Oscar Pistorius is the latest in a long line of celebrity/role models to have fallen from grace over the last few months. The shock news that he may have murdered his girlfriend, Reeva Steenkamp has left fans of the ‘Blade Runner’ devastated.

Lance Armstrong admitted to lying about doping in the Tour de France

Tabloids daily rummage through the private lives of our heroes in ‘the public interest’, gathering salacious tit bits to parade before the baying mobs. Some heroes from the golden age of 70s television successfully avoided the attentions of the law for decades, others are not so fortunate.

Being a kid that grew up watching ‘Jim’ll fix it’ I have to confess that it feels like a part of my childhood has been ripped, unceremoniously away.

The more recent confessions of Lance Armstrong, multiple Tour de France ‘winner’ has shaken the world of professional cycling to the core. In a recent interview in The Telegraph, Team Sky’s Ian Boswell, a one-time mentee talks, about how Armstrong’s doping, lying and fraud have affected him.

“He was an inspiration but then it’s gone, kind of a fraud. It’s sad but it’s history now.”

Bradley Wiggins was less philosophical;

“I thought, ‘You lying b*****d’. I don’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth anymore.”

More celebrities seem to be added daily to the list – the overwhelming feeling is; who can you trust?

I’m reminded of a good friend who told me how his father had taught him about the importance of trust. Instructing his son to stand on top of the dressing table with his back to him, my friend’s father then instructed him to ‘close your eyes and fall back’ with the reassurance that ‘I will catch you’. As my friend fell back into the void between the innocence of child hood and the cruel realities of a harsh world, his Father neatly, stepped to one side, my friend cascading to the floor in a tumble of limbs and tears. “Son – never trust anyone.”

It’s not a great maxim for life, but role models matter. I know. Like it or not, as a teacher, students watch how I live every day and, every weekend.

Shopping in Sainsbury’s (other stores are available) I can often hear whispers of, ‘It’s Sir! That must be his wife!’ More often than not, I keep my head down and get on with the day.

Monday morning always seems to follow the same pattern. ‘Hi Sir. I saw you in …(add store of your own choice here, but leave out Ann Summers, betting shops and houses of ill repute … and Tesco’s.)

It’s scary being a role model. Every word that comes out of my mouth in the classroom is weighed; every parent that I meet is inspecting me in a way that makes OFSTED look like Clouseau. Students will watch to see how I react to bad language, fights, inappropriate behaviour, and uniform atrocities.

As a Christian, how I live my life in public matters, what I say and what I choose not to say, how I act and react all impact the lives of others and can either advance the Kingdom of God or diminish its value in the eyes of others.

Teaching doesn’t leave too much time for hours of Bible study and reflection, my prayers are often snatched attempts at grace as I drive to work, begging God to give me all that I need, to be more than a role model, more than an idol to admire, but salt and light.

Paul’s letter to the Philippian’s remains for me my maxim for daily living.  It really is only by the grace of God that I can stand. We all have feet of clay. ‘Go out into the world uncorrupted, a breath of fresh air in this squalid and polluted society.’ As our idols fall, will you be one of the last men standing?

This week’s blog is a guest post from Brian Rice.

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There are nearly 12 million people of pensionable age in the UK today and the number is rising. The latest research shows that only around 16% attend church regularly. Many older people are out of touch with the Christian faith at the very time when they may be seeking an explanation for the difficulties and problems they have encountered in life. I still meet older people who mourn the loss of a loved one during the 2nd World War and continue to blame God for their loss.

In your own church/fellowship, how many activities focus on ensuring that older people understand the significance of Christ’s death and resurrection for them? It’s our experience that many may have been to church regularly without ever realising that they matter to God and can experience the life changing power of HIS LOVE personally, which is the heart of the Christian faith. Just recently I met a Lady who had been attending her Church for over 20 years and she told me that until she met me, nobody before had ever explained that she personally could find forgiveness and a ‘living’ relationship with God.

