Joy in the Journey (56) - Being fed morning and evening

The account of Elijah by the brook in 1 Kings 17:2-6 is deeply moving. In a time of drought and distress, with the nation under the severest judgement because of the sins of the King and the people's capitulation to his idolatry, Elijah obeys the Lord's word and hides in the Kerith Ravine. He is a wanted man and in great danger, but the Lord has said he will shield him; Elijah is to drink from the brook and will be fed, morning and evening, at God's instruction, by ravens.

A demanding, fraught time in Elijah's life history is undergirded by the faithfulness of the living God, the waters of the brook a foreshadowing of the springs of living water that the Lord Jesus was to say would flow from within all who believed in him (Jn. 7:38), in the gift of the Spirit to all God's people. And every morning and every evening he would be fed, a pattern that has rich scriptural allusions:

The God he serves is the Creator of all things in heaven and on earth, the sole giver and sustainer of life, the one whose creative word declared, "And there was evening and there was morning". Elijah is fed by the One who knows his every breath, his every fear and his every weakness, his loving Maker. And ours too.

The God who made provision in the Law for morning and evening sacrifices. A reminder to Elijah of better times past and to come, of the abiding truth of God and the centrality of sacrifice. In barren days, secluded and isolated, Elijah was fed and nourished by the settled ways of God and his mercies. Worship remained; confessing his sins and knowing the Lord's forgiveness remained, each meal a taste of tender grace.

But these daily mealtimes also had a raw edge to them: ravens were unclean birds and the food they delivered would be ritually contaminated. No doubt this was hard for Elijah to swallow. And yet, the insight they offer is profound: one day, Elijah's people would be faced with a more perplexing call, to "eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood," without which there could be no forgiveness of sin and no sharing in eternal life (Jn. 6:35-59) - the eating and drinking of believing in Jesus as the Messiah, as sent by the one the Father, as the Son of God "who loved me and gave himself for me".

Our privilege, in these darkening days, is to be fed daily and to feed, morning and evening, on the Living Bread who gave himself for the life of the world, whose self-giving is real food and real drink, able to shelter and sustain, to give hope in the darkest hours.

The ways of God can still seem strange to us; we do well to "judge not the Lord by feeble sense". But they are ways filled with the light of an endless morning.

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

Almighty Father of mankind,
On Thee my hopes remain;
And when the day of trouble comes,
I shall not trust in vain.

In early days Thou was my guide,
And of my youth the Friend:
And as my days began with Thee,
With Thee my days shall end.

I know the power in whom I trust,
The arm on which I lean;
He will me Saviour ever be,
Who has my Saviour been.

My God, who causedst me to hope,
When life began to beat,
And when a stranger in the world,
Didst guide my wandering feet;

Thou wilt not cast me off when age
And evil days descend!
Thou wilt not leave me in despair,
To mourn my latter end.

Therefore in life I'll trust to Thee,
In death I will adore,
And after death I'll sing Thy praise,
When time shall be no more.

(Michael Bruce, 1746-67)

Joy in the Journey (55) - Are you envious because I'm generous?

The generosity of God in the gospel of his Son is astonishingly deep. It moves our hearts to humbled worship and Spirit-given joy. Its proclamation in Jesus' parable of the workers in the vineyard in Matthew 20 is so clear and full: those who were only employed for the final hour of the day are given the same reward as those who had laboured throughout. Grace is not a wage, it is a gift, given freely from the heart of God.

The parable, of course, isn't teaching about the economics of employment. It is quite clearly focussed on the grace of God that reaches those lost in sin, the marginalised and excluded, and makes them, from the start, full members of the kingdom of God, fully accepted children in his family - loved, cherished, honoured.

We rejoice with those who rejoice in the salvation that God has lavished upon them. We glory in the One whose presence and blessing transforms them, with increasing likeness, into the image of his Son.

Yet the response in the parable of those who had worked all day raises an important challenge for us: when they grumble, the Master asks them a question that goes straight to our hearts, too: "Are you envious because I am generous?"

We are not immune to such a spirit. It's a question that can be asked of churches and ministries that see other congregations thriving, perhaps having only recently begun. The temptation is to explain away the growth as somehow fake and founded on dubious methods. It's a question that faces us when we see others blessed in the very things we ourselves lack and have longed for. Why them and not us? Where have we gone wrong? What have they done right?

The challenge is real and it has repercussions that go to the very heart of how we relate to the Lord. When we struggle over the joy of others, it can lead to our view of God becoming tainted and the basis of our relationship with him distorted. In the parable, envy is wedded to expectation on the grounds of merit and the generosity of the Master is deemed incongruous.

The pain and distress of trials, as well as our desire for vindication that affirms our worth before others, can lead us to demand we be treated according to what we feel we deserve from God. Others have received, why haven't we? Haven't we, after all, "borne the burden of the work and the heat of the day"? Haven't we suffered long enough to have earned a reprieve and a reward? Such thoughts disclose a spirit of slavery, not sonship.

Discarding grace for merit is the road to disappointment, frustration and bitterness. However hard we might sometimes find it to rejoice in others' blessings, we need to ask God for his help to do so. Because the alternative is grievous; the arid joylessness of demanding we be paid our 'wages' will never lift. Life - eternal life, in all its expansive fulness - is entirely and truly the gift of God.

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

Lord of the cross of shame,
set my cold heart aflame
with love for you, my Saviour and my Master;
who on that lonely day
bore all my sins away,
and saved me from the judgement and disaster.

Lord of the empty tomb,
born of a virgin's womb,
triumphant over death, its power defeated;
how gladly now I sing
your praise, my risen King,
and worship you, in heaven's splendour seated.

Lord of my life today,
teach me to live and pray
as one who knows the joy of sins forgiven;
so may I ever be,
now and eternally,
one with my fellow-citizens in heaven.

(Michael Saward, 1932-2015)

Joy in the Journey (54) - Searched and Known

A theologian's colleague had a sign on his door: "Jesus knows me, this I love". It's a striking reversal of a much-loved line and one that takes us into the depths of our human longing to be known openly and accepted freely, with a love that displaces our shame.

In Psalm 139, David reflects on being known by God. Addressing himself to the "LORD" - the Uncreated One, full of power and splendour and light, the God of covenant surety - he says, "LORD, you have searched me". Nothing is hidden from your sight. Everything lies open before you. You have searched me - turned over every leaf, pulled away all the dead bark; scoured me, but without any caustic intent.

