He has lifted up a horn for his people

This morning I went out for a walk bright and early. I always find that going for a walk between 4 and 5 am is just the thing to enliven my spiritual state - especially at this time of the year when the sun rises so early.

Now, I have a rule. I never take a map or consider my route in advance. I trust in the guidance of the Lord alone, confident that "your word is a lamp unto my feet".

And in this I have never been let down. Today, for example, I strode on in a westerly direction until I fell the Lord telling me to turn. Turn I did and after a distance that I would estimate at only three or four miles, I came across the canal. I followed the towpath as I felt the Lord was guiding for another five or six miles, until I came to what appeared to be an empty field.

At this point, I fell into a mistake. For I now realise that I was engaging in disobedience, as it is written - "you cannot read the signs of the times". The sign in question that I did not read said, among other instructions, "Beware of the Bull". In the event, I left the field somewhat faster than I entered it. But as it is written, "they will lift you up in their hands, so you do not strike your foot on a stone". True indeed. For the bull's horn was indeed lifted up, and I sailed over the hedge without striking my foot on a single stone, as I sailed over the towpath and into the canal.

At this point I felt I was being called home.

The spiritual darkness that fell upon me at this point, as I realised I had no idea where I had to go, I blame on my disobedience in not reading the sign. And for the rainstorm that blew up and soaked me for the four hours it took me to walk back, I bless the One who causes it to rain on the just as well as the unjust. I consider it a blessing that I was counted no differently to the others, who struggled through the rain like me, with only the slight advantage that they were driving cars.

And so it has been a long day. Truly my blisters are as the grains of sand on the sea-shore, and I feel a cold settling heavy upon me. I do not know what spiritual lesson I am to learn from this, but I am sure I will at some stage find it out. At this point some would trust in Lem-sip, and some in Halls, but I will trust in the One who has lead me this far to heal me.

Now, aaatchoo! I'm off for a hot bath and an early night. For the day has truly been full of spiritual blessing. I just have to work out just how blessed I am.

Inaugural Sermon - the Good Samaritan

Firstly, can I say how blessed I feel to be here with you as your new pastor. My dear wife Marjorie would no doubt be equally blessed to be with you, if only I knew where she was. But be assured that she is no doubt only mislaid, and as soon as we get back in touch I'm sure she will be only too pleased to meet you all in person.

I'd especially like to the think the Ladies' Bright Hour, who've organised the welcome lunch for us. Without spoiling the surprise for you - I think I can honestly say that the cakes they've baked would make any Christian think twice before engaging in carnal sins of an energetic nature.

And so to our text. And what do we see here? Our Lord teaching through a series of allegories.

The Man - clearly Everyman. On his way from Jerusalem to Jericho. We can see the plain sense here - he is heading down from the Eternal City of Salvation to the City of Blood - the city that was overthrown through a prostitute's treachery. The city that was rebuilt at the cost of two lives. The city of thieves, liars, blindness and death. He is heading the wrong way. Oh - can he not see? Can he not see that he's heading down from the cool of the Judean heights to the heat and oppression? Can he say that he is walking indeed through the Valley of the Shadow of Death - heading away from all that is good? But onward he relentlessly goes.

And the thieves are those that would steal all goodness from humanity. The purveyors of popular beat music. The Disk-Jockeys. The chat show hosts. The Women who Get Above Their Station. The adulterers and the pool-table hustlers and the people who work in Morrisons.

So the man lays there - beaten down by the evils of life. But where does he look?

The Priest goes by. And in the Priest we see symbolised the Roman Catholic Church, that home of priests, Cherie Blair and Anne Widdecombe. And the Priest sees that the man - battered, bloody, bruised - might die, rendering him ceremonially unclean. So he passes by. He has to keep his holy robes clean, for the "sacrifice" that he will be performing.

And the Levite goes past - like unto the Priest in descent, and in his reliance on the handing down of his holy privileges. But he is no real priest - his inheritance is inferior, and he can only be a pale shadow of the real thing. The Levite represents the Church of England. But he too goes past. There's probably a Synod to get to.

And the Samaritan comes along. Richer than one might expect of such a despised race, he puts up money to look after the man. He cleans him and pampers him and then clears off about his business, no doubt in the meantime forgetting all about him, and yet leaves the Inn Keeper with a blank cheque to waste as he sees fit. The Samaritan represents the Taxpayer, and the Inn Keeper - the Welfare State.

So where, you are no doubt asking, is the True Church in all this? The place where the Gospel is proclaimed in its glory and simplicity? Where the Rock of Ages is clung to while we shelter beneath the shadow of its wings?

Obvious. Back in Jerusalem, worshipping the Lord. Where it is supposed to be. If the man hadn't gone off to Jericho he would have been fine. It was straying from the Lord's presence that did it.

What more need we say? Here we have truth. The Gospel preached 4 Square. Out there is strange, scary, dangerous. Feel for those out there. And let's all pray they find a Samaritan, so one day they may find their way here.

