Love. Love. Love. All you need is love. If that’s the case why is it so hard for Christian men to say they love Jesus? I can understand a certain reticence to be too lovey dovey when trying to talk to non-Christian men about Jesus. I can understand focusing on different aspects of God for that. But Christian men? Christian men are often being told that they have been emasculated, that churches provide mainly for women and I wouldn’t argue with all this at all. But is there a case for reclaiming some words rather than trying to say them differently?

It seems to me that the love Jesus displayed was not a frilly, doily type of love but a love that drove Him to the cross. “Greater love has no-one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends” said Jesus, and He should know. Jesus’ love caused Him to tell His friends that they showed little faith, to call one of them satan. His love caused Him to call out hypocrites, to upturn tables, to drive crowds into murderous bloodlust. His love drove Him to complete His mission by being tortured and nailed to a tree. His love was patient but it was also true, it was gentle but it was also fierce.

Maybe if we loved more like Jesus we wouldn’t have to convince people that it’s ok to love and be loved by Him. That’s the kind of love I can sign up to. John 15:12 ‘My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you.’

Let me tell you about the oldest woman in my city. She is incredible. I’ve not known her that long, but as soon as I gave her the time of day a few years back, I knew I’d be friends with her for the rest of my time here. She met me when I was going through a tricky time in my life. And though at first, I assumed a lady like her wouldn’t want anything to do with someone like me, I couldn’t have been further from the truth. I noticed straight away that she is the sort of woman who remembers people’s names.

I’ll be honest, she’s not an expert in many things, but she puts a fair shift in. For instance, she cooks for me and many others every week. She offers to help me out when I’ve fallen on hard times. And without fail, she always asks me how I’m doing in my life and is keen to meet my mates at any given opportunity.

I did a bit of research into her life due to her lack of boasting. And get this; she has done pretty much everything. I read about her early years and was mesmerised as I found out about her time in Asia Minor when she was attacked because of what she believed. I wept as I read about her time in China when many of her family members were executed for sharing the same faith as her. Never has a life story gripped me so much as hers. She worked as a nurse in wartime, a teacher during the apartheid and she even helped rebuild houses and schools after the devastation of natural disasters in recent times.

At first I thought she was a perfect human being, but she soon stopped me in my tracks. She confessed to a lifetime of mistakes. I was told about how some men had taken her down roads she had never intended to travel. She told me that regret was never far from her despite the difference she had made in the world. She even remembered the names of those she had offended by not prioritising them when it mattered. As she fought back the tears, I tried to remind her of the people she had helped in her life. However, she simply confessed to being constantly reminded of her past failures.

After hearing her life story to date, I couldn’t help but cry with her in the middle of York city centre.

Some of my friends found out that I started meeting with the old lady regularly, and their reaction was somewhat varied. One of my friends described her as an outdated failure. (I later found out that he had actually been fed, watered and loved by the same old lady a few years previous, but he had forgotten.) Another mate of mine scoffed at her charitable works and muttered: “Let’s face it, she’ll be dead soon.” I was stunned to hear such volatile words spoken about such a humble and honest woman.

I shared my friend’s comments with the old lady last week, and was once again floored by her reaction. She told me that she had never been perfect, and for every good deed she had carried out, she also made a mistake. However, it was her parting words to me which I’ll never forget. She said: “Alex, I’m trying to get better at how I love people. Please tell your friends that I’m sorry I failed in this love.”

My friends were not interested in redemption though. And I’m learning that redemption is their prerogative and not mine. However, I informed them that I would not stop having coffee with the old lady. For all she has done for me and people like me all over the world, I will be forever grateful. I also told my friends that despite their rigid opinions, I would not allow any of them to say horrible things about her in front of me. She is my sister, my guardian, my healer, my teacher and my best friend. She is more than 2000 years old. Her name is Church. Mrs Local Church, and I’d take a bullet for her.

Peace.

The queue was huge and it didn’t seem to be going down at all. I knew I should have left five or even ten minutes earlier, I could have done without this.

