Last Saturday marked the official end of my probationary period as a Newly Accredited Baptist minister. After finishing my teacher training in my early 20s I spent a year as a Newly Qualified Teacher with certain assignments to complete (and slightly fewer teaching hours); in a similar way, after completing their theological studies and being ordained, Baptist ministers spend three years in which they complete assignments and attend conferences alongside their work in the church. Most of the ministers I have met see the 'NAMs' period as a massive pain in the backside, after which they will be free to do what they want. Certainly I won't miss the essays and book reviews, but I am glad that there is extra support for people who are new to a demanding job. Well, it's not really a job, more a way of life, but that's a whole other blog post.
After shaking hands with various Baptist Union dignitaries I sat in the auditorium thinking about the earlier stages of this journey. My ordination in 2013, at which I made promises which I will spend the rest of my life trying to live up to. Some people think Christian ministers are especially holy people; they're usually the ones who don't know any ministers very well. Yes, Christian ministry is a high calling, but then being a Christian is a high calling, full stop. Yes I read the Bible and try to understand it; I pray; I try to show mercy to people I meet who are in need; I try to love my enemies; but I do all these things, not because I'm a minister, but because I'm a Christian. Sometimes I think that my role as a minister is simply to live a Christian life before the church and show people what it means to follow Jesus. Nothing simple or easy about that, of course. There are many wonderful Christians who aren't ministers (they're often the ones sorting out the ministers' mistakes, very graciously and without fuss).
Then I thought about my time at theological college. Some ministers see college as a massive drag, much like NAMs, but for me it was transformational. Three years of intense study and we barely scratched the surface. The Bible is a big book, and we worship a God who is infinite. Being a mature student was a wonderful blessing. Study is such a privilege, especially in these times of £9k a year of tuition fees. I met people who made me laugh, fume, think; people who changed my life and my faith for the better. At theological college in Oxford I returned to the scene of my greatest disappointment, when I was rejected by that esteemed institution as an 18 year old. For more than ten years I'd felt like a failure, second best, someone who'd failed to excel. And then I had another chance: not to show off, not to prove my worth to the world, as if God measures our value according to our academic achievements. I didn't pass any exams to get there or fight off the competition, so I couldn't brag. But I got the chance to live in a beautiful, historic city, to attend a very small, very friendly college, and to have access to the wonderful libraries and learning opportunities which I would doubtless have wasted had I been given them when I wanted them at 18.
For three years before college I was wandering in the wilderness. The in between time - in between one calling, teaching, and full-time Christian ministry - was a time of profound confusion, pain and incredible blessing. I will never forget the years I lived on the kindness of others, with no salary. That was truly wonderful. But the searching and waiting and feeling like I was getting nowhere, 30 years old, single, unemployed, with no property and no pension - that was humbling. Not in a spiritual, 'oh I am so profoundly moved' kind of way, but a 'wow my life is a mess' kind of way. At the time I found a small measure of peace by contemplating the Israelites' 40-year journey in the wilderness, which God made them go through in order to know what was in their hearts (see Deuteronomy 8). I thought when I had figured everything out and found my calling I would find the promised land. But pain and struggle and confusion never go away, of course, and especially not when you spend your time being with people in their up and down lives.
The four years before the wandering began were truly wonderful. Sadly, I didn't realise this at the time, consumed with the pressures of work and the constant search for a boyfriend. I was nurtured in my Christian faith in a large and loving community among many other young adults who became my friends. We had it so good and we didn't know it. (Nostalgia is a wonderful thing.) This was the community which loved and encouraged me, giving me opportunities to lead, to sing, to preach for the first time, to make mistakes. None of what happened later would have happened had I not been nurtured so carefully and lovingly.
But did God's interest in me begin when I began to attend church? Did he only notice me when I noticed him? Surely not. I was 23 when I started to explore the Christian faith, and for all the years before that I never prayed and only went to church for weddings, funerals and carol services. In this picture I'm about 8 years old. What were God's thoughts of me then?
