Confessions of an aging radical

by Phil Wall

I

am 44 years of age, ever so slightly plump around the middle, with an emerging solar panel on the top of my head and wafts of hair growing out of my ears. I have three great kids, a brilliant wife of 23 years, a manageable mortgage and a decent job. I go to church on a Sunday, most of my closest friends are fellow Christians, I drive a people-carrier with airbags front and back, and I have an HSA dental plan.

I think I am a decent bloke. I am a faithful and loving husband, with occasional moments of romantic brilliance. I do my best to be a committed and consistent dad (despite teenage tantrums), do my bit for charity and my only vice is coffee (well, that’s the only one I am going to confess to in this article). All round, I have a solid, mature, secure and seemingly successful existence, that in truth many would be jealous of.

What’s wrong with this picture? Nothing. Nothing at all (apart from the fact that on occasion I willingly visit garden centres and can walk through the menswear department of Marks & Spencer’s and not be truly offended by any garment that I see - it all looks OK!).

The truth is that there is nothing wrong with my pretty predictable middle-aged, middle-class lifestyle in and of itself. So ‘potentially,’ what is wrong with the picture? The answer: risk. Or, more precisely, the lack of risk. As I have grown older, embraced greater responsibilities, made financial commitments, lost a little bit of the zest and energy I used to have as a younger guy, my life is largely a ‘risk-free’ zone. Don’t get me wrong, those garden centre car parks can be an urban jungle when the daffodil bulbs are on special offer, but apart from that I rarely have to take risks.

So what is wrong with that, you ask? My answer: ‘Risk-free is the cancer of faith.’ In what ways do I need God? Where do I need to trust Him? What aspects of my life are in deep trouble unless God turns up and delivers? The truth is - few, if any.

So what is the problem with that? When I don’t have to trust, I get lazy. When I don’t take genuine risks, I am less fervent in prayer. When I avoid the place of uncertainty, I stick with what I know and cease to grow. When I choose not to go anywhere near the edge, I cease to model what I have always believed is at the heart of authentic faith.

I became a Christian at age 20, and the following years were a faith-filled adrenaline rush as I took all sorts of risks in obedience to God. Time and again, I was overwhelmed at the amazing grace and lavish generosity of a God who seemed to specialise in digging me out of the faith-created hole that I had stepped into. Money, reputation, possessions, relationships, career - it was all up for grabs and willingly laid aside for King Jesus and his majestic Kingdom. Risky faith was the air that I breathed, and God didn’t disappoint.

Those were heady days for which I am so thankful. I do realise that a lot of what went on was about me maturing and growing up. I also understand that the choices I made as a young single or newly married guy are not that appropriate for someone with my responsibilities. However, if I understand the Bible stories I was raised with, if I know anything of the great heroes of faith who have lived throughout history, I believe that risk is critical to living faith.

I have discovered the following formula to be accurate:

Faith – Risk x Comfort Zone = Stagnation

This may be overstating it, but not by much. Taking faith-filled risks within our comfort-oriented lives is a powerful antidote to spiritual impotency. The more comfortable we become, the more we seek to protect the status quo. The more risk averse we choose to be, the less opportunity God has to build greater depth of character within us. It is most often in the crucible of risk-induced challenge and hardship that God does his greatest work within us. I know that - I have lived that - but too often these days such things are a distant and somewhat romantic memory.

I am not alone; there is a vast army of ‘ex-young radicals’ out there whose lives, like mine, are too often caught up in the tyranny of the mundane. Our kids’ educations, our pension plans, our career paths, our mortgages - our upwardly mobile existence too easily dulls us to the call of faith. Where we were once inspired by the moving stories of faith and courage, we now feel guilt - or, for the truly broken, cynicism. We were once the Missionary Militants; we are now about as radical as Mothercare!

We find ourselves here for all sorts of reasons. For some, it has crept up over the years; others simply made a choice. Some ‘grew up’ and dismissed their early adventures as immature. Others ‘believed’ deeply but ended up being damaged by the church or falling when it got tough. Others became ‘disappointed evangelicals’; the hype didn’t deliver, and the spin that followed didn’t convince. Thus ‘risky faith’ was a casualty of life lived, and many of us retreated to the shallows of our self-imposed comfort zones.

The great news is that we are not the first to end up here, and this isn’t the end of the story. The tale of Gideon is so helpful here. We are introduced at the beginning of the passage to a ‘disappointed Hebrew’ - things hadn’t quite worked out as he had hoped or planned or as he had been led to believe it would be for the people of ‘True Faith’. Here he was threshing wheat in a wine press to avoid getting mugged again by the conquering army, and God invades his life in a powerful way.

Firstly, God reminds Gideon of who Gideon is: ‘The Lord is with you, mighty warrior’ (Judges 6:12). You can almost envisage Gideon looking round to see who else God was talking to, then slowly realising he was the only dude in town. A conversation ensues whereby Gideon gives him the proverbial Macanro (‘You cannot be serious!’) response in light of the oppressive context in which he found himself.

