The day approaches.

I seem to start most blog posts with, ‘I haven’t blogged for ages…’ This one is no exception to that. (I’ve also spotted that our holiday blog promptly ground to a halt. Maybe I’ll pick it up again one day…)

But the day of my ordination as priest is fast approaching. I’m already on pre-ordination retreat and about to shut my computer down. But thought I’d just scribble a few words. Here’s what I’ve written in the church newsletter for this week:

_____________________________

I kind of blame John. John was our vicar in Worthing before we moved up to Derbyshire. We were back down South visiting, some years ago, and were in our old church. John sidled up to me about 3 minutes before the start of the service, as I was innocently minding my own business, and asked, “Isn’t it about time you started thinking about ordination?”. He wasn’t the first person to suggest it, but it was his question that particularly got to me.  

Now, I had thought about ordination already. But it was in much the same way as I think about bungee jumping. I have admiration for those who go through with it (though wonder if they’re a bit mad); I would be intrigued to know what it really felt like; but when it came to the crunch, I wasn’t about to go out of my way to move beyond the ‘wondering’ stage.  

John’s question forced me out of that stage into exploration – what the church calls ‘discernment’. And of course, to cut a long story short, after lots of thinking, praying and chatting, two diocesan panels, one Bishops’ Advisory Panel, 3 years of training at Queen’s and one year of curacy, I find myself a matter of days away from my ordination as priest (or for those reading this on Sunday, it’s just happened!). There’s a funny cocktail of joy and trepidation I’m currently experiencing. I’m also tremendously grateful for all that this community has given to me and my family over the course of this first year of curacy – thank you! 

As Anita mentioned in last week’s newsletter, now is a great time to be thinking what it is God is calling each one of us to. Of course, not everyone is called to the priesthood (that would put rather a strain on the Church of England’s resources!), but everyone is called by God. God calls us to worship and to serve, to live our lives following the pattern that Jesus set. One of my favourite terms in the Bible to describe Christians is ‘Ambassador’. An ambassador is a representative of power more important than themselves. And each one of us is God’s ambassador in the place God has put us. For many, that might be a place of work, but it’s also the home, the coffee shop, the sports activity, the pub. And a myriad other places. Is there somewhere new that you think God might be calling you to? Where might you be able to serve as his ambassador? 

With my love and prayers, 

Nick.

__________________________

And I guess that sums up much of what I’d want to blog at this point. But I’d add that there is something really special about realising that God has called you by name. Yes, that’s you, whoever you are reading this. (Not necessarily an audible voice, but a recognition that God has lovingly called you by name) Some of you will already be ‘doing stuff’ for God, but others of you haven’t yet had a sense that God is longing that you’ll hear his voice. I hope and pray you hear God’s voice calling your name.

Goodbye Mahe (for now), hello Praslin.

I’ve skipped the 14th of July. We mooched around the hotel a bit. I discovered the £7 shop from a local store had come out on our bank statements at over £100 (it somehow sorted itself out – I have no idea what happened!), and we had a lovely final night at our hotel, enjoying the ‘free’ treats in the restaurant that had been a bonus when we’d booked the room.

And then on the 15th, it was time to move on. We packed our bags, left a few at the hotel (we didn’t need everything we’d brought for the next few days on smaller islands) and headed back to the coast for a boat trip to Praslin.

The trip over to Praslin was, without a doubt, the low point of the trip. It had its ups and downs, and ups and downs, and ups and downs, lurching us all the way from one island to the other. Mum could barely stand by the end of it, and the rest of us were feeling queasy at best. There’s a lovely photo of Luke and his cousin on the boat at the start of the journey. The smiles on their faces show that ignorance really is bliss, because if they knew what the journey they were about to embark on was going to be like, they definitely would not be smiling!

Nevertheless, we got there in one piece. Our accommodation was about 200 metres from the port, which was handy! We stayed in Le Port Guesthouse – the proprietor was lovely, the room was great and the coconut ice stuff she’d made for us was delicious!

