When followers stop following.

.

I served as a vicar for a total of 34 years – but my most challenging time was the very first four months! This was when I learned to pray: “Lord, this is your church, your responsibility. What do you want me to do – if anything?”

With the 50th anniversary of my ordination looming later this month, this gives me the excuse to indulge in a little autobiography. The bonus is that I don’t have to wrack my brain for a subject for this blog.

It was February 1984, and I was preparing to move dioceses to Rochdale, to become vicar of St John’s Church, Thornham. On paper, it seemed ideal: a lively, charismatic church which, as the smallest parish in the diocese, had once been facing closure, but had been transformed through the ministry of a gifted vicar.

However, there were troubling currents not far beneath the surface – and once my predecessor had moved on, civil war broke out. I was disturbed that this had been concealed from me by the wardens.

The formal leadership of the church was being challenged by a particular individual with a loyal following among a large section of the congregation. Their ambition was to secede from the Church of England so as to experience the unfettered freedom of the Holy Spirit.

I knew all this when I was inducted as vicar, and after a few weeks they concluded that mine was not the ministry they wanted. So they left en masse for a nearby non-conformist church, where their leader was made pastor – even though he had no formal qualifications or authorisation.

Looking back, the seceding group numbered about 15 people. However, they included some of the more committed church members, including the church organist and the leaders of the flourishing youth fellowship.

Jacqui, as my wife, took this very hard. She especially found it difficult when most of them attended our vicarage house group and sang “Bind Us Together” even as they were planning to leave.

St John’s now faced, as we would say nowadays, an existential threat. No organist and now no music group. Moreover, financial giving had plummeted. To make matters worse, several other church members were considering leaving.

It didn’t help that I had only been in the parish – indeed, in the diocese – for a few weeks, and so I didn’t have the contacts. I simply didn’t know my way around.

A huge help was knowing that Jesus himself had faced such a problem. As John records: “After this, many of his disciples left. They no longer wanted to be associated with him. Then Jesus gave the Twelve their chance: ‘Do you also want to leave?’” (John 6:66f)

So for the first time, I prayed: “Lord, this is your church and so your problem. And more, there seems nothing I can do!” But what I could do was pray, and so I encouraged the remaining church members to pray with me.

No surprise, then, that God answered wonderfully.

I’ve blogged before about Melanie the organist. It was her mother who, as PCC secretary, offered Melanie’s services after the meeting when the church organist ostentatiously submitted her resignation. I remember thinking at the time that this was cruel – an attempt to humiliate me at my first PCC meeting.

However, Melanie – just 14 – had only recently started playing the piano, and so for the first few Sunday services we had easy-play versions of popular hymns. But she was improving fast, and soon we reached the stage where I could choose the hymns. At this point we paid for her to have organ lessons at the cathedral.

By the time Melanie entered sixth form, she was playing impressive anthems at weddings. Such was her ability as an organist that she gained a place at the Royal College of Music, alongside the Royal Albert Hall. After a few terms, she successfully auditioned as an organist for Westminster Abbey.

Looking back, I can’t help thinking of the words of Zechariah: “Who dares despise the day of small things?” (Zechariah 4:10). Melanie began with the easy-play versions of popular hymns. None of us could possibly have imagined where those small beginnings would lead.

By the time she left for London, we had sorted out our music, with an expanding music group and another organist. PTL!

Then, finance.

The first phone call I took from our Area Dean was to ask why St John’s had not paid our quota – our regular financial contribution to the diocese – for two years. News to me. There was no way we could pay it, so another prayer session.

Then an intriguing letter from a local solicitor landed on the doormat. I can’t remember the exact details, but some 15 years or so earlier someone had died and, in their will, left £10,000 to St John’s Thornham. To be honest, I can’t recall the precise amount, but it was substantial.

However, there was a condition attached. Again, I can no longer remember the exact details, but the bequest could not be paid until another person had died. In the meantime, the money was to be invested in interest-bearing accounts.

The letter explained that this second person had just died and so the bequest could now be paid – some £36,000, thanks to compound interest.

We paid our debts with joyful hearts, knowing that “the Lord will provide” (Genesis 22:14). Ever since then, I have never been daunted by church finances.

Yes, a difficult start to ministry, but right at the outset I realised that God is faithful. When he makes a promise, he keeps it – sometimes in the most unusual ways.

“The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do it.” (1 Thessalonians 5:24)

He did it for us.