I’m Claire. I’m a Rotherham lass, born and bred. Growing up, I never really had anything to do with church apart from the Nativity in school.

As an adult, I’d never have seen myself going into a church at all. It’s only because I came to Rotherham Minster through work that I ended up staying. When I did come here, it felt like home.

I first came to the social supermarket to help people with money management. That’s where I met Ali [Middleton, CMS pioneer graduate] and the rest of the team. And Ali’s been a big help for me through my journey.

I started asking questions about God because I was curious and I knew nothing. So it was general questions: “How do you know God exists? How do you know he’s real?”

As Ali answered, I was like, “This is weird because this is what I’ve felt all my life.”

I came along to a group that meets on Thursdays, where we’ve read a couple of Gospels, but it’s more than sitting and talking about the Bible and Jesus and God. If somebody comes and they’ve got an issue, we can all sit together in a safe space and talk about it and help each other.

A big part of Thursday group is the people. I’ve never been one for socialising, but everybody treated me like Claire, not Claire with the walker. I was treated as a human being. And as well as meeting them, obviously God was here.

The Bible is confusing at the best of times, so it helps that Ali explains things in plain English. To have somebody who can actually sit and talk to you about it and use language that you understand is really important.

Before I knew Jesus, life was okay, I just carried on plodding along. I felt like there was no particular meaning. There was just that one thing missing. And now I’ve found it. My life is different because I feel content in myself. I’ve always got somebody with me and I’m always looked after, listened to and thought about, and I belong.

Before, I was lost; I didn’t have a purpose. I was working for a bank for 13 years and I was just in the system being a robot. And now I can be myself, I can be Claire, and I can help all those people in need where they need it.

I just thought I came here for work, but I didn’t realise where it would lead me. God certainly didn’t reveal a plan, but he’s led me to a place where I’ve helped people in dire need. And that’s what my calling is.

I came for work and I’ve gained a family.

I’m so happy now. For the future, I just want to stay with the church. I want to stay working with people because I think this is where I’m supposed to be.

Jesus never gives up. Neither should we.

Related posts

Get our email newsletter:

SIGN UP

The post “I was treated as a human being” appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

The following is a story from one of our local partners in Asia. As you read, you’ll understand why we’ve refrained from sharing her name and location.

I come from a Buddhist family, as do most people from my village. Growing up, there was maybe one Christian in my school.

When I moved to a big city for university, it turned out that my roommate was a Christian. She read her Bible every morning. I started asking her questions about her faith and she introduced me to a woman who worked for a Christian ministry. Through her, I heard the gospel for the first time. Her own story moved me, it made me want to know God more. I decided to follow Jesus in 2014.

I met many other Christians during my time at university, and took part in some mission trips, which I loved. I also got to share the gospel with people I knew, some of whom took the same step as me and followed Jesus. I felt honoured that God would use me like this.

Family turmoil

I wanted to tell my parents that I had turned to Jesus, yet I was afraid. One day I found the courage to tell my mum. It could not have gone worse. She became violently angry. I was scared. I cried and asked God to please help me.

The next day I tried talking to my mum again. Her response was even worse than before.

I said to God, “If you are real, show my mum.” I ended up having to promise my mother that I would not go to church anymore. But when I went back to university, I broke this promise and kept my church attendance a secret from her.

The next time I tried to talk to my mother about the difference Jesus had made in my life, she was more hurt than angry. She said she felt she had lost me. It broke my heart. I didn’t want to hurt her but I believed my decision to follow Jesus was the right one. I still don’t want to hurt her, which is why I am keeping my story anonymous now. I left the family house feeling sad. A month later she called me and said it was okay for me to go to church but not to get baptised.

With this compromise agreed, I finished university.

A call to serve

One summer my church sent me to a mission conference. I met many like-minded people, searching for their life’s direction. Some wanted to be pastors or children’s workers or to share Jesus in the business world.

I didn’t know how God wanted me to serve. On the third day of the conference, we prayed for refugees and migrant workers around the world. As I prayed that God would meet their needs, I began to cry. I suddenly had a strong feeling, which I believe was a touch from the Holy Spirit, that I wanted to share God’s love and the gospel with this group of people. When I got home, I said to God that if he wants me to work among refugees, to let me know how.

After two weeks, a man came to my church to share how he is working with refugees in our country. God had answered my prayers. I knew this was the kind of work I wanted to do. But how could I tell my parents I wanted to leave my current job and do this kind of work?

“God is good”

God is good; my parents actually supported my decision. I now work in a faith-based centre for refugees. I teach refugee children from many kinds of cultural and faith backgrounds; some are orphans.

The centre has a girls’ shelter and I am part of this work too – listening to the girls, helping them with basic needs. I hope they can see Jesus in me. I share the gospel where I can, through stories or group activities.

Recently one of the girls came up to me. Like me she comes from another faith background. When she first came to the shelter she was frequently upset and didn’t want to listen to anyone. She started going to a local Sunday school with me and I could see her changing bit by bit. And then one day, she came to me and whispered, “Teacher, I have given my life to Jesus.” She has not been shy or secret about her faith – she has even posted about it on social media.

I see my work as God’s ministry and I thank you for being my partners in this.

Take part

Could God be calling you to serve at the edges in Asia? We’d love to hear from you!

Explore opportunities Get in touch

Related posts

Get our email newsletter:

SIGN UP

The post “I had to keep my faith a secret” appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

In northern Argentina, the church recognises that it still remains divided, reflecting the racial and social splits of wider society.

The divides run largely along urban and rural lines, with indigenous Amerindians, including the Wichi and Toba, being the majority in the rural areas of the vast Chaco region, and Criollos, people of European descent, mainly living in the cities.

“It has to be said that much has been done to overcome it,” says Bishop of Northern Argentina and CMS mission partner Nick Drayson, “but a situation of real equality still feels a long way off.”

There have been centuries of suspicion and hostility on both sides, but local partner Marcos Humacata represents a new generation looking to bridge the gap.

Eye-opening reality

Marcos is an Argentine pastor who leads a team planting a church in the city of Salta, on the edge of the Chaco. When Marcos returned to the area, after his training at the Centre for Pastoral Studies in Santiago, Chile, he felt that it was time to focus on the urban church. Given the long history of church in the Chaco, he was under the impression that there wasn’t much more to do there.

But when he met he met his brothers and sisters in Christ in the Chaco on a visit with Stephen McElhinney, director of SAMS Ireland, Marcos’s perspective began to shift. He realised that they are all part of the same church despite the geographical and cultural gaps between them.

Marcos is now committed to building relationships with indigenous Christians and talks to the urban church about his journeys into rural areas to increase awareness. Others at his church in Salta cover his role while he is away, meaning that Marcos can give 20 per cent of his time to language learning and travelling to indigenous areas for training and ministry.

Risking relationship

When Marcos was invited to join in delivering training for leaders in the indigenous church, he was fearful: asking “will people understand?”, particularly as he doesn’t speak the Wichi language. Yet having participated, he notes, “I rely on my identity in Jesus, not my abilities. Through this training I have become more motivated and enriched with a wider vision and faith. I’ve been helped to have a bigger picture – and I can take that back to the church plant in Salta.”

A major challenge for Marcos is language – he is learning Wichi, but can’t yet deliver training in the language. “When I speak and train in Spanish, it shows a lack of respect for the Wichi, though they are respectful to me. I prepare a worksheet in Wichi to use during the training, but I would like to be able to speak it.”

As a Latino, Marcos has questioned what he has to share with the indigenous church. Yet he has been reminded that, just as in the urban church, “we need people able to share life with love. Jesus shared, ate with and was among people, alongside them – he demonstrated love through his life not just his words.” This means investing time in people, coming alongside them, suffering with them as well as sharing the word of God. He adds, “We need to understand people’s way of life. What are the empty spaces in the heart where Jesus needs to be?”

Gospel is the bridge

Despite his fears, Marcos reports: “I received feedback from Wichi brothers, commenting on how important the training and fellowship time were for them, but even more so seeing how the gospel creates a bridge that unites us despite the differences that may exist.”

“There are many challenges that arise, in the travel distances (sometimes more than eight hours) and learning the language, but I see how our Lord uses this connection to strengthen our ties between the indigenous church and our church here in the city. It encourages us to serve and love each other as brothers in Christ.”

More on this story

Get our email newsletter:

SIGN UP

The post Bridging the gap in Northern Argentina appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

Despite growing pressures, hundreds of indigenous women in northern Argentina are stepping up and putting their faith and love into action for their communities.

