached from Jesus, so absorbed in religious activity that I’d hardly talked with him.  I would enter the New Year drained or ashamed.


If Christmas gets religious, everyone misses out. Clergy families get burned out parents, congregations get absorbed with trivial non-essentials, non-believing visitors only experience  performance not presence.


One year I proposed to our PCC (semi-seriously) that we cancel Christmas because it was just hollow religion, they (more seriously and unanimously) rejected my proposal on the grounds that we exist to glorify Jesus so his birth is worth celebrating.  There have been many times in early January, during worship, I’ve suddenly had a sense of waking up again, filling my lungs with fresh air after weeks of spiritual fog.  I love those moments of reconnection with Jesus, like arriving at friends’ home to be greeted after a long journey.  But does Christmas have to be spiritually foggy? Do we have to ‘just plough through it’? – I am a redeemed grinch, a few years ago I wholeheartedly repented of hating Christmas, here’s how I’ve tried to live out Christmas without religion.


Focus on the best bits.   I absolutely love the joyful celebration on Christmas day with our church family.  I absolutely love watching people we’ve prayed for all year coming to church and hearing about Jesus.  I absolutely love the deep rich truths about hope and light in those familiar Bible readings. Take time to study how many times God speaks, miracles happen and angels appear in the early chapters of Matthew and Luke, it will blow your mind.


Book ends. Before Christmas begins, we have a ‘soaking’ evening, a night of pure worship (without any carols) to enjoy God’s presence and prepare for the season ahead by investing in connection with him and letting him speak to us.  In early January we make space in our worship to reconnect with God and receive his forgiveness where our priorities got messed up.


Prayer and Mission.
  Amidst cultural change, still more people come to church at Christmas than any other time of the year, it’s a great time for mission.  To show generosity to our communities, and to initiate ways to take the kingdom outside church, (last year we left 600 knitted angels around Romiley and God used this little act of kindess to bless hundred – you can read about it here ).  To welcome people to hear the story of who Jesus is.  I’ve found all that mission activity shifts from busy burden to joyful anticipation when I pray.  We are blessed to live in a wonderful community, through school connections Nells and I have made many friends who don’t know Jesus.  Through November and  December I partner with the Holy Spirit in praying for them daily (he often has to remind me!). My heart explodes with joy when they turn up in church and I enjoy a moment of private celebration with Jesus.


Enjoy those private moments with God.  Christmas is busy and crazy and crowded, normal life stops but that doesn’t mean we lose connection with God.  There is amazing intimacy with those we love, of secret communication in the midst of a crowd.  I take moments of solitude in the midst of Christmas craziness, to stop and just enjoy being with God.  I thank him when things go well, I laugh with him when things go wrong, I ask him to show me little gems of truth afresh each year as I prepare talks.  I’m learning to walk through Christmas with my Father, rather than say “see you in January’ and get on with being too busy serving him (& the expectations of my parish).


Spiritual disciplines.  Like many, I was so helped by John Mark Comer’s teaching at New Wine  United week 2, in particular reshaping our lives around Sabbath.  This year I’ll be taking that into Christmas.  What preparations do we need to enable quality time detached from work?

Can I surrender and ask God’s guidance on when to feast and when to fast through this season?


Above all, enjoy celebrating Jesus.

Digging deeper seminar1 NewWineUnited 2017

Digging Deeper

From confusion to Peace

Pushing through negative emotions into God’s truth.

Roots through pain

How I’m feeling Trusting God

The Psalms – The Blues & gospel.

‘for me, its in his despair that the Psalmist really reveals the nature of his special relationship with God’ Bono

Your pain is not the end of the story

We can be raw and honest with God, because of his true nature.

We move from how we’re feeling to truth – through honesty.

What views of God – hinder total honesty with him?

Psalm 35

  • Crying out to God
  • The actions of the wicked
  • How the Psalmist feels
  • Truth & Praise
  • Hopeful outcome





Lie about God

wicked prosper


It’s not fair

God isn’t real

enemies mock


defend myself

God’s ways fail

silent heaven



God is

rejecting us

feel awful


I’m empty/hopeless

Not there


What enables you to get to that place of seeing what you are really believing?

