Enthroned over the flood (Joy in the Journey)

Have you ever seen a sign that warns you a certain footpath is liable to flooding? It’s a great candidate as a sign to write over your life: the onrushing waters of chaos, the riptides of panic and alarm, the swirling currents of temptations, the overwhelming waves of desolation. Not just in the parlance of a pandemic but simply life in a fallen world where sin still exercises a malign reign.

Psalm 29 has words that are not just suited for such times but establish a framework for all our days, whatever they contain: “The LORD sits enthroned over the flood” (v.10). He is unfazed by it; more, he is sovereign over it. The waters cannot overflow the boundaries he sets for them (Jer. 5:22), not in creation, nor in your soul.

Talk of the flood is perhaps a reminder of the cataclysm of judgement and salvation that came to pass in the days of Noah. The LORD was enthroned then, too. The violence of a humanity drowning in sin would not be determinative for the future of God’s world. He acted to judge and to save, in a rescue that arcs forward to its true realisation in the Saviour who was submerged under the waters of death so that we might know “the pledge of a clear conscience towards God” (1 Peter 3:21).

The earlier part of the Psalm proclaims, even celebrates, the voice of the LORD in the terrifying storm that sweeps in from the sea and makes landfall, devastating the forests. There is the most peculiar combination of terror and calm in knowing that the clashing cymbals of the storm are the declared might of the LORD. There is no higher reality.

But it is also more than that. The God who speaks through the storm is the same Lord who can, therefore, speak to the storm, to still it for the sake of his distressed disciples (Mk. 4:35-41). A stilling so powerful that their fear of the raging wind is translated into a reverent fear of the Saviour that is deeper still and far more acute. In life’s storms and in its stillness, Jesus is Lord.

How are we to respond to such might? The psalm tells us that “In his [heavenly] temple all cry, 'Glory!'” And in the temple being built with living stones, our highest calling is to join that chorus of acclamation. Where worship and wonder replace fear and alarm; where the breath-taking sight can hush the hurtling heart into being still and knowing that he is God. Majesty - worship such majesty.

When we reach the end of all our journeying, when our boat is safely harboured and the storms past, our joy will be complete as we take our place among the heavenly choir, extolling the one who is radiant with uncreated, unmediated glory. The one who gives strength to his people through all their days, who blessed and blesses them with peace.

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Like a river glorious

Is God’s perfect peace,

Over all victorious,

In its bright increase;

Perfect, yet it floweth

Fuller every day,

Perfect, yet it groweth

Deeper all the way.

    Stayed upon Jehovah

    Hearts are fully blest,

    Finding, as He promised,

    Perfect peace and rest.

Hidden in the hollow

Of His blessed hand,

Never foe can follow,

Never traitor stand;

We may trust Him fully,

All for us to do;

They who trust Him wholly

Find Him wholly true.

(Frances Ridley Havergal, 1836-79)

Did you speak too soon? (Joy in the Journey)

Have you ever felt you spoke too soon? That you were too hasty and if you’d only listened to James’ exhortation to be “slow to speak” things could have turned out very differently? You’re not alone.

Sometimes we can feel that on behalf of others, too. We watch them, listen to them, and wish they’d taken things slower. That they'd draw breath and wait. Maybe that’s how you feel about Paul in the book of Acts - with his back firmly against the wall, he exercises his right as a citizen and appeals to Caesar. He asks for his case to be heard in Rome by the emperor (Acts 25:11). But did he speak too soon? Is his imprisonment in Rome, with which Acts ends - and where in all probability Paul’s life ended too - a tragic waste of potential, of usefulness and service to God? Has he rashly blown his inalienable right to freedom?

It can feel like that, and especially so when we overhear Agrippa telling Festus that if Paul hadn’t appealed to Caesar he could have been set free (Acts 26:32). If only he’d been more patient and played a longer game, his life would have been extended and his freedom put to good gospel use.

But that emotional ride on the roller-coaster of Paul’s life forgets the most significant fact: it was the Lord himself, before any appeal by Paul to Caesar, who told his servant to “Take courage! As you have testified about me in Jerusalem, so you must also testify about me in Rome.” (Acts 23:11) Had Paul jumped the gun? Not at all. He took the step he did in complete assurance that to go to Rome was in God’s purpose for him, either by this means or another. The climactic statement by Luke in Acts 28:14 only serves to underline that: “And so we came to Rome.” Journey's end; in the place of God's choosing.

This wasn’t a simple but tragic twist of fate. Nor was it the folly of speaking in haste and repenting at leisure. Paul’s confidence remained in the Lord and he was secure in his hands.

We might agonise and lament on his behalf, that if he’d only waited things could have been so different but, in doing so, we betray our own limited view as to what usefulness means and how deep the wisdom of God goes into life’s circumstances. That holds as true for our lives as it did for Paul’s. And we'd be denying Paul’s dearly-held conviction, expressed when faced with the tears of those who will see him no longer: “I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me,” (Acts 20:24) His forthright, passionate commitment is a perennial challenge to us, shining its searching light on our choices and stances.

When push came to shove, when under house-arrest in Rome, did Paul have a more limited usefulness? He sees his role, his calling, in terms that transcend the means by which it had previously been carried out: “the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.” He could faithfully continue doing so in whatever circumstances he found himself. Our lives change; our options might seem to be narrowing, our effectiveness tapering. But wait: is that really true? Are the Lord’s hands tied?

Did Paul speak too soon? Clearly not. But we might, when we close-off avenues of service simply because we haven’t considered them. Or when our eyes are not open enough in faith to see ways in which the Lord might choose to be at work in our present and our future. And, always, his hands are safe, our lives secure.

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Hast thou not known, hast thou not heard

That firm remains on high

The everlasting throne of Him

Who formed the earth and sky?

Art thou afraid His power shall fail

When comes thy evil day?

And can an all-creating arm

Grow weary or decay?

Supreme in wisdom as in power

The Rock of Ages stands;

Though Him thou canst not see, nor trace

The working of His hands.

He gives the conquest to the weak,

Supports the fainting heart;

And courage in the evil hour

His heavenly aids impart.

Mere human power shall fast decay,

And youthful vigour cease;

But they who wait upon the Lord

In strength shall still increase.

They with unwearied feet shall tread

The path of life divine,

With growing ardour onward move,

With growing brightness shine.

On eagles' wings they mount, they soar--

Their wings are faith and love;

Till, past the cloudy regions here,

They rise to heaven above.

(Isaac Watts, 1674-1748)

Even At Night (Joy in the Journey)

Everything is worse at night - or so it seems. But there are good reasons, both psychological and physiological, for believing it’s true. The influence of the body’s circadian rhythm on the immune system and its relation to inflammation; the quieter hours, when fewer distractions can mean an inflated awareness of symptoms; a mind that refuses to be quiet; or simply the different posture involved in sleeping - all can contribute to a sense of dread as night approaches.

In Psalm 16, verse 7, David says that “Even at night my heart instructs me” - even when things are stacked against him, when anxieties rise and the body is seemingly at its weakest, even then David’s heart teaches him. He is helped by the truth about God that has been embedded in his soul during long years of discipleship and fellowship with the living God.

He has just described in verse 5 something of the truth to which he clings and in which he rejoices. That the LORD, alone, is his allotted portion - everything that David has, and everything he will ever need, finds its central reality in God. The LORD has chosen to give himself to David - and to every believer in Jesus Christ. He is our portion - by his own choice, not by any external compulsion, nor by anything meritorious in us. He chooses to be our God, our Father, our Friend and Saviour. He is our cup - the celebratory symbol of joyous fellowship and intimate communion.

