How do we count?

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How do we count? Do people count or do they need to be counted?

The Diocese of Ely has a strategic plan for market towns. In many ways this is good; many (but not all) places in the north of this diocese are places of rural deprivation and poverty and the market towns are not exempt from this. The parish of St Augustine’s, Wisbech has 30% of its children living in poverty.

But in order to receive money from the Church of England’s Strategic Development Fund the application has had to list anticipated outcomes.  These include:

  • 25% of the population across market towns committed to involvement in the life of the church by 2025, involving both inherited-mode church and Fresh Expressions of church as part of a blended economy
  • 5% increase in attendance at inherited-mode churches across the towns
  • 780 new church attenders across the towns involved over the three-year period from 2018-2021. (310 in inherited mode church, including church plants, and 470 across a range of Fresh Expressions, representing 73% growth from current levels of church involvement)

(Strategic Development Funding Application Process – Second stage Diocese of Ely – Changing Market Towns, Diocese of Ely website)

This concept of measuring success by counting numbers makes me uneasy on many levels.

It seems to buy into the idea that once a church grows it will stabilise and even continue to grow.  But Jesus’ own ministry was not like this.  Five thousand men, plus women and children, sat on a hillside listening to him talk while picnicking off bread and fish.  Only a short time later he was left with the remnant, his friend John and some of the women, the only ones prepared to stand at the foot of the cross.  Which of these points would church leaders choose in order to measure the success of the Jesus Project?

The same is true for the early church.  Do you count the numbers baptised at Pentecost or the small group of people praying together in hiding?  Paul’s letters to the churches are focused on theology, Christian community and spiritual well-being. Nowhere does he ask them about the number of new church attenders in the last three years as a percentage of their population.

In some churches it can become difficult to shake off this numbers’ neurosis.  Last month’s All Age Worship had 15 children and 20 adults, and the leaders left feeling they had arrived. This month it’s down to three children and 10 adults.  It doesn’t matter that they know everyone else is throwing up/visiting Grandad/going to the circus and may well be back next time. Because of this fixation with numbers, the leaders are despondent and wonder where they are going wrong.  This is particularly true for smaller churches and can put leaders on an emotional roller coaster as the numbers fluctuate wildly.

What happens if these anticipated outcomes aren’t achieved?  Despite the evidence of changed lives, deepening faith and visionary excitement will the project be considered a failure?

But suppose the Project achieves its anticipated outcomes and 780 new people start attending these churches.  What then?  Each of these people is real.  Like the rest of us, they will have messy, often fragmented, lives.  What they need from the church is love, care, time and attention.  Giving this is essential but costly.  Most churches will try. Without it, people may be leaving as quickly as they arrived.

Is it really impossible to be given money for strategic development without delineating in figures the anticipated outcomes?  How do we get away from a mindset that reduces people to numbers? Who requires the diocese to jump through these hoops?

And finally:

“780 new church attenders?  I hope someone’s told the Holy Spirit,” says my friend Su, going straight to the point as usual.

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No magic formula

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“Hazel’s been doing children’s work for 30 years.  We’ll never get change while she’s in charge.”

Mel, whom I’ve met at a training day, sounds despondent and I’m not surprised. After all the church down the road is doing Messy Church/Godly Play/Fresh Expressions.  Mel hopes that one day her church will be able to start something new.  Meanwhile they seem stuck in a backwater while everyone else is taking part in a great visionary movement…

Or are they?

Both Godly Play and Messy Church arose out of the vision of one individual (Jerome Berryman and Lucy Moore respectively).  Fresh Expressions seems more blurred at the edges as it is an umbrella term covering a variety of different expressions of church.  But it is probably true to say that a lot of fresh expressions arose in particular contexts as the vision of particular people.

But what happens next?

Looking at the pattern it seems that over time (often many years) the original vision is caught by other people.  They too want to do Cafe Church/cell church/forest church.  The idea spreads – and becomes set.  Training courses are offered, resources prepared and the institutional church backs it.

There is almost a sense that we have found a magic formula and if we put all our efforts into this, we too will get caught up in the vision and see the fantastic results of the original.

Or will we?

It seems to me that once a visionary idea has reached this stage it can go in one of three directions.

Firstly, there are those who stick to the original template, without alteration.    While the original visionaries never stopped experimenting (and still do!) these second generation people can have an almost literalist approach.  They may understand the thinking and theology but they don’t want to play with it.  Sometimes it seems to me that there is a danger of stifling the vision, but as this isn’t my own approach I don’t know.

The second direction is that of the corner cutters.  Often it seems that they haven’t quite understood the underlying principles of the original.  I have known someone tell a Godly Play story at the start of an event and then tell everyone exactly what it meant at the end, completely contrary to the idea that we all make our own meaning from the story.  I have also watched a Messy Church where the children sat and ate while the adults gathered together at a distance, effectively creating two separate communities instead of one comprising all ages.

