It's been a day of golden promises and murky threats.
Every time the sun's come out we've rushed out to enjoy it, but then almost immediately another wave of cloud rolls in from the west, and we've charged back inside in case it rains.
It's not like we've even seen the rain as a problem. In some ways, in this drought-ridden corner of a homely field, the rain is more of a golden promise than the sun. Do we need rain or what? So we hope that this time we might get a downpour - but that didn't happen either.
It all takes me back to my formative years with the Extremely Primitive Methodists. In those days, long and merry ago now, the churchgoing population of these islands was probably about twice what it was now. Extremely Primitive Methodists are, like many of the more Protestant groups, classifiable as "suckers for a prophet". And many a time and, as the saying is, oft we would hear a message that inspired us to hope for revival in our land.
The message would normally start as a list of momentous recent moments in history. These could go back as far as the 60s but no further - saying the First World War was a sign that Christ was returning was no longer a viable option - but would more likely be contemporary significant 80s or 90s events such as the Big Wind of 87, the rumours (pre the events near Central Park that sad day) of the Beatles reforming, outbreaks of 'flu, passing of laws that were considered permissive, the death of Brezhnev - that kind of thing.
What is God telling us through all this? the Prophet would ask. And the answer would normally be that the Church and/or the Nation were being called to repentance. That the people must rend their hearts and not their collectives. And then there would be an outbreaking of the Holy Spirit over all the nation that would be the biggest since the last one. And revival would break out.
And in many ways it's an upbeat, feel good message. No wonder people bought their cassettes (yes, in those days we did indeed buy our prophetic visions on magnetic tape) and magazines (yes, in those days we did indeed read our prophetic visions on paper). They were offering hope, vision and a bright time ahead.
I felt I should try out my own prophetic ministry at one stage. So I started my own magazine and booked a series of church halls. But my key message was that things were looking a bit depressing, and the Church in the UK was probably destined to decline in numbers and influence until we were all dead.
It was strangely unpopular, my "I'll give it ten yeas" tour. Even despite my set of slides, full of stats of decline and reasons not to hope. And even my inevitable last slide of a beautiful sun-set over Husborne Crawley, over which I would make my last prophetic remarks - "and so, in visual form, this is how it's going for the English Church."
Naturally, evangelicals didn't like my message.
But even some liberals told me they wouldn't bother coming along because, although they believed in my message, there was something on telly.
Twenty years on from those days of my youthful apathy, I wonder who was right - those excitable prophets of fundamentalist Holy-Ghost Revival, or my dreary forecasts of decay. Sure, the Extremely Primitive Methodists have declined to the point where the President of Conference has been the only member for the last 10 years, but then they were always a small bunch, and at least Mabel knows she'll win the votes.
And yet Christian communities still cling and, often, thrive around the place. The chapels aren't ringing with the Redemption Hymnal but then we've lightened up a bit which can't be all bad. We maybe don't dream of rolling the clock back to New Testament times, but there's still good work, quietly done, the homeless homed, the hungry fed and the Word preached.
So in the light of this, I'm going to revise my previous, youthful prophecies. And give us another twenty years.
Every time the sun's come out we've rushed out to enjoy it, but then almost immediately another wave of cloud rolls in from the west, and we've charged back inside in case it rains.
It's not like we've even seen the rain as a problem. In some ways, in this drought-ridden corner of a homely field, the rain is more of a golden promise than the sun. Do we need rain or what? So we hope that this time we might get a downpour - but that didn't happen either.
It all takes me back to my formative years with the Extremely Primitive Methodists. In those days, long and merry ago now, the churchgoing population of these islands was probably about twice what it was now. Extremely Primitive Methodists are, like many of the more Protestant groups, classifiable as "suckers for a prophet". And many a time and, as the saying is, oft we would hear a message that inspired us to hope for revival in our land.
The message would normally start as a list of momentous recent moments in history. These could go back as far as the 60s but no further - saying the First World War was a sign that Christ was returning was no longer a viable option - but would more likely be contemporary significant 80s or 90s events such as the Big Wind of 87, the rumours (pre the events near Central Park that sad day) of the Beatles reforming, outbreaks of 'flu, passing of laws that were considered permissive, the death of Brezhnev - that kind of thing.
What is God telling us through all this? the Prophet would ask. And the answer would normally be that the Church and/or the Nation were being called to repentance. That the people must rend their hearts and not their collectives. And then there would be an outbreaking of the Holy Spirit over all the nation that would be the biggest since the last one. And revival would break out.
And in many ways it's an upbeat, feel good message. No wonder people bought their cassettes (yes, in those days we did indeed buy our prophetic visions on magnetic tape) and magazines (yes, in those days we did indeed read our prophetic visions on paper). They were offering hope, vision and a bright time ahead.
I felt I should try out my own prophetic ministry at one stage. So I started my own magazine and booked a series of church halls. But my key message was that things were looking a bit depressing, and the Church in the UK was probably destined to decline in numbers and influence until we were all dead.
It was strangely unpopular, my "I'll give it ten yeas" tour. Even despite my set of slides, full of stats of decline and reasons not to hope. And even my inevitable last slide of a beautiful sun-set over Husborne Crawley, over which I would make my last prophetic remarks - "and so, in visual form, this is how it's going for the English Church."
Naturally, evangelicals didn't like my message.
But even some liberals told me they wouldn't bother coming along because, although they believed in my message, there was something on telly.
Twenty years on from those days of my youthful apathy, I wonder who was right - those excitable prophets of fundamentalist Holy-Ghost Revival, or my dreary forecasts of decay. Sure, the Extremely Primitive Methodists have declined to the point where the President of Conference has been the only member for the last 10 years, but then they were always a small bunch, and at least Mabel knows she'll win the votes.
And yet Christian communities still cling and, often, thrive around the place. The chapels aren't ringing with the Redemption Hymnal but then we've lightened up a bit which can't be all bad. We maybe don't dream of rolling the clock back to New Testament times, but there's still good work, quietly done, the homeless homed, the hungry fed and the Word preached.
So in the light of this, I'm going to revise my previous, youthful prophecies. And give us another twenty years.
as many as that, things are looking up!
ReplyDeleteBut only if Mabel keeps going.
ReplyDelete