Scars
My right knee has an irregular scar formed from two separate cuts caused by a cut when I was too young to remember. My mum told me that in hindsight, it probably should have been stitched up but she was a nurse by training and not inclined to make too much of a fuss. On my left knee, there is a slight indent sustained when I took a small chunk out of it at a holiday camp when I was eight or nine. My abiding memory from this is how surprised I was that it didn’t hurt. My neatest scar is from my appendix was removed but I consider it distinguished by the five-pence-sized mark above it from where it became infected. There are stories behind our scars. Ask most children and they will be happy to tell you about theirs!
Some of our scars are visible to others; some remain hidden. They may remind us of times of pain but they are also indicators of healing. Without our bodies repairing our skin, there would still be open wounds, at risk of infection. Few of us would wish them upon ourselves but they mark experiences gained, lessons learned and healing.
Following the resurrection of Jeus, not all of Jesus’ followers had seen him. One of them, Thomas, remained sceptical of their accounts of having seen him risen. When Jesus appeared to the disciples again in John 20, he offers Thomas the chance to touch the hands and side which bore the evidence of the injuries caused in his crucifixion. As well as being proof to Thomas, the scars helped tell the story of what had happened to Jesus. They communicated that death was not the end; hope was not lost. The shame and agony of crucifixion was not the end of the story – love and hope were the winners.
Often our scars are seen as imperfections. Jesus’ scars were not removed from his risen body but were marks of the message of salvation and liberation that his life, death and resurrection spoke of. For followers of Jesus, perhaps this means that we follow one who is scarred, one whose body speaks simultaneously of suffering and healing. Our example is one who can intimately relate to all kinds of pain we may experience while also imparting the hope that pain is not the end.
Our scars, physical or emotional, don’t mean that we are spoiled goods, unable to be used. They mark the unique experiences we have been through and testify to the healing of injury. On top of this, they give us a way that we can link ourselves to a God who too bore the scars of wounds inflicted and we can remember the ultimate hope demonstrated in the resurrection.
Mist, vapour and smoke
Have you ever spent time in the mist?
From afar mist and clouds look impressive, substantial and beautiful. Maybe you’ve passed through them in an aeroplane, or climbing a mountain, or in a cloud forest. Inside the mist you can lose your bearings, sound can be distorted and the landscape changes. It can feel all-encompassing, uncontrollable and disorientating.
But when you try to hold or touch mist, the reality becomes clear: it is insubstantial and transient, you can’t hold it: it’s like it’s not actually there, a vapour. It may appear solid, but when you try to grab onto it, there’s nothing there.
I’ve been reading Ecclesiastes in the Bible recently. The author of Ecclesiastes writes about Solomon who was incredibly successful, rich and wise. The most powerful king Israel have ever had. Yet Ecclesiastes determines all life’s successes as ‘hevel’ which could be translated as vapour or smoke or mist. Work, wealth, honour, self-indulgence, even wisdom, Solomon’s most famous success: all vapour.
Vapour is here today and gone tomorrow, like the clouds. You can’t catch it or keep it or bottle it up. It is passing, transitory, it doesn’t last and doesn’t satisfy.
Ecclesiastes describes the best that life has to offer, the things that we chase after as vapour, or in other translations as vanity or meaningless. A chasing after the wind. Hevel.
This world and all its trappings, treasures and treats are transitory, passing, like the mist, like a vapour. Although they can feel so permanent, all-encompassing and everlasting; they will pass away like the mist on a hot day.
But the Bible teaches of a deeper reality that is much more substantial and long-lasting than this vapour that constitutes the life we know. A spiritual reality; life after death. The physical reality that we now live in is, in reality, a mist. And the spiritual reality, that we cannot actually see or feel, is, in fact, much longer lasting and real. Hard to get your head round.
The conclusion of Ecclesiastes is that one day God will clear the hevel away and bring order and clarity. This life is temporary and fleeting and we can stop trying to control it, stop worrying and accept the mistiness. Everything in life is out of our control, like the mist. However, we can enjoy the simple, good things of life, like family and friends or a sunny afternoon. Experiencing and enjoying life as it is. More than this, we can trust God who can guide us through the mist and outlasts it.
Can we see through the mist to what is lasting?
*Thanks to the teaching of Andrew Wilson for the inspiration for this, as well as the Ben Folds Five song ‘Smoke’. Give it a listen, go on.
Is wellbeing the new Gospel?