And this lot - the appointed fullness of salvation - is completely secure. Nothing can damage or destroy it. Nothing will cause the Lord to revoke his love; it was set upon us before the foundation of the world and is not open to revision. The cross of Jesus and his complete victory over all the forces of sin and chaos makes every blessing that we have in him immovably fixed and settled - “not for the years of time alone but for eternity”. What David has - in common with all Christians - is “a delightful inheritance”. Life itself may be tough and decidedly not a bed of roses, but what is given in Jesus, what is gifted in the down-payment of the Spirit, is delightful beyond all hope and expectation: ‘the life of God in the soul of man’.

But it isn’t all David’s doing. This isn’t self-generated wishful thinking on his part. His heart is able to instruct him, in the depths of night, only because “the LORD…counsels me”. This is not homespun wisdom that David is purveying; he is testifying to the sheer goodness of God in making himself known to us, consoling and counselling our hearts, that we might make much of that, applying its wisdom and power to our needs in the darkest of nights.

In the long hours of the night, when distress and anxiety attempt to do their worst, David puts the playlist of truth on repeat and offer his praise to God. He keeps his eyes always on the LORD (v.8), even during the night. With such a God at his right hand, David is assured that he will not be shaken. We’re invited to share that same solace.

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O Lord, Thy touch hath stirred my soul
And caused my heart to love;
My quickened mind hath been made whole
To seek those things above.

There is a path of thought so true
That brings me to Thy throne,
And there my heart may mercy sue
And claim Thy grace my own.

Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard
Those things that thou hast there:
For every promise of Thy Word
Awaits my soul to dare.

O why should I let sorrow reign,
When such a God is mine,
Who gives to me and gives again,
And tells me, ‘Mine is thine’?

The riches He hath stored for me
No measurement can tell;
For in the love of Calvary
All with my God is well.

Thy Holy Spirit now hath taught
My being to adore;
The blessings Jesus Christ hath wrought
Shall cause my soul to soar.

(William Vernon Higham, 1926-2016)

For Such A Time (Joy in the Journey)

Does your life count? Does it really matter what you do and how you do it? It’s easy to think it doesn’t - we’re ordinary people, living ordinary, unremarkable lives. Our influence is limited, our voices often unheard. We’re like shadows on the landscape from the scurrying clouds above.

The book of Esther offers us a different perspective. Despite not once speaking about the Lord, and even though it moves in the realms of kings and queens, it nevertheless portrays life as suffused with the presence of God and woven with his gracious plans.

When trouble loomed for the Jews, Esther's uncle, Mordecai, saw that a potential solution lay with his niece. Her rise to prominence had not been accidental and it was not without meaning or hope. And so he calls her to consider the possibility that she was there “for such a time as this.”

Mordecai’s rhetorical question also forces us to stop and consider a similar construct: that despite being unknown and without national significance, our lives bear meaning and value in the hands of God. Where we live, what we do, who we know - these are not random details. They are not there by mistake, nor by default. The God who orders our days does so with wisdom and insight and always with his longing to bless others through his people uppermost in his heart.

You are where you are because the Lord has put you there, even through the whole time of the current pandemic. We might play down the significance we bear but our God never does so. The same Saviour who was able to multiply a few pieces of fish and small loaves of bread is more than capable of taking us, with all our inadequacies, and making much, feeding many.

The greatest example of his creative genius, bringing life and order from chaos and darkness, was seen “on a hill, far away…where the dearest and best for a world of lost sinners was slain”. The God who can work wonderful redemption through such squalor and shame, through depths of agony and loss, can enter your situation and do something in you and through you that will leave you in awe of his wisdom.

But the extent of that wisdom is likely to be unseen by us, as the larger part of an iceberg remains submerged. Esther's story had meaning and power not simply for the Jews of her own day but helped to sustain her people down many centuries, reminding them of the Lord’s care and compassion for them and his willingness to come to their aid.

The same is true, in a climactic way, of the cross of our Lord Jesus - and it will also be so in the lives of all whose destiny has been secured by his sacrifice. We do not know what impact our words, our deeds and our prayers may have, when they are offered in worship into the nail-pierced hands of our Lord Jesus.

However much your circumstances may change, however unvaried they might be, you have been brought into the kingdom for such a time as this. Knowing that means living by faith, not by sight, with confidence and joy in the one who is your companion along each and every road he calls you to travel.

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Nearer, my God, to Thee,
    Nearer to Thee!
E’en though it be a cross
    That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
    Nearer to Thee!

Though, like the wanderer,
    The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
    My rest a stone,
Yet in my dreams I’d be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
    Nearer to Thee!

There let the way appear,
    Steps unto heaven;
All that Thou send’st to me
    In mercy given;
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
    Nearer to Thee!

Then, with my waking thoughts
    Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
    Bethel I’ll raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
    Nearer to Thee!

Or if, on joyful wing
    Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
    Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
    Nearer to Thee!

(Sarah F. Adams, 1805–1848)

Where are the other nine? (Joy in the Journey)

“Where are the other nine?”

Those words of our Lord Jesus search our hearts and press us about our own response to all that he has done for us. They come at the conclusion of his encounter with ten men who had leprosy. The incident in Luke 17:11-19 takes place on the border between Samaria and Galilee. A liminal place, a hinterland from which little of significance may be expected. But that is far from being the case.

They call to the Lord in loud voices, pleading with him, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us.” A recognition of his status and power; putting themselves in his hands. Their plight is desperate and they take the only possibility of healing with both hands.

He tells them to go show themselves to the priests - those who had the authority to verify any healing from the disease. They set off as lepers, clearly believing that, somehow, they would be healed as they went. They all do as he says. They trust him enough to go with his instructions. That kind of faith is notable and commendable and receives its vindication.

But it isn’t sufficient.

As they go, they see that their pleas have been heard; they are freed, cleansed from their leprosy. And it is at this point that a difference becomes visible between the nine and the one. One - only one - on seeing he has been healed, turns back, full of praise to God and thanking Jesus as he kneels before him. Only one makes the connection between his healing and the person of Jesus. That God was in this place and he hadn’t seen it, but now that he has he delights in offering his worship at Jesus’ feet.

The difference between him and the other nine is underlined by Jesus. This man alone, of the ten, is a Samaritan. An outsider. Rejected by the mainstream. Devoid of their privileges and opportunities. And yet he saw, he made the connection. And this man alone, of the ten, has experienced not simply healing of his body but the salvation of his soul: the Lord makes that so plain - all ten were cleansed (v.17) but this man’s faith has saved him (v.19).

The others had taken the gift and hurried on. Having demonstrated a kind of faith in Jesus they then fail to join the dots and unite their heart to him in worship. They received much - but squandered the opportunity to take it to its higher source. Their bodies were healed but their hearts were not changed.

Can you see how this calls us to face our own response? Are mercies received and blessings enjoyed translated into genuine worship of the Lord Jesus, for who he is and all he has done? Is our faith sufficient for receiving the gift but not the Giver? Is he more than a friend in need to you?

This incident shows us that we can be familiar with God’s kindness but remain strangers to a genuine relationship with him. It doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t want our knowledge of his saving power to be only skin deep. Even now we can do as the one did - turn back and fall before the Lord in worship that is larger than simple gratitude for his latest gift.

Where, indeed, are the other nine?

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Out of my bondage, sorrow, and night,

  Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come;

Into Thy freedom, gladness, and light,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of my sickness into Thy health,

Out of my want and into Thy wealth,

Out of my sin and into Thyself,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of my shameful failure and loss,

  Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come;

Into the glorious gain of Thy cross,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of earth’s sorrows into Thy balm,

Out of life’s storm and into Thy calm,

Out of distress to jubilant psalm,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of unrest and arrogant pride,

  Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come;

Into Thy blessed will to abide,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of myself to dwell in Thy love,

Out of despair into raptures above,

Upward for aye on wings like a dove,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of the fear and dread of the tomb,

  Jesus, I come; Jesus, I come;

Into the joy and light of Thy home,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

Out of the depths of ruin untold,

Into the peace of Thy sheltering fold,

Ever Thy glorious face to behold,

    Jesus, I come to Thee.

