I’ve been thinking about the highlights of my week. The things I look forward to. The things that get me out of bed in the morning.

I feel blessed to have a good number of those things I can add to my list.

A meal out with my wife Helen.

Cheering for my daughter Hannah as she excels on the netball court.

Sitting around the TV watching West Ham with Ben, Dan and Ruby.

Time planning and preparing talks.

Working each day at a great church with a great team.

A long run around the local park.

Slowly reading a good book.

Cadbury’s Dairy Milk.

There’s two other things:

One, my weekly long walk in solitude where I engage in contemplative prayer.

Two, gathering with my church community on a Sunday for worship.

One is quiet and still. The other is loud and energetic.

Like oil and water, those two don’t mix well together, and yet they both find a resting place in my heart.

When people list church denominations they place the Contemplative and Pentecostal traditions on the opposing ends of a spectrum. Almost jokingly they compare the two as extremes. Contemplative, antisocial monks. Crazy, unhinged Pentecostals.

Polar opposites that don’t mix.

But, in me, they do.

In contemplative prayer I dwell with God. I learn that I don’t always have to speak. I learn self-control. I learn to tame my tongue. I learn about my shadow self. I learn about the things that lurk beneath the surface. I learn how to be gentle. I learn about peace. I learn how to be a non-anxious presence. I learn to wait.

In Pentecostal worship I learn that I’m not alone. I learn that God has a Body and I am a tiny part of it. I learn that the Lord makes a home in the praises of His people. I learn to vocalise my gratitude. I learn to express my passion. I learn to embody my joy. I learn that the rocks will cry out if I remain silent.

Can oil and water mix?

Can a Contemplative be a Pentecostal?

Can a Pentecostal be a Contemplative?

Am I the only one who thinks they can?