Between the port and Le Port!

We went to the Vallee de Mai. Sadly, I’m pooped (as I’m writing this after 11pm) so the photos of that aren’t going to make it into this particular iteration of the blog! Maybe I’ll add them tomorrow… It was spectacular, though!

Still enjoying our hotel.

Two years ago today, we were still at our first hotel in Seychelles. The food was amazing (the clincher being the breakfast buffet, which included full-on curry!). And if you weren’t feeling particularly hungry, you could just enjoy the view from the dining room:

The lushness I mentioned in the last post doesn’t happen by chance – it’s helped by the rainfall. Not miserable, English rain, but tropical, Seychellois rain. The 12th of July saw a fair amount of this…

So while we did some lazing by the pool when it was dry (I even did some reading for college, saddo that I am!), we also did some sheltering-from-the-rain.

The snails are pretty cool, too (my size 10 shoe is there to help you to fully appreciate the scale of the snail!):

During the day, we had a little stroll from the hotel, found bazillions of little crabs, and failed to catch a bus. This was our first venture into the world of Seychelles buses. We walked to the nearest bus stop. There is a timetable, but it’s fairly relaxed, and there was also some suggestion that one of the buses had broken down, which probably doesn’t help matters. Meanwhile, I found an amusing poster in the bus stop:

Sadly, we’d missed the message by a good few months. I hope it wasn’t anything important… By this point, it had become evident that the bus was clearly not going to be our friend, so we wandered back to the hotel for some beach time.

But the 13th was a very memorable day, with Mum and Dad treating us all to a Creole evening in the hotel. This involved a fairly substantial amount of food…

This was my pudding(s) plate!

And some fairly lively dancing. All in, a really great evening.

We were shown what to do…

…and then tried, at times with limited success, to do it.

Destination…

So, yesterday’s post ended with us on a plane. Obviously, planes tend to go places. Here’s the first view I had of our destination. Well, the first view for almost four decades, anyway…

We landed and the weather was really pretty nice!

Our destination was Seychelles, and our fellow travellers were my parents and my brother and his family. For readers unaware of my early life, I lived in Seychelles from 15 months until 4 and a half. So for me this was a return to a childhood home, for Anna and the boys, it was a new destination; for all of us, it was a massive adventure and an extraordinarily wonderful holiday.

We checked into our hotel that was going to be home for the first few days. It had its own little beach.

This hotel was chosen by my niece. Suffice it to say she did an absolutely amazing job, as you’ll see over the next couple of days.

The drive over was pretty amazing. Everything’s so lush, and the views as we were driven around the island were just incredible. In fact, when we arrived and had settled in a bit, we really were this happy:

More to come 🙂

A most excellent adventure.

Two years ago today, this misfortune struck:

Yes, that’s gravity exerting its inexorable pull on our wall-mounted television. You can see the holes in the wall – screws and plugs just fell out of the wall. And yes, the TV was not in great shape following its tumble, having landed face down on the corner of the table above which it had, only a moment previously, hung.

However, miserable an event though it was, it wasn’t the key feature of July 10th, 2019. The telly was propped up against the wall, we finished packing and left on a rather exciting adventure.

Sadly, Theodore (that’s him in the middle – the well-loved (or perhaps aggressively-loved…) one with rather a fine bow) wasn’t really welcomed by the rest of the family, so had to sit in the car while we were away.

This adventure involved these people (as well as some others who’ll feature in due course):

One of these:

Some of this:

One or two of these:

And a long flight…

Pop along tomorrow and you’ll see where we ended up (assuming I remember to blog again, which, given my track record, is by no means certain).

This is not a drill.