Green goo with a zen font in Sainsbury’s is now on special offer. The next package from tropics has gone up by 25%. A hot salt sauna has now opened up in Hamworthy park while others buy electronics to keep their pools at freezing temperatures all year round. We don’t just want to live anymore. We want to thrive. We want to optimise. We want to glow. Well I sure do anyway.
Apparently, the wellbeing industry around the world is worth $5.6 trillion. I’m not even sure how to quantify that number. It’s more than the GDP of the UK. More than we spend globally on education. More than we spend on normal pharmaceutics (and I thought that industry was bad enough). And it’s more than the combined value of Apple and Microsoft. It’s one of the biggest profit making machines on the planet- helping millions of people feel better.
But its built on an ache. We need to feel healthier, more alive. More whole and more connected. But we appear to still be lonely, overstimulated. We’re anxious and confused. We aren’t quite done yet because there is always something left to improve.
Wellbeing, at its core, should be simple: Move your body in ways you enjoy. Eat real food, including plants. Drink water. Get enough sleep. See your friends. Get outside. Get some sun. Do things that bring you life.
I’m grateful for more opportunities to exercise, more knowledge to read. Don’t get me wrong. We have more language available to us now. We speak freely about mental health and emotional wellbeing. We are able to articulate more clearly our feelings and teach our children why their personalities might affect their behaviour. I think my challenge is when healing becomes a transaction.
Instead of keeping it simple, the wellness industry has built a mythology around it—one that says it’s complicated, elite, hard to get right, and best delivered by a certified guru in a stylish outfit. What should be common sense has been wrapped in jargon, monetised, and made mysterious. The result? A lifestyle that was once about rhythm and relationship has become a labyrinth of products, plans, and programs. Wellness isn’t just lived anymore—it’s bought.
Can’t sleep?- Try this new app
Bad gut health?- Here’s a new powder
Achy bones?- Holistic spa treatments are available
Funny isn’t it- so many of us are uncomfortable with the language of sin and forgiveness but we are prepared to spend trillions on broken and fixed?
If healing becomes a transaction then I think we are still stuck in a system that broke us in the first place. The real sickness is not just inflammation or bad sleep. It’s the belief that you are something to be fixed. That your value lies in how effectively you function. That your worth increases with every green juice and downward dog. That wholeness is something you perform for others. If we stay in that place then the industry has you right where they want you.
The reason all this is on my mind is because at Ocean Church, we tap into aspects of wellbeing all the time- and I love it. It’s one of the things that makes us special. We paddle, we walk, we swim in cold water, we share food outside, we listen to the wind in the woods and we try to slow down. We do believe that movement, nature, the outdoors, silence- pave the way to wholeness and connection. They matter. They’re good. They’re gifts. So this isn’t a rant. It’s a question.
What happens when wellness becomes a gospel of its own?
Are there bits of the wellbeing industry which can begin to promise things it can’t deliver?
The wellness industry says
If it hurts, fix it. Fast.
The gospel says
Sit in the pain. It might be where God is breaking the soil for something new.
The wellness industry says
You are enough. Just align your energy and you’ll find peace.
The gospel says
You are loved- even when you’re a mess. Peace isn’t an absence of conflict. Peace is a person who finds you.
The wellness industry says:
We can fix you—but it’s gonna cost ya
But the gospel says:
Come, you who have no money. Come and eat. Come and rest. Grace is free—because it cost everything.
The wellness industry says
Follow your bliss
The gospel says
Follow Jesus. Sometimes through desert. Sometimes through wonder. Always towards death and resurrection.
The wellness industry says
Detox your life. Cut out toxic people. Protect your vibe
The gospel says
Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.
Jesus didn’t come offering self-care routines or inner peace hacks. He didn’t hand out scented oils and tell people to manifest abundance. His healing wasn’t about achieving a higher state- it was about restoring relationship. With God. With others. With ourselves. He didn’t avoid pain, he entered it. He touched lepers. Sat with the grieving. Walked into storms. He wasn’t afraid of the mess, and he never charged admission. Where the wellness industry often says, “Fix yourself so you can be worthy,” Jesus says “you’re already loved- now let’s walk together.” His way was slow. Embodied. Communal. Inconvenient. Full of interruptions. But always moving towards wholeness that didn't just make you feel better- it made you new.
Everyone shares the same spiritual longing. We all have a soul. We all want to go home. I’m just not sure that becoming restored and whole is all about you- and I’m not sure it’s about being a transaction.
I love green juice and saltwater and downward dogs as much as the next man. I love talking therapy and cold dips and nutritional advice. I love that we want to become happier healthy people.
These are amazing gifts. But they aren’t the giver.
