What Next?

When I first started to feel the pull away from being involved in mainstream expressions of gathered worship (for want of a better phrase), I spent a lot of time asking myself and God 'but what will I do instead?' 

I honestly didn't know. As I mentioned in the last post, I had begun to feel less than content with my part in things, and I was challenged by the idea that there might be folks left by the wayside, struggling to join in with the service for all sorts of reasons. I realised that somewhere along the way, things had shifted, in terms of my own response to developments in evangelical/charismatic worship culture, as well as in my personal faith journey itself. I also realised that I had spent an awful lot of time and energy on trying to be alright with aspects of the culture, and that had taken its toll. Time to step out, but how? Maybe I was asking the wrong question. Maybe, instead of 'what should I do?' I should really be asking just 'should I do?'

I'm not always patient, and although I try to be open to new ideas and perspectives, and I try to be aware of my own biases, I tend to make my mind up about what I think of things very quickly. Perhaps because I've been involved in education for a long time, I also spend rather more time thinking about what I can offer to others, and how I can help them, rather than what wisdom they might be able to impart to me. If I really am feeling the pull away from a world I know very well, and towards exploring issues I've been aware of but not fully engaged with, then I need to get into the habit of keeping my eyes open for opportunities to learn.

Each year for the last few years, I've attempted to acquire (or take to a higher level) a new skill: a few years ago, it was felting. Last year, I learned to use image manipulation software to help me with my art. For 2017, I took on something I knew I'd find very hard, because I'm so poorly co-ordinated, and I have some vision issues. I decided that I'd like to learn to spin poi. If you haven't come across poi, they are weights tethered to cords which can be spun in particular ways to perform tricks. They are available in a vast array of colours and varieties. Some brave and clever folks perform with fire poi; I am not that brave or clever. As I anticipated, I haven't found learning to spin poi easy at all, but it has been fascinating, and it has given me valuable insights into how I learn. I have been reminded, for example, that I struggle with being a beginner, when everyone around me seems so much more advanced. I have also had many (literally) painful reminders that in order to really understand how to do something, there will be failure along the way. I have learned to make a habit of telling myself that those who are better than me were also once like me, giving themselves bruises and getting tangled up in the poi lines. I have learned to take deep breaths and try again tomorrow if a manoeuvre doesn't work today. I have begun to develop more of an awareness of my body in space - frankly, I've had to if I want to avoid concussion. I've been learning to apply what I already know about muscle memory in the context of literacy to something very different. Like I said, it's been fascinating.

It seems to me that I need to take all this, and apply it to whatever comes along next. Since stepping back, a few interesting things have happened, and I'll try and reflect on these in future posts. The first thing that happened was that I got an answer to my original question - at least, part of an answer - and it came via the excellent Nomad Podcast*, and Professor Richard Beck, who I heard say this just as I was wondering aloud to myself and God about the very same thing:

"Sometimes I think it's good to worship on the margins, because...the margins are pretty dark, but if you go there, you find a lot of life and hope...if you go there and worship on the margins, you will encounter hope."

So this is what I'm doing at the moment. As often as I can, I'm going to a much smaller gathering my church runs alongside the main service, and I'm not going  - for now, anyway - to 'help out', or be in the band during the worship time. Like my adventures with spinning poi, I'm trying to be patient and open, and I'm trying to develop a different kind of muscle memory. I'm going to see who I will encounter, and what I can learn.



*You can listen to this episode of Nomad Podcast here: http://www.nomadpodcast.co.uk/nomad-119-richard-beck-the-devil-for-doubters-and-the-disenchanted/

Peculiar Stories

Welcome: I hope you'll make yourself comfortable here. This blog is called Peculiar Stories, and it's a line I borrowed from somewhere. As I'm sure you're aware, peculiar is defined two ways: one is different to what is normal, or unexpected. The other is particular to whatever it pertains, or special. You'll come to see, I hope, why this is a good name for this blog. But first, here's the background.

Earlier this year, I made the decision that after around a decade on the worship team at my church (where I have served as a vocalist, administrator and most recently, co-leader), it was time to step down. This past few weeks have seen a series of 'lasts': last time in the band on a Sunday morning, last team rota posted, last monthly newsletter published. It has felt strange, but right. Those who know me will know that I've been involved in worship teams and church-based bands for more than 25 years. Given that I'm 40 years old, that's a hefty chunk of my life. Music and God go together in my mind, and I don't think anything will ever undo that association.

Why then, you might well ask, am I hanging up my microphone? Nearly 15 years ago, I became a mother. I had one child, then another, and then one more. As my children began to grow and develop, I hoped that they'd enjoy music and singing and want to engage with God in that way, just like I had done all this time. To be honest, in spite of exposure during my teen years to imaginative, non-sung gathered worship experiences, somewhere along the way I had forgotten that worship could be anything but singing a bunch of songs. Anyway, as it turns out, only one of my three children really enjoys this kind of worship. The other two don't.

This wasn't something that, at first, I was easily able to come to terms with. I would expend a lot of energy trying to persuade them to engage, largely because I was worried about what people might think. But over the last two or three years, and particularly while I've been in leadership, I've become more and more challenged that while I'm happy to do the singing thing, they have become increasingly disengaged on Sunday mornings. And I've found myself with what is best described as a 'holy discontent' rising up within, and with questions that may not be new, but are begging to be explored, and maybe even answered, if that's possible. Questions like: why in the western evangelical/charismatic church is our gathered worship generally dominated by one pattern of doing things when we were created in such diversity? Should those who are uncomfortable with sung worship just suck it up and sing anyway? If gathered worship (whatever we mean by that term) is as important as we're told it is, why do we sometimes make it so difficult for some folks to join in - whether they're new to church culture, or they've been steeped in it since birth?

So, here I am, with no choice, it seems, but to step out of the river for a while, and with all these questions, and the increasing sense of being pulled out to the tributaries of church*, where things look very different. And while this is unsettling - seriously, I thought I'd be on the worship team for as long as I could climb the steps to the stage - I'm also beginning to get glimpses of what might be out there on those ragged shores.

I do hope you'll want to join me on this journey; travelling companions are always welcome. Bring a pack raft and a life jacket.

Thank you, Jo.

*When I refer to 'the church', for the most part, I mean the UK evangelical/charismatic church scene/culture, not specifically my own church. I know this is a somewhat difficult term, and I'm going to try not to make my strokes too broad, but I'm up against the limitations of language here, folks. I guess the Liturgists would point to 'the asymptotic fidelity of words'. I'll try and make it clear when I mean something different.  I also want to make it clear that I'm not about to single out any particular church for criticism, and I'd ask that if you want to comment, you don't, either. :)

You can find this lovely card at www.lovebettyann.com