What and where is the narrow gate?

Jesus told us (Matt 7:13) to enter through the narrow gate. To modern ears this seems way too restrictive. People like to keep their options wide open. We are encouraged to see society as a very broad range of ideas and philosophies and religions. Narrowness is bad. Tolerance, variety and wideness is good.

In fact, the Christian faith is about a God who loves all people, young and old, black and white, poor and rich, good and bad. The denomination I belong to places a lot of emphasis on being inclusive. Jesus died for all. The kingdom is freely available to all. The church should be equally accepting of all. The words of Jesus do not contradict any of this. They merely point out that the point of entry into 'life' (by which he surely means 'glorious and fulfilling life as God intends it to be') is a narrow one. An individual's journey will be unique. There are as many ways to relate to God as there are people needing that relationship. But there is a bottleneck along the way. There is a gate through which all pilgrims need to pass. What is it?

Dallas Willard says it is 'obedience' rather than 'correct doctrine'. I agree that Jesus was not saying only people with (the correct) narrow views about God would be able to enter life. There are many whose grasp of theology is somewhat tenuous but who still enjoy the kingdom life Jesus is talking about. I'm less sure that 'doing what Jesus says' is what the narrow gate represents, though I can see how Willard comes to that conclusion in view of the other illustrations and sayings which follow.

Perhaps Jesus was referring to himself as the narrow gate. This would fit in with verses from John's gospel - "I am the gate" or "No-one comes to the Father except through me" - and having a person as the key entry point certainly seems better than a set of rules or even a simple guiding principle. Or maybe Jesus is not intending for the narrow gate to represent anything in particular. Maybe he just wants to stress that the journey to life is not a wide open 'anything goes' trackless plain, but a case of recognising the importance of limitations and focusing on the one thing that matters - the narrow gate.

The personal import of this concept is clear enough: Following a Christmas of fairly happy-go-lucky self-indulgence, I need to apply myself once again to discovering the key person who will lead to real life.

New Week's Resolution #1

On my study door I still have my chart listing the five things I intended to do every day in 2007, namely reading and reflection, pastoral visit, half-hour keeping on top of admin, 20 minute walk and one piece of fruit. The records show that I had success on and off as far as March. This year I have decided on a new approach. Rather than attempt to reform all areas of my life at once, I will concentrate on one aspect at a time. If all goes well, the positive changes in lifestyle will be cumulative rather than merely consecutive. I can use this blog as a public record of my progress, thereby providing a reasonable degree of incentive.

So here is my first new week's resolution: Starting tomorrow, I will be out of bed before 7.00 am each morning.

The best laid plans...

Even though I followed my new resolve to prepare well, there were a handful of hiccoughs in the carol service. After a dramatic and atmospheric start in the pitch dark with me intoning "In the beginning was the Word..." and continuing through 14 memorised verses whilst the candles were lit, followed by a rousing rendition of "O come, all ye faithful", I then slipped into a very matter of fact manner to arrange the lighting levels - "Can Ruth turn on the lights in the chancel? Too much? Can you turn off the strip lights and leave the spots on? Roger, would you mind pressing that switch to turn off the light that's in my eyes? Malcolm, could you turn off the aisle lights? Oh, he's not there - well, whoever is near the back... Hang on, the musicians are complaining - they need that light to see the music. OK is this the right level of lighting? Is everyone happy? Right. On with our second reading..."

In the Lord's Prayer I suddenly found my mouth was not saying anything like "Forgive us our trespasses." I've no idea what I said, but when I realised it was wrong I stopped - and the whole congregational momentum was lost. Over the years I have tried to avoid giving too strong a lead so that if I fluff it the congregation will continue regardless, but my voice on this occasion was clearly too influential.

The final reading was from Philippians 2 and I struggled to find the right place on the page. I began OK at verse 5, but somehow managed to slip back to verse 4 and then added a couple of extra words of my own to bring it back on track at verse 6. No-one noticed.

The brief address was a kind of ironic visual aid where I unwrapped a parcel and discarded the contents to enthuse about the wrapping. Isn't this what Christmas is all about? I speculated. Shouldn't we concentrate on the trimmings? Does it matter if we ignore the gift underneath the wrapping? I had run through this talk several times during the afternoon and the ending still didn't come out anything like I'd practiced. No-one but me would have known.

The other things that went wrong were not my fault - the organist playing an extra verse and the singing group getting muddled with the hand chimes introduction. But all in all everyone said it was a great service. So it just goes to show that even if good preparation is essential, the actual event can contain mistakes and still be well-appreciated.

Should I become a more snappy dresser?

On Friday I had two similar conversations, one with a fellow Street Pastor and one with a friendly Goth. The first was about the importance of looking your best on a Sunday - smart clothes, neatly pressed etc. The second was about buying quality clothing because it makes you feel good about yourself.

Long ago I used to dress quite casually to lead worship, including a pair of worn but comfortable shoes. I didn't think 'me looking smart' was a significant element of my ministry. I was put right by some kind but firm comments from a more experienced preacher. Ever since I have worn a suit (and clean shoes) when leading Sunday worship - except for communion services when I don a cassock.

But I'm still not as careful as I could be about my appearance. Many of my shirts are looking rather the worse for wear and are tight round the collar. (They were made to measure years ago and I can only assume that over time they have shrunk.) Ditto the cassock, which is less comfortable around the waist than it used to be. (I didn't think that belts were capable of shrinking, but mine clearly has.) I do iron a shirt and polish my shoes before the Sunday service but for the rest of the week I get away with as little ironing as possible. Bottom line - it takes more time and effort to look smart than I am prepared to give.