(William True Sleeper, 1819-1904)

Guard your heart (Joy in the Journey)

“Above all else, guard your heart,
for everything you do flows from it.” (Prov. 4:23)

There’s no beating about the bush, no hedging your bets or sitting on the fence: Above everything else, you need to - you must - guard your heart. Put an unassailable fence around the centre of your soul, a fortress around your heart.

Living carelessly is all too easy to do. To give little serious thought to how we think and feel, to how we react and respond to others, to the impact that circumstances and culture are making upon us, to the toll that is being taken on our sensibilities.

Proverbs urges us to guard against that, to solemnly listen to its implicit warning. The outcome could not be more significant: “everything you do flows from it.” Our hearts, the deepest recesses of our being, have the most directive, shaping impact upon our lives.

Living a godly life is not a matter of emotional intuition; it needs thought and reflection and a humble determination to search our heart and seek the help of God. Guarding your heart is not slight working, it is intensely demanding.

And, often, it feels like we’re working in the dark - it has recesses we are barely aware of. It has been shaped in sin by all manner of life experiences and traumas and habits of thinking and behaving that possess captive power. Shaped by a past that, as William Faulkner said, "is never dead, it isn’t even past.” It keeps intruding on the present and insists on shaping the future.

These are the hearts that are deluged by the cares of life, by the weight of insecurity and anxiety, pummelled by the tides of trial and temptation. How can we hope to guard a place of such significance when it is assaulted by forces we cannot see and have no answer to? When we feel the force of Jeremiah 17:9, that our hearts are deceitful and unknowable in their truest dimensions?

The psalms express the experience of so many when they speak of our hearts being overwhelmed by torrents of destruction (18:4), by our guilt (38:4), by horror (55:5), by sins (65:3) and troubles (88:3). Such admissions make Proverbs 4:23 seem a world away.

But from that place of recognised vulnerability, a prayer ascends to the God of all grace:

“I call as my heart grows faint;
lead me to the rock that is higher than I” (Ps. 61:2)

Our hearts need to be guarded; the stakes are too high not to do so. But that shielding has to begin at the point we feel ourselves most vulnerable and from which we look to the one who alone can keep us, re-shape our hearts and begin to transform us by the renewing of our minds.

The one who is able to garrison our hearts through faith, whose mercies are the motive power for offering ourselves to him as living sacrifices.

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Sweet the moments, rich in blessing,

Which before the cross I spend,

Life and health, and peace possessing

From the sinner's dying Friend!

Here I rest, in wonder viewing

All my sins on Jesus laid,

And a full redemption flowing

From the sacrifice He made.

Here I find the hope of heaven,

While upon the Lamb I gaze;

Loving much, and much forgiven,

Let my heart o'erflow in praise.

Love and grief my heart dividing,

With my tears His feet I'll bathe,

Constant still in faith abiding,

Life deriving from His death.

Lord, in ceaseless contemplation

Fix my thankful heart on Thee!

Till I taste Thy full salvation,

And Thine unveiled glory see.

(William Walter Shirley, 1725-86)

Like perfume poured out (Joy in the Journey)

As the greatest of songs buds and opens, like a flower in the life-giving rays of the sun, the Beloved says to the Lover, “Your name is as perfume poured out…”. The heartfelt recognition and celebration of the supreme delight he brings.

You likely know that in the Bible ‘name’ is not simply a combination of letters and sounds. It denotes far more, especially as it relates to the Lord himself. ‘Name’ is about the person, their character and ways, their inner being, the fundamental realities of who and what they are.

The Lord’s name conveys everything that he is in his divine nature and in his engagement with all he has made. The Lord who is holy and good. The God of all mercy and compassion. The Lord, the Lord, the everlasting, all-wise God. Jesus, the lover of our souls.

This name - his name - is “as perfume poured out”. Beauty bestowed and diffused for the delight of those who know that name. It is sweet, intoxicating; heady and refreshing, lifting the soul into a realm that is at once both real and scarcely imaginable in the weight of its glory. Page after page of the Gospels declares that name to us - as we read, so the air around us is infused with the fragrance of his loving heart and the scent of his supreme worthiness.

He proclaims his name to us, in the pages of scripture and by the gift of his Spirit indwelling our hearts. He is the Rock whose work is perfect, whose ways are entirely just. The God who is love and who is light, in whom is no darkness and whose presence banishes the deepest gloom. The Maker of heaven and earth, the one who has numbered all our days, recording them in his book before a single one came to pass. He is the Author of Life, the Champion of our salvation.

And that is only the beginning.

When the Lord adopted us as his own, he named us with his own name. We are not simply spectators to the display of his name but we live within its reality, enveloped in his character and being. When we meet together, pray together, we do so ‘in his name’. Gathered under the banner of his love, owned and cherished as those who are named with his name. Governed by grace, decorated with the designs of his loving-kindness, the family crest of covenant love that will never fail.

In Psalm 9, David writes that “those who know your name trust in you”. Having tasted and seen that the LORD is good, that the goodness inherent in his name has been lavished upon us, what would move us to not trust him? We know his name - it is near and so we praise him and tell of his wonderful deeds, the revelation of his Name.

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How sweet the Name of Jesus sounds
In a believer’s ear!
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.

It makes the wounded spirit whole,
And calms the troubled breast;
’Tis manna to the hungry soul,
And, to the weary, rest.

Dear Name! the rock on which I build,
My Shield and hiding-place,
My never-failing treasury filled
With boundless stores of grace.

Jesus! my Shepherd, Brother, Friend,
My Prophet, Priest, and King,
My Lord, my Life, my Way, my End,
Accept the praise I bring.

Weak is the effort of my heart,
And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see Thee as Thou art,
I’ll praise Thee as I ought.

Till then I would Thy love proclaim
With every fleeting breath;
And may the music of Thy Name
Refresh my soul in death!

(John Newton, 1725-1807)

No Shifting Shadows (Joy in the Journey)

Dislocated from its context, James 1:17 sounds so comforting: the God we know in Jesus is the giver of every good and perfect gift. We’d like some of that, please. If there’s a queue, where do we join it? We’re happy to wait in line for our turn.

But set within its context, these verses appear to make little sense at first glance. Because they’re the final part of a jigsaw that begins by telling us to “Consider it pure joy…whenever you face trials of many kinds” (1:2), that warns against being double-minded and unstable in our faith (1:8) and lays bare our innate weakness, being tempted when we are dragged away by our own evil desires and enticed (1:14).

Where have all the good gifts gone?

James wrote as one of us - just as Elijah was (5:17). A man who knew his own fallibilities and tendency to sin and failure. And he wrote as one who had seen up close and personal the sheer goodness of God in his Son, Jesus, the half-brother of James. Somehow all these words hang together, we just need to see how.

Often the most helpful thing to do when we come across that kind of perplexing teaching is to ‘park it’, to let it just lie there, in our hearts and minds, and to wait - to wait on the One whose wisdom and timing are not suspect. On this occasion, the help we might so much need is perhaps only a few verses away.

The jarring opening call to consider trials as pure joy is partly offset by the reminder that God is not absent from them but has a purpose for us within them, that he is working perseverance in us, that we might be mature and complete (1:4). The statements of verses 17 and 18 then develop that thought in significant ways:

“Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. He chose to give us birth through the word of truth, that we might be a kind of first-fruits of all he created.”

