The Advice Process: A New Way to Make Decisions

Making decisions together can be tough. If you're the one making a choice in your family, school, club, or church, it can feel like a big responsibility. And I have questions…

Most groups make decisions in one of two ways:

• Top-down – One person or a small group decides everything.

• Consensus – Everyone talks about it and agrees together.

I’ve seen both ways in action. Businesses and charities usually use the first, while churches often use the second, where everyone prays and decides together.

But both of these ways have problems:

If one person makes the decision:

• What if they get it wrong?

• What if someone else knows more about the topic?

• What if their choice actually slows things down?

• What if they don’t have all the information they need?

If everyone makes the decision together:

• How do you keep things from becoming a boring compromise?

• How can you still be quick and flexible?

• How do you let people be creative and try new things?

A New Way: The Advice Process

A while back, I encountered a different approach called the Advice Process. You can read a good introduction about it here.

The Advice Process lets people make decisions without needing permission from a boss or group vote. Instead, they ask for advice from others before making a choice.

Why This Matters for Ocean Church

Ocean Church is still new, and right now, a small group is making most of the decisions. We’ve set up the charity, created a vision, and started working on rules and policies. But I don’t want it to stay like this. I don’t want a small group to have all the power.

I would like ANYONE who wants to help Ocean Church grow to have a say and suggest new ideas and projects. No matter your age, gender, background, abilities, or beliefs, you should be able to take part in shaping this community.

How It Works

If you have an idea to improve, create, or change something in Ocean Church, ask yourself:

• Am I the right person to do something about this?

  • If not, find out who is, and they will become the decision-maker (if they would like to be).

The decision-maker then asks for advice from at least three people:

1. Anyone affected by the decision (friends, group members, etc.).

2. Anyone with more experience (people who have done this before).

3. God (through prayer and reflection).

Advice is just that—advice. People don’t vote on the idea or stop it from happening. Instead, they help the decision-maker think through the idea.

Once the decision-maker has the advice, they share three things at an Ocean Church gathering:

• Their idea.

• What advice they got.

• What they plan to do next.

Then, they go ahead and do it!

Some playground Rules

The Advice Process isn’t a free-for-all. It should help Ocean Church stay true to its mission while allowing people to take action. Here are a few guidelines:

1. Every decision should match our vision: To reimagine church as a living, breathing adventure.

2. Every decision should reflect our values: Fun, Relationships, and Adventure.

3. Every decision should follow our rules, like safety and privacy policies.

4. We want to put our money where our mouth is:

   • If an idea costs up to £100, the decision-maker must involve Becky Nixon, our treasurer in the advice process.

   • If it’s more than £100, they must involve at least one other Ocean Church trustee too.

5. This is a spiritual process. Praying and listening to God is part of making good decisions.

6. No leader can block an idea. If the decision-maker has followed the Advice Process, their choice should stand.

7. This is an experiment. Not many groups lead this way. We’ll need to practice, learn, and trust the process. We also need to be kind, patient, and open—especially when people suggest things we wouldn’t have thought of ourselves. Mistakes will happen, but this should be a safe space to try new things.

By using the Advice Process, we want create a church where everyone can lead, contribute, and help Ocean Church grow into the adventure it’s meant to be. Do let us know via the WhatsApp group or give us a call to let us know what you think about it. We will have a chance to think about this in more depth when we next get together.

Liberated

Growing up in the church, I have always been familiar with language of ‘being saved.’ During

a year living in South America, I was introduced to Liberation Theology, which led me to

consider the idea of liberation as well as salvation. The distinction between these terms is

subtle.

Being saved often has the connotations of avoiding a potential problem or disaster.

Someone else intervenes, preventing you from taking a negative course of action. In a

religious setting, you are warned off the road to Hell and Jesus saves you from it. Saved can

mean avoiding an adverse situation or disaster in some form, perhaps inferring that at

present you are not yet fully aware of the predicament that requires you to be rescued.

Liberation has a different sense to it. The word that automatically springs to mind is

‘freedom’ which implies being captive to something in the first place. I’m not sure that in

western society we like the idea that we are bound by anything. When I first considered it, I

initially questioned what I had been liberated from and whether in fact I had. Being born

male, white, relatively affluent and well-educated has given me automatic freedoms that

others have not enjoyed. A bit of digging beneath the surface would suggest that I am more

captive to ideas or patterns that I’d like to admit.

Very simplistically, being saved is sometimes understood as a ticket to Heaven when you

die. Being liberated has more of a focus on the present, being free from the things that bind

us. In fact, Jesus spoke to a people who were occupied by the Romans, who were

repressed and had significant limitations on their freedoms. Many Jews at the time were

looking for a saviour but Jesus refused to be a warrior or a fighter against the occupying

regime. The liberation he was offering did not involve overthrowing the ruling powers of the

day.

I wonder what we might need liberating from today. It might include consumerism or

materialism. It could include feeling the need to project our image in a particular way. For

some people, addictions can bind and restrict them.

In John 8:32, Jesus says that his those who believe in will know the truth and the truth will

set them free. Maybe some of the messages, the good news, that we could be reminding

ourselves of are things like:

• You can be free from negative thoughts.

• There is hope in the face of addiction.

• You don’t need to let your work consume your life.

• Money does not need to be your main priority.

• You can be free from worrying about what other people think about you.

I like the idea of liberation. It seems to point to the present and the future, providing

motivation to move forwards, to become more the people we were created to be. Perhaps

we can take the time to consider what we can be free from and lean into that freedom that is

offered.

‘Adventuring with God’: Hiking with Rach & Mim, part 1.

The first part of the title is something we like to say at Ocean Church (OC), but what does that actually look like?

Ok, so it could mean many things! However if you know me, you know I like to keep things simple. So for me ‘adventuring with God’ is literally going on adventures, (and we are told that God is always present, so therefore…) with God.

The dictionary definition of adventure is: an unusual, exciting, and possibly dangerous activity, such as a trip or experience, or the excitement produced by such an activity. The hikes I have done with other members of OC are definitely adventures!

How did it start? Well John in his usual way was asking us about 18 months ago, to come forward with things we enjoy doing, that could be incorporated into the activities and habits of OC. I mentioned (in my usual way of always having something to add) that I loved walking, especially by the coast.

Earlier that year in training to climb Mount Snowden, I had spent quite a bit of time on the ups and downs of the Jurassic coast with friends and fell in love with it. The scenery, the exercise, the fresh air, being away from cars, concrete and ‘busy’ people, was so good for my soul, especially being by the sea.

Hearing its amazing roars, watching the sun sparkle and dance on the surface, seeing the line where the sky meets the sea (….and it calls me 🎶), following fast and slow streams that meet the sea and all the time being in awe of the mysteries and life that go on under the surface.

I didn’t want this ‘training’ to stop, even though I had completed the Snowden challenge (maybe more to come on that another time).

I can’t remember how it was arranged, but one day me and Mim did my favourite walk of Lulworth to Durdle Door and then back for ice cream. That adventure sparked something special for us both.

We realised we didn’t really know each other that well between the small talk and deep spiritual discussions at OC. Also, our kids (Dylan, Jake and Tilly) obviously knew each other, but hadn’t spent any time actually together. Our families getting to know each other in so many ways has been the biggest blessing of all.

That first trip set the tone for all the rest and we laugh so much when we tell others about it… we met in the car park, I change into my hiking boots and make sure I’ve got what we need in my hiking back pack….Mim and boys just hang around waiting for me in their Nike trainers and no stuff. Seriously….no stuff!

It still panics me now. Even though I’m an extreme extrovert (you may remember from that exercise we did at OC once, where we all lined up) I get my energy from being with others and spontaneous. Somehow though I have to pack for everything! ‘Just in case’ seems to be my motto (and Marc’s nemesis).

