Every few months I try to splash out on a decent bottle of single malt. This week, it felt like the right time to purchase a cheeky bottle. The labels stood in front of me like proud statues boasting of a better result than their neighbours. I’d never tasted Singleton, probably due to its £26 price. However, I’d been putting a fair shift in during recent times and thought I’d treat myself.

The young lad at the checkout scanned my evening meal and the single malt through, which all came to around £60. As I left Tesco, I felt the need to check the receipt and found the whisky had gone through twice! I strolled calmly to customer service where I received an apology, a refund and something incredible. Part of the Tesco customer policy is to refund double the difference where someone is overcharged. It dawned on me as I returned to my car: Tesco had effectively given me a top quality bottle of single malt for free.

Before I set off, my excitement got the better of me. I called my two close friends and let them know the incredible news. Both men arrived at my house an hour later, where we enjoyed a bottle of Singleton courtesy of Tesco.

However, as I sipped my deluxe nightcap, I pondered a challenging question. Would I have asked my friends to join me for a whisky if I had bought the bottle myself? Truthfully, not a chance. The reason I shared so willingly, was because I was given it for free and I felt it was right to share it. Why then, do I hesitate to share the wonderful Christian message to those who are desperate for meaning in their lives? After all, the story of Jesus came to me freely, and it cost God a lot more than a bottle of single malt.

How, then, can they call on the one they have not believed in? And how can they believe in the one of whom they have not heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?

- Romans 10:14

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And there I was, standing in a tight lycra kit with mascara running adjacent to the sweat drops on my face. In my right hand was an extremely heavy, miniature cannonball thing. The stadium was full, and united in song. “Team GB, Team GB”.

The official signalled that I should step forward to throw. I replied: “Mate, I’m not a shot putter. I’m also not female. And finally, do you know why I’m wearing lycra? Seriously man, if my brothers see this I’ll be excommunicated from my family. Please help.”

The official laughed my comment off and escorted me to the throwing booth. Behind me were female athletes all scoffing at my lack of muscle and unflattering outfit. Their sarcasm didn’t dampen the crowd’s optimism though. One northerner shouted encouragement from the stands: “Go on Alex luv, throw the life out of that thing. Go girl!”

Though tempted to run out of the Olympic stadium and pray nobody was filming the event, I pondered the phrase ‘When in Rome’.

Subsequently, I threw the weakest and most dreadful shot put in the history of the sport. It was like baby vomit. I’ll be honest with you, the silence of the stadium crushed me more than the costume that was barely covering my decency. Never had I been more happy to wake from a dream.

A few hours after my torrid sleep encounter, I was chatting with a friend of mine who was talking about ‘Serious vision’ for their ‘Life Calling’. I don’t know why so many people share these sorts of visions with me. I often feel like I’m the only one who doesn’t have clear revelations about the goal of my life. But as my talented and gifted friend explained their passion for faith with phrases like ‘Heart’s desire’ and ‘Soul thirst’, he looked at me and asked me what sort of dreams I have for my life. Suffice to say, they weren’t the same as his.

It got me thinking, and here’s what I think. Guys, don’t worry if you have hardly anything in common with those you’re living your life with. Fear not if you feel like a slug amidst eagles. Despite the thousands of faith-based manifestos that ooze intensity, destiny and promise, God is also the one who created normality. He created you, whether you strive to change culture forever, or merely dream of lycra and shot puts.

“Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”

- Colossians 3:23-24

Peace

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As I sat with my good friend and Bible teacher Daf in a Huddersfield pub, I was once again left speechless at a specific point in the Christian story. (The Bible often flips my thought life like an egg in a wok.)

Jesus was put on trial. That’s incredible. Imagine standing in front of a corrupt group of people, who you created in your perfect image, who then rebelled against everything good you planned for them, all of whom were only breathing because you allowed them to… and they were accusing you of blasphemy.

Imagine being the only person in the history of the world to have earned any status of ‘perfection’ and instead of boast self-righteousness, you offered your body to be smashed and nailed to a cross to save the unqualified self-righteous.

Imagine having the power to flatten your barbarian, bloodthirsty murderers like a lump hammer slammed into Nutella, but then willingly having your back scourged and torn open for the good of the murderers.

