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Although relatively unknown in the UK, the Apostolic Church is a movement that spans the world. The column visits the Christian Centre in Middlesbrough to find out what it’s all about.

IT may not be said that John Hutchinson would have been late for his own funeral, but – turned 65 and time on his hands – he was becoming increasingly worried about it, nonetheless.

Already his wife Sue attended the Christian Centre in Middlesbrough.

John, resolutely, did not. “There was no one more anti-Christian than I was. I thought that religion was poppycock, I’d argue with anyone who was a Christian.

“Then I started thinking about my funeral. Sue would have been there, the three children, my brother.

That’s it. Sue would have had a church full.”

The second time that he tells the story the anticipated attendance has dwindled still further. “One of the kids is in Australia. They mightn’t have been able to make it, either.”

The Christian Centre meets on Sundays at the St Mary’s Centre in Corporation Road, near the law courts and almost next to the Purple Onion, a celebrated restaurant and music club.

Last time we’d been there, May 2002, was for a traditional Latin Mass, organised by the Society of St Pius X, a group of Roman Catholics so conservative that they even frowned upon women who wore trousers.

Save that neither is terribly fond of the Freemasons, and those like them, it would be hard to imagine a greater contrast than with the folk who assembled there last Sunday morning.

The Christian Centre doesn’t have a 100 Club, either.

It’s part of the Apostolic Church, founded in Wales in 1916 but 21st Century, distinctly and energetically, in its approach.

Though I’d not heard of them, they have around 110 churches in the UK – several in the North-East – and Apostolic movements in more than 40 countries overseas. In Middlesbrough there’s a church on the Thorntree estate, now chiefly used for social and community gatherings.

They needed to be in the town centre.

Broadly they’re evangelical, Trinitarian, Pentecostal – and for those to whom such tags mean little, they’re also friendly, upbeat and very, very committed.

The Society of St Pius X may have been rather more introverted, too.

“Of course, we’re paranoid,” a Society member had said. “If we weren’t paranoid we’d need to have our heads examined. People are against us.”

Led by Pastor Paul Howells, a Welshman – Newport area – who is also North-East area superintendent, the Middlesbrough centre meets at 10.30am, with coffee and hugs beforehand.

Though approaching its centenary, there’s the feel and the fervour of what folk call the “new” churches – a band, happy clapping, arms raised, much unrestrained enthusiasm.

Some churches still go through the motions; if these guys are going through the motions, they’re doing it at 100mph.

The band’s so lively it could make the Purple Onion look lachrymose.

The gathering of 75 or so responds vibrantly, the sort of service that may be better recorded than written about.

Unlike many of the new churches, however, they talk of God as God and not Gord, as if his first name were Gordon, but they were on particularly friendly terms.

Paul Howells is not just jumping up and down but doing a passable impression of a pogo stick, particularly impressive – and dextrous – since half the time his hands are in his pockets. He could hardly have been more animated had Newport County been suddenly, miraculously, promoted back to the Third Division (South).

Most join in with vigour. One chap strokes his grey beard, thoughtfully provided for that purpose. The selfconscious column, not for the first time, is grateful that it’s not possible to clap and to make notes simultaneously.

The congregation is of all ages and of several ethnic origins, the youngsters leaving soon after the start for a gathering of their own. They’re friendly, fervent, fraternal and by the time the music stops, they’ve blown the room away.

Though Paul Howells says they’re very serious about prayer, and they are, much of the formal prayer is urged before the service starts. His sermon lasts 37 minutes, entirely without notes, delivered histrionically and on the hoof. It’s possible that Pastor Howells may have walked two miles, and lost three pounds, before he’s finished.

The sermon’s about holy communion. “I believe it is more than just an empty ritual, more than a component of the service. I believe it is strategic.”

He warns, however, that the “powers of darkness” want to keep them from their communion – “they know that when people in the centre of Middlesbrough get together, it is a signal to heaven that Jesus is alive.”

Linda, the nice lady alongside, is taking notes of her own for use in the “connect group” meetings on Thursday evenings. The meetings used to be called cells. “For some reason people didn’t like to say they were in cells,” says Linda.

It lasts about 85 minutes, none hurrying homeward. John Hutchinson, who lives with his wife 12 miles away in Marske, returns to his theme, to how he started to think about things.

“I didn’t like people, I didn’t get on well with people, but when I finally came here I just thought ‘Wow’.

“It got me out of my depression, improved my social life 100 per cent.

I’m really enjoying life, like I was 30 years old again.

“I don’t believe in being saved. I save stamps. I believe that I was rescued, and I thank God that I was.”

And as they might say that at that overflowing funeral service, better late than never.

■ The Middlesbrough Christian Centre meets every Sunday at St Mary’s Centre at 10.30am. More details on 07724-179477 or thechristiancentre.org.uk


Happy chappies Interactive: John and Sue Hutchinson from Marske, right, enjoy the service in Middlesbrough

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