A pilgrim’s work in progress
If I’m on a pilgrimage, does that mean I’m a pilgrim? A pilgrim can be defined as someone making a journey to a sacred place for religious reasons. Am I comfortable self-identifying as a pilgrim? What are my ‘religious reasons’ and how are they motivating me? And what about if the destination of that ‘sacred and holy place’ is Swanage?! A plethora of questions, much like my mind much of the time. Thoughts sparking and flying, processing and planning.
A group of seventeen of us embarked on a two-day pilgrimage at the beginning of April. I entered it with a fairly open mind about what to expect, hoping that our two boys would enjoy it too. From the start we discovered we would walk slowly. We noticed. Our journey was intentional. We listened to each other. We responded in the moment. We used our senses. We embraced simplicity. Simple physical acts carried meaning – throwing stones into a stream, making a story stick, taking off our shoes and feeling the ground beneath bare feet.
Too often I go through life trying to fit the next thing in. Evenings and weekends quickly fill with jobs and activities, meaning I am constantly moving onto the next thing. Going on a pilgrimage helped, for a short period, to strip that away. There was no to-do list. Less human do-ing and more human be-ing.
The idea of thin places appeals to me. A thin place can be a moment of transcendence, where our often self-imposed division between the physical and the spiritual is reduced, where the connection to the divine is more palpable or intense. It can be where time and the eternal meet. In busyness and rush, it is easy to miss these encounters. One such thin place on the pilgrimage for me came when we walked in silence for about ten minutes. As it transpired, this coincided with waiting at a crossing for a steam train to pass. A time that would normally be filled with chatter was held in deep quietness, listening to the building crescendo of wheels on tracks, whistles and steam, quickly to be replaced by stillness. It makes me think of the story in 1 Kings 19 where Elijah doesn’t hear the voice of God in a hurricane or an earthquake but in a whisper. A reminder that to hear, we need to ensure we listen.
Sleeping on the floor in a cold church. Eating a simple but wholesome vegetable stew. A buttercup growing amid a bunch of nettles. A pilgrimage experience that was not linear.
In the last week, I’ve watched the latest season of Pilgrimage. What struck me was the variety of responses the celebrities had. One said it felt almost indulgent. Others found clarity in faith or renewed hope. For someone, there was an element of healing. On our shorter pilgrimage, there were a similar broad range of experiences which you can read in an earlier post.
Answering some of the questions in my opening paragraph might seem the natural or logical way to conclude this blog. However, earlier concerns may no longer seem necessary or relevant. Priorities change. The focus has shifted. Pilgrimage was not an argument to be won or a point to be made or a lesson to be learned. It was an experience.
I can’t tell you what your pilgrimage would be like, should you have the opportunity to go on one. But I can recommend it. And I can advise you to lean into it, to embrace it. There’s lots to be gained from slowing down, paying attention and allowing yourself to be malleable. And hopefully I’ll be there to walk alongside you on the next one Ocean Church organise.
Infinity
Infinity is a tricky concept. How can you understand the idea of something continuing forever? No beginning and no end?
Although, as I think about it now, I wonder if its easier to imagine infinity when you’re younger because it seems like you’ll live forever. As you get a bit older life seems less permanent.
I think nature gives us some great images of infinity. The waves lapping backward and forward on the shoreline as the tide comes in and recedes, comes in and recedes again. The ocean reaches to the horizon, but you know that it goes on and on. The first time my children saw the ocean they just stood and stared. Sometimes we still do.
I once got to see the spectacular Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. It felt like I had never seen so much water, just pouring continually down forever. My brain couldn’t understand why it didn’t run out, there was that much water. A continually flowing waterfall is a great image of eternity.
Victoria Falls is called ‘the smoke that thunders’ because you can hear the falls long before you see them; a deep roar that builds to a crescendo. And the spray creates ‘smoke’ that drifts high and wide. Knock on effects of the infinitely falling water.
Ecclesiastes 3:11 says “He (God) has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.”
I love the phrase “He has set eternity in the human heart”. Perhaps that is why we rage against the dying of the light and death feels so wrong.
But yet, what is eternity? As humans we are completely bound by time so trying to get our heads around this idea is near impossible. Even the images of infinity mentioned earlier aren’t really infinite. Waterfalls do dry up.
Psalm 90:2 says “Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.”
God is from everlasting to everlasting: no beginning and no end. Tense applies differently here, He is God; the Great I AM. This is a common translation of the name God gave Himself when meeting with Moses at the burning bush (in Exodus 3), but it could just as equally be ‘I will be who I will be’. When you look into infinity, tense loses its meaning.
