Sermon on the Anniversary of the Death of General "Stonewall" Jackson (1863) and the Battle of Spotsylvania (1864)

Brian: I am NOT the Messiah!
Arthur: I say you are Lord, and I should know. I've followed a few.

We're remembering two deaths today, in effect. Jackson died on this day in 1863, having been shot by his own troops by mistake. While today in 1864 the Battle of Spotsylvania took place. In which battle, in its early skirmishing phase on 9 May, General Sedgwick was killed by snipers after announcing "You couldn't hit an elephant [at this distance*]"

Particularly in the light of yesterday's musings on Prophecy, I see these anniversaries as a warning to leaders everywhere. For it is the leader in the front line who gets shot by the guns of both sides. Steve comments on the old saying that there are no atheists in foxholes (and responds by saying there are no chaplains in foxholes).  But the people that were missing in the foxholes, if Black Adder Goes Forth is right, were the Generals, who were busy getting their batpeople to dust their drinks cabinets and pour them another stiff gin.

The thing is, people want vision. I've taken a poll of the three most popular "prophetic" remarks that are uttered in churches as if nobody has ever thought of them before, and they're these three:

1. "So, because you are lukewarm--neither hot nor cold--I am about to spit you out of my mouth." (Rev 3:16)
2. "To the angel of the church in Sardis write:.... I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead." (Rev 3:1)
3. "Where there is no vision, the people perish: but he that keepeth the law, happy is he." (Prov 29:18).

And the thing about them is this - numbers 1 and 2 are normally uttered by pastors about their congregations. But number 3 is normally muttered by the congregations, about their pastors. Oddly, they normally quote the KJV as above and not any more modern version, regardless of what version of the Bible the church uses - almost as if the form of the complaint has been handed down from congregation to congregation since the day Tyndale first wrote the words.

 A wise man (Michael Saward, I believe) once said that evangelicals are suckers for a prophet - and this isn't just true for the evos, but firmly I believe and truly it impacts on others in the church - as more traditional Catholics compare the vision of the Pope to their allegedly less visionary bishops - and the secular world alike. So Maggie Thatcher is remembered with love by some and loathing by others, while John Major we remember as that bloke with his shirt tucked into his underpants, eating peas. Likewise Tony Blair is either the architect of New Labour or a snake-oil-selling war criminal, according to choice - whereas Gordon Brown is just that bloke who was bad at numbers who called a northern lady a bigot.

So not to have a vision is to fail as a leader. While if you have vision, and lead from the front, you get shot by both sides. I've had a revelation here. I'm going to be a visionary leader, but I'm going to stay in an ivory tower. That way I'm bound to be safe.

* Traditional

I Prophesy Disasters

I was most interested in Gentle Wisdom's words (which were, as one could predict, both Gentle and Wise) on prophecies relating to earthquakes - especially in California.

I often terrify Burton, when I've an idle moment, by pointing out that the Good Book prophesies that earthquakes, wars and rumours of wars must happen before the End will come. And therefore (though we are forbidden from idle speculation) - the End must be at some point in the future. I apologise for that garish typesetting, but it seems obligatory when we talk about The End Times^TM.

But, if it's fashionable to prophesy inevitable disasters, such as an earthquake in California, then I don't see why I can't get in on this one. Might be a few quid in it, apart from anything else. So here are my own prophecies. Some of these will be avoided if we repent (i.e. genuinely change our ways) but I'm afraid some we're stuck with. The world's beautiful, and physics elegant. But the sticky stuff still happens.

There will be an earthquake in Iceland within the next 30 years. British people will struggle to pronounce its name. John Prescott will struggle to pronounce "Iceland". Americans will struggle to understand where Iceland is.

Within the next 100 years or so, the pure-bred Pinta Island Tortoise will become extinct. And nobody will have tried to do anything about it.

The Bible will eventually be translated into more languages than there are living languages. But this won't be because Bible translation is unnecessary.

Unless we change our ways, or they do, within 4 years the sound of the Liberal Democrat will no longer be heard in the land.

Mudslides will take place in South America. Blaming it on global warming will be missing the more immediate causes.

Unless we stop burning it and making plastic out of it, we will eventually run out of oil. This isn't scare-mongering, it's just a statement of fact.

People around the world will realise that making artificial fossil fuels out of agricultural crops is stupid, inefficient and totally missing the point. It might take longer for governments to catch up on this one (see previous "Fergie" post about just doing things.)

And lastly, a very real, very serious prophecy. If we do not repent of our ways, people will continue to die of starvation.

A Prophet in his own County

It was Anonymous's true and sad comment on the ease with which Baptist ministers can often be removed that made me take a good look in the mirror this morning.

It is truly said that what congregations really want in a pastor, is a strong leader who agrees with them. And that although people will talk of their need for a prophecy, they don't really need a prophet.  They generally need someone who can raise the money to get the roof fixed (I talk of many English churches and chapels here - in America I am sure that godly prophecy can be found in every church).

