London Calling...

I'm not going to be blogging for a couple of days as I am combining a work outing with a visit to my sister's house in London.

I won't have too much time to make a nuisance of myself however, because I have to be back on Saturday night, due to the fact I am preaching at church the following morning. Heaven only knows what I'll come up with.

I am supposed to be visiting Westminster Palace in the afternoon and this bothers me somewhat because I always get picked out of a crowd to be frisked whenever I go to concerts (I guess I must either be really popular or extremely dodgy looking). With the current heightened security levels.... well, let us just say it could be an "interesting" experience for me.

I always get picked on!

When I went on the Jubilee 2000 march in Birmingham 9 years ago, I waved at a US sniper on the roof of the Atlantic Hotel... and he actually aimed at me in response!

Nice.

Don't know what I'll do with remainder of my time.... maybe I'll get lucky and bump into Carey Mulligan... wouldn't that be just ace!

Whatever happens, this is just me getting my toes in the water. Once I've established a clear understanding of how to get to my sister's house, I'm hoping to try and put in a couple of more visits.

Would appreciate your prayers for safe passage.

God bless you all in my absence.

N

The Return

I returned to my spiritual cradle on Sunday.

My father is coming to the end of his year of being the town mayor (for the second time). It is customary for the outgoing mayor to hold a civic service (according to whichever belief or non-belief the mayor follows), where local dignitaries from around the town, district and even county are present. In the case of my dad, the service was held at the Anglican church of St. Nicholas.

My dad is a family orientated man and being such, wanted my sister, her boyfriend and myself to play a role in the service. For Charlotte and Ron, this meant playing music... and for my part, I was asked to read the Old Testament reading.

St. Nick's is an interesting place for me; as it was the family church, it was there that I first became aware of the concept of God... it therefore marks the beginning of my spiritual journey. However, at a certain age I realised the place was not good for me and if I was to have any hope of blossoming spiritually, I needed to find my own way and so I left. I'm very wary of the place given the spiritual history of the town, the influence of Freemasons and the lack of spiritual nourishment I tend to feel on the odd occasion I do go at Christmas or Easter.

Waiting for the service to begin, I was a little nervous... because I didn't know whereabouts on the page, my reading would be. This feeling soon dissipated however as the organ resounded for the first hymn (Guide Me O, Though Great Redeemer). I really felt inspired to belt out the tune as loud I could. I feel it is a gift I have... not to lead in worship, but to sing in such a way as to enable others to lift their own praises higher.

The time came for my reading and I had NO fear, memories of past oppression did not even cross my mind. I just got up and delivered the scripture to the people. I just wanted it to read like Jesus would... more than that, I just wanted Jesus to read it through me. I kind of felt like I was making a statement of intent. A taste of things to eventually come. The town has been spiritually famished for some time... but many folk are just not aware of it. I'll tell you more about the actual passage in another post.

I continued to be moved by my dad's excellent choice of hymns (they may have been old, but they were certainly classic). Something that touched my heart was when the prayers were read. At first I thought one of them had been written by someone in the church prayer book, bu it became apparent that it was in fact a poetic prayer written empathetically in the first person, with regard to different individual groups and their various needs. I was especially touched by the prayer for/from the single person. I fall into this group and it is a group that is shamefully neglected in the prayers of many churches. I'm not saying we want to be at the top of the list, prayed for every week. I am saying that the occasional acknowledgment that sometimes the single path (whether it be by sovereign/personal choice or circumstance), can be a painful and lonely one to walk, wouldn't go amiss.

Ron played a Malawian folk song in the Chichewa language. It was a very fitting choice. It is about a town which is suffering from sickness and the people all blame an old man and make him a scapegoat, believing him to be a witch doctor. If you are interested in listening to more of Ron Nkomba's music, or finding out more about him, you can visit his Myspace profile, it is well worth a listen.

Like, the song Ron played, I believe my hometown is spiritually sick... and various groups of people blame various other groups for why that is. However, only a fool accuses the flower or the fruit as the source of wrong... but neglects the root, from which both flower and fruit draw their nourishment.

I've attached some pictures of the party after the service, I've been told I "scrub up quite well":

Regards

N

Analysing My Roots

Dad was in a jolly mood when he got back from the pub last night. He was telling me a story about my Grandad, how he punched a police constable so hard once, his helmet flew off and span round in a shop doorway for what seemed like forever. I wonder what that was all about?

It would seem that's where i get my subversive streak from... the part of me that doesn't trust authority without good cause. However, as I have got older I've come to the realisation that I have more in common with my mother and father's maternal ancestors than their father's families.

From the Barnett's I have inherited a sense of zeal, and share the importance of having faith as a priority in your life.

From the Chambers' I have inherited the rural easy going and compassionate strengths... as well as a strong love of all things wild in nature. I've curiously also picked up my Great Grandfather's habit of sometimes talking with the palm of my hand tucked behind the back of my head... all without ever knowing him.

I'm not saying that I'm not my own person, I'd never believe that. I've always believed that we are more... much more than the sum of our parts. All I am saying, is that the old proverb "whats past is prologue" is true. Your background and how you you were raised do play a part in the person you become... but you always have a choice to resist the way you have been groomed, and your choices in life are your own.

I do think there is some important things to learn from our family history. We can learn a lot about ourselves from looking at our ancestors. Similarly, if we have not been comfortable with what we have been raised with, we can always look beyond our immediate experience. We are told in the Old Testament, that King Josiah looked at his family history and decided not to worship the Baal's, instead he saw that King David his ancestor worshipped the one true God of Israel, and decided to walk down that path.

This is the reason in his life, why when the Book of the Law was found, he fell on his knees and wept. Even though those around him probably thought he was a good king (not hard after they had a previous bozo king like Manasseh), and yet he still had room in his heart to recognise it was not enough. He still saw it was important to put himself right before God.

So much so, that when he died it was said of him that there was never a king who turned to the Lord to such a degree, either before or after him. High praise indeed.

King Josiah is a hero of mine, I can only hope I have the humility, courage of conviction and steadfastness of Spirit that he displayed in confronting the disobedience in his own heart and his own country.