Outlook Trust’s mission is to reach older people, OLDER PEOPLE ON THE EDGE OF ETERNITY, with the GOOD NEWS OF OUR LORD JESUS CHRIST, by envisioning God’s people, by challenging and equipping the Church with appropriate resources and sharing good practice. In God’s sight, older people have great value and worth, which of course is not reflected in Society generally. Rather what I see is older people being treated as invisible, irrelevant, not important, nuisances. Older people are rarely portrayed as being wise and understanding. So many skin treatments are now available to treat the signs of ageing and hair colourings to cover over any grey hairs, because the impression given is that someone is a ‘failure’ if they have grey hair and wrinkles.

So, we who claim to be God’s People should reflect His Heart, celebrate and value the older Generations both inside and outside the Church and seek out the lonely and the lost, the sheep who have gone astray and bring them back to the fold. This was and is the mission of the One who we know as THE GOOD SHEPHERD and He calls on us to share in this with Him. HOW WILL THEY HEAR THIS GOOD NEWS THOUGH, UNLESS YOU AND I GO?

As ever in the Love of Christ

Norman Critchell
Director

www.outlook-trust.org.uk
admin@outlook-trust.org.uk

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Today was a hard day. I scraped the car trying to reverse into my new carport, had conversations I didn’t want to have about the possibility of not having children of my own. It’s a thought that has never been far from my heart or head, and by proxy, tears have never been far from my eyes.

I sometimes wonder why I find it so hard to forget about God and just walk away. I mean, it’s not just me who has hard times – it seems pretty universal. So why hang on? Why not walk away from God and Christianity once and for all? I have come to the conclusion that it boils down to stubbornness.

I am stubborn. Prior to today I had always seen that as a bad thing, a thing that caused me trouble. But maybe it’s the thing that has actually kept me faithful. Maybe this ‘thorn in my side’ has actually been a blessing.

Luke 22: 31-32 ‘“Simon, Simon, Satan has asked to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”’

Have you been given a thorn that you hadn’t realised was a blessing to you and potentially others?

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Knee deep in mud, gale force winds and hauling millions of chairs across a field in Swindon, was not how we were expecting our internship to begin.

OK so maybe we were only ankle deep, and it was probably more of a strong gust than a gale… and there were probably only 1000 chairs but you’ve got to have a dramatic opener for your first proper CVM blog. We were thrown in at the deep end and were told to expect the weekend to look like a lovechild of New Wine and Top Gear, which it really was. This is how two young men in their late teens survived The Gathering XII…

Jack Undrell: Diary Entry

Thursday was jam-packed, muddy but HOT! All the team started to look like tomatoes after a couple of hours. We worked from midday until late evening, washing up, putting up tents and marquees. At the end of play we had fish & chips before a well-earned sleep.

Friday morning was mental! The boss wanted us to sort out a lot of last minute preparation before 800 men arrived. My main duty was assigned to me: Managing the CVM stand, which was brilliant. It was amazing talking to everyone who came through check-in and later that evening, I got to listen to Jon Burns. As a football and rugby fan, his story was incredible.

Saturday, what can I say, the blokes must have got a lot out of the sessions as the resources were flying off the stand. Darrell Tunningley went on to give his testimony of how God transformed him from a heroin addict and a convicted armed robber to a church minister, which was incredible. However, for me, the best moment of the weekend was seeing around 40 men commit their lives to Jesus later that night.

On Sunday morning we all shared communion, (first time for some blokes) and quite a surreal experience for me. Before we set off for home, I knelt with hundreds of men to meet with Jesus in the mud.

Looking forward to next year!

Andy Cozens: Diary Entry

I couldn’t have thought of a more effective way of getting to know my colleagues than sharing a campsite and actively serving Christ with them. The type of bond that was formed between me, Jack and the team over the weekend would have probably taken over a month to form if we’d just been sat at CVM HQ.

Having such a close band of brothers and sisters made the kit-hauling, dishwashing, tea making and errand running so much more easy to cope with. Not to say that it wasn’t hard work, but it would have been much harder without the team’s general supportive attitude towards each other.

Within the CVM team was the camera-team, which I was blessed enough to be a part of. It was our job to capture all the main meetings, seminars and worship times with four old BBC cameras.

