(First published in Baptist Times - Heartbeats column - 6 May 2011)
A friend had been finding church difficult and I suggested going on a retreat or prayer day - 'Find something that interests you and I'll come too.'
A church where she'd previously attended a 'fantastic' worship event was advertising another day - 'Not sure what exactly, something to do with the Holy Spirit.'
Great. I love those occasions. A few worship songs, a few words, then the speaker hands over the whole proceedings to the Holy Spirit, and lives are changed.
Except that this speaker didn't. This speaker arrived with a bulky file of notes and proceeded to read from them, interspersed with Powerpoint slides (every word on them read aloud), secondhand anecdotes and unfunny jokes.
It was impeccable intellectual theorising, based on years of meticulous research. No stone left unturned, no nit unpicked. Impressively worthy. Incredibly dull. Or was it just me? Later in the day, the speaker promised, we would go into the same topics in much more detail.
I'd forgotten what real boredom feels like, how it slows down time, grates the spirit, paralyses the soul and sandpapers the emotions. I felt, literally, bored to tears. I glanced at my friend who, with a rapt expression, was taking notes. I glanced at my watch. Five more hours till the end of the day. I glanced at other people's faces and saw no reflection of my own desperation. It was just me, then. I was a worthless Christian, spiritually stagnant and intellectually vacant.
It struck me that, as long as I was apparently taking notes, I could write anything. So I wrote a few paragraphs, in shorthand, of a story for Woman's Weekly. But I still felt like crying, and the story became depressing.
At last the coffee break came. I mumbled a need for fresh air and shot out of the door. My friend followed me. 'You okay?'
'No,' I confessed. 'I'm not coping with this at all. Do you mind if I get a bus home?'
Relief flooded her face. 'I thought it was me - I've been doodling all morning! Shall we go? I know this lovely beach.'
It was freezing and blowing a gale. 'Perfect!' I agreed.
And it was. A beautiful, peaceful day.
Over lunch I confided that it confirmed my decision never to accept a speaking engagement. It was not fear that made me turn down invitations but consideration for fellow human beings. Fact: writers make boring speakers.
'What a cop-out!' my friend said. 'You were riveted at Pete Greig's talk. Russ Parker's. Adrian Plass. Joyce Meyer. Mike Pilavachi .... Anyway, you're speaking at that thing in the summer, aren't you?'
'Huh? Oh, that,' I said confidently. 'That's not giving a talk.'
Some friends moved to Cornwall a few months ago, where they joined a small community church that, once a year, held something called a Bible Week. We had them sometimes in the Catholic Church. A few old ladies in hats turned out faithfully every evening for bible study. I'd agreed to be interviewed, briefly, about my book. A lady would email me with the time and date. I'd forgotten about it.
Then the email arrived. 'Thanks for agreeing to speak at our Bible Week. We will do the brief interview on Sunday evening and have scheduled you to give a seminar on Monday. Here is our website link.'
I clicked the link. And I was beginning to click ....
'We are a small church but God has blessed us....' (and how he had blessed them!) 'Here is our 600-seater marquee. And here is our bigger marquee. Our fields. Our campsites for families from all over the country.....'
Every friend I have told so far has laughed hysterically. So I'm going to ask you a favour. Three, really.
1 If you find yourself at this blessed little Bible Week this summer, feel free to come to the seminar;
2 if you find yourself bored to tears, feel free to leave.
And ... 3 if you decide to escape to some lovely beach - can I come with you?