So, the day is almost here. On Sunday 27th June, at midday, I will be ordained deacon in Derby Cathedral by Bishop Libby Lane. (Assuming COVID doesn’t throw any more spanners into the works…)

I’ve arrived at pre-ordination retreat (and will get off the internet once I’ve written this!) and am about to spend the next few days here with others who are being ordained deacon or priest this weekend. Mercifully, grandparents have come to the rescue at home! The logistical requirements of two boys are significant 🙂

What a journey it’s been (not getting here, that was less than half an hour). I’m so profoundly grateful to all those who have helped this happen, to those who’ve happily accompanied me and the family, and to those who, as I’ve trained at Queen’s, have journeyed with me. We as a family were given a lovely send off from our Link Church (in fact, you could even watch our final service there, along with my sermon, at https://fb.watch/6iYLjU5_M4/ though I think you’ll have to be logged into Facebook for it to work!)

The ordination should be livestreamed here: Ordination of Deacons SUNDAY 12.00 noon – YouTube It should also be available for a few days afterwards. I’d love to have invited everybody to the service, but of course that wasn’t possible, particularly this year. But hey, this way, you can watch me over your roast dinner, and you wouldn’t have been able to have a roast dinner in a cathedral pew, so it’s not all bad!

I’m feeling all sorts of everything at the moment. I guess ‘apprehensive’ is a good word to describe much of it, but I’m also really looking forward not just to the service but to seeing how this all looks in practice, when the rubber hits the road. At some point, I’ll write about my new parish that I’ll be a curate in, but that’s definitely for another time.

In the absence of a visitors’ book at a big after-service bash, feel free to leave comments below! And I’d really value your prayers for me and the family, and for those who are being ordained alongside me. I’ll see you on the other side!

Mountains, Mist and Memories.

I’m writing and scheduling this in May in preparation for my old school’s closing ceremonies. It’s a place that, regardless of how difficult it could sometimes be, will always be very special to me. It’s being published today, as the Completion Celebration is taking place (though this may be COVID-dependent).

Those of you familiar with this blog will see the theme of Home once again raising its head.

Without further ado, here it is:

_____

When I look down, from lofty mountain grandeur,

and hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze

And just for a heartbeat, I’m back in the mountains.  Normally at apple turnover corner, that open-mouthed corner that gapes across the valley to the mountains opposite.  And that line from ‘O Lord My God’ isn’t the only thing that transports me back to my childhood home.  A good hailstorm, and I can be riding my bike in Islamabad again.  Fresh rain landing on dry earth, and I could be almost anywhere in the land of my youth.   

I remember riding in the school coaster back up the hill after a campout, usually sunburnt.  Sometimes there was a distinct drop in the temperature part way up, and we became conscious of the cool of the mountains rising above the heat of the plains – a sudden chill on my reddened skin.  With it, the need to put on my jean jacket, attempting not to rub my burnt back too hard as I did so.  I remember, too, peeling off layers of sunburnt skin in Science lessons.  The challenge was to get the biggest unbroken piece, much like when peeling an orange.  Sorry, Miss Matthews! 

I remember being in my room at Sandes, with the windows open, and watching the mist creep in, uninvited but not unwelcome.  I also remember at a younger age sitting on the swing behind the hostel with my brother, and him telling me about The People of the Mist; most unnerving, and definitely provoking unwelcome anxieties!  The mist enveloping and quietening everything is so memorable. 

Some lessons are more memorable than others, and not always for educational reasons.  The ability of one of my classmates, who shall here remain nameless, to mimic a cat-and-dog fight from his seat at the back of the class was worthy of serious respect.  Strangely, this respect seemed only to come from his fellow students.   

Lessons learnt weren’t always the subjects themselves, but the values, and the character, and the skill, and the passion.  I learnt in CDT to use a saw, and a drill, and numerous other tools.  But much more than that, I learnt that I could apply these skills to far more than my teapot stand, trowel, or toothbrush holder.  (I’ll admit now that the egg cups never really worked, and the metal spatula was rather over-sized, as Mr Wood rightly pointed out at the time.) 

