Yesterday I returned home from holiday with a letter on my desk. I had already been warned of its contents by one of my stewards. The contents of the letter need not be rehearsed here, but suffice it to say that it brought one of those moments in which I question the call. This was the second such letter that I received in as many weeks. I appreciate the support of the steward with whom I spoke, but it’s still hard to match up.
Thank God for Messy Church at Mellor that same evening. It was our smallest crowd in our four months, and perhaps on one side that added to my feelings of frustration, but it didn’t last long. April was leading by using the song “Lord of the Dance”. She asked if anyone knew it, and the few children there were shy and didn’t say anything. So, she sang the first line. On cue, one little boy who, to my knowledge, doesn’t attend church, sang out, ‘I am the Lord of the dance said he!’ It caught me attention, and I listened as April continued to the part of Jesus dancing for the fishermen. The little boy raised his hand and said, ‘But Jesus didn’t mean fish, he meant he wanted to them to catch people!’ I looked at my friend who had brought him and she said, ‘Well, religious education in school does have some impact!’ Before the night was over, he had also sung to me a song about Moses crossing the Red Sea.
It was a moment that will change howI hear ‘Lord of the Dance’ from now on. It stuck out as a moment that said something right is happening. Of course Messy Church hadn’t given him that knowledge, but we provided him a place that told him that this is valuable and that it is good that he knows it. It was a small sprout of resurrection that came through in a place where I was only seeing death. It’s something I am clinging to right now.
It’s moments like this and one with Savannah this morning in church. I was praying the Prayers of Intercession, and in them was the phrase, ‘Christ has been risen’ (or something like that). Savannah said, ‘Christ is risen indeed, Allelula!’ It is the hope that somehow, God is breaking through.
Neither of these moments brought back a firm certainty. Last night was a restless sleep in which my dreams of the letter/how I will respond intermingled with Messy Church. Somehow, I think faith and doubt tend can intermingle in the same way. It’s either the faith or the doubt which one chooses to act on. More than having the proof, I am clinging to these moments of resurrection.