Joy in the Journey (44) - Protecting the Unwary

The LORD is gracious and righteous;
our God is full of compassion.
The LORD protects the simple;
when I was brought low, he saved me.

(Psalm 116:5,6)

How do you see yourself? What terms would you use to describe yourself? One flavour of spirituality says our self-assessment needs to be in the bleakest terms possible, taking its cue from Paul’s statement, “good itself does not dwell in me, that is in my flesh…” (Rom. 7:18). But such an approach is not as fully biblical as it sounds. The same writer is quite happy to affirm that others are “full of goodness, filled with knowledge” (Rom. 15:14), still others “are light in the Lord” (Eph. 5:8) and that even he, himself, is able to offer a trustworthy judgement (1 Cor. 7:25) and is worth listening to because he also has the Spirit of God (1 Cor. 7:40).

Which might caution us against being too quick to concede that we are among “the simple” - especially when we recognise that the term means morally naive, unwary, inexperienced. Essentially, it is speaking of one who is easy pickings for the unscrupulous, who needs to be better able to distinguish between good and evil. If we’ve been Christians for any length of time we’d probably be reluctant to describe ourselves quite like that.

And yet we cannot but concede that, given the right circumstances and under a certain kind of pressure, we can fall into that category. Our judgement fails us; our moral fibre appears to collapse. We find ourselves all at sea and feel that the best that could be said of us is that we're novices - we mean well, but fail often. Even for those whose character has been attested over time, cracks can appear in a season of drought.

Which makes these verses in Psalm 116 so very encouraging. The LORD who is gracious and righteous and full of compassion is one who continually and actively “protects the simple”. He guards and shelters the unwary; he garrisons the gullible. All of us have more need of such protection - and have already received far more - than we could possibly imagine. Our words and actions so easily betray us, marking us out as vulnerable and exploitable. But the LORD looks upon us with wonderful kindness and acts to prevent disaster befalling us. His care is tender and wise.

And his commitment is to continue to grow us as his children into genuine maturity, into a Christ-likeness that is “as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves” (Mt. 10:16). To that end, his Spirit continues to apply His word to us in transforming power. For “the statutes of the LORD are trustworthy, making wise the simple” (Ps. 19:7) - his precepts, his declarations that are fulfilled in and by his Son, have the capacity to enlarge not simply our bare understanding but our hearts also, in devotion and humility.

“To make the simple wise” allows us to counsel our own souls, in the words of v.7, “Return to your rest…for the LORD has been good to you.” Rest that is not founded upon our capacities and experience but rather is rooted in the unchanging character of God, whose goodness never changes, never fails.

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The King of love my Shepherd is,
Whose goodness faileth never;
I nothing lack if I am His,
And He is mine for ever.

Where streams of living waters flow,
My ransomed soul He leadeth,
And where the verdant pastures grow,
With food celestial feedeth.

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love He sought me,
And on His shoulder gently laid,
And home, rejoicing, brought me.

In death’s dark vale I fear no ill,
With Thee, dear Lord, beside me;
Thy rod and staff my comfort still,
Thy cross before to guide me.

And so through all the length of days,
Thy goodness faileth never:
Good Shepherd may I sing Thy praise
Within Thy house for ever!

(Henry Williams Baker, 1821-77)

Team Talk: Rejoicing in the absence of Jesus

(This talk was given to a group of ministers/elders and is an expanded version of a previous Joy in the Journey article)

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What are the things that give you joy? Where is that joy grounded? Those are important questions in the light of our present situation (and you probably feel it very keenly in terms of a minister’s place as a role model within the church, setting the tempo and the tone of joyful worship).

But so much that has been taken from us or denied to us were legitimate sources of our God-given joy. People we have known and loved, whose absence we have felt keenly. In some cases that separation is now permanent.

Places that have been sacred spaces of fellowship and support. Not just church buildings but conference spaces and the regular haunts for coffee and prayer with a brother.

You get the feeling that this kind of thing is behind the struggles expressed in Psalm 42/43 - “I remember…how I used to go to the house of God…among the festive throng” - perhaps as the leader of the procession. And now? “My tears have been my food day and night…”

There is something right and proper about the joys of people and places, something entirely good about the praise to God it yields. Which makes the separation and the loss all the harder to bear.

So whilst it’s entirely proper to lament those absences and not for a moment would I want to limit the agonies that we have all experienced, it’s really interesting to notice that we find Jesus’ disciples rejoicing in his absence.

They had spent 3 years in his company, in his love and in the joy that radiated from him. His death was a wrenching experience, collapsing their joys and closing their hopes. Which made his resurrection the most sublime re-birth of the deepest joy - their Lord and Saviour was alive!

Death had been overcome; he was back with them and nothing had the power to steal him from them ever again.

But in the final verses of Luke's gospel we see him leaving them once more, by his own choice, and for a far longer period. We might expect to see them perplexed and even inconsolable; was this one more unexpected denial of their joys?

In the most emphatic terms it was not: let me read the verses to you (Luke 24:50-52)

"When he had led them out to the vicinity of Bethany, he lifted up his hands and blessed them. While he was blessing them, he left them and was taken up into heaven. Then they worshipped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy. And they stayed continually at the temple, praising God."

They rejoiced that he was absent from them. After he was taken from them, hidden from them, no longer physically present, no longer within reach and completely out of sight, they were filled with great and inexpressible joy.

That isn't, in any sense, a lesson in stiff-upper-lip emotional shutdown. We do those we serve a great disservice when we model that kind of response - we aren’t advocates of Greek stoicism. When loved ones and life's blessings are lost to us it is entirely proper to grieve.

Of course their joy wasn’t rooted in Jesus’ absence but in what that absence meant - and that meaning is ladled into these few short verses in generous measure.

He lifted up his hands and blessed them - he stands as the authentic High Priest who has authority to bless, beyond the provisions of the Law. The High Priest of a new covenant, pouring-out grace upon grace. Arms raised in triumphant, joyful blessing.

When John was given that wonderful vision of our Lord Jesus in Revelation 1, the One he sees is dressed in High Priestly garb - the One who stands to bless.

Well, having raised his hands to bless them, “he left them and was taken up into heaven” - that’s where their joy is rooted. So let’s think about what that means.

i. He went into heaven and remains there as the Priest whose sacrifice for sin was lastingly effective.
As Hebrews expresses it, “When he had provided purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the majesty in heaven”. Every mis-step, every mistake, every foible and fall, every sordid thought and sinfully-warped motivation - all were answered for, atoned for, by this great High Priest.

He had gone from them, into heaven itself, there to plead for them, to demonstrate the wounds of his all-sufficient sacrifice. Through the eternal Spirit he had offered himself unblemished to God and so his blood cleansed their consciences from acts that lead to death, that they might serve the living God in the power of his Spirit.

How much we need to remember that and allow our hearts to be filled with serious, solemn joy: our sins, forgiven. Our hearts, cleansed.

Maybe these past months have exposed aspects of your heart you wish you hadn’t seen - under pressure, things happen to us and within us. Not just, as Queen & David Bowie said, “the terror of knowing what the world is about, Watching some good friends scream, ‘Let me out!’” but knowing what you’re about, in the long and lonely struggle of temptation and yes, maybe screaming, ‘Let me out’.

Our Lord Jesus Christ offered a full answer to all our sins. Nothing excluded, nothing unatoned for.

That’s a cause for a truly humbled joy.

ii. He went there as the High Priest who is deeply touched by the infirmities of his people and prays for them.
For us, dear friends, with such tenderness of feeling, such discerning insight into our hearts, our needs; with such wisdom and compassion that his prayers are never inappropriate, never unthinking.

He knows you, your heart and all that is in there. All your anxiety. All your sense of failure (‘If I was a better minister/elder the church would have weathered this crisis a lot better than it has done….’). All your complex personality and emotional confusion.