A simple process

  • What’s going on?
  • What am I feeling
  • What am I believing?


  • Lord please help
  • I remember when
  • This is still true

Screen-Free holiday

Trying to be Tech-wise.

Norfolk screens - 1We had a wonderful family holiday in at the end of May, great weather in the stunning Norfolk countryside.  What made this holiday special, new and challenging was our decision to go ‘screen-free’ for a week.

fullsizeoutput_242fInspired by Andy Crouch’s brilliant book ‘Tech Wise family’ – we chose to black out our  screens, and see what happened.  We have 4 sons, aged 13,11, 9 & 7, they all love screen-time and so do I.    We explained the plan to them, repeated that and then explained it again just to clarify.  It wasn’t the last time we needed to remind or clarify.

How did we get on?

The iPad, (which is only used to consume), stayed at home.  iPhones came for essentials: contacting family, checking weather forecasts (important in the UK in spring) and music in the car (to sing along, not just consume) – social media apps all deleted. Laptop came with us, but packed away.  We packed stacks of board games, books and every piece of sporting equipment we could muster.

Let’s get to the honest bit, we didn’t manage it completely.  We did great for the first few days, but the phones and chargers had to be hidden in innovative places and frequent reminders issued.  After 4 days, we wanted a bit of quiet down-time in the afternoon to read, so we gave the boys a gift of one hour screen time.  Later in the week we indulged in watching a film together one evening, (note together – screens separate us).  Our youngest still wakes up much earlier than I wanted to, so I might have given him my phone once or twice, so that I could have a lie-in.

Staying off social media was really easy, but cricket’s Champion’s Trophy was on and the trigger instinct deep within me to know the score was ever-present.  I maintained my rule of not checking my screen when with the boys, but found a few sneaky ways to score-check through the day.  Taking photos is a part of shared creativity with my eldest, so the discipline to then not spend the evenings uploading, editing and posting them online was challenging as we tried to justify that.

Caleb on phone screenI was really impressed with our boys, they responded far better than I anticipated. They discovered the reality of addiction and temptation and how powerful that can be. They discovered how much they escape to screens for easy entertainment.  They also discovered great skills in justifying ways to find and use screens.  We were all reminded that in a large family, fairness is grasped passionately and more than once ‘But he is on a screen…!’ was shouted with great indignance.

I can only speak personally on the next layer down of internal mind-games, temptation, and justification.  I was interested not just in how strong the temptation would be, but the ways I would try and get round the trigger response to ‘just check….’

Email, not a problem, never once opened Mail.  The desire to check social media, post a good photo or share a witty thought was easily dealt with, but the longing to know the cricket score and the justification to check our wider family group in whatsapp was huge and I got quite creative in my self justification of breaking the fast.

What replaced screens?

A core point Andy Crouch makes in Tech-wise family is that technology is designed to make life easy, but that ease hinders the development of wisdom and character and with them resilience and creativity.  The hours we recovered from screen time, needed to be intentionally used for family life, activity and creativity.  We realised quickly as parents, that going screen-free meant investment from us.  We needed to be more present with the boys, we needed to help them to overcome boredom, we needed to play with them, read with them, walk with them, talk to them!  Having 4 children close in age brings its own challenges, but take away work and screens and that gave us the joy of overcoming those challenges.  The purpose of going screen-free wasn’t just to break addictions, it was to create family.

Dehumanising: (A reflection on Auschwitz)

I’ve learned a new word this month: dehumanising.

It’s not that I didn’t know the word previously, but this month I’ve begun to learn what it means.  It has become a three dimensional reality for me, I’ve seen some of the scars of the horrors it leads to.

I was very privileged to be part of a pilgrimage to Auschwitz in January 2017.

The two concentration camps at Auschwitz and Birkenhau, have been preserved sensitively as historical sites, with some prison buildings at CampA at Auschwitz also re-ordered as a museum.  There’s no gaudy plastic or posters, there’s a simplicity and honour of the memories the place holds.  Those memories themselves are enough to impact the many visitors.  I agree with the Archbishop of Canterbury and all those who simply reflect: ‘everyone should go to Auschwitz’.