What began with a handful of women in northern Argentina in 2016 has grown into a movement of more than 1,400 women across the Anglican Province of South America.

AMARE (affiliated with Mothers’ Union) seeks to gather women and help them experience and understand God’s love for them and how important they are, so that they can love and serve others. (Matthew 22:37–39 is foundational.) When women become members, they promise to bless their families, churches and communities, with forgiveness and reconciliation also integral. AMARE stands for Anglican Women’s Group Renewed in the Spirit. The acrostic describes its mission: Animar, to encourage, Motivar, to motivate, Afirmar, to affirm, Renovar en el Espiritu, to be renewed constantly in the Spirit.

The greatest membership is in rural areas of the Diocese of Northern Argentina, among the Indigenous peoples. One Wichi woman, Isabel Vilte (died 2020), was an inspirational leader who blazed the way for women. Having been part of Mothers’ Union under the leadership of early missionaries, contact was re-established around parenting programmes. Women had continued to pray for their families, with many feeling perplexed about guiding their children in a changed world. Women were encouraged to begin AMARE as a local identity to give them a voice and dignity.

Navigating a new world

Indigenous communities face increasing Western influence. Families feel this acutely – parents are ill-equipped to guide their children in interacting with unfamiliar culture and technology. Traditional skills are sidelined and parents feel powerless as they see their way of life eroding.

AMARE parenting facilitators have held training groups to help parents navigate this new world. One parent saw this as, “a great blessing… [it] helped us feel good, it shows us how to live each day as family.” Yet facilitators increasingly faced discouragement, with lack of time or acceptance in their communities, and challenges with materials and language limiting their effectiveness.

In early 2020, 28 AMARE training facilitators (including Wichi and Toba) came together to evaluate the training, consider the challenges facing families and develop strategies to increase outreach. Facilitators adapted the format to connect better – and some held a group soon afterwards that greatly helped parents and carers.

Changed challenges

As 2020 progressed, the COVID-19 pandemic changed the picture for AMARE. Prior to the pandemic, gathering in community was hugely important and members undertook uncomfortable journeys, slept on church floors and accepted uncertainty around food to be together. So, with tight restrictions on movement and gathering, how could they connect?

Part of Mothers’ Union’s rhythm is a daily “wave of prayer”, and in the AMARE WhatsApp group (with members across South America), the pandemic prompted women to begin posting and praying daily at noon. This was intended to sustain the group during the early days of the pandemic, but it continues more than 18 months later.

To reach those they couldn’t visit, mission partner Catherine Le Tissier reported, “[women] are finding creative ways of keeping in touch and caring for those in need. Some of the AMARE women have started a regular radio programme, which allows for a much wider sharing of news, testimonies, teaching and prayer, and reaches all those not able to go out during lockdown.”

Love in action

The heart of AMARE’s vision is to put love into action. Prior to the pandemic, as well as supporting parents, praying and visiting the sick, members ministered to young people caught in addiction, were involved with health education or helped in Sunday schools. The anniversary of AMARE each year sees members offering to pray for the authorities, and visiting local hospitals and schools.

During the pandemic, the enforcement of restrictions in some areas was heavy handed. Both indigenous and Criollo communities feared being taken away to enforced quarantine in unsanitary conditions if it was suggested there was a case of COVID-19. Yet still, the women of AMARE found ways to put love into action. Sent to an isolation centre, Wichi members took time to talk and pray for others at the centre who were scared.

Catherine continues, “Two leaders of AMARE, Gladys and Mirna, continue to attend to all those who call at their door, looking for prayer or support. I am full of admiration for those amazing leaders who continue daily to be there for others, despite their own challenges.”

Joining global voices

In addition to serving their own communities, the women of AMARE have joined with others around the world in the Mothers’ Union “No more 1 in 3” campaign against gender-based violence. In 2020, AMARE women spoke out on social media and took part in web-based events focused on eradicating abuse and violence towards women. In 2021 they reached out into their communities with prayer diaries and more information. Their presence was widely appreciated, as domestic violence and abuse are rife.

AMARE has also grown an online presence with a YouTube channel that is home to resources including workshops, Bible studies, Wichi hymns and prayers. Many members have mobile phones to access online material. In one rural Toba community, AMARE women gather around a laptop to listen to recorded workshops.

Catherine comments, “One great blessing of the pandemic has been the way the women have responded to keeping in contact, especially through prayer, across different countries and churches.” The wave continues from woman to woman across cultures and continent, as remarkable, resilient indigenous and urban women continue live out their name: “AMARE! I will love!”

Related stories

Get our email newsletter:

SIGN UP

The post An unstoppable wave of women appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

Church Mission Society’s new director of international mission, Andy Roberts, reflects on relocating from Brazil (where he and his wife founded ReVive, a charity working with vulnerable children) to Britain, making disciples and unlearning colonialism. He shares his hopes for the future for CMS with Naomi Rose Steinberg.

What will be the hardest part about moving to the UK?

The biggest challenge will be for our family: Rose, my wife, is Brazilian. For her and our kids it will be their first extended time away from our Brazilian family. I’ve lived in Brazil for almost half my life. Maybe I’m too Brazilian now for British tastes?

Why not stay in Brazil?

With ReVive, we’ve been lucky to pioneer something that God placed in our hearts. It might be comfortable to stay. But it’s time to pass things to local leadership, which I’m passionate about. And to take on this fantastic role. Even though CMS is 200+ years old, it feels as if something new is happening: with our founding principles in mind, we’re entering a new stage of pioneering.

Speaking of local leadership, in your experience, is there a good model/formula for partnership between Westerners and non-Westerners in mission?

We didn’t follow a model, though we’ve seen firsthand what not to do: how ministries can be starved of life by a foreign missionary holding onto control when there are local leaders waiting and willing to take things on.

So I wouldn’t say there’s a blueprint, but the foreign missionary has to be willing to share leadership and responsibility. Mission is an interchange.

Are you concerned that you’ve imported a Western model into Brazil?

When I first came to Brazil at age 18 I had a white saviour mentality. I remember thinking basically, “These Brazilians are so blessed because I’m coming.” But I didn’t speak the language, I didn’t know the culture.

I soon realised I had much to learn, from the street kids and from the local church. Though in material poverty, they were spiritually richer than I was. Coming back to the UK after six months, I was broken.

For my next outing to Brazil, I was ready to learn. And I’d met Rose and she helped me. She’d say, “That doesn’t work here, that’s not how you speak to people, that’s not how you run meetings.”

I learned organically. And our ministry developed in a less colonial way I hope. But of course, it’s a challenge to evaluate this impartially.

You were young on that first trip, but you aren’t exactly old now. Will this be an advantage or disadvantage in this new job?

I am very aware of my youth and my whiteness. I think we’re moving away from assuming leaders should be older, white, British, male. I am British, but I hope to come with a Latino heart and youthful enthusiasm, including enthusiasm for combatting colonial tendencies that still exist despite great efforts to move past them.

For example, there’s increasing focus on working with local partners; we need to ensure this isn’t just rhetoric, that we are truly listening to our global family. I’m hoping my experience of learning to be guest, not host, will translate on a larger scale.

Not to be too provocative, but if, after decades of trying to be less colonial, it’s still a struggle, should we stop sending Westerners?

I think God calls people overseas and as disciples of Jesus we should be involved in global and local mission. But I recently read about a UK pastor who spent three weeks in India teaching people how to preach. I thought, “What does he know about preaching in an Indian context?” So, we must ask, what is the nature of our involvement? Are we coming from a place where we truly believe God is already at work in another context?

You used the word “disciple”. How much do you think of your role as disciple-making and how can you tell if someone is a disciple?

I think everything we do in mission is ultimately about making and building disciples. A disciple loves and follows Jesus and is making more disciples.

And I’d go a step further – a disciple is someone who’s involved in God’s mission. You cannot be a follower of Jesus without understanding that you’re called to mission.

When you look at the global picture, what are some key trends affecting mission?

Most foreign missionaries are being sent to nations with a strong Christian presence. Fewer people are going to where it’s harder to be a Christian. CMS is sensing a call to partner with people in spaces with minimal Christian presence.

Also, as technology becomes ever more universal, I’m inspired by digital opportunities. I also feel the continuing pull to unlearn colonialism.

The Bible doesn’t say God so loved the world that he sent money or signed a contract – he sent himself. So going back to your question, should we still send people – Jesus sent himself. So we need to do likewise. But the Bible says Jesus emptied himself – we must walk in humility as we go.

Pray

Pray for Andy in his new role and for him, Rose and the children as they settle into their new home.