The third way is the way of the visionary.  These people may use the original vision as a springboard for new ideas.  They understand the principles but take them in different directions. These people have let the genie out of the bottle and are not afraid to see where it might go.   They have an excitement about what they are doing, for vision is creative.  Often they receive criticism from all sides – from those who dislike any change, those who are happy with the original and see no need to do anything other than follow it implicitly and those who think they are putting in far too much work when they don’t actually need to…

Perhaps I am being too harsh.  I am sure there is a lot of excellent work going on that fits in with the original vision, and occupies the middle ground between these positions.  But I am not sure that it is visionary and without vision the people perish.  We need to encourage the creative spark that takes thing in new directions.  Vision needs the visionary to continuously reflect, inspire, create and turn things into a practical reality.

There is no magic formula…

Exploring the pearl: Theology with children 2

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“They couldn’t help themselves, they had to ask him ‘What is the kingdom of heaven like?’”

It is a summer afternoon and I am in our local primary school telling the Godly Play parable of the Great Pearl to a mixed group of 9 and 10 year olds (Year 5).  I have presented the golden parable box and taken the things out of it: the white cloth that the children tell me looks like a snowball, the brown felt strips that remind them of seaweed, the many possessions of the merchant and finally the three pearls – two lesser pearls and the great pearl.

I have laid it out as a plan of five houses: one is empty, two are empty except for a pearl, the fourth has the seller and the great pearl and the final one has the merchant and all his belongings – money bags, lamps, beds, carpets…

“The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant, a buyer and seller of pearls, who goes looking for the great pearl.”

The merchant sets off looking for the great pearl.  Each one is examined carefully…

“When he finds the great pearl, he goes home and takes everything…”

I start to move his possessions, one by one, across to the seller’s house.   Finally, I pack up his house and move that across too…

“He takes everything, all that he has and exchanges it for the great pearl.”

The seller is now occupying a house crammed full of possessions while the merchant stands in emptiness with the great pearl.

“I wonder how the merchant feels now that he has the great pearl?”

I have told this story many times and I usually find groups divide on this – many children (and adults) wonder how the merchant will cope without any material belongings: no money, food or shelter.  Others think that having the Great Pearl makes up for all of this.

But today is different…

“I think the merchant feels guilty.”

“Why, Madelyn?”

“Because even though he gave everything he had, it wasn’t enough.”

Before I have time to gather my thoughts, Elliott cuts in:

“Then he has to give himself.”

I thought then, as I do now, that Madelyn was articulating her culture.  Not her home culture (about which I knew very little) but her school culture. The culture of “never enough” where all peer marked work was given “two stars and a wish” and all adult marked work finished with Next Steps.  “Well done Madelyn, for beginning each sentence with a subordinate clause 🙂  Next Steps: Use some powerful adjectives.”  However hard Madelyn works, it will never be enough; she cannot escape Next Steps.

What about Elliott’s response?  Was he too articulating his culture – not so much the school culture, but the wider culture where so many companies and organisations seem to demand their employees’ souls?

It didn’t feel like it.  At some level it seemed both children were describing eternal truths. The pearl is precious beyond our resources and in the end we have to admit this.  Perhaps it is something we can never buy, but only accept as a gift.  Our response can only be to give ourselves, for this is our relationship with God.  How much of this did the children themselves recognise?  I don’t know; I never will.

At the end of the session Liz, the TA who was doorkeeping, and I went “Wow!”  It is tempting to do this and tempting to leave it there.  But doing so puts the children in one place and ourselves in another.  We can marvel at their insight but escape the touch of the living water. We need to accept their responses as catalysts for our own thinking.  Only then can we journey together…

“Then he has to give himself.”

The other children join in the discussion at this point.  How can the merchant give himself?  The group decide that he will become the servant of the seller.  The servant but not the slave.

“Will he be able to keep the pearl?” I ask. “What will happen to it?”

“If he leaves it, someone might take it,” says Daisy.

“It depends on the seller,” says Robin. “If he is kind, he will let him have time off to explore it.”

Suggestions for the journey: a way of life for the more chaotic family?

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I once forgot three of my son’s verruca appointments in a row.  After missing two appointments, I wrote myself a large note and placed it in the centre of the table.  However, someone passing by needed paper and tore it in half, reducing it to a small note.  Someone else, in an unprecedented fit of tidying, threw the small note away.  All might still have been well (I had been chanting verruca, verruca to myself throughout the day) if our youngest son had not just returned from his primary school residential. As we sat round the table, listening to the gorier details of his week away, the time slipped past…

I got a somewhat tart reply to my letter of abject apology but at least they didn’t strike us off.