At this stage of the blog post I’d like to wrap things up neatly and come to some kind of clever conclusion, but the idea of infinity doesn’t allow me to do that. I think that’s okay though.
Faith and spirituality should lead us to moments of wonder and unknowing, recognising that we are small and finite and the God who is the Great I AM is other: wonderful and infinite, like an ever-flowing waterfall cascading down and down. Maybe wonder and worship is the appropriate response.
Standing on the shore
When I was at university, I went bodyboarding with a group of friends at Easter. There wasn’t
a wetsuit available that fitted my muscular lanky frame so I just wore a pair of shorts. This
was a mistake. After leaving the water 20-30 minutes later, I was extremely cold and
according to those I was with, fairly incoherent. Put simply, I had symptoms of mild
hypothermia and felt out of sorts for nearly a week afterwards.
About ten years later, I found myself in the Dominican Republic. The group I was with took
part in a fantastic activity, scrambling up streams and gorges before sliding down again and
doing some coasteering-style jumps into pools of water. It was brilliant and I loved it.
However, the activity and temperature change in the water sent my body into a sort of shock.
Within a couple of hours, back at the resort, I was wrapped up in jeans and a hoody,
shivering relentlessly, despite the temperature being in the mid to high thirties. Fortunately,
the effects were more short-lived this time, perhaps aided by the self-prescribed medicinal
qualities of all-inclusive rum!
These somewhat adverse experiences mean that I don’t have a strongly positive relationship
with cold water. If I’m in a wetsuit or fall in off a paddleboard, I’m ok but my wife will testify to
my reluctance to go into the sea even at the height of summer. I don’t find it refreshing or
relaxing and I’d much rather remain in some sort of shade reading a book. As I was regaling
these anecdotes to John on a run recently, we enjoyed the irony of me choosing to be part of
Ocean Church.
In this season of dipping our church is practising, I have been ankle-deep in the water. Once.
It was a reflective moment and I’m glad I did it. But, if I am being truly honest, I know I won’t
hurry back to it. My body’s reaction to even the prospect of submerging myself in the sea
borders on a fear response. It means in one sense, I can’t fully get on board with a big part
of what the community and church I am part of is collectively doing and experiencing in this
season.
This sense of partial separation from what the church I am part of is practising is a feeling I
have had before. In the past there have been songs I have not felt comfortable singing
because some of the words I disagreed with. There have been practices I have not fully
understood, enjoyed or participated in for one reason or another. I’m guessing that this
phenomenon is not unique to me. And this, I believe, is all ok.
It is possible to get frustrated or disillusioned when we feel like we’re not taking part or
embracing something that the rest of our group is part of. However, the reality is that the
communities that we are part of won’t match perfectly to us all of the time. They are made up
of people like us, but at different stages on their journeys. When I am in this situation, it is
up to me to actively choose not to compare myself to others. The quote, “Comparison is the
thief of joy,” is widely attributed to Theodore Roosevelt and its message encourages us not
to seek self-worth and happiness based solely on others’ experiences.
We have choices when we are in this sort of situation. At present, I’m nearly entirely on the
dry land of the shoreline when it comes to dipping, whereas many are wading and
submerging themselves. Instead, I choose to cheer them on, despite knowing I won’t have
the same experience. I relate the daily reflections about dipping to my own life. When others
share their reflections, I don’t need to let bitterness or apathy in because I am in a different
place, but I will be glad that collectively we are moving forward.
Perhaps there have been or will be times where you don’t feel you fully fit in with a church or
other group. That’s ok. As I remind myself there will be for me, know that there will be other
adventures waiting for you.
Pilgrimage 1: Some thoughts
We set off from Corfe Castle on Friday, April 4th, 2025. Sixteen of us, packed lunches in hand, some familiar faces, some new, all of us wondering what the weekend might hold. As we shared sandwiches and stories, we began to find our rhythm—one foot in front of the other, heading towards St George’s church in Langton Matravers.
The sun showed up for us, warm on our backs, while our guide, Hilary, gently invited us to slow down. To notice the wildflowers. The birdsong. The small invitations from God hiding in the hedgerows.
By the time we arrived, something had shifted. The walking had done its work. We were ready—not just to rest, but to encounter God in ways we hadn’t expected.
Here are some photos from the journey, along with reflections from the pilgrims themselves. May they stir something in you, too.
“For me, Pilgrimage was a chance to feel God with me and a chance to play with my friends. I learnt that to complete a pilgrimage you have to go through lots of different things. My favourite thing was doing a human pyramid!”