So we walk and very swiftly it is apparent that Tilly matches Dylan and Jake’s level of energy, curiosity and craziness. They complain the walk is long one moment and have no energy, and the next they’ve created a game which has them running back n forth on themselves while us parents are just aiming one foot forward.

It’s not long till the kids are hungry and thirsty, so we share out what I’ve got in my bag. We get to durdle door and the kids want to go down- ok cool, but we warn them we will need to come back up again- they agree that’s fine. We are close to the sea- they want to go in- I pull out costumes for me & Tilly and we have one spare pair of shorts. One of the boys nab them and the other goes in pants. It was awesome! So clear and fresh! I’ve never actually swam near the Door, despite it being one of my favourite spots. The water got deep pretty quick and the waves were rather strong, as I was the only adult in the water we kept it short and didn’t go too far out.

We dried off with the two towels I had bought and climbed back up- me and Mim using the stairs, the kids via their own route up the cliff edge. My first aid kit came in handy, as one of them had a graze on their leg. Then they were hungry and we didn’t have enough food to satisfy them all, so we got hot dogs- over priced hot dogs! (We learnt our lesson that day).

Then came some roley-poley-ing down hills and crazy ‘dares’ that got us back to the beginning. As promised, we went for ice cream, Jake was delighted as the place on the corner is ‘Jake’s ice cream’- the little entrepreneurs that they were, the boys had once spent their pocket money on buying drinks from Macro, cooling them and then selling them for a profit at the beach! Jake said this was his dream and wanted to meet the Jake of ‘Jake’s ice cream’. We found out that ‘Jake’ was actually the ladies dog who had passed away a few years ago.

We took a stroll down to Lulworth cove while eating said ice cream (can highly recommend) Me and Mim sat on a rock, the kids played in the long grass on the hill behind us, we could hear them giggling….until we couldn’t!

We eventually found them further along the shore, and around the corner by a cave! They were totally unaware of the dangers (and trouble) they were in. They had just got caught up exploring new land, Gods’ creation, the beauty and wonders of where we were.

So by the end we were exhausted, Jake had a new life dream, Mim was un-prepared, we spent too much on hot dogs, we swam in new waters, there was a grazed leg and we’d lost the kids. But somehow we all agreed what an amazing time we had. This was in the summer of 2023.

Early 2024 the Goods told us of their aim to walk the south coastal path, and were hoping to do the first part- studland to Weymouth this year. They asked “would we like to join them on ‘some’ of the walks?” They have a book that details the routes, and a map they can highlight as they go. “Yeah sure, sounds fun”.

That first walk was the beginning of getting to know each other, almost a ‘first date’, are you the type of people we like to be around? And then once past that, it becomes ‘do life together’.

We’ve learnt of each other’s childhoods, early days of family life, how life is now, where there have been hard times and good and how God has been there along the way. What challenges we are facing right now and how we can pray for each other. We can see the beauty in each other’s kids’, what makes their personalities so special and help to speak into their lives in positive ways.

We don’t manage to meet up much between walks, but the walks have made our friendship deep and real, which is how I think Jesus did life. He walked a lot with his disciples, talking, telling stories, having fun and over coming challenges along the way. Everyday life is busy, so for me, these walks are our little slice of heaven, walking with friends as Jesus did, and out in nature- Gods beautiful creation.

Love Racheal x

The new seems to rest on the old

I've been thinking a bit about how Ocean Church isn't really a new concept; it's actually an old idea. The statue on the quay of Baden Powell (the guy who started the scout’s movement on Brownsea Island) reminds me that we didn't get here first but stand on a lot of history. Back in the day, before church buildings became the norm, early Christians in Britain gathered wherever they could—homes, open fields, by riversides. The natural world was their cathedral.

The Celtic Christians took this to heart, seeing the divine in the rugged landscapes of the British Isles. They held outdoor services, embracing nature as a testament to God's handiwork. Sacred groves, hilltops, stone circles—these were their places of worship, blending the spiritual with the natural. They often composed and recited prayers that celebrated the elements of nature, such as the sea, wind, and land, reflecting their belief in the sacredness of the natural world. This practice fostered a deep sense of connection between their faith and the environment, embodying a spirituality that was both earthed and transcendent.

As time went on, grand cathedrals and parish churches sprang up during the medieval period. But even then, outdoor worship didn't disappear. Open-air sermons, processions, and mystery plays in town squares kept the tradition alive, making faith accessible to all, beyond the walls.

In the 18th century, figures like John Wesley and George Whitefield ignited the Methodist movement by preaching in fields to thousands. Facing resistance from established churches, they took to the open air, breaking down social barriers and bringing messages of hope to miners, farmers, and anyone willing to listen.

And today, there's a resurgence of outdoor worship. Movements like Forest Church, Muddy Church and, closer to home, what we are doing is about reconnecting faith with the environment. By meeting in parks, on beaches, and even out on the water, we're tapping into practices that people hundreds of years ago may have done. The thing is though, many of us are starting from scratch. In a world where our food is wrapped up in packaging and our attention is held by many indoor pursuits, it’s difficult to gain knowledge of the natural world which might stir our imaginations and help our jaws drop at the world around us.

Here in Poole, Ocean Church embodies this age-old tradition. By gathering outdoors, we're not just embracing a modern trend but joining a lineage of believers who've found God in the midst of creation. Our open-air services are a testament to the enduring power of worship without walls, connecting us to both our spiritual ancestors and nature.

There’s something deeply grounding about being part of something that’s stood the test of time. It reminds us that faith isn’t just about innovation; it’s about connection—to each other, to creation, and to a God who has been present throughout it all. By joining with something old, we tap into a wisdom and rhythm that has carried countless others, and that same rhythm can carry us too.

Sight

A couple of years ago I realised that something was wrong. Apparently ‘they’* had decided to make the small print on packaging and labels much smaller and, as a result, unreadable. Who had taken this decision? Why was I not consulted?

I battled bravely on, straining to read the ridiculously tiny writing and occasionally being defeated and needing to guess at a cooking time or asking someone else for help. In the end though, enough was enough and I complained to a higher authority: my wife. Strangely, she didn’t agree that small print had just got smaller; she wondered whether the problem was with me and my eyesight.

Imagine my surprise when the optometrist at the opticians concluded that indeed I needed to wear glasses to help. Worse than this, they asked me my age and were completely unsurprised that my eyesight had got worse. Apparently this is very common. But the glasses made a complete difference. With glasses I can now read small print again. It turns out the problem was with me, not the entire rest of the world. The world was not actually conspiring against me.

Sadly, more often than I’d like to admit, this can be my reaction to problems: if there is something wrong then the fault lies with the world in general or at least someone else. Far more frequently than I care to acknowledge though, like my sight, the problem actually lies with me. Maybe I need to take a good look at myself first. With glasses on of course.

Jesus taught this in Matthew chapter 7:

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.

Quite strong. 

It is much easier to see faults and issues outside of ourselves but this won’t help me read cooking instructions.

 *you know them, the baddies who have too much power and influence in this world.

giving blood as worship

For a long time, I have found the words of Romans 12:1 compelling. Partly explained

by the fact that the original writer would not have split the letter into sections, it flows

from the end of the previous chapter so fluidly. If you have time, I’d encourage you to

read the end of Romans 11 before this verse which says:

And so, dear brothers and sisters, I plead with you to give your bodies to God

because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice –

the kind he will find acceptable. This is truly the way to worship him.

I’ve had a bee in my proverbial bonnet about how worship has been understood in

the church for more time than I can remember. It is possibly due to this that, more

recently, the realisation has struck me that one of my acts of worship involves some

me-time and being served snacks and drinks. I am referring to the fact that around

three times a year, I donate blood.