The idea that all the blood running through the executioner’s veins was only flowing due to the grace shown by a God, who himself was opting for death by that exact executioner, is quite simply phenomenal.

Jesus was put on trial. That’s incredible.

Peace.

Alex

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Between September and January CVM will be traveling to various places across the UK to host top quality Men’s Days for Churches. Each event will consist of top quality teaching, loud worship and typical wholehearted CVM banter. Some of the events will be run between CVM and New Wine to mark an exciting new partnership.

We would love for you to join us at any one of the CVM Regional Days below:

Sep 22 East London - Romford Baptist Church
Sep 29 East Midlands - Humphrey Perkins School & Community Centre, Barrow upon Soar
Oct   6 London - St Paul’s Hammersmith (With New Wine) 
Oct 20 South West - Woodlands Church, Bristol (With New Wine)
Nov 10 Hereford - Hereford Baptist Church
Nov 17 Sussex & Surrey - Charis Centre, Crawley
Nov 24 South Coast - Kings Community Church, Southampton (With New Wine)
Jan 26 North West - Audacious Church, Manchester (With New Wine)

See you there guys,
CVM Team

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It looked like a cross between a micro pig and an otter that had been beaten repeatedly over the head with a shovel. “That’s not a dog” I whispered to my friend Robert. “I think the owner heard you Al, why do you always whisper louder than Brian Blessed shouting?”

The owner took no offence at my remark and continued throwing a recently torn tree branch across the floodplain for Mr Snort-a-lot to collect in its goblin mouth. I was taken back by its ability to run to be honest. It was a lot quicker that I thought it would be. Rob and I watched for a few moments on our way to York City Centre for a pint. Before we picked up the pace again, a Doberman dog began galloping towards the scene. “This should be a fair fight” I whispered. (And once again my inability to whisper became apparent.”

But the owner of the tiny Pug didn’t even budge. If it were me, I would have put the dog in my pocket and ran as fast as possible.

I expected the Doberman to devour the Pug like a Millwall fan demolishing a Hot Dog. But what happened was just brilliant. At first the Pug dog continued to play ‘fetch’ oblivious to the potential predator shadowing its every move. Initially the Doberman seemed angry with the Pug, but it soon became confused. And then it just sat down and watched the game of ‘Fetch’ like Rob and I. After a few throws, the Pug carried the branch in its mouth and dropped it at the feet of the mega-dog. And off it trotted with its owner.

I was struck that despite its tiny, slightly grotesque appearance, the Pug was totally unmoved by its surroundings. And to be fair, it was pretty good at running, catching and fetching too. I turned to Rob and commented: “If I looked like that Pug dog, I’d never leave the house”. Rob replied: “We should go back home then mate.”

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

- Philippians 4:6

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“He does have the abilities and strengths to be a great defender, but he always has an error in him. He seems prone to a mistake, at any given time.” This is my friend Dan’s ruthless summing up of the Sunderland footballer Titus Bramble.

For patches of his career to date, Titus has played some very solid football. Unfortunately for the former Newcastle and Wigan player though, he hasn’t been able to shake his occasional mistakes on the ball. And yes every player succumbs to bad decision making at some stage, but it seems that Titus has accumulated the reputation that boasts a motto of “He has an error in him”.

Until recently, I thought I had freed myself from blatant errors. Don’t get me wrong, I am becoming more aware of my growing list of shortcomings daily, but it’s been a while since I’ve demonstrated an out and out error. My behavior on the football pitch has been cleaned up, my irate outbursts on the M1 have seemingly drifted into the horizon and my patience with those I am leading appears to be growing by the week. Comments have even been made from senior leaders that my ‘Sharp edges have been knocked off’ and I’ve ‘Grounded out’.

With my extended time free of a blatant slip up, I’ve become the go-to point for younger guys looking to overcome tricky situations. People with elongated job titles have taken me out for dinner to get my opinion about things. And just two weeks ago I was complimented from the front of a packed out church. I concluded that spiritually, I’m not like Titus Bramble. Though I am flawed, I don’t have any blatant, imminent errors in me. I am the captain of my soul…until very recently.