God then ups the ante on him rather than responding to his whinge: ‘Go in the strength you have and save Israel out of Midian’s hand’(v14). Now things get really silly and God says ‘I am not giving you anything fresh and new. Who you are, what you have got, the lessons you have learned, the talents that you have - this is enough to be used powerfully by me.’

Secondly, God reminds Gideon who God is: First came the fire consuming the sacrifice (v21); then came the two ‘wet and wild’ miracles with the fleece (v36-40). God showing He was who He said He was and could be trusted.

For us ‘aging radicals,’ this may well be a helpful tale. I am the same guy (just a tad heavier) who took risks those years ago. I am a follower of Jesus; I have been called, gifted and filled with the very essence of God Himself. I have a destiny to fulfill, an example to set and people around to inspire and influence for God. Yes, I have been disappointed; yes, I am a bit battered and bruised; yes, I believe some different things - but fundamentally, I am that guy.

In case I forgot, He is the same God as well. The one who was with Gideon, the one who was with me - He is that God. He can still provide in amazing ways. He can still shape circumstance, He can still dig me out of holes (be they faith-created or sin-created). He is that God.

So I have a choice to make and contemplate on as I mow the lawn! What will I do? What risks will I take that can once again put me in that place of dependency and faith? Easy to ask, more challenging to live.

Risk Menu

Risk means different things to different people. Choose what fits for you.

1. Give away something valuable to someone who needs it, or give a chunk of cash that really costs.
2. ‘Go public’ in the work place. Offer to pray for people who have genuine needs.
3. Downscale your job so you can have more time to serve the poor or others in need
4. Stay in your job rather than seeking the ‘calling cop-out’. Christians are desperately needed in the work place - if you are not there, who is?
5. Consider moving to a more disadvantaged neighbourhood to live out your faith in that community.
6. Pray for opportunities to share your faith story with others; look for ‘divine appointments’ to connect with other peoples lives.
7. Set yourself/your family a ‘ceiling lifestyle’ and commit to giving everything in excess of that away.
8. Impose a ‘luxury tax’ upon yourself each time you buy a luxury item.
9. Go to a person you have a fractured relationship with and ask for forgiveness - seek to build bridges.
10. If you have a spare room in your house, consider offering it to someone in need.

These are only options; no doubt you will think of many others. The best place to start is with a trusted friend, maybe someone on a similar journey. ‘What would our lives look like if we chose a life of risk?’ The simple point is putting yourself in a place where you have to trust God in a way that it matters (that doesn’t include getting a parking space when you are in a hurry!).

My sense is that we need to engage in such things. It hones and refines our faith, it draws us to deeper places with God, it gives God opportunities to teach us new things. For those of us who are parents, it provides us with opportunity to model something to our kids that is worth emulating, the reality of faith lived ‘on the edge’. It has the possibility of leading us to a fresh encounter with the living God, revisiting that which we once knew, for God is all that we need. He is Everything.

As for the hair growing out of your ears? For that you will need a Remington!

Writer: Phil is CEO of Signify where he provides leadership and coaching services to senior corporate executives in the UK and US. Phil previously worked as a London police officer and as a communicator/leadership trainer with The Salvation Army in the UK.

8 Comments to Confessions of an aging radical

1. Risk? Try planting.
   Risk? Try creating new expressions of church that reach down the generations.
   Risk? Train in conflict mediation, and even specialise in church conflict.
   Risk? Pioneer training gatherings for lay people.
   Risk? Try moving to a rural area, one of the great ecclesial wastelands of the UK, where churches can barely remember having younger generations, and where people no longer ask ‘Will our children ever come back to church’, but ‘Will our grandchildren ever hear the gospel?’
   Risk? Pioneer some work amongst those who have left churches and denominations, and those who are ‘de-churched’.
   Risk? Try adopting or offering respite care to a severely disabled child, or volunteer as an assistant at a L’Arche community.
   Risk? Do detached youth work on the streets in the small towns and coastal areas where the ‘glamour’ of deprived-area urban ministry is not to be found, but the poverty of life and soul and the anguish and alienation of young people is just as real.
   Add to the list!
   Blessings,
Eleanor Burne-Jones on December 8th, 2007

2. I thank God for the essential riskiness embodied in the very life of Phil Wall - founding figure for Roots, Hope HIV and a whole new way of thinking for a generation of Salvationist young adults - and older leaders as well. The ripple effects are still strong around the world.

   I am one who is forever marked. I pray for 2 dozen more Phil Walls.

   God will bring to completion that which he began in you, Phil. Here’s a word: He is saving the best wine till last.

   ‘It’s not about the bones; it’s about the breath.’