Giving blood is something I have done regularly since being a teenager. For the

slight inconvenience of taking an hour or so out of my day and having a needle in

your arm for a few minutes, you have the knowledge that your actions can literally

save someone’s life. Initially, I chose to donate from mildly altruistic reasons along

with the smug assurance that I’d done something a bit virtuous. As my

understanding of the verse above has developed, I have reframed my donations as

worship. During the period of screening and waiting, I am more reflective, especially

in remembering those I know who have needed a blood transfusion. I see my actions

as something that I can practically give to benefit others. I am reminded that all areas

of life are intended to be lived out for God.

Putting aside the potentially clumsy literal link of physically giving your body, I

wonder what sort of sacrifices God might expect of his followers in our day and age.

Giving blood for me involves a tiny fraction of my time each year. It makes me think

about what other areas of our lives we can reframe as service or sacrifice. Whether it

is caring for children or other family members, preparing packed lunches for a loved

one or making a phone call to someone who we know would benefit from it, this can

all be our worship. Potentially this mental shift will shift the emphasis we give to

those acts or mould the way we act.

I tend to look forward to the act of giving blood. I get to read a book, am encouraged

by health professionals to have a sugary or salty snack afterwards and have no

problem or phobia of needles. This won’t be the case for everyone. Sometimes

worship can be enjoyable but perhaps there more often it will be hard – sacrifice

tends to be. However, sometimes the reframing of our acts as part of our devotion

to the divine will help provide us with the purpose when worship is tough and is

costly in terms of time and energy.

A Snow bunting and other interuptions

Over the past few days, we celebrated my son Jake’s 10th birthday three times! On Saturday, one of the celebrations was a treasure hunt around Hamworthy, including the beautiful Hamworthy Park. While the boys raced off to find their first clue, I noticed a group of people with big cameras near the promenade. Curious, I walked over and saw that they were all focused on a small bird hopping around in the sand. It was about the size of a sparrow, with soft brown and white feathers. I took a little photo too. Later, I learned it was called a "snow bunting."

Snow buntings aren’t usually found on English beaches. They’re winter birds, often seen in much colder places. Seeing one here felt like such a special moment—a little piece of beauty where I didn’t expect it. It made me think about how life can surprise us with moments of wonder, just like this bird. Sometimes, things we didn’t plan for turn out to be just what we need.

That snow bunting made me think about the New Year. A new year can be like that bird—an invitation to pause, notice, and enjoy what’s around us. It’s easy to get caught up in plans and rushing through life, but what if we slowed down and looked for the small, surprising blessings in our days? What if we spent this year keeping an eye out for those special little moments, like snow buntings?

The Bible shows us that God often uses interruptions to teach us something important or to guide us in new ways. Think about Jonah, whose plans were interrupted by a big storm and a giant fish, or Mary, who was visited by an angel and given news that changed her life forever. These interruptions weren’t easy, but they became opportunities to grow, obey, and see God working in bigger ways. When interruptions happen, instead of feeling frustrated or afraid, we can ask, “What is God trying to show me here? How is this moment shaping me or leading me into something new?”

There’s a verse in the Bible from Lamentations that says, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning” (Lamentations 3:22-23). This reminds me that every day is a new start, full of fresh chances and kindness from God. We don’t have to wait for something big to happen to feel hopeful. Instead, we can look for the good in each day, even if it’s something small, like seeing a bird on the beach.

So here’s my challenge for the New Year: look for the snow buntings in your life. Pay attention to the little joys and surprises that pop up. These moments remind us that we’re part of something much bigger. And as we notice these things, let’s make space in our lives for wonder, thankfulness, and the kind of grace that shows up fresh every single morning.

Family

I write this in that strange no-man's land between Christmas and New Year and my thoughts are still around Christmas…

Families are funny things. And Christmas time is often dominated by them. Family dynamics can make or break big celebratory meals and there can be unease or unspoken issues that cast long shadows, at the very least there’s that slightly awkward uncle who makes inappropriate jokes. For some reading this it might be the absence of family and loneliness that is hard over Christmas. It can be a really hard time for someone dealing with grief or separation.

The advent story presents an interesting family dynamic. A stressful long-distance journey, a lack of sleeping space in Bethlehem without even any blow-up beds available and - scandalous at the time - a pregnancy out of wedlock. 

We’re going to zoom in on one member of the original Christmas family: Joseph. Nativity-wise that is surely a plum role for someone, but dig a little deeper and he doesn’t actually get that many great lines: leading a donkey and knocking on doors mainly. However his role is crucial. Why? Famously, he’s not Jesus’ actual father. In fact when Joseph finds out that Mary is pregnant, he plans to divorce her quietly. This would actually have been a kindness as adultery was punishable by death at the time. Strangely these details don’t always make the primary school nativity play. 

But the Old Testament part of the Bible is full of prophecies about Jesus, the rescuer, the Messiah who was coming to save. Some of the prophecies centre on his family line, being of the line of possibly the most famous King of Israel, David (he of giant killing fame). Now crucially this is fulfilled, not through Mary, but through Joseph. He is of the line of David. It is through Joseph, his adoptive father, that Jesus fulfills many of the prophecies spoken about him. Joseph had a massive role to play in this redemptive history, by saying yes to God. 

It always astounds me that God’s plans, purposes and prophecies depend on normal, weak people. Like Joseph. Like me, and like you.

Joseph adopting Jesus into his family is right at the centre of the Christmas story. It links back to King David and someone of his family line ruling as King for ever. It even links back to Abraham and God blessing all nations through his seed. And it links forward to followers of Jesus today. 

Long, long ago he decided to adopt us into his family through Jesus Christ. (What pleasure he took in planning this!) He wanted us to enter into the celebration of his lavish gift-giving by the hand of his beloved Son.       Ephesians 5-6, the Message.

Through Jesus, we are adopted into the very family of God. Let's be honest: this family also has a few oddballs in it. But we are accepted as children of God, completely welcomed into His family and given all of the lavish gifts that come with this. Just as Joseph accepted and welcomed Jesus. 

Maybe Christmas has been a hard time for you on the family front, but it is also a reminder that Christ followers are adopted into the family of God.

Noticing

A couple of weeks ago, I was running along Holes Bay towards the centre of Poole when I

noticed the RNLI building. It’s quite distinctive and I was appreciating the architecture of it

when a thought struck me. How had I failed to spot it before?! For some context, I have lived

in Poole for the best part of 17 years and have regularly run or cycled along the road I was

on at the time. If previously I’d lifted my eyes in the right direction and paid attention, I’d

easily have seen it.

This is not the first time something similar has happened to me. After living in a flat for a year

and a half, I was unable to identify the colour of the distinctive bricks of our residence,

without looking. It was also only in the last couple of weeks that a set of equipment was

found by a colleague in my cupboard. These were resources that that we had been looking

for a couple of weeks. It seems I just find it difficult to notice my surroundings.

Over the last couple of weeks, I have been reading Advent and Christmas, a book based on

Henri Nouwen’s writings. In the very first reflection, it refers to the “small child of Bethlehem,”

hinting at how Jesus’ arrival was not widely acknowledged at the time. If at that first

Christmas, “the promise is hidden in the stable,” where might we find God’s ongoing

promises with his creation today?

It is so easy to speed through life and to give the majority of our attention to that which is

loud, overstated or impressive. Since starting the book, I have tried to be more intentional

with being aware of the presence of the divine in and around me, slowing and concentrating

my thoughts more often. For me, I often find this easier when out running because the time

alone carves space that can be deliberately focused on goodness around me.

Nothing I have encountered is dramatic. I’ve seen the way that even when many trees have

shed their leaves, signs of life still endure on them as ivy or other vine-like plants use their

trunks as supports. When I’ve found myself further away from traffic than normal, my ears

have been drawn to birdsong and the rustling of small creatures in undergrowth that I have

not identified. I have appreciated eating a meal I haven’t been involved in preparing or

cooking. During rainfall, I have enjoyed its cooling sensation and felt gratitude for its vital role

in food production. While at close to my maximum effort on a run, I’ve enjoyed the

combination of pain and childlike appreciation of feeling as fast as I can be. I’ve also

experienced the hair-raising swell from a children’s choir filling the church during a carol

concert. None of these examples have been ecstatic or especially life-changing experiences

but through being mindful of them, they have helped me feel more rooted and connected to

God.