I guess you’ve seen the research and read the articles:

There’s a prediction of a Protestant Apocalypse (Carl Trueman’s most recent article) where 30% of previous attenders aren’t expected to return to church. But, closer to home, there’s research that suggests large numbers of pastors will exit the ministry this autumn onwards, because of the pressures they’ve borne.

We know how to deal with that kind of stuff: it’s the US, not the UK. But maybe in your heart of hearts you feel the weight of it. Perhaps you’re seeing a fall-off. And maybe you know that, for yourself, the edge is a lot closer than it’s ever been.

You read stuff like the latest Carey Nieuwhof article where he talks about the 5 types of leader we’re currently seeing - Deniers, Reverters, Resigners, Adapters and Innovators. You know it makes sense to aspire to be the last of those but there’s such a pull in your soul to being one of the others.

We need to pray for each other, talk to each other, as never before. But we also need to know this, as never before: our great High Priest prays for us.

He knows us, far more than we ourselves do; and in that knowledge he prays, from his heart, for you. He prays for us by name - not intrusively but in order to raise us into his vibrant life of joy, to fill-out our weaknesses with his strength.

iii. He went there as the priest who is King over all and from where he would continually govern all things for the sake of his people.
He’s a priest in the order of Melchizedek - the Priest who is also King. And so we joyfully affirm and sing, He is Lord, he is Lord, he is risen from the dead and he is Lord - the ascended, reigning King.

And glory radiates from his face - John said it was like the sun shining in all its brilliance!

He is Lord, not our circumstances, not our government, not the forces of social media, not big business, not disease. Listen to his words: “I am the First and the Last. I am the Living One; I was dead, and now look, I am alive for ever and ever! And I hold the keys of death and Hades.”

Those are the words of a King.

All of which means that his purposes of grace for the world stand. They have not been revoked and they have not been negated by anything that has happened or anything that will happen.

Do you know what these next months will look like? These next years? He does. And do you know what?

• He is going to continue to see of the travail of his soul and be satisfied.
• He is going to enlarge the borders of his kingdom.
• He is going to grow his family: the hopelessly sorrowful who live in a land of deep darkness, in the shadow of death, will find their mourning changed to joy and will find themselves clothed in garments of praise instead of a spirit of despair.

Because he is the Lord who saves.

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All of this is why they were able to rejoice in his absence. If you knew these things, wouldn’t you stay continually at the temple, praising God?

The meaning of his absence would never change - despite all the changes in their circumstances, despite all the challenges they would face, despite the hard choices they would need to make in following their Lord, even to the shedding of their blood.

And it retains its meaning, its sweetness and its power today.

The present, high-priestly reign of King Jesus has the capacity to enter our experiences with real power - not as a denial of our sorrows and anguish but as the living presence of our loyal and loving Lord. And as the certain promise of his consummated victory over all powers of chaos and darkness.

As we give thanks to God for every good and perfect gift that comes from him, and as we mourn their absence, our joy is founded upon and rooted in our ascended Lord Jesus Christ. He is the one who raises his hands in blessing over his people. He is the risen Lord, enthroned at the right hand of the majesty on high. The hope we have in him has entered the inner sanctuary, behind the curtain, because that is where he himself is, on our behalf.

And from there, from the very throne of God, flow rivers of inexpressibly glorious joy.

Joy in the Journey (43) - The triumph of God's love over sin

There is so much in the world that causes grief to all who know the Lord and long to see his reign of justice and joy in its fulness. Broken relationships, deceitfulness, inequality and violence. Human lives are valued at a pittance, from person to person and nation to nation.

In Psalm 36, David feels something has to be said - an oracle from God, no less - on the sinfulness of the wicked. He laments that “there is no fear of God before their eyes” and so their words are “wicked and deceitful” and their commitment is to all that is wrong.

A just and justified assessment. And one that transcends time and place, having a universal and present significance. How can we look around, both near and far, and not similarly grieve?

But there’s something striking about how David proceeds here. What began as an oracle about the wicked becomes a paean of praise to the living God in verses 5 to 9. There, David’s words are exalted because the LORD himself is so; his love “reaches to the heavens, [his] faithfulness to the skies”. The righteousness and justice of God have a permanence and a depth that far outstrip and outlast the wretchedness of human rebellion.

David treasures the priceless covenant love of the LORD and recognises that he alone is the true and lasting refuge for all people. And, more than simply being a hiding place, he opens up the riches of his home and his heart to those who seek him:

“they feast in the abundance of your house;
You give them drink from your river of delights.”

There is a vital lesson in what and how David writes here. A musing on the wrongs of the day and feeling a true sense of righteous indignation comes with its own dangers. If we fail to couple it with a serious and awe-filled grasp of the biblical portrait of the glory and majesty of God and the endless delights of his fellowship, it can so easily lapse into a self-regarding, even pompous parade of merely human bluster. Devoting all your energy to condemning sin runs the risk of failing to truly honour the Lord for who he is and all he has done and to emptying your soul of the vivifying affects of worship.

As you listen to and observe the world around you, as you feel deeply the appalling nature of sin (in your own heart, too), resolve to focus even more thought and contemplation on the one whose ways are true, whose love is your hiding place, whose mercy in Christ is the only hope for such a world.

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All my hope on God is founded;

He doth still my trust renew,

Me through change and chance He guideth,

Only good and only true.

    God unknown,

    He alone

Calls my heart to be His own.

Pride of man and earthly glory,

Sword and crown betray his trust;

What with care and toil he buildeth,

Tower and temple, fall to dust.

    But God's power,

    Hour by hour,

Is my temple and my tower.

God's great goodness aye endureth,

Deep His wisdom, passing thought:

Splendour, light, and life attend Him,

Beauty springeth out of naught.

    Evermore

    From his store

New-born worlds rise and adore.

Daily doth the almighty Giver

Bounteous gifts on us bestow;

His desire our soul delighteth,

Pleasure leads us where we go.

    Love doth stand

    At his hand;

Joy doth wait on His command.

Still from man to God eternal

Sacrifice of praise be done,

High above all praises praising

For the gift of Christ His Son.

    Christ doth call

    One and all:

Ye who follow shall not fall.

(Robert Seymour Bridges, 1844-1930,

from Joachim Neander, 1650-80)

Joy in the Journey (42) - Deep calls to deep

A loss of place and purpose can have devastating consequences for our mental health. Whether that’s through the sorrow of bereavement or the breaking of our physical health or the displacement of job loss and established routines, all take a heavy toll upon us and can leave us reeling and disorientated.

Such an experience is related in Psalm 42 - “I used to go to the house of God...with shouts of joy and praise among the festive throng.” Familiar faces and places; a role to play - perhaps a significant one - within the communal gatherings. All are now gone, lost. The psalmist’s removal to a far place (the heights of Hermon and Mount Mizar) is not simply geographical but is powerfully symbolic of where things are now at, psychologically and emotionally: his soul is downcast and disturbed within him; he is like a deer panting for streams of water, desperate to have its thirst slaked.

He is not where he used to be, nor where he wants to be. And it is affecting his experience of God in significant ways. It feels like God is unmindful of him, or even opposed to him: “all your waves and breakers have swept over me...Why have you forgotten me?” Our circumstances and our physical and mental anguish can take us, unerringly, to such barren places, to such intense struggles. We scarcely need other voices to ask “Where is your God?”

Yet the portrayal of that relationship with God is complex (thankfully, given that our own is likely to be so, too). It may even appear confused and contradictory, but that is the authentication our hearts recognise.

In the extremity of such distress, when God feels absent, there is nevertheless intense contact: “Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls.” And there is the awareness, profoundly thankful, that “By day the LORD directs his love, at night his song is with me.” Which culminates in the repeated refrain that affirms with genuine confidence “I will yet praise him”.

What drives the hope the psalmist applies to his own downcast soul? That he is speaking of and to the one who is “my Saviour and my God”. The God who saves, not indiscriminately but with individual care and attention - my Saviour; my God - a reality that is deeper than the depths of self-despair. The God who saves by way of the cross, where deep called to deep in the roar of death’s waters, where all the waves of anguish broke over the Son of God.

