Coming soon... Crossing the Line

One result of reflecting on life and my cancer diagnosis over the last couple of months, is a desire to write an account of my days, starting with where I came from, the family I was born into.  I know I am not alone in wanting to do this at a time like this.  It may be vain, even presumptuous, but I am going to do it anyway.   I am going to publish it on my blog, a bit at a time.  Don’t worry, I don’t expect lots of people to read them.  I am doing this for me.

Part of wanting to do this comes from my personality.  I like to be ready for things.  I don’t like having things sprung upon me.  I remember a time in my teens when my friends organised a surprise party for me before I moved away.  For the first half hour, I was furious, because I had other plans for the evening!  So perhaps I am preparing for the possibility that one day, my life will flash before my eyes, and I don’t want any surprises! 

But I also want to do it because I am constantly in awe of the things that God has allowed me to experience in life.  I don’t even pretend to understand the verse in Psalm 139 that says, “all the days ordained for me were written in your book, before one of them came to be”, and like the Psalmist, I find myself echoing his words, “Such knowledge is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain”.  I am deeply grateful for the wonders He has shown me, and that no matter where I have been, or what I have been doing, I know God was there.

I have thought long and hard about what to call this series of blog posts.  “Confessions of a turbulent priest” came to mind, but my life can’t even hold a candle to Thomas Becket, the original ‘turbulent priest’.  I also thought of “A life less ordinary” but again, that has already been taken by someone who has moved mountains rather than my paltry molehills.

In the end, I am going to call it “Crossing the Line” inspired by a song by American Christian band, Superchick.  As I look back, my whole life has been about crossing lines, as were my parents’ lives.  Refusing to be pigeon-holed, refusing to be confined by ‘the norm’, refusing to back down when principle was involved.

As the song says,

‘Try to change the world, they'll think you're out of your mind Revolutions start when someone crosses the line’

Not that I have changed the world in any significant way, but I am proud to have played my small part alongside many others who have been determined to do the same. 

For me, this has been life in all its fullness. (John 10:10) and I thank God for the opportunity to live it.  The song has another lyric which I hold dear.

‘Everybody dies, but not everyone lives!’

Even though I am facing the prospect of a much shorter life than I had imagined, I am proud to say that I have definitely lived.  Despite my failings and inadequacies, I have seen and done things which still bring a smile to my face, or make me pause to reflect.  God has taken my rebellious personality and used it for His Glory and I am truly grateful.

The last thing which confirmed this for me were some of the kind comments which people wrote on my recent Facebook posts about having cancer.

 Sam wrote:

“In my mind’s eye, you're still in training at St Paul's, twenty plus years ago, breaking all the stereotypes of what a prospective vicar should look like as you revved your way to the services on a motorbike & donned in leather & Mel, again breaking stereotypes of what a vicars wife should be, as you walked down the aisle in a plum red wedding dress.

The pair of you have broke from convention times over & consequently have touched & spoken into so so many lives, who otherwise wouldn't have heard of this Jesus dude & all that He is & brings.”

And Charlene (who I have never met outside of Facebook) wrote:

“I was so disgusted with “God speak” of angry-call-themselves Christians, but treat whole groups despicably, when you became my Facebook friend and I felt like there was sanity again in Christendom for me.  And I felt like it was ok again to have a bit of faith - faith and trust in the power of prayer.” 

So thank you Sam, Charlene and so many others who have encouraged me and crossed the line with me over the years.

Click here for 'Crossing the Line - Part 1'

Radiotherapy, Chemo and God

So my treatment has suddenly moved up a gear.

In addition to the hormone therapy I am receiving, I start 5 days of radiotherapy later this week, and chemotherapy next month.  Like other cancer patients, I am going to have destructive beams and chemicals pumped into my body on a regular basis.  Suddenly, it has all become very real.

The hope is that these treatments will kill enough of the cancer cells to keep everything under control. 