Related stories

Get our email newsletter:

SIGN UP

The post Back for the future appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

One mission partner reflects on his journey into mission, and how God has used Church Mission Society walking alongside him in remote and challenging contexts.

By M in Africa

Crying out for guidance

As a teenager I was disillusioned with a school that pushed me towards academic success and money-oriented careers. I moved to an agricultural college as I loved the outdoors, but this didn’t satisfy me either.

I was crying out for guidance and had a profound experience of knowing God’s presence with me for myself. As I began seeking my way in life, someone lent me a book called Bruchko, about a teenager who followed God’s call to work with tribal people in the jungle. He went alone, got attacked and shot with an arrow by the very tribe he was looking for, and then eventually was adopted as one of them. Once he had learned their language, he was able to reinterpret their mythology in the light of Jesus, and many followed the Good News. I’d never heard the term “mission”, but I remember a strong sense of God telling me, “Go and live like this.” I was ready to get on a plane the very next day!

Jesus loves all people

I began doing short-term trips with my church to run summer camps in the former Soviet Union. Then I began to travel to remote lands such as Siberia, Mongolia, even Timbuktu! I wanted to find out how the gospel is applicable to nomadic and remote peoples, and to learn from those who were trying to reach them. Traditional models of church buildings and weekly services simply don’t work when the people are nomadic, but I knew that Jesus loves all people.

Africa didn’t particularly interest me because of the heat and mosquitoes, but at the invitation of an African friend (who grew up as a nomad in the Sahara) I went to visit. I ended up working in West Africa among a nomadic desert tribe for over 12 years. I loved sitting around the campfire as the stars came out, telling stories from the Bible in their language. My heart is still there, but terrorism and kidnapping threats make it impossible to visit my friends in those nomad camps.

Walking a fine line

Now my wife and I work with a tribe of mountain people in another part of Africa. It’s a very restricted country so we have to be creative in how we live. We have a company taking tourists into the mountains.

This gives us the freedom to be in villages, to share God’s love with locals and especially to pray for them. No one from this region has ever refused us praying peace and blessing for them in Jesus’ name.

We are always walking a fine line between being ambassadors of the coming Kingdom and living in a country where open Christian witness is not allowed.

We want to communicate God’s presence and love while avoiding misunderstanding. We strive to be peacemakers, bringing the gift of peace and forgiveness Jesus offers.

It’s hard sometimes to see much fruit, as society is such a strong influence. People don’t have the freedom to think beyond what family and community require them to be. We have found that prayer opens the door and enables people to discover God working in their own lives, beyond our words or stumbling apologetics!

Sustained for a lifetime

As we enter mid-life, with kids in tow, we face very different challenges. CMS has the experience and capacity to help sustain us on the field for a lifetime of ministry. Through their rigorous selection process and training, we have felt reaffirmed in the call of God on our lives. For me, it’s 20 years since I first began to follow God’s call, so it’s been great to be examined and affirmed in this way.

CMS brings expertise in financial planning and thinking through long-term issues, something I was never very good at on my own. They have been good at raising our profile and at annually reviewing our work so that we can be equipped and thriving.

We appreciate the breadth of experience CMS brings. They have been a huge help in the practicalities of family life on the field. We know they have robust systems of debriefing and counselling, should we need them.

When we left West Africa (before joining CMS), I really struggled during that time of loss and difficulty and went through a “dark night of the soul”.

No longer isolated

I know that CMS has “got my back” to help us survive and thrive. They are very professional and quick to help out with our needs.

Recently I was talking with my field leader about the challenges of balancing family life, working from home and ministry. He quickly found someone with similar experience, who was willing to talk with me and counsel me through these issues. I don’t have to feel as isolated as I used to.

CMS has also put us in touch with more churches and networks of praying people, which makes us feel upheld during the difficulties we go through.

God is at work in remote parts of the earth and it’s a privilege to be a part of what he is doing. I am grateful to CMS for the partnership that enables me and my family to be sustained and effective here!

Called to serve?

If you sense God calling you to “go” in his mission, get in touch with our recruitment team on vro@churchmissionsociety.org

Related stories

Get our email newsletter:

SIGN UP

The post Walking together in mission appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

The Partnership for Missional Church journey is about setting churches free to join in God’s mission. Nigel Rooms, leader of PMC in the UK, shares a bit about one of the key spiritual practices in this process.

By Nigel Rooms, leader of Partnership for Missional Church in the UK

A minister who was new in his post began regularly attending the church’s men’s breakfast on Saturday mornings. Each week, he asked the same question: “What’s God been up to this past week?”

Generally the men told stories of their comings and goings or how they had participated in a church activity. One man kept quiet every week until one Saturday morning he burst out: “I knew that you’d ask this question for the umpteenth time! It’s made me really mad until this week when I began to really think about it…” And he proceeded to tell a story that began with God, not himself or the church.

“Practical atheism” vs “spiritual discernment”

Research in churches in many places around the globe has found that when people are asked about their beliefs, they will affirm the creeds and their faith in God’s care. However, when asked to describe God’s activity – what God’s up to, how God’s working – the responses tend to be about human or churchy activity. People, not God, become the subject of the sentence: “We’ve been running a children’s club”; “There’s a new cafe ministry happening.”

This is what we call “practical atheism”.

On the other hand, when churches journey through the PMC process, they stop talking about the church so much and start talking about God. This is the result of asking repeatedly and intentionally: “What is God up to here?” This question is the essence of what we call “spiritual discernment” – one of the six “holy habits” of the PMC journey.

We are inviting churches to develop a way of life that is attentive to the movement of the Spirit among them and in the world around them (as we see in the case of one Nottingham church). God is present and active, working for good at all times and in all circumstances – even on a cross. Our task is to “discover what God is up to and join in”.

Spiritual discernment: paying attention

To discover what God is up to, we must pay attention to three things.

1. The first is the Scriptures and our theological traditions. What do we know of God from the testimony of the Bible and the saints who have preceded us? We need to understand God as revealed in Jesus Christ and learn from those who have recognised the movement of the Spirit through the ages. This in turn can fuel our imaginations.
2. Second, we need to pay attention to our own experience. What are the emerging passions and concerns among the church? What gives us joy and makes us feel most alive? Who is coming to be part of our congregation and flourishing through our ministry? These questions go beyond evaluating our perceived effectiveness. They focus our attention on what is stirring in the hearts of our fellowship.
3. Third, we need to pay attention to what is happening among the people around us in our wider community and society. Who are our neighbours? What are the passions, interests and concerns that clamour for attention among them? What shapes their lives and how are these things changing? We can gain insights in this area from the media and social commentary and from observation and conversation.

Detectives of divinity

Having these three perspectives in mind, we ask the question, “What is God up to?” How does the God revealed in Scripture respond to the cries of people around us? Are we in tune with this and responding likewise? Or have we become so preoccupied with ourselves that we are oblivious to the needs around us? Perhaps we can find God at work among those who would never darken the doors of our church?

Again, the question is not, what is the church doing? Our aim is to discern what God is up to. Our response is to name this and to try to align ourselves with the Spirit.

Churches that have taken this practice seriously have created congregations full of detectives of divinity. We have noticed an enormous increase in encouragement, energy and enthusiasm when people create and articulate sentences with God as the subject of an active verb, for example: “God is bringing…”, “God is helping…”, “God is moving…”. They now sense that God is alive and active among them.

If you would like to find out more about spiritual discernment, one of the six “holy habits” in the Partnership for Missional Church process, contact Nigel Rooms, leader of PMC in the UK: nigel.rooms [at] churchmissionsociety.org

If you would like to read more about the six holy habits, purchase Forming the Missional Church: creating deep cultural change in congregations (P139) at grovebooks.co.uk

Related posts

The post How to… notice what God is up to appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

At the Church Mission Society Conversations Day in November 2016, I gave a talk entitled Disabled Dreams: coping with change. This talk was the result of reflecting on my experience of dreaming with God, being disabled time and again, coping with this change and dreaming once more. As I shared my experiences and presented my model for coping with change, it became clear to me that the disablements themselves are all part of God’s calling on my life.

By Emma Major, lay pioneer minister at St Nicolas Earley

I’m a pioneer minister and feel most comfortable in the places less commonly inhabited by most ministers: walking alongside people as they dream of how their lives might be and introducing them to God as we journey. Over the last five years this has included crying with families whose babies have died, supporting women coping with post-natal depression, providing space for young mothers and their toddlers, creating new forms of church including Messy, cafe and forest churches and forming a missional community. Right now, I am developing an online prayer and discipling network for disabled people who, like me, have found themselves struggling to access society and church.