In all the changes, in all the losses, this God is true and trustworthy. He is supremely touched by the feeling of our infirmities. He is the only one qualified and able to rescue from death, destruction and despair. "My soul...put your hope in God."

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Through all the changing scenes of life,

In trouble and in joy,

The praises of my God shall still

My heart and tongue employ.

Of his deliverance I will boast;

Till all that are distressed

From my example comfort take,

And charm their griefs to rest.

O magnify the Lord with me,

With me exalt his Name;

When in distress to Him I called,

He to my rescue came.

The hosts of God encamp around

The dwellings of the just;

Deliverance He affords to all

Who on His succour trust.

O make but trial of His love,

Experience will decide

How blessed are they, and only they,

Who in His truth confide.

Fear Him, ye saints, and you will then

Have nothing else to fear;

Make you His service your delight,

Your wants shall be His care.

(Nahum Tate, 1652-1715; Nicholas Brady, 1659-1726)

Joy in the Journey (41) - Rejoicing in the absence of Jesus

What are the things that give you joy? Where is that joy grounded? Those are important questions in the light of our present situation. So much that has been taken from us or denied to us were legitimate sources of God-given joy - people we have known and loved, whose absence we have felt keenly; places that have been sacred spaces of fellowship and support. There is something right and proper about such joy and the praise to God it yields. Which makes the separation all the harder to bear.

Whilst we properly lament such absences, there are resources in the Bible that help to re-align and deepen our thinking in significant ways. Luke 24:50-52 is one such incident.

Jesus’ disciples had spent 3 years in his company, in his love and in the joy that radiated from him. His death was a wrenching experience, collapsing their joys and closing their hopes, so it seemed. Which made his resurrection the most sublime re-birth of the deepest joy - their Lord and Saviour was alive! Death had been overcome; he was back with them and nothing had the power to steal him from them ever again.

But in the final verses of Luke's gospel we see him leaving them once more and for a far longer period. We might expect to see them perplexed and even inconsolable; was this one more unexpected denial of their joys? In the most emphatic terms it was not: "he left them and...they worshipped him and returned to Jerusalem with great joy."

They rejoiced that he was absent from them. After he was taken from them, hidden from them, no longer physically present, no longer within reach and completely out of sight, they were filled with inexpressible joy.

That isn't, in any sense, a lesson in stiff-upper-lip emotional shutdown. When loved ones and life's blessings are lost to us it is entirely proper to grieve. Their joy wasn’t rooted in his absence but in what that absence meant: he had ascended into heaven as the Priest whose sacrifice for sin had been effective and whose blessing would ever remain on them. He had ascended as King over all and would continually govern all things for the sake of his people and for his purposes of grace for the world. That’s why they were able to rejoice in his absence.

And that present, high-priestly reign of King Jesus has power to enter our experiences with real power - not as a denial of sorrow and anguish but as the living presence of our loyal and loving Lord and as the certain promise of his consummated victory over all powers of chaos and darkness.

As we give thanks to God for every good and perfect gift that comes from him, and as we mourn their absence, our joy is founded upon and rooted in our ascended Lord Jesus. He is the one who raises his hands in blessing over his people. He is the risen Lord, enthroned at the right hand of the majesty on high. The hope we have in him has entered the inner sanctuary, behind the curtain, because that is where he himself is, on our behalf. And from there, from the very throne of God, flow rivers of joy, unspeakably glorious.

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With joy we meditate the grace

Of our High Priest above;

His heart is made of tenderness,

And overflows with love.

Touched with a sympathy within,

He knows our feeble frame;

He knows what sore temptations mean,

For He has felt the same.

But spotless, innocent, and pure,

The great Redeemer stood,

While Satan's fiery darts He bore,

And did resist to blood.

He in the days of feeble flesh

Poured out His cries and tears;

And, though exalted, feels afresh

What every member bears.

He'll never quench the smoking flax,

But raise it to a flame;

The bruisèd reed He never breaks,

Nor scorns the meanest name.

Then let our humble faith address

His mercy and His power:

We shall obtain delivering grace

In the distressing hour.

(Isaac Watts, 1674-1748)

Joy in the Journey (40) - My mouth will speak in praise of the LORD.

Some times of praise and prayer are like a cloudburst - torrential - and if you're caught (up) in it, drenching. But other expressions are more deliberate and considered, yet they are in no sense tame or timid in comparison with the unplanned overflowing of the clouds. Psalm 145 is one such instance.

This psalm is, in poetic terms, an acrostic. Every verse begins with a successive letter of the Hebrew alphabet. Here, then, are words that have been weighed and tested, tasted and approved - not clever, but constructed; shaped and structured with thought and care. And all under the tutelage of the master craftsman, the Spirit of God.

Well, that's all very interesting...but how does knowing it help us? For times when our hearts and minds are like ocean waves under the pull of a harvest moon, knowing this is praise that has been pondered without becoming ponderous, that it is structured for the whole of life (A to Z) and that it is so very extensive in all it says...those things become an invitation to join the chorus of praise, praise to the God of order and calm, the One who is "most worthy" of that praise.

This psalm is full of light and majesty. It invites us into room after room, gallery upon gallery, of the Lord's masterpieces. Phrase by phrase it discloses its sweetness, like flower buds opening in the warmth of the morning sun. It sweeps from generation to generation, each passing on the glories of God, the sublime joys of salvation and the complete security of his unflinching faithfulness and gospel grace.

The beauties of this psalm are worth staying with over many days. You could easily take it for a week's meditations that ground your praise in the LORD and his works and ways. Searching and savouring its truths will yield a reward far in excess of the time spent in doing so.

Having such a composition in our hands is a gift for all who find their words inadequate or who struggle because the impulse to praise has been pressed into submission by the falling sky of circumstances or trial. In life, it's often the case that cloudbursts are prefaced by stormy skies and the rending of the clouds by lightning and its thunderous report. In the turmoil and the distress, in which it seems no respite is at hand, psalms such as this can be the shelter we so deeply need. We can ask the Lord to make it so for us.

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When all Thy mercies, O my God,

My rising soul surveys,

Transported with the view, I'm lost

In wonder, love and praise.

Unnumbered comforts on my soul

Thy tender care bestowed,

Before my infant heart conceived

From whom those comforts flowed.

When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou

With health renewed my face;

And when in sins and sorrows sunk,

Revived my soul with grace.

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ;

Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gifts with joy.

Through every period of my life

Thy goodness I'll pursue,

And after death in distant worlds

The glorious theme renew.

Through all eternity to Thee

A joyful song I'll raise;

But O! eternity's too short

To utter all Thy praise!

(Joseph Addison, 1672-1719)

Joy in the Journey (39) - How then shall we live?

The opening words of the book of Ruth sound like a death knell: "In the days when the judges ruled....". Days that are played out in the book of Judges, that culminate in rape, murder and an attempt at tribal ethnic cleansing. And so what follows feels all too predictable: a famine in the land, the betrayal of ancient loyalties and a family torn to shreds by the chaos of death.

In days like that, who could stand for truth? Who could possibly live faithfully? There are too many contrary pressures, too much compromise and complacency. No one can be immune to such a disease. The very best you can do, surely, is keep your head down, back away from corrupted society and hope the storm might eventually pass.

Maybe that's how you feel about our own days, too? Too many challenges to meet for your conscience to be kept clean and clear. Too many subtle and sorcerous stresses that deflate your heart and defeat your every attempt at honest goodness.

The book of Ruth persuades otherwise. The funereal beginning provides the context but it doesn't determine the tone and content of the lives on display. Rather, we're treated to a portrait of genuine godliness, of a faithfulness that grows more and more fruitful. A commitment to loyal love that reflects that of the covenant LORD; an approach to the Law that is not boundaried but looks to bless beyond its stipulations. A simplicity of faith, an honest humility, a dependence upon the living God and a thankfulness to him that is far more than lip service.