I sat opposite a wonderful young lady who was commenting on the dress she had bought for an important occasion. Surrounded by her friends and family, I made a comment about her dress that seemed to have escaped my mouth before my brain, soul and conscience had kicked in. The comment was not only derogatory; it wasn’t even something I believed. The table took a collective breath at my horrific insult, and like a telepathic detective I read their shared thought: ‘Even if that was sarcastic, it was a truly horrible thing to say to a lovely young woman”.

I held eye contact with those around the table and finally with the tearful woman in question. I wanted to blame it on my morbid sense of humour. I longed to claim I had drunk too much and should be excused. I pined for a mispronunciation moment or a Freudian slip. But the truth is, I have no idea why I did what I did. And though the reason behind my hurtful words is lost in space, the words themselves came straight out of me. The same me that has impressed those people whose words mean something to everyone. The same me who has shared advice like a high street cash dispenser on a Friday night in Leeds. The same me who boasted of an apparent error-free purple streak.

I’ll be totally honest with you. I have an error in me; its blatant and its imminent. My internal question used to be ‘How do I share the lessons I’ve learnt to those around me?’ The question should have been ‘How do I balance out my call to leadership and my utter disgraceful core that erupts like Mt Etna from time to time.

Though I haven’t yet, I will be apologizing to the young lady before this blog is published. I will also speak with those who witnessed my careless whisper. But I guess for now I’ll meditate on the great leveler: My sin.

Forgiven I may be, error-free I am not.

The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?

- Jeremiah 17:9

P.S. If Mr Bramble is reading this, you’re a better footballer than I’ll ever be and we would welcome you at Blackburn Rovers any time.

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Birmingham New Street Station has the unique ability to depress me instantaneously. I can think of only two things that would make the station any worse:

1) Being delayed by three hours.

2) Being delayed by three hours whilst suffering with a stomach infection

Welcome to my life last Thursday.

I stood amongst the panicked passengers, each one becoming more like the Hulk every second, and I knew I had to block out the unrelenting sound of trains before my eardrums shattered. I put my headphones in and played the ‘Best of James’ and took the band’s advice to sit down.

As I looked for a patch of floor without a stain, I was tapped on the shoulder. I always get nervous when I’m tapped on the shoulder; I fear it’s either a psycho with a hammer or the Predator.

My fears were allayed pretty quickly. A young woman in her twenties stood in front of me with tears building up. She had hearing aids in both ears. I immediately considered how awful this situation must have been for her. Like all of us, she had no idea which new train she would have to get amidst the cancellations and delays, but she also had another battle to face. She had to desperately pick out the broken words from the mumbling station announcer whilst attempting to lip-read the anxious New Street staff.

I placed my hand on her shoulder and asked if she was OK. She whispered: “I’m so sorry, I’m hard of hearing and this is very scary for me.” I wanted to magically silence the engines and screeching brakes engulfing the West Midland airspace. But I have as much superpower as I do tact. Zero.

I asked her where she was heading, and she replied with “York”. Ironically, though that’s exactly where I live, I was heading to Chesterfield that afternoon.

There was very little I could do to help, but there was no way I was leaving this lady on her own. She tagged herself onto my jacked like a lion cub in a stampede. And as I looked around the sprawling mess, another lady walked towards me. (At this point I prayed that she wouldn’t need help as well, after all, my stomach infection was impersonating nuclear fallout at this point).

The new lady smiled and said: “Hello, I’m going to York, do you know which train I need?” To which I replied: “Nope, but you’re going to do me a favour and make sure this young lady gets on the same train as you.” Her cheeriness amazed me. She took my new friend gently by the arm and hopped away like Mary Poppins.

I knew she’d get home.

Maybe it was the exhaustion from the 20 toilet dashes that morning, or just the stress of the moment, but I once again found myself wiping the tears away. I was reminded that many people are currently stranded in the horrendous noise that life can often regurgitate. And many of them are waiting for someone to tell them what to do next. I’m not sure why, but everything in me wants to find and help anyone who is lost. And I am certain with every atom in my being that this is the best help for anyone stranded.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep. So when he sees the wolf coming, he abandons the sheep and runs away. Then the wolf attacks the flock and scatters it. The man runs away because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep.”