Each of these communities started as a dream, an idea planted by God in the situation where I found myself. They have evolved through experience and drawn on the gifts and skills God knew I had in my toolkit. But at the beginning they were all just an image in my mind at a time of disablement.

Dream

In the words of Martin Luther King Jr, “I have a dream.” I have many dreams, aims, ideas and plans; God is good at using my creativity and showing me what he would like me to do for him. Unfortunately, life has a habit of getting in the way of these dreams; life literally keeps disabling me. This disablement is frustrating, upsetting and often depressing. I don’t like change; it brings out my inner toddler and often results in a tantrum.

There have been a number of major change points in my life. I’m going through one right now as Multiple Sclerosis progresses through my body and causes mobility problems, pain and sight loss. It is this current disablement which has caused me to reflect on my dreams, what it means to be disabled, how we can cope with change as individuals, pioneers and communities and what light may shine through brokenness. Before this I endured a series of miscarriages which resulted in the dream of a support group for women in similar circumstances, the development of liturgy for a service of remembrance and the writing of books. Ten years before, intense depression left me on my knees and completely open to God; that was when I heard his call on my life. Through each disabled dream came a light of hope and a new dream. But first, we have to grieve…

Grieve

Jean Vanier, founder of the 130 L’Arche communities around the world, has written about disability and theology. In Community and Growth he says, “Growth begins when we start to accept our own weakness.” Jesus healed people: the blind man, the woman who touched his cloak, the dead, children and even tax collectors. Jesus knew that this was necessary to bring them into community with others and with God.

Most of us are not healed dramatically, but love, acceptance and companionship through grief can heal more than we appreciate in our fast-paced, success-driven society. We need time and care to mourn the changes in our lives and/or ministry, to acknowledge the pain, disappointment, loss or anger and come to a place of acceptance before we move on. But to do this we need to lean…

Lean

In Drawn into the Mystery of Jesus through the Gospel of John, Jean Vanier says, “The message of this gospel is simple. It is about being chosen to become a friend of Jesus. It is about mutual presence and learning from each other. To live as Jesus lived and to love as he loved.” This love rejoices in each and every one of us for who we are; a love which wants us to love ourselves and others despite our brokenness. We need to learn to lean, to reduce the value we place on standing strong and firm and instead embrace mutual dependence and the benefit of leaning on each other in times of trouble. And, of course, we can lean on God through prayer and Bible study, with communities and with spiritual directors or guides. Through this leaning we can move beyond our disappointment and pain and start to listen…

Listen

In Japan, broken objects are often repaired with gold – the art is called Kintsugi. The flaw is seen as a unique piece of the object’s history and adds to its beauty. Jean Vanier wrote, “Sharing weakness and difficulties is more nourishing for others than sharing our successes.”

This is what God wants of us within communities. It is what pioneers are called to create, what I feel called to in my disabling – to allow the light to break through the brokenness of life to heal others. But more importantly I am learning to listen to the experiences of others as they have journeyed through their disabled dreams and to learn from them. Through community, as well as individually, we can hear God’s still small voice as he shows us a new dream for our lives. And so we dream again.

Dreaming through change

I have always seen the disabling times in my life as problems to be solved, as hurdles to be overcome, but experience, reflection and prayer are teaching me that problems and hurdles are everywhere.

It is in these times of weakness that I find God with me and see his call on my life. It is in these times that God shines light into the brokenness and seals gaps with his gold. God wants us to focus on the opportunities to serve him. Life is not about merely coping with change but about leaning, trusting and embracing God’s call to be disciples in communities together.

Related posts

The post How to… cope with disabled dreams appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

Prayer and mission: entering into the ways of God

by Adrian Chatfield

The essential foundation of missionary spirituality is prayer and contemplation since Christian mission does not depend on human resources… Redemptoris Missio strongly emphasises the point: “The future of mission depends above all on contemplation. If a missionary is not a contemplative he cannot proclaim Christ in a credible manner.” [2]

Christian spirituality is a gift and a task. It requires communion with God (contemplation) as well as action in the world (praxis). When these two elements are separated, both the life and the mission of the church are deeply affected. Contemplation without action is an escape from concrete reality; action without contemplation is activism lacking a transcendent meaning. True spirituality requires a missionary contemplation and a contemplative mission. [3]

These two assertions, one Catholic, the other Protestant, serve as a useful starting point for an assessment of the relationship between prayer and the missio Dei. They share the insight that prayer in all its forms – including wordless ones – is the expression of a living relationship between God and God’s people: God with me, God with us. That relationship necessarily results in mission because God is a missionary God, but prayer is not primarily the instrument of mission. We pray because of who we are, not because of what prayer might accomplish. Indeed, as Jean Daniélou implies, “prayer [is] the mission of the church.” [4] That is what we are called into: our “primary purpose is to glorify God, and to enjoy him forever.” [5]

Why pray

We pray, first of all, in acknowledgement of the sovereignty of God and our own creatureliness and dependence. “He who comes into the presence of God to pray must divest himself of all vainglorious thoughts, lay aside all idea of worth; in short, discard all self-confidence, humbly giving God the whole glory, lest by arrogating anything, however little, to himself, vain pride cause him to turn away his face.” [6] Calvin’s emphasis here is a salutary reminder that prayer does not in the first instance turn us outward, as crusaders called to demolish strongholds with the tools of prayer. It turns us inward, in the primary act of obedience, to a relationship restored by God in Christ. This is the true worship (weorðsciper) demanded of the disciple: ‘follow me’ means first of all, ‘return to me’. Prayer is a converting action.
Ian Randall has rightly drawn attention to the tension between divine initiative and human activity implicit in the conversionist language of much evangelical spirituality. [7] However, from the perspective of prayer, the ‘new birth’ demands both a recognition of the gracious, uninvited action of God and our reception of that grace, through faith. We pray because we have been ‘converted’ to Christ, and we pray that we may be daily and fully converted.

We pray, secondly, in order to remember these fundamental truths. Prayer is the central act of memory, and the rehearsal of the good news of Jesus Christ in the liturgies of the church builds on that premise. The quasi-sacramental nature of Deuteronomy 6:8-9 reinforces this outward expression of the inner truth: “Bind them as a sign on your hand, fix them as an emblem on your forehead, and write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.” The prayer of remembrance is indeed both word and action. Conversely, the wicked in Psalm 34 will be eliminated from God’s memory [8] because they are no longer in active relationship with him.

If prayer is response to God’s grace and remembrance of a restored relationship, it also reshapes us. We are reformed by the truths which we have apprehended – through acts of confession and of thanksgiving.

It has become fashionable in recent times to criticise the language of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer for overplaying our failures and our shortcomings: ‘the remembrance of them is grievous unto us, the burden of them is intolerable.’ Matthew Fox’s Original Blessing [9] is an extreme version of this liberalising tendency, with its sideways swipe at ‘original sin’, and reminds us how easy it is for the church to collude with postmodernity’s dislike of any admission of fault or failure. The classical Christian tradition of confessing one’s sins, whether in Catholic sacrament or Protestant solitude, reminds us that there is no reshaping without repenting. The struggle to be holy – sanctification – is predicated upon the honesty of our prayer, and those who would be transformers must themselves first be transformed.

Similarly but less contentiously, those who remember what God has done for them in Christ respond to grace with gratitude, which results in generosity. Paul’s impassioned plea for the collection for the saints in Jerusalem in 2 Cor. 8 is the classic example of this. Thankful prayer bears fruit in changed lives.

The ecclesial character of prayer

Whether we pray as individuals or congregationally, we pray ecclesially. Karl Barth says that “[o]ne cannot ask whether it is the Christians who pray, or the church. There is no alternative, for when the Christians pray, it is the church; and when the church prays, it is the Christians.” [10] Jean Daniélou comments

That we do not say “My Father” is of fundamental importance. There is nothing individualistic about the Our Father: it is a prayer in which we embrace all other people, a prayer that is at the same time an expression of love. We go to the Father only with our sisters and brothers. [11]

Behind the claim that prayer is primarily ecclesial lies a set of theological premises. The Holy Trinity is a unity of persons with a single will, in perfect harmony and in constant communication. Because of this, the creation of humankind in God’s image and likeness bears a deep Trinitarian imprint: the same harmony, will and communicating relatedness in creaturely form. The fact that we have fallen from the divine intention does not invalidate this truth; what makes us human is our interdependence and mutuality. All sin makes us less than human; our redemption in Christ restores our essential relationship with the Father and our potential relationships with other human beings. This is why the metaphor of reconciliation in 2 Cor. 5 is fundamental for understanding not just what we might become in Christ but also what it means to be human at all.

