We’ve been south for a few days with Caroline’s family celebrating anniversaries. It’s allowed time to relax for a brief time and step away from routine. Nevertheless, the news is the gift that keeps on giving, though from a different standpoint you may not use the word ‘gift’. So it was that I sat down to watch BBC South with my brother-in-law with the headline ‘Southampton born Rishi becomes PM’. Because of the wonders of technology, I was able to see a little from Look North a while later with their headline ‘Local Richmond MP Rishi becomes PM’.
Both headlines are true. You’ll probably find that elsewhere in the country and indeed the world, Rishi Sunak will have been ‘claimed’ as being ‘one of us’. That’s as far as I’m taking this political appointment you’ll be pleased to hear.
Later that night, and of much more importance (in my humble opinion), Ipswich Town were playing Port Vale in League 1 in another ‘massive’ fixture for the Super Blues. I kept up to date on Twitter with the highs and lows of going 2-0 up before being pegged back to 2-2 before finally we got a winner. Onwards to Charlton. The highlight of this game was a young 18-year-old called Cam Humphreys, a product of the Town academy, a local lad and, on his debut, scored the goal of the game, a screamer into the left-hand corner from outside the penalty area. Sweet. Gathered in the away end were nearly 2000 Ipswich fans who started singing ‘Cameron Humphreys, he’s one of our own’. There’s more to it than that but it doesn’t translate well to the written page… you get the drift. Not only was it Cam Humphreys that scored, but it was also our Cam Humphreys that scored. Born and bred in Ipswich where he grew up as a fan and now playing for the team. In a squad that has bought in some serious talent, when a local lad scores, it is all the better and it makes the fans even prouder. I saw it up here in the Shearer era where the Geordie scorer was adored by fellow Geordie fans. What it means to be ‘one of our own’.
I’ve been reflecting on this recently in a paradoxical way;  reminded of how the universally known Jesus of Nazareth was in fact…to put it bluntly…not that well liked in Nazareth. In fact, Jesus was so disliked by people who were once His neighbours that He stated ‘no prophet is welcome in his hometown’ whilst in His hometown. Awkward. This resulted in a foiled attempt by the locals to thrown Him off the nearest cliff. That's taking dislike to extremes.
Why this lack of respect? Well, Jesus said it how it was. Round here they’d say, ‘he called a spade a shovel’. Yes, Jesus was compassionate, loving, forgiving and His very presence was about being and saying Good News. But He also raised his voice against injustice and in doing so, spoke truth to power. He railed against those who said ‘this is the way we’ve always done it’ when religiosity had patently got in the way of what God wanted for the world He created. History records Jesus as the Saviour of the World. He ushered in an era where we can all call God our Father because of Jesus. But there was a cost. Jesus’ crucifixion was the ultimate sacrifice and by that stage, it wasn’t just people local to Nazareth that had a problem with Jesus; the religious establishment turned many of those who saw hope in and through Him to call for His death instead. With His final cry of ‘it is finished’, many turned away thinking that ‘finished’ meant ‘over' and the chapter and indeed the book of Jesus was consigned to the bin. The truth was it was just the beginning. Dishonoured He may have been in His hometown, but He remained true to His Father’s purpose to break through the glass ceiling of religion to usher in amazing grace. I for one am pleased to hold a flag that bears His name and happy to claim 'follower' status to the One rejected by 'His own' but now honoured the world over.

Last Friday night Mrs F and I went ‘out out’ and ended up at our favourite Indian Restaurant. Caroline always makes an effort and I commented on the top she’d chosen as looking great. Unusually for me, I too had made an effort (!) inasmuch as my sense of fashion and coordination have never been that good but, you know, I’d tried.
In fact, I was so pleased with my shirt that I asked Mrs F if she was impressed with my choice. She said: ‘Chris, I love you and I love the shirt though it looks a little “stressed”’. I checked that I’d heard her right: ‘did you say “stretched”?’ I asked (because let’s face it, I’d have felt a whole lot better if she had used the word “stretched” to describe my attire instead !!). She wriggled a little uncomfortably in her seat but confirmed that she had indeed used the word “stressed”. I mulled on this and considered a) I have put a little weight on recently b) my shirt may well have shrunk in the wash - unlikely but I was grasping at straws - and c) regardless of either (a) or (b) my appearance to my wife of nearly twenty years meant that my shirt had gone beyond “stretched” to the extent that it was in so much ‘pain’ that it was crying out “stressed”. There are many ways in which I have used the word ‘stressed’ but to apply it to the stage beyond a shirt being too tight was a new one.
I looked at Mrs F who by now had moved on and was happily munching on a poppadum and said: ‘is it because we’ve been married for nearly twenty years that you feel able to be so honest?’. She looked me in the eye and said: ‘Chris, as I’ve just said, I love you’ there was a pause before she concluded ‘and your shirt still looks a little stressed’.