And so I saw myself in the mirror this morning, looking an awful lot more like Moses than I did a couple of weeks ago. And reflecting - do the Frisby Baptists need a prophet just yet? Someone they could disagree with - and if more than 50% did so, they would be looking for a new prophet. Maybe not just yet. I must step more slowly. Maybe  their great need - at least for the moment - is of a solid and capable administrator.

And so, regretfully, I have shaved off my beard. I now look a lot less prophetic, but a lot more like that calm, solid pastor who is biding his time until the day for vision is come.

Designer Patriarch

Another correspondent has pointed out to me that the 1990s religious programme whose slogan I quoted, "Women - know your place" was actually a comedy programme by a man called Harry Enfield. And the slogan was "Women - know your limits". None of which makes my point any less valid, in my opinion.

Especially on a day like today. Since last weekend I have been growing my prophetic beard. It is currently at the stage of what some refer to as "designer stubble". And so I had to take refuge from the gardening today because I tired of Mrs Collins repeatedly shouting "Oi! George Michael!" over the fence at me.

I explained to Marjorie about Mrs Collins and my experiences in Coalville. I was expecting some sympathy, but all she did was laugh for half an hour. And then tell me that if I was planning to be such a prophet, I should have foreseen my reception.

One area where I prefer to bow to superiority in women is in the area of driving. All the trouble I had driving came when, in fervour of evangelicalism, I over-estimated the joys of being free from the Law. By the time I had racked up 12 points on my licence in a couple of months, it was finally clear to me that the Law concerned was not a traffic law. It turns out that, free from the stain of sin and oppression of ritual law as I am, I still have to keep below the speed limit. So when it comes to driving, I leave it to Marjorie. Even before I stopped driving, she did a perfectly good job from the passenger seat in any case.

A prophet in his own land

This prophet thing is not really happening that quickly.  Three days, and so far just a light stubble. So I'm not so much looking prophetic as slightly scruffy.

I have cancelled today's pastoral visits in order to concentrate on eating raw steak and other such masculine food products, in the hope of rushing on the pastoral gift. Oddly, despite phoning seven people to tell them I wouldn't be round, I didn't detect in their voices any sense of desperation at missing the chance to see their pastor. I am glad to see that I am breeding in the Baptists of Frisby a sense of reliance on God alone, and not just on some unnecessary intermediary. And yet, I'm still disappointed that nobody begged me to come round,

The Prophetic Call

It's been a while, and I've been praying this over and considering it deeply.

And I've asked a couple of people for their advice, and they've been generally supportive.

I may be feeling the prophetic call.  I really can see that side of my ministry developing.  So there's only one thing for it.

I'm going to have to grow a beard.

London 2012 - A Vision

Worry is a sin. Whenever someone comes to me and tells me that they are worried, I tell them that their worry shows a lack of faith. They should go away and repent, and their faith will see them through. I believe this to be very good advice in practice, as well as soundly Biblical.  Indeed, I have never had anyone come back to me later to say they are still worried.

However, I am worried today. Call it a prophet's vision. I see the year 2012. I envisage the quadrennial world-wide athletic festival that is to be held in London - I will not give it its more traditional name, pagan in origin as it is.  I imagine the great influx of young female athletes into our capital city for the events. And a still small voice whispers to me - "Beware Boris".

I can see how it will be. Boris Johnson will be 48 years of age. The type of age when you take stock of what you've achieved in your life. And you look around and see that, while you've the Mayor of a reasonably-sized city in Southern England, other people you went to University with are touring the world annoying foreigners, or writing satirical Baptist websites. And you wonder whether you still have the vision and the vim and energy you had as a floppy-haired young man.

And then you suddenly realise that thousands of young ladies have been flown specially to the city of which you are mayor. Thousands of ladies who are - in the modern parlance - "fit". And that many will have significant amounts of "downtime" after their events are completed.

I tell you, I worry that we could see the Old Etonian equivalent of a ram being let loose in a field of ewes in the Autumn.

I fear for an outbreak of floppy hair and braying vowel sounds spread across the world in a way not seen since the height of the British Empire. Not to mention the physical strain on Mr Johnson himself, which might surpass that on a triathlete running his event on a hot day in Deptford.

But I have a plan. My intention is that, at every event Boris attends at the 2012 games, a member of our congregation will be there in the crowd, carrying not just our normal "John 3:16" banner, but also another one. The precise wording will have to be agreed by the Banners Sub-Committee, but I am tending towards "Give it a Break, Boris".

Today being my day of rest, I will have to leave further preparations. However on Sunday I will be launching our "London 2012" appeal, to raise enough money to enable one member of the congregation to stay in London and attend all significant events.  We have yet to identify who this person should be.  But since other members of the congregation are working, and their wives will have the important jobs of making their tea for when they get in, I feel I may be called to this worthy, Godly and prophetic sacrifice myself.