“For me the pilgrimage was an opportunity to do what I love doing (walking with nature) with like- minded folk; meeting new people, appreciating and learning so much more and even enjoying the ‘silent’ walk! None of this is possible without the love and knowledge of God who puts us all in the right place at the right time
”
“For me pilgrimage was an opportunity to slow down and be thankful for all of God’s creation.”
“Pilgrimage was an opportunity to reflect and feel closer to God. I felt closest to God when standing in the middle of the church floor and when we did our silent walk. I enjoyed playing and chatting with the other kids and I found the sky larks impressive. When we did the story stick I found a buttercup hidden in some stinging nettles. I picked it for my stick as I felt it represented hope in the worst of times.”
“For me pilgrimage was about being outside in nature, real life and meeting new people. ”
“Pilgrimage was fun, sleeping in a freezing cold church. Spending time with others. I thought it was kinda cool about the skylark who sings when it goes up and comes down, but doesn’t sing when it’s on the ground. When Hilary spoke, I felt God’s presence like he was around and he was watching us”
“I used to be a climber, so it was great having my hands on rock again. But what stood out was how, at first, it can feel like there are no opportunities—like you just can’t spot the holds for your hands or your feet. But then, once you get your hands onto the rock, everything changes. It becomes this really tactile experience. All the details of the rock—the shape of the holds, the texture—they just sort of come into your hands. And you start to feel more and more. So essentially, the more you feel those details, the more depth comes out for you.”
“For me, Pilgrimage was a chance to intentionally take time out of busy life to connect with God, nature and others. I was challenged by really being present in the moment - not always reflecting on the past or thinking about the future - and how much more we notice and experience by being present. I loved both the physical journey and the spiritual journey we went on. It was such a blessing to experience the incredible beauty of creation, and to share in each others spiritual journeys. I loved the simplicity, the slower pace, and watching the kids loving life.”
“I didn’t realize it was going to be a sort of condensed down version of parts of my story. Particularly being in a wilderness season...I really had a powerful time of just realizing all that God had done and bits what I had to let go of and a simple way of throwing a stone in the water or taking something off and throwing it back to nature to die in the ground- all those sorts of things that meant I was just really thankful at the end I was able to bring that give all that to him”
“It was a chance to slow down and be. ‘Normal’ life can feel like a string of tasks punctuated with, “Next, next, next.” Both the 24 hours before and after have contrasted significantly with our time walking, reflecting and noticing together. My experience on the pilgrimage was a welcome opportunity to be deliberately present and emersed in the ‘now.’ Busyness was replaced by a more contemplative attitude and contentment was found in simplicity.”
Intensity
Some things in life are intense. Storms, sunsets, bright shining sunbeams breaking through the clouds. Massive waves, blustery gales or tornadoes. They can be intensely good moments of beauty and awe and majesty or intensely bad moments of destruction and devastation.
How is this reflected spiritually? What does a high intensity spiritual moment look or feel like? High emotion or hearing from God? Feeling the Holy Spirit? Being close to God? Mountaintop moments where heaven seems close enough to touch, like Elijah’s experience discussed in this blog last week. Maybe it is also true that intensely bad times of life also draw us close to God. Times when we are not in control and cannot cope so look to a higher power for help and answers.
But what about times of low intensity? Grey skies and drizzle, when life is just a bit meh. What do we do with times of spiritual low intensity? When we don’t really feel, experience or hear God?
Here are a few suggestions, but it is clear there is no silver bullet!
Keep on turning up. Keep praying or seeking God, practicing spiritual disciplines, meeting in community.
Habits help. Regular spiritual practices, like seeking God outside can be built into everyday life. Like a regular habit of going to the gym even in times of low intensity, spiritual habits help us keep going.
Be honest! The book of Psalms in the Bible is full of incredibly high and low intensity moments. Some bits are brutal. Using the Psalms to pray and reflect feelings can be really powerful.
Find friends to walk with. Friends can help carry us through times of low intensity.
Remember that although God can seem distant, He can actually be completely present. Read this from Henri Nouwen for more: https://henrinouwen.org/meditations/gods-absence-and-presence/
I guess the key is to cling to God in high and low intensity moments.
Why you can’t feel spiritual when you’re in survival
So, it seems I'm still learning a lesson- one that I touched on in my last post. We are now a few weeks into this dip a day stuff and I seem to be still learning the same lesson...It's cold. And facing the cold is quite a challenge. You need energy from the get-go to even start a dip. To face the moment when your skin shrinks and your breath is taken away, and you want to be back in bed with a cuppa.
