I RECENTLY confirmed 20 children from considered one of our schools, 13 of whom were also being baptised. As I stood on the font holding the shell for use to pour the water on the youngsters, I used to be 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 just 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, nonetheless, and went on to inform the story of Jesus making breakfast for the disciples with the fish that they’d caught. I used to be surprised at how much he knew. He never went to church, apart from weddings and funerals. Yet, in some way, he knew the biblical stories, and was not afraid to discuss them with great confidence.
How I might like to see every baptised Christian confidently engaging with the biblical stories, beyond the doors of the church, and never being afraid to have interaction with others in conversation every day. When asked what the best challenge to the Church is, I’m quick to say “A scarcity of confident Christians” — Christians who will recognise God at work, and never be afraid to say to others “Come and see.” The families and friends who gather at baptisms are waiting with expectation to see and listen to something special, something that they will connect with; and they’ll proceed to inform the story of the experience that they’d, long after the baptism or confirmation service they attended. The baptismal shell jogs my memory of how the people around me as I grew up were unafraid to discuss their faith in on a regular basis settings.
MY PECTORAL CROSS was a present to me from my friends and colleagues in Jamaica. It is constructed from the wood of the Mahoe tree — the national tree of Jamaica. The motion of putting it on and removing it every day is, for me, an act of prayer: a prayer of thanksgiving for the nurturing of my faith by the lads and ladies I grew up around: individuals who were poor, who had little or no, but who reflected an unimaginable joy and trust within the God who had seen them through a lot. I prefer to say that that’s where I learned my theology — not at theological college, but among the many 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 so far.
DURING the early ’90s, when mobile phones first got here in the marketplace, I invested in a single. My friends ask: “What is the purpose of your having a phone if we are able to’t get you after we call?” I might smile and say: “The purpose of the phone is for me to call out if I’m in trouble, not for others to succeed in me!” Some 30-plus years later, I confess that the cell phone means so rather more to me. Each morning, a friend sends me a Bible verse, which I find often difficult and sometimes reassuring, as I draw on it in the course of the day. My occasional offices are mostly used on my phone; and I often send, intentionally, encouraging and prayerful messages to family and friends.
The ability to make use of WhatsApp for communicating with others has been an actual blessing, keeping the bonds of friendship deep. I also use WhatsApp for normal contact with my spiritual director. I even have had times of prayer on my cell phone — with others, in a parking lot; on the road; out there; within the kitchen while cooking. As someone who walks around singing nearly in every single place — even within the supermarket — I find it helpful to find a way to access music that makes my soul sing.
The phone — which I do know may be used for evil, and which has been implicated in a lot that’s flawed — is, for me, a useful article of religion.
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).
