Not the perfect church

In 1995, because of the stance of the church and its pastor, John Gillespie, over the gay issue, the congregation in Looe, Cornwall, had to leave Methodism. They had put an offer on an old farm for a new place of worship. Brian Mitchell recounts what happened next.

At this point a Welshman called Mr. Phelps became a very important player in the unfolding drama. In fact, the part he played is such a fascinating example of God’s intervention that I’ll tell you about it in detail.

Some time previously, Mike, one of our members, had received a phone call while holding a house group in his Liskeard home. It was his friend Steve, from church, suggesting Mike ring a ‘builder friend’ of his in South Wales ‘who’s experienced at bringing churches back to life’. Mike, who had plenty of other things on his mind, made a mental note to ring the number. At around 11.00 pm that night he was about to get into bed when Steve rang again enquiring why Mike hadn’t yet rung his builder friend, to which Mike replied that he didn’t ring anyone at that time of the night. Steve insisted and, much against Mike’s better judgment, he rang the Welsh builder, a Mr. Phelps, who turned out to be awaiting the call!

Prayer through the night

Mike says, ‘After a busy day I wasn’t too keen to have a lengthy business call at that time of the night’, but he discovered that Mr. Phelps had obviously been briefed on the situation we faced and went on to explain his track record refurbishing redundant church buildings in his area. Mike assumed he was simply a builder looking for work, but then Mr. Phelps said, ‘I’ll stay up all night and pray about it’.

The next day they talked again and Mr. Phelps said that he would drive to Cornwall on the following Monday and view the property we had our eye on. Mike agreed to that, but still didn’t give it much further thought.

On the Saturday, Mr. Phelps rang to say that he had found out that the ‘girls’ in the care home where he lived had baked him a cake for his 80th birthday on Monday and perhaps he should delay for a few days. This was obviously no local builder just looking for work to keep his lads busy!

A few days later Mr. Phelps’s son drove his father down from South Wales and he met up with John and Tessa Gillepsie and Mike, who showed him the potato barn with all its junk strewn about the floor. Apparently he took a glance around and, with tears streaming down his face, said, ‘This is the place, Lord’. Then he turned to John and Tessa and said, ‘It’s yours’, and finally he told Tessa, ‘This will be the best house you’ll ever live in’. Then he left. It was all over in less than 15 minutes. His son drove him round a few local villages and then they returned to Wales.

Making the deadline

Later on, all this had been forgotten in the excitement of the impending exchange of contracts and the need to find £12,000 deposit and organise a bank draft over Easter at a time when it seemed technically impossible.

But now I recalled Mr. Phelps’s interest, so it seemed right to ring him and introduce myself. I explained our predicament. ‘What are we going to do?’ I asked and he said, ‘Leave it with me, I can sort this out’. Such was my lack of faith I exclaimed, ‘But it’s Thursday today and tomorrow’s Good Friday!’ Mr. Phelps had the dignity and maturity to reply quietly and calmly, ‘My bank manager will give you a draft for £12,000 for Tuesday’. I could hardly believe my ears. Things were beginning to fall into place. We had contacted a Christian solicitor in Exeter, a friend of one of our fellowship members’ team, who said he would do the conveyancing for us, plus all the other necessary legal work free of charge, and he would try to do it as quickly as he could. Suddenly, unbelievably, we found ourselves in possession of the documents on the day before Good Friday.

By Good Friday I was virtually on my own; most of the leadership team had either left or were leaving the area to go to Spring Harvest, the annual Christian holiday convention, or to Caister, near Yarmouth, for the Fellowship of Independent Evangelical Churches’ Easter conference. John was still around and he took the Good Friday service, feeling like he was experiencing the ‘death of a vision’ as we remembered the death of Jesus Christ for our sins. There was a real mixture of emotions running that day. Because I was right in the middle of the process I felt hopeful even though it seemed a crazy situation.

God’s perfect timing

Yvonne and I should have been away too, but we hadn’t booked because I had expected to be working at this time. But, of course, God had arranged for me to stay at home because I would be needed in the Liskeard area over the Easter period; his perfect timing!

All stops were pulled out: one of our members took the contract to Exeter on his way to Caister; the solicitor worked on it over the weekend, pulling favours on the people he knew in the Land Registry office and other necessary places and rang me on Saturday to say, ‘I can complete this and get it back to you in the post and it will be there on Tuesday morning’. On Easter Sunday, there was a real buzz in church. Most people in the congregation had heard about the property and everyone was being so kind and generous; after the service two people came up to me and offered to mortgage their homes if necessary, to raise whatever was needed to achieve the final amount of £120,000. They said that the Lord had laid it on their hearts. The next challenge was how to get the contract to the solicitors in Plymouth as early as possible on the Tuesday morning, when it wasn’t due to arrive with us by post until later that same day. Mike Raymont (a businessman in our church) and I put our heads together and between us we came up with an ingenious plan involving my wife’s cousin who was a local postman.

The postman

On Sunday I rang the postman and asked how I could get my post delivered as early as possible on the Tuesday. When I explained he said, ‘Well, funnily enough I’m on your round that day’. He added, ‘I can’t let you have the package beforehand because that’s illegal, but if you intercept me on the round I’ll give it to you as soon as we meet’.

Bank Holiday Monday passed by in a blur of excitement. I set my alarm for the crack of dawn on Tuesday morning, drove to the village where the round started, received the precious package containing the contract, took it home and read it from top to bottom. It had to be signed by somebody from the church. I prayed and thought, ‘Oh no, it’s got to be me, everyone else is away’. I was on my own and I certainly felt it! Suddenly I had a moment of panic and thought, ‘Lord, what have I done?’ but I kept praying and soon felt a sense of peace, and so with a flourish of my pen I committed myself and the church to spend £120,000, knowing there wasn’t a penny in the bank other than the bank draft that might or might not be winging its way to our bank at that moment from a man I’d never met!

I drove the 20 miles to Plymouth, straight to the solicitors, but, because I’d intercepted the post so early, their offices weren’t even open. I sat in the car and prayed some more and watched for the office door to swing open a chink. At one minute past nine, I handed in the contract, it was recorded as a timed document so that was that; there was nothing more I could do, so I drove home and waited, nervous, but excited too.

Just in time

After what felt like an interminable length of time I had a phone call saying that our contract had been exchanged, at 9.30 am. I later learnt that the next contract arrived at 10 o’clock, so one of the other interested parties had pulled out all the stops too, but it was just too late — that half hour had made all the difference.

Still praying, I rang the bank to check our balance and discovered that it was miraculously in credit to the sum of £12,000. To this day I have no idea how Mr. Phelps managed to organise a bank transfer over an Easter weekend.

It felt absolutely amazing. We’d exchanged contracts. Oak Trees Farm was ours! OK, we still had to turn the pledges into actual money, but God’s hand was so obviously on the whole endeavour that by now the money seemed almost a minor detail. I rang the others at Spring Harvest and Caister, sharing the miracle with them. We were buzzing with excitement.

This article is an edited chapter from a new book, Not the Perfect Church by Sue Weller (published by Maritime Books, £4.99), and is used with permission of the publishers.

Not the perfect church

An extract from a book about Grace Community Church, Morval, Cornwall

Prayer through the night

Making the deadline

God’s perfect timing

The postman

Just in time

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