When you’ve got nothing to say, it’s time to say nothing.

I’ve restarted my blog after nearly three years, because maybe, just maybe, the Lord has given me something to say again. It was an unexpected mental health crisis that brought my ministry to a close in May 2021. I can say that now. I couldn’t then.

Fifteen months of shielding as a clinically extremely vulnerable person had isolated me from the world, which for a pastor who was used to hours of face-to-face interactions, was unbearable. Added to that, the relentless demand of daily video blogged “thoughts for the day” and weekly Sunday services took its toll. The “daily” commitment was suggested to me at the start of the lockdown, when we all thought it would be over in a few weeks. It seemed fine in March 2020, but, as we all know, it lasted rather longer than expected. And, as with so much in church life, once you start something it’s very hard to stop.

There is so much I could write about. I could dwell on the pain of having to accept I could no longer exercise the vocation I loved. Or the suffocating darkness of hiding away for three months in (ironically) sun-soaked Spain desperately seeking health again. More positively, I could blog about the extraordinary sequence of events and encounters with people that led to Val and I to begin a new chapter here in Northern Ireland. Not that there weren’t significant anxieties along the way. How on earth could we afford the move? Would there be enough income to meet our modest outgoings? Then there was the trauma of re-entering the fraught world of buying a house (even though we were not the purchasers) and the seemingly endless wait for all the paperwork to be completed. It felt, at the time, like a carefully crafted weapon designed to target my worst fears. I’m sure I’ll get around to telling those stories eventually.

The purpose of this blog is to testify to the outrageous grace of God and the kindness of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus. Over the past three years, God has hidden us under the shelter of his wings, nurtured us, and provided for us. Psalm 23 is key in our testimony, especially David’s wonder-filled confession in the second part of the opening verse: “I lack nothing”.

I took the photo at the top of this blog while visiting Sculpture by the Lakes near Dorchester, Dorset. It was a beautiful warm afternoon and a perfect day out to soothe the soul. I’d reluctantly accepted I needed to step away from ministry for a while, and I guess it felt as if I was on holiday. The sculptures by Simon Gudgeon are thought-provoking and the whole ambience of the place encouraged Val and I to slow our pace. I had absolutely no idea just how ill I was, of course. Seeing the sculpture “Time to Reflect”, perfectly set on a tranquil lake confirmed the rightness of the break but, at the time, I couldn’t conceive of what was to come. I thought I was having a couple of weeks sick leave before resuming work. Little did I know just how dramatically life was to change.

Deep down I have always known that reflection was vital to my spiritual wellbeing. Organisationally, I’ve been good at planning and keeping “Quiet Days” and “Retreats”; however, my mind has not always co-operated with my planning. Sometimes there have been so many things pressing in and demanding my attention that, despite being in locations perfectly suited to quiet reflection, the time set aside has ended up being chaotic and unrewarding. Perhaps you can identify with that.

Some of my more beneficial retreats have been with the Northumbria Community, using their Daily Office. The rhythm of prayer has found its way into my soul and the oft-repeated words have lodged in my memory. During my enforced three-year hiatus from ministry, the prayer of St Teresa of Avila became especially significant:

Let nothing disturb thee, nothing affright thee, all things are passing, God never changeth! Patient endurance attaineth to all things; whom God possesseth in nothing is wanting, alone God sufficeth.

Curiously, I find the ancient English helps rather than hinders. Perhaps it’s the timelessness that it implies. The core thought, that undoubtedly sustained me, pops up repeatedly in scripture. It’s there in contemporary worship songs too. One of my favourites at the time of writing is Reuben Morgan’s “Christ is Enough for Me”.

Christ is my reward and all of my devotion
Now there’s nothing in this world that could ever satisfy

Through every trial my soul will sing
No turning back I’ve been set free

Christ is enough for me, Christ is enough for me
Everything I need is in You, everything I need

Christ my all in all, the joy of my salvation
And this hope will never fail, Heaven is our home

Through every storm, my soul will sing
Jesus is here! To God be the glory

Christ is enough for me, Christ is enough for me
Everything I need is in You, everything I need

This core discovery cannot be made quickly. It takes time. I would not pretend to have fully understood the security that Christ truly provides for those who trust him, but I hope I’m closer now than I was.

Recently, my long-held interest in psychotherapy has resurfaced. I’ve had (and needed) plenty of counselling over the years and been grateful for most of it. I sense that some of the practitioners treating me have had a Christian faith and others have not. All have been respectful of my faith. Some of the best counsellors chose, wisely, to “leave God out of this for a moment”. Of course, God cannot be left out of anything, but I completely understand the point of the approach. Jeremiah was right when he observed (Jeremiah 17 v9-10, The Message):

“The heart is hopelessly dark and deceitful,
    a puzzle that no one can figure out.
But I, God, search the heart
    and examine the mind.
I get to the heart of the human.
    I get to the root of things.
I treat them as they really are,
    not as they pretend to be.”

Thank God that he is not limited in any way, by any thing, or any one. Scripture reminds us that the Sovereign Lord uses believers and unbelievers to further his purposes. I, for one, thank God that he has been determined to “get to the root of things, to treat them as they really are, not as they pretend to be”.

I’ve reached a point where I am grateful for the last three years, despite the pain. On a previous break from ministry between two earlier pastorates, Val and I found ourselves in the office of the Head of Ministry of the Baptist Union of Great Britain. It’s okay, it wasn’t a disciplinary! Paul Goodliff was exercising the very best of pastoral care, and we were grateful. At one point, Paul looked at me (weary and burnt out again) and said: “it’s time to rediscover the joy of being a follower of Jesus”. Full-time pastoral ministry can be bad for your spiritual health. How we need good people around us.

Fast forward to today, April 2024 and I don’t want to overstate it, but I do sense something of a spiritual rebirth occurring. I’m falling in love with Jesus again. Val and I find ourselves part of a thriving church, full of spiritual life. There are many young families and children everywhere. We have been honoured to be described, perhaps prophetically, as “grandparents” to the church. Maybe not just an age thing, but more a function perhaps.

As I write, I’m preparing to be inducted as an elder of the church, something I never thought would happen. I’ve preached a few times since arriving here, again, something I could not conceive of a year or two back. It’s all happened gradually, naturally, organically even. Being part of an elder-led church is very, very different to being a Baptist Minister. Why has it taken me all these decades to work that out?

God is not finished yet. Is he ever?