Journeys of Faith: Dave's Story

I have called you by name; you are mine – Isaiah 43:1

I’ll admit that I’m not as 'marinaded in the church' as others are.

Yes, I went as a child with my mother occasionally on a Sunday morning, and was confirmed at about the age of 11, mainly because I’d been told by my parents that it was what you did. The choice wasn’t really mine and I remember sitting in Confirmation Class one day not really sure what to think, but knowing that it was important to those around me and that eventually it would all make sense to me.

It was explained that during the confirmation service the Bishop would lay their hands on my head and the Spirit would descend upon me. I would be confirmed and would be an ‘adult’. I would be allowed to receive communion like everyone else.

I was expecting a booming voice to come from the heavens calling my name and thought I would instantly be transformed into someone who would be able to interpret scripture, quoting chapter and verse to those around me, whilst truly and honestly understanding the greatness of God, his Love, and most importantly his plans for me.

You can understand my disappointment then, when at the moment Bishop Roy laid his hands on my head and uttered those words “David, God has called you by name”, none of that happened.

I didn’t feel transformed.

Not only could I not quote the Bible, but I’d also probably struggle to name the four Gospels, and just what was Acts? The only acts I knew anything about was the thing people did on stage. Were the disciples going to be putting on a pantomime? I had more questions than ever before.

I remember receiving communion for the first time, taking the bread and placing it in my mouth thinking “Hmmm, tastes a bit like a sherbert spaceship but less interesting”

I continued going along on a Sunday for a year or two, until in my early teens sport and competing got in the way, so I stopped going to church.

Although I never stopped believing in God, it was just in the background for a bit. In my mid-teens I started to suffer with anxiety and severe panic attacks. They caused me to doubt a lot of things in my life, mainly surrounding my self-confidence. Everyone else seemed so sure of themselves, and their place in the world, why wasn't I?

I struggled with that for a number of years and eventually learnt how to recognise the signs, when things were getting too much and, more importantly, how to deal with those feelings when they arose.

I left school and started working, and socialising on a Saturday night. A heavy session in the pub on a Saturday night does not always go well with getting up early for church on a Sunday morning. In my mid 20’s I met up with someone I’d known in school and we started going out.

She, unlike me, was marinaded in the church. We eventually moved in together, and one Sunday morning as I was half asleep pulling the covers over my head, desperate for another hour sleep, she asked if I wanted to come with her.

“No, not interested, I’m happy here” I said.

She explained that if I came with her we could go for lunch straight after, and it would be easier. So I grudgingly got out of bed and went to church that Sunday,

and the next Sunday,

and the following Sunday.

After a few months of going I started serving at the altar, something I’d not done since a child. Everything was great, but I was still that same child waiting for the booming voice of God. Then one Sunday it happened.

We were in church and preparing for the Eucharist and one of the hymns that day was “In Christ Alone”.

It was in that moment that I heard God call me, not as a thunderous booking voice calling my name, but in the verse

‘In Christ alone, my hope is found

He is my light, my strength, my song

This Cornerstone, this solid ground

Firm through the fiercest drought and storm

What heights of love, what depths of peace

When fears are stilled, when strivings cease

My Comforter, my All in All

Here in the love of Christ I stand’

It was then that I realised, I didn’t need to hear a loud voice from the sky calling my name. God had been calling my name for years, but had been using the voices of those around me. He had used my parents' voices when they encouraged me to get confirmed, he’d called me with my (now) wife’s voice on that Sunday she persuaded me to go to church in exchange for a pub carvery. He had called me using the voice of all those who welcomed me with open arms not as “Nicola’s husband”, “Elaine’s nephew”, “Andrea’s Son”, but as me, Dave.

I’ll admit that I’m still not sure of God’s plan for me.

I’m still unable to quote chapter and verse, and don’t really understand God’s love, but when I get those moments when things are getting on top of me I can quote one verse that allows me to start to comprehend God’s love for me.

‘For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour; I give Egypt for your ransom, Cush and Seba in your stead. Since you are precious and honoured in my sight, and because I love you, I will give people in exchange for you, nations in exchange for your life. Do not be afraid, for I am with you."- Isaiah 43: 3-5

The realisation that God can often use the voices of others has allowed me to be transformed. It’s important that I not only listen to the collective voices of the individuals around me, but it’s as important that I allow myself to be a voice for God to use.

In Isaiah we hear God say “I have called you by name; you are mine”, and now almost 20 years after my confirmation the words of Bishop Roy echo in my mind, God has called me by name; I am his.