James sets our experiences in life, even - and perhaps especially - our struggles, within the larger frame of God’s purposes and God’s character. His work, that which we can see clearly as well as those aspects that remain hidden from us, is defined by his goodness and by an unhindered, unblemished completeness. There is no lack in all he has planned for us and no aspect of it is ‘shady’. We must not allow our pains to deceive us into thinking he is somehow less than the God he is. All that he allows into our life will ultimately contribute to the completing of the grace that saves and beautifies us.

All this is because the gifts, the opportunities to trust him and lean into his ways, come from the One who is the Father of the heavenly lights. The One who orders all our days, the One who ordains times and seasons for our benefit. Seasons may change - indeed, they must - but throughout every moment of all the changing scenes of life, be they trouble or joy, he does not change like shifting shadows. There is not the slightest hint in his being of any movement away from utter faithfulness, no capitulation to force of circumstance.

No storm, however severe, will compel him to change course and downgrade his commitment to be our God and for us to be his people. We are, and ever will be, his treasured possession, a first-fruits of all he created.

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Loved with everlasting love,

Led by grace that love to know,

Spirit, breathing from above,

Thou hast taught me it is so.

O this full and perfect peace!

O this transport all divine!

In a love which cannot cease,

I am His and He is mine.

Heaven above is softer blue,

Earth around is sweeter green;

Something lives in every hue

Christless eyes have never seen:

Birds with gladder songs o'erflow,

Flowers with deeper beauties shine,

Since I know, as now I know,

I am His, and He is mine.

His for ever, only His;

Who the Lord and me shall part?

Ah, with what a rest of bliss

Christ can fill the loving heart!

Heaven ad earth may fade and flee,

First-born light in gloom decline,

But while God and I shall be,

I and His and He is mine.

(George Wade Robinson, 1838-77)

Cover to Cover (Joy in the Journey)

When Adam and Eve sinned, the weight of their shame was intolerable. It had been noted at the end of the previous chapter that they “were both naked and they felt no shame” (Gen. 2:25) - an intriguing note to conclude the creation account, the first suggestion of a cloud on the horizon of their sinless world. A glance backwards to a paradise now lost from what had become shame-filled in the very next chapter. From not knowing any shame to being overwhelmed by it, our first parents had fallen so grievously.

The response of the LORD God to their experiential need is one of deepest grace: he “made garments of skin for Adam and his wife and clothed them” (Gen. 3:21). Their agony needed more than the objective removal of their guilt in the forgiveness of God, a mercy he is always quick to offer. They needed the nakedness of their shame to be covered. They needed their eyes to be shielded from all that would remind them of their defection and betrayal. They needed their shame to be removed from the sight of all, both creature and Creator.

And the LORD, in all his sensitivity and kindness, provided them with that shelter. A covering that brought relief, that spoke not simply of sins forgiven but of the burial from sight of the ugliness of their shame. This is the same garment that the Lord Jesus wrapped around those he spoke forgiveness to - through his words that spoke acceptance and welcome and through his acts of compassion that sat he and they at the same table.

The gospel doesn’t only proclaim our forgiveness, it offers release from the shame that chokes our souls with the acrid smoke that rises from the pit of sin. Not only are we acquitted through the death of Jesus but we are accepted in the Beloved - clothed with God’s own Son, in the holiest ‘garment of skin’ there could ever be.

It falls to those who have been so clothed that they, in turn, become instrumental in relieving the shame of others: “My brothers and sisters, if one of you should wander from the truth and someone should bring them back, remember this: Whoever turns a sinner from the way of error will save them from death and cover over a multitude of sins.” (James 5:19,20).

It is, of course, vital to see that this is not a cover-up of sins, as though simply hiding them from sight could assuage the guilt and shame they bring. It cannot. This is the covering over of sin, through repentance and forgiveness. A forgiveness that isn’t simply objective but one that aims at full restoration and the unburdening of a conscience that has been tortured by self-inflicted shame.

That work of recovery must ever be done gently and in full recognition of our own brittle state (Gal. 6:1). Only those whose own shame has been comprehensively covered can lay that same garment upon others’ sin-blistered shoulders.

The Bible's story reads from cover to cover.

**********

I bring my sins to Thee,

The sins I cannot count,

That all may cleansed be

In Thy once-opened fount:

I bring them, Saviour, all to Thee;

The burden is too great for me.

My heart to Thee I bring,

The heart I cannot read,

A faithless, wandering thing,

An evil heart indeed:

I bring it, Saviour, now to Thee,

That fixed and faithful it may be.

My life I bring to Thee,

I would not be my own;

O Saviour, let me be

Thine ever, Thine alone!

My heart, my life, my all I bring

To Thee, my Saviour and my King.

(Frances Ridley Havergal, 1836-79)

Unmuted (Joy in the Journey)

"Richard, you’re on mute!" Whoops. It’s happened lots of times, to many of us. Recently I had the experience of not being able to unmute and quickly wrote a message and held it up to the screen, “I can’t unmute!” It was soon rectified and wasn’t a problem.

But we have a muteness that is a problem, one that only the gospel can cure. We were born to know and love the Lord, to praise our Maker while he gives us breath. And to discover in doing so that we are becoming more like him (it is a settled law, revealed in scripture, that we become like the objects of our worship). But sin mutes us, robs us of speech worthy of God, makes the soul stammer its way into silence. A silent soul shrivels, calcifies in ignorance of the One whose love makes alive.

In Mark 7:31-37, our Lord Jesus encountered a man who was deaf and mute. Unable to hear others praising God, detached from all teaching of God’s Word. And without any means to make himself known and understood. This is not how it was meant to be. The gravity of the man’s condition was such that Jesus looks to heaven and sighs deeply before he speaks words of release.

There is something so moving about how the Lord meets the man in all his need. A man who cannot hear will not be able to understand the commotion and will likely be distressed and confused by the crowds. So Jesus takes him aside - he isn’t going to make a show of him. And he then enacts wordlessly what he is going to do for him - he puts his fingers in the man’s ears, he spits (saliva was believed to have healing properties), he touches the man’s tongue. Each movement communicating something of what this is about.

And then he looks up to heaven, sighs and speaks to open the man’s ears and loose his tongue. This is not the work of a showman or a magician; this is the Lord himself, coming to set free and restore the helpless, those separated and silenced by the scourge of sin.

This beautiful moment is recognised by the crowd. They praise God, rejoicing that Jesus has done all things well. Perhaps they knew - or maybe they didn’t - that this scene is a clear and compelling fulfilment of Isaiah 35:6, where the coming of the Messiah will mean that “the mute tongue [will] shout for joy”. The equivalent term in Greek for the one used there only occurs once in all the New Testament, here in Mark 7.

This is what the Messiah has come to do - to set people free so that we might be able to listen as the Lord speaks to us and respond with glad shouts of praise. And then to use our mouths as a blessing to others, speaking words of hope and healing, words of gospel grace and kingly kindness.

We've been unmuted.

************

O for a thousand tongues to sing
    My great Redeemer’s praise,
The glories of my God and King,
    The triumphs of His grace.

My gracious Master and my God,
    Assist me to proclaim,
To spread through all the earth abroad
    The honours of Thy name.

Jesus! the name that charms our fears,
    That bids our sorrows cease;
’Tis music in the sinner’s ears,
    ’Tis life, and health, and peace.

He breaks the power of cancelled sin,
    He sets the prisoner free;
His blood can make the foulest clean;
    His blood availed for me.

He speaks, and listening to His voice,
    New life the dead receive,
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice,
    The humble poor believe.

Hear Him, ye deaf, His praise, ye dumb,
    Your loosened tongues employ;
Ye blind, behold your Saviour come,
    And leap, ye lame, for joy.