   Richard Munn
Richard Munn on December 12th, 2007

3. I am 22, so still very young in my walk, and am studying. I am not in a relationship, my lifestyle is simple. I have an aversion to getting a house and a mortgage, having kids, sending them to private school etc… I see situations like the one you describe at the beginning of this entry, and am scared that I will become comfortable and complacent. Like you say, there is nothing wrong with that situation, it just breeds stagnation! I fear that! This was a great read and an encouragement to aspire to risk-taking and active faith. The risk-taking list is great. Thanks!
Simon Kennedy on December 15th, 2007

4. Phil: Nice piece, especially the bit about not quitting our day jobs! It’s as much as a challenge to see Him in the mundane as it is to set up elaborate searches.

   Eleanor: You have obviously found your calling — bringing him to the disengaged in the remotest of rural areas. I would caution you, however, not to think that this is for everybody. Because there are more economic opportunities in urban areas, there are more people to bring the message to. And for those of us with day jobs, cities are the most likely places for us to earn livings.

   Simon: Do not worry; as a Christian you will not find that the comforts of this world automatically land on your doorstep. Complacency (while still not something to worry about) is to be found at every strata of society, for there is always someone poorer than we are at any given moment.

   thanks,

   Andrea
Andrea614Regent on December 18th, 2007

5. I used to beg God to allow me to have an inner-city ministry. I wanted to give up this rather cushy suburban life that I have as and American officer and live a life that felt more raw and more meaningful. And God said, “No, I need you in the suburbs.” It frustrated me for a long time until I started “Mission: Shoreline”, an organized, personal evangelism plan in my neighborhood and community circles.

   I live in the city in America that is known to be most hostile to Christianity - Seattle. The great risks for me here have been asking moms to let their kids attend my Bible club (any club that would only teach one faith system is medieval!), or explaining why I believe Christ is the only way to God (a demonstration of my remarkable ignorance!), etc . I’ve even seen my sons ostracized because of our faith.

   I think risk is everywhere, if you’re looking for it and willing to take it. To me, the greatest risk is to OPEN YOUR MOUTH and share your faith when your faith is considered intolerant and ridiculous. I disagree vehemently with the saint (who was it again?) who said “preach the gospel, and if necessary, use words.” Anyone can commit acts of love and people often do. The Army in the USA is overrun with philanthropists and do-gooders who don’t give two wits for the gospel but spend countless hours volunteering and shower us with money. The gutsy thing is to speak up about Christ - not in argument but in love.

   Though some have been called by God to give up suburbia or other comfortable locations and live in tougher circumstances, those people often report that talk of God is easily accepted amongst the disenfranchised, the mentally challenged, etc. I haven’t been called to sacrifice my warm, rambling home (though it’s usually filled with lots of people and not too private), but I have the challenge of living where it honestly takes courage just to call oneself a Christian. I know you all think that all Americans love Christians!!! But in my town, calling yourself a Christian is almost like calling yourself a Nazi.

   By the way, I want to echo Richard’s thoughts. You can really hold your head high, Phil, because of all you’ve done for the Army. You and I don’t know each other, and I haven’t always agreed with everything I’ve heard attributed to you, but I’m not oblivious to the impact you’ve had. No doubt you will someday hear, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

   Amy
Amy Reardon on December 19th, 2007

6. Amy,

   Thanks for this heartfelt response to Phil’s article - well written as always and thoughtful.

   The Saint that is usually attributed with that saying was Francis of Assisi, by the way. Everything is contextual however, is it not? So what he was saying and why he was saying it, might be different than the what and why for you several hundred years later in Seattle. Just a thought.

   Keep writing from the heathen suburbs of Seattle (at least you can always find a Starbucks to write in, I guess).

   Geoff
Geoff Ryan on December 20th, 2007

7. Yes, absolutely true (and I thought it was St. Francis!). I agree that in his time that phrase may have been quite relevant. What bothers me is that people don’t see that it doesn’t work any more. A friend of mine is in her late thirties, raised in Seattle, and when I met her she had never heard the Gospel. She knew you were supposed to “get your sins washed away”, but she didn’t know how, why, etc. She couldn’t have even told you the Christmas story. Of course it took spoken words to communicate the gospel to her, not loving Christian deeds. She knows plenty of people who do good deeds.

   It seems people use that once-helpful phrase as an excuse for cowardice. I’m not trying to be mean, but I think that is often true.

   There are a couple of well-known Christian writers who live near me, and they actually do their writing in Starbucks!

   Amy
Amy Reardon on December 21st, 2007

8. Hmm. Some questions..

   Is obedience to Christ ever boring? Comfortable? Stagnant?

   If yes: really??
   If no: next question.

   If you are bored, comfortable and stagnant and reduced to the radicality of mothercare, could it perhaps be sensible to re-evaluate one’s calling rather than searching for temporary highs through self-denial?

   If all fails and you’re still not satisfied, you can buy a black leather jacket like all the 40-something chaps at my corps. The contrast with the white in one’s hair leads all sorts of admiring glances
   Forgive me for any pre-middle aged ignorance.

   John Clifton
John Clifton on December 21st, 2007

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