And you have searched so that you might know. Not the knowledge of desiccated shards of information, but knowing the person, the whole being, body and soul. You have searched me "and you know" - you know not just me but all things (as Peter affirmed to Jesus - John 21:17). Every hiding place is open to you. Every shaded retreat from voices and faces. Every arrowed anxiety. Every breath. You have searched me and you know - with limitless extent.

And not just breadth but depth: every activity and action; every thought; every impulse birthed into words; all my ways, habits, peculiarities and weaknesses - "my going out and my lying down". The momentum of life that is only ever a mystery to me, he knows, without limits.

The LORD knows and, in that knowing, "You hem me in behind and before". You surround my whole life; no gaps; no instant where you are absent; no place where you are empty space. And your hand - firm, secure, tender - "you lay your hand upon me", without haste, in holy love and purpose. Hands that flung stars into space and surrendered to cruel nails - the scarred hands of infinite love are laid upon me.

David has been searched and known and he himself knows that the LORD is the One who is present, always and everywhere. His hands shape and mould. All this, and more, is unveiled in sacred trust. All this, David acknowledges, "is too wonderful for me, too lofty for me to attain". We cannot contain the mystery and the majesty of being known by the living God, known to this extent and with such tender love and honesty and purpose.

What possible response can we make to being known like this, to being loved as we are known? With David we draw breath and pray, not for less but for the more of ongoing relationship and illimitable life:

Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me, and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

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

Pass me not, O gentle Saviour,

Hear my humble cry;

While on others Thou art calling,

Do not pass me by.

    Saviour! Saviour!

    Hear my humble cry;

    While on others Thou art calling,

    Do not pass me by.

Let me at a throne of mercy

Find a sweet relief;

Kneeling there in deep contrition,

Help my unbelief.

    Saviour, Saviour,

    Hear my humble cry;

    While on others Thou art calling,

    Do not pass me by.

Trusting only in Thy merit,

Would I seek Thy face;

Heal my wounded, broken spirit,

Save me by Thy grace.

    Saviour, Saviour,

    Hear my humble cry;

    While on others Thou art calling,

    Do not pass me by.

Thou the spring of all my comfort,

More than life to me;

Whom have I on earth beside Thee?

Whom in heaven but Thee?

    Saviour, Saviour,

    Hear my humble cry;

    While on others Thou art calling,

    Do not pass me by.

(Frances Jane Van Alstyne, 1820-1915)

Trinity (Eugene Peterson)

Trinity is a conceptual attempt to provide coherence to God as God is revealed variously as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit in our Scriptures: God is emphatically personal; God is only and exclusively God in relationship. Trinity is not an attempt to explain or define God by means of abstractions (although there is some of that, too), but a witness that God reveals himself as personal and in personal relations. The down-to-earth consequence of this is that God is rescued from the speculations of the metaphysicians and brought boldly into a community of men, women, and children who are called to enter into this communal life of love, an emphatically personal life where they experience themselves in personal terms of love and forgiveness, of hope and desire. Under the image of the Trinity we discover that we do not know God by defining him but by being loved by him and loving in return. The consequences of this are personally revelatory: another does not know me, nor do I know another, by defining or explaining, by categorizing or by psychologizing, but only relationally, by accepting and loving, by giving and receiving. The personal and interpersonal provide the primary images (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) for both knowing God and being known by God. This is living, not thinking about living; living with, not performing for.

 

Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousands Places

 

Joy in the Journey (53) - By my side

The apostle Paul was put on trial as a Christian for heralding the good news that Jesus is Lord and not Caesar (2 Tim. 4:9-18). It was, quite clearly, a desperately trying time. And it was made all the more so by some people defecting back to the world or attempting to cause him harm. Then there were those who deserted him in his hour of need, for whom he prays that the Lord would not hold it against them.

Our lives are not painted in quite such stark colours but the reality remains that we, too, can experience hostility for faith in Jesus and even a sense (rightly or wrongly perceived) of being deserted by those we ought to be able to look to for help. At all such times, Paul's testimony is so heartening and welcome: "But the Lord stood at my side and gave me strength." (v.17)

Like Paul, our need of strength is comprehensive - physical, mental, emotional and spiritual. The resources we have acquired and stored-up can be emptied in a moment and our vulnerability laid bare. Exposed to trials we tremble and perhaps begin to crumble. But the Lord gives his people strength.

Not necessarily deliverance from the circumstances but the capacity to endure them. Not always a change of heart in those who aim to hurt us, but a heightened resolve in our own to look to and hide in the Saviour.

Paul needed that strength as much as we do. And the Lord gave it to him. We can be encouraged by that.

But he speaks here of something else, too, something truly precious. Not only did the Lord give him strength but he "stood at my side". The strength Paul needed could, presumably, have been given without such an awareness yet it was given at just the time it was needed.

Standing at Paul's side indicates the Lord Jesus' deep solidarity with him, a profound identification that Paul belongs to him and he is not ashamed to own him as such. Paul had not been abandoned by the One who meant most to him, whose love animated his life and impelled his service.

The one standing alongside him had hung betrayed and beaten on a cross of shame, alone in the darkness of his suffering, with no-one to walk that valley with him. He will not allow, he will never permit, those he gave his life for to experience those depths of isolation. He stands by our side, always.

Did others see what Paul saw and feel what he felt? We can't say. Possibly not. But that doesn't invalidate his experience. Paul knew he was not alone. Paul knew he was honoured and held by the One he was testifying for. He had been delivered from the lion's mouth and was fully convinced he would be delivered from every evil attack, being brought safely to God's heavenly kingdom.

Was the Lord's presence and sustaining grace simply for Paul's wellbeing? Paul believes not: the Lord stood at his side and gave him strength "so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed and all the nations might hear it." Not one drop of suffering was wasted; all his tears were bottled and honoured by the Lord and, in his sovereign goodwill, made to be a blessing to others as the gospel was heard by then.

His strength, his solidarity and his sovereign goodness remain with all his people. We can count on it, even when all else fails.

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

He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater,
He sendeth more strength when the labours increase;
To added affliction He addeth His mercy,
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.

    His love has no limit, His grace has no measure,
    His power has no boundary known unto men;
    For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
    He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving is only begun.

    His love has no limit, His grace has no measure,
    His power has no boundary known unto men;
    For out of His infinite riches in Jesus
    He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!

(Annie Johnson Flint)

Joy in the Journey (52) - The opportunity to return

Sometimes it makes sense to turn back. A mountain climb when the weather closes in, or driving somewhere when thick, freezing fog descends. On such occasions turning back is the epitome of wisdom. Retracing your steps in the maze of life is not easy but sometimes it's all you can do.