That is why God calls people together: not simply because we are stronger or better or more loving or more useful, but because the gathered people express a fundamental truth about the created order and its restoration through God’s redemptive action. The people of God in the Old Testament – Israel – and the new and enlarged Israel of the New Testament are called together as a sign of the imago Dei, expressed interiorly as worship to God and exteriorly in the missio Dei.

The ecclesial character of prayer has over the centuries been worked out in both monastic and mystical theologies. Both these streams have much to teach the contemporary church about its vocation to enter into the ways of God, and it is to elements of these two streams that we now turn.

Ancient disciplines and monastic traditions

This is not the place to sketch a history of the monastic movement, but it is worth reminding ourselves that its growth coincided with the acceptance and adoption of Christianity as the imperial faith: Christendom. White martyrdom [12] replaced red martyrdom, as the faithful saw a rise in conventional faith and reacted adversely to it.

That said, I will now highlight key themes in Christian monasticism as they help to elucidate the missional character of the prayer of the church.

The eremitic tradition, the radical withdrawal from society which we associate with Anthony of Egypt, bears witness to the fact that there is an inherent conflict between a life lived towards the world, and a life lived towards God. Whether we understand Anthony’s demons as internal or external, spiritual or psychological, we recognise that there is a stark choice to be made between worship of the true God, and the many idolatries offered by the world. Today we pose the choice in terms of counter-cultural faithfulness to the gospel. The eremitic tradition reminds us that we withdraw to pray because it is only in that withdrawal that we bear witness to absolute and uncompromising surrender to a God who brooks no rivals. This surrender the Radical Reformers of the 16th century called Gelassenheit. [13]

The Desert Mother Amma Sarah said it more simply: “For 13 years she waged warfare against the demon of fornication. She never prayed that the warfare should cease, but she said, “O God, give me strength.” Although Sarah may have been a deeply passionate woman, keenly aware of her sexuality, fornication principally meant anything that possessed her heart and separated her from God. A part of our being belongs only to God and can only be satisfied by God. Replacing God with anyone or anything is idolatry.” [14] To pray is to turn away from idols to the pursuit of the living God.

Paralleling the rise of eremitic Christianity was the coenobitic [15] tradition, often linked with Anthony’s near contemporary Pachomius. If the former privileged the single-minded pursuit of God to the exclusion of all rivals, the latter gave the early church an architecture for the praying community. The Rule of St Benedict [16] sketched this out as demanding stability, obedience and conversio or conversatio morum. To this we can add the disciplines of the daily office, [17] of accountability and of hospitality.

There have been times in the history of monasticism when the religious community has been over-identified with the Kingdom of God, but this theological excess need not detract from the essential emphasis on a people gathered together and organised for the express purpose of faithful corporate prayer that the will of God may be fulfilled on earth as in heaven. The office frames the whole; the community is formed by its common prayer, and it is unsurprising that Benedict dedicates many chapters to what can seem trivial detail. To him, a community fit for purpose is a community that prays. Out of prayer arise hospitality, service and mission. The Prologue describes this praying community as a dominici schola servitii, [18] a ‘school of the Lord’s service’. At its heart, it is a disciplined school of prayer, a school of disciples.

When Dietrich Bonhoeffer established a semi-monastic discipline at Finkenwalde to secure the Confessing Church against the predations of National Socialism, he drew on the revived monastic traditions of the Church of England, at Kelham, [19] at Mirfield [20] and in Oxford. [21] The strong implicit Benedictine spirituality that he found emerges in the early pages of Life Together:

According to God’s will Christendom is a scattered people, scattered like seed ‘into all the kingdoms of the earth’ (Deut. 28:25). That is its curse and its promise. God’s people must dwell in far countries among the unbelievers, but it will be the seed of the Kingdom of God in all the world. [22]

Here, as in the declining years of the Western Roman Empire, we have a people with no city to sojourn in, exiled, a spiritual diaspora, for whom their scattering is both terror and vocation, terror because of the loss of any homeland, vocation because in that diaspora they are called together to witness to a new kind of community that may transform the world. This is a community which looks away from the world to structure, regulate and authenticate itself, prays to the Father in order to orient itself, prays in the name of Jesus to identify itself, prays in the power of the Spirit to dispel the powers of darkness, and then is reseeded back into the world to witness to a better way.

Much of what Bonhoeffer writes in Life Together is scandalous to our ears. In explaining that Christian community is a spiritual, not a human reality, he observes that “within the spiritual community there is never, nor in any way, any ‘immediate’ relationship of one to another… Because Christ stands between me and others, I dare not desire direct fellowship with them.” [23] But it is precisely in the scandal of his writing that the monastic spirit is identified. The only valid community, the only community that bears within itself redemptive and Kingdom possibilities, is the community which is a gift of God. And it keeps that character only as long as and insofar as it is true to the Christic character of that community: τὸ ζῆν Χριστὸς, to live is Christ. [24]

In the current fascination with hospitality as one of the key opportunities for the church’s mission, Bonhoeffer’s point needs to be attended to carefully. We are not in the business of presenting the church as a good place to make friends, reach the lonely, home-make or model good social skills. Rather, we are called to form authentic community, clearly and unapologetically built into Christ, on prayer, and yet utterly open and vulnerable, welcoming and spacious for all who will come. Let this alone be the good news.

The emergence of ‘new monastic movements’ since the Second World War is testimony to the missional potential of this radical, disciplined and uncompromising attempt to follow Jesus together in the face of threatening cultural challenges and an often compromised institutional church. These movements have recognised the power of the monastic stream, both eremitic and coenobitic, to locate the primary action of the church in its relational axis with God the Holy Trinity, and the consequent impact of this in forming resilient, resourceful disciples under orders, ready for battle. In this, they echo the spirituality of the Carolingian church, which at a synod at Metz in 888 observed that ‘we should seek Christ’s piety, by which the pagans will be kept out.’ [25]

What the newer movements have done, very much in the spirit of the 16th century Society of Jesus, is to recognise that what they have, the world needs. The looking in demands more clearly than before a consequent looking out. The inward action of prayer and contemplation enables the outward action of mission, the ‘battle’. The message that new monastic movements are wanting to send out is that when we are who we ought to be towards God, we are enabled to be who we ought to be towards the world, a people of God acting as a sign or sacrament of the coming Kingdom.

One of the key texts of this new stream of thinking about monastic spirituality is Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove’s New Monasticism. [26] In his chapter on ‘God’s plan to save the world through a people’ he says that though personal conversion and faith are significant, the church is key: “If the Bible is a story about God’s plan to save the world through a people, then my salvation and sanctification depend on finding my true home with God’s people. Apart from the story of this people, I can’t have a relationship with God.” [27] His 12 marks of new monasticism [28] strongly emphasise the foci of the third and fourth marks of mission, [29] which have been somewhat lacking in evangelical Christianity since the middle of the 19th century. It is most important, however, to note that his attempt to recover this missional focus lies in ‘nurturing common life among members of intentional community.’ [30]

Graham Cray regards new monasticism as key to the missional process which is at the heart of fresh expressions of church. In New Monasticism as Fresh Expression of Church, he offers a missional trajectory based on communities of prayer:

• community demands commitment
• commitment forms disciples
• disciples stand firm against contemporary cultural temptation, together
• such disciples stand a chance of ‘sustaining the long haul in planting church’

And so “[n]ew monasticism offers the possibility of important frameworks of support for those deployed on such mission.” [31] To juxtapose this with the monastic “pray much, and that God would count you worthy, for the Will of God is known only to him to whom God will reveal Himself” [32] is to demonstrate the congruity of monastic discipline with missionary commitment so desired in the contemporary church.

Ancient disciplines and the mystical quest

The use of the terms ‘mysticism’ and ‘mystic’ tend to put off evangelicals, worried by any suggestion that there is available to us an access to God independent of or superior to the Holy Scriptures. James Wiseman helpfully draws a distinction between the contemporary use of the term, in which ‘a special state of consciousness surpassing ordinary experience through union with the transcendent reality of God’ [33] is intended, and a historic, more orthodox approach, in which mysticism is about presence and immediacy: “the mystical element in Christianity is that part of its belief and practices that concerns the preparation for, the consciousness of, and the reaction to what can be described as the immediate or direct presence of God.” [34]
Here, two examples will have to suffice: the Eastern tradition of the Jesus Prayer, and the allegorical use of the Song of Songs.

