The One

Our reflection last week briefly touched on endings, which are always a little awkward. Yet endings are woven into the fabric of our seasonal faith journey. Over recent weeks I have been living through one myself.

I have left my post as a vicar and we have moved into our first own home. Ministry does not stop, I am still a Christian, I still want to love my neighbours and share Jesus, I am still ordained. It simply looks different as missional listening begins again, in a new place and with a new posture. Buying a house at nearly forty, with three teenagers, feels late by most standards. Yet we have had the extraordinary freedom of following the Spirit’s leading across the globe, and houses are not cheap. So, these past weeks have been a movement from old to new in more ways than one.

As one chapter closed, I found myself reflecting on what God has been doing over the last few years. In that space of looking back, the Spirit brought to mind two visions I received years ago. Only in hindsight do the threads begin to join. What once felt abstract now looks like a slow fulfilment.

One of those visions was about catching those on the edges, those struggling, and with the Spirit gently directing them towards God. The passage that resonates most is Luke 15. The shepherd leaving the ninety-nine to go after the one. Having grown up around church and mission circles, that passage was frequently quoted. Yet something never quite matched. Our rhetoric celebrated the one, but our platforms celebrated the crowds. It was those who reported large numbers who were invited to speak. The quieter stories rarely made it to the stage. Those who laboured faithfully for years, loving neighbours, persevering in small places, returning with stories of patience rather than spectacle, were often scrutinised rather than celebrated. I always believed Luke 15 and the Spirit, it seems, remembered.

These past years have, in many ways, been about the one. As I have stepped away from my official post, people have shared stories. Individual conversations, small shifts, hidden faithfulness, and the discovery of Jesus. There is something both glorious and faintly absurd about God moving a family of five and a large dog into a village for the sake of one person, or a small handful. Yet that is often how the kingdom works, caring about each person.

The song Reckless Love captures something of that pursuit:

“Oh the overwhelming, never-ending reckless love of God…”

The wild abandonment in God’s love is beautifully attractive. For some, that language feels overly individualised. Yet I have found it deeply true. God’s love came after me, it goes after others, and God sends me (us) in the Spirit to do the same.

That sending, however, is not without cost. Jesus revealed the love of God by giving himself. Following him in mission does not endanger my life in this country, but it has been costly. The greatest cost has been to my mental health. That reflection belongs elsewhere, but it would be dishonest not to name that joining Jesus in his mission demands something of us. Mission draws from the whole person, and we are not inexhaustible. Even Jesus’ ministry was only three years.

When we speak of leaving the ninety-nine, are we prepared for what that entails? Are we willing to lay aside familiar worship patterns? To release cherished assumptions? To go to places we once said we would never go? To spend long seasons swimming against the cultural current?

In rural ministry especially, we live our vocation in public. The church can carry an unspoken expectation of constant availability. At home, on walks, in the shop, at the pub. It is beautiful, but it can also be relentless. We need to be wise and discerning about when to slow down, to withdraw, and to rest in God.

If that resonates with you, perhaps you too need to slow down. Before Jesus sends us, he loves us. Before we go after the one, we are the one he has come for. Sometimes we need space to rest again in the love that first found us.

So, as this chapter closes, my reflection is simple. Sometimes the kingdom looks like crowds, but often it looks like one person, known and loved. The God who leaves the ninety-nine, does so both for those we are called to and for us. Are we honestly willing to be in our communities for just the one? And what are the signs in your life that mean you need to slow down and be the one Jesus comes after?

Blessings,

Jo

Jo Allen

Joint CEO, Rural Ministries