I RECENTLY confirmed 20 children from one of our schools, 13 of whom were also being baptised. As I stood at the font holding the shell to be used to pour the water on the children, I was immediately transported to the seashore of Montego Bay. There, I could see my elderly uncle — a fisherman — with a fish in his hand. Towards the tail end of the fish on either side are what looked like the marks of fingerprints. “These marks show where Jesus held the fish,” he said. How did he know that, I remember wondering. He was convinced, however, and went on to tell the story of Jesus making breakfast for the disciples with the fish that they had caught. I was surprised at how much he knew. He never went to church, except for weddings and funerals. Yet, somehow, he knew the biblical stories, and was not afraid to talk about them with great confidence.
How I would love to see every baptised Christian confidently engaging with the biblical stories, beyond the doors of the church, and not being afraid to engage with others in conversation daily. When asked what the greatest challenge to the Church is, I am quick to say “A lack of confident Christians” — Christians who will recognise God at work, and not be afraid to say to others “Come and see.” The families and friends who gather at baptisms are waiting with expectation to see and hear something special, something that they can connect with; and they will continue to tell the story of the experience that they had, long after the baptism or confirmation service they attended. The baptismal shell reminds me of how the people around me as I grew up were unafraid to talk about their faith in everyday settings.
MY PECTORAL CROSS was a gift to me from my friends and colleagues in Jamaica. It is made from the wood of the Mahoe tree — the national tree of Jamaica. The motion of putting it on and removing it each day is, for me, an act of prayer: a prayer of thanksgiving for the nurturing of my faith by the men and women I grew up around: people who were poor, who had very little, but who reflected an unimaginable joy and trust in the God who had seen them through so much. I like to say that that is where I learned my theology — not at theological college, but among the elderly folk I grew up with. Several times a day, I touch the cross, I pray for people and their needs, and I quietly thank God for his love that has brought me thus far.
DURING the early ’90s, when mobile phones first came on the market, I invested in one. My friends ask: “What is the point of your having a phone if we can’t get you when we call?” I would smile and say: “The purpose of the phone is for me to call out if I am in trouble, not for others to reach me!” Some 30-plus years later, I confess that the mobile phone means so much more to me. Each morning, a friend sends me a Bible verse, which I find often challenging and sometimes reassuring, as I draw on it during the day. My occasional offices are mostly used on my phone; and I regularly send, intentionally, encouraging and prayerful messages to friends and family.
The ability to use WhatsApp for communicating with others has been a real blessing, keeping the bonds of friendship deep. I also use WhatsApp for regular contact with my spiritual director. I have had times of prayer on my mobile phone — with others, in a car park; on the road; in the market; in the kitchen while cooking. As someone who walks around singing just about everywhere — even in the supermarket — I find it helpful to be able to access music that makes my soul sing.
The phone — which I know can be used for evil, and which has been implicated in so much that is wrong — is, for me, a useful article of faith.
The Rt Revd Rose Hudson-Wilkin is the Bishop of Dover. Her memoir The Girl from Montego Bay is published by SPCK (Books, 31 January).