Jesus Prayer

This prayer, whose deep origin lies in the cry of blind Bartimaeus [35] and in the semi-formulaic ‘in the name of Jesus’ of the Acts of the Apostles, is described by the Pilgrim as ‘the abbreviated form of the Gospel.’ [36] It aims to develop the remembrance of Jesus, to make the invocation of Jesus spontaneous and ‘self-acting’ so that we call out to him even in sleep, keep guard over the intellect or heart and reach out beyond language into the living silence of God. It is a unitive prayer which is “a way of unifying the inward attention, stripping the mind of images, and so attaining hesychia.” [37] To the mind unfamiliar with the seemingly esoteric, detached and apparently mechanical repetitiveness of this prayer, it is easy to discount it as an individualistic journey away from the things of earth.

The truth is entirely other. The Pilgrim’s search for the way of unceasing prayer leads him not away from the world, but into it. Praying the Jesus prayer opens the door to life-changing encounters with others, new ways of looking at the world, a heart broken in intercession, and the exercise of spiritual power. This last we will return to later in touching on the rise of Pentecostalism. À propos of life-changing encounters, we need only observe that the pilgrim is both recipient and giver, of grace, of goods, of spiritual insight. His journey is one of profound interdependence, in which his search for ‘true prayer’ gives him back God, other people and himself.

Similarly, this prayer helps him to see the world as far more alive, both to itself and to others, more, not less real: “When I began to pray with the heart, everything around me became transformed and I saw it in a new and delightful way. The trees, the grass, the earth, the air, the light, and everything seemed to be saying to me that it exists to witness to God’s love for man and that it prays and sings of God’s glory.” [38]

The intercessory character of the Jesus Prayer, which must surely lie at the heart of any missional prayer, is best illustrated by Simon Barrington-Ward’s response to his early encounter with the Franciscan Brother Ramón: “I had already had the feeling when I was praying with him of a further pull, flowing underneath all our talk and laughter, of a profound, far-reaching compassion for all those for whom he would intercede… Within that intercession was an immense, almost lonely hunger and thirst, on behalf both of himself and of our world, a longing in the depths of his being for the living God. This was the driving force behind his quest for solitude.” [39] It is remarkable though unsurprising that the quest for solitude is the journey that took Ramón – and takes many mystics – right into the heart of the world.

Song of Songs: Lover and Beloved

In 1547, the reformer Sébastien Castellión was driven out of Geneva by Calvin for claiming that the Song of Songs was a “lascivious and obscene poem… As it dealt merely with earthly affections, he deemed it unworthy of a place in the sacred canon and demanded its exclusion.” [40] For most Christians in the Middle Ages and beyond, and for many still today, the book’s presence in the canon of scripture invites a multi-layered interpretation which at its heart contains an invitation to intimacy with God. Bernard of Clairvaux first wrestled with the text in convalescence, and from 1135 till 1153 preached on it in a now famous series of sermons.

The second sermon, ‘On the kiss’, reflects on ‘the ardour with which the patriarchs long for the incarnation of Christ’ and the privilege which is ours of letting Christ speak to us, by way of a ‘kiss’, an encounter. In the third sermon, the kiss is divided into three: the kiss to the feet, in repentance; the kiss of the hand, in receiving Christ’s grace for growth in holiness; and the kiss on the mouth, in intimacy. “And now what remains, O good Lord, except that now in full light, while I am in fervour of spirit, you should admit me to the kiss of your mouth, and grant me the full joy of your presence.” [41]

400 years later, John of the Cross wrote a series of poems, several of which pick up on the same theme. and relate it to the dark night of the soul in which nothing is known but God:

En mi pecho florido,
Que entero para él sólo se guardaba,
Allí quedó dormido,
Y yo le regalaba,
Y el ventalle de cedros aire daba.

I gave him there
My thought, my care,
So did my spirit flower.
Love lay at rest
Upon my breast
That cedar-scented hour. [42]

Both Bernard and John are mystical activists whose desire for intimacy can be dismissed as erotic displacement, or more seriously as a theological dualism in which mission is regarded as secondary or inferior, because it deals with the evanescent things of this world, while ‘in your presence there is fullness of joy’ (Psalm 16:11). The truth is that both were busy men engaged in reaching out to the communities around them with deep vocational commitment. The end of Bernard’s Third Sermon has him interrupting his reflections in mid-flow, saying “These guests whose arrival has just been announced to us oblige me to break off my sermon rather than bring it to an end.” [43] This is no navel-gazing, but an intimacy with Jesus which drives us out to ‘kiss’ others with the kiss with which we ourselves have been kissed. To change the metaphor, in order to love with Kingdom love, we must daily know ourselves loved.

For John’s part, apart from his exhausting and often harrowing ministry in a conflictual era, it is worth remembering that the first 31 stanzas of his Spiritual Canticle were composed while he was in prison, in filthy and severely deprived conditions, yet another testimony to the deeply engaged and world-affirming resilience which intimacy with Jesus has brought to many saints of the gospel.

New languages and a new Pentecost

Having addressed monastic and mystical traditions as sources of missional prayer, I turn to the Pentecostal movement of the past century for my third and final example of the interface between prayer and mission.

Ronald Knox’s idiosyncratic study of religious movements: Enthusiasm [44] has fascinated me for many years, not least because of its dismissive perspective on ecstatic forms of religious experience as ‘ultrasupernaturalism’ in which “the first fervours evaporate; prophecy dies out, and the charismatic is merged in the institutional. ‘The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard’ – it is a fugal melody that runs through the centuries.” In his chapter on ‘Some Vagaries of Modern Revivalism’, he mocks glossolalia interminably: “When men and women got so carried away as to be frankly unintelligible, you could see… that they must be actuated by some Force wholly out of the common.” [45]

It is neither my task here to show (though I could) that Ronnie Knox’s argument is driven more by intellectual prejudice and snobbery than by academic rigour, nor to argue the opposite on the basis of the extraordinary way in which Pentecostal and neo-Pentecostal movements have embedded themselves in the mainstream of Christianity in little less than a century and a half. My aim is rather to suggest in this final section that the rise of Pentecostalism, from a missiological perspective, gives the church back its gospel voice, and that this voice is given back primarily through prayer.

Velli-Matti Kärkkäinen says that “the key to discerning and defining Pentecostal identity lies in Christ-centered charismatic spirituality with a passionate desire to ‘meet with Jesus Christ as be is being perceived as the Bearer of the ‘Full Gospel’. [46] Stephen Land summarises this spirituality as ‘worship and witness in the light of the End’. [47] As Pentecostals give voice to their spirituality primarily through testimony, I will use an early Anglican Pentecostal narrative to further elucidate the point that in Pentecostalism, as in our examples from the ancient church, it is in “returning and rest [that] you shall be saved” and “in quietness and trust shall be your strength”. [48] The missionary imperative is rekindled in the Holy of Holies.

Alexander Boddy, vicar of All Saints’ Monkwearmouth in the Diocese of Durham, went to Oslo in 1907 and found his ministry transformed by the new Pentecost to which he was introduced by TB Barratt, ‘Apostle to Norway’. In a pamphlet published the same year, he describes the impact on his own congregation and wider church context. [49]

He begins by describing a vision of Jesus blessing the world, a particular act of God in mission: “An earnest ‘Seeker’ whilst kneeling before the Lord in one of our meetings suddenly saw Him with outstretched hands – as if blessing the world. The great world in darkness was below Him, and from His fingertips slowly fell drops of living flame… So she saw many little fires kindled in this country of ours.” [50]

He goes on to explain that “Pentecost’ is a ‘life of union with the Lord Jesus”. This union is experienced in prayer, which is key to new life in the church: “We were tarrying until we should be endued with power from on high. We were praying for revival, and we did not know how God was going to answer our prayer, but we were sure He would answer, and the answer has come. And the answer is from Him. [51] In the prayer meetings of the Pentecost-touched church, power is given. When that power is given, then we can validly pray, with Boddy, “Open today doors of service and of confession, and give me boldness to enter in, in the power Thou hast given me.” [52]

The tract is pietistic, simplistic, and not much suited to contemporary tastes. In one or two places, it smacks of the prosperity gospel, though it does not shy away from speaking about suffering. [53] The most remarkable thing about it, however, is that it is above all else an extended prayer and paean of praise, in which Boddy simply gives glory to God for the wonder of new life and growth that come when ordinary people pray without restraint. For Boddy and his contemporaries, the continuum is a simple one: repent – receive – rejoice – respond.

