Cardiff Men's Convention Blog

He doesn’t know who Robert De Niro is but he can explain photosynthesis in less than a minute. Oxford Graduate in Bio Chemistry, Christopher Anderton, dances like someone under attack. I saw this first hand in the Island of Crete. I could spend hours commenting on how one of my new best mates looks like the main character is Where’s Wally, or how he proudly reads the New Scientist magazine in public, but I won’t mention those things.

As the plane left the ground in Manchester the same old fear bounced around my empty head. The fear of engine failure. Don’t get me wrong…as a Christian I believe Jesus was spot on when he gave us eternal life. I am also convinced of the authenticity of the Resurrection after studying the evidence. I know my future in this world and beyond is in the hands of that same Jesus who smashed the power of death. However, as soon as my life is temporarily in the hands of a commercial aircraft pilot call Rick, who I have never met, my alpha male tendencies shrink into an embarrassing sweat. I clench my fists around my seat belt, which soon prevents any blood flowing to the organs beneath my rib cage.

I looked at Christopher Anderton. I thought if I was scared, then this geek would be a blubbering mess of a man for sure. (And he wears glasses.) He saw the look of dread in my eyes and asked if I was ok. I was impressed by his overall calm demeanour, but knew full well he must have been saying goodbye to his insides deep down. I replied: “No Chris of course not. What if a flock of birds get caught in the engine? What if a small crack beneath my seat opens up and I’m sucked out like a tic tac? What if snakes on a plane wasn’t just an awful film, but a superb documentary? Have you thought about this stuff?! Have you!!”

He chuckled to himself. He then said: “Alex, I have thought about these things of course. But I’m not scared of death. And what a way to go to glory, evangelising to the passengers around you as you soar through the clouds. Don’t be afraid Al. You idiot.”   As a beer-drinking, anthem singing, football fan of a Christian, I need to be careful I do not fall into the same trap as the hypocrite who boxes people up into categories. We are much more comfortable using the term “man’s man” here in the British church these days, in a bid to reach out to the average Joe. And that is totally fine. However, we cannot pigeon hole men into manliness because of their drinking habits or the volume of their voice. We must not become like men’s magazine editors describing what a Real Man looks like. Christopher Anderton AKA Mr Bean, is a real man. He trusts God’s Word and does not fear what most men do in this world.

Let’s read the opening of Psalm 1 and consider what a real man looks like.

Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked, or stand in the way of sinners, or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.

Men of faith, let’s spend more time meditating on the promises of our king. Who knows, he might bless us with courage, strength, vision, joy and honour. He might just do that for us.

Peace.

This post can also be found on the CVM website

My heart hates the way my head thinks. Though our culture has turned the notion of the heart into a ‘feminine’ entity, mine remains the most reckless organ in my body. And what it hates more than alcohol, cigarettes and bacon, is my mind. My heart taunts my mind in its ivory tower asking him down for a fight on a regular basis. Any form of risky situation which falls before me, is met with a split personality. My head always speaks first. It speaks to my soul quietly, not to alarm its nemesis living in my chest.

My mind always looks for an escape route before embarking on any journey. Its scans the size of the risk and counts the cost before advising the soul to proceed. However, my heart usually gets wind of my mind’s advice and starts to burn. It glances at the risky situation momentarily before turning to the soul with fire in its arteries. All my organs hold their breath, awaiting the inevitable. Coronary carnage.

This is what my heart has told my soul this summer: ‘Alex you complete and utter disgrace of a man. You give the male species an awful name. Not only should you ignore that tool in your huge square head, but you should smoke that cowardly #!#! out of your skull. Have you actually seen the risk? So what you might get some slack at work, so what she might think you’re a clown, so what your friends might think you’re taking this Jesus thing too far.

Brothers, my soul has started listening to my heart in recent months and my mind is losing itself. This is my last day as a news reporter. I am heading to CVM for good and moving to Chesterfield. My close friends are raising their eyebrows at my faith resurgence. And a beautiful woman is currently considering the offer of a clown from wales.

And praise the Lord, who says he will give us the desires of our heart. That he will give us new hearts. That he is stronger than our heart. That if we believe in our heart, we will be saved.