I had prayed a lot before joining CVM that I would be able to use the gifts and skills that God had given me to bring glory to him and already, on the second day, I was doing just that. What an answer to prayer!

Without doubt the best part of the weekend was 40 guys came to be prayed for after a Gospel message. It was at this moment when I realised how much God had been working over the weekend.

Who knows what happened when those men arrived home again but my prayers are definitely with them and their families. The Gathering XII gave me a new heart for men’s ministry and I am so glad to have joined a movement that is so effectively making Christ known to so many men.

All the Best,

Jack&Andy

Book Now for The Gathering 2013

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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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Patience is apparently a virtue, but it is one that seems to be becoming extinct, at least in my life. We live in a nanosecond microwave culture, we want things and we want them yesterday darn it! I don’t know if you are like me, but I have allowed this to seep into my spiritual life – I see the changes I desire to make but I only want the results – not the hard work.

What’s just as concerning is how I react when the immediate change I desire is slow to arrive. I throw the towel in – if I can’t change that quickly then what’s the point? I get so discouraged, and this discouragement blinds me to any progress that I may have made.

I wonder what pleases Jesus more – empty acts or a willing heart? Could it be possible that He can do more with a willing heart than someone who just acts right? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting that we coast through life with a willing heart but never actually changing, but rather that when the discouragement hits we remember that God looks at the heart, and that change is a journey not just a destination.

2 Corinthians 12: 7-10
‘To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. ” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.’

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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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Much of my younger life was spent desiring things. But not just anything – mostly things that other people I knew owned. ‘If I could just get such and such’ I thought ‘My life would be so much better. Everything would be ok.’ I didn’t just limit this to inanimate objects either: upon reaching a certain age marriage would make my life complete, upon getting married the promise of a baby. All these things I would see in other people and want them, often missing out on enjoying what had been placed in my hands.

When it comes to changing myself, this greener grass view stunts my growth too. I look to heroes of the faith, both celebrity and just my personal heroes and I try to emulate them instead of Jesus. And when I fail to do so (as I invariably do) I blame God. ‘If I had their gifts then I would be a much better Christian.’ The Bible tells me that God has let me lie in a green pasture all to myself and I spend all my time looking at how green everyone else’s pastures are.

Psalm 23:

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Sounds great – but what about those legitimate times of feeling the grass is greener for others? How can I be comfortable in my pasture of infertility when plenty of other couples are with child? Well, it’s not always easy, but I am coming to see that the pasture God chose for me is the only one where my soul will be restored, the place where I will not be in want. The place where I will truly change and grow in the ways I desire. The grass may look greener in the neighbouring pastures, but in my pasture it’s exactly as green as I need it to be.

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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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A few weeks ago I was discussing Christianity with a friend, and discovered that his understanding of the word ‘faith’ was different to mine.

It brings back the memory of a similar conversation with a Hindu uncle who said to me: “You must have faith to be saved!” For my uncle, what was crucial was having faith – who you had faith in wasn’t the issue.

If you look up the definition of ‘faith’ on the internet, you’ll get a variety of perspectives. If you ask others what they understand by the word faith, and dig a little bit at what is behind their understanding, you may discover, as I did in my recent discussion, that they include / exclude essential components of faith which you wouldn’t. But even different faiths, as well as those who reject faith, have different understandings of faith!

Closely linked to faith is the question of how we interpret what we experience.

When I visited a Hindu group in Wembley, a gentleman said to me: “When I first came here, this person walked in who I hadn’t met, and instinctively I knew that I should follow him. I didn’t realise he was the head of the centre. I’ve been part of this group for over 20 years.”

How do we check that our interpretation of an experience is valid? Or do experiences somehow authenticate what we believe about them? Just because we experience something, does that make our interpretation true? Just because we believe something, does that make what we believe in true? Does faith authenticate truth? Or is that just faith in ‘faith’?

When I was younger I was given a present, and intuitively I believed that if I kept it with me, it would protect me and help me do well in exams. However one day it was accidentally damaged, and I realised that it couldn’t look after itself, let alone me. It was my first lesson in developing an understanding of faith, what I would call ‘a reasonable faith’.

Then Jesus told him, “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

- John 20:29

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