The first Assemblies of God church that I worshipped in was in a former mining town in Nottinghamshire. I was struck as a young undergraduate by the easy confidence with which these miners and generally working class folk spoke of their Jesus, their faith, their mission. It was as if this mysterious ability to speak in tongues had given them many more tongues: to story-tell in their personal testimonies of lives that were radically changed; to preach, even on soapboxes in Nottingham’s Market Square, without shame, simply yet articulately; to proclaim Jesus and a vision of the Kingdom of God without inhibition, in the local idiom; and to pray with conviction, knowing that God was an active, healing, life-changing God.

Prayer as Mission: some concluding thoughts

The link between prayer and mission is a simple one. Prayer leads us deeper into an active relationship with a missional God, and the inevitable consequences are worship, service and mission, the three marks of the church. [54] When I launched the Simeon Centre for Prayer and the Spiritual Life in 2007, I said in my address that “I keep reminding myself that the energy of a centre for prayer is a listening ear, an obedient heart, and a driving passion to rediscover daily what it means to be friends with God – and to help others who cross our threshold to do the same.”

I then went on to say that the “passion of the Simeon Centre is to find people who are hungry for prayer, whether or not they know Jesus in a personal and intimate way yet, pray with them, and introduce them to Jesus. Let’s find out where God is at work in the people around us who don’t know him, and join in with God’s work.” In other words, if prayer is the language of our ongoing encounter with God, then inviting others to pray with us, whether or not we deem them to be disciples yet, must necessarily be at the heart of our missional task. Prayer makes disciples; in prayer disciples are transformed; and an apostolic church emerges.

‘I’m not religious, but I am spiritual’ is one of the enduring clichés of our age, a strapline of postmodernity. Suspicion of institutions of all kinds abounds, political and social, economic and ecclesial. In the face of difficulties about believing anything with a degree of assurance, and resistance to most forms of committed belonging, the surprising persistence of prayer ‘to an unknown God’ is surely a reminder to the church that prayer is one of the few contexts within which meaningful spiritual engagement and evangelism remain possible. The offer of prayer is rarely refused by the unchurched.

Let me end with a personal testimony, slightly adapted to preserve anonymity. Some years ago I went to a baptism in a Pentecostal church in the Midlands. It had been a small, struggling, prayerful, inward-looking fellowship for many years. A few faithful women (and they were mostly women) had kept it alive. There’s no formula for what happened next, but faithfulness in prayer and faithfulness to God’s work were somehow central. Now, the church having grown to a respectable 100 or so on a council estate, four people were to be baptised. One was a young man with Down’s syndrome and a deep fear of water. The second was a middle-aged man with a failed marriage and a recovered faith. The third woman was a survivor of the Rwandan genocide, and the last had come into the church in a wheelchair, been prayed for, got out of her wheelchair and never returned to it. I wept my way through their four testimonies and baptisms. I often wish that I could belong to a church like that.

But I’m not sure that I have it in me to belong there. I’m too impatient. I want quick results, and I suffer from the temptation to dismiss churches that don’t seem to be missional. This church in particular for so long seemed to have lost its way, and I thought little of it. Now that I’ve been privileged to see the end of this part of their story, I’ve learnt yet again that prayer whose primary aim is to achieve results is of little worth. It has to be enough that I pray because of who God is. God is faithful and his mission will be done. In prayer, I too will be part of it.

About the author

Adrian Chatfield is a fellow of Ridley Hall Cambridge and a mentor/spiritual director in the East Midlands.

More from this issue

Notes

[1] With acknowledgement to Jean Daniélou, Prayer: The Mission of the Church, (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1996), 9.
[2] Sebastian Karotemprel, (ed), 1995, Following Christ in Mission: A Foundational Course in Missiology, (Nairobi: Paulines, 1995), 135.
[3] C Rene Padilla, Spirituality in the Life and Mission of the Church (Edinburgh 2010 Study Group 9), 1
[4] Daniélou, op.cit.
[5] Opening of the Shorter Westminster Catechism of 1647.
[6] John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, Chapter 20, Section 8; 1536.
[7] Ian Randall, What a Friend we have in Jesus: The Evangelical Tradition, (London: DLT,2005), 37.
[8] ‘Remembrance’ in the NRSV and ‘name’ in NIV but ‘memory’ in John Goldingay’s translation. See John Goldingay,  Psalms Volume 1, (GrandRapids, Baker Academic,2006),  Kindle loc.9702-9704.
[9] Matthew Fox, Original Blessing: A Primer in Creation Spirituality, (Rochester VT: Bear and Company, 1983)
[10] Karl Barth, Prayer: 50th Anniversary Edition, (Louisville KY: Westminster John Knox, 2002), 5.
[11] Daniélou, op. cit. page 26
[12] This is martyrdom without blood or violence such as strict asceticism.
[13] For example, in the Tract on the Supreme Virtue of Gelassenheit by Andreas Bodenstein von Karlstadt, in (Furcha EA, 2013), Fifteen tracts by Andreas Bodenstein (Carlstadt), (Scottdale PA: Herald Press, 1995).     
[14] Laura Swan, Forgotten Desert Mothers, The: Sayings, Lives, and Stories of Early Christian Women, (Mahwah NJ: Paulist Press, 2001), 37.
[15] κοινόβιον or ‘coenobium’ from κοινός (common) + βίος (life).
[16] 6th century.
[17] ‘officium’ or work of the people in relation to the worship of God
[18] Luke Benedict and Dysinger, The Rule of St Benedict: Latin & English, (Santa Ana CA: Source Books, 1996), Prologue 45.
[19] Society of the Sacred Mission.
[20] Community of the Resurrection.
[21] Society of St John the Evangelist.
[22] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, (London: SCM, 1954), 7.
[23] Ibid, pages 20 & 22.
[24] Phil. 1:21.
[25] Canon 1, quote in S Coupland, ‘Rod of God’s wrath or the people of God’s wrath? The Carolingian theology of the Viking invasions’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 1991; 42. 
[26] Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove, New Monasticism: What it has to say to today’s church, (Grand Rapids MI: Brazos, 2008).
[27] ibid, 58.
[28] ibid, 39.
[29] [3] to respond to human need by loving service, [4] to transform unjust structures of society, to challenge violence of every kind and pursue peace and reconciliation
[30] ibid, 39, Mark 6.
[31] Graham Cray, et al (eds), New Monasticism as Fresh Expression of Church, (Norwich: Canterbury Press, 2010), 6.
[32] Herbert Kelly, Principles: Society of the Sacred Mission¸ (Kelham: SSM, 1909), Principle vii.
[33] James Wiseman, Spirituality and Mysticism, (New York: Orbis,2006),  9.
[34] ibid, page 10, quoting Bernard McGinn, The Foundations of Mysticism, (New York: Crossroad, 1991), xvi.
[35] Mark 10.46ff.
[36] Helen Bacovcin, The Way of a Pilgrim and The Pilgrim continues his Way, (New York: Doubleday, 1978), 23.
[37] Bernard McGinn, John Meyendorff  & Jean Leclercq, Jean, Christian Spirituality: Origins to the 12th Century, (New York: Crossroad,1993), 406. Hesychia (ἡσυχία) is quietness or stillness in the Orthodox tradition.
[38] Bacovcin, op.cit,  25.
[39] Brother Ramón, and Simon Barrington-Ward, Praying the Jesus Prayer Together, (Oxford: BRF 2001), 23.
[40] John Baildam, Paradisal Love: Johann Gottfried Herder and the Song of Songs, (Sheffield: Academic Press, 2009), 140.
[41] G R Evans, Bernard of Clairvaux: Selected Works, (New York: Paulist Press, 1987), 223.
[42] Kathleen Jones, tr., The Poems of St John of the Cross, (Tunbridge Wells: Burns & Oates, 1993), 20f.
[43] Evans, op.cit, 224.
[44] R A Knox, Enthusiasm: A Chapter in the History of Religion with special reference to the 17th and 18th centuries, (Oxford: Clarendon, 1950), 1.
[45] ibid, page 554.
[46] Velli-Matti Kärkkäinen, ‘The Pentecostal Understanding of Mission’, in  Wonsuk Ma, Velli-Matti Kärkkäinen, & Kwabena Asamoah-Gyadu, eds (2014), Pentecostal Mission and Global Christianity (Oxford: Regnum, 2014), 34.
[47] Steven Land, Pentecostal Spirituality: A Passion for the Kingdom, (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1993), 95ff.
[48] Isa. 30.15 NRSV.
[49] Alexander Boddy, (1907 republished as ebook by Full Well Ventures, 2012), A Vicar’s Testimony: “Pentecost” at Sunderland.
[50] ibid, Kindle locs.41-44.
[51] ibid, Kindle locs.183-185.
[52] ibid, Kindle loc.392
[53] It is worth noting that though “for the last sixteen years of her life, she [Mary Boddy] was an invalid… she still ministered healing to others.” Stanley M Burgess and Gary B McGee (eds ), Dictionary of Pentecostal and Charismatic Movements, (Zondervan: Grand Rapids, 1988), 91.
[54] I often use these as the three marks of the church, and often wonder why the Lambeth Conference of 1988 gave us five marks of mission but has never seen fit to give the prior marks of the church. I would be interested to know if any readers have similar lists!