The trouble is that the same attitude spills over into other areas of life. I don't put in the advance preparation because I am comfortable just winging it on the day. I don't feel I have to prove a point by only letting people see me at my best. I'm happy with who I am and confident enough to allow my shabby side to be seen. I don't take time to pray or read the Bible because I already have a good enough grasp of spiritual matters to get by.

I have decided that this attitude is simply not good enough. Not for my own well-being and certainly not for the impact I ought to be making on the world around me. I've got to raise my standards. I've got to aim for higher quality. And if that means putting in the time and effort to prepare well, then so be it.

Starting to feel my age

People always feel younger on the inside than they look on the outside. I have lost count of the number of retired people who say they don't feel any different to when they were 40 or 50. For a long time I have said that I don't feel much different inside to how I was when I was in my 20s. My mental picture of myself is as a student who has only recently left university.

Until yesterday.

When I made this remark in casual conversation it struck me that it is no longer true. I don't think of myself as a young student. I think of myself as a mature adult. How mature? Well perhaps I still feel as if I was in my 40s instead of my true age (fifty and a half). But the young man who did all those silly things is not me any more. I still have a silly sense of humour and I still behave stupidly from time to time, but essentially I am more considerate and responsible than I ever was in my youth. And my relationship with Jesus has changed too. Less idealistic, more honest, less clear-cut, more of a struggle.

So is this a good thing? Yes and no. I am certainly more experienced in ministry and my capabilities as a preacher have developed. (Though I am several light years away from anything like good enough.) But maybe I need to hear the same message as the church in Ephesus - "Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love." (Rev 2:4)

Lord, fan back into flame the embers of my first love for you and then help me to use all my years of development and experience to make the resultant blaze focused and useful.

How to steal from a church

Last night I was explaining to a young lady who has just started coming to our church that we had had the computer and other equipment stolen. She asked, "How can people do that? How can they steal from a church?" Today, whilst walking home from an old persons day centre (where a few of us had been singing carols) I realised there is an easy answer: "By not thinking about the consequences."

The reason this answer came to me was because I found myself not wanting to dwell on the consequences of my appalling keyboard skills. I had cheerfully volunteered to play for the carols and although I hit the right notes most of the time, there were enough wrong notes and enough inappropriately loud notes (the keyboard was sensitive and a heavy left hand resulted in a sudden doyng! every now and then), that it was embarrassing for myself, for the singers who had come to help and for the old folk listening. Eventually R (who had initially refused to play) stepped in and did a perfectly adequate job, thus proving it wasn't the keyboard at fault but the person playing. And yet I do not feel particularly embarrassed. Why not? Because I choose not to think about it. Even now I am only thinking on a superficial level - I don't want to remember just how bad it was. Time to move on to other safer thoughts.

People who steal from church can do so without feelings of guilt by simply not thinking about the problems they have caused to the church members (and in particular our hard-working property secretary) in terms of nuisance, finance and emotional trauma. The moment you think that people are suffering because of something you have done, then you are in big trouble. But if you can decide that their problems are no concern of yours then any guilt will vanish like the morning dew.

No wonder that Paul urges us to "look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others." (Phil 2:4 - which coincidentally is part of the chapter we are looking at in tonight's Bible study.) Thoughtlessness is actually a terrible thing.

Living in Hedonicity

If my spiritual life were expressed in terms of a journey (as in The Pilgrim's Progress), then I have not been making much headway for some time. Instead I am happily ensconced in Hedonicity, a metropolis given over to the pursuit of pleasure. I have stayed well clear of the red light district in this city, but have lingered long in its restaurants, cinemas, libraries and internet cafés. It's a good life here in Hedonicity and I would be happy to stay indefinitely, but I'm supposed to be on a journey and I have a long way to go.

Lord, give me the will-power to shift my focus of attention away from the superficial pleasures of daily life and onto the joy of knowing and serving you. (That prayer was carefully worded. I don't want to give up leisure, but I do want it not to loom so large in my thoughts.)

Strictly Come Dancing - I know how they feel

My title is an exaggeration. I do not dance weekly on live television and then stand there to have my performance analysed by professional judges. Instead I preach weekly in front of a (mostly) live congregation and sometimes receive vaguely-worded feedback on the quality of the service.


Yesterday I felt (a little) like a celebrity who has built up expectations then disappointed the audience with a poor performance. The remembrance service three weeks ago received much unsolicited praise for several days afterwards. It's always the adults who tell me how good a parade service is - never the youngsters in the uniformed organisations. And in this case it was the contribution of others that made a favourable impact. Nonetheless, it was good to hear people saying how they had appreciated the service. The following week was our parent and toddler service, this time all my own work. And again there was much unsolicited praise. Yesterday one of our local preachers told me she arrived to see the balloons at the front of the church, remembered it was a toddlers service and asked herself why she had bothered to come. She told me the service was so good that it won her over despite her very negative attitude. Both these services received comments worthy of a score of 9 or 10 from the judges.

But yesterday I fell apart. I hadn't prepared well. The sermon was practically thrown together on Sunday morning. I managed to think of a dramatic and challenging conclusion to the sermon, but entirely forgot to deliver it. I wasn't on the ball during the service (almost forgetting to receive the offertory for example), I waffled too much in the sermon and the whole thing, including communion was an hour and twenty minutes which was surely way too long for the visitors in the christening party. As I took my seat after delivering the blessing, I felt like a dancing celebrity who knew he had under-performed and let people down.

Fortunately for me I did not have to go up before a panel of professional preachers. Instead, to my amazement I had several comments along the lines of "good service this morning!" Even my wife, who can be relied on to be honest in such matters, thought it had been good. I can only assume that they were responding to the performance of the Holy Spirit and not to my own feeble efforts. But just think what the Holy Spirit could have done with the service if I had been on top form!