None of this is worked-out in ideal conditions. Naomi's faith is tattered and torn; Ruth is an outsider with a suspect heritage and Boaz risks his reputation and financial security. And yet...

And yet their lives display the beauties of the grace of God - a compelling, courageous expression of the life of God in the souls of men and women. Against all the odds, in the face of the most destructive currents that could engulf in a moment, they hoped in God, tasted and saw that he was good, and stood with a joyous integrity.

It could be said of them, as it was of Elijah, that they were people just like us. Fallible, prone to temptation; the unfinished handiwork of God. But this God, whose Son would come in the fulness of time from the line of Boaz and Ruth, is the God who will one day complete the work that he has started, on the day of Christ Jesus. He is our hope, in days like these.

Despite the times, our calling and privilege remain the same: to "become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and warped generation...shining among them like stars in the sky as [we] hold firmly to the word of life" (Phil 2:15), having all that we need for life and godliness, having the encouragement of being united to Christ, the comfort of his love and our common sharing in his Spirit.

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Speak, I pray Thee, gentle Jesus!

O how passing sweet Thy words,

Breathing o'er my troubled spirit

Peace which never earth affords.

All the world's distracting voices,

All the enticing tones of ill,

At Thy accents mild, melodious,

Are subdued, and all is still.

Tell me Thou art mine, O Saviour,

Grant me an assurance clear;

Banish all my dark misgivings,

Still my doubting, calm my fear.

O, my soul within me yearneth

Now to hear Thy voice divine;

So shall grief be gone for ever,

And despair no more be mine.

(William Williams, 1717-91;

tr. Richard Morris Lewis, 1847-1918)

Joy in the Journey (38) - Going for Water

In his poem, Going for Water, Robert Frost relates how the discovery that "The well was dry beside the door" leads him and another into the woods, on a moonlit autumn evening, to see if the brook was also dry. Getting closer there is a sense of anxiety as "Each laid on other a staying hand / To listen ere we dared to look". What if the brook was dry, too? What might that mean, going forwards?

In your life, are there not also times when the well by the door - the nearest supply of all that is essential - seems to have dried completely? Just the bare echo from an empty well. Supplies of sustaining water that you have come to depend upon, perhaps over many years, are now cracked and withered, coarsened by drought.

Jeremiah spoke the Lord's word to the people of his day, who had wilfully turned their backs on "the spring of living water" (Jer. 2:13). They had forsaken the Lord and had instead dug their own cisterns, their own means of security and joy. But they were incapable of holding water. It was a hopeless sight, yet the people clung stubbornly to their faded dreams.

Our days of drought might be the consequence of our own choices. We retain a capacity for folly that is damaging to our souls and to the life of the church. If the Lord humbles us over it, that is a gift we need to receive.

But there are also arid seasons that are not the fruit of our flawed choices and tainted loves. Simply living in this world and experiencing "the sufferings of this present age" is enough to bleed dry our hoarded hopes.

The two in Frost's poem make a discovery. In the hush, "We heard, we knew we heard the brook". The anxiety was past, dispelled by "A note as from a single place, / A slender tinkling fall". There is water in the brook, and the water there has a dual quality: it makes "drops that floated on the pool / Like pearls" and "now a silver blade".

Lustrous, pearly drops and a blade's sharpness and strength. Water that is precious and strong, that hasn't dried-up when other sources have. What was this brook for Frost? Love in all its colours? Beauty in all its hues? It's hard to say. What we do know is that our Lord Jesus speaks to us, in tones crystal clear, of living water, the very life of God, in all its purity and strength.

His voice is the "note as from a single place" that our hearts are so desperate to hear. His word is the declaration that slakes our thirst for mercy and grace, for renewal and peace.

Our own cisterns - our grasp at a self-determined existence and self-sustaining joy - are beyond repair and never could hold anything for very long. They ought to remain buried in our history. But the love of Jesus and the living word of Jesus - they sustain, through trials and temptations, in seasons of suffering and ache.

Our privilege, each day, is to go for water, to the wells of salvation that will never run dry.

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I hunger and I thirst;

Jesus, my manna be;

Ye living waters, burst

Out of the rock for me.

Thou bruised and broken Bread,

My life-long wants supply;

As living souls are fed,

O feed me, or I die.

Thou true life-giving Vine,

Let me Thy sweetness prove;

Renew my life with Thine,

Refresh my soul with love.

Rough paths my feet have trod,

Since first their course began;

Feed me, Thou Bread of God;

Help me, thou Son of Man.

For still the desert lies

My thirsting soul before:

O living waters, rise

Within me evermore.

(John Samuel Bewley Monsell, 1811-75)

Joy in the Journey (37) - Blessed, rather....

As the Lord Jesus is teaching in Luke 11, warning and exhorting and calling to unfettered loyalty to himself as Messiah, a woman in the crowd is so impressed she exclaims, "Blessed is the mother who gave you birth and nursed you!" His speech is so captivating and clear, his challenge to the authorities so unflinching, that her heart is taken up with what it must have been like to be his mother.

A natural reaction, from one who was, perhaps, a mother herself. We do the same, extrapolating and imagining what things would be like if she or he were we or us. But Jesus disagrees. He confronts her reverie and corrects her conclusion: "Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it."

Is he denying Mary was privileged? That she herself would have had no wistful moments of nostalgia, remembering when her son was younger and embraced within her heart and home? Those experiences are an entirely legitimate aspect of life but they do not represent the peak. True and full human flourishing (which is what 'blessing' here means) is not found in physical proximity to Jesus or a cultural connection to him. It is found preeminently in a faith-filled obedience to God and his Word.

We're not liable to be tempted to eulogise a physical connection to Jesus such as those in his own day might have done. That option simply isn't on the table for most of us. But it remains all too possible to settle for a cultural closeness - for the outer rim of relationship with Jesus, sitting in a pool of reflected glory and being in the vicinity of his ongoing works of power and mercy and yet to be strangely inactive in our response to his Word and his call.

The life of a church, its busyness and activity. The joys of music, of evangelism, of Bible study. All are more than simply legitimate; they are gifts from God, valid and cherished channels of nearness to the Lord and of deepening in our discipleship, in our love for our Saviour. But they can also be the unwitting means of keeping our hearts at arms' length from a clear and uncluttered response to the Word of God, if we make them the aim in itself.

The point that our Lord makes in response to this woman is exemplified in the life of his mother Mary. When told astonishing news by the angel Gabriel, after asking how this all might be, she bows in acquiescing faith: "I am the Lord's servant...may your word to me be fulfilled." That faithful, obedient response is then acknowledged by her cousin Elizabeth who plainly affirms of Mary, "Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfil his promises to her."

Yes, as Elizabeth so clearly states, she is indeed blessed among women - her calling to bear in her womb the Son of the Most High is an unspeakable privilege, but the accent falls heavily on her humbly committed, believing response. And it's perhaps at that very point we need to allow ourselves to be confronted afresh: the route to genuine flourishing is in taking the Lord and his Word seriously, receiving it into our hearts and working it out in our lives as worship of the living God. Do we need to see, afresh, that there is a liberating joy in both hearing and doing all that he says to us?

Perhaps the enforced inactivity of these past months, certainly in terms of church activities, has allowed us to reflect on what we have made the centre-point of the Christian life and to renew our minds in the reality that it is Jesus himself and that we offer to him "our true and proper worship" (Rom. 12:1).

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Praise Him! praise Him! Jesus, our blessed Redeemer!

Sing, O earth, His wonderful love proclaim!

Hail Him! hail Him! highest archangels in glory,

Strength and honour give to His holy Name.

Like a shepherd, Jesus will guard His children,

In His arms He carries them all day long;

O ye saints that dwell in the mountains of Zion,

Praise Him! praise Him! ever in joyful song.