The post Prayer and mission: entering into the ways of God appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

Andrea Campanale of Sacred Space Kingston shares her learning

STEP 1 Gather people

I run a missional community called Sacred Space Kingston. I started it five years ago, having done outreach to spiritual seekers at New Age type fairs since 2005. It began because those who had come to faith found it nearly impossible to settle into conventional church. The services were too long and they felt they had little in common with the regular members of the congregation. I was also gathering people who had been in church for a while and who wanted more space to question and experiment with Christian disciplines from other traditions, as well as be more intentional about mission. It seemed like a logical next step to pull these folk together into a missional community.

STEP 2 Develop a rhythm

I deliberately wanted us to be very different from what we’d come from, so we began with a very relaxed, informal and relational style. We met in ones and twos to build relationships, and would come together as a bigger group for meals every couple of months. After about a year, everyone was begging for more structure. This was because it was so fluid people were struggling to work out who we were and what our purpose for being actually was. So we developed a rhythm for meeting throughout the month. We now have prayer every other Thursday evening at someone’s house, one Monday evening a month we join with Kingston United Reformed Church for a Christian meditation and we have a community meal once a month where we break bread and extend hospitality to those who are not yet members of our community or another church.

The men decided they wanted to do their own thing in addition to this regular pattern of meeting. So they go out for a curry, take a long walk that ends at a pub or go off-roading. These activities happen as and when it suits them. We also have a community meeting twice a year where we hear what everyone is up to, review what’s working well for the community and decide where we might need to change in order to keep pace with what people are doing.

STEP 3 Prioritise relationship

I think what makes what we do distinct is that the relationships are real and honest. Most of us have had, or support someone with, a mental health problem or learning disability. We are therefore used to sharing at a deep level and have a high degree of self-awareness. The core group have also known each other for a long time and have come alongside one another in many joys and struggles over the years. We are also intentionally missional. Our goal is to be agents of transformation in the area and spheres of influence where God has placed us. When I conceived of it, I imagined Sacred Space as a Fresh Expression of church for spiritual seekers but that idea has evolved since its inception. I now help each member of the community work out their vocation and then devise a way in which this might be fulfilled through missional activity in Kingston. We have set up a town centre chaplaincy service which is being run by a retired social worker in our community and I am currently partnering with another member of our community and a dwindling Baptist congregation to re-imagine their building as a community arts centre.

STEP 4 Discipleship through mission

I’ve come to believe that one of the reasons previous evangelistic efforts have failed to bear as much fruit as we’d hoped is because as soon as someone outside the usual orbit of church became a Christian we encouraged them to become just like us. They began only socialising with other Christians and conformed to our values and lifestyle choices. I think we mistakenly thought this was discipleship, when really it was the very human desire to want to fit in. The consequence was that new believers were then unable to reach back into their web of contacts with the gospel.

What I’m seeking to do with Sacred Space is to enable people who have access to relationships in a network or subculture to work out what it means to be a follower of Christ in that context. They then disciple others within that culture and create ‘church’ that is a reflection of who they are. My hope is that indigenous expressions of church might grow out of the Sacred Space missional community and that we become an umbrella for a plethora of unique and diverse expressions of the Body of Christ in Kingston.

STEP 5 Discover some theory that makes sense of your practice

On reflection, I have found inspiration from a school of thought called communioecclesiology.

This relies upon the Trinity – God in relationship as three distinct persons, each with a different purpose, but with a common aim and made of the same stuff. We have much to learn from this about how we function as Christian community marked by unity, diversity and love. However, this relationship at the heart of God does not stay exclusive and self-serving. It overflows and invites the whole of creation to join in its work of redemption, restoration and reconciliation. For me this is what mission is about. It is a huge a privilege that, wherever we are located, God allows us to partner with him to bring about transformation.

Related posts

The post How to… start a missional community appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).

By Dr Harvey Kwiyani, head of Missio Africanus and part of the Church Mission Society Pioneer Mission Leadership Training course faculty

In August of 1861, David Livingstone led the first group of the Universities Mission to Central Africa (UMCA) to Magomero in the Shire Highlands in what later became southern Malawi. This was the beginning of British mission work in Malawi. It was also the beginning of Christianity in Malawi.

Bishop Charles Mackenzie and his team were sent to Magomero by the Church of England to work in God’s mission in Africa.

Magomero – which happens to be my home – continues to be recognised as the place “where it all started”. Since then, Christianity in Malawi has grown to become the religion of the majority – 13 million out of 15 million Malawians identify as Christian. Yes, the explosion of Christianity in Africa is a direct result of the great sacrificial service done by the mission workers across the continent especially in the years between 1800 and 1970. Church Mission Society is one of the leading mission organisations who made this happen. It is not possible to tell of the history of Christianity in West Africa without acknowledging the important role played by CMS. For this we are extremely grateful.

Christianity continues to grow in Africa with millions of new converts coming to the faith every year. To convert a person to the Christian faith is also to invite – or demand – them to participate in God’s mission.

Nothing less. Thus, the five-fold growth that Christianity has seen in Africa since 1970, from 100 million to 500 million, translates into an African mission movement characterised by: (1) a commitment to the ‘evangelist-hood’ of all believers, which means that most of them live evangelistically, diminishing the gap between the ordained ministers/mission workers and laypeople, (2) a firm belief in God’s direct involvement in human life through the Spirit and (3) migration and other forms of displacement both within the continent and to other continents.

All in all, this means that ‘sentness’ is embedded in the African understanding of Christianity. It is a well accepted fact today that Africa has been converted to Christianity by African evangelists. To be a follower of Christ is to be sent as a bearer of Christ’s good news to a world desperately in need of such news. And this world in need may be within one’s own village or thousands of miles across the seas.

It is fair, I presume, for me to say that this understanding of Christians being sent in mission is central to most of African Christianity. Some are sent to be the good news right in their own communities. Others are sent to countries far away. But all are sent to share the good news with everyone who needs to hear it. I remember one of the popular songs we sang in Malawi in the 1980s, “ndi ndani wantuma kuti nkalalike uthenga wabwino” meaning “who has sent me to preach the good news?” Of course, the answer to the question was “ndi Yesu wantuma” (it is Jesus who has sent me). What I found significant about that song and many others like it was that they were sung by everyone, especially during evangelistic meetings. The people believed that they were sent to preach the good news. For them, ordination and commissioning were only additions to the calling. They believed that they could – and should – preach the good news even without being ordained. The call that they received when they decided to follow Christ was also their ordination to preach the good news to their neighbours.

This concept of being sent, (kutumidwa or kutumizidwa in Chichewa, my mother tongue), is very important for many Africans even outside Christianity. Mtumwi (the one sent with a message) or mthenga (the messenger) can be a servant of the king, the chief, or the government.

But mtumwi also happens to be the vernacular for “apostle” (Ephesians 4:11). The messenger is the bearer of the good news of hope. As such, a hospitable audience is the least they can be given because, of course, if you have been sent with a message to deliver, you must deliver it. And if a message has been sent to you, it must be heard. The honour due the sender is to be given to the messenger. Thus, when we sung “ndi Yesu wantuma,” we claimed it was Jesus, the king of kings, who sent us. We had to deliver the message.

One hundred and fifty years after the arrival of the UMCA in Malawi, God has sent many Malawian Christian sons and daughters to other continents. The same has happened in many countries around Africa. For Malawians, what started at Magomero has eventually brought Malawian Christians to Britain. Thus, African Christians living in the West are a fruit of the labour of the Western mission organisations (whether those organisations recognise this is another issue). But African Christians bring their ‘sent-ness’ with them as they migrate. In most cases, they find neither audience nor support. But when they do, great things happen.

God sends, and where God sends us, we go.

Related posts

The post Being sent in mission: an African perspective appeared first on Church Mission Society (CMS).