To visit the camps, to see the very cells the prisoners were kept and killed in, the execution wall, the display of empty tins of zyklon B,P1040373.JPG and to see the crushed mesh of  glasses, and piles of unlaced shoes, stolen from their owners, is to be saturated by the memories of human cruelty to humans.  (to steal someone’s shoes or glasses is itself barbarically disempowering)
The historical evidence of that cruelty is overwhelming.  We each respond emotionally to different things, for me personally the room full of recovered human hair and the wall of photos of prisoners were two of the memories which landed the most deeply, I had to stand still just to recover my breath.

In the museum I had to choose to remember the humanity amidst the static displays, which is why the hair and the photos reached deepest for me, this was my point of contact with the humans who had been treated so cruelly.  The other place where my heart was most wrenched by the reality was in a hut in Birkenhau, when I leant on the very beds which women and children had slept in, bare boards with 8 people per bed.  I touched the very wood they had slept on.

p1040435Story after story, display after display, and photo after photo exposed the way which the SS soldiers treated the prisoners, it was a conscious effort to realise these very things happened on this very ground, in these very rooms, within living memory.  Today, the Auschwitz museum has posted photos online of survivors returning to that very place on Holocaust Memorial Day.  The scene so familiar, the same sun pushing through the mist and the same snow I walked past, I count it a privilege to be linked in this way with them.

Throughout the day, as I let myself be carried by this flood of history, and engage with the reality, my mind kept returning to the same question: ‘How?’

The museum contains powerful displays, reminders and evidence, but to be there is to engage the imagination and realise not long ago, these victims were real people. Not merely living, breathing, washing in those sinks, using those loos, and all too insufficiently eating, but talking, relating, imagining, seeking to understand, trying to survive, holding onto love.

This process of imagining the reality of what was going on, was to ask a thousand questions.

Did they wash? How did they cope with the biting cold? What did it smell like? How did they relate to one another?  My imaginings led me to consider their powerlessness, they were stripped of everything.  Their clothes, their hair, all possessions, even their gold teeth.  Victor Frankl’s stunning book ‘Man’s search for meaning’ talks of the horror of being stripped of the manuscript of the book he was writing, his life’s work.  How he had to internalise what he had written, inside him, to a place they could not steal it from.

In order to manage crowds of prisoners, they found mechanical ways to control the prisoners, enabling them to survive in order to exploit them for work, but caring not if they died, because they had thousands more to replace them.  Once their possessions, hair and futures had been stolen, they could only treat them like machines, feeding them the very minimum food as fuel, to keep them working.

The first stage of dehumanising them, was to render them powerless.  As I attempted to engage in that sense of powerlessness, I recognised that when powerless we become entirely reliant upon the mercy of others.  In the SS guards, they found no mercy.


In this, the SS guards themselves had also surrendered part of their power.  They had to let go of their own capacity for mercy.  They had to convince themselves that these people were not people.  I am still shocked that dehumanising was powerful enough to overcome the instinct of mercy.

There are rare stories of mercy.  In the account of the Franciscan Friar Maximilian Kolbe, we hear how when 3 prisoners disappeared, the guards chose to starve 10 to death, chosen at random to be an example.  When one prisoner cried out ‘what about my wife and family?’, Kolbe offered to take his place and was duly starved for two weeks and finally murdered by lethal injection when starvation proved insufficient.  Amidst the horror and heroism of the story, I was surprised to hear of even that glimmer of mercy by the guard in responding to Kolbe’s request and granting the swap.   That small act of mercy stood out as a rare exception to the thousands of times the guards wouldn’t even listen to the pleas of their victims.

Wave after wave of evidence of merciless dehumanising.  In every photo, story and display the evidence is there that the guards ceased to see the victims as human beings, it is the only explanation I can find of how they could manage this. Part of this was that they stripped them, not just of possessions, relationships, hair and teeth, but of their names.  Survivors have shared the agony of being reduced to a number, all learning, qualifications, status and dignity, deleted, all part of the attempt to dehumanise.

To such a tiny extent I was invited to engage with the memory of horror which results from dehumanising.  I’ve come to a simple conclusion: to dehumanise is evil.