Praise Him! praise Him! Jesus, our blessed Redeemer;

For our sins He suffered and bled and died.

He, our Rock, our hope of eternal salvation,

Hail Him! hail Him! Jesus, the crucified.

Loving Saviour, meekly enduring sorrow,

Crowned with thorns that cruelly pierced His brow;

Once for us rejected, despised, and forsaken,

Prince of glory, ever triumphant now.

Praise Him! praise Him! Jesus, our blessed Redeemer;

Heavenly portals, loud with hosannas ring!

Jesus, Saviour, reigneth for ever and ever,

Crown Him! crown Him! Prophet and Priest and King!

Death is vanquished, tell it with joy, ye faithful!

Where is now thy victory, boasting grave?

Jesus lives, no longer thy portals are cheerless;

Jesus lives, the mighty and strong to save.

(Frances Jane Van Alstyne, 1820-1915)

Joy in the Journey (36) - For all people

Who benefits from the Lord's saving work in the life of his people, at the exodus and in all the subsequent deliverances patterned on it? And through the ultimate exodus achieved at the cross?

The most obvious answer is, without doubt, those who walked through the Red Sea dry-shod; those who through Israel's history were saved, over and again, from the hands of their enemies. And those who have been ushered into the fulfilment of every rescue story, whom Christ "loved...and gave himself up for...as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God" (Eph 5:2). Why should that question even need to be asked?

The reason for the question lies in the testimony of scripture to the larger purposes of God through the salvation of his people. Psalm 66 is one such statement. It expands our vision of the blessing of God and discloses a purpose within the rescue story of individuals and churches that is further and deeper than their own experience. Why not take a few moments to read through the psalm; its emphases are far from unique and are so clearly seen in both psalms that surround it.

The whole psalm is a call to the whole earth to "Shout for joy to God" (v.1), to admire in worship "his awesome deeds for mankind" (v.5). And what exactly were those deeds for all humanity? Turning the sea into dry land so that his people might pass through. The exodus was not for Israel alone; it was for mankind. But in what sense does it have that larger import? And why should "all peoples praise our God" (v.8) for preserving the lives of the people of Israel, for bringing them into a place of abundance?

The exodus and every subsequent rescue, finding their glorious reality in salvation through faith alone in Christ alone, were to be celebrated and declared in worship, to which this psalm itself contributes. Worship in which vows to honour God are made and lives in which those vows are kept (v.13f). Lips that are opened in praise and in telling "what he has done for me" (v.16). Honouring the joy and truth of answered prayer, "God has surely listened" and "has not...withheld his love from me" (v.19f).

The experience of salvation, rehearsed in and declared through praise, makes for a winsome invitation into the same rescue through faith in the same Saviour. That is the calling of the church, our calling. The redeeming work of God, reaching its zenith at Calvary, is for the many not the few, from among all nations.

We have been saved not for our own sake but to be witnesses to, demonstrations of, the awesome deeds of the living God performed for all mankind. In the midst of crisis, in the regularity of daily life, in the collective worship of the church, our testimony is to this God and his great salvation, for the sake of all people.

As the man in Mark chapter 5, from whom a legion of demons were expelled, was commissioned to "go and tell", so too are we, through this psalm, encouraged to speak and to sing: "Come and hear, all you who fear God; let me tell you what he has done for me" (v.16)

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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,
h the Lord and we his children;
praise the Lord, all people, praise!

(Timothy Dudley-Smith, 1926-)

Joy in the Journey (35) - Least in the kingdom of God

I doubt it's an accolade any of us would angle for, "Least in the kingdom of God", unless it was an exercise in faux-humility. Yet our Lord Jesus tempers the sense of dismissal and derision that such a phrase evokes when he says,

I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John; yet the one who is least in the kingdom of God is greater than he. (Luke 7:28)

There is so very much we admire about John. His courage in calling people to repentance; his resolute witness to the Lord Jesus as the Lamb of God; his determination to recede into the background, becoming less as his Saviour grew more. We aren't on the same page, at all. He is a genuine hero. And yet Jesus' words stand true and they stand over our lives as his people.

The comparison, of course, is not upon our exploits or our characters in relation to John. It's about where we are situated in history, in particular in the history of salvation and the blessings that attend it. John was the last of the prophets who looked forward to the coming of the Messiah, the last in a long line who spoke of the coming glories. John spoke in the final minutes before the sun would rise on a wholly new day. The privilege of even the least in the kingdom of God - our privilege - is to live in the blazing light of that day.

To live with redemption accomplished and applied to us in the power of God's saving grace. To live in the reality of an adoption witnessed to by the Spirit who causes us to cry Abba, Father. To live within the freedom of a conscience cleansed from acts that lead to death, of an access into God's presence by a new and living way opened for us through the flesh of Jesus. To live as those who are rooted and established in love - the realised love of God in the death of his Son - and privileged to ask that we might be given power to know that love in all its dimensions. To live within a hope that is living through the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ from the dead.

And that's just scratching the surface.

Is your status within the family of God an issue to you? Do you feel you're passed by, unnoticed? Or do you deliberately seek a back row seat because you feel that, actually, you shouldn't really be there at all? We need to do what we can to put all such thoughts aside. Here is the truth, the reality that grounds our every day: living under the saving reign of God, we are blessed immeasurably. The sun has risen, we are in its healing rays. And it will rise higher and further; all our days, here and hereafter, will be bathed in its beauty.

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O what matchless condescension

   The eternal God displays,

Claiming our supreme attention

    To His boundless works and ways;

        His own glory

    He reveals in gospel days.

 

In the Person of the Saviour

    All His majesty is seen;

Love and justice shine for ever;

    And without a veil between,

        We approach Him,

    And rejoice in His dear name.

 

Would we view His highest glory,

    Here it shines in Jesus’ face;

Sing and tell the pleasing story,

    O ye sinners saved by grace;

        And with pleasure,

    Bid the guilty Him embrace.

 

In His highest work, redemption,

    See His glory in a blaze;

Nor can angels ever mention

    Aught that more of God displays.

        Grace and justice

    Here unite to endless days.

 

True, 'tis sweet and solemn pleasure,

    God to view in Christ the Lord;

Here He smiles, and smiles for ever;

    May my soul His Name record,

        Praise and bless Him,

    And His wonders spread abroad.

 

(William Gadsby, 1773-1844)

Joy in the Journey (34) - The certainty of the things you have been taught

"I just don't get it." Ever said that about something in the Bible, about the claims it makes concerning Jesus? Or maybe it's been said to you and you've not been too sure what to say in reply?

Perhaps you've heard that these things just have to be taken on trust - there's no place for thought, for consideration, for exploring questions and finding solid ground to stand on. That the only ground you need is faith. So swallow hard and just believe, come what may.

If you've heard that you likely feel it ought to be true and yet there are moments when you seem to be shrouded in doubt. It's unwelcome and uninvited; you've tried your hardest to believe yet the nagging doubts burrow their way into your heart and mind with a desolating intensity.

That might be true even if you've been a Christian for a long time. There are questions that are knotty and troublesome and, for you, are yet to be answered. There are passages you've read that make no sense and, worse, evoke pain and mistrust of the God who gave his Word. You hate to feel that way but, in all honesty, there are times when you do. And times of stress, as these past months have been, co-opt those questions into a full-blown season of doubt.

It's not entirely untrue to say that 'all you need is faith' but it isn't sufficiently in tune with the Bible itself. Yes, we have to take things on trust - but that is a validated trust; it is belief that is warranted by the facts. You have reliable grounds for such trust.

In the first 4 verses of his gospel, Luke explains that he is writing to Theophilus in order that he "may know the certainty of the things...taught." We don't know if Theophilus is one individual or a group of people; nor do we know if he/they have come to faith in Jesus or are seriously considering owning him as Lord and Saviour. But Theophilus seems concerned that what he's been taught may lack sufficient grounds for that kind of committed belief.