More specifically, the moment when I am in the water was supposed to be the spiritual bit. The bit where I feel most connected to God. In prayer, peace and when all things click into place. But here is my issue. When I am in the water is the exact moment when I feel the least spiritual of all. Im freezing, all i can think about is the water and the cold and my body.
And what I’m realising is this: when you’re in survival mode, it’s nearly impossible to be spiritual. Your body is screaming "Get out!" Your brain is scanning for threats. You’re tense, guarded, braced. And in that place, you can’t really listen. You can’t really pray. You can’t even be fully present. Or at least I can't.
You aren't the master of the cold. So the cold becomes a teacher.
And here's the thing: a lot of us are in cold water all the time, metaphorically speaking. Not by choice. Not for Lent. Just... life.
For some, it’s depression. That grey fog where even brushing your teeth feels like its too much. For others, it’s anxiety—this buzzing alarm system that never turns off. For others still, it’s the hunger in your belly or the dread of checking your bank account. These aren’t abstract spiritual ideas. These are survival situations.
And when you’re just trying to keep the lights on—emotionally, mentally, financially—spirituality can feel like a luxury. Like something for people with energy. Or margin. Or peace.
But here’s what I’m beginning to believe: it’s not that spirituality isn’t for you when you’re in survival mode. It’s that it looks different. It’s quieter. Smaller. Maybe it’s just sitting in the bath and crying and saying one honest sentence to God. Maybe it’s asking for help. Maybe it’s letting someone else hold the faith for you, just for a bit.
Survival doesn’t cancel your spirituality. It just shifts the language.
In the Bible, I love the story where Elijah—fresh off this massive spiritual high, calling down fire from heaven just collapses under a broom tree and begs God to take his life. He’s done. Burned out. Terrified. Hungry and alone.
It’s one of those moments in scripture that’s uncomfortably human. This prophet, a giant of faith, reaches his absolute limit. And he doesn’t hide it. He doesn’t pray some polished prayer or put on spiritual airs. He just breaks. Falls apart in the wilderness.
And what does God do? He doesn’t roll his eyes. He doesn’t say, "C’mon man, toughen up. You’ve already got miracles under your belt!" No. He sends an angel who touches him gently. Gives him food. Lets him sleep. Then wakes him again with more food. More rest. Not once does God try to spiritually bypass Elijah’s exhaustion. Because God gets it.
God knows that sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is eat a proper meal and take a nap. Because God knows you can't walk forty days and nights to the mountain if your blood sugar’s low and your cortisol’s through the roof.
Spiritual life doesn’t start with a mountaintop. It starts with a meal. A nap. A little bit of kindness for your nervous system.
Sometimes, there's nothing to prove, nothing to do, no race to be won. and God know this. So, cut yourself a break.
You might not be able to feel spiritual when you are in survival.
Identity and purpose
The story is told of a traveller who stumbles across an outpost. The Roman sentry there shouts down, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” Shocked to be on the wrong path, the man freezes. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?” demands the soldier once more. Taking stock of the situation, the traveller pauses before saying, “I will pay you twice what you earn if you will come to my house and ask me those questions each morning.”
Where our identity is based is crucial to us. So many factors can affect it. We are bombarded by messages concerning our identity from infancy, with some more positive and constructive than others. There are other messages, from friends, social media and society that can affect our self-worth. It can be so simple to be sucked into lies about our value or to undersell ourselves with expressions such as “I’m just a teacher” or whatever descriptor you would apply to your circumstances. We can also so easily be lured into negatively comparing ourselves to some external ideal.
In contrast, Psalm 139:14 reminds us that we are “fearfully and wonderfully made.” I wonder what it would be like to truly believe this, to begin each day being reminded of it. Perhaps you can sit with those words for a few minutes. Consider their impact on you and what this tells you.
The question “What are you doing?” can feel almost confrontational. Does it challenge us? Our purpose, like our identity, can feel fragile. It is easy to downplay the roles that we have, and the adverbs of ‘just’ and ‘only’ can too easily sneak their way into our vocabulary when we describe our actions and what we do.
One thing I have noticed more recently is that many of the messages in the Bible that seem linked to purpose are given collectively. For example, the often-quoted passage of Jeremiah 29:11 which says, ‘“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future,”’ was spoken to the group of Jews who had been exiled into Egypt. In our individualistic society, we can forget our purposes are at least partially communal. This is one of the things I like about being part of Ocean Church, where we strive to be part of a community of adventurers, embodying faith through shared experiences. It’s not all down to me – but I am part of a community who are intentionally seeking transformation and have my role to play.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” We’re back where we started. There may not be a Roman sentry demanding our immediate response but the challenges remain as we grapple them, encouraging us to focus on our identity and purpose. Which leads us inevitably to, how do you answer these questions?
pebbles
Do you have a favourite stony beach? Don’t get me wrong, we all love a sandy beach and all that it entails: sandcastles, massive holes, comfortable sunbathing and so on. But a stony beach is great in its own right. Our favourite has long been Budleigh Salterton from when we lived in Devon. Aside from having an incredible name and a teashop that serves a high class cream tea (the secrets in the doilies), the pebbles on the beach are perfect.