As Christmas edges nearer, in the busyness and the mayhem, we can choose to notice the

signs of the divine around us. Perhaps this is something to motivate you heading into a new

year, to be more intentional about noticing. Although it may be easier outdoors, regardless of

where you are, if you look carefully, there will be evidence of the goodness of God. The

promise that was found in that stable in Bethlehem two millennia ago, can be spotted and

recognised in different guises in our lives today. What will you choose to notice?

Christmas through the back door

Christmas often feels like a warm invitation to the front porch—a lit tree in the window, carols spilling out into the cold night. But the story of Jesus' birth in Luke 2 flips this image upside down. This isn’t a tale about grandeur; it’s a story of God slipping quietly into the world through the back door.

The main stage of Luke’s narrative isn’t just the humble manger scene—it’s the shadow of the empire looming over it. The chapter begins with Caesar Augustus, the emperor who commanded the known world. He was the son of God in his day, hailed as the savior who brought peace—the Pax Romana. His reign was announced with “good news” (euangelion)—a term we’ve come to associate with Jesus, but which was originally used to declare Caesar’s victories and his divine favor.

Luke’s story isn’t just a sweet moment in a stable. It’s a direct challenge to the empire's narrative. Caesar claimed to be the bringer of peace, but his peace was built on violence and domination. His good news wasn’t for shepherds in fields or peasants on the margins. And yet, the angel in Luke 2 delivers euangelion—“good news of great joy for all people.” All people, not just the elite or the powerful.

The subversion doesn’t stop there. When the angel says that a Savior has been born, it’s a direct echo of Caesar’s title. The early Christians took the language of the empire—son of God, savior, gospel, peace—and applied it to Jesus. But in doing so, they didn’t simply copy it; they redefined it. Jesus’ peace isn’t enforced with armies. His good news doesn’t come with a sword. His kingdom, born in a back alley, exposes the emptiness of empire and invites us into a new way of life.

At Christmas, we often focus on the cozy, the nostalgic. But the story of Jesus' birth asks us to look deeper. Who holds power today? Who claims to bring peace, but at what cost? Who declares good news, but for whose benefit?

And then, where is Jesus showing up? He’s still entering through the back door, among the forgotten and the overlooked. He’s still subverting the narratives of power with a quiet but profound invitation to a different kind of kingdom.

This Christmas, as we gather around familiar traditions, let’s remember the radical truth at the heart of the story. It’s not Caesar’s world we live in. It’s God’s. And this God doesn’t need the front door.

Light

This blog is going to dig into Christmas. This may be a really fun time of year for you or it could present many challenges. Try using this blog as a way to step back and reflect for just a moment.

We’re in the darkest part of the year in the UK. We don’t see much sunlight, going out to work in the darkness and coming home in the dark as well. It can all get a bit depressing. Seasonal affective disorder is a real thing that affects many people. One of the ways we often combat this is with artificial Christmas lights to bring some light and cheer. This then opens up the debate between cool and warm lights: what do you prefer? Artificial light emits a static spectrum. Cool white LED and most fluorescents mimic daylight which is blue rich, from the blue end of the spectrum. This can interfere with our sleep and recovery, it’s not good for us at night. 

Warmer lights and traditional incandescent light sources mimic sunsets which are red-rich, so they are good for evening illumination but don’t make us feel light and alert. All artificial light has a different mix of biological and energy impacts.

Natural light is completely different. It is full spectrum, containing all the colours of the rainbow, and dynamic, so the intensity and mix of colours change throughout the day. High blue content to wake us up in the morning to soft red-rich in the evening which tells our bodies to relax and get ready for sleep.

It is also a different level of power. In terms of lux (the unit used to measure light, didn’t you know?) sunlight measures between 50,000 and 100,000 lux. An average artificial light bulb is 250-500 lux, even a light box is only 10,000 lux. 

Followers of Jesus suggest that there is a source of spiritual light as well. We can spend a lot of time looking for sources of light that are pale imitations of the real thing, weak in lux terms and that don’t do us the good of the real thing. In the Christmas story Jesus is described as the light many times, described as the sun, the source of natural powerful light.

 The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; a light has dawned on those living in the land of darkness. (Isaiah 9:2)

 Jesus is true, natural, full spectrum, dynamic light. 

 As I think about the darkness inside me and the darkness outside in the world, can I make some time this season to spend in the natural sun and with the real light of the world?

An advent prayer from Henri Nouwen:

 Lord Jesus,

Master of both the light and the darkness, 

send your Holy Spirit upon our preparations for Christmas.

We who have so much to do and seek quiet spaces to hear your voice each day,

We who are anxious over many things look forward to your coming among us.

We who are blessed in so many ways long for the complete joy of your kingdom.

We whose hearts are heavy seek the joy of your presence.

We are your people, walking in darkness, yet seeking the light.

To you we say, “Come Lord Jesus!’

Vision

We have a dream for Ocean Church, and we think God has given us some big, exciting work to do. It’s simple, it’s inspiring, and it’s going to take a while. 

Our vision is this: to make church a living, breathing adventure.

When I was a kid, my parents told me that church wasn’t a building—it was the people. But let’s be honest: when most of us hear the word “church,” we still think of a building, some chairs, a talk, and maybe a few songs. Even after years of ministry, I catch myself doing it too. But what if church didn’t have to look like that? What if it didn’t have to happen in a building or even on a Sunday? What if church could be less like school and more like an adventure—something we live, explore, and experience together?

Here’s what I believe: God is the ultimate adventurer. He created the world and then stepped right into it as Jesus. That was risky, new, and full of possibilities. The Bible even calls Jesus the “pioneer” of our faith. He was the first to journey through death and come out the other side, blazing a trail for us to follow. When Jesus called his disciples, he didn’t just sit them in a classroom. He took them on an adventure. They followed him through cities, across lakes, into deserts, and up mountains. He sent them out to do the same. That’s what he’s asking us to do too.

The Bible tells us we can see God in the world around us. In Romans, it says: 

“Open your eyes and there it is! By taking a long and thoughtful look at what God has created, people have always been able to see what their eyes as such can’t see: eternal power, for instance, and the mystery of his divine being.” (Romans 1:20, MSG). 

I grew up believing that the main way to understand God was through reading the Bible. And while that’s true—(it’s the authority for how I want to live my life)—I’ve come to realize it’s not the whole picture. Limiting God to the pages of the Bible feels a bit like saying He only works within the walls of a church. What I’ve discovered is that the Bible itself invites us to look further, to see God at work in the world He created with his words as well as the ones that got written down.

The Oyster Catchers by the shore, the gentle flow of the River Stour, the black tongue fungi hidden in the woods—each of them whispers something about who God is and what He’s up to. They’re part of His great story, waiting to be noticed, if we’re willing to stop and take a second, deeper look.

Ocean Church is becoming a community of adventurers. We don’t just sit and listen—we hike, paddle, camp, and explore together. Adventure means trying something new, stepping into the unknown, and being ready for surprises. But it also means being prepared—packing well, knowing the route, and helping each other along the way. Here’s the amazing part: many of you are already doing this! You’re sea swimmers, wild campers, hikers, surfers, and mountain bikers. We’re not asking you to add more to your busy life. Instead, we’re asking this: 

How might God be using my adventures to display himself? And is there room for someone else to join in?

We imagine a future where Ocean Church becomes a “base camp” for spiritual adventures. Here’s what that might look like: Strong roots and identity in God and his word. A set of habits which shape the way we actually live. A  library where we can borrow gear from each other; a shared adventure fund to help people start new journeys; a place where we rest, refuel, and cheer each other on after we’ve been out exploring. 