Look unto Him, ye nations, own
    Your God, ye fallen race;
Look, and be saved through faith alone,
    Be justified by grace.

(Charles Wesley, 1707-88)

Meditating and Obeying (Joy in the Journey)

I have more insight than all my teachers,
for I meditate on your statutes.
I have more understanding than the elders,
for I obey your precepts. (Psalm 119:99f)

To grow in insight and understanding is a regular and proper concern for every Christian. Not to impress others, still less to curry favour with the Lord, but so that in knowing him more we might serve him and others with wisdom and in all humility.

These verses in the longest Psalm highlight 2 key factors in attaining greater insight and understanding - in growing to maturity in worshipping the living God, in following Jesus, in life in the Spirit - and they are these: meditating on what God has revealed and obeying what he has said.

Meditating - taking what the Bible discloses to us and giving it our sustained and determined, worshipful attention. Giving it time to percolate through our spiritual senses, enlarging our inner relish for God and his truth. Not simply consuming large quantities of the Bible but slowing down enough in order to taste it, to feel its power, to catch glimmers of the glory of God within its pages.

There are no shortcuts to insight - wisdom for living well and in fellowship with the Lord. It requires space and time. But the rewards more than repay the effort.

Obeying - simply doing all that God has said. Which, as we know, is far from simple - not because what he has said is inherently unclear but because our minds remain clouded by sin and its remnants. But the psalmist expresses what we can at least emulate: the desire and the determination to follow through on the call into a life lived in the presence of God, before his face, longing to please the One who has so loved us.

Begin there, with that desire, and often the next step comes into sharper focus as the Spirit works willingness in our hearts. Obedience leads to deeper understanding as we experience the authentication of truth in our everyday lives and in the enlarging of our hearts.

Mediating on God and his Word and then obeying what he says are the route to growing in insight and understanding. This is a compelling invitation to live in fulness.

But there is a slightly jarring note in these verses. The writer, perhaps someone still relatively young, contrasts his approach - of meditation and obedience - with their apparent lack in those who are his teachers, those who are older than him. It’s a salutary lesson being played-out before our eyes: it is possible to be a teacher of others, whether formally or informally, and not be growing in insight because we fail to meditate on God’s truth. We assume we know it, that a factual familiarity is sufficient.

And it is all too possible to be an older Christian - even someone recognised as an elder - and not be putting cherished truth into practice, walking in humble obedience. We don’t automatically have wisdom to share simply because we’ve ridden these streets for a long time. It grows in soil that is cultivated by meditation and watered by obedience.

That is a significant and humbling challenge. And in that way it offers an opportunity for meditation and prayer. To consider afresh what the Lord has done for us in his Son, to defend ourselves from becoming “blind and near-sighted, forgetting that we have been cleansed from [our] past sins” (2 Peter 1:9). And to resolve, in the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, to be renewed in our walk with him.

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Christ, whose glory fills the skies,

Christ, the true and only light,

Sun of Righteousness, arise,

Triumph o'er the shades of night;

Day-spring from on high, be near;

Day-star, in my heart appear.

Dark and cheerless is the morn

Unaccompanied by Thee;

Joyless is the day's return,

Till Thy mercy's beams I see,

Till they inward light impart,

Glad my eyes, and warm my heart.

Visit, then, this soul of mine;

Pierce the gloom of sin and grief;

Fill me, radiancy divine;

Scatter all my unbelief;

More and more Thyself display,

Shining to the perfect day!

(Charles Wesley, 1707-88)

We shall be like him (Joy in the Journey)

All sorts of thoughts and questions swirly around the ultimate destiny of Christians - the nature of heavenly life, what life on a renewed earth will be like, how we will experience the relationships we have enjoyed in this world, the nature of life in a resurrection body, and so many more. One thing, though is certain: the Bible says that “we shall be like him”, like our Lord Jesus Christ (1 John 3:2).

Of course, it remains beyond our ability, now, to understand all that will mean. But there are some things we can begin to piece together - and it is right to do so, since John says that the prospect of being like him ought to make an impact upon us.

Becoming like the One who has the Spirit without measure must mean that the fruit of that same Spirit will finally be fully realised in us and will be seen and experienced in its mature ripeness. Like him in love and joy and peace; like him in patience, kindness and goodness; like him in faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. It hardly seems possible and yet it will be so.

The One who is love to the very core of his being, love that delights to give itself to and for others, will be reflected in us, will be realised in us. We will no longer be capable of hurting others, of harming what God has made. Instead we will become channels of blessing, showered in mercy by the Lord upon others. We will ever live to bless the Lord in worship and to bless others in Christ-reflecting love and service.

How will this be so? What will cause the final leap from our present stutters and stumbles to such perfection? “We shall be made like him for we shall see him as he is.” No longer a veil between; no partial glimpses of our majestic Saviour. No longer will our eyes need to be shielded from the brilliance that is brighter than the sun. His light will not consume us but conform us to his own likeness.

No wonder there are times when heaven itself is stunned into silence. The dust of earth - this dust - mangled by sin, will one day reflect without any distortion the beauty of the Lord Jesus.

Not only does that lead us to bow our heads in a kind of wordless wonder, it also ought to give increased vigour to our desire now to be what we shall be then: Everyone who has this hope in Jesus purifies himself, even as Jesus is pure. The prospect of bearing uncreated light in our own souls to such a degree comes with a purifying heft, lodging a prayerful longing in our hearts to never again grieve the Spirit of holiness by whom we were sealed for the day of redemption.

************

With harps and with viols

There stand a great throng
In the presence of Jesus,

And sing this new song:

    Unto Him who hath loved us
    And washed us from sin,
    Unto Him be the glory forever! Amen.

All these once were sinners,
Defiled in his sight,
Now arrayed in pure garments
In praise they unite:

He maketh the rebel
A priest and a king,
He hath bought us and taught us
This new song to sing:

How helpless and hopeless
We sinners had been,
If He never had loved us
Till cleansed from our sin:

Aloud in His praises
Our voices shall ring,
So that others believing,
This new song shall sing:

(Arthur Tappan Pierson, 1837-1911)

Lead me, LORD (Joy in the Journey)

David’s prayer in Psalm 5:8 gets right to the heart of so much of our need and longing: “lead me, LORD, in your righteousness.” The reason for the prayer is expressed as “because of my enemies” - because his life is far from easy, his days difficult and strained. The odds are against him and he feels it. So much is volatile and unpredictable. He’s walking on thin ice, paying a heavy price for his stab at living a godly life while all around him fill their hearts with malice.

To ask to be led is to recognise several possibilities: that we do not know the way; or, knowing the way, we cannot see it; or, knowing and seeing the way, we recognise its dangers and how much we need a capable guide to get us through. In all those ways, this prayer makes perfect sense and offers profound hope. Because the LORD knows the way that he takes and the way that he has set before us. Nothing is hidden from him, nothing comes as a surprise. He sees what we cannot and he can tame the terrors that cause us unceasing alarm. He is willing to take our arm and be our faithful guide.

To be led is to taken somewhere, towards something, to becoming someone. Places we cannot reach on our own. The maturity that always seems out of reach. We need to be led into all these - led into the light, with life as the destiny. Recognising the difficulties involved in the life of faith, David asks the LORD to “make your way straight before me.” Make the path clear. Lighten the darkness. Clear the rubble from the road, make the rough places smooth and untangle the chaos. Please, LORD.

The leading David seeks will be “in your righteousness”. Every step that we’re called to take will be in his complete integrity, in the commitment of his heart to make good on every promise he had made, in his unfailing goodness. He will not lead us astray and abandon us when the going gets tough. Our Lord Jesus came to fulfil all righteousness, from identifying with us in his baptism in the Jordan to carrying our sins in his body upon the tree. His ways never fail and his guidance never disappoints because they are anchored in the perfection of divine love.