The other hope in my life comes from prayer.  Since my last post, I have been overwhelmed by people saying they will be praying for me, and I am acutely aware that hundreds, if not thousands of people are praying for myself and Mel, Isaac and Iona.

I have to say that I have a chequered history with prayer for healing.

In my teens and twenties, I saw some remarkable answers to prayer.  I saw people healed, physically and emotionally.  I saw heroin addicts come off drugs with little or no side effects in response to prayer, when they had tried many times before and given up, because withdrawal was unbearable. 

Yet when my wife was horrifically injured in 2003 with excruciatingly painful and life threatening injuries, I sat by her hospital bed day after day for months, praying for God to ease her pain – all to no effect.

Coming on top of questions about why God let her accident happen, this daily disappointment left my prayer life scarred for years.  I became unable to reach out to others in prayer, and only began to find my own healing last year, for the scars this left on my soul.  (See ‘Healed to Pray’ for more.)    As a result of that inner healing, I have felt able to pray for others again in the way I used to.  I have not seen dramatic results, but have been aware of God moving in and through those prayers.

When it comes to praying for myself however, the block still remains.  Why would God answer prayers for me, when he wouldn’t answer my prayers for Mel?

So while I have valued all the messages of prayers from friends around the world, I have found it difficult to believe that God would answer.  My name has been added to prayer lists and candles have been lit in all kinds of Christian communities, from Pentecostal intercessory prayer groups, to Convents and Abbeys, and I am deeply grateful.  I just wish I had more faith that God would answer them.

Yet when I visited Southwark Cathedral last week, around the anniversary of my ordination there, I felt drawn to light a candle and much to my surprise, found myself simply praying “Lord, in your mercy, heal me”.

As I reflect on this, it occurs to me that I don’t know how effective my radio and chemo therapy will be, but I am still going ahead with them.  I hope they will have a beneficial outcome and extend my life, but I don’t know how much good they will do.  Similarly with prayer, I don’t know how God will answer the many prayers being offered on my behalf, but why should I be any less hopeful that they will have a positive effect?

I find myself standing alongside a man who brought his child to Jesus to heal him.  When Jesus said to him that everything is possible for one who believes, he replied, “I do believe, help my unbelief!” (Mark 9)

Not that prayer is predictable, of course.  It does not follow clearly defined rules.  It is not like a political petition, where the greater the number of signatures, the better the chance of being noticed.  In the end we are all subject to God’s will, both active and passive.

I am reading ‘Fear No Evil’ by David Watson at the moment.  It is his story of his struggle and death from cancer at the height of his ministry.  He had seen God heal many people at services he led, and hoped for God’s healing for himself, all to no avail.  John Wimber’s story is not dissimilar.  So even if there seems to be no discernible answer to prayer, I feel that I will be in good company (if a little overshadowed!).

All things considered, I am choosing to be hopeful.

Hopeful in the radio and chemo therapies I will soon be receiving, and hopeful in God for the prayers which are being prayed for me.  They are part and parcel of my treatment and I will embrace them both, with a mixture of belief and unbelief, faith and doubt, hope and realism.

So thank you to everyone who is praying for me, and if you have time, please continue to do just that.

The Enemy Within...

I never thought I would get cancer.

Arrogant of course, considering the number of people who suffer from cancer at some point in their lives – but I never thought it would be me.

There is no history of cancer in my family, as far as I am aware. My grandfather had his early adulthood stolen by the horrors of the trenches in the first world war.   He lived a hard life and smoked 40 cigarettes a day for as long as anyone can remember.  He lived until he was 82 when finally a stroke got him.

My father died just over a year ago in his eighties.  He had chronic back problems and heart disease which led to a triple bypass in his early 70’s, but it was post-operative complications which finally finished him off after major abdominal surgery at 84.

My mother developed Alzheimer’s in her early 60’s and over the years which followed she lost all recognition of the world around her, including her family, and yet she still reached her 80’s before finally giving in.

