TEA AT MOLESWORTH MANOR

I was thinking today about the day I had afternoon tea with a world-famous preacher. Alright, it wasn’t just me; there were a few of us working on a conference that he was the guest-speaker at, and we’d been invited back to his hotel for a get-together. I was young, twenty-something, and not too confident about social situations with impressive people.

And he was impressive.

In his time he’d preached to millions of people, in person and across the airwaves. He had had such wisdom and truth, with a keen eye for intellectual debate and apologetics. His books are still used today in Bible schools and colleges all over the world. He was rooted to the Scriptures in a way that had made him stand out for decades, and he had been unwavering in his declaration of the promises of the Bible. Impressive he was and impressed we were.

So impressed in fact, that none of us could talk to him.

You might find that strange: all the things you could ask, the questions you had and the discussions that he could help you unpick in person - and everyone just mingled with each other, nervously making conversation, circling, while this old man sat quietly with a china cup in a comfortable chair in the corner.

I remember feeling astounded. Had I been older or more confident, I would have asked him how he was and said thank you to him, but I was waiting for a cue and there was none to follow. For some reason, none of us star-struck youngsters could do it. And I felt sad about it; sad enough to remember that feeling twenty years later.

And the reason is that I don’t think it matters how big a name you are, how clever or talented you might be, how highly regarded, you still need friends. 

That truth mattered more that day at Molesworth Manor than all of that man’s clever preaching. Right then at that exact moment, on that precise afternoon, he needed a friend, rather than a crowd of reluctant groupies. And I feel a little sad that that happened.

I thought about it today because over the last few days I’ve listened to a lot of messages, all from people saying pretty much the same things. After a while, watching them on screen, I started looking at their backdrops - what books did they have behind them? Was that a real plant or a fake one? Who painted that? And isn’t that a beautiful kitchen? What does that tell us about the real person?

And I found myself wondering whether I’m focusing on the right thing by looking for the personal, the informal, the life behind the preacher? Shouldn’t I be more focused on the message than the messenger?

But that was exactly the thing that had led me to awkward silence over afternoon tea all those years ago at the manor. I’d been pinned on the words and not the person. And I think the best communicators are those who show you both.

So, don’t let me lecture you. I have ideas and the notion that I should bleat on about them. But I’m like the preacher in the corner too. I need friends. And sometimes, that means just being really very normal - which is hard these days.