- John 10:11-13

Peace

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The message of Jesus is not about forgiveness, its about forgiveness and justification. (As opening lines of a blog go, that one was probably my most boring, but arguably the most important.)

I see half-complete faiths filling pews and its deeply concerning. There seems to be a cyclical pattern creeping ever closer to the Christian faith which sees a man grow frustrated with his life efforts, pray for forgiveness, accept forgiveness…amen. Hear me out, that in itself is a phenomenal example of the access we have to God since Jesus died. However, though we find forgiveness on the tree of Christ, we find something as crucial in the resurrection and the ascension.

As I’ve thought more about what it means to be justified, I now see that forgiveness merely says “You can sit back down, you’re forgiven” whilst justification says “You can stand and advance, you’re justified.” Or as Tim Keller says “Forgiveness tells us to go out, but justification allows us to come back”.

I see a lot of men in their 20s seemingly stuck in a cycle of confusion, sin and sadness. The problem is not that they don’t think they’re forgiven, but rather they don’t know they have been justified. Justification is more than Grace. It turns sin’s co-pilots into co-heirs with Christ. It means that perpetrators of wrongdoing become princes of light.

When Jesus returned to his Father and sat at the honoured right hand of God, something far more powerful than forgiveness appeared on the cosmic menu. Those who would put their trust in Jesus would be able to stand, justified by the life, death, resurrection AND ascension of Christ. His victory over the forces of this world did not just result in a vast factory of sin…confession…sin….confession. His victory meant that we would be able to say ‘I am free from sin’. Though sin always makes up the fabric of my DNA, my DNA was crucified next to Christ at the moment I called him my Lord. And through the power of his Spirit we can now operate out of Christ’s perfection, and not our own imperfection.

However, living a justified life through the perfection of Christ means that all our embarrassing excuses for repeated sin are no longer available. We can no longer say “Oh that’s just my sin issue” or “It’s the thorn in my flesh” because justification doesn’t allow us that. Justification means that we are free to say no to sin. We are free to say “I have been made perfect in Christ and therefore will turn my computer off now”.

To settle for just forgiveness is like desiring the appetiser in a Michelin star restaurant. To live in the justification of Jesus, despite being riddled with the curse of Eden, is what Paul calls the ‘Meat’ of the spiritual walk.

My hope is that Christian men in the UK would not be led astray into a hollow Gospel but rather captivated and completed by the full message.

Colossians 2:8-11

See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy,which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ.

For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, and in Christ you have been brought to fullness. He is the head over every power and authority. In him you were also circumcised with a circumcision not performed by human hands. Your whole self ruled by the flesh was put off when you were circumcised by Christ.

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He was well thought out. The sort of man whose words fell softly onto the ears of those around him. ‘Unfazed’ could have been his surname, with the words ‘I’m’ and ‘Never’ as forenames and middle names. This man’s efforts in academia were second to none, whilst his family members always cleaned up their language in his presence. In fact, people were always the best version of themselves around him. “He brings the best out of us” one old sinner used to say.

He’d laugh, but not too loud, he’d whisper, but never gossip. His external shell was sinless. Women knew he would be the ideal bloke to take home and meet the parents. Polished like a wooden floor in Cambridge, this man always went down smooth. He was acoustic music in physical form, but not the Bob Dylan aggressive stuff, more like Michael Buble.

As a finance manager, he saw the books were balanced and his commitment to punctuality increased the work rate in the financial sector five fold. At 30, he was asked to become a director, and boy oh boy wasn’t his father proud. He didn’t have many friends to celebrate with, but his group of mates bought him a bottle of wine to mark the moment, not that he would ever drink on his own of course.

Nobody had ever said a bad word about this upstanding taxpayer. (Except one of the lads in his snooker team called Frank, who got drunk one night and called him a judgmental, boring old ****). Frank apologised the next day, and blamed the sordid event entirely on the seventh pint.

He often stood proud in church, singing every word to every song without needing the help of the song sheet. At 45, he was asked to sit on the church council, where he never spoke out of turn or disagreed with the leaders. His two children, Mary and Benjamin, were a delight. They always spoke to their mother about the unclean aspects of teenage life, but dad was always the role model.