In this brief introduction, Luke writes of his method and the witnesses he has spoken to. His assiduous collating and examination of the various sources and his interviews with eye-witnesses are the sure foundation for what Theophilus has been taught. They give him solid grounds to accept and to trust the good news about Jesus the Messiah. Even though the gospel transcends rationality it doesn't transgress it. It is believable, grounded in historical reality.

One of the surprising sources of strength for the case Luke makes is that he has heard "from those who from the first were...servants of the word." But didn't they have a vested interest in confirming the accounts, even if they knew them to be false? Well, no - these were the very people who were in most danger for saying all that they did about Jesus. Facing martyrdom, they didn't back away from the accounts they gave to Luke - because they knew what they had seen and heard.

The opening chapters of this gospel then take us into the company of people who were fallen but faithful; humble and pious, without any pomp or hype. Believable people. And among Luke's eye-witnesses. Within and through their witness we discover Jesus the Lord - in all his majesty, in all his compelling godliness and the sheer goodness of radiant holiness, self-giving love and tenderest compassion.

Words cannot tell the depths of that simple witness to him. Words cannot fully convey the riches of his character and his work. What Luke writes isn't simplistic; it marries conviction with humble gratitude and heartfelt worship. It encourages and nourishes faith in Jesus as the Messiah, as the Son of God.

Why not open the pages of this gospel again. Bring with you your questions, your doubts and fears. Ask the Lord that as you read he will affirm in the depths of your heart the reality of the truth about his Son. That you may know the joyful certainty of what you have been taught.

(If you're looking for a book that will help you work through some persistently challenging questions about the Christian faith then Confronting Christianity by Rebecca McLaughlin is a great read.)

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Christ is the One who calls,

the One who loved and came,

to whom by right it falls

to bear the highest Name:

  and still today

  our hearts are stirred

  to hear his word

  and walk his way.

Christ is the One who seeks,

to whom our souls are known.

The word of love he speaks

can wake a heart of stone;

  for at that sound

  the blind can see,

  the slave is free,

  the lost are found.

Christ is the One who died,

forsaken and betrayed;

who, mocked and crucified,

the price of pardon paid.

  Our dying Lord,

  what grief and loss,

  what bitter cross,

  our souls restored!

Christ is the One who rose

in glory from the grave,

to share his life with those

whom once he died to save.

  He drew death's sting

  and broke its chains,

  who lives and reigns,

  our risen King.

Christ is the One who sends,

his story to declare;

who calls his servants friends

and gives them news to share.

  His truth proclaim

  in all the earth,

  his matchless worth

  and saving Name.

(Timothy Dudley-Smith, 1926- )

Joy in the Journey (33) - The God of no needs

We so often, and so very easily, entertain wrong views of God and our relationship with him. This isn't deliberate on our part but it is debilitating. Psalm 50 is a great help in addressing and correcting those tendencies.

It begins by highlighting the nature of the LORD - that he is the Mighty God, perfect in beauty, shining forth in glory. He speaks, summoning both heaven and earth, to address the people united to him by a covenant of sacrifice. And his assessment is this (verses 7-13):

They have not been slow in keeping the commandments regarding sacrifices. They have been made and are ever before the Lord. However, those sacrifices have been viewed in overly transactional terms. Through them they would, somehow, sustain the LORD. They would feed him, support him, enable him to be who he claimed to be. His life would, in a strange turn of events, be in their hands.

Their obligations to the covenant had been met, its instructions followed, but from a false and falsifying perspective. The LORD has no needs that his people must meet, as verses 9-13 make so very clear:

I have no need of a bull from your stall
or of goats from your pens,
for every animal of the forest is mine,
and the cattle on a thousand hills.
I know every bird in the mountains,
and the insects in the fields are mine.
If I were hungry I would not tell you,
for the world is mine, and all that is in it.
Do I eat the flesh of bulls
or drink the blood of goats?

The same point needed to be made by Paul in idol-ridden Athens, that the living God "is not served by human hands, as if he needed anything. Rather, he himself gives everyone life and breath and everything else." (Acts 17:25)

To get this wrong, as they had done, is the road into anxious bondage, into a punishing performance-driven relating that has no proper foundation in the love of God. It diminishes the Lord of glory and reduces life with him to a mechanistic, computational chore.

That is not what we are called to by the gospel. The living God has no need of us and we are not saved in order to sustain him. We are not called and chosen because he has limited resources and needs to expand what is available to him. The coming of the Kingdom of God in its majestic fullness will not be an achievement of the church.

The true centre is given in verses 14, and 15. Here is the renewing essence that relies not on human effort and success. Its emphasis is on true, heart-felt worship ("Sacrifice thank-offerings to God"), recognising and receiving the glorious grace of God. It is on a faith that demonstrates it is living through a glad obedience ("fulfil your vows to the Most High"). And it is on a complete dependence upon the Lord to rescue and save ("call on me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you").

Here are the central realities of the Christian life. Gospel outcomes. Called to worship, to a living faith, to a full reliance on the Lord to save. Our service does not in any sense prop-up the living God or make up for some inherent lack in him. Nor is it the missing link in the achieving of his plans to save from every tribe and language and nation.

Getting our perspective true and clear is vital to healthy Christian living, to joy-filled worship and faith-filled obedience. By these "you will honour me" says the Mighty One, God, the LORD.

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O for a heart to praise my God,
A heart from sin set free;
A heart that always feels Thy blood
So freely shed for me;

A heart resigned, submissive, meek,
My great Redeemer's throne,
Where only Christ is heard to speak,
Where Jesus reigns alone;

A humble, lowly, contrite heart,
Believing, true, and clean,
Which neither life nor death can part
From him that dwells within;

A heart in every thought renewed,
And full of love divine;
Perfect and right and pure and good:
A copy, Lord, of Thine.

Thy nature, gracious Lord, impart;
Come quickly from above;
Write Thy new name upon my heart,
Thy new best Name of Love.

(Charles Wesley, 1707-88)

Joy in the Journey (32) - The flesh is weak

In the garden of Gethsemane, our Lord Jesus urged his disciples to sit with him, to keep watch while he went to pray (Mk. 14:32ff). They struggle to do so and he finds them asleep, twice. They have no words of excuse or explanation. The assessment is provided by our Lord himself: "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak."

It is a measure of his compassion for them that he both acknowledges their willingness to watch with him, while at the same time alerting them to the very real and present danger of their fleshly weakness. He isn't dismissing them, nor is he discounting their commitment to him, but he is laying before them their very real vulnerability. It is something they need to see and to face.

David knew the value of a willing spirit in the face of temptation and on the back of sinful failure (Ps. 51:10). His request remains a key prayer for every disciple of Jesus. But, on its own, a willing spirit is not enough. The innate weakness of our flesh is something that Satan can exploit and disciples who rely on the strength of their own convictions, the willingness of their spirit, will find that they, too, flee in fear (v.50).

These past months have demanded much from each of us, whatever the precise circumstances of our lives. The mental, emotional and physical toll has been high and costly. And it remains so; our flesh is weak and susceptible. Tiredness, distraction, emotional wear-and-tear; all make us prey to temptation, to fear and discouragement.

When we come to faith in Jesus we are not delivered from the weakness of the flesh. We're not yet mended. We still need, very much, to watch and pray so that we do not fall into temptation. A willing spirit is not sufficient protection on its own.

But we are not on our own. The promised Holy Spirit has come. The Comforter is at work within us, to sustain our spirits, to strengthen that willingness and to give enabling grace in the face of our ongoing weaknesses.

There is much we can do to help ourselves; advice on eating, exercising and resting is plentiful and sound. But we need the Spirit's help, both in taking hold of that wisdom and, more deeply, in guarding our hearts, in renewing our minds, in sanctifying to us our deepest distresses, in daily ladling our hearts with the love of our Father in heaven.