There were shelf stackers but there was only one person on the tills. That’s the problem with these express supermarkets – you know, the ones that are just about two or three times the size of corner shops. There’s always some old lady with an overflowing basket, and three people behind wanting to pay for four items between them. It’s SO frustrating.

I go along to a film night with friends from church every Monday (‘man night’, as one of the lad’s girlfriends calls it – it’s strictly an evening for the fellas). We always have a bit of pre-movie banter, before we reveal our contenders for the weekly viewing, ahead of the eagerly awaited vote. I hate turning up late for it but it was looking inevitable on this ocassion.

When I’d finally paid for my microwavable popcorn, after much tutting and groaning as I made my way to the front of the queue, I was out of there. I drove nearer 40mph through the sleepy 30mph Northumberland village but I noticed cars up ahead were turning around. There was a police car with lights flashing and a cop standing, arms folded, blocking the road. Closed. Great.

It added another ten minutes onto my journey and they were all 30mph zones; although apparently a two mile stretch was a 22mph section, if the speed of the old chap in front of me was anything to go by. I cheekily attempted to look beyond his ugly lime green Micra, seeking a chance to take him, but it was a curvy road and pedestrian crossings were preventing me from going for it. If I was gonna even make the start of the film let alone the pre-movie cuppa and chat, I’d have to get lucky at the level crossing that I knew was just around the corner.

But no. Another three minute wait, which I’m sure I would have avoided had the old timer in front gone a tad faster or been good enough to pull over and let me get on with my life.

I arrived at my friends feeling infuriated and angry. As I knocked on the door of his first floor flat, shook his hands and climbed the stairs, I was alarmed to find that no-one else had even arrived yet.

I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror as the vein in my temple began to settle. I was wondering how many crosses God would have given me on the old ‘would others know you’re a Christian?’ chart. Deliberately showing my frustration to staff and shoppers in a supermarket queue? Driving like an idiot and breaking the law? Intimidating an old man in his car? Thinking of myself when there had most likely been an accident leading to a road closure?

Patience is a virtue. After God instructed Noah to build the ark, he waited 120 years before he heard from God again, but he treated others fairly, took years of mocking and abuse, loved the Lord and conitnued to obey Him – and he built one heck of a huge boat, during a major drought! I can learn a lot from that guy.

A crept slowly towards my balcony overlooking the car park where the gang loitered. “I can see you” I whispered, like a cross between James Bond and Fireman Sam. They had been hanging around Ady’s BMW and my slightly older Fiat Punto for days but this time I wasn’t going anywhere. My eyes were fixed on this army of tracksuits.

I pondered on their intentions. Maybe they were eying up potential cars with a five-finger discount. Perhaps they preferred to leave their mark on the side of vehicles with a set of house keys. Or maybe they particularly liked standing in the middle of a private car park watched by yours truly: Eagle Eyes Willmott.

One of the gang members walked away from the group and stood beside my car. I had my iPhone ready to call the authorities like any good journalist would. “I’ve got you now fella” I muttered under my breath. And what happened next was truly incredible. As soon as the estranged gang member turned his back, the others scarpered down the alleyway…they were playing a game of hide & seek.

I watched for five minutes as the lad scurried around the wheely bins and nearby trees in an attempt to find his mates. Of course I could see where they were all hiding, which made it far more exciting for me.

Is it wrong to fear for the welfare of a Fiat Punto I call Stan? Probably not, but I’m sure it’s not healthy. I guess my hope is to become a bit more optimistic when viewing those around me as I get older.

Ephesians 4:31-32

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.

A Christian and a Muslim were walking down the road.

Sounds like the start of a bad joke doesn’t it? In fact, this was last Sunday. My newly met Muslim friend genuinely wanted to know whether she would be “allowed” to come to church with me.