He knows the folly and deceit which often harbours in our hearts, as do we, but God forbid we ignore the Spirit of Jesus who prods our hearts to man up. How much longer are we going to hide our dreams for the Lord? For how much longer will we assume God cannot lead our friends and family to the life changing truth of Jesus? How much longer will us single lads believe the Lord doesn’t know our wildest dreams?

I believe in the sovereign lord Jesus, who sits at the right hand of God cheering his believers on. I swear my heart can hear the cheers of Christ sometimes.
I’m going for it lads.
Peace.

This post can also be found on the CVM website

I’ve not long returned from the USA, Michigan to be exact, where we visited extended family (Amy, my wife is American). One Friday morning at 7am I found myself in a typical American diner with a group of about 15 other men. Even though I should be used to it by now I still have to pause to think when presented by the various choices: ‘How would you like your eggs, sir ? Over-easy, sunny side up, basted or scrambled? And will that be white, wholemeal or rye?

Yet this wasn’t just breakfast out with a group of guys; before the eating began there was a time of prayer with requests for family, friends and nation shared and brought before God followed by a pretty in depth Bible study on a passage from the gospel of Luke. That men’s Bible study will meet again this Friday morning at 7am in the same diner and every Friday throughout the year. And that scenario could be multiplied in one form or another several thousand times throughout the 52 states of the USA. Groups of Christian men will be regularly meeting to pray for one another and encourage each other in the Word and in their walk with Christ.

I would not want to import everything from the American church scene to the UK but wouldn’t it be great if there were hundreds of such groups of men committed to be ‘iron sharpening iron’ meeting here. OK, we are not in the habit of going out for breakfast but in our Starbucks culture how about committing with at least one other Christian bloke to meet together regularly in the coffee shop of your choice to chat over how things are going in your spiritual journey, share a word of encouragement from the Bible and then take a prayer walk to bring each others concerns to God. I do it regularly and its one of the things that keeps me going in the right direction.

The four of us went looking for Jesus. We had all seen him before during our seperate journeys; and are in fact friends because of our similar experiences of the biblical christ. We camped in the wet Newark grass and laughed ourselves to sleep. Though my efforts to survive in the wild were mocked by my three friends, I felt safe, probably for the first time in a year.

The Christian conference opened my eyes to so much which will radically change the way I see others in the coming months. I will probably wake up earlier to look for Jesus and wait more patiently for god to answer my cries. I will challenge the archaic weights which hold churches back from bringing the truth to lost communities across the UK. I will eat less crap and I will fail many, many times, naturally.

As I saw the fingerprints of my beautiful creator in the eyes of my beautiful friends, I was reminded of the most common command in scripture; Do Not Be Afraid. God has brought us all this far, without backing out of a single promise. The relic of prayer still works and the bible still transforms the lives of normal people like us. I walked back to my tent with Luke, Hannah, and Miriam, and glanced to a break in the clouds. Maybe it was a fluke, or perhaps a wonderful picture of god’s delightful sense of humour, but four birds had taken flight towards the sun descending.

I didn’t tell my friends, my weirdness had been mocked enough. However I can say this; New Wine 2010…everything has now changed for me.

Peace.

This content has also been posted on the CVM blog

The man in the red vest was a good pace maker. I tried to keep my eyes fixed on the back of his head whilst focussing on the motivational playlist, which was blasting out of my headphones. There was no doubt that the first 8km of the Pennine 10K were leaving their mark on the muscle tissue around my legs, arms, back, neck and backside. I was a disaster dressed up in running gear.

The fact I had passed the 8km marker brought a wry smile to my red face. Who was this pace maker in front of me? Was this his first long distance race like mine? Did his lower back feel like it was about to fall through his legs? Why was he cocking his head to one side and blowing profusely through his left nostril? What is this sticky, watery-like fluid now running down my face?! Oh yes friends, he just blew his nose and the wind directed his release to my head. What a wonderful way to celebrate the final stint of a charity run.