We need his insight to "understand the present time, that the hour has already come for [us] to wake up from [our] slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed."  For, truly, "the night is nearly over; the day is almost here." (Rom. 13:11,12)

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'We rest on Thee', our Shield and our Defender!
We go not forth alone against the foe;
Strong in Thy strength, safe in Thy keeping tender,
'We rest on Thee, and in Thy Name we go.'

Yes, 'in Thy Name', O Captain of salvation!
In Thy dear Name, all other names above:
Jesus our righteousness, our sure Foundation,
Our Prince of glory and our King of love.

'We go' in faith, our own great weakness feeling,
And needing more each day Thy grace to know:
Yet from our hearts a song of triumph peeling:
'We rest on Thee, and in Thy Name we go'.

'We rest on Thee', our Shield and our Defender!
Thine is the battle; Thine shall be the praise
When passing through the gates of pearly splendour,
Victors, we rest with Thee through endless days.

(Edith Adeline Gilling Cherry, 1872-97)

Joy in the Journey (31) - Doubly blessed

As Peter wrote his first letter, he was acutely aware of not only where his readers lived but their social location - the daily experience of life in a hostile environment, the struggle for holy lives in an atmosphere of rampant sinfulness.

While empathising with the very real pain that they know and feel, he is also very keen to remind them how blessed they are as believers in the Lord Jesus Christ, not to minimise and play-down their sufferings but to equip them to live through such times.

In 1:10-12 he reflects on how they are doubly blessed:

i. The Holy Spirit spoke through the Old Testament prophets, predicting "the sufferings of the Messiah and the glories that would follow" in gospel days. The prophets through whom he spoke, realising their words carried lasting significance, “searched intently and with the greatest care” to try to find out the who, the when and the where of the gospel. But they had to be content with what they knew and with what they didn’t - that they were serving others. Their ministry was arced forward in blessing upon those as yet unborn.

Peter’s point is that it is Christians they were serving; his readers then and now. Those who have had the gospel preached to them by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven - applied to their hearts in saving power.

For all that their lives were hampered by harassment and tempered by temptation and trial, they were at the same time recipients of the most astonishing blessing. The Messiah had come, had suffered for sin, once for all, and had ushered in the glories the prophets had seen in outline only: the radical and glorious new birth into a living hope, a new creation dawning, the true grace of God flowing deep and wide in human hearts.

ii. This beautiful and profound work of grace through the sufferings of the Son, so radiant with the glory of God, that Peter’s readers had received by faith, was something that “angels long to look into” and yet cannot. They see many things, have a perspective that is not given to us, have a divinely-given vocation to help those who inherit salvation, but they do not know personally the loving mercies of God in the sacrifice of "the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring [us] to God".

The details of history are not withheld from angels. They attended our Lord in the wilderness and strengthened him in the garden of Gethsemane. Yet there are depths to his saving work that they cannot enter, cannot taste and see the goodness of a grace that bore our pains and our punishment. They have not been redeemed from the empty life of sin and its malign deceitfulness by the precious blood of the Lamb without blemish or defect.

Our privileges are beyond telling. And they are able to sustain us through days that may be bitter and bleak. The fulness of glory is yet to come, it remains in prospect, but we are truly blessed, doubly so, as heirs of the gracious gift of life.

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Jesus, Thou joy of loving hearts,
Thou fount of life, Thou light of men,
From the best bliss that earth imparts,
We turn unfilled to Thee again.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;
Thou savest those that on Thee call;
To them seek Thee Thou art good,
To them that find Thee, all in all.

We taste Thee, O Thou living Bread,
And long to feast upon Thee still;
We drink of Thee, the fountain-head,
And thirst our souls from Thee to fill.

Our restless spirits yearn for Thee
Where’er our changeful lot is cast;
Glad, when Thy gracious smile we see;
Blest, when our faith can hold Thee fast.

O Jesus, ever with us stay;
Make all our moments calm and bright;
Chase the dark night of sin away;
Shed o’er our souls Thy holy light.

(Latin, c. 11th century;
tr. by Ray Palmer, 1808-87)

Joy in the Journey (30) - In a city under siege

Throughout history, in times of war, cities have been besieged. Over weeks and months, even years, they have been surrounded and threatened, assaulted and devastated. Those within the city have experienced terrible suffering and distress. Buildings are pummelled apart, stone by stone. Resources cannot be replenished and inevitably, witheringly, run dry. In the most desperate of times, the lack of food has led to the weakest becoming prey in the cannibalism of despair. Freedom of movement has been completely withdrawn. Open hostility has been the daily diet. Threats unceasing and all hope draining away. Often the siege led to capitulation and surrender or to complete destruction.

In Psalm 31:21 David recalls a time when he was in “a city under siege” - a time of desperation for himself and for the nation. They knew the reality of a horror that goes beyond words. And that suffering was compounded in David’s mind by the alarming thought that he was cut off from God’s sight - invisible, irrelevant, disposed of.

Those experiences are not limited to such specific physical and social realities. Both as individuals and churches we can (and perhaps have) know something of what David meant and what others have experienced. The isolation; the threats and endless hostility. Our resources failing; every day the line dropping a little lower. Relationships descending into emotional and verbal cannibalism (Gal. 5:15). Stone by stone, life is taken apart.

And the capstone of despair: "I am cut off from your sight". Unseen by the Lord. Not in his sight; not on his heart. Could anything feel more empty or desolating than that?

Yet David’s words are a testimony to the grace of God. They are an expression of praise: at his point of need, when he was in that besieged city, “the LORD...showed me the wonders of his love”; far from being unseen by God, his cry for mercy and help was heard (v.22).

The LORD intervened - in wonderful love. Not to fulfil a contractual obligation but in deep, tender, covenant love. David was seen by the God of all comfort and Father of compassion; seen and helped and delivered. When there was no longer any hope, the LORD kept his saving promise.

David’s testimony is written, “to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope” (Rom. 15:4) - even when our lives feel like a city under siege; when our minds are assaulted; when the church seems to be on its last legs; when we believe that we are utterly invisible. The certain hope of mercy and grace to help us in our time of need. The certain hope that his eye is on this sparrow, in all its seeming insignificance and frailty.

Hope that does not, will never, put us to shame, even when besieged in life, because God’s love has flooded our hearts through the Holy Spirit he has gifted to us.

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Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us
O'er the world's tempestuous sea;
Guard us, guide us, keep us, feed us,
For we have no help but Thee;
Yet possessing every blessing
If our God our Father be.

Saviour, breathe forgiveness o'er us;
All our weakness Thou dost know;
Thou didst tread this earth before us,
Thou didst feel its keenest woe;
Lone and dreary, faint and weary,
Through the desert Thou didst go.

Spirit of our God, descending,
Fill our hearts with heavenly joy,
Love with every passion blending,
Pleasure that can never cloy;
Thus provided, pardoned, guided,
Nothing can our peace destroy.

(James Edmeston, 1791-1867)

Labelling those who turn up - and those who don't - this Sunday

If you're re-starting church in your building this Sunday, can I make this plea to you? You have, as a church leadership, and in consultation with your church membership presumably, made the decision to do so. You've taken all necessary precautions, listened to the best advice you can find and have decided to go for it. God bless your efforts. But, please, if members of your church choose, in good conscience, not to return yet, please don't label them 'unfaithful Christians'.

Please go the extra mile not to put pressure on them to conform their conscience to the decision that you and others have made. It isn't a simple equation of 'the church is gathering physically so if you can do so but choose not to then you're sinning'. Of course, you have never suggested that was the case, but that impression can be communicated in so many small and subtle ways - so you need to be very intentional about making sure no such pressure is felt. Bend over backwards if necessary. They are not weaker brothers and sisters; they have simply made a different choice to you and they have liberty in the Lord to do so. Don't they?

After all, we shouldn't imagine that all those who do gather physically are there because they are, obviously, the faithful ones. Maybe they're there because, against their better judgement, they think they owe it to you as their pastor/elders to do so. Perhaps they're there in fear - not of the virus so much as the disapproval of their brothers and sisters. Fearful of how they will be labelled. Being there for those reasons is not a matter of faith but of fear of man - and you know how that gets described in the Bible.