And maybe it says something, too, that I went on to become a teacher.   

The boarding staff were another stand-out feature for me.  I remember taken a wounded friend (an accident during games on the court one evening!) to Aunty Eunice, and the care and love she lavished upon him.  I remember settling into Middle Boys, with no shortage of tears, and being nurtured by people who had travelled thousands of miles to serve in this way.  Then Junior High, and playing Risk outside the dining room on a Saturday morning (I even remember one occasion when Dwight didn’t win!).  Those Saturday mornings perhaps help to explain my longing for a house with a wraparound veranda.  Being drawn from the cup of names to eat a meal with the Fulmores was a massive treat.  And choosing perogies was almost an unwritten rule.  They were delicious – why would you go for anything else?  As for Linda’s soup when you were off sick – it was worth being off sick for.  But being invited to be a part of our boarding parents’ lives, and homes, and families.  That was the greatest privilege and treasure of all.   

I also went on to be a boarding parent. 

The friendships made at Murree were and are things to treasure.  Seeing, after decades apart, friends from ‘95 at the recent online reunion was such an enriching experience.  I remember returning to watch my class graduate in ‘95, after being back in England for three years.  Bumping into the rest of the class near the basketball court felt almost like I’d never been away, in a strange sense.  Those friendships can be picked up again with little effort and with great joy.  Our shared experiences, and our shared heritage, add to those friendships such glorious value.  Just this morning, I was reading Psalm 16:6 – “The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; I have a goodly heritage.”   

Murree was home, and a place of safety and security.  Of course that sense was violated in the 5^th of August attacks.  But even in that tremendously difficult time, God’s provision and protection could be seen.  And now, as closure approaches, there is a new sadness.  But our past and God’s promises can give us great hope for the future.   

My memories of MCS have got a little smudged in places, and things aren’t quite as crystal clear as they once were.  It’s the mist of time that’s shrouding things now.  But I’m profoundly grateful for those years at MCS.   The place and the people will always say something to me about being at home.  There was a time when the memories were always accompanied by a cloak of pain – a longing for a home that was no longer mine.  Now, the sadness is generally outweighed by peace, and a satisfaction of knowing that more than one place can feel like home.  And knowing, too, that the longing for home doesn’t just take me back – I know I’m longing for a home I’ve not yet seen. 

When Christ shall come with shout of acclamation,

and take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!

Unfolding purposes…

…the unfolding purposes of God, forever at work in ourselves and the world.

Morning Service from the Iona Abbey Worship Book

One of the benefits of lockdown has been that our church has done Zoom Morning Prayer every weekday. One of the orders of service we’ve used for this has been from the Iona Community.

This morning, I’ve been thinking in particular about the line this post started with. In full, it’s, “With all creation, we celebrate the miracle and wonder of life; the unfolding purposes of God, forever at work in ourselves and the world.”

And if I’m honest, I think it’s the ‘unfolding’ bit that sometimes gets to me. I know that patience is a virtue, and all that, but sometimes I wish we’d get to see things a bit quicker. The unfolding reminds us that there’s a bit of waiting to be had. It feels like there’s been a fair bit of ‘unfolding’ in the last couple of years.

Sometimes, I guess I’d just like God to move a bit faster. But awkwardly, there are also times when I’d quite like things to go a bit slower (such as when an essay deadline is looming!). So maybe God’s got the unfolding purposes just about right…

Anything you’d like God to unfold a bit quicker or slower at the moment, or is that just me?

Lockdown 2.0

So here we are, on the eve of a new lockdown. It’s an odd feeling. We’ve done it before, so there’s not quite the same uncertainty that came with round 1, but, particularly for those who struggled with the first lockdown, there may be a worrying certainty about it.