I’d not really noticed the headscarf. Looking back, I suppose it was a bit of an odd picture; my gentle and quiet guest in her black hijab, discussing the book of Philippians with the talkative blonde student who thinks she’s a surfer and wears a bright purple bobble hat. It’s not the norm in church culture is it? My friend even flagged it up again at the end of the service: “Are you sure people won’t be offended by me being here? You don’t think they’ll mind that I can’t sing all the songs? Do you think they have a problem with me wearing this?”

In our Western culture of surface-deep philosophy, where the packaging is everything and appearance dictates our snap-judgement first-impressions, it’s no wonder my friend was acutely aware of being written-off for her religious garb that shouted “something different!”

And it only struck me then how it isn’t ok for me as a follower of Jesus not to walk with people from other faiths into Church. I don’t remember Jesus telling me to only invite certain types of people to His party.

In 1 Corinthians 9: 18- 20, Paul has this take on living out our faith:

“Though I am free and belong to no one, I have made myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible. To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law.”

If my friend and her hijab don’t feel welcomed and accepted by God’s representatives on earth, then I think I’ve missed the point. If us women don’t sacrifice our own reputations, and change our focus away from each other’s appearances, we might as well go sit in Starbucks on a Sunday and people-watch out the windows.

A Christian and a Muslim were walking down the road. The Muslim turned to the Christian and said… “I’ll see you next Sunday for church.”

This week I celebrate a decade following Jesus. I say “following” because that’s the word that best describes what I’ve been doing. But to be honest, sometimes these words would have suited my journey better:

Searching, Chasing, Stumbling, Abandoning, Pestering, Entertaining, Embarrassing.

On February 16, 2001, I had no idea where my mustard seed of faith would take me. And here, ten years later, I still don’t. I read the stories of the faith heroes in the New Testament and long for more confidence in the message of Jesus. That same message, which gave me life to the max a decade ago, has been igniting the souls of men and women across the British Isles even today.

However, my faith anniversary will not take place without sombre reflection. I can think of hundreds of people I have spent time with who have not been able to see the wood for the trees. Men and women have poured out their broken hearts declaring an issue which has hammered their daily lives. I have watched my closest friends yearn for a cure to their deep-rooted lack of joy. I have witnessed the downfall of those closest to me. So many people have snubbed the message of Jesus as a religious anecdote bearing no relevance to their struggle with the human condition. Some of my mates have described in detail the hole in their soul, with wry smiles across their depleted faces.

Their lives come at them from every angle, yet they refuse to stand on the solid rock. They even express envy at the rock on which I stand whilst ignoring my open invitation for them to join me.

But the common denominator in every story I encounter, is the colossal sense of hope.

If the message of Jesus can radicalise a 16-year-old Valley boy on a cold night in February, then it can do the same for anyone and everyone. I know this to be true.

I, like so many others, have been entrusted with the most uplifting, counter-cultural message on the globe. It heals the broken-hearted, grounds the arrogant, inspires the weak, comforts the abandoned, rescues the reckless, exposes the liar, restores the hopeless, and makes me laugh in coffee shops. It is the ultimate game-changer for the human race.

And so I crack on to the next ten years. I forget the things that have hindered me, and I rub my hands for the next chapter.

Proverbs 2

My son, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding, indeed, if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God. For the LORD gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding. He holds success in store for the upright, he is a shield to those whose walk is blameless, for he guards the course of the just and protects the way of his faithful ones.

Peace.

I awoke, standing 95% naked in the middle of my room with my iPhone in my hand, as a woman spoke down the phone to me: “Do you think the message of Jesus has become irrelevant to men?” she asked.

Three days previous I had agreed to be interviewed by a BBC radio reporter regarding the issue of British men and Christianity. The interview was due to take place on Sunday morning at 7am, and so I set my alarm accordingly. Unfortunately, my alarm did not go off.

I slept through the early stages of the interview, but still answered each question.

Listening back to the broadcast, I was absolutely astonished at how coherent my answers were. (Some of my close friends are trying to persuade me to sleep through any future interviews.) I told my boss about my stupidity straight away, and hoped he would see the funny side of it. Thankfully, he laughed uncontrollably.