There are times in the Christian life when we find ourselves wanting to turn back. Retreating to what seems like the safety of the known, a refuge from the icy winds of an unending journey. Or if not turning back then at least turning aside for a while. Finding some kind of no-man's-land where the demands of discipleship no longer take their toll. But those options - turning back or turning aside - often amount to the same thing.

Coming to faith in Jesus is never intended to be, nor does it at the time feel like, a casual and possibly temporary choice. But it does us no good to pretend that such temptations are not real. Others have been here before us and have testified to the same things.

And scripture tells us, if we want an opportunity to return, to turn aside and turn away, it'll be given to us (Heb. 11:15). We'll find that, in fact, there are plenty of them: disappointment and hurt at the hands of other Christians; the cooling down of our heightened emotions; the never-ending battles with 'the world, the flesh and the devil' - all provide the opportunity to go back to our own Egypt.

Such a choice was placed before Ruth. She and her sister-in-law Orpah had accompanied their mother-in-law Naomi on the first part of her journey back to Bethlehem - back to a future whose only certainty was shame and hardship. Naomi makes the case to her daughters-in-law that they ought, now, to go back home. Back to what was known, what was familiar, where husbands might again be theirs. To find some semblance of ease in the acceptance of their own people.

Her case made sense, to Orpah. But not to Ruth. Her sights were set on something else. She had somehow seen, presumably in and through Naomi, that her gods were no gods at all, that the LORD alone was God. And so she expressed herself in the clearest possible way:

"Where you go, I will go, and where you stay I will stay.

Your people will be my people and your God my God.

Where you die I will die and there I will be buried."

For Ruth, Bethlehem was more than a minor town in the region of Judah; it signified "a better country - a heavenly one". Her words to Naomi were the deepest expression that she was now admitting she was "a foreigner and stranger on earth," who had seen and welcomed the promises of God from a distance.

It is the same reality that pulls us forward, too. There are indeed many opportunities to return for those who wish to, but we have been gifted a vision of the heavenly Jerusalem, where the King in all his beauty is seen. We have tasted and seen that the LORD is good. We have become his children - "heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ". We have the Holy Spirit as "a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession - to the praise of his glory."

Egypt is no longer our home, however strong the pull might be. There are times when we learn the hard way that our true home and our fullest life is "now hidden with Christ in God". But as Sara Groves suggests,

If it comes too quick
I may not appreciate it;
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?
And if it comes too quick
I may not recognise it;
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?

Here's the truth: those roads have indeed been closed off to us; we're no longer slaves, but children of the King. No going back.

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

I don't want to leave here,
I don't want to stay;
It feels like pinching to me,
Either way.
And the places I long for the most
Are the places where I've been,
They are calling out to me
Like a long lost friend.

It's not about losing faith,
It's not about trust;
It's all about comfortable
When you move so much.
And the place I was wasn't perfect
But I had found a way to live;
And it wasn't milk or honey
But, then, neither is this.

I've been painting pictures of Egypt,

Leaving out what it lacks;
The future feels so hard
And I want to go back.
But the places that used to fit me
Cannot hold the things I've learned;
Those roads were closed off to me,
While my back was turned.

The past is so tangible
I know it by heart;
Familiar things are never easy
To discard.
And I was dying for some freedom
But now I hesitate to go;
I am caught between the Promise
And the things I know.

I've been painting pictures of Egypt,

Leaving out what it lacks;
The future feels so hard
And I want to go back.
But the places that used to fit me
Cannot hold the things I've learned;
Those roads were closed off to me,
While my back was turned.

If it comes too quick,

I may not appreciate it;
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?
And if it comes too quick,
I may not recognise it;
Is that the reason behind all this time and sand?

(Sara Groves, Painting Pictures of Egypt)

Joy in the Journey (51) - Beginning to speak plainly

In Mark 7 a man is brought to Jesus. He is deaf and cannot talk. That is a dreadful condition to be in, cutting him off from the ease and joy of relationships, and appreciating and expressing delight in the world around him. He’s locked into his own thoughts, his own cell, unable to make his mind known, incapable of hearing words of affection and care.

And he cannot hear the story of God’s way with the world, nor respond with songs of joy and gladness, humbled and lifted by the revelation of divine love.

We were made to know and praise the living God. Such praise is truly good; it is both pleasant and fitting (Ps. 147:1). And it changes us, as it catches us up into the very life of God. It witnesses to and deepens the sense of spiritual ‘taste’, the awakened delight in the Lord. We hear his Word, we open our mouths in communion with Jesus, the lover of our souls. This is life as God intended it to be.

But sin mutes us, each one of us. Where we were made for the praise and worship of the living God, sin instead turns the tongue into a raging fire that recklessly throws off sparks into the dry tinder of others' lives and then warms itself in the flames of destruction. You don't have to look far on social and other media to see the wreckage. Sin mutes us and it stops-up our ears, makes us tone deaf to the music of the winsome words of our Maker, unable to hear or heed his call to come to him from the far country we’ve chosen.

The man is brought to Jesus and he is healed in the most touching way. Taken aside from the crowd (he isn’t a trophy), in simple sign language he is shown what the Lord is doing for him. At Jesus’ word, his ears are opened, his tongue was loosed “and he began to speak plainly”. It’s such a transformation - and one that has the largest frame of reference.

For this is not an isolated miracle, solely for the man’s benefit. There is here a direct line back to a gloriously radiant passage in Isaiah that speaks of return from the exile of sin. In chapter 35, Isaiah portrays the wilderness rejoicing and blossoming; the glory and splendour of God will be seen there as he comes to rescue his people, bringing them back along a highway of holiness (holy because it is his way, tracing his path). And what will be a sign and a seal of that liberating reality? “The mute tongue [will] shout for joy.”

The term Isaiah uses, via its Greek counterpart, is the same one used in Mark 7, its only occurrence in the whole New Testament. This is not a miracle with merely local significance. This is a powerful, deliberate and stunning pointer to Jesus as the Messiah who looses not simply the tongue but the sin-captive soul into the joyous praise of God. In Jesus we begin to learn to speak anew, to speak plainly; speaking truth in love, speaking with the clarity of a cleansed heart.

He is our Saviour - the one whose own tongue clung to the roof of his mouth in the dryness of raging thirst. He is the one who, for our sake, suffered such slander, such desperate attacks upon himself. He looses our tongues and opens our ears to hear and respond to the overtures of grace, that we might at last speak plainly - of God and to him, and in relationships of attentive truthfulness.

Like the crowd in Mark 7, we have every reason to be “overwhelmed with amazement” and to declare that “he does everything well”.

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

Lord, I was blind! I could not see

In Thy marred visage any grace;

But now the beauty of Thy face

In radiant vision dawns on me.