Bible Translation

I've been sitting in my study this afternoon, musing over the inaugural sermon I have written and the process by which it is created. Of course, when I say "I have written", that might obscure the truth that the entire thing was inspired in me by the Holy Spirit. And therefore if anyone disagrees with it, they are disagreeing not with me, a mere conduit of heavenly truth, but with the One who gave me the message.

I have read a few times, because they still amaze me, the thoughts of Eddie Arthur on Bible Translation. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I think that teaching everyone English will obviate the need for translation. After all, in some nations it would be more culturally sensitive to get them all to learn French, Spanish or even German.

But if we could save the considerable time needed to learn unimportant languages, often spoken by only a few million people, then we could concentrate on the important job of producing more English versions. I currently only have seventeen different translations, and I find that when I'm trying to express what the Spirit has given me, it's useful to be able to find support for my - sorry, the Spirit's - opinion in some obscure translation or another. It impresses the people in the pew, and helps me to sound learned.

And it's not just a way of crow-barring my own opinions in against the plain reading of Scripture, whatever the cynics may say. To take an example - 1 Sam 25:22 in the New International Version just appears to be just another example of our loving God's occasionally genocidal tendencies. But read it in the King James Version, and it becomes quite obvious that what God is really condemning is the antisocial behaviour of some drunkards wandering back from the Crown and Cushion on a Friday night.

Coffee Morning

I just popped in from another of our successful evangelistic programmes, the Coffee Morning. I've always been very worried about the use of coffee. It's not in the Bible and therefore I have no idea whether God approves or disapproves of its use. I know the latitudarian view would be that if it's not forbidden it's allowed, but I'm not sure that's such a wise maxim. I prefer to take the middle view that if it's not forbidden it's suspect.

In any case, I was hoping to talk to some of the other local Unsaved that I hear attend for the excellent economy-level fair-trade instant coffee. But Jimmy was there with his girlfriend.

I've heard rumours that young Arabella is some kind of Anglican. Therefore I approached the two of them discreetly, to find out whether Arabella is the sort of namby-pamby pinko-liberal equal-opportunities Anglican that might be just the sort of person to lead Jimmy into the kind of sexual sin that I am convinced lies behind his eczema. However on closer inspection Arabella herself appears to be clear of infectious skin diseases of any kind. So I mentioned to her that on balance, it would appear Jimmy's hidden depravity was either confined to Jimmy himself or that he was going elsewhere to satisfy his appetites.

When I left a few minutes ago, Jimmy was sitting, his coffee untouched, with a kind of strained look on his face. While Arabella was glaring across the table at him with pursed lips - and not pursed in such a way as to be preparing to kiss.

A nice girl, Arabella. I'm sure she'll sort him out.

Bridging the cultural gap

It is often said that the Church has a cultural gap when "reaching out" to the World, that unredeemed and unlovely mass of unsaved Mankind* condemned to eternal purgation. Generally in my experience the True Church can be recognised by the joyous outpouring of a heart that knows the love of God, expressed as an outward sign by a fixed and yet spontaneous grin at all times.

But to bridge that cultural gap, the church Music Group has taken to playing at Friday Nights at the Crown and Cushion in Frisby on Soar. And today I took the opportunity, in my first week in the new role, to introduce myself to the "locals".

So while the Music Group repeatedly played "Our God Reigns", which is the only song they can currently play (and even then Erbert is at Capo-8) I made myself known to the quaffers and diners.

It was a joyous time of sharing the Gospel. I told those who were drinking that alcohol is the effluent of the Horned One, and that every additional millilitre was bringing them closer to the Dark Place. And I cautioned the diners that on the day of reckoning, the Entrecotes and Fillets on which they were gorging themselves will turn to ashes in their mouths, just as the world itself will dissolve in ashes.

Having prepared the ground so well, I was about to share with them the Good News that, if they would only turn and rend their hearts and repent, they would be as full of the Gospel and Holy Spirit as I myself. However before I could do so, the landlord threw me out into the street. I bounced off the pavement a couple of times before landing in the gutter. At which point a couple of members of my own congregation, wandering past on a prayer tour of the neighbourhood, looked down at me and said,

"Typical minister. Just as plastered as the last one."

I will remember to expose these people for the unspiritual hypocrites they clearly are, when I preach my sermon on Sunday. In the meantime I will rejoice in my persecution by the landlord of the Crown and Cushion, remembering that in the same way as he treated me, he treated the prophets before me. Truly I have become a fool for Christ.

* I use the term "Man" and "Mankind" rather than the more trendy modern terms "Person" and "Hupersonity", to make it clear that while women are just as prone to be hell-bound as the male of the species, being the weaker gender they're not so much to blame, poor things.

Pastoral Duties

Every Friday, the ladies of Frisby Independent Baptists hold a "Mums and Toddlers" Group.