Faithful Christians? It's not a matter of dividing along lines of who came and who didn't. Surely we know that, don't we? It's not about those who have disappointed you and those who have supported you, right? You're comfortable with liberty of conscience, for all God's people, aren't you?

Learning from failure

Think 'preacher' for 'writer' and this remains spot-on:

It's often failure that forces the writer to reflect on why he has given himself to writing and why he will continue to. Success in writing, however that may be defined, doesn't always promote the right motives in the writer. And as unwelcomed as failure is, in it can lie lessons that will serve the writer well throughout his creative life.

Corey Latta, C S Lewis and the Art of Writing, p.142

Joy in the Journey (29) - "Though he does not know how..."

In Mark 4:26-29, our Lord Jesus continues his teaching with another 'nature parable'. The man who scatters seed into the ground - experienced, well-versed in farming and crop-growing no doubt - has limitations to grasp and a humility to embrace.

The seed is the Word (Mark 4:14). The gospel of the Kingdom. The living and abiding Word of God. We are blessed with opportunities to take that Word into our hearts. That blessing comes with a responsibility, to hear God's Word with "noble and good hearts" (Luke 8:15). That is, with integrity, with humility, with a willingness to hear all that it says to us. To come with open hearts and minds. Which means we need to become careful readers and listeners - engaged, thoughtful, responsive. Not passive, as though our minds were simply a sluice-gate into the soul.

But there is a difference between the kind of active listening we're called to and an over-mechanised view of how the Word works in our or other people's lives. The Word needs to, and will, do its work, even though we (like the man in the parable) do not know how. And that work is always more extensive and more unexpected than we are likely prepared for.

We're to come with a readiness, a willingness, to be humbled, to be challenged, to be encouraged, exhorted, equipped. But those outcomes, in all the reality of their fruitful detail, are the work of the Spirit himself. They are not determined by our own expectations ("I'm going to read this passage so that I can be convicted about that sin ...".) Conviction and comfort are the work of the Counsellor given to us by our Lord Jesus. They are not self-generated.

We simply do not know enough about how he does his work. The motions of a soul are mysteries to us and the intricacies of the mind and the impact upon it of history and life's experiences are far beyond our ability to know or to program. "The Lord is the Spirit and where the Spirit of the Lord is there is freedom" - not only for those liberated into adoption as the children of God but the freedom of the Spirit himself in the loving work of recreation. The wind blows where and as it wills. We know so little of the detail.

As much as that is true for ourselves in our listening to God's Word, it is also true in the scattering of the seed of the Word into other lives that are as yet fruitless, void of the saving grace of Jesus. We cannot contrive the outcome; we cannot properly conceive of what the Lord in his sovereign goodness is already working at. The life is in the seed, not the mind of the sower.

That demands humility of us. The seed is out of our sight but not out of the mind of God. The work is not ours but his. We may have the privilege of being co-workers, but it is only and ever the Lord who gives the increase, who makes the seed bring forth new life.

The humility this calls for can then merge into restfulness. "Whether he sleeps or gets up" the work continues, under the ground, buried deep in the human heart. No amount of staying awake, prodding the ground, watching with anxious hearts for the first signs of life, will hasten the harvest.

That restfulness is not sinful, it isn't laziness. It honours the Lord of the Harvest, the Living Word, the life-giving Spirit.

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I know not why God’s wondrous grace
To me hath been made known;
Nor why, unworthy as I am,
He claimed me for His own.

I know not how this saving faith
To me He did impart;
Or how believing in His word
Wrought peace within my heart.

I know not how the Spirit moves,
Convincing men of sin;
Revealing Jesus through the Word,
Creating faith in Him.

I know not what of good or ill
May be reserved for me,
Of weary ways or golden days
Before His face I see.

I know not when my Lord may come;
I know not how, nor where;
If I shall pass the vale of death,
Or meet Him in the air.

But I know Whom I have believed,
And am persuaded that He is able
To keep that which I've committed
Unto Him, against that day.


(Daniel Webster Whittle, 1840-1901)

Joy in the Journey (28) - The Perfect Law of Freedom

Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the ugliest of all? Well, obviously, it's me; it's you. At least that's probably how it feels on the days we're being most honest. Looking into scripture, seeing the real me, the one with unclean lips and a contaminated heart. And being told not to forget what I look like, taking that sight into the day - the crushing awareness of a shattered vision. Thanks, James.

Oh, but that's not it. However much it might sometimes feel that way, it really isn't. Twice James speaks about the law, the perfect law, that gives freedom. He also writes of "the royal law found in scripture", the law of King Jesus, the law of love. He's dealing here with the same thing that Paul wrote about in Romans 10:4 - that the law, the Torah, reached its fulfilment in Jesus. He was its goal, its endpoint, its completion. His life and his death and his resurrection accomplish what the law wanted to see but could never achieve, being weakened by the flesh (Rom. 8:3). The perfect law that gives freedom is the law of Christ (Gal 6:2), the law of love, the law of redemption and adoption and new birth, the law of the Spirit of life that sets us free from the law of sin and death (Rom. 8:2).

So when, in 1:25, James writes of looking intently into the perfect law that gives freedom and continuing in it - remembering it, walking in its light and reality - he is calling us to look into the face of Jesus, his perfect life, his redeeming love, and to see there, and hold onto, our union with him. His is the story of our lives. His is the obedience and the sacrifice that has won our freedom. It is his Spirit who empowers us to walk in it. See that in the scriptures; look intently, day by day. As you see the blemishes, the fault-lines of sinful habits and betrayals, also see the forgiveness and the cleansing and the glow of new birth into a living hope. See yourself for the child of God that you now are - in the perfect law that gives liberty.

In 2:12, James urges his readers to "Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom" and reminds them to be merciful because "mercy triumphs over judgement". We will be judged - all our actions and ambitions, all our words and motives. Every aspect of our lives will be scrutinised and judged - but judged in and through Jesus. Every sin atoned for by his death. A scrutiny not of condemnation but of confirmation - of the life and love of Christ in you and through you. That prospect is what ought to so change our hearts that we act in mercy not in judgement. Even when called to be judicious in our assessments, we will want to be merciful in our ambitions for others. Endeavouring to keep the royal law, "Love your neighbour as yourself."

We are called to freedom, not condemnation; to the realism of redemption and the liberty of saving love. Those glorious truths are the foundation for lives not of sinful indulgence but of mutual love and service.

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Now I have found the ground wherein

Sure my soul’s anchor may remain -

The wounds of Jesus, for my sin

Before the world’s foundation slain;

Whose mercy shall unshaken stay,

When heaven and earth are fled away.

Father, Thine everlasting grace

Our scanty thought surpasses far,

Thy heart still melts with tenderness,

Thy arms of love still open are,

Returning sinners to receive,

That mercy they may taste and live.

O Love, Thou bottomless abyss,

My sins are swallowed up in thee!

Covered is my unrighteousness,

Nor spot of guilt remains on me,

While Jesus’ blood, through earth and skies,

Mercy, free, boundless mercy! cries.

With faith I plunge me in this sea,

Here is my hope, my joy, my rest;

Hither, when hell assails, I flee,

I look into my Saviour’s breast.

Away, sad doubt and anxious fear!

Mercy is all that’s written there.

Though waves and storms go o’er my head,

Though strength, and health, and friends be gone,

Though joys be withered all and dead,

Though every comfort be withdrawn,

On this my steadfast soul relies -

Father, Thy mercy never dies!

Fixed on this ground will I remain,

Though my heart fail and flesh decay;

This anchor shall my soul sustain,

When earth’s foundations melt away:

Mercy’s full power I then shall prove,

Loved with an everlasting love.

(Johann Andreas Rothe, 1688-1758;

tr. John Wesley, 1703-91)