The crowds of people cheered us on as we hit the final straight in Blackburn. My adopted hometown in East Lancashire proved a fitting place for me to complete my debut distance attempt. The finish line stood like a human magnet drawing this painful saga to an end. I shifted gears and performed a sprint finish. I must have looked like a disabled gorilla after seven pints of Stella. Lying face down on the grass in Witton Park, surrounded by fellow fund raisers, I was stunned by the sense of unity. We had done it. All in different ways and in different times. Each of us wearing different colours inspired by different stories. We started the race as strangers but sweat like friends throughout. Our team of journalists who ran together shared quirky events which had faced them on the journey. Some spoke of the temptations to stop, puke and/or faint. Others ushered in their hard-earned rest which was to come. We all laughed at the Welsh boy (yours truly) who was at one time covered in the snot of a stranger.

Carl Beech once drew a parallel between his Marathon efforts and the Christian experience, and how right he was.

My conclusion was this. At the end of our race, it’s not that we will forget the messy, nonsensical invasions of our lives, nor will we pretend the pain was a mere sub plot. We will however, be so engrossed in the welcome which awaits us who keep our hope in the words of the one they call Jesus, that we will consider everything else as second best.

Some of us have barely left the starting point in our Christian faith, whilst others are performing their sprint finish. Some however, are wiping down their faces after a seriously unpleasant encounter. In our different shirts and various abilities, we run this life awaiting a full revelation of what we have seen in glimpses. The finish line of the faithful.

Read the words of John as he peers into heaven in the book of Revelations:

I turned around to see the voice that was speaking to me. And when I turned I saw seven golden lampstands, and among the lampstands was someone like a son of man, dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. In his right hand he held seven stars, and out of his mouth came a sharp double-edged sword. His face was like the sun shining in all its brilliance. When I saw him, I fell at his feet as though dead. Then he placed his right hand on me and said: “Do not be afraid. I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.”

This is the finish line we are stumbling towards.

Peace.

// This has also been posted on the CVM Blog. Find more articles like this at www.cvmen.org.uk/blog//

OK, so not every man is into football, but you can’t escape the fact that the World Cup is a mega global phenomenon.  From North Korea to Honduras and from New Zealand to Nigeria tens of millions which be watching and listening to follow the teams.  And for those of us who love God more than football it is nice to know that among the sporting superstars showing their skills this month there are a few at least that share our faith.  Indeed, God has his people everywhere but I suspect that there are probably far more committed Christians among the programme sellers and stewards from the local South African communities than among those on the pitch.

I think Jesus’ words about the rich person finding it hard to get into the kingdom of God probably apply also to the very talented or the very successful although the door to the kingdom is open to anyone who recognizes their need of Christ.

Anyway,  to the point.  The fact is that notice is taken of high profile sportsmen who claim to follow Jesus and therein lies a dilemma.  We may value their very public witness but then if they take a spiritual or moral tumble then that also gets noticed by a sceptical world.  The South African cricketer Hanse Cronje is one of several that come to mind.  So what should our response be?  As Christians our default should always be to pray.  Pray for those who name the name of Christ.  Pray for those professing Christians in the world cup that they will know God’s protection, that they will get spiritual support from mature believers around them and that they will be strengthened to live a life of integrity.

At the same time let’s be aware that in our own personal world those around us will be watching our lives more than they take notice of the life of some famous football.  So maybe we need to focus on how we can let our light shine by rubbing shoulders with a friend who doesn’t yet know the Lord.  So how about inviting one of them over to watch a World Cup game together?

Many people may be able to point to things Gordon Brown got wrong during his time as Prime Minister but in my mind he got one thing right during his final day in office.  As he left 10 Downing Street to offer his resignation to the Queen he said ‘As I leave the second most important job I could ever hold, I cherish even more the first – as a husband and father’   I don’t know where exactly Gordon Brown is regarding his self proclaimed ‘Presbyterian faith’ but in this statement he was right on the button in terms of biblical values.

It is a high calling and privilege to be a husband and a father and if we are blessed to have a wife and children they should certainly be at the top of our priority list.  ‘Husbands love your wives as Christ loved the church’ is what Scripture commands us and also ‘bring up your children in the training and instruction of the Lord’  Most of us, including myself, realise how often we fall short of this call and yet whatever else we achieve in this life may part of our legacy be that we demonstrated our love for God in the way that we loved and served our family.

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