One theological reflection shared by Rev.Sam Wells on the trip was that evil is the systematic justifying of wrong actions as though they were right.  To paint thoughts or actions in conflict with God’s kingdom, as something which is morally acceptable.  By this definition, to dehumanise is evil.

Humans were created in God’s image, endowed with incredible honour by our loving God and described as ‘very good’.  Separation, rebellion and sin marred our creation and has led to untold suffering and division.  Jesus came to reunite and the New Testament passionately declares the re-establishment of dignity and honour of all people in God’s sight.  Bible passages such as Acts 2v17, Galatians 3v28, Ephesians 2v15 and Colossians 3v11 unequivocally declare God’s intention to restore humanity as equally loved.

Simple theology:  God looks on each human being as someone he has created and loves.  To dehumanise another is to disagree with God.

Facing up to the horrific results of dehumanising, raises many questions for me now.

How can we avoid even the slightest glimmer of dehumanising in the way we live?

We live in a vast complex world.  We share this planet, a gift from God, our home, with 7 billion other humans, each created and loved by God.  We can’t know everyone else, we will only relate to a minute proportion of these ‘others’ in our lifetime, global communications mean we will interact with far more than any previous generation in history.

Understandably we mentally clump and categorise others and consciously or subconsciously we use labels to categorise. This can enable cultural understanding, it can cause destruction and everything in between.  The worst categorising and labelling I have ever seen was the photos on the wall of Auschwitz.  Each prisoner was given a number and a coloured triangle to denote whether they were Polish, Russian, Romany, gay or Jewish (who were given a double triangle, the star of David).  Some triangles meant you were fed and survived, others meant you were deceptively led to the gas chambers.

Categorising and labelling is probably inevitable and so we have to be vigilant in one thing and that is to ensure labelling never leads to dehumanising.   There have been occasions in my life when God has rebuked me sternly by reminding me that my attitudes and actions impact his beloved children.  In every decision we make which impacts others, we remember that people are created and loved.   In every relationship and connection we make, we treat others as people not according to the labels we might have mentally put on them.

I went through a painful time in a close friendship.  Reconciliation was only possible when I recognised that I was relating not to my friend, but to a limited pigeon-holed version of him created in my imagination.  When we next met, I listened long enough to let him be himself and was able to demolish that false labelled version.  I realised I too have the capacity to dehumanise in almost every form of relationship and it could have been so destructive to a precious friendship.

The Holocaust arose in a political and ethical maelstrom, it developed unchallenged by a passive or petrified church.  The murder of millions of Jews was termed ‘the final solution’ by the Nazis because they had developed a mindset which justified dehumanising.

My reflection from engaging with dehumanising, is simply this.  Prize mercy.

God has given us the power to show mercy to others.  To treat them with honour, dignity and to empower them, not strip them of power.  In the kingdom of God, power is given in order to be given away, not to control, never to exploit.

That power he has given us, is called mercy, it’s a gift we’ve received and its a gift we must give to others.

[Photos supplied by Ian Dyble and others, with thanks, copyright is theirs.]

I have posted further thoughts on my trip here

Grief and prayer, after Auschwitz

It was the anger which took me by surprise.

I had anticipated sorrow, tiredness, and questions, but not anger.

I hadn’t really known what to expect on my return to Romiley after a pilgrimage to Auschwitz-Birkenhau.  I was partly afraid that my emotional journey might take the familiar path of numbness to guilt and self criticism for being ‘shut down’.

It happened as I set off in the car to the Peaks to find space with God to process and pray.  The usual necessities had taken up time, few people knew I was unavailable this week and I had a flood to texts and voicemails to ignore and feel guilty about.  I remembered a trivial practicality and pulled over to call my wife, when she answered, I exploded.  Furious that my precious prayer day had been invaded, frustrated that the world felt it needed me when I was unavailable, judgmental on those who were carrying on normal lives, serving others.

mellor-cross-2There was no rational reason for my anger, no one had wronged me, no crisis had invaded my protected time.  Raw and slightly afraid at my outburst, I detoured to Mellor Cross,
a wonderful place of prayer for me.  The mists cut out the glorious views and the farmer’s no parking signs were officious, but that didn’t get to me.  The 20ft Mellor Cross has lost its top bar and we, God’s church in our area, have not yet restored it.  (another job to feel burdened by) The symbolism pierced my bubble and provoked the question I was avoiding:

“Is it all derelict? – even this cross is desecrated, is there any good left in the world?”

auschwitz-1-2That was when it hit me, my anger was grief.
In that moment, I could see no good in the world. If I looked outwards I could only see tensions, unresolvable problems or hollow frivolity;  If I looked inwards, I saw fear, guilt and heard the agonising screams of the victims of Auschwitz.

