Confessions of a twenty-something 'Songs of Praise' viewer

Back in November, Songs of Praise refreshed it's format in a bid to keep itself on the air and better represent Christianity in the UK today. There was a lot of noise about the changes back then and even more noise this month.

When this new SoP started, I was thrilled by the expanded range of topics and diverse churches, but slightly worried. Nine months, and one front-page splash later, now seems like the right time to answer my own question - has it become The One Show with added hymns?

Here's some of the features they've had on the new SoP so far:

• Michael Ball performing The Climb, that teeny-bop ballad from Hannah Montana: The Movie
• Louis from GBBO baking epiphany bread
• An entire episode dedicated to the FA cup Final
• David Grant riding a tandem with the Bishop of Ramsbury
• Katherine Welby-Roberts, daughter of the Archbishop of Canterbury, discussing mental health
• The personal story of a transgender Christian playwright
• Carrie Fischer (her-who-played-Maria) learning about UK gospel music
• The annual School Choir of the Year competition

This week's much-hyped episode provided the perfect mix. It was parochial, as they went through the keyhole and examined door knockers at Shakespeare's church in Stratford. It was spiritual, as Matt Redman discussed what it means to be a 'successful' worship leader. And it was challenging. One migrant said to Sally Magnusson in Calais: 'If it's not right to go to the UK illegally, what are we supposed to do?' Perhaps the answer for the viewer came in the hymn that followed:

Father, hear the prayer we offer:

not for ease that prayer shall be,

but for strength, that we may ever

live our lives courageously.

Songs of Praise is not The One Show with added hymns. It feels like it when door knockers and Michael Ball pop-up on screen. But only Songs of Praise is bold enough to report from Calais, alongside the genteel and glorious spiritual and sacred music that remains at its heart. Take the show for what it is - a mix of music and features, rather than a great act of worship - and you'll enjoy it.

I am proud of a show that celebrates my faith through diversity, encouragement and compassion. That's why I tune in every Sunday, not because it's the spiritual highlight of my week. I hope many who watched for the first time stay with Songs of Praise and join the viewers' chorus, proclaiming: 'We are Christians. We care about the world, everyone, including them.'

I like you more than a thumbs up

Dear Friend

I am proud of you. 

Sometimes I let my jealousy blind me from that fact. Most of the time I only say it with a thumbs up. But a like on Facebook can never capture my joy and gratitude like words do. So here's what I want to say.

Yes! You've graduated! I am incredibly proud of what you've achieved and how you persevered through the self-doubt.  And you look awesome in a gown, please wear one everyday.

Congratulations on your new job! They picked the perfect candidate. Your new colleagues must make room in the office for the oodles of joy coming their way.

Please send me the recipe for that cake. Or make it again just for me. It looks incredible, how did you do it?

The words of your blog went straight to my soul. Just one suggestion, put 'warning: may cause goosebumps and tears' at the start.

You are a great parent. The utterly sacrificial love for your family is humbling and inspiring.

Your smile is beautiful. It's contagious, now I'm smiling.

Thank you for being honest. I feel the same and it's empowering to know I'm not alone.

I wish I had been there to see the show! Your talent and creativity is ridiculous. Thank you for sharing that passion with everyone.

You're engaged! Congratulations! What Disney song do you want me to sing at the reception?

I am so happy for you. You are winning at life because you're waking up everyday. I love being your friend and am so grateful for the encouragement and kindness you show me without even realising. I'm already excited for next time I see you.

7 coming out chats that didn't go as planned

When I told my Mum I was gay, I was nervous but not fearful. My brother had already come out four years earlier so I had the luxury of knowing my family would love me just as before.

But even when you know people will accept the news, you don’t know what they’ll say in that moment - and neither do they. Here’s some of the responses I’ve received over the last five years (slightly paraphrased, with names changed).

I’m gay

Mum: ‘That was an unusual place to tell me’

There’s no ‘13 Best Places To Come Out To Your Mom’ article on Buzzfeed. I did it in the cemetery, next to my Dad’s tombstone, because I wanted to tell him too.

My brother told me by email. James broadcast it on MySpace. Eric told me before a night out. I’ve realised the obvious: the best place to come out to someone is the one you choose. To the friends I told off for coming out ‘in the wrong way’, I am sorry. I was insensitive and petty. I know you thought about how to say it.

I’m gay

Zac: *Laughs*

My friend Zac doesn’t say much. When I came out to him, he just giggled. But that’s Zac, with his standard ‘I don’t know what to say so I’ll just laugh’ response. Later that day, he apologised for laughing in my face, even though he couldn’t help it.

I’m gay

Robin: SORRY?! WHAT DID YOU SAY!

When your friend is hard of hearing at the best of times, don’t tell him in a crowded chicken shop at the end of a night out.