There are so many lessons in my sleep talk saga for us all:

1) Make sure you set your alarm properly

2) Go to bed earlier

3) Check tomorrow’s diary schedule tonight

But I think the most important thought I’ve had since the embarrassing episode, is the pointlessness in taking myself too seriously. We sit and ponder our deepest ambitious flings, we pledge to live differently to the previous generations, we promise ourselves through gritted teeth that we will overcome our tests and trials. Yet when all is said and done, what are we? Sleep talkers, foolish dreamers and naval gazers.

But before we develop our sombre frowns, maybe our mortality isn’t that bad after all.

Ecclesiastes sums it up

I have seen the burden God has laid on the human race. He 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 know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it. God does it so that people will fear him.

I laughed so hard I almost dropped her child. Little 10-day-old Morgan slept like a drunk baby in my arms as I chatted with two of my closest friends, his starry eyed parents: Luke and Hannah. I have had high hopes for Morgan, AKA Mogwai the Relentless, since his folks told me he was on his way. Within seconds of me being formally introduced (Luke dropping him into my hands) I started sending subliminal Welsh propaganda into his English dreams. His parents giggled, though that will change when he turns eight-years-old and for some reason hates the English rugby team.

As I thought about God’s wild and unknown plans for my tiny little friend, I prayed simply that he would soon know Jesus as his best mate. I watched Luke and Hannah compete to tell me how amazing he was already. The blank canvas that is Morgan’s life inspired me to thank God for leading me in my life so far.

The grace which has given me so much hope in my scatty walk with Jesus will be the same grace which holds Morgan Smith, my sleepy pal.

During one of my attempts to persuade Morgan to support the Welsh rugby team, his mother Hannah (also from God’s favourite nation) said something which cracked me up. She said: “Alex, the thing is, I keep forgetting his name! I think it’s because we named him.”

Though our human nature often leaves much to be desired, that moment gave me insight to just one of the million things which must make God laugh. The creator of all things, who will help Luke and Hannah to raise their son, knows the number of hairs on Morgan’s head. He knows Morgan’s life story. He sees the adventure set before him, and for some strange reason, I will get to be a tiny part of it.

Cymru am Byth

Peace

Silent night, holy night, three lads break into my Fiat Punto with all their might.

As I tried to reflect and give thanks for the answers to prayer that had littered my 2010, I cast my eye over my ever-sturdy green machine, only to find the driver’s side door was hanging over itself like a smashed up robot. What a lovely Christmas gift from the lads in my hometown. Cheers.

How apt that last week’s entry exposed my selfish desire to see the future in a bid to protect myself from suffering. And though I want to use this week’s space to write about how God will judge evildoers, I am going to get my head out of my backside for a change.

Think on this: Is it possible for us to predetermine our reactions to disappointments? (Bear with me lads).

My reaction to the attempted theft of Stan my Punto was to swear and call down judgement from heaven. (Which is always hilarious in a Welsh accent). However, in the cold light of day I honestly believe that my material possessions are worthless compared to the riches I have in Jesus. I also believe that if someone genuinely asked me to give them my car, I probably would.

I know that the part of my DNA which is driven purely by survival and selfish gain will always fight for his seat on the throne, but surely after almost ten years of following Jesus, I should be able to put up a better fight?

Work out your faith, Paul says, and right he is. The truth might be that my ability to react to disappointing situations is far from mastered, but how immense is it that I have all day and night to work this stuff out? To pray, to predetermine, to forgive, to serve, to love. And I’ll have tomorrow also.

This time last year I challenged us all to put our faith into fifth gear, but not this year gents. This year I want us to work out our faith under the sovereignty of Jesus who calls us on.

The likelihood of the perpetrators of my smashed up Fiat reading this is very small, but just in case you are, hear me. It’s all good between us. I’ll buy you a beer if you’re up for it.

Peace.

NOTICE FOR SINGLE CHRISTIAN MEN

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Call 01584 876 116 or visit www.networkchristians.com or email info@networkchristians.com