My Methodist Past
Sometimes my attention is drawn to the books that still occupy a large space on my bookshelves. They tell a story,the story of a time when I was a commited methodist,not just a mere member of that church,but one of it's local preachers. For the past sixteen years I have no longer been a member of any church group, I have abandoned organised religion,because I feel organised religion never liked me,accepted me or even wanted me to be involved. At risk of quoting the rock band 'the Mission', I still believed in the church but the church no longer believed in me!
I suppose like many who invested their love and faith in such institutions there had to come a time when basic honesty led me to accept that I was a hypocrite for leaving and a hypocrite if I tried to stay. I had been brought to the point where if there was to be any belief and faith in God left then it was me ,on my own with God,or nothing. I walked away from the church of England here in Switzerland and because of the language barrier at the time it meant walking away from only church in town where I could be an active part of an institutions spiritual life. Since then I have never really returned, i've just kept moving on.
This piece is not going to be a rant about the wrongs of the church, there will be no personal comments,back stabbings,denuciations or malignant put downs here. They who did what they did,said what they said, meant what they meant do not answer to me and i do not answer to them. They must deal with their own consciences and if they cannot,then that is a matter for God to judge and he/she alone.
I'm going to write about the journey, from being brought up a non believer through conversion to preacherhood and on to the present state of my being and faith.
Let me take you back to moment in 1978 in a local community centre in the city of Bath.
The new rooms in Bristol played a great part in my life in the mid 1980's.