Recognising that my anger was grief, brought perspective,  but who was I grieving for?

I had asked the Holy Spirit to navigate my emotional journey this week, what was he wanting to do in this tunnel he was taking me through?

Grief is chaotic, it generates questions, throws them up into the air, bats them around, rarely answers them and then rushes onto the next one.  Amongst the many questions my grief generated, were some about prayer which I want to explore here.

‘If my grief anger is at those closest to me – Why am I not angry with God?

It was an irrational anger with no object to blame, so it spilt on those I had subconsciously calculated will forgive me or be unharmed by my unfounded outburst.

Why not God?  Why am I not angry at him?

A skilled psychoanalyst might try to lead me to a conclusion that I am, that I blame God for the mess and pain in the world.  Yet as I leant against that headless cross and wept in surrender, all I could feel was gratitude to him, because I know that he really is the present one, with us in sorrow, suffering, martyrdom and desolation.  Our teaching in Auschwitz was built on God with us before he is for us.  One of the most profound moments of my pilgrimage to Auschwitz was encountering again to a new level of emotional engagement with Jesus, my beloved older brother on the cross, carrying my suffering.  Through this trip, I have recovered a profound closeness to him as other preoccupations have been expunged.

auschwitz-1In my past experiences of intense grief, I have rarely turned to anger against God, usually I turn away from the assumption that he is to blame.  In the Psalms he gives us freedom to express our anger, he is bigger than our emotions and in so doing he opens his arms and invites us to come and pummel him, confident that he can bear it until we punch it out of our system, his unconditional love soaking it up.  But this doesn’t answer my question.

If I try to blame God for Auschwitz, somehow I can’t.  Because to do so, would be to attempt to place myself closer to the victims than he is.  To place me in solidarity with them and have the pride to judge God makes no sense.


He was there and I wasn’t.

He was alive and I wasn’t yet born.

The victims were his family and not mine.




My mind bats away the vast and complex, ’is God powerless?’ but the next question which my grief, in its bleak outlook on the world raises, is terrifying.  When I consider how my heart responds to numerous prayer requests, I have to ask, “have I given up on the notion of God being powerful or likely to act? and has this trip further pushed that faith away from me?’

This is a substantial area of grief for me, a substantial challenge to my faith and ministry and mission.  In the face of Auschwitz, Syria and Donald Trump, the painful mess I see in so many churches, the frustrations of trying to share the best news ever with a world that so often shows little interest, and other disappointments, is there any point in asking God to do something?  When I look around me right now from a place of grief, the weight of evidence of what I focus on tells me that God is not active, not bringing change, not ruling from heaven and bringing resurrection life in the midst of the decay of this fallen world.

auschwitz-1-6My head might wrestle with the theological constructions, but when I catch a glimpse of my own prayer life and moments of ambivalence in prayer right now, I see that a big chunk inside is tempted to let go of hope, let alone faith, that God acts when we pray.

That is a scary place to be.  img_6127That is the decay of a central pillar of my life and ministry.  To play with this as a percentage game, when I start to believe there is a less than 30% chance of a prayer being answered, then why bother praying it at all?  Have I really lost the faith that when I pray, God will act?

img_6157What happened in the Holocaust was horrific, extreme and beyond imagination.  In so many ways  millions of prayers were left on earth unanswered and so it seems that God was powerless or disinterested.  We can of course refer to the bigger, eternal story, that God is responding in the long run, some theological answers are satisfying, others not.