Lord, I was deaf! I could not hear

The thrilling music of Thy voice;

But now I hear Thee and rejoice,

And all Thine uttered words are dear.

Lord, I was dumb! I could not speak

The grace and glory of Thy Name;

But now, as touched with living flame,

My lips Thine eager praises wake.

Lord, I was dead! I could not stir

My lifeless soul to come to Thee;

But now, since Thou hast quickened me,

I rise from sin's dark sepulchre.

Lord, Thou hast made the blind to see,

The deaf to hear, the dumb to speak,

The dead to live; and lo, I break

The chains of my captivity!

(William Tidd Matson, 1833-99)

Strengthen our hearts

(Notes from a recent prayer meeting)

I want to suggest that the past months haven’t only seen us facing challenges and difficulties but they have also seen unexpected gains, both personally and as a church.

Those gains might have been a clearer, stronger realisation of our call by God to be a people who pray. They may include a sense of unity and togetherness we have cherished, a greater valuing of one another. 

Perhaps its been a loosening of our hold on some things that, while legitimate, are passing and not worthy of the attention we were giving them - and they have been traded for a more purposeful and delightful experience of the Lord himself.

It’s maybe been a deepening trust in the Lord as we have depended upon him. Or perhaps a more extensive care and compassion for others - your over-busy heart has been allowed to still itself and God’s Spirit has moved you, sometimes profoundly and even to tears, for the needs of others.

It could well be that the tyranny of the timetable - even the church timetable - has been loosened and you’ve been more able to focus on people - free to serve them, in Jesus’ name. It could be a far deeper realisation of the urgency of the gospel in the lives of those people, coupled with more fervent praying for their conversion.

Or it could be that what has most impressed itself upon your heart over these weeks has been, along with much of what’s already been said, simply a greater and richer sense of wonder as you worship the Lord.

Whatever the precise details and without wishing to exaggerate it, it’s possible that for some the experience has been akin to Job’s - ‘once I had heard of you, now my eyes have seen you’.

We don’t want to parade them; we want to do what Mary did - cherish these things in our hearts. Some things are too precious, too holy to speak of (as Paul discovered). But we do want to retain them.

So here’s the question: how do we keep these things? How do we hold onto the gains?

I want to direct your attention to 2 prayers of Paul in his letters to the Thessalonians and to the very similar wording we see there and to encourage you to take to heart and to turn into your own prayer what Paul writes.

Here are those verses:

1 Thes. 3:13 “May he strengthen your hearts so that you will be blameless and holy in the presence of our God and Father when our Lord Jesus comes with all his holy ones.”

2 Thes. 2:116f “May our Lord Jesus Christ himself and God our Father…encourage your hearts and strengthen you in every good deed and word.”

Do you see what’s common? The prayer that the Lord would strengthen the hearts of his people, strengthen them in every good word and deed. Establish, solidify, enlarge their hearts - ‘heart’ being understood as “not only the centre of personality, the seat of will and understanding, but also the place where our hidden motives are shaped.” (DA Carson, A Call to Spiritual Reformation)

We don’t have the wherewithal to strengthen ourselves. This is spiritual work, spiritual development, that needs the Holy Spirit to work within us. But it is something we can recognise our need of and thus ask for. He does it, in part, through times like this as we pray together (I’m sure you’ve known that to be true for yourself).

We want our life in Christ to have roots that are going deeper each year, treasuring him more, serving him with greater delight. That needs our hearts to be made strong in him.

So let’s ask him to strengthen our hearts in love for the Lord and love for our neighbours. Ask him to direct us as a church into the good deeds and words he wants for us today and tomorrow (and not those of yesterday).

Growing in him, having our hearts strengthened by him, will be for the praise of his name.

How mission becomes shrill (Peterson)

If worship is the cultivation of who we are and what we are here for, mission has a lot to do with with how we get it done. When the missional "how" is severed from the worship "who and what", the missional life no longer is controlled and shaped by Scripture and the Spirit. And so mission becomes shrill, dependant on constant "strategies" and promotional schemes. The proliferation of technology in our time exacerbates our plight - we have so many attractive options regarding the "how" that it is difficult not to use them in such a good cause as the gospel, not discerning whether or not they are appropriate to a life that is immersed in personal relationships (deriving from the Trinity) and a willingness to live in a mystery in which I am not in control.

Eugene Peterson, Letters to a Young Pastor, p.98

Joy in the Journey (50) - Sarah's laughter

In Genesis 19, Abraham is visited by the LORD (and a couple of angels). Over the meal that Abraham’s glad and godly hospitality provides for them, the LORD declares that in a year’s time Sarah will - finally - give birth to a son, the son of God’s promise. The son of Abraham’s own flesh and blood, the son whose family will be the LORD’s chosen line for the Messiah and for the realisation of all his promises.

Such good news. Long-delayed but guaranteed.

And Sarah, standing in the entrance to their tent, hears it and laughs. This isn’t, however, a response of joyous welcome - it's what Over the Rhine have called “the laugh of recognition - when you laugh but you feel like dyin’…” Sarah was barren, worn out, and Abraham was old. The time for holding onto the promise was long gone. Weighing the LORD’s words against reality’s harsh and heavy sentence has tipped the scales for Sarah: this laugh is the long, slow sigh that is borne of pain and longing and disappointment. Heartache after heartache. Frustrated hopes as heavy as a snow-drift. The wretched bitterness of exploiting others in the vain attempt to manufacture blessing (Gen 16). It’s all there in the wistful, disbelieving laugh of recognition.

And few of us have not been there, too. Overhearing others exult in promises that can only echo in your hollowed-out soul. It isn’t rank unbelief and cynical rejection of God’s Word that makes you nod grimly in solidarity with Sarah; it’s the weariness, it’s the years of struggle, it’s all that you cannot ever bring yourself to say out loud for fear of condemnation.

Her laugh, though, is heard. The LORD asks why she laughed and Sarah’s instinctive response is to deny it - she doesn’t want anyone, least of all these visitors, to know that her faith is old and cracked, unable to hold anything for very long now. Every last drop of hope eventually seeps through the gaping holes in her soul. Maybe you know that feeling? Maybe you’ve made the same denials?

There is good news. Nothing is too hard for the LORD and, ultimately, all his promises are answered and find their fulfilment in our Lord Jesus Christ - unveiling the astonishing glory of God, through the wisdom and power of the cross and the renewal of all things through his resurrection. That is, indeed, the most wonder-filled good news.