After Christmas, we’ll gather to pray and listen for what God wants us to do next. For now, take a moment to pray about this vision. Does it spark something in your heart? How might God be inviting you to respond?

Kids, this is for you too. I’ve tried really hard to write this in a way you can understand because your voice is just as important as the grown-ups’. If you’ve got a minute, I’d love for you to read this or have someone read it with you. What do you think about the idea of church being an adventure?

Here’s the thing: we want you to have a say in what Ocean Church looks like and how we do things. Maybe you have ideas for adventures, places we could explore, or things you’d like to try. As we go forward, we’re going to find ways to make sure you get to share your ideas, make decisions, and help shape this community just as much as the adults do—because this is your adventure too. Let us know what’s on your mind, because your voice matters.

We think that God is beginning to stir something. Vision isnt held by one person or by a team, its held by a community of people. As Christmas approaches why dont you find a moment to be with God and ask him where you might be on this journey?

Wrestling with God

There is an unusual passage in Genesis 32. It is the night before Jacob is due to meet up
again with Esau. This is the brother whose inheritance he gained through a trick, which
caused him to flee, fearing for his life. Jacob spends the night isolated, away from his family,
nervously awaiting reuniting with his older sibling. It is during this time that the storyteller
says a man came and wrestled with Jacob until dawn. The fighting ends with this man
wrenching his hip out of joint (which interestingly could be translated more as a euphemism–
Jacob has no more children after this event so you can join the dots) when he refuses to let
go of the man. In the unusual dialogue that follows, considering they have been wrestling all
night, Jacob’s name is changed.

“Your name will no longer be Jacob,” the man told him. “From now on you will be called
Israel, because you have fought with God and with men and have won.” Genesis 32: 28
(NLT)

There is a lot going on here in the language of this passage. The name Israel can be
translated as ‘one who struggles with God’ which is relevant etymology because this
becomes the name given to the collective people of God in Hebrew scriptures. God’s people
self-identify not as ‘followers’ or ‘worshippers’ but as those who ‘wrestle with God.’

What kind of a god would let a human wrestle with them? It seems like one that is willing to
get down on the same level of mankind. It speaks of a god who is relatable and intimate, not
one that is distant and aloof. One that is in the sweat and struggles of life, not just a concept
or a construct of the mind. Intriguingly, the man in this story is unable to overpower Jacob,
meaning that the divine figure does not have an all-powerful nature emphasised, one that is
often taught to Christians.

There is a sort of irony tied up that this event from scripture is one it is natural to wrestle
with. For example, who was the man Jacob fought with? Jacob named the place where the
combat took place Peniel, which means ‘face of God,’ claiming in verse 30 to have seen God
face to face and survived. So was this man in some way divine? And how do we square that
with other parts of the Bible, such as John, claiming that no one has seen God? (See John
1:18 for example.)

I’m not going to attempt to try to answer all these questions. What does appear clear is that
wrestling with God seems implicitly encouraged. Jacob is blessed as a result of refusing to
submit to the somehow divine figure he was grappling with, not punished for refusing to
submit or just believing what he had been told. Despite this, struggling with God may also
cause us to limp metaphorically too. When we raise deep and dark situations and questions
with our creator, we may come out the other side changed.

As a result, there is no need for struggling to be the source of guilt about a lack of faith. We
can take reassurance from this story that instead Jacob is part of trend for other biblical
figures. This includes to Abraham negotiating on the number of decent people to be found in
Sodom for it to be saved from destruction, to Moses asking for a speaker in Aaron, to the
many psalms which question God and lament God’s actions. We can be part of a tradition
that encounters the divine in new ways in the struggles and through the challenges life
sends our way.

Co-authors

A few blogs ago I wrote about narrative and had planned to write a connected follow up. Sadly, this amazing plan failed because I forgot. Just remembered recently, so here goes…

 I don’t know about you, but books with co-authors sometimes concern me. When a hugely popular author partners with another writer is it just the lesser-known writer hanging onto the coat-tails of the famous one? You know what I mean, the size of the font used for the less famous name is staggeringly smaller. Or is the truth actually the other way around? Has the famous author just got someone else to do all the hard graft and put their name on the project? Cynical, I realise. But then what about famous sports (insert other areas of popular culture here as well) personalities who write incredibly literate autobiographies, using ghost writers? Ghost writer’s names don’t even make the front cover.

Sometimes, though, co-authors have an equal footing. My go-to-example here has to be the late, great Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, writing Good Omens. Genius. Apparently they took a lead with different plot lines and then wrote in each other’s styles to keep consistency. I’ll stop geeking out here and just encourage you to go and read Good Omens. Then come back and finish this blog off.

 Where were we? Oh yes, I wanted to link the idea of co-authoring to the story of our lives, as discussed in the previous blog.Who writes the narrative of our lives? Us? Fate? God or a Spiritual force? The Bible says that we are co-workers in God’s service (1 Corinthians 3:9). Throughout the story of the Bible we see God and people as active agents in life. It suggests that actually we are co-authors of our lives with God. Let that sit for a moment.

 Is God writing the story of our lives, introducing new characters, settings, allowing us to experience moments of conflict and resolution? Or do we make all of the decisions? Take responsibility for whatever happens, good or bad?

What might it mean to understand this idea of being co-authors? And who gets the larger font size on the front cover?

I am skirting around the outsides of a massive debate here about God’s sovereignty and human responsibility. Without going into any kind of details, the idea of being co-authors is to say that God is sovereign and in control and we make our own decisions and are responsible. At the same time.

How might I view life though, if I think of myself as a co-author with the King of all Kings? That we get to share the writing credits in some way? The Bible suggests that this isn’t only through the decisions and choices we make, but also through that great mystery: prayer. That we can pray and co-author with God Himself who acts on our prayers!

 Maybe this whole blog has just raised more questions than answers, but I encourage you to write the story of your life well, maybe even seeking advice from your co-author.

 Postscript:

To further extend this metaphor to near breaking point, I’ve also been thinking about how we’re not only co-authors of our own lives, but about our impact on the lives of others, Not as co-authors perhaps, but surely enough to get a mention in their acknowledgements section. Definitely our nearest and dearest. Now that is a motivation to write well and make sure the grammar and punctuation are correct.

Surfing

I learned to surf in Máncora. It’s small town in northern Peru. The Pacific was warm
and the ocean’s waves broke evenly and regularly, this pattern aiding the act of
learning a new skill. I had an instructor who guided me as when to start paddling with
the waves. I loved it – immediately I was able to stand and glide along the waves
before hopping into the shallow water and repeating the process. It was such a
brilliant time. Riding the waves was like an exhilarating divine encounter.

I thought I’d learned to surf in Máncora. Within a year or so, I found myself back in
England, at Polzeath in Cornwall. We hired boards and I was keen to put into
practice the skills that I had learned. I didn’t. Or I couldn’t. Rather than the sprawling
Peruvian sands, the costal architecture and the wind meant the waves broke far
more erratically. Time after time, I struggled to my feet on the board only to almost
immediately be wiped out. The sea can be a tyrant – it beats you up and
disorientates you when you’re underwater. It’s powerful and exhausting. It turned out
that there was much more to learning to surf than a couple of fun-filled hours just
south of the Equator.

My experience of faith had a similar honeymoon type of beginning, where everything
seemed to make sense, starting in a supportive context without many problems.
There were then times when faith ended up wiping me out, tipping me off my
metaphorical feet and leaving me battered and confused. Perhaps you can relate to
this. Do you wade back into the spiritual waters or do you give up?