But what about day-to-day prayer now?  How can I pray for the civilians of Mosul and Aleppo today? How can I pray for America this week? They are facing the alarming historical parallels of a sociopathic populist leader being democratically elected by a protesting disaffected people.  Hitler wanted to ‘Make Germany great again’.  How can we pray, if we start to feel like God isn’t going to act?

auschwitz-1-3When it comes to prayer, protest and resistance, Auschwitz was not binary.  In late 1941 three girls smuggled gunpowder out of the munitions factory and then blew up one of the gas chambers , this raises good questions.  450 prisoners were killed in response to this plot, but it put a gas chamber out of action.  That slowed down the killing by 20% for a few months until liberation. Each chamber could kill 2,000 at a time, potentially many thousands a day, maybe thousands of lives were spared because of that?

There are Holocaust survivors, Judaism was not eliminated, there are stories of those who escaped Nazi occupation, there are Oscar Schindlers and Nicholas Wintons.  Some prayers were answered.  Just because we may not see the whole outcome, we will see more of heaven invade earth if we pray than if we just watch.

Also, perhaps prayer is more instinctive than that?  As I consider the reality, I can’t stop praying.  We were led in meditations on the Stations of the cross around Birkenhau, one of the most moving parts personally was the prayers of intercession at each station, img_6137for women, for children, for Jewish and Romany people, for perpetrators of evil.  These were amazing moments, because my heart took over and in wordless cries turned to God for help in compassion for those who are powerless.  I will continue to pray and intercede, because I am unable to not pray.  I cannot bear the burden of compassion and empathy I feel with those I am otherwise powerless to help, I have to share that burden with God and carry it with him not for him.

“What are we asking God to do when we pray?” 

The lectures, worship, reflections and leadership of the trip was outstanding, it was a privilege to be with such exceptional wisdom and emotional intelligence.  However there was a moment when a typical litany left me yearning for more.  As we travelled around the world in a nicely constructed list of ‘people we ought to pray for’, I found myself deeply dissatisfied.  No words or time were  available to help us consider what we were asking God to do for these beloved people.  The prayers were devoid of verbs, and so the nouns became like tokens.  The only lists I write are shopping and ‘to do’ lists, a collection of things I lack, an expression of poverty or pressures.  These two words perhaps best describe how I feel about merely listing to God a series of people he is already fully aware of.

And so its redoubled my consideration on how can we encourage one another to pray with verbs.  Most (but sadly not all) of our collects manage it.  An example from next Sunday

Almighty God,
 in Christ you make all things new:
 transform the poverty of our nature by the riches of your grace, 
 and in the renewal of our lives
 make known your heavenly glory;
 through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
 who is alive and reigns with you…

We urgently need prayer which expects something to happen, prayer which does more than express empathy or train memory, prayer which turns to a powerful God and asks for change.


[Grateful to Richard Frank for his photography]

A follow up post on the dehumanising which happened at Auschwitz is available here.


Knitted angels

Last week certainly took us by surprise.

Back in September  I received an email offering a plan for Christmas, the crazy idea of placing hundreds of knitted angels in Romiley as free gifts to our community.

One of my priorities is to empower and support the creative and crazy ideas which arise in St.Chad’s and so I thought ‘Why not?’ and said “yes, go for it”.  This was someone offering to do something fresh and inventive, outside the walls of the church, to initiate connections and bless our community.

By Sunday 11th Dec, over 600 had arrived, Angels - 1 (4).jpghours and hours of knitting and hundreds of conversations had happened.  We prayed that God would use the angels to bless people and very early on Tuesday morning we hung them on railings all around Romiley.angels-8

As the village woke up and set of for school and work, the place came alive.

The Surprise worked! – delight, joy, smiles and stories bursting everywhere.  The atmosphere in the school playground was transformed – reluctant schoolchildren (& parents) trudging to school in the dark, were running and laughing again.  Kindness broke forth, our lollipop lady found a child with no angel in tears and so gave her the one she had chosen for her tree.  Within minutes a grandfather ran off to find one in a yellow coat for the Lollipop lady.

But something else was going on – it felt more than just a happy little surprising occasion.

Something shifted.

There was a new found generosity of heart.
A celebration of what the Romiley community is about.

Commuters, walking in darkness, struggling with an early start, facing yet another draining day ahead, were lifted.  People who had been struggling with burdens, felt loved.

