This post includes more pictures from the simple idea I had of asking people to ‘stand on hope’- an idea I shared in my last blog.
The context of the idea is that once a month on a Sunday morning I work alongside a local Baptist Church to be among the majority of people who wouldn’t consider ‘going to church.’ I call this Saints on the Street, (St St) My hope is that more and more Churches up and down the UK would cancel some of their services in the year, or use their Services creatively to be and meet in public.
This months St St was so simple, but as you will see by the pictures there were a lot of interaction, conversation and questions asked as to why we were doing what we were doing.
I find that when people engage with the theme, and ask questions about the ideas they experience they are far more willing to hear what I believe and are far more willing to receive prayer, more information or an opportunity to come along to something else. This is seen by people’s enthusiasm as each month I have people looking out for us who want to catch up, keep on talking and asking questions about Jesus.
The invitation for the standing on hope read:
STAND ON HOPE-
Choose a board describing what you need and carefully stand on it for a few seconds.
The choices where:
I am loved- God is with me- New start- I am Forgiven- Adventure!- Keep Strong- My future is in God’s Hands- God knows my name- I am not a mistake- Peace guard me today- Jesus is the way truth and Life- Do not FEAR- Rest- JOY and Laughter- Security- Direction
Here are some pictures of the interaction and fun that went on:
A few years ago I wrote a poem about St St while I sat in a busy cafe on a Sunday morning in ASDA’s in Peterborough, then on the streets and finally finished the poem sat in a well used park, with children running around and young people enjoying the sunshine.
Saints on the streetSunday morning and two brothers struggle to keep up with their dad, They trot behind their marching hero, who is in urgent pace, Quickly up the aisle closer towards the beeping, busy check outs. A harsh word and now the young legs canter close behind, Despite their daddy being weighed down, burdened by two over large crates of caustic beer. His t-shirt declares ‘also available in sober.’ It feels like these aisles are a million miles away from the ones lined with hard wooden pews or padded chairs, of kids songs and Jonah and the whale. Sunday morning and multitudes scurry, locked out of the Sabbath celebrations. They are barred through their lack of know-how, know-what and when, hangover-yawns or too busy, or can’t be bothered or, or, or, Irrelevancy cloaks the stone cold spacious sanctuaries, Of course they are welcome but the invitation goes un-said and any welcome is hidden away, quiet and only hushed to those who already are in. Sunday morning, people, people everywhere but not a quenching drink of the Spirit in sight. Sunday Sabbath day, shopping day, busy day, kids driving me up the wall day, chasm from 10.30 family service day. Yet, how will the sacred scarred healing hands reach out to those who are bereft of Messiah comfort unless Saints meet, Face to face with the public, in public in the parks, shops or street?