The sea when surfing reminds me of some of the nature of the divine too. There are
times when you are on the crest of the waves, supported and able to have serene or
ecstatic experiences. This smoothness and freedom from distractions can help us
connect with God. Although it may not feel it at the time, rougher conditions also
reveal facets of the divine. When you are buffeted by waves and currents, it can
install in you a healthy respect for the sea. I’m reminded of The Lion, The Witch and
The Wardrobe where Susan questions Mr Beaver about the safety of meeting Aslan,
to which he replies, “Who said anything about safe? Course he isn’t safe. But hes
good.” It can be unpredictable and is definitely worthy of respect. And perhaps like
when we are wiped out and are at our most disorientated in life, figuratively
underwater and thrashing about, that is when we are in a sense most surrounded by
God. Often we won’t feel this way at the time but looking back we can see something
at work to sustain us amidst the difficulties.

My surfing experience remains regrettably limited. I continue, however, to explore
faith, even though it presents me more challenges than when I started out on that
journey. I feel less stable on my spiritual surfboard as a result of having been
dispatched into the depths on a number of occasions. Yet in continuing to choose to
turn and stride back into the waters of faith, I hope to have expanded my
understanding of ultimate goodness and love.

One roof: different beliefs. How to navigate tension with grace.

Living with someone who holds different beliefs can feel like walking a tightrope. On the one hand, you want harmony, but on the other, your values are so deeply personal that even small things can feel monumental. Whether it’s how you observe sacred days, how you find moments of reflection, or how you centre your life around your beliefs, these differences shape our everyday lives in ways we don’t always realize.

Take, for example, two people who practice different faith traditions under one roof. One may feel drawn to prayer five times a day, while the other seeks connection through silent meditation. I know couples where one follows a path of structured worship, while the other leans into a more organic, self-guided spiritual journey. Its common to find households where one person follows a faith and the other doesn’t. These differences can be subtle or pronounced, but they create moments of tension when two people are trying to honor their own practices while living alongside another’s.

Even when two people are on the same spiritual path, differences can emerge. One might find connection through attending services, while the other prefers to explore spirituality in nature or through personal study. These small tensions bubble up in daily life, revealing how deeply personal our practices are. I can sometimes find that a poorly timed joke can bring to light a tension that lurks just beneath the surface of our everyday rhythms.

But what often follows are the larger questions. We find ourselves asking: What does my faith mean in this moment? How much of my identity is tied to these practices? Am I open to change, or am I holding on because it’s comfortable? It’s these questions that arise out of the everyday tensions of living with someone whose spiritual journey is just a little different from ours.

Divergent Paths in Scripture: Stories We Don’t Often Talk About

The Bible is full of stories about people trying to live and work together despite their differences. Sometimes, these tensions lead to conflict, while other times, they open the door to reconciliation and growth. These stories offer surprising lessons for how we can live in harmony today, whether we share a belief system with those we live with or walk different paths altogether.

Take the story of Jacob and Esau, for example. Two brothers, born into the same family, but with wildly different approaches to their inheritance and blessing. Their relationship is marked by deception, rivalry, and deep-seated hurt. When they meet after years of estrangement, we see a moment of reconciliation where Esau embraces Jacob. This story reminds us that reconciliation is often more about the inner changes we make than the outward gestures we show. The reconciliation between them is seen not as a perfect resolution but rather as a complex process of growth and change, showing us that peace can take many forms, even when it’s imperfect​.

Another example is the relationship between Moses and Aaron. Even though they’re on the same mission, they have moments of disconnect—Moses as the idealist, while Aaron often handles the people’s frustrations. Their dynamic reflects how, even when we share the same faith or goal, our approaches can be vastly different. Yet, through their cooperation, they teach us that these differences don’t have to lead to division but can instead enhance the collective mission.

And then we have Paul and Barnabas, whose friendship was tested when they disagreed over John Mark’s role in their ministry. This led to them going separate ways for a time, illustrating how even among those with a shared purpose, tensions can create distance. Yet, their story reminds us that sometimes growth requires space and time to process these differences before we can come back together​.

Lessons from Nature: The Tension That Shapes Us

To take it further, when we look closely at the natural world, we see that tension is not something to be feared or avoided. In fact, it’s everywhere, and it’s often the driving force behind growth and renewal.

Take rivers, for example. Over time, rivers carve their way through mountains and valleys, sometimes causing destruction in the process—flooding, erosion, and the reshaping of entire landscapes. Yet, without this tension between water and rock, the land wouldn’t be as fertile, and ecosystems wouldn’t thrive. In much the same way, the tensions we experience in our relationships, whether between different beliefs or life paths, can ultimately shape us into something more resilient and fruitful.

Or consider forests, where trees and plants are in constant competition for sunlight, water, and nutrients. At first glance, it seems like a never-ending struggle for survival. But underneath the surface, trees are actually connected by underground fungal networks, known as mycorrhizal networks, where they share nutrients and support each other. What starts as competition often turns into cooperation—a reconciliation that strengthens the whole ecosystem. In relationships, too, we might begin in competition or conflict, but over time, we learn to give and take, to support and understand each other in ways we hadn’t expected.

Even the changing seasons offer a profound metaphor for tension and renewal. Winter brings the harshness of cold and dormancy, but it’s necessary for the rebirth of spring. Summer’s growth leads to autumn’s harvest. These cycles remind us that difficult seasons in our relationships aren’t permanent—they’re part of a greater rhythm of growth and change. Just as in nature, we need both the tension and the reconciliation for the fullness of life to emerge.

The Gift of Living in Tension

Living with tension isn’t easy, but what if it’s also a gift? What if these moments of friction—whether they’re about faith, values, or everyday life—are opportunities to grow, to understand ourselves more deeply, and to cultivate grace for others?

Just as in nature, where rivers carve new landscapes and trees learn to share resources, the tension in our relationships forces us to adapt, to stretch, and to become more resilient. When we face these moments of discomfort, we have the chance to ask ourselves important questions: What am I holding onto? Why does this matter so much to me? How can I find common ground without losing myself?

These are not easy questions, but they are vital ones. And in asking them, we find that tension can be a tool for transformation. It’s through these struggles that we learn patience, humility, and the art of compromise. It’s where we discover that even when we disagree, we can still build something beautiful together.

This is the gift of tension: it sharpens us, teaches us, and ultimately deepens our relationships. It helps us see that we are not here to live in perfect harmony all the time, but to learn how to grow through the imperfections, to find the grace that allows us to live with our differences.

Straight to the source

I’ve been reading lots of the Old Testament part of the Bible this year. Some great narratives and foundations of God choosing a people to reflect Him and bless others. But it’s also a tragedy. People constantly messing up, not trusting God and running from Him.

There’s a lot of that in the book of Exodus. The tradition states that God saves the Israelites from slavery in Egypt, performing breathtaking and awful miracles in the process; takes the people through the Red Sea and towards a land He promises to them.

Partway along this journey though, is a moment which has really resonated with me.

When God gives the ten commandments, the people have the opportunity to listen directly to Him. He is right in the midst of His people (at a certain distance for their safety) in thunder and lightning and smoke and a roar of noise. It is fearsome and awesome; unforgettable and overwhelming. The people have an opportunity to directly relate with the awesome, almighty God. If I stop here for a moment just to consider my view of who God is, His power and might, I feel a challenge. Is this the God I believe in and try to follow? Or is my view of God too small?

But I think this is a crucial point for the Israelites. Up until now, God has spoken to them (and Pharoah) through Moses and Aaron, the leaders. They have seen God work in mighty ways, they have seen Him accompanying them and protecting them as fire and cloud, but they have not directly related to God, it has always been through someone else.

Now, though, they have the chance to directly hear from God himself! How will they respond? And here comes the tragedy.

“When the people saw the thunder and the lightning and heard the trumpet and saw the mountain in smoke, they trembled with fear. They stayed at a distance and said to Moses, “Speak to us yourself and we will listen. But do not have God speak to us or we will die.” (Exodus 20: 18-19)

The people remained at a distance. They were too afraid to approach God directly – and before I get too critical from my incredibly different life experience, they had good reason. They had seen people killed by the awesome power of God. This was no small thing.

