I am middle class.
There, I said it. Cue rejoicing from my mate Ian, who’s been trying to get me to admit the fact for the last 8 years! You wouldn’t believe the pain it caused me to write it though.
But why should it? I grew up in a semi-detached house that my parents still own. They were both teachers. I, and both my brothers, went to university. I did a post-graduate course, and became a teacher. I married a teacher. I bought a house. So far, so middle class. But if you’d have asked me what class I was, there would only ever have been one answer. And it would have gone summat like this: ‘Not middle class!’
You see I grew up, and have lived all my life, in industrial (and then post-industrial) West Yorkshire. And my formative years were during the 1980’s and 90’s (when industry was becoming increasingly post-). And in those days round here, it was us against the world. We were Yorkshire, we were working class (even when we weren’t), and we were ‘oppressed’ by middle class southerners. Whatever the truth was; that situation, this place, was crucial to the identity of so many Yorkshire people of my generation.
We knew who we were against. We knew who we weren’t. The chattering middle classes. The shandy-drinking inhabitants of middle England. The ‘South’: out to get us. Out to destroy our jobs, and then our heritage with their culture & customs, their weird vowels & cut glass accents. This mythical beast even had a name. It’s just hers wasn’t a name you said out loud round here back then. It’s still sometimes a risk. Whatever else we weren’t, we weren’t ‘privileged middle class southerners’. Even though, looking back, some of us were much more privileged, or middle class, than we’d like to have believed.
Now, I think that over the years I’ve seen a bit of a bigger world. I’ve actually met some southerners. I’ve seen southerners work their guts out for the sake of the gospel in Yorkshire. I’ve come to realise that whole swathes of Yorkshire, especially in the cities and bigger towns, now have plenty of Yorkshire folk in them who we would have written off as ‘southern’ growing up. People who would quite happily identity themselves as middle class. I’ve seen that Yorkshire folk are not some monocultural entity. More importantly, I’ve realised that the urgency of the gospel need in Yorkshire means we’re desperate for people from all over the Uk (and the world) to come and help us. The vast, vast majority of Yorkshire people, the people I see every day, are going to hell. And anybody who is willing to come, to commit to love Yorkshire folk, and share the gospel with them, will get a red carpet welcome from me. Even if you do drink shandy, and eat hummus.
And yet. And yet…
If you were off to share the gospel with folk in an unreached people group somewhere around the world, you might approach fitting in with a bit of trepidation. You might want to get to learn people’s cultural differences, and adapt your approach to ministry and life slightly. To learn a lesson from a bloke from Barnsley, that most Yorkshire of all Yorkshire places, who taught us all what contextualisation looks like.
And vast swathes of Yorkshire are just like Cleck, and the Spen Valley. Post-industrial, almost unreached for the gospel, with their own unique view of the world and what life should look like. And in desperate need of sacrificial Christians to come and meet them where they are. People who are willing to get past the fact that they will be known as incomers all their life. People who are willing for ‘posh’ to become a prefix to their first name, simply because their vowels have too many ‘r’s in them. People who are willing to get out of their comfort zone to share Jesus with old school Yorkshire people. People who are willing to humbly learn from those of us who have lived here all our lives and whose own worldview has been shaped by growing up here. That we might, together, reach these people with the gospel.
After a visit in 2014, Kevin Deyoung wrote up 10 lessons he’d learnt about England. Number 10 said, ‘There’s England and then there’s Yorkshire, which everyone from Yorkshire and not from Yorkshire seem happy to acknowledge.’
We know we’re different, we even delight in it. And maybe, just maybe, that’s precisely why we need your help…