When I heard this I approved. A form of evangelism, meeting people at the place where they have need. What could be better? So when Mrs Forbes invited me along for tea and buns with the mothers and toddlers, I was delighted.

But I was less sanguine about it after I visited the group. On close questioning of a number of the mothers, I discovered that not all were actually married to the fathers of their children. A few were divorced, some had never married, and several were actually living in a state of unmarried, blissful unwedlock.

Obviously when I realised the situation I withdrew rapidly. I knew I must pray and consider before doing anything rash. Clearly driving a dozen or so young ladies and their assorted children out into the street for their promiscuous behaviour would be wrong, however deserving of such treatment they might be. So I explained that I was in need of a period of prayer and left.

I've taken a few cold showers since this morning, so I'm feeling clean again now. And I'm still wondering how I'm going to deal with situation. Just as soon as I've sacked Mrs Forbes for running such a group of ill-repute, I'll put my mind to the problem properly.

Festering Sin Continues

Saw young Jimmy again today, down in Frisby-on-Soar Building Society.

Eczema looks worse.

I blame the sin.

I told him so, and I gave him a list of particular sins - particularly sexual ones - that might be causing this issue.

Odd. He didn't thank me. Just apologised to all the other people in the queue.

Counselling

My first visitor for Pastoral Counselling.

Jimmy, one of the members of the Young Adults Group, is suffering from awful eczema. He wondered whether I'd pray for his healing. Apparently the previous minister, Mr Syston Whyte-Plumb, had prayed for him but without success.

But I sensed that the healing Jimmy needed was much deeper than merely physical healing. I suggested that he is suffering from unconfessed sin - that his physical manifestations are in fact caused by some filthy, unmentionable, unspeakable sin. One that must be brought to the surface and named before it is healed.

I told Jimmy that, to be on the safe side, I was banning him from attending Divine Worship until the sin is repented of and forgiven. I suggested he go away and pray - on bended knees, and with the trembling fear of Eternal fire - that this sin be revealed to him, so we can resolve it through prayer.

Clearly, he was greatly moved. Pierced to the heart, some would say. But he still wouldn't tell me what sin he is concealing. But he did say he'd go off and pray about it.

Broken

I was sorting through some more worship materials in the chapel when I found the words of "Morning has broken" laying around the shelves in the narthex. "Morning has Broken"?

I've no idea what my predecessor was playing at.

"Morning has Broken" is a hymn saying that the world as it is, is good. As good - indeed - as in Eden before the Fall. But it is not true. The world is - Broken. Broken. Broken. There is no good in it. That we must see before we can rise. Before we can see that the way ahead is to leave the Broken and cling onto what Will be Whole. Flee the city, looking not back, for fear we turn to salt. Cling not onto the sunlight, the dew and the morning - it's not just like the first light that Eden saw play. It's broken.

Come away, brethren. It's all Broken. Your hope is not here. It's elsewhere. Where things aren't Broken.

Service Planning

A day of great blessing in the chapel, sorting out which direction I want to take the worship in.

The hymn book seems generally acceptable. A strong line on the need for repentance, together with the overflowing and glorious grace of our ever loving God - slow to anger, swift in love. And plenty of reminders of the fiery fate that awaits those who fall away. Indeed, my eye was taken by a rather beautiful setting of Hebrews 6:4-12. A stern, yet loving, reminder indeed.

For much the same reason, I've decided we're going to introduce the use of a creed. The Frisby Independent Baptists aren't keen on liturgy. However I feel that the use of the Athanasian Creed on special occasions will help impress everyone with the importance of not sliding back into condemnation. I particularly like the beginning and the end, although I've had to expunge any references to the "Catholic" faith, or substitute the word for something more acceptable. Best not confuse the faithful. So the key passages for me are:

"Whosoever will be saved, before all things it is necessary that he hold the Reformed Faith. Which Faith except every one do keep whole and undefiled; without doubt he shall perish everlastingly .... And they that have done good shall go into life everlasting; and they that have done evil, into everlasting fire."

I think everyone will know where he (or even she) stands now.

Frisby Independent Baptists

I've surely been blessed in this sudden appointment to Pastor of the Frisby Independent Baptists.

Situated in the beautiful, undulating countryside of Leicestershire, the Frisby Independent Baptist Church has been fighting the forces of modernism, liberalism and decidedly suspect Anglo-Catholicism for four centuries.

For most of the congregation's history, the converts to our particularly austere and biblically-based creed have been baptised in the well outside the chapel. But with the coming of heating, and a general dislike to being pushed into icy water in the middle of winter - all baptisms are held at Christmas - there's a growing desire amongst the congregation that we should build a baptistry. I heard all about this suggestion at my selection interview, but I'm keeping my powder dry. Partly because I've only been in the post for the last eleven hours, partly because I'm not sure whether the finances of the assembly are strong enough to bear such expense.
But mostly because I'd rather we stuck to the old way. We will not bow down to the forces of modernity, no matter how many people are struck down with pneumonia.