But instead of approaching they asked Moses to speak to God on their behalf, and share God’s word with them. They preferred a leader to lead them to God rather than go directly to Him themselves.

How different could things have been?

But how often do we do the same? Settling for second-hand spirituality? How often do we look to others to lead us to God rather than approaching Him directly? Depending on an intermediary? How often do we go straight to the source? The source of life and love, of power and peace. The All-consuming fire.

Can I be too obsessed with other leaders and rely on their relationships with God instead of going straight to Him myself? Depending on pre-digested, ready meals instead of burning-hot, face-to-face contact? How could I approach the mountain, covered in smoke and lightning and thunder? What would my attitude be as I did? On my knees I imagine.

How can we go straight to the source? Through Jesus, I believe the offer is open to us even more than it was to the Israelites at the foot of that mountain. Dare we go close enough to feel the heat?

Smashed!

Over the summer I went to Greenbelt for the first time, a festival I’d been looking forward to
attending. It is known for its music, focus on justice and its activist speakers so naturally my
favourite part was watching Smashed, which I think can be fairly described as a quirky and
mildly subversive juggling act. I went in with almost no preconceptions and left having
laughed to the point of tears, feeling that the hour in that tent had spoken to my personal
zeitgeist.

The show began with relative simplicity. Sure, the artists were juggling with apples, dressed
formally in suits and had a varied soundtrack including Music Hall and jazz. Putting that
aside, in terms of the juggling routine itself, the cascades were neatly in unison but not
especially elaborate. Each person seemed to have a role and there was a clear logic and
order. I am someone whose misspent youth included teaching myself to juggle to a level that
might impress the occasional primary-aged child. This meant that I could imagine that with
time and practice, I might be able to fit in with the early part of the performance.

Inevitably, the show became more complex. Intricate combinations of jugglers combined,
sharing the same balls (apples!), controlling each other’s limbs and relying on each other’s
precision. It’s difficult to explain what they were doing – it was very technical and well
beyond my level of expertise. Questions sprang to my mind – how did they come up with
that? How did they make the complicated combinations seem so effortless? And what
message were they trying to communicate with the interactions between male and female
performers? Just as I was starting to figure out the mechanisms of a particular manoeuvre,
another equally beguiling trick began. Occasionally, something went wrong, and a new apple
was picked up from the floor and introduced to the juggling moves being carried out, but the
jugglers did it naturally, seamlessly weaving it into the act.

Later on, the show shifted in tone. At times it felt somewhat manic, maybe rebellious and
almost anarchic in tone. The crescendo was messy, unexpected and, without wanting to give
away too many spoilers, involved far more broken crockery and partly-chewed fruit than I
would have expected. It had moved from complex routines to giving the impression of being
almost out of control – barely a recognisable juggling act at all. Despite this chaotic outcome,
it was performed supremely well, it was hilarious and joyous.

So why this review of this slightly left-field unconventional act? Smashed spoke spoke to me
of faith. Shattered saucers and apple cores? Let me explain.

Like the beginning of the show, sometimes our experience of faith is simple. There is a
clarity to what we believe and how we live out our convictions. It can be explained to others
easily. We may know that there are other areas that could be explored but they are not of
huge interest to us and we are content with simplicity. Our routines are in place and we feel
we fit in with those around us, each performing our own part and feeling like we can join in
with those around us. For some people, their beliefs remain at stage of simplicity throughout
that journey of faith. For me, this was not the case.

Instead, like the juggling act, faith can become complex. There may be tensions between
what you are taught from the Bible and what appears to be conventional or scientific beliefs.
Because the Bible is an ancient book written mostly over 2000 years ago, it can be difficult to
apply some of its teachings to our lives today. Sometimes, certain passages in the Bible
appear to contradict others. All of these things can bring complexity, sometimes a deeper
understanding of theology and a richness in understanding. It can at times be difficult to
grasp everything you would like to and it can be frustrating too, especially when you see
others who seem to have ideas more under control than you do. However, this greater
complexity in our faith can be extremely useful and rewarding.

However, like the disruptive finale, sometimes our faith can be disrupted, with chaos and
disorder reigning. Perhaps one of the reasons that watching Smashed spoke to me so much
was that a couple of days prior, I had attended the funeral of a friend’s son, who had died
after a five-and-a-half-year battle with cancer. Children shouldn’t die. Events like this unsettle
you – they shake your faith. At times, the foundations of our beliefs can also feel like they are
being eroded in other ways. This may occur if we discover that they do not actually
correspond with other convictions or our sustained experience. Faith can become messy
and chaotic, full of nuance and hard to explain. We can feel like we have lost control. If we
are in this place of disorder or deconstruction, it can be easy to wonder whether it even
means anything.

Hardwired to React? How to move beyond a reactive spirituality

If you head over to this page on the Ocean Church website, you’ll find a short quiz—about ten questions—before you can join our WhatsApp group. It’s partly so we can get to know you a little better. But it’s also because we want you to take a moment to think about your spirituality. How you’ve grown (or haven’t), what you’ve chosen to keep or let go of, and how you feel religion interacts with your inner life. One question that fascinates me in particular is a simple one:

Are you proactive or reactive in your spiritual journey?

So far, no one who has taken the quiz has said they’re proactive. Not a single person. I find this fascinating. Some, like me, would argue that the Christian faith, in its organized form, is deeply tied to one’s spiritual walk, and yet even then, we say we’re not proactive about it. The quiz has been taken by people who regularly attend yoga retreats, wellbeing events, people who pray and even those who are part of consistent faith communities.

Now, I understand the limitations of the question. What does it really mean to be proactive or reactive? Maybe you were actively seeking answers last week, last year, or during a significant life event, like the loss of a loved one or at certain times of the year when reflection feels natural.

But even so… why aren’t we more proactive? Is spirituality just not that important? Is it something we consider an “extra,” something to grasp only when it’s convenient or when life forces it upon us? Do we experience moments of deep spiritual connection but let them fade without chasing after more?

These are the kinds of questions that challenge us to dig deeper. Because if spirituality is truly central to who we are, why are so many of us living reactively rather than with intention?

Reactive Spirituality: Drifting Through the Currents

The word reactive has latin origins. Re is “back” or “again” and Agere means “to do” or “to act”. So when you put them together you have “to do again” or “acting back”. There are a couple of easy implications to see here. Firstly, if you have a reactive spirituality, your soul is simply responding to something that has already happened rather than preparing for something which has not. Secondly, if you are reactive then you need something outside of yourself to help nurture your soul as opposed to having the internal resources to initiate it yourself. 

So what are we waiting for? Do we pray when trouble comes, or when we are grieving or in need? Do we talk about God when something complex or paradoxical has come our way? Do we need to come to the end of ourselves before we admit we need some other resource?

It’s not that reactive spirituality is inherently bad—it’s human. We all respond to life’s pressures in this way sometimes. In fact, research by Tearfund shows that 51% of UK adults pray, with 20% of non-religious Britons admitting they turn to prayer in moments of personal crisis. This highlights how, for many, spirituality becomes more relevant during life’s storms than in calmer times​.

Interestingly, this pattern isn’t limited to those who are unaffiliated with faith communities. Even within organised religious settings, many people in the UK experience a reactive relationship with their spirituality. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Tearfund found that a third of UK adults (33%) prayed, and 24% engaged with religious services online—especially younger adults aged 18–34. This surge in spiritual activity during the lockdown reveals how spirituality often acts as a coping mechanism in response to crisis, rather than an ongoing practice.

This reactive approach leaves many feeling ungrounded and spiritually disconnected. Life happens to us, and spirituality becomes an occasional response rather than a continuous relationship. A significant proportion of those surveyed admitted that they pray when facing a personal crisis, such as family illness or uncertainty​. These moments of reactive spirituality might bring temporary comfort, but they don’t offer the lasting depth that comes with a proactive spiritual practice.