But the good news also includes the fact that none of her struggles disqualify Sarah from bearing the child of promise. And so the day surely came, at last, when the sigh of her broken heart in the laugh of recognition became the joy-filled laughter of a promise kept.

And none of our struggles to believe, from within the maelstrom of our miseries, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. His promises stand, even in the face of our weakness and helplessness; even when we are faithless, battered into submission by waves of doubt, he remains faithful, for he cannot deny himself.

One day, the weeping of the night will be turned into the joy of the morning. And one day, like Sarah, we will also laugh for a second time.

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

O safe to the Rock that is higher than I
My soul in its conflicts and sorrows would fly;
So sinful, so weary, Thine, Thine would I be,
Thou blest Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

    Hiding in Thee, hiding in Thee,
    Thou blest Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

In the calm of the noontide, in sorrow’s lone hour,
In times when temptation casts o’er me its power;
In the tempests of life, on its wide, heaving sea,
Thou blest Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

    Hiding in Thee, hiding in Thee,
    Thou blest Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

How oft in the conflict, when pressed by the foe,

I have fled to my refuge and breathed out my woe;
How often, when trials like sea-billows roll,
Have I hidden in Thee, O Thou Rock of my soul.

    Hiding in Thee, hiding in Thee,
    Thou blest Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

(William Orcutt Cushing, 1823-1903)

Joy in the Journey (49) - Kept from recognising Him

In Luke 24, Cleopas and his companion, making their way to Emmaus on the evening of Easter Sunday, are joined by the risen Lord Jesus, but they don’t realise who he is. Luke is careful to tell us that it isn’t because a resurrection body is so very different (that doesn’t seem to have been the case); no, the fact is “they were kept from recognising him”.

Without doubt they were tired, worn out by grief and disappointment. They were mystified and blind-sided by the events of the past days. But this non-recognition of their Saviour is by the Lord’s deliberate choice. And, therefore, it was for a purpose. They were kept from seeing what would have given them the most unexpected and irresistible joy - the living, breathing resurrected Jesus. Kept from recognising him in order to learn something that would make the reality of the resurrection even deeper and more consequential. Kept from seeing in order to learn what CS Lewis would term the ‘deeper magic’ of the gospel.

Have we been kept - are we being kept - from seeing what we long to see? Have these months been, for us, our own version of the slow, weary trudge to Emmaus? In the gathering gloom of disappointment and confusion; hoping for some sense, some explanation, to be given us. Witnessing and experiencing sorrows aplenty, offering agonised prayers for ourselves and others to be ushered into places of refuge and calm - and still the storm rages, still the shadows lengthen and the day seems far spent. Still not seeing, still not recognising.

It’s worth asking the question, Have we been kept from seeing in order that we might learn, afresh and in power, the humbling glory of the gospel and of life in the shadow of Calvary? That the Messiah - and yes, his people, too - had to first suffer and then to enter his glory. That the power of his resurrection is experienced as we share in his sufferings, as that suffering is translated into hope through the prism of endurance and tested character.

The two travelling to Emmaus didn’t expect to see the Messiah. They had heard reports of his resurrection but it made no sense, had no vitality for them. Because the lines had not yet been connected in their thinking. Reports of the presence and power of Jesus in his world can often seem to us, if not exactly “like nonsense” (Lk. 24:11), then at least distant and uncertain. Because the lines aren’t clear in our own thinking? That we have failed to see the connection, the gospel framework for the life of faith, of God’s strength being made perfect in our own weakness? Those are questions worth asking.

When they had heard his words and had been fed at his broken hands, their eyes were opened. They realised their hearts had been burning as they listened - the authenticating witness to the power of the truth he spoke. The joy that could have been theirs earlier now had its most secure grounding in "what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself". A joy that they experienced, now, even in his absence. The application by God’s Spirit of ‘gospel deeps’ to our hearts in similar power can have a similar, transforming impact.

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

Beneath the cross of Jesus

I fain would take my stand,

The shadow of a mighty rock

Within a weary land;

A home within the wilderness,

A rest upon the way,

From the burning of the noontide heat

And the burden of the day.

O safe and happy shelter!

O refuge tried and sweet!

O trysting-place where heaven’s love

And heaven’s justice meet!

As to the holy patriarch

That wondrous dream was given,

So seems my Saviour's cross to me

A ladder up to heaven.

There lies, beneath its shadow,

But on the farther side,

The darkness of an awful grave

That gapes both deep and wide:

And there between us stands the cross,

Two arms outstretched to save;

Like a watchman set to guard the way

From that eternal grave.

Upon that cross of Jesus

Mine eyes at times can see

The very dying form of One

Who suffered there for me;

And from my stricken heart, with tears,

Two wonders I confess:

The wonders of His glorious love,

And my own worthlessness.

I take, O cross, thy shadow,

For my abiding-place;

I ask no other sunshine than

The sunshine of His face;

Content to let the world go by,

To know no gain nor loss:

My sinful self my only shame,

My glory all the cross.

(Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane, 1830-69)

Joy in the Journey (48) - Times of Refreshing

In Acts 3, a wonderful miracle has taken place: a lame beggar has been healed - not only can he now walk but he praises God; his soul has been strengthened, not just his legs. A crowd is greatly impressed at the sight and Peter urges them to repent and turn to God (in faith). If they would do so, their sins will be wiped out and “times of refreshing” would come from the Lord.

For a people jaded by these latter months, a promise of refreshing is hugely welcome. But the weariness is not only down to the struggles of lockdown and its easing; sin wrecks havoc in every soul and its guilt is “a burden too heavy to bear” (Ps. 38:4). Life in a fallen world causes us to “groan inwardly” (Rom. 8:23). Who can see the sorrows around, who can experience loss and pain, and not long for times of refreshing?

Peter’s words are so clear - repenting and turning to God, putting our faith in his Son, brings the deepest refreshment and the greatest relief. A new day has begun; light has dawned upon those who were living in the deepest gloom; it is ‘golden hour’ for the soul. This renewing is uniquely gifted to us in the gospel of God. His love lifts burdens and welcomes us home - the truest refreshing.

But Peter’s words take us further. Heaven has received the Messiah “until the time comes for God to restore everything”. The fullest, most complete and through transformation and refreshing yet awaits us. The end of pain and separation. The healing of every wound, the salving of every bruise. Our hearts will be filled and filled again in the ever-flowing stream of God’s own radiant joy. We will feast on his goodness and bear within ourselves the unfathomable riches of the love of God.