I love the approach to the seafront. As you get closer you can hear the suck of the waves on the pebbles and the clack and rattle of the smaller ones rolling over each other as they get dragged interminably out to sea and back to shore. A place to hear the very voice of God.
As a family we play ‘choose your favourite pebble’. Rock* and roll, I know. But which one to choose? Pearly white, reflecting the sun or multicoloured with hints of pink and bluey green? Perfectly smooth or pitted and cracked with imperfections? Rounded and oval or misshapen? Fat or flat? Or what about the one with the hole right through it?
Next time you go to a stony beach try playing our game. Feel the pebble you choose. Is it smooth or grainy? Consider it, its weight, shape and colour. Pebbles are formed over long periods of time; the friction of water and being battered by other pebbles smoothing edges and shaping them, making them beautiful. Where has your pebble come from? Where did its journey start? Maybe a desert or a volcano, depending on the type of rock.
Could you allow God to speak to you through your pebble? What journey are you on? Where did it start? What events of life have worn you down or smoothed your sharp edges? How have you been battered or smashed, ground down, but then moulded and shaped? What imperfections are there?
In some ways I feel battered and broken, worn and ground down. Certainly feeling the mileage these days. But I completely believe that God is shaping me, like a pebble in the ocean. Maybe not beautiful yet: does that mean more friction to come?
2 Corinthians 4 verses 8-10: “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.”
I’ll let the great Paul Weller have the final word.
Like pebbles on a beach
Kicked around, displaced by feet
Oh, like broken stones
They’re all trying to get home
(Broken Stones by Paul Weller)
* Pun intended. Apologies.
on being cold
Something was amiss in Shell Bay. There was plenty of us, it was a beautiful day with lots of potential to encounter God in the elements. Still, there was one nagging feeling that affected our time there. Obvious to some. But not me.
It was cold.
I felt it more on Saturday, trudging into the harbour for a cold dip. The initial shock stole my breath and my body didn't seem happy. As soon as I put my shoulders in, I thought it was now time to get out. I realised later that I had seen the dip as a challenge, something to achieve and overcome, not something to experience or be present to. It turns out that organising dips might be easier than actually dipping.
Sometimes at Ocean Church, we have a "battle through" mentality. We keep going with what we have planned regardless of how people are feeling, pushing forward because we think the program is more important than how the conditions are affecting us. But perhaps the cold teaches us something different. Perhaps it's not always about pushing through, but about listening—pausing to notice what the moment is asking of us. Sharing information on the beach can be difficult—words get lost in the wind, attention shifts with the waves, and sometimes, what we try to say doesn’t land.
So how, then, do we deepen faith? how to we tell the Christian story to each other? Maybe faith isn't just about resilience but about responsiveness, about knowing when to press on and when to let the cold shape us, guide us, even change our course. Maybe deepening faith isn’t just about talking but about experiencing, about paying attention to what’s happening around us, what’s stirring within us, and how God is already moving in the silence, in the elements, in the very things we often try to push past. God might be objective, but our experience of him is so fragile and changeable. Ocean Church provides the chance to prioritize embodied faith—engaging with God through experience first, before processing it cognitively.
Cold exposure triggers a series of physiological responses in the body. When we are exposed to cold, our blood vessels constrict to preserve heat, redirecting blood flow to our core. This helps keep our vital organs warm but leaves our hands and feet numb. Shivering then kicks in—our muscles contract involuntarily, generating heat but also making it harder to move with precision. Prolonged exposure can slow brain function, making it harder to focus, process information, and even articulate thoughts clearly. The cold is hungry. It demands energy, drawing our attention inward toward survival rather than outward toward engagement.