I’m gay

Steve: I have a girlfriend

Some guys translate ‘I’m gay’ to mean ‘I fancy every straight guy, especially you and I will turn you gay so we can be boyfriends’. Their blunt, defensive reaction struck me as homophobic and self-conceited. How do I challenge that? By being open and firm in my identity.

I’m gay

John: Why are you telling me?

Most people didn’t care I was gay and some friends didn’t care about me telling them either. It took me five years to be sure and comfortable saying ‘I’m gay’. It was a big milestone that I wanted endorsement and encouragement for. My sexuality is not important. Telling you who I am is.

I’m gay... I think I should go to a more inclusive church

Andrew: You won’t find a Church of England church that supports same sex marriage

I was in Wetherspoons with a trainee vicar, having a quick curry. I didn’t want all the answers on faith and sexuality. I didn’t want him to tell me same-sex relationships are OK if he didn't believe it. But I didn’t expect the immense diversity of our national church to be brushed aside in a single sentence.

New message to Josh: I’m gay

*Silence* No reply.

I bumped into Josh at West Ham station and wanted to tell him instantly, by which time he was on the opposite platform, so I BBM’d him, and then lost my signal on the Jubilee Line.

Telling people by text or Facebook chat is a torturous way to do it. You sacrifice control, as your message hangs around in cyberspace, begging to be read. Then you don’t know who else might read it or if they really mean what they text back. And sometimes the reply never came.

The silence is deafening and makes you retreat from telling other people. Say something.

Whenever I talk about being gay on Facebook, I’m surprised and overwhelmed by the likes and the messages of love from people who perhaps don’t realise I’ve been gay and proud for five years now. But it’s drummed home this point to me; whenever and however someone comes out to you, be it directly or on their social network, your encouragement is always awesome and appreciated.

How do you know what to say? Well there was another trainee vicar I came out to, this time on the phone. I still barely know her and I don’t know her views on faith and sexuality, but her response was perfect for any situation.

I’m gay

Thank you for telling me.


RUComingOut is a fantastic website with hundreds of personal, diverse coming out stories.
Inclusive Church and Diverse Church  support LGBT+ Christians.

My slow coming out

My name is Joey. I’m a gay Christian. I need to say that more often.

Five years ago, I went home from university for the weekend to tell my Mum that I’m gay. I’d spent my first year as a student embracing Warwick Chaplaincy life, where I was welcomed with tea and cake and made great friends. For the first time, I met gay Christians who showed me that no sexuality stops you from having a faith. How it all worked together I wasn’t sure, but I knew I liked guys and I knew I believed in God, so that was enough.

Then I graduated. The cosy Chaplaincy community I treasured was gone. I went back home to Essex, before moving to Liverpool and now London. I worked at a Church of England school and at a Christian charity but never came out to my colleagues. I sat in church as we were led in a prayer for the sanctity of heterosexual marriage. I carefully chose my language and talked about my brother’s partner, instead of his boyfriend.

Why did I stay silent? I’d reverted from being a gay Christian to being gay or Christian, depending who I was with. I feared that church members would judge me. They saw Joey the missionary doing the Lord’s work, helping the youth group, writing the prayers. If I told them I was gay, they’d see Joey the Sinner. This wasn’t my super friendly, super inclusive Chaplaincy. This was real-life church.

Most painfully, I sat in the prayer evening at my new church in London and listened to the guest speaker telling us that Britain was broken because we had welcomed the wickedness of assisted suicide, abortion and same-sex parenting. I walked out before her diatribe ended.

I think it’s obvious why one-third of UK church goers hide their support of same-sex relationships - I’ve only heard messages against same-sex relationships in church on a Sunday. For too long I told myself that the person speaking at the front knew more than I did, and believed that everyone else sat in the service silently agreed with them.

I was foolish to think that. Usually silence in church is a mix of agreement, worship, being polite, being British and thinking about what’s for dinner. By staying silent myself, I was part of the same make-believe congregation I feared. I was propping up the myth that all the church is against same-sex relationships.

Now I look to well-known Christians like Rev Richard Coles and Vicky Beeching who celebrate their faith alongside their sexuality. I go to SCM events and Greenbelt where diversity and doubt brings colour to the black and white faith too often presented from the pulpit. I read my Bible, trusting my interpretation is as valid as my vicar’s.

After walking out of my church’s prayer evening, I came out to the curate. He apologised for the insensitive speaker, but I decided I couldn’t continue to worship there. I found it too ignorant of diversity at a time when my faith feels wafer-thin. I’m now using the Inclusive Church directory to find a new church.

As I continue to come out in my faith life and my evangelical workplace, I want God’s grace to be at the heart of our local churches, building the respect, community and conversation that everyone can speak freely in. I want to continue showing people that you can be a gay Christian, especially when you still have doubts and questions about faith.