I realised two things in this moment; the first was that I was loved and the second was that honesty is a hugely important aspect of that love, even when honesty can be uncomfortable to hear.
I had no doubt whatsoever that I was loved and this was not in any way diluted because of the uncomfortable realisation that I either need to buy a new shirt or lose weight; rather that the depth of love was also being evidenced in her honesty.
There’s a passage in John’s gospel where Jesus talks honestly about what it means to follow Him. Some said ‘this is way too hard to understand. Who can accept it?’. And yet the twelve disciples, those closest to Jesus, even if they were struggling to get their heads around His teaching knew, they just knew, that He was worth sticking with. Jesus eventually asks them “Are you also going to leave?” Simon Peter replied, “Lord, to whom would we go? You have the words that give eternal life. We believe, and we know you are the Holy One of God’.
Following Jesus does not mean that we get to hear the answers to our questions that suits us. Instead, we get the answers to the questions that will give us life and help us to follow Jesus closer.  At different times this could look like: Encouragement. Affirmation and/or Challenge. It may mean that sometimes we may need to hear God’s word to us through others in a way that makes us examine our appearance and see signs in our lives that are ‘ill-fitting’ or stressed and need to be addressed so that we can better line up with the character of Jesus.
Over-arching all of this though, there needs to be a recognition that we are unequivocally loved by our Father God who starts all His sentences with us with ‘Chris, I love you’ Every.Single.Time. This affirmation will always be front and centre with God no matter where we find ourselves. That's a stress-free truth if ever there was.

So, apparently towel folding is an actual skill. Who knew?! I only discovered this last week through my own erroneous method. Having seen them hanging on the line and realised that they were dry, I brought the assorted hand drying fabric into the kitchen and set about neatly folding them - I don't iron - and placed them on the table. Satisfied that I had helped with this domestic chore, I moved onto prep for preaching and settled myself in the adjacent office. Half an hour later Mrs F returned in chirpy fashion only to hesitate in mid flow as she walked into the kitchen. After a few moments (and aware that she'd stopped talking) I turned to see all the neatly folded towels being unfolded before being neatly folded again. 'What are you doing?' I asked. 'I'm folding the towels' she said. 'But I already did that' I said. 'Sort of' she said. All of a sudden I felt like the Towel Patrol had just walked into the house and given me a ticket for bad folding! The fine: 100 hours community service at the local Finishing School. The look on my face spoke to confusion and a small amount of feeling insulted at my good work being undone only to be done again in exactly the same way...or so I thought. An explanation was coming. 'Do you remember the video I showed you the other week about the wife who mowed the lawn?' she said. It started coming back to me and I did not like where this was headed. Seeing in my body language that I was not happy with where this was headed, she boldly reminded me that the husband in the video had in all good faith folded the towels but that because he had not followed the line pattern (!!) in folding, it was patently wrong'.
The memory of what happened next suddenly became crystal clear and I realised like a king on a chessboard who's army of knights, bishops, rooks and pawns have all been obliterated in one foul swoop, that I was boxed in and it would just be a matter of time before the queen dealt the final blow. The queen continued... 'So, the wife went into the garden shed, got out the lawnmower and then proceeded to haphazardly mow the lawn until all the grass was cut. The husband, seeing that the lawn had not been cut in straight lines, was furious at the free abandon with which the grass cutting had occurred, almost feeling the pain of the green carpet that had been so insensitively and manically mowed rather than magnificently manicured.' The Queen stopped awaiting a reaction with a look on her face that read Smugness. I glanced outside relieved to see that I had at least mowed the lawn the day before - with beautiful lines I might add - so at least I wasn't going to be on the end of this self fulfilling prophecy. I then looked at the queen for a long time before venturing without any real conviction 'that's simply not the same comparison.' She gave a withering look and said 'how is it not the same?!' It was a statement as much as a question. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. She smiled and wandered off. Check mate.
Perspectives eh. What mattered to Mrs F really didn't matter to me one iota and she would argue the same for my horticultural obsession with cutting grass like it's Wimbledon. Truth be told, neither are important.
There's someone in church who I meet with regularly and speaks a lot of wisdom. One of their phrases when it comes to perspective is to 'keep the main thing, the main thing'.
As I look at the world around us on a local, national and international level, the sadness and weariness that seems to permeate society should at least help us to concentrate on what is really important right now. Yet, I'm not sure we do. I think we still get hung up on incidental, irrelevant and frankly first world stuff. I remember David's last preach before he retired that he brought us back to the main thing by referring to Jesus' own words in John 13; So now I am giving you a new commandment: Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other. Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are my disciples.”
I remember it for being a clarion call to be followers of Jesus as Jesus wanted his followers to be. Now, at the end of two years of weekly reflections, I think it's only right that I conclude by pleading with us to look again at that passage and realise that it's the main thing because Jesus said so. May we remember that His banner over us is Love. May we remember what it is that unites us. And may we seek to be authentic in our love for others. God commands it.