Heart disease I had expected at some point in life, Alzheimer’s I would understand, but cancer?  Never.

So it has come as somewhat of a shock, at the age of 54, to be told that I have Advanced Prostate Cancer.

I had been meaning to go the doctor for a while, as my toilet patterns gradually changed.  I started to think that something was wrong when I started to suffer fatigue – acute tiredness for no apparent reason.  When I finally went, it was after two episodes of debilitating pain in my hip and right leg.

The result of initial tests pointed to Prostate Cancer, and having now had a full suite of scans and biopsies, I know it is Advanced Pc.  For those who know about such things, my Gleason score is 9 and my PSA is in the 300’s.  It has spread to my lymph nodes and my bones.  It is beyond surgery or any other cure.  It is simply a case of ‘managing’ it now.

The irony is that, following my first course of hormone therapy, I felt fine again.  The fatigue subsided, and my hip pains had largely gone (until earlier this month).  Yet now, I know that lurking deep within, many of my cells are slowly mutating against me and there is no way to get rid of it.

Treatment is, of course, improving all the time, and Prostate Cancer UK’s website says that ‘treatments can help to keep it under control, often for several years’ but suddenly life seems different now.  The finite nature of life which we prefer not to think about, has suddenly come into sharp focus.  Long term plans, dreams and expectations suddenly seem obsolete. Retiring to the west coast of Scotland with my wife Mel, buying a RIB, and exploring the beauty of the Inner Hebrides.  All seem like folly now.

I am reminded of the story Jesus told about the successful farmer who built his barns bigger and planned to ‘take life easy’.  That very night, his life comes to an abrupt and untimely end with God’s words “You fool!” ringing in his ears. (Luke 12)

At times like this, people often re-evaluate their lives.  We ask ourselves what is really important in life?  For me, as for so many others, the two things which come to the forefront are family and faith. 

Both, of course, are inexorably intertwined. Since my first visit to the doctor, I have found my most uttered prayer to be,

“Really God? Is this really my time?  Because I don’t think it is!” 

My wife Mel is partially disabled after a road accident and in chronic pain.  For 14 years, I have been her principle carer to a greater or lesser degree.  She isn’t getting any better, and in time may well get worse.  Really God? Is this my time? 

My children at 17 and 19 and will soon be off to University.  I want to see them graduate, perhaps marry and have children.  I want to see them establish their lives and be the wonderful people I know they are, and I want to be there for them when life is not straightforward or easy.  Really God?  Is this my time?!

On the positive side, this makes me want to fight.  To be determined to be alive in several years’ time, whatever the odds may be.  Determined that I will not give up, and will take every opportunity to be there for them, for as long as I possibly can.  To be determined not to go gently into the night.

When it comes to my faith, I know what is waiting for me.  I am not afraid of death because I know what Christ has done for me. I know that one day I will stand before his throne in awe and wonder, not because of anything I have done, but because of Him who died for me and rose again.

That does not mean I don’t have my issues with God, of course.  Sometimes life just doesn’t seem fair, and Mel and I have had our fair share of those times.  Like Jacob, I sometimes wrestle with God and will not give in.  Like Job, I sometime find that God seems far away and oblivious to my petty concerns.  Like Jonah, I sometimes don’t want God anywhere near me, and yet God is there.

Putting all of those together, I press on.  Life is different now.  And I will treat each day, each month, and each year differently, as I join others in living in the paradox of life and death.

Here we go again...

The Church in Wales have vetoed an openly gay priest in a celibate Civil Partnership from being appointed as Bishop of LLandaff.  This is especially shocking as the Church in Wales has been one of the more supportive Anglican provinces towards LGBT people in the past.