So what does this mean for faith in outdoor spaces? The cold/ wet/ heat/ (insert other distracting conditions here) shouldn't be an elephant in the room, nor something we tut about. It means we need to recognize the effect of the elements on our ability to be present and call it out into the open. It means adapting how we worship and learn, making room for movement instead of stillness, for action rather than long discussions. It means embracing warmth—through shared physical activity, storytelling, or even simple rituals like holding a warm drink together. If cold narrows our focus to what keeps us alive, then maybe faith in these spaces needs to be about what brings us life. Not just enduring the elements but responding to them in ways that deepen our connection—to each other, to creation, and to God.
running
I love running. Since getting into it about three years ago, I have found that it to be rewarding in many ways. Having goals to work towards and seeing improvements have been motivating. Probably more importantly for me however, has been having the time to let my mind wander, process and work through what is going on in my life. Fortunately for me, within about ten minutes, I can find myself in nature and when I’m feeling in the right place, I can let that teach me lessons too.
There are a few references to running in the New Testament. In one of them, Hebrews 12:1 says, “Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us.” This led me into thinking about what this might mean or how it could apply to my life now. One thing that leaps to mind is that endurance running is not a sprint. Trying to cram everything into too short a time will quickly lead to exhaustion and having to slow down or even stop. Going at a sustainable, purposeful pace in life, which will vary from person to person, is much more constructive. There are times when the speed of life picks up or slows down which is natural and ok but our journey of faith is one for the long-haul. Haring off will not be helpful.
Running with endurance requires training. Regular patterns of feeding our souls and having appropriate practices will strengthen our lives of faith. Ways this can be expressed include by regularly meeting with others and sharing what is going on in your life. Reading scripture or learning more can expand our knowledge and understanding of the divine. Our faith can also be consolidated by listening to talks and podcasts or taking time out to listen, pray or meditate. This training will help prepare us for those parts of the race of life that is difficult, when giving up or quitting hold more attraction.
Finally, although there are many ways that it can be refined and bodies can be made stronger, running fundamentally boils down to repeatedly putting one foot in front of the other. It’s not complicated. It’s not glamorous. It strikes me that for many of the characters that I learned stories about growing up within a church context, the Bible only tells of one or two main events in their lives. For the rest of it, I wonder if their lives comprised mainly of the consistent and repetitive taking the next step, making the next best choice. This training, this repetition, these sustained practices then meant they would have been prepared to make those positive choices when it was important to do so. If this is true, it can give us encouragement when life seems like a plod, with no end in sight. If we can just keep putting one foot in front of the other, to keep pushing forwards even when conditions are tough, we will be running the race that is our lives with endurance in the way that the writer of the letter to the Hebrews was encouraging.
Baptism
Baptism is quite a weird thing, especially if you’re not from a church background. To be fair, even those from a church background would agree that it looks quite odd.
In front of a group of people someone - fully clothed - is lowered completely into water before being helped back up again and everyone claps and cheers. They’re dunked. This often takes place inside a Church building in a ‘baptistry’. This could be a hidden teeny pool at the front normally hidden under floorboards (I got baptised in a place like this, it was a little like magic when the floorboards came up) or in a strange movable dismantle-and-put-back-together pool like the one shown. Like a less fun hot tub. Or it can take place outdoors, in a real pool or a river or the sea. Perhaps more naturally.
So what is going on?
A sign
Baptism is a sign of faith in Jesus. It is someone publicly saying that they want to follow Jesus as God and as being in charge.
A sacrament
It is also a physical act that symbolises a spiritual reality. It is an outward sign of God’s grace in saving.
A cleaning.
A bit like taking a bath to get rid of muck and dirt, it represents being cleaned from sin (failing to love God and others, breaking God’s trust, stuff we do that is wrong). This shows the forgiveness and grace that has been received.
It also represents death and resurrection. The person dies in the water to their old self or way of life and is then born again when they come back out of the water. They are raised to new life in Jesus.
I’ve been reading ‘I found my tribe’ by Ruth Fitzmaurice, a brilliant book. It’s not spiritual, but it is really. She says “the sea is my salvation”, “the sea saves me” and “We all need saving again and again and again.” There is a recognition that salvation is found in the water, in the sea.
This echoes something of baptism which is, let’s be honest, a bizarre act. But also a rich symbol of faith, salvation and the hope of new life.
At Ocean Church we are going to be celebrating some baptisms this Easter. We’ll do this outside, in the water! Come and join us!
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:
Anyone affected by the decision (friends, group members, etc.).
Anyone with more experience (people who have done this before).
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:
Every decision should match our vision: To reimagine church as a living, breathing adventure.
Every decision should reflect our values: Fun, Relationships, and Adventure.
Every decision should follow our rules, like safety and privacy policies.
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.
This is a spiritual process. Praying and listening to God is part of making good decisions.
No leader can block an idea. If the decision-maker has followed the Advice Process, their choice should stand.
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.