The experience of God’s saving mercy and the refreshing it brings combines with the prospect of a future that simply cannot be described to lead us to pray, now, for those times of refreshing. Not to authenticate the Lord and his Word; not to satisfy a sense of curiosity, nor to dodge the call to take up our cross and follow Jesus. But, simply, to know him more, to know his nearness in the weariness, and to glorify him through that enjoyment. To be renewed by the relief his love breathes into our burdened hearts, in the midst of the years, in the tangle of our travails.

Such seasons may not last overly long but each moment, each instance, is a further pointer to the ultimate fullness when God will restore everything - all things made new. Those glimpses of glory galvanise our hearts as they offer comfort in the chaos of life. And we can ask him to bring those times of refreshing, so desperately needed, to our hearts, our churches, our communities.

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

I am Thine, O Lord, I have heard Thy voice,
And it told Thy love to me;
But I long to rise in the arms of faith,
And be closer drawn to Thee.

Consecrate me now to Thy service, Lord,
By the power of grace divine;
Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope
And my will be lost in Thine.

O the pure delight of a single hour
That before Thy throne I spend,
When I kneel in prayer, and with Thee, my God,
I commune as friend with friend.

There are depths of love that I yet may know
Till I cross the narrow sea;
There are heights of joy that I yet may reach
Till I rest in peace with Thee.

    Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
    To the cross where Thou hast died;
    Draw me nearer, nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,
    To Thy precious, bleeding side.

(Fanny J Crosby, 1823-1915)

Joy in the Journey (47) - Turning your back on an open gospel door

For Christians and churches, seeing God open doors so that others can hear of and believe in Jesus is a longing that is deeply embedded in the heart. Seeing lives changed by the amazing grace of God is itself amazing and brings a heavenly joy.

In 2 Cor 2:12ff Paul tells us that he went to Troas and discovered there an open door for the gospel. Just exactly what every church-planter and evangelist longs to find. And such a confirmation that this is exactly where the Lord wants him to be, to stay and work there, to make every effort to reach the people of that town with the good news.

Except, for Paul, it wasn’t. The open gospel door did not take away his uneasiness of mind regarding his brother Titus. He wasn't too sure where he was or how he was faring. Being so very anxious to find him, to know how things were with him, Paul could not settle “and went on to Macedonia”.

That is such a surprising outcome, at least to our minds. Paul puts his own peace of mind above the clearest gospel opportunity. If you were counselling him you’d probably point him to God’s sovereignty and providence:

‘He’s given you this opportunity, right now, with these people who desperately need to be saved. Open doors don’t come every day. And Titus is in the Lord’s hands. You ought to trust him to look after his servant. He’s cared for you, Paul, so why can’t you believe him for Titus? And if Titus doesn’t make it, well at least he will have made it to heaven. You’re needed here. You ought to be obedient and stay.’

Makes sense. But not to Paul. Is his decision to leave a capitulation to his own sense of peace and well-being? You could argue that - he wasn’t perfect; he didn’t always make the right decisions. But I think we can be more charitable in our assessment and consider a few things:

i. People matter, and not just large numbers of unsaved people. Paul’s own state of mind is important and so is the well-being of Titus. And because people matter there ought to be no place in the Christian life for manipulation into gospel service in the face of personal anguish. An individual's conscience and conviction about what is the right thing to do is not up for grabs. Don Carson wisely warns that,

"a shame culture can manipulate individuals with terrible cruelty. The price of social cohesion can be destruction of individual integrity. In the same way, the church can thunder the truth that Jesus’ name is to be lifted up, yet do so in such a way that people are manipulated, driven by guilt without pardon, power without mercy, conformity without grace." (A Call to Spiritual Reformation, p.110f)

ii. The well-being of both Paul and Titus has to be set into the larger frame of the ongoing work of God. It’s not just about what’s happening right now. Paul’s mental health and Titus’ welfare are both likely to be significant to the progress of the gospel in the longer-term. That consideration has to have a place in our thinking.

iii. But most clearly, from Paul’s own words here, leaving Troas did not mean God's gospel work through his life would be parked. As he travels to find Titus he is deeply aware that “God…always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession.” His life is governed and secured by the risen Christ, including every seeming defeat and setback. And so are ours.

That realisation, and the restfulness it can breathe into our hearts, comes through a growing faith in the character and ways of God and the supremacy of the finished work of Jesus. He is Lord, even when our own work or service is interrupted or halted.

And, as he goes on his way, Paul knows that the work of God is continuing, for he “uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere." A testimony that is not simply about words but about a life held in the saving and all-sufficient grace of God. The fragrance of Christ will be encountered not just where there has been a manifestly open door for the gospel but all the way along the line. Even as Paul travels with an anxious, burdened mind. Even as he takes what many would have deemed to be the less-faithful option. Even in our fractured, splintering lives.

Because, in God's hands, an open door is not all there is.

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

Lifelong our stumbles, lifelong our regret,

        Lifelong our efforts failing and renewed,

        While lifelong is our witness, "God is good:"

Who bore with us till now, bears with us yet,

Who still remembers and will not forget,

        Who gives us light and warmth and daily food;

        And gracious promises half understood,

And glories half unveiled, whereon to set

Our heart of hearts and eyes of our desire;

        Uplifting us to longing and to love,

Luring us upward from this world of mire,

        Urging us to press on and mount above

        Ourselves and all we have had experience of,

Mounting to Him in love's perpetual fire.

(Christina Rossetti, from Later Life: A Double Sonnet of Sonnets)

Already you have begun to reign! (1 Corinthians 4:8)

What’s the problem Paul is so clearly wrestling with regarding the Corinthian church? Verse 8 puts it so powerfully in the biting irony: “Already you have all you want! Already you have become rich! You have begun to reign - and that without us!”

The view they were entertaining about the Christian life, about Christian experience, is that they already had it all. Every last drop of what Jesus achieved was theirs right now. Nothing left to be added upon some future stage. Nope - it’s ALL ours and it’s all ours NOW.

They weren’t wrong, in one sense, and yet tragically so in another. In principle, yes, all things are ours now in Christ. We’re seated with him in heavenly places - Paul himself said so. We have been made Kings and Priests in Christ - Peter affirms it. All things are ours (1 Cor 3:21) - and all are safely held in trust for us, in him, until that Day. In principle, yes, but not yet in completed enjoyment. The best is, truly, yet to come.

So what’s the big deal? They’re just a little bit over-eager, guilty of enthusiasm perhaps, but not much more, surely? Yet it is a big deal. Here’s why:

The posture they were adopting, towards the world and about a suffering Christian like Paul, was one of superiority and not service. One day, when completely transformed into the image of Christ, they and we shall reign and even judge angels. Paul himself was looking forward to that day (v.8b). But not now. That kind of power simply could not be entrusted to us in our present state. And, even more clearly, that isn’t our present calling.