I'm reminded of 'The Horse and His Boy', a Narnia book I owned as a child but never read until I was an adult. In one scene Shasta is riding alone along a mountain path in deep fog when he notices someone or something breathing. He realises with fright that something very large is walking beside him along the path, and has been for some time. He thinks he might have imagined it, but then he is conscious of a sigh, and feels hot breath on his arm. Eventually he summons up the courage and asks, "What are you?" Aslan replies, "One who has waited long for you to speak."
After shaking hands with various Baptist Union dignitaries I sat in the auditorium thinking about the earlier stages of this journey. My ordination in 2013, at which I made promises which I will spend the rest of my life trying to live up to. Some people think Christian ministers are especially holy people; they're usually the ones who don't know any ministers very well. Yes, Christian ministry is a high calling, but then being a Christian is a high calling, full stop. Yes I read the Bible and try to understand it; I pray; I try to show mercy to people I meet who are in need; I try to love my enemies; but I do all these things, not because I'm a minister, but because I'm a Christian. Sometimes I think that my role as a minister is simply to live a Christian life before the church and show people what it means to follow Jesus. Nothing simple or easy about that, of course. There are many wonderful Christians who aren't ministers (they're often the ones sorting out the ministers' mistakes, very graciously and without fuss).
Then I thought about my time at theological college. Some ministers see college as a massive drag, much like NAMs, but for me it was transformational. Three years of intense study and we barely scratched the surface. The Bible is a big book, and we worship a God who is infinite. Being a mature student was a wonderful blessing. Study is such a privilege, especially in these times of £9k a year of tuition fees. I met people who made me laugh, fume, think; people who changed my life and my faith for the better. At theological college in Oxford I returned to the scene of my greatest disappointment, when I was rejected by that esteemed institution as an 18 year old. For more than ten years I'd felt like a failure, second best, someone who'd failed to excel. And then I had another chance: not to show off, not to prove my worth to the world, as if God measures our value according to our academic achievements. I didn't pass any exams to get there or fight off the competition, so I couldn't brag. But I got the chance to live in a beautiful, historic city, to attend a very small, very friendly college, and to have access to the wonderful libraries and learning opportunities which I would doubtless have wasted had I been given them when I wanted them at 18.
For three years before college I was wandering in the wilderness. The in between time - in between one calling, teaching, and full-time Christian ministry - was a time of profound confusion, pain and incredible blessing. I will never forget the years I lived on the kindness of others, with no salary. That was truly wonderful. But the searching and waiting and feeling like I was getting nowhere, 30 years old, single, unemployed, with no property and no pension - that was humbling. Not in a spiritual, 'oh I am so profoundly moved' kind of way, but a 'wow my life is a mess' kind of way. At the time I found a small measure of peace by contemplating the Israelites' 40-year journey in the wilderness, which God made them go through in order to know what was in their hearts (see Deuteronomy 8). I thought when I had figured everything out and found my calling I would find the promised land. But pain and struggle and confusion never go away, of course, and especially not when you spend your time being with people in their up and down lives.
The four years before the wandering began were truly wonderful. Sadly, I didn't realise this at the time, consumed with the pressures of work and the constant search for a boyfriend. I was nurtured in my Christian faith in a large and loving community among many other young adults who became my friends. We had it so good and we didn't know it. (Nostalgia is a wonderful thing.) This was the community which loved and encouraged me, giving me opportunities to lead, to sing, to preach for the first time, to make mistakes. None of what happened later would have happened had I not been nurtured so carefully and lovingly.
But did God's interest in me begin when I began to attend church? Did he only notice me when I noticed him? Surely not. I was 23 when I started to explore the Christian faith, and for all the years before that I never prayed and only went to church for weddings, funerals and carol services. In this picture I'm about 8 years old. What were God's thoughts of me then?
I'm reminded of 'The Horse and His Boy', a Narnia book I owned as a child but never read until I was an adult. In one scene Shasta is riding alone along a mountain path in deep fog when he notices someone or something breathing. He realises with fright that something very large is walking beside him along the path, and has been for some time. He thinks he might have imagined it, but then he is conscious of a sigh, and feels hot breath on his arm. Eventually he summons up the courage and asks, "What are you?" Aslan replies, "One who has waited long for you to speak."
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