We all have our ideal of parenthood and none of us, even the most organised among us, ever live up to it.  What makes it more difficult is that not only are we surrounded by people who appear to be living up to the ideal (think facebook photos of smiling children gazing at nature) but also there is a wealth of advice and ideas around that will supposedly help us get there.  There is an implicit suggestion that the ideal is achievable.

The Diocese of Ely is keen to promote a Way of Life (http://www.elydiocese.org/way-of-life) and has included resources for a Way of Life for families.   It’s well intentioned (though I am baffled as to why something entitled “a Way of Life” only includes six sessions!)  I am sure there are families that will enjoy using the materials and get a lot from it.

But it would never have worked for mine.

There is something about its approach that is just too formalised.  I could not put my finger on it until someone commented that it “sets up an ideal of what parents are supposed to be able to do with their children that for me felt like an oppressive and unachievable ideal.”  For the more chaotic family (like mine!) it would be yet another parenting failure alongside not getting out the door without shouting, allowing my daughter to live on cheese triangles and raisins, and failing to read bed time stories.

So what might have worked for us?

Prayer

We never had formal prayer sessions.  However, we did pray when the occasion arose – about people or situations we were concerned about.  We prayed in the car, the bath, walking to school. It wasn’t every day or at a particular time.  If we didn’t pray for a few days, I didn’t feel guilty. Sometimes I prayed, sometimes they did, sometimes I prayed silently.  One Lent we actually made a paper chain of our prayers, a link a day. We never managed to repeat this but now I might think about using symbols (candles, leaves etc) in prayer.

Stories

I don’t like reading aloud, I am a storyteller rather than a story reader.    I think now that I could have done more storytelling with my children, playing to my strengths rather than my weaknesses. We did have Bible story books and other books which we shared, though not on a regular, formal basis.

Inspiration

It never occurred to me to try these ideas (http://www.spiritualchild.co.uk/home1.html)   but I would now.  Victoria Goodman has suggestions for toys, symbols and puzzles that will enrich children’s play and create focus areas around the house.  I would include putting up pictures (changing them every now and then) and playing music, including Christian music and pictures.  I’m not sure it matters if the children don’t react.

Freedom

When my two older children were very small, about three and two, we let them wander around a friend’s field, while we sat in the garden and watched.  We could see them at all times, but they were free to explore by themselves.  We also let them experience “freedom” at the local recreation ground, on beaches and in the grounds of stately homes. Sometimes they came back to us with things they had found, usually a variety of sticks from smallish twigs to large logs…

Creativity

We always had art materials and dressing up clothes around… Also lego, knex,  other construction toys and the freedom to play outside. After watching the children in school creating worlds with the Godly Play stories and other three dimensional items (like felt squares, wooden rainbow and shimmer stones) I would now add these.

Talk

The ideal family sit down for all their meals and talk… They share their stories of the day, their highs and lows, in precious family time together. The less than ideal family manages this some of the time/occasionally/never.  I’m not a fan of over directed conversation with a series of themed questions so my own experience varies: monosyllabic responses, long justifications for being vegetarian, school worries, discussions of free will at 1.30 a.m… I found the car was usually a good place to talk, especially with one child at a time.

Church and community

When my children were small I took them to church. It was far from ideal – the vicar’s wife tried to offer story and colouring in the cold cramped vestries; often they had to sit through the service.  When the vicar and his wife moved on, we took the opportunity (with their blessing!) to set up the family service in a different kind of way. It is worth looking around for a church that will suit your family and accept all your children, whatever their personalities. Alternatively look for a church that is open to new ideas and ways of doing things so that you can work towards the kind of church that will include everyone…

Action

My children occasionally came up with ideas, some more sustainable than others. As a ten year old, my daughter and her friends planned to save the planet and actually held fundraising events for various causes (with significant help from the adults!)  My best suggestion for this is to encourage it if it happens and you feel that you can cope with it!  (We had ten years of three vegetarian children…)

I could have done more with my children when they were small, I’d like to start again and be more experimental!  I try (and mostly succeed) in not feeling too guilty.  Looking back, it is easy to forget the stresses we were under ourselves – the appointments for the disabled child, the aging parents, the frantic busyness of daily life…

Life is never going to let up long enough for us to achieve our ideal and now I no longer want to.  The journey is far more interesting…

Turning point

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Ten years ago on Holy Island, I saw the tide turn.  As I stood on the causeway, watching the water creep forward, I saw it stop, pause for a moment and start to retreat.

Richie comes to me for help with Maths. He is an easy going, engaging 15 year old, currently in the bottom set.  I suspect him of being the class clown. In the intervals of dividing fractions and finding percentages, he tells me about the football team he plays for, their successes, failures and injustices.