We provided some photos and video footage for BBC NorthWest, who put it online, their Facebook videos usually get c.20K views, by the weekend ours had been viewed more than half a million times!

But there’s another dimension to this story – which I want to share.

My confession:

A few years ago, I was excitedly preached about Angels, stories in the Bible and experiences of people I’ve met, of the vast, majestic, overwhelming heavenly beings.  In my talk, I threw in some comments, which were – let’s be honest – not entirely positive about little knitted angels. angels-4 In trying to make my point – I chose to stamp on something precious to others – and I’m not proud of it!  (The damage done when we preachers choose to trash talk something to emphasise something else, is for another blog, it’s destructive and endemic)

So what did God do? – He chose to take the very thing I had been cynical about & use them to do something really quite powerful and dramatic here in Romiley.

The church I lead, now becomes famous for being ‘the knitted angel church’…

I had some interesting conversations with God about this on my early morning dog walks last week!

God, in his love – took another opportunity to remind that building up, not pulling down is how we do things in his family.    But he didn’t just take the opportunity to humble me (he gets plenty of those) because when he has our attention, God makes the most of it.  When struggling with internal conflict between what we know is right & the tantrums of our feelings – He has a chance to speak.

angel-in-lightsSo with my full attention, God had another surprise.

As well as the outbursts of joy, and chatting and fun around Romiley.

As well as the grateful recognition that we seek to show God’s generosity.

Then the requests came in.  A flood of them.

Emails, Facebook messages to our church profile,  phonecalls, even people turning up on the church doorstep having driven to Romiley to find us.

Requests for these little knitted angels – to give to sick relatives and unsettled children.  Requests for these to bring hope and healing to those in distress.

angels-10At first we weren’t sure what to do about this – a knitted angel is cute – but it has no magical powers.

I had to wrestle with all sorts of religious thoughts,  along with my preach all those years ago slagging off little angels – I considered all potential negatives.

Was this superstition and folk religion?  Was dropping cute knitted angels in the nighttime too cowardly as a form of mission?  Was this a misrepresentation of the heavenly reality?

But then I remembered that we’d prayed for those who received these angels, we’d prayed that God would use them.  We’d taken something very simple, very natural – something sweet and lovely and prayed that God would use it – and now he was!

It was a wake up call for me.

People are hungry for God. – They are looking for him, searching for him, reaching out asking for his help.  We are surrounded by people longing for love and connection – and these angels were a sign that God’s people want to show kindness.

People are desperate for hope, for something playful and fun, wonder and surprise.  Finding a knitted angel, hanging on a railing early on a damp dark December morning – is a reminder that there is fun and playfulness in the world.

People are desperate for healing – for sickness to be overcome and they’re looking for the God who heals.

And there was such faith and expectation out there, that God could use these little tokens to bring healing and hope.  Amidst my religious reactions and our preoccupation  with a video going viral, we were discovered vast amounts of faith, outside the church.

So we started praying differently.  God used handkerchiefs and aprons in the book of Acts, to bring healing to those in need, so I got past my religious reactions and started asking him for that.  We’ve already heard of one lady’s daughter who had been in intensive care for a long time, making a dramatic recovery the day after her Mum took her an angel.  We’ve heard of insomniacs, sleeping peacefully.  I’m praying for many more, God loves these people and we long to see his kingdom touch their lives.

In many cases it seemed that there was more faith in God to heal outside the church, than within it.  And yet those inside the church have already received that love, that joy and that power from him.  We’ve already experienced connection, freedom and healing from God and  can share that.

So God took the little thing that we had to offer and used it to remind us that He has so much more.

angels-2I wasn’t totally wrong all those years ago – knitted angels are just nicely constructed arrangements of wool.

But this stopped being about the angels a long time ago.  Angels are only messengers who bring good news of great joy.  Whether they are 10ft tall, radiant in overwhelming light and carrying vast swords – or 5inches tall, made of scraps of wool with a bit of tinsel.  They have one job, to point people to Jesus.

God used this little tokens of love, to catch people’s attention, to express his love and to point people to Jesus.  He is the one who can heal, restore, refresh and bring hope.