The beautiful gospel song, Precious Lord, was written by Thomas A Dorsey from within the agony of the death of his wife in childbirth and the baby son she bore. In the song he prays, in the howling gale of sorrow, that the Lord would both lead him on and lead him home. There is our need in its entirety: to be led onward, in our life in Christ, in growing in grace and knowledge, in deepening trust in the Saviour; and to be led homeward, to the “fair city so bright where the Lamb is the light”, safe in the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

    Precious Lord, take my hand
    Lead me on, let me stand
    I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
    Through the storm, through the night
    Lead me on to the light
    Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

When my way grows drear, precious Lord linger near
When my light is almost gone
Hear my cry, hear my call
Hold my hand lest I fall
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

When the darkness appears and the night draws near
And the day is past and gone
At the river I stand
Guide my feet, hold my hand
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home

    Precious Lord, take my hand
    Lead me on, let me stand
    I am tired, I am weak, I am worn
    Through the storm, through the night
    Lead me on to the light
    Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home.

(Thomas A. Dorsey, 1899-1993, © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc)

From a distant land (Joy in the Journey)

“Like cold water to a weary soul
Is good news from a distant land…” (Proverbs 25:25)

A weary soul. I guess we know what that’s like - inside out and front to back. Drained and needing something to raise us once more. Another day to get through, another hill to climb, another valley to exit. Tired to the bone at the core of our being.

This proverb paints the scene of the impact of good news arriving from a distant country - perhaps a report from the front-line, that says a loved one is safe. Or news that help and relief is on its way - that food will arrive, that vaccines will be delivered. That kind of news is so welcome and lifts the spirits.

The pages of the New Testament and its record of the life of Jesus certainly qualify as being ‘a distant land’ - far from us in time and geography and culture. But the events of those days - the life and work, the death and resurrection of our Saviour - are the ultimate good news that can refresh the weary and restore the depleted.

We are wearied by life in a world that is under sin, that is shrouded in death, whose every line seems to speak chaos and despair. The good news that is Christ crucified and risen has the capacity to refresh our hearts in hope and to breathe fresh impetus into our lives as we taste and see the goodness of God and are enveloped in his love.

This good news can give clarity to our faded vision, bringing into focus the grounds for our comfort, uncovering the solid ground on which all our hopes are founded. The cold, clear streams of the gospel are the truest refreshment for weary souls. The battle has been fought and won. The darkness will pass. The day is at hand.

But it’s also true that heaven itself, “where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God,” is also a distant country. It’s hard for us to picture it, to hold its reality in our minds. Even if LP Hartley is correct in saying that “the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there”, it is nevertheless a place we have been. We cannot say the same for our heavenly home, “a place that has to be believed to be seen”.

Yet from its distant shores we again hear ‘good news’ - that we have ultimate security in the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Nothing can separate us from it, from him. With him we shall one day rise and, seeing him as he is, the lamb in all his glory, we shall be made like him. Our welcome into his presence will be permanent and final. No more parting, no more sorrow. Only fullness of joy.

These days may take their toll on us - in fact, there can be no doubt that they have done. The defences in our souls have been constantly breached. Previously hard-won gains have perhaps begun to crumble away in the heat of trial. But good news reaches us still from a distant land - from the settled past and from the secure future. Good news that can quieten our hearts and renew our souls.

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As water to the thirsty,
as beauty to the eyes,
as strength that follows weakness,
as truth instead of lies,
as songtime and springtime
and summertime to be,
    so is my Lord,
    my living Lord,
so is my Lord to me.

Like calm in place of clamour,
like peace that follows pain,
like meeting after parting,
like sunshine after rain,
like moonlight and starlight
and sunlight on the sea,
    so is my Lord,
    my living Lord,
so is my Lord to me.

As sleep that follows fever,
as gold instead of grey,
as freedom after bondage,
as sunrise to the day,
as home to the traveller
and all we long to see,
    so is my Lord,
    my living Lord,
so is my Lord to me.

(© Timothy Dudley-Smith, 1926-)

Turn Your Steps (Joy in the Journey)

Psalm 74 portrays the experiences of the people of Israel in the most graphic terms. Their enemies had roared against them, had smashed the carved panelling in the temple, burning it to the ground. Everything that gave the people a sense of meaning and place was gone. Perhaps worst of all, they believed this was permitted by God, that his anger smouldered against them as the sheep of his pasture.

Their lives had been severely disrupted. All around them is the rubble of dreams that once were cherished but now lie shattered in the dust. And from that place of suffering and loss they call out to the LORD,

“Turn your steps toward these everlasting ruins…” (v.3)

The ruins of the temple; the ruins of their lives. The ruins of humanity under the power of sin - what has been termed ‘noble ruins’. Made for so much, in the image and likeness of God, but devastated, through and through, by sin.

Everlasting ruins. Does that mean there is no hope, that this is the ultimate and unending destiny of what was designed in goodness and with the dignity of nobility? Will the ruins persist as an endless memorial to the victory of sin? Is that what ‘everlasting’ means here?

No, it doesn’t - for which we can be so thankful. Everlasting refers instead to the value and destiny of what is now in ruins. In Israel’s day, the temple and the lives that were framed around it. More broadly, humanity as created by God and for life in him.

What was made to be everlasting lies broken and devastated - and so the prayer, the longing, for the Lord to turn his steps towards those ruins.

“Turn your steps”: come this way. Come and see; turn toward us with pity and compassion. Come and rebuild, come and honour what is in ruins - honour it with life and salvation.

And he did: in the incarnation of his Son. His steps turned towards humanity in sin, lying ruined in the rubble. He did not give a passing glance, observing from a safe distance. He came and shared our humanity - his steps turned towards the darkness, the haunts of shame where we cower in fear. He came that we might be brought into the light - his light, the light of his face - and be delivered from final ruin.

He turned his steps toward us in order to face the monsters of sin and death, of chaos and evil (Leviathan in the psalm). Turned not back from the track of sacrifice, of overwhelming sorrows and anguish, in order to restore the fallen.

The prayer was answered and it is answered still, as we ask him to draw near to, to turn his steps toward, the broken-hearted and those who are crushed in spirit, hopelessly lost and ruined in sin. To come by and to save. To walk alongside us, too, in all our frailties and in the failures that laden our souls with shame.

We cannot rebuild our lives; we cannot re-build our churches; we cannot re-build our national life. These are beyond us - but the one to whom we pray can lay a fresh foundation, can raise individuals and communities into new life, restoring what was ruined. Turn your steps - come to us, O Lord.

He is our King from long ago (v.12) and he will not pass us by.

************

Come, O Thou Traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see!
My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with Thee;
With Thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.

I need not tell Thee who I am,
My misery and sin declare;
Thyself hast called me by my name;
Look on Thy hands, and read it there:
But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou?
Tell me Thy name, and tell me now.

In vain Thou strugglest to get free;
I never will unloose my hold!
Art Thou the Man that died for me?
The secret of Thy love unfold:
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go,
Till I Thy name, Thy nature know.

Yield to me now; for I am weak,
But confident in self-despair;
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak,
Be conquered by my instant prayer;
Speak, or Thou never hence shalt move,
And tell me if Thy Name is Love.

’Tis Love! ’tis Love! Thou diedst for me!
I hear Thy whisper in my heart;
The morning breaks, the shadows flee,
Pure, universal Love Thou art;
To me, to all, Thy mercies move:
Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

I know Thee, Saviour, who Thou art,
Jesus, the feeble sinner’s Friend;
Nor wilt Thou with the night depart,
But stay and love me to the end;
Thy mercies never shall remove:
Thy nature and Thy Name is Love.

