There was this wierd guy...

I spent a few days in York this week with friends from the YWAM team. Strange journey there - set off from Luton at 8:10 to get the 9:30 train from Stevenage. Missed it. That's Google Maps for you. Just as we were getting close, the road it said we should take just wasn't there. Maybe it was a prophetic road, a visionary road, a metaphysical road. Whatever. It wasn't there, doesn't yet exist, except perhaps in cyber-space... There's probably a blog in there somewhere, a little sermonette... Here's the entirely useless map in case you want to try it, or write a blog around it... (the bit after it crosses London Road is actually a farm track with a no-through road sign...)


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Anyway, that's not what I want to write about, the more interesting journey was the one home. Full train, all reserved seats, lady in her forties sits next to me and begins a conversation. 'Good' I thought, being an extrovert, this will make the journey much more pleasant. 'Are you going to Kings Cross' she asked by way of an opening gambit. 'No, I'm getting off at Stevenage' I replied (mainly because it was true...) 'Oh, I'm going to Luton' she said.

Now, at this point the story changes and if you find yourself cringing at 'The Office' or similar, you might want to skip to the final paragraph.

Most of you will know we're involved in c2b, a 'Beacon Group', a kind of church-plant, with my fellow-blogger and her family and a bunch of other friends. It's become normal for us to live in a more extended family way than is perhaps usual. We've got used to it, it's become normal  - we have appropriate boundaries, but we share a lot of life together; meals, food, child-care, highs and lows, laughter, tears, prayer, lifts....

So out of this normality, as soon as I heard 'Luton' I naturally said 'Actually, that's where I'm going, a friend is giving me a lift from Stevenage...'. At which point, I should have seen the panic in her eyes, but I'm really not that observant.... I did notice then that the she didn't actually respond to the question but after a nervous non-commital laugh, changed the subject and then went silent.

That was when my phone rang. It was someone else from c2b. We chatted very normally about stuff - and stuff of course includes God and prayer.... Being a man, I don't multi-task very well, so I put down the book another friend had lent me - face up and therefore showing the title 'Secret Scars - one woman's story of overcoming self-harm.  (It's a great book - click it for the Amazon link).

Listening to half the conversation and seeing the book must have completed her half-formed view of me. A glance would have shown me this poor woman looking up and down the carriage, seeing if there was anywhere else to sit...

But I didn't glance, instead my mind was focussed on the fact that I would be in Luton an hour or more before her. The offer was free, no strings, no cost (well except for sharing the back seat with Joshua aka 'Mike the Knight'. So I tried again. 'I've talked to my friend, she's very happy to give you a lift, you'll be there an hour earlier with none of the hasssle!' For the first time I saw the panic, the cogs whirring. 'Mid-life crisis male, at best a religous nutter, offering me a lift to who knows where with an unknown conspirator. It's Luton, a hotbed of terrorism and who knows what else. Even if it's ok, will they expect petrol money, how would I approach that....' Fear and stereotypes combining to make the offer of help a complete non-starter.

So in true British fashion we talked about the inconsequential, until absurdly, I got off the train at Stevenage, arriving in Luton as she was alighting at Kings Cross. Sad that its come to this. That an ordinary offer of help, a simple act of kindness should be viewed with such dread.

Yet that's what Jesus faced. The free gift of life, viewed with suspicion, rejected because it didn't fit the stereotype, spurned because of fear.

But why am I saying 'faced'? Still faces.

How many times do we take the long route round because we didn't have the faith to accept the lift. Not from a slightly dodgy middle-aged guy, but from the Father of lights.... The Children of Israel, 40 years in the desert instead of an 11 day walk, 400 years in Egypt instead of 3...

When I had set off for York, Google map in hand, I had felt the nudge from the Holy Spirit 'go via Hitchin, I know it looks longer, but go via Hitchin.'  I didn't accept the help.

I missed the train.