The life of an apostle and the lives of Christians and churches are to reflect the life of Jesus in his days on earth. Not exercising - nor seeking - worldly power, as though obtaining it would vindicate Paul’s claims or would validate the church’s witness. No. Our Lord Jesus, in whose steps we follow, was a man of sorrows, one acquainted with grief. He came to serve, not to be served, and to offer up his life. This is what Paul knew and he felt the overflow in his own experiences (as verses 9-13 testify to so movingly).

Our lives are not offered for sin - Jesus’ sacrifice was unique and unrepeatable - but they are offered for the sake of the world. And the place where that posture of servant-hood and pain-bearing is often most evident is when we pray. Or at least it ought to be. Prayer for power now, for preferential treatment, for top dog status and a pain-free existence isn’t prayer worthy of being offered in Jesus’ name.

But prayer that agonises over the state of the world, that pleads for mercy on the unrepentant, that asks the Lord to open hearts to his gospel, that stands with the broken-hearted, that yearns for justice - that kind of praying has about it what Paul writes of in 2 Cor 2:15

“We are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing.”

May God bless our times of prayer with the same spirit of willing service and sacrifice for the sake of his world, and for the glory of Jesus.

Joy in the Journey (46) - He answered me

"I call on the LORD in my distress,
and he answers me.” (Psalm 120:1)

Psalms 120-134, the Psalms of Ascent, are a collection that were written to be sung as the people of Israel ‘ascended’ to Jerusalem for the various festivals during the year. They are pilgrim songs that set the needs and experiences of the travellers, the worshippers, within the covenant love of God.

They describe many troubles and challenges, many reasons for distress. In this opening psalm of the collection, the distress centres upon disordered relationships, on the hurtful use of words and the severe pain caused by deceitfulness and open hostility. And so the very first verse of the collection sets the tone for what follows in a remarkably apt way. It conveys a foundational truth for the whole journey the people were taking, for the various journeys that we all make in life, and for the journey that is life itself.

It is remarkable not so much in its content as in the way it is expressed. It is relief for profound distress couched in the plainest of words. Here is the bottom-line. There is no need to dress it up nor to double-down on imagery and word-play (as helpful as they can be). If we ask to be given it straight, here it is: “I call on the LORD in my distress and he answers me.”

There is no ladder to climb, no sophistication to aspire to, no formality of approach necessary. Simply calling upon, crying to, the LORD - the God who is sufficient and all we will ever need. The God who is willing and able, ever attentive to his people. The God who in covenant-love is committed to both hear us and help us. The seal of that love was the giving of his own Son to the death of the cross in our place - and so he “will not say thee nay.”

Some translations express this verse in the past tense (I called…he answered) but even then the reality is always present and ongoing, because that is what his love is like, that is what his promise means when he says “I will never leave you nor forsake you.”

These honest, simple words are a testimony that glorify the LORD. And there are times when reading words such as these feels like it's the first time - in all their bright and compact clarity they penetrate the heart to lift and sustain it, as the LORD himself breathes in and through them.

Whatever our present distress, be it the current crisis or any other heaviness and anguish, the LORD hears us and the LORD will answer. Every step of our journey can be taken in this confidence.

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

Come, my soul, thy suit prepare,
Jesus loves to answer prayer;
He Himself has bid thee pray,
Therefore will not say thee nay.

Thou art coming to a King,
Large petitions with thee bring;
For His grace and power are such,
None can ever ask too much.

With my burden I begin:
Lord, remove this load of sin;
Let Thy blood, for sinners spilt,
Set my conscience free from guilt.

Lord, I come to Thee for rest;
Take possession of my breast;
There Thy blood-bought right maintain,
And without a rival reign.

While I am a pilgrim here,
Let Thy love my spirit cheer;
As my Guide, my Guard, my Friend,
Lead me to my journey's end.

Show me what I have to do;
Every hour my strength renew:
Let me live a life of faith;
Let me die Thy people's death.

(John Newton, 1725-1807)

Joy in the Journey (45) - The True Grace of God

Grace - it's one of the most beautiful words in any language. Grace that means the price has been fully paid, that I am accepted by God, through his Son. That the shame has been lifted and I am adopted into his family - no longer a disgrace, but loved and cherished.

Grace that means there is a future to hope for. A hope that is living and that, on occasions, breaks into the here and now with a joy that is beyond words.

Grace - God's Riches At Christ's Expense. Not a bad summary.

But not a fully adequate summary. As Peter closes his first letter he reminds his readers that he has written to them briefly, wanting to encourage them. And what he has written in his letter has been a testimony that "this is the true grace of God" (1 Peter 5:12). So what is it he has testified to?

That those who come to faith in Jesus are born again into a living hope, they have an inheritance that is untouchable and a gloriously joyful salvation that they are being preserved for. That they have a new status - a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation and God's special possession. That they share life together "as faithful stewards of God's grace in all its various forms" (4:10). What they have begun to experience, angels long to look into. And all this achieved for them through the precious blood of Christ. Truly, this is grace.

But Peter also writes about unwarranted suffering and callous rejection by an idolatrous society. The harsh words and hurtful hands of masters and, likely, husbands too. Ridicule and malicious slander is heaped upon them.

All of which, the joys and the pain, Peter bundles together into this one short phrase: the true grace of God.

That sounds so very counter-intuitive in a world that puts comfort and ease near the top of its list of treasures. To describe such negative experiences as being part and parcel of the true grace of God seems misguided at best and malign at worst. But it is neither.

The grace of God is not disproved by the sufferings of this present age. Peter's portrayal of the life of Christians and churches is accurate, not simply in its no-punches-pulled account but also in the place he assigns to their suffering within God's calling: "live such good lives among the pagans that, though they may accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us." (2:12) The enduring of present sufferings leads to a future where God is willingly and gladly worshipped by those who formerly spat upon such holiness. As Paul, Peter's dear brother, expressed it, "it has been [graced] to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him." (Phil. 1:29) 

Peter has testified that this is the true grace of God, in all its present reality and future fulfilment, so that his readers might "stand fast in it." Don't be surprised at the world's disdain; it's sure to come. Don't be knocked off your feet by the suffering and the slander.  Instead, "set your hope fully on the grace to be brought to you when Jesus Christ is revealed" (1:13). Grace has begun and we experience its reality, even in the apparent contradiction of painful struggles. And grace will be completed, in a way and to a depth we can scarcely begin to imagine.

In that grace and hope, let's stand fast.

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

Arise, my soul, my joyful powers,

And triumph in my God;

Awake, my voice, and loud proclaim

His glorious grace abroad.