(Charles Wesley, 1707-88)

He directs your steps (Joy in the Journey)

You’ve got plans that need to be made, steps forward that need to be taken. You glance in the direction of heaven and hope that, somehow, the Lord will nod indulgently in agreement. There’s so much you don’t want to miss out on - if you don’t keep tight control over every decision, if you don’t make the play then who will?

Proverbs 20:24 speaks plainly to our FOMO, to the anxiety to retain control and to sweat all the details of life:

A person’s steps are directed by the LORD.
How then can anyone understand their own way?

Who has the final say, who holds the reins, whose plans are going to be realised? Not ours. Our steps are directed by the one who gave his own Son for us and will, with him, freely give us all things. Our days are ordered by the God who is light and in whom is no darkness at all. We need have no fear as to his competency nor his commitment to our good.

The need to trust him is underscored by the fact that we simply do not have the insight and depth of wisdom that are necessary to truly understand ourselves - our motivations, our foibles, the impact upon us of both nature and nurture, the radical disturbance of sin upon the soul.

Just a few verses earlier, Proverbs 20:5 alerts us to that when it recognises “The purposes of a person’s heart are deep waters.” Every one of us is a profound mystery, not simply to others but even to ourselves. We are beings with depths that can only be scoped by supreme wisdom - “one who has insight draws them out”.

We cannot understand our own way nor our own hearts, not truly and fully. It isn’t capitulation to put our trust in the one whose love never fails and whose wisdom has no lack.

But humility isn’t passivity, surrendering to the void of unknowing and being carried by the currents of circumstance. Proverbs 3:5,6, so beloved by many, expresses exactly the posture we ought to adopt:

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart

and lean not on your own understanding;

in all your ways submit to him,

and he will make your paths straight.”

Trust in the one who has covenanted to be your God; don’t lean into or upon your own insights. But in all your ways - in all your goings, as you walk and make your way through life - go with the flow of his faithfulness (submit to him). You won't be discarded at the last.

Our lives have so many variables. We’re often desperate to be in control but there are far too many things that are not within our grasp, that we cannot shape or bend to our will. Nor do we need to do so in order to properly thrive and to live with confidence and composure. Our times are in his hands, hands that were pierced for our redemption. He directs our steps and for that we can be truly thankful.

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God holds the key of all unknown,
    And I am glad;
If other hands should hold the key,
Or if He trusted it to me,
    I might be sad.

What if tomorrow’s cares were here
    Without its rest?
I’d rather He unlocked the day,
And, as the hours swing open, say,
    ‘My will is best’.

The very dimness of my sight
    Makes me secure;
For, groping in my misty way,
I feel His hand; I hear Him say,
    ‘My help is sure’.

I cannot read His future plans;
    But this I know:
I have the smiling of His face,
And all the refuge of His grace,
    While here below.

Enough: this covers all my wants;
    And so I rest!
For what I cannot, He can see,
And in His care I saved shall be,
    For ever blest.

(Joseph Parker, 1830-1902)

Cloud-busting (Joy in the Journey)

It’s said that on a clear day you can see forever. But we live in a world that is frequently opaque and whose skies seem to be filled with the darkest clouds that threaten to break upon us with a ferocity we could not endure. Are there any prospects for brighter days?

Writing about Psalm 100 and noting its place in closing the small group of psalms 93-110, Derek Kidner helpfully notes that it “brings this group…up to an unclouded summit.” Earlier psalms had sounded the alarm, had pointed to the darkening skies but, as we take the final steps to the summit, those clouds clear and the view is stunning.

Which is just what we need.

The clarity of this beloved psalm runs through every line. We’ll notice just a few of its calming features.

i. Enter his gates with thanksgiving  A call and an invitation, to come into his presence and to refresh our hearts in worshipping the One who is alone worthy of all our praise and adoration. This isn’t tippy-toeing into his space with a feeling that we really oughtn’t to be there; it is a glad exultation in the presence of the living God, the perfectly proper and entirely apt response of our hearts to his radiant Being. Singing joyfully, with an amazed sense of privilege and with the deepest pleasure that can ever be known.

A recent newsletter from the City to City church-plating network makes the point that “The presence of God is not the absence of tension…”. Quite so. We do ourselves and others a disservice if we pretend that we can only know the nearness of the Lord if our lives are free of trouble. We can genuinely know and rejoice in the presence of the living God even amid the ongoing turmoil of life in this world.

What limits and ultimately defuses the impact of that tension is the merciful intervention of the God into whose presence we have been ushered, the grace in which we now stand.

ii. It is he who made us and we are his  We have a place to belong, a home where we are welcomed and settled. And we are “the sheep of his pasture”, sought and saved from all our wanton wanderings and the folly of our blind arrogance. The sins that separated us from him shall never be able to do so again because the sinless one gave himself for us, opening up a new and living way by which we may enter his brightness and not be consumed.

We are his flock, cared for and nurtured in all the fullness of life in the Spirit.

iii. What he is and what he does endures forever  He is good; he doesn’t need to become good or grow into it. This is his fundamental character. And in his elemental goodness he always acts with covenant love and in covenant faithfulness. Every aspect of his every involvement with us is governed by his unceasing, sacrificial love and his undaunted, undimmed commitment. This is simply and stunningly who he is.

These are the cloud-busting qualities that re-order our days and give renewed clarity to our skies. “His love, not mine, the resting-place, His truth, not mine, the tie” (Horatius Bonar). Come, then, into his presence - the summit is just ahead.

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Fill your hearts with joy and gladness,
sing and praise your God and mine!
Great the Lord in love and wisdom,
might and majesty divine!
He who framed the starry heavens
Knows and names them as they shine!

Praise the Lord, his people, praise him!
Wounded souls his comfort know.
Those who fear him find his mercies,
peace for pain and joy for woe;
humble hearts are high exalted,
human pride and power laid low.

Praise the Lord for times and seasons,
cloud and sunshine, wind and rain;
spring to melt the snows of winter
till the waters flow again;
grass upon the mountain pastures,
golden valleys thick with grain.

Fill your hearts with joy and gladness,
peace and plenty crown your days;
love his laws, declare his judgements,
walk in all his words and ways,
he the Lord and we his children;
praise the Lord, all people, praise!

(© Timothy Dudley-Smith, 1926-)

Learning to forgive (Joy in the Journey)

The perspective of Joseph on his sufferings at the hands of his brothers is quite stunning. When he reveals himself to them they are (to paraphrase slightly) gob-smacked. And terrified. They have every reason to be so - it seems that their sins have finally caught up with them and their callous hearts exposed and condemned.

But Joseph immediately says to them, "Do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you." (Gen. 45:5)

And, again, a moment or two later, he affirms, "God sent me ahead of you to preserve a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So, then, it was not you who sent me here, but God." (Gen. 45:7-8)

After the death of their father Jacob, Joseph again reassures his brothers of his heart toward them: "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." (Gen. 50:21)

Long years of suffering had the power to foster a bitterness that would make his heart an acrid, barren place, Instead, Joseph displays a breath-taking grasp of God’s sovereign ways. In his seeming absence, he has been present, at work behind the scenes, preparing the way for a rescue that could not have been foreseen. And Joseph demonstrates a humble willingness to embrace God’s purpose in his suffering, recognising his own creaturely limitations ("Am I in the place of God?"), and embracing his brothers in forgiving grace.

It is his readiness to forgive that carves out for his brothers an opportunity to demonstrate repentance and so to know their sins cancelled and cleared. Their lives can begin again from this point. The past no longer needs to corrupt their future.

