34) Giving up the band
My oldest friend has been packing boxes and moving house. Recently, as she sorted through old papers, she stumbled upon a poem I wrote for the short-lived school magazine, and sent me a photo of it. I was a sensitive sixth-former who played the flute, spoke French, loved church and nature, and who wrote poetry about wanting to be loved and needing to belong. Not poetry I’d be all that keen to share, and in fact, almost everything I wrote back then is mercifully long-since lost to time. But I remember one poem I wrote called Giving up the band.
For a short while I’d been part of a Christian band that performed in evangelical churches around Bristol and Somerset. I was the youngest band member, and before long the band dropped me because they were worried about it interfering with my schoolwork. At least, that’s the reason I remember. I was so upset at the time, hence the poem. I was used to rejection when picking sides for sport, but not when it came to flute-playing in church. I don’t remember a word of that poem now, but all my disappointment and anger were doubtless wrapped up in its verses.
“This year is the hardest of your whole life,” writes Andrea Gibson. She continues:
“Every good heart has lost its roof.
Let all the walls collapse at your feet,
Scream “timber” when they ask you how you are.”
Andrea knows. God knows – this has been the hardest year. My good heart lost its roof, and I screamed “timber” in every direction, asking for support, reaching out to friends and colleagues and those with responsibility who maybe could have, should have done this or that… but it’s too late now. Even if I write it all down, it’ll be like that old poem I wrote, the words eventually lost to memory, the feelings eventually without their sting. And besides, I don’t want to court feelings of resentment and frustration. I want to move on and heal.
I know that my laying down of the ministry at Clayton Wesley has come as a great shock to many in the congregation, but it was a long time coming. I tried my hardest for more than twelve months to fix the things that I think still need fixing. I’m sorry I wasn’t successful. I’m humbled by the outpouring of support, and pleas for me to stay. I would stay if I could. I’m dismayed at the level of grief that my announcement has caused. Our hearts are breaking. Thank God He is close to the broken-hearted, and is near to all those who call upon Him.
Some time ago, I attended a colleague’s cutting-of-ties service. With tears in my eyes, I watched her hand over her deacon’s bowl and towel to the congregation. Those symbols of her diaconal ministry which I found so accepting and invitational. It is largely because of the safe space she engendered, that I was able to hear and discern my own sense of calling into service.
But I’m not handing back my own bowl and towel. I’m not giving up the band. I spy those precious symbols of diaconal service every day when I enter my study, and I cherish them. I say with Isaiah, “here am I, send me!” And I say with Paul, “I will gladly spend and be spent for your souls.” And I will continue to do that in the remaining time at Clayton Wesley, and beyond – whatever that future calling looks like, whether it is here or elsewhere.
I received a couple of messages from colleagues over the weekend who weren’t aware of what was happening, yet felt compelled to pray for me during their quiet times. That comforts me, and tells me that God is somehow present to all this upheaval. I love Helen Baylor’s testimony, especially how she says, “But I had a prayin' grandmother!” I have – we have – praying brothers and sisters. And God hears prayer, and remembers His people. Just the other day I quoted Isaiah: “He protects His flock like a shepherd; He gathers the lambs in His arms and carries them in the fold of His garment.” I believe that. And together, we must lean into that truth, and find ourselves comforted despite the earthquake of change and uncertainty.
At a Quiet Hour service earlier in the year, we had a reading from Macrina Wiederkehr, who says: “Every experience, every thought, every word, every person in your life is a part of a larger picture of your growth… Let everything bless you. Even your limping can bless you.”
We’ve been limping this week, but good may yet come out of it. What feels like catastrophe today may even prove to be a blessing in time. I don’t know how. I do know that God is in this with us. Let’s continue to entrust our life and times to Him. And say with David,
“But I trust in the Lord.
I will rejoice and be glad in Your faithfulness,
You have known the troubles of my soul…
My times are in Your hand”
Dear friends, it will be ok. God has already promised that much.
Olly Ponsonby, December 2024
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Scripture refs. Ps 34:18, Ps 145:18, Is 6:8, 2 Cor 12:15, 1 Sam 1:19-20, Is 40:11, Ps 31:6,7,15.
“This year is the hardest…” and “Every good heart…”quotes are taken from “Angels of the Get Through” by Andrea Gibson, and can be found in her collection Pansy, 2015, Write Bloody Publishing.
“But I had prayin’ grandmother!” taken from Helen Baylor, “Helen’s Testimony” recorded live. Transcript available https://genius.com/Helen-baylor-helens-testimony-annotated
“Every experience…” quote taken from “A tree full of angels: seeing the holy in the ordinary” by Macrina Wiederkehr. 1988, HarperCollins EPub Edition © JUNE 2010 ISBN: 978-0-062-03648-3