According to a letter published by Jeffrey John, whose appointment was blocked, the reason is anti-gay discrimination.  Despite unanimous support for Jeffrey among the appointed representatives for the Diocese of Llandaff, and a reminder by the presiding bishop that being in a Civil Partnership was not a bar to appointment, 2 of the 5 Bishops objected to his appointment on the grounds of his sexuality, effectively blocking his appointment.  In his letter Jeffrey John notes that, “This is the way that anti-gay discrimination always works.”

He should know.  He has been blackballed from the club of Bishops on a regular basis for the last 14 years.

In 2003, Jeffrey John was forced to withdraw from being appointed Bishop of Reading by the then Archbishop of Canterbury because of his sexuality.  The conservative backlash which followed the announcement of his appointment resulted in him being hounded by the press, pilloried by conservatives, and hung out to dry by the church which appointed him.  It all culminated in an ‘invitation’ to Lambeth Palace where he was subjected to several hours of emotional blackmail before finally caving in and withdrawing his acceptance.

At least that was all out in the open.

On numerous occasions since then, he has been shortlisted for posts as a Bishop.  Each time, he has submitted the personal statements required, often been called for interview and then told he was not suitable.   All under the veil of secrecy which shrouds the appointment of Bishops in the Church of England and in Wales.

In 2010, he was shortlisted to be Bishop of Southwark where he was known as a former parish priest, elected member of General Synod, and Canon Chancellor at the Cathedral.  He was well loved by his friends and respected by those who disagreed with him.  It should have been a perfect fit, but the same pattern repeated.  This time, however, substantive leaks followed.  One of the members of the appointing group (the CNC) died the following year, and his daughter made his account of the meeting public.  Jeffrey John’s appointment had been blocked by a ‘bad tempered Archbishop of Canterbury’ who left a number of the members of the CNC in tears.  The Archbishop of York had worked behind the scenes to the same end.  The whole episode had been shameful.

On and on it went, in a pattern which can only be called abuse.

After the appointment of Nicholas Chamberlain as Bishop of Grantham last year, and the subsequent revelation that he was in a long term same sex relationship, it appeared that change had finally come.  Now there was an openly gay Bishop in the CofE.  It appeared that the dam had broken, but there was an important difference.  The fact that Nicholas is gay, and in a long term relationship, was not publicly known before his consecration.  It was privately known, by the current Archbishop of Canterbury amongst others, but it was not in the public domain.  Apparently that still makes a difference.

And so we come to Llandaff.  Here, surely was the appointment that would break the cycle of abuse.  In recent years the Church in Wales has been more supportive of LGBT people in its public statements than its Anglican neighbours in England.  Jeffrey John is Welsh and a fluent Welsh speaker.  The 12 people elected by the diocese to represent the views of the diocese in the appointment unanimously supported him.

But even this was not enough.  After allegedly homophobic comments went unchallenged at the Bench of Bishops meeting, he was blackballed again, along with everyone else who had made the shortlist, just to obfuscate the blatant discrimination at work.

The spiritual and emotional abuse continues.

I talked with Jeffrey John back in 2003 when he was unable to go home because of the press camped out on his doorstep.  He told me of the pressure he was under to withdraw his acceptance to be Bishop of Reading.  I remember encouraging him to stand firm, and said that if he stood down, this opportunity would not come round again for a generation.

Sadly the pressure on him proved too much, and half a generation later, I am increasingly afraid that I might be right.

The irony is that I don’t blame the individuals involved as much as the institution whose culture is characterised by fear more than love or justice.  It was fear that prevented anyone challenging the homophobic statements made at the Board of Bishops.  It was fear that led them to blackball Jeffrey John rather than face any controversy which might follow.  It was fear which paralysed these Christian leaders from exercising true leadership.

The Christian Gospel is not meant to be about fear.  It is supposed to be about justice and love. In fact, the Bible says that perfect love casts out fear.  Perhaps the Bible should have the last word, from 1 John 4:16-18

“God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.

This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world, we are like Jesus.

There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.”