After I have been teaching him for a few weeks it occurs to me that I haven’t yet asked him for his GCSE target grade.

“G,” he says, casually.

I can’t have heard him correctly.

“Sorry Richie,” I say, “I didn’t catch it. What is your target grade?”

“G,” he says again. “My target grade is G.”

“But Richie,” I say, blankly, “if your target grade is G, why am I teaching you the C/D stuff?”

The tide stops.

I pause, briefly, and go back to how to multiply out double brackets.

I am not sure he works any harder, but he changes.  He becomes more focused.  In December he helps his seat mate when she struggles with finding highest common factors. By January he has become the “go to” person for his maths set.

In February they move him up a set.

By June, exam time, I place his maths level on the C/D border. With a bit of luck, he could tip over and achieve the magic C grade pass mark.

Which he does.

Turning points aren’t usually so clear cut.  Mostly I sit on beaches watching the tide and trying to decide if the last wave really was the final one.  It is only later that I am sure that the tide has turned.

I think it’s like that with people too.  Looking back over my own life there are few turning points I identified at the time; mostly I see them only in retrospect.   Sometimes people tell me that something I have said has made a difference to them; often this is something that I hadn’t given much weight to.  It reminds me how careful I need to be.  I encounter so many people, so often; it is easy to forget how fragile we all are.

And when I look back on that moment with Richie?  I am struck each time by the same thought: What a privilege it was, being there at the turning point.

Invisible children

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A couple of years back I went along to a service in a charismatic church, which was somewhat outside my usual experience of Anglican Holy Communion.

We began with a time of worship songs, accompanied by a band of guitars, drums and keyboard.  People sang, prayed (possibly in tongues), waved their arms and participated with emotion and enthusiasm for about forty five minutes.

Meanwhile what about the children?

Near the front sat three boys who spent the time in that kind of jostling, shoving, mock fighting usually reserved for long journeys in the back of the car. “He pushed me!” “He banged my elbow!” “Stop him!”

Further back a boy of about 10 or 11 spent the time on his ipad. Next to me the 12 year  old girl tried to amuse her 3 year old sister while their mother took part in the praise and prayer. A smaller child paid about six visits to the loo…

Were these children invisible to the congregation? They had been welcomed on entry but after that no one seemed to be aware they were there – until the end of the praise session when they were sent off to groups.

The previous week I had been in a community church where the praise session lasted about half an hour.  The children sat on the back row, kicking their legs, doing puzzle books and holding conversations about dinosaurs. They too appeared invisible to the worshipping congregation.

I wondered if these churches saw this time of praise as a coming together of the whole church family. But although the children were physically present they were absent in all other respects.  I saw no child taking part in these times of praise.

It would be good to be able to say that things are different in middle of the road Anglican churches. Mostly they are not.  Words to the hymns and songs are either in hymn books or projected onto screens.  They need a reading age of at least seven years old which takes out most of the younger children and any child who is dyslexic. These children stand ignored, fidgeting in boredom, while the adults sing around them.  Occasionally a token action song is included.

It doesn’t have to be like this.

The other week I saw a four year old joining in enthusiastically with the hymns, playing an assortment of musical instruments.  Although this was almost her only participation in the entire hour long service, she was recognised and visible for these brief moments of time.

If a church’s musical standard is too high for pre-schooler percussion there are the quieter options of flags, ribbons and banners to wave.  I have seen an evangelical church where four children came forward to wave long streamers during the praise time (and mini versions for all the children would have been even better).  Some songs (for example Taize) can be signed. There are art projects that could add another dimension to a time of praise.

For I just don’t get it.  If we are truly listening to God how can we be so unaware of the children in our midst, who are always visible to him?

 

 

 

Good Friday

Today’s reflections are a mixed bag.  Some deeply thought-provoking ones on the Lampedusa cross and small Alan Kurdi alternate with ones that verge on the sentimental.  “As you hung on the cross you looked back to Bethlehem and thought about the stories you had been told about your birth…”

I don’t like this kind of thing much, even when it is ordinary characters from the past.  These people are not of our time; they do not think as we do. I like it even less when it is Jesus…

Inside my head I think “but it wasn’t like that…  it wasn’t remotely like that…”

I look out of the window at the rain soaked fields, wondering what it was really like. And suddenly I am aware that the Christ on the cross is struggling with a multi-dimensional reality, trying desperately to keep the door to the kingdom open.

“It is finished.”  He can do more. He surrenders his spirit. The curtain of the temple is torn in two. The world turns dark.

In the darkness, the Created Ones step forward. It is our turn now.  If it was our sin that held him on the cross, now it is us that will hold the door.

Every small act of forgiveness, every arm around the shoulder of the rejected, every child listened to, every act of kindness, is our way of keeping the door open.

We can do this for him. It’s only till Sunday…