One thing we as a family did during the first lockdown was watch Groundhog Day. If you haven’t ever watched it, you may as well add it to your lockdown to-do list – there are worse ways to spend an hour-and-a-half. Basic premise is that a chap is stuck in an endless loop of the same day, over and over and over and over. Whatever he does with his day, he wakes up the ‘next morning’, only to find it’s the same day again. Personally, I enjoy the film. It makes me think (for goodness sake don’t tell my parents that – as kids growing up we somewhat railed against the discussion and dissection of a film after the credits had rolled…). He goes through a range of emotions (and actions!) as he finds himself unable to escape the endless round of Groundhog Day on repeat. But he does learn to use his past experiences of the day to make others’ lives better, and this has a positive impact on his own experience.

And heading into another lockdown does have a ‘Groundhog Day’ sort of sensation attached to it. The rest of my family will go to school, which will be a marked difference from the first lockdown, as I won’t be trying to get my head around an 8-year-old’s school work this time! But I find myself wondering what I can and should be doing this time round that reflects on previous experience and constructs a better way of doing things. Here are some possible ideas:

> ‘Meeting’ people for lunch. Maybe I could have lunch with someone on Zoom/Teams/FaceTime/etc. Could just be half an hour which allows us to catch up and is cheaper than going out 🙂 Win, win! The only downside is that my food will definitely not be as exciting as whatever the other person is having…

> Actually do some of the to-do list, rather than just writing one. Radical, I know, but apparently more stuff gets done with this approach. Who knew?!

> Work on that book… I have fewer excuses not to this time.

> Don’t beat myself up when I don’t do stuff on the to-do list (but don’t give myself too easy a ride, either – it’s a tough balance).

> Make sure I take my government-ordained exercise every day.

> Be more disciplined with my time (that’s going to be the work of a lifetime – I don’t think I’ll fix it in the next four weeks!).

But frankly, my brain isn’t working particularly well (I like to blame the fact that I’m full of cold, but it’s just as likely to be atrophy…). So what suggestions can you add in the comments? Anything about what to do, tips and tricks, things to avoid, self care, and just about anything else. How can we use Lockdown 2.0 well?

(On a side note, this new wordpress is a nightmare 😦 raises serious questions about getting back into blogging!)

Good? Friday.

This is a bit of a weird week. Those of you who’ve celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, or other significant events during lockdown will probably well understand the feeling that something isn’t really being properly marked. For all our efforts to make a day special, it’s hard within the restrictions currently on us (though most of us agree the restrictions themselves are absolutely right).

Last year, during Holy Week (this week – between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday) I was at the Vicar Factory (I’m training to be a priest) and we had about 400 services during the course of the week.  Ok, so maybe that’s a slight exaggeration, but there were services aplenty – get up, breakfast, service, lecture, service, break, service, lunch, service, lecture, service, service, snack, service … something like that 🙂

But my point is, boy did we mark Holy Week. And it was wonderful. This year, the only Holy Week services I’ll be involved in will be either in my study or my lounge. Don’t get me wrong, my study and lounge are both lovely places, but it’s hardly how I’d envisaged celebrating Easter. It’s weird celebrating the freedom that Easter heralds, in the confinement of our home. But it’s a useful reminder that not everyone has the same privileges I have. Many Christians around the world put themselves in physical danger by meeting together, because of the persecution faced in many countries. Others are not well enough to leave the house to celebrate with their church families. Perhaps I’ll appreciate this more this year and into the future. I also need to remember that the promise of freedom that Good Friday brings doesn’t depend on my circumstances. Jesus’ death on the cross offers freedom and hope to those who are trapped, those who are held captive. So in the ‘captivity’ of lockdown, it’s worth remembering that Good Friday is Good indeed – it promises us a freedom that we long for and can one day fully enjoy.

I hope this Good Friday is Good for you and those you love. Perhaps in times like this, we can understand, appreciate and yearn for freedom all the more.

For another view of Good Friday, with a focus on Barabbas, here’s one I wrote a few years ago.

Are you ‘celebrating’ Good Friday this year? If so, how? And might this year have something special to teach?