He raised me from the depths of sin,

The gates of gaping hell,

And fixed my standing more secure

Than 'twas before I fell.

The arms of everlasting love

Beneath my soul He placed;

And on the Rock of Ages set

My slippery footsteps fast.

The city of my blest abode

Is walled around with grace;

Salvation for a bulwark stands

To shield the sacred place.

Satan may vent his sharpest spite,

And all his legions roar:

Almighty mercy guards my life,

And bounds his raging power.

Arise, my soul, awake, my voice,

And tunes of pleasure sing;

Loud hallelujahs shall address

My Saviour and my King.

(Isaac Watts 1674-1748)

How to live when the crisis is past

Where do we go from here? How do we go from here? What is expected of us - when we have looked into the abyss of human frailty and finitude, when we have felt the sorrows of a world splintering and falling apart? How could we ever go back to a life that is mundane and regular, that fails to see and feel with deep intensity the struggles and the pains of such a world?

When you have lived for months on high alert, when you have become far more aware of how short life is, how vulnerable and fragile all human beings are, when you’ve felt afresh the eternal significance of the gospel of Jesus, how do you re-connect with everyday life in anything even remotely approaching the ‘same old’? How do you avoid your life becoming as banal as it now seems it once must have been? How do you remain faithful to the insights you’ve gained, when all around is the pressure to return to what now feels so lightweight?

These question are not new. Those who have lived through any kind of tragedy or loss will testify to the sense of guilt that attends the resumption of ‘normal’ life. It feels completely false and unworthy to derive even a drop of pleasure from life in the absence of those we have lost.

This will be a very real issue for us in the coming days. We have been living through agonies of loss and the devastations of sorrow. We have prayed - urgently, longingly, desperately. We have drawn close to God, sought shelter under his wings. We have tasted and treasured anew the hope of the gospel and the glories of the Saviour. And now we’re just going to stumble back into a lesser life?

Shouldn’t we, rather, lay aside every non-essential part of our daily existence and focus ourselves entirely on evangelistic efforts? How could we ever let a day go by when we haven’t done something specifically aimed at reaching someone - anyone - with the gospel of Jesus? They might die tomorrow and without Christ they are lost. How can we ever again have fun when others are perishing?

Is there any way to hold all these things together?

1. The perpetual crisis

This tension isn’t absent from the New Testament. We find there, as you would expect, a clear and unrelenting focus on the significance of the good news for each and every person. The coming of our Lord Jesus and his saving work has ushered the whole cosmos into the beginning of God’s new age and the coming end of this present, evil age.

You see that in what Paul writes in his letters:

• Romans 13:11ff encourages us to understand the present time, the now of our lives: “the hour has already come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed. The night is nearly over, the day is almost here.”
• 1 Cor 7:29ff reminds us that “the time is short...this world in its present form is passing away.”

Peter also underlines the same point for those he writes to:

• “The end of all things is near,” he says in 1 Peter 4:7.
• In his second letter he plainly states that “the Day of the Lord will come like a thief” (2 Peter 3:10).

Those and many other passages express the urgency and the pressing reality of what the Lord’s death and resurrection have brought about. These are the last days. The former things are passing away. And all will be called to judgement.

The pandemic may soon reach its end but the crisis is not over and will not be so until the coming in glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. We are living in a perpetual crisis.

2. Living within the ongoing crisis

So how ought we to live in the light of such clear and stark teaching? What should ‘normal’ Christian life look like?

You’ll look in vain for statements that call Christians and churches to a multiplicity of anxiety-driven activities designed to hook others with the gospel. Our response to crises is to do more and to do it more intensely, to be busier and expend every ounce of energy we have. Which makes the exhortations that follow in the passages referred to above…well, remarkably ordinary and just a little bland:

• The day of the Lord is coming like a thief, so..."live holy and godly lives".
• The end of all things is near, so..."be alert and of sober mind so that you may pray. Above all love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. Offer hospitality to one another without grumbling...use whatever gifts you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in all its various forms."
• The night is nearly over, the day is almost here, so..."put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armour of light...behave decently, as in the daytime, not in carousing and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and debauchery, not in dissension and jealous. Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the flesh."
• This present world is passing away in its present form, so..."those who have wives should live as if they do not; those who mourn, as if they did not; those who are happy, as if they were not; those who buy something, as if it were not theirs to keep; those who use the things of this world, as if not engrossed in them." (That is, don’t treat those things as the ultimate good and as the lasting reality, because they aren’t)

Do you see where Scripture takes us after a pandemic, after tragedy? Not into a denial of the urgency of the gospel, nor into an uneasy truce with the mundane, nor into feverishly planning and delivering events. It takes us, relentlessly and resolutely, into faithful Christian living and into consistent, heart-felt praying. We show our grasp of the significance of the times by the timbre of our lives, the choices we make and the values we embody.

What we are tempted to downplay, the Bible elevates. It esteems and values, in recognition of the deepest spiritual crisis, the distinctive lives of ordinary Christians.  Those lives have potential in the Lord's hands to demonstrate the transforming power of the gospel of Jesus Christ, with consistency and depth.

Can you go back to doing what you used to do? Yes, in many ways we must do so. Should you just get on with doing the usual things and not feel guilty for doing so? Of course - they’ve never really been the issue. You might know already, however, that there are changes you need to make that reflect the realities you have felt more deeply during these past months. Changes in tempo, in focus, in devotion, in seriousness. But those changes are for the sake of anchoring our lives within a thoroughgoing godliness that reflects more, and more truly, the light and life of Christ, the beauty of his holiness and the compelling power of his saving love.

Filled with the knowledge of God's will (Carson)

Paul prays that they may be filled with the knowledge of the will of God, a knowledge that consists of wisdom and understanding of all kinds, at the spiritual level. How else will they withstand the pressures of their surrounding pagan culture, pressures that are as subtle as they are endemic? How else will they think Christianly, and genuinely bring their minds and hearts and conduct into conformity with God’s will?

Is there anything that our own generation more urgently needs than this? Some of us have chased every fad, scrambled aboard every bandwagon, adopted every gimmick, pursued every encounter with the media. Others of us have rigidly cherished every tradition, determined to change as little as possible, worshipped what is aged simply because it is aged. But where are the men and women whose knowledge of God is as fresh as it is profound, whose delight in thinking God’s thoughts after him ensures that their study of Scripture is never merely intellectual and self-distancing, whose desire to please God easily outstrips residual and corrupting desires to shine in public?

DA Carson, A Call to Spiritual Reformation, p.107

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.