What Joseph had come to know is not a lesson that is casually learned. Such gains are exceedingly hard won. This is not a minor skirmish; it is a full-on battle that is fought on the ground of our desolated history. We must not condemn ourselves if we struggle to forgive when we know the deepest pain of being harmed by others.

Joseph’s reconciliatory spirit was forged over long years in the crucible of suffering. The grace he offered was not cheap, neither for him nor his brothers. All we can do is to ask the Lord to help us, in our distress. Ask him to heal our hearts, to pour his consolation into our souls, so that we might be taken closer to where Joseph now stood.

That consolation has not simply its root but its whole life and substance in the one who loved us and gave himself for us. This scene in Genesis leads us, with great and clarifying power, to see afresh the glory of the submission and humility of our Lord Jesus on the cross. How deeply and joyously glad we can be for his words, "Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they’re doing."

Over time, and as we consciously place ourselves into the hands that were pierced for us, the hands of the physician of souls, we might find that we are able to begin to pray - falteringly, haltingly, but truly - “Make me, O Lord, a channel of your peace.” The Lord Jesus, in his healing love, is able to make the words and the wisdom of James become visibly true in our lives, that “peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness”.

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At the cross where Jesus suffered,

I lay down my bitter blame;

Where he prayed, Father forgive them,

Lord I know I must do the same.

Laying down my pain, my anger,

Vengeful thoughts nailed to the cross;

Take the sting of wrongs remembered,

No more measuring my loss.

I'll not use my words as weapons,

Or the past to gain control;

On my tongue no trace of venom,

Only grace to comfort and make whole.

I am weak but God is with me,

Past and future in his hand;

Turns to good the ill we suffer,

Works all things into Love's plan.

Holy Dove, return and rest here,

As I think and speak the best;

Though it takes ten thousand choices,

I'll press on to honour and to bless.

For the love of Christ my Saviour,

By the strength he daily gives,

This will be the thanks I offer:

I will totally forgive.

    For my Father in heaven

    Showed mercy to me

    How can I not be merciful

    When God's been merciful to me,

    God's been merciful to me

(Graham Kendrick

Copyright © 2009 Make Way Music)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_T_lCAgrklg

Your enemies routed (Joy in the Journey)

We have enemies, within and without. The Bible couldn’t be plainer on this point. Whatever terms it might use - “the world, the flesh and the devil” is a good summary given by the apostle John - we battle against forces whose intent is to cause us harm and hurt. Eternally.

In Psalm 92 - a song for the sabbath day - the writer joyfully declares and celebrates the Lord’s character and ways as the one who is “for ever exalted”. And his supremacy and faithfulness lead to this statement:

“My eyes have seen the defeat of my adversaries;
My ears have heard the rout of my wicked foes.”

All that stood opposed to the writer in this life, all that was a sore point of contradiction within the soul, has been in principle overcome and defeated.

The seeing and hearing of this verse might refer to the physical reality of enemies in the original context, but it’s right and helpful for us to pursue its line of thinking into all that the gospel so clearly discloses to us. The powers of sin and chaotic disorder, the terrors of evil and death, have been engaged and overcome by our Lord Jesus Christ.

At times this might be an overlooked aspect of the gospel; where that’s the case we do ourselves a huge favour in reconnecting with it. Jesus our Messiah has won a great victory; it remains to be enacted in its fullest scope but its definitive nature is not in doubt. In his death on the cross, sin was condemned by God. As evil reached its height, in plunging the Lord of glory to the depths, it over-reached itself and was dealt the death-blow. The ragged lunging of shame was tamed, its imposter’s mask once and for all removed.

In Christ, by faith in God’s Son, we are more than conquerors. We share in all that he won through suffering. The gospels portray our Saviour as the great champion of his people, steadfast on the field of battle, even to the death of the cross. They are there not simply to provide us with information but to give the surest consolation and to pour strength into our enervated souls.

What this all means is that we can have confidence in facing what stands against us, in owning our weaknesses and naming our shame. We are not removed from them; we still battle hard and, at times, feel like hoisting a white flag in surrender. But those experiences do not negate the victory of Jesus. Somehow, in the strange and glory-filled wisdom of God, that triumph gets seen in and through our weaknesses.

And what becomes plain as we take courage from his promises is that “this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Cor. 4:7). What we have seen and heard - that our enemies have been routed - becomes in some way visible and audible to those whose lives remain shrouded in darkness. And, please God, that realisation might be the first rays of the dawning in their hearts of “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.” (2 Cor. 4:6)

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Safe in the shadow of the Lord,

beneath his hand and power,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

my fortress and my tower.

My hope is set on God alone,

though Satan spreads his snare,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

to keep me in his care.

From fears and phantoms of the night,

from foes about my way,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

by darkness as by day.

His holy angels keep my feet

secure from every stone;

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

and unafraid go on.

Strong in the everlasting Name,

and in my Father's care,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

who hears and answers prayer.

Safe in the shadow of the Lord,

possessed by love divine,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

and meet his love with mine.

(Timothy Dudley-Smith b. 1926)

Can these bones live? (Joy in the Journey)

“Can these bones live?” Can this life be turned-around? Can hope be embedded in the heart? Can these bones live, the dry bones we see all around us, the lives empty and forlorn, in the grip of the most desperate drought, in a nation that is weary and worn, that is often senseless and brutish? Can the darkness of death be dispelled and the light of resurrection dawn upon benighted souls?

Can our bones live? Can our dearth be reversed and our lives flooded again by the life of God? Are there any reasons to keep on keeping on?

The question was addressed to Ezekiel as a ‘son of man’ - a mere mortal. A man with all the usual limitations - from the dust and returning to the dust. Whatever answer can be given to the plight of the nation, it doesn’t lie with him. Having been asked, his response is marked by a humility that has within it the seeds of living hope:

“Sovereign LORD, you alone know.”

Yes, only he knows. It is as far beyond us as it was Ezekiel. His nation had been torn apart, stone by stone and life by life. There was the deepest decay at its heart. The powers that be (in this case, the Babylonian empire) were at their peak. There were no evident reasons for hope, none at all.

In a culture that continually self-harms, enthroning death by embracing decay, the same bleak outlook would seem to be true for us. Minor respites, here and there, perhaps. But genuine grounds for expectancy? It seems not.

Where all hope was seemingly dead and buried, the LORD speaks. He has addressed Ezekiel and now calls him to address the dry bones, to proclaim to them, to let them know that breath will enter them and they will come to life. And that happens when Ezekiel has further spoken, this time to the breath, at the Lord’s direction. The re-made but inanimate army would only then come to resurrection life.

A resurrection without life would be not simply irrational, it would also be intolerable and desolating. Lives reformed, returned to some sense of normality and meaning, yet without true transformation; re-calibrated but without the breath of life to give vitality and indissoluble joy. That isn’t what is so sorely needed and would be bitterly disappointing. We can be thankful for all that might change circumstances for the better, but we long for lives to be renewed at the deepest level.

The words of the Lord and the breath of the Lord: the live-giving message and the life-giving Spirit - these are the proper basis for genuine hope, a hope that leads to sustained prayer for new life. Come, O Lord...

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O Breath of Life, come sweeping through us,
Revive Thy church with life and power,
O Breath of Life, come, cleanse renew us,
And fit Thy church to meet this hour.

O Wind of God, come, bend us, break us,
Till humbly we confess our need;
Then in Thy tenderness remake us,
Revive, restore; for this we plead.

O Breath of Love, come, breathe within us,
Renewing thought and will and heart:
Come, Love of Christ, afresh to win us,
Revive Thy church in every part.

Revive us Lord! Is zeal abating
While harvest fields are vast and white?
Revive us, Lord, the world is waiting,
Equip Thy church to spread the light.

(Elizabeth Ann Head, 1850-1936)