Why is this the case? Perhaps it’s because many of us view spirituality as an “extra,” something we turn to when we need comfort or direction, but not integrated into our everyday lives. We react to spiritual moments instead of actively seeking them out. In doing so, we miss the opportunity to build a spiritual foundation that isn’t easily shaken by life’s inevitable storms. All this is strange to me becuase a human being is mind, body and soul. Soul work has to be the most important surely because all our motivations, behavious, hopes and identify flow from our north star. Our soul.

But here’s the thing—this isn’t just a personal issue. It reflects a wider cultural shift in the UK towards a “crisis-driven” spirituality. The challenge for us, then, is learning how to flip the script—how to move from reacting to life’s storms to actively seeking depth and meaning, even when the waters are calm.

Authentic spirituality: Grounded in Community, Rooted in Proactivity

The key lies in grounding ourselves within a community. Authentic faith is not cultivated in isolation. It grows when we engage with others who hold us accountable, challenge us to go deeper, and provide a space where we can be both vulnerable and supported. In the context of liquid modernity, where everything is fluid and fleeting, community provides the stability we need to anchor our spiritual lives.

I’m loving the story of the daughters of Zelophehad (Numbers 27:1-11). These five sisters—Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah—lived in a time when women had no right to inherit property. Yet when their father died, leaving no male heirs, they took the courageous step of approaching Moses to request their father’s inheritance. They weren’t just concerned with their own welfare; they were fighting for justice within their community, seeking to preserve their family’s place within Israel.

What’s remarkable is that God not only approved of their boldness, but through their action, He changed the inheritance laws for all of Israel. We’re talking here about hundreds of thousands of households. These women didn’t wait passively for someone else to act. They proactively sought justice, and their faith was made more authentic through their engagement with their community’s future.

And this is where we find the heart of proactive, authentic faith—it’s lived out in community, rooted in relationships that challenge and sustain us. The daughters of Zelophehad weren’t just concerned with their own spiritual journey; they took responsibility for their entire community, ensuring that future generations would benefit from their proactive stance. Their story reminds us that authentic faith requires us to step beyond individualism and consider how our actions impact the greater whole.

When we live disconnected from others, it’s easy for faith to become reactive, something we turn to only when we feel lost or overwhelmed. But when we commit to a community, we are drawn into regular rhythms of worship, prayer, and reflection—practices that help us develop a proactive faith. Community encourages us to move beyond the spiritual consumerism of liquid modernity, where we pick and choose what feels good in the moment, and into something more grounded.

“What if…”: An ungodly belief

It’s hard to put into words what the last few weeks have meant to me, it has been a bit of a profound time to put it lightly.

For a little context, since lockdown and all that went down, I have been yearning for some time away. In solitude. With just God and some of my big questions. 

I have been needing a little bit of oasis and quiet to process some of the bigger issues of life, because I could feel my compass pulling a little. Subtle, but importantly away from God and goodness and general peace. I would wake up most mornings with a low level concern that would gnaw at my edges. “What is the point?”

Life is fleeting, here today and gone tomorrow. Literally. 

Man creates and destroys on a floating, spinning rock, with a fervence that defies logic for a creation that is heading to ultimate destruction. 

We believe that all will be restored, and that at the end of time God will make all right again. But in the day to day, in the face of suffering, that belief was starting to feel a bit more like a fairytale than anything else. And the effect was deeply derailing me. Like a bath with no plug, good and healthy things were being poured into my life, but without wrestling with my core understanding of God and the meaning of life, it was all just running away from me as fast as it was being poured in.

I was in desperate need of a reset. And not just in between nursery runs and last minute food shops.

I had been yearning for a while, and then in February my sister-in-law and I took our girls for a week away just to hang out and spend some good time together. It was in the after hours chats with her over that week, that I found I could be honest about how deeply that depression was affecting me. She is a fearsome prophet of a woman and she saw straight through all of my carefully constructed facades. She prayed and recommended a ministry that her friends in Wales were involved with, and the wheels were set in motion for some intentional time out to wrestle with God at RTF.

RTF stands for Restoring The Foundations. It was established in 1990 and I had heard of it a few times before. My Dad had been for a week’s session in the years prior and it was beneficial for him. So I was tentatively hopeful.

Skip forward to the end of August, (the ministry has a six month waiting list) and I drove myself the four hours off to the Breacons for five days of little responsibility and a lot of time to think. 

I was initially pretty nervous, I had put a lot on this time in terms of figuring out all of life’s issues, but it actually didn’t disappoint. It was just a lot less dramatic than I thought it would be.

Everybody’s experience of a ministry time like that would obviously be different, and it probably isn’t for everyone, but in five daily sessions of a few hours each, with a two-on-one approach, we journeyed through some of the places that the enemy might have gained some legal ground. Going through generational sins and the resulting curses, ungodly beliefs, soul hurts and demonic oppression, it all sounded a bit intense, but as we spoke it was all very peaceful andlogical, and honesty pretty normal. No real woohoo or tears at all. The thing that really felt revolutionary for me though, was uncovering my ungodly beliefs.

Sarah and Mike, the ministry leaders, had previously prayed and identified some areas in which they felt I had believed some ungodly things. 

Basically big fat lies. 

Maybe more small, subtle, life changing lies. 

For example, the belief that God’s blessings will one day run out. That there was somehow a cap to his blessings. A seemingly small lie, but when left unchecked I’m out here living my life with a spiritual limp, limiting God’s ability and the things I ask for without realising it, even though he clearly says that “he has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ.” (Ephesians 1:3) 

You spend some time identifying these things, then some time repenting of them, then some time letting the Spirit replace it with truth. In this case God showed me waterfalls, “Do these ever stop flowing?”. He showed me bountiful harvests, “Does the earth ever stop producing food?” We basically spent a while going through the things that never run out, as He compared His blessings to these things, with the promise that he is not a frugal God. 

A life changing axis shift.

And then they identified the ungodly belief of “What if…?”

What if what?

Nope, just what if…

This was a bit of a big one for me. And once again it is a bit more than I am able to unpack in a single blog post, as well as the fact that I am still walking out the truth of this one, and what it actually looks like in my life. But in essence, if God has said, “do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear.” and goes on to say “Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” (Matthew 6:25-27) Then when we worry, it comes directly against what God has commanded for us. Worrying about the ‘what if…’ immediately says “God probably won’t, or can’t”. An ungodly belief.
It isn’t about the thing we are worrying about. “What if our cat dies?”, “What if this birth is difficult again?”, “What if I’m spending too much money at Rockwater?” It’s the subtle questioning of it all. It takes the conversation away from God, and into trusting things into our own hands. What has God said about our cat? I will believe and trust in that. What has God said about this birth? I will believe and trust in that. What has God said about our finances and extra croissants at Rockwater? I will believe and trust in that. 

As a concept this is scratching the surface of some deep and theological explorations, but it was very simply summarised for me when I asked God what to replace this derailing lie with.

He said “Lou, what’s the best that can happen?”

The challenge to spend my time meditating on that, over the worst that can happen. 

So simple. 

Yet the walking out of it is actually, tangibly changing my day to day life.

I hear it in my head all the time. “Dr. Pepper, what the BEST that can happen.” The nineties jingle reimaged. And I am trying to think about those things, and ask God for them, and honestly it is going great. 

There is so much more to share, so much more revelation and life and day to day peace. I no longer wake up in existential anguish over the meaning of life. Depression no longer lives at my core. I don’t spend my days endlessly worrying about all things, (maybe some things, but I am working on it) And all it took was some intentional time with the Spirit. Yay!

And now “What if..” Is slowly being replaced with, “What is the best that can happen.” And it is honesty making my internal world a much nicer place to be.

Praise be to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than we can ever ask or imagine.