He didn’t so much as wear his emotions on his sleeve, because his sleeve was far too big a space for the sole expression of ‘pleasant’.

When the fiery old preacher talked about ‘repentance’ and ‘every man being as sinful as the next’ this guy would nod in subdued agreement. It was a nod that screamed holiness, wisdom and experience. It was a nod that drove his wife to the brink of a meltdown, but she had always been a closet sinner.

At 75, he fell asleep and drifted quietly into a more permanent state of rest. His half empty journal was left beside his loveless mattress, which had quickly become his deathbed. Like a high court judge sitting alone after court proceedings was a statement written in his journal just hours before he died. It said: “Unlike the others, I did it God’s way.”

Propping up his journal was an ancient book, written by broken, disgusting, horrible, sinful, hypocritical murderers, dead set on talking about something they knew very little about. That book read: “Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners – of whom I am the worst.”

It’s ok though, this guy was far less sinful than the others. Probably.

Peace.

*To hang around with a group of guys just giving life their best shot, book in to the CVM Gathering from June 29 to July 1 at Lynt Farm, Nr Swindon. (Every man is welcome, regardless of his shortcomings).

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(Part Three of the Eden Series)

The memories he had up until that moment were fading like dew on summer grass. The feeling of being out of control usually caused the man great anxiety, but not in this moment. At his feet lay a crown with the word “Holy” engraved on it. He didn’t pick it up, despite the diamond crest across the front spelling out his initials.

Each blade of grass moved with the wind that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. The sound of singing could be heard in the distance. He looked around and saw countless imprints across the ground in the shape of other crowns, which must have recently been taken.

“Where is everyone?” the man whispered quietly. Above him were no clouds, stars or indeed any sky at all. He couldn’t work out his location, but found no familiar landmarks. However, the landscape was more defined than anything he had ever seen. His senses were running wild as each sight and sound wrapped around him like a perfect storm. Strange animals galloped on the horizon. A river of light poured down from the mountain up ahead. At the top of the peak were people. Millions, if not billions of people were scattered across the colossal ascent. It was a gathering.

Despite not knowing where he was, or where he had come from, the man felt at peace in this new place. He glanced back at the crown nestled in the long grass. And from behind him, he heard a voice that he recognised from when he was a boy.

“Go ahead Bill, pick it up old friend.” At first he didn’t feel the need to turn around. It wasn’t until he heard his name spoken that he realised how much he had forgotten of his previous life. The crown was incredibly light in his hands, and felt like velvet to touch.

He turned around. In front of him was a tall figure standing with his arms by his side. His hair was like mercury. His eyes were almost too bright to look at, but too incredible to ignore. The man dropped his crown in awe of the figure before him.

“My Lord, it’s you isn’t it?” Bill mumbled.

“Yes, it’s me.”

Burying his head into the ground, Bill replied: “I’m so sorry. I wasted so much of what you gave me”.

The figure held out his scarred hands and said: “Yes Bill, but you welcomed me as your Lord, and that’s why you’re here with us. Welcome home old friend, welcome to the perfect Eden.”

Bill looked up and saw the figure’s outstretched hand. The scars were deep, with two words written across the skin. He looked hard to read the inscription. It simply read: “Bill Jones”.

The figure raised Bill to his feet before placing the crown perfectly on his head. He put his arm around him before leading him to the foot of the mountain. The words “Jesus, merciful King” were being sung from the crowds at the top. Bill had never felt more alive than in this moment. He looked up at the figure and asked: “For how long will I be able to walk with you Lord?” The figure replied: “Forever.”

They walked up the mountain and into the infinite crowd. Bill was welcomed like a prodigal; the figure was welcomed like a King.

Bill had spent his entire life looking for home. The closest he had come up until now was during his conversations with the one they called ‘Jesus’. He had longed for this moment since his first mumbled prayer aged just 16. At last, Bill was home.

- Revelations 22: 12-22

“Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.

“Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may have the right to the tree of life and may go through the gates into the city. Outside are the dogs, those who practice magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.

“I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David, and the bright Morning Star.”

The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let the one who hears say, “Come!” Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.

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