Originally written for the Student Christian Movement website in April 2015, www.movement.org.uk

What the 'tashe taught me

Every day in November I shared #MovemberMemories of my Dad, who died with prostate cancer in 2008. It was both a challenging and affirming experience. I learnt far more than I had prepared myself for.

1. I look good with a moustache. For the first time in 5 years, shaving it off at the end of was bittersweet.
2. Dad’s legacy is easy to see in my life. It’s only by discovering my Movember Memories that I’ve recognised how deep his values and support continue to encourage me.
3. 97% of men don’t check there balls regularly. Why should this shock me? I didn’t check mine until Dr Chris showed me just how easy and important it is.
4. Some memories I’m not ready to share. At least not in one photo flashing up on Facebook.
5. I pressure myself to succeed. 30 days is a lot. Sometimes it was easy to take photos. On other days, I was desperately trying to think of a great image to share at 11pm, worried I was stalling on my own challenge.
6. Generosity surprises me. I didn’t ask for money this Movember, yet I’ve received £110 in donations and beautiful words of support. Fundraising is my day job and still these gifts humble me. Thank you.
7. I love sharing stories.  I want a career in communications. I know how to get my voice heard in creative ways.
8. Treasure every relationship you have. Don’t rely on status updates to know how your friends are. Don’t waste all your evenings alone watching iPlayer. Don’t believe that exotic holidays are the only memories that matter. Every single day is a chance to build relationships. The ordinary moments you share will become your treasured memories.

Movember Memories

This Movember, I'm doing things differently. Instead of a simple selfie, I'm sharing a photo of a moment in my day that reminds me of my Dad. So far they've included salads, spectacles and stripy tie. Every picture tells a story. Not stories that say 'Dad bought me this so I like it' or 'we went on this expensive holiday, it was awesome'. They're stories that talk about the concerts he came to support me in, the family trips we took, the party he let me have. They're memories of moments we shared together.

Yesterday I shared dinner with a friend who's Dad unexpectedly died last month. I don't like saying he 'committed suicide': it's such an ugly term and it hints at it being a rational choice. He was severely ill, just as my Dad was severely ill with prostate cancer. As she told me how she was, I was taken straight back to my Dad's death in a way I only ever am when I know someone's grieving. I was again sitting in a church full of people at the funeral. I was again thinking of the friends who supported me in that immediate aftermath.

In the UK, twelve men die from suicide everyday. That headline figure barely touches on the scale of mental health and isolation problems that men are prone to and suffer. Isolation is especially something I struggle with, having just moved to my 4th home in 4 years. What helps me cope isn't knowing how many people tap their phone to like my selfie, but the ordinary moments I spend with my friends and family: the cuppa tea Mum makes me, the meal out I have with uni pals, the time a friend helps me out of despair over the phone.

I don't want to sound sugar coated when I ask you to tell a colleague their outfit looks great, text a friend a plethora of emojis or wish the checkout lady a nice day before she wishes you one. I know living in a Disney film and flashing one smile won't cure mental illness. But I know connecting in person with strangers and our loved ones will build strong communities, where the risk of stress and isolation is minimised and joyful memories are easy to find.

You can see my Movember Memories photos, donate and read more about mental health issues for men on my Mo Space.

Movember 2014: There's got to be mo' to it

I've already pestered people for a lifetime's worth of sponsorship. I'm not totally comfortable with gendered imagery. It gets 'too much money' compared to other causes. And, most importantly, I hate how I look with a moustache. 'Four years and £500 in sponsorship is good going,' I thought, 'I'll give Movember a miss this year'.

Yet it doesn't take much to recognise life itself isn't always good going. When I hear that another two people have died in Dad's Rotary Club, ebola is creating orphans in West Africa and the friend I saw last week is suddenly mourning the loss of their Dad, I know there's more death in the world than we can cope with.

It brings my own grief back to the forefront, and the demons I still struggle with. Movember has always been a poignant month for me. In 2008, at a Remembrance Day service, I was taken aside. My Dad, who'd been diagnosed with prostate cancer 18 months earlier, died the following day.

Isn't there a better way to remember Dad than just growing a mo and sharing the selfies? Of course there is. I'll still be growing a moustache this Movember but I'm also challenging myself to share a photo from my day that reminds me of him. It won't be easy. We didn't drink a cuppa or bake cakes together. The photos won't fit my social media caricature of a baking-mad, tea-guzzling Disney freak. I'll have to go far beyond selfies to find moments genuinely worth sharing and remembering.

Within that spirit of remembrance, I'm asking you to donate a gift in memory and in honour of someone you love. If you want to sponsor me this Movember I'll be very grateful, although it's not my place to tell you how to use your money. You might want to volunteer your time, or give a present to someone. Grief doesn't end by growing a moustache or giving gifts, but I know actively remembering someone is a good way to control my demons and worries.