Joy in the Journey (59) - Finding rest in God

The opening words in Psalm 62 call to us, across the centuries, and perhaps resonate with us as being 'for such a time as this': "Truly, my soul finds rest in God."

David's experience is summed-up in the imagery of verse 3 - he is a leaning wall, a tottering fence. He is vulnerable in the extreme. It wouldn't take much, at all, to finish him off. His resources have become depleted and his strength has waned and failed.

In his life there is conflict and strife; others intend to do him as much harm as they can. Their opposition is blatant and certain. Whether that in any way tallies with our own circumstances, it is always the case that we have an enemy who prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. And, so, we too might share in David's awareness of being so utterly open to attack.

But within the swirling currents of multiple threats, David affirms with great certainty ('Truly') that God is his rock and his salvation, that he is David's fortress. And so he is able to find a place of secured rest; he will not be shaken.

Notice that the rest that David knows is "in God", in his character and ways, in his commitment to protect his loved ones from all harm. It is a rest grounded in the reality that "Power belongs to you, O God, and with you, O Lord, in unfailing love" (v.11f). Power can be so easily abused but the one with power beyond all human telling exercises it in the love that is at the very centre of his being. We can rest securely in that.

It may well be that the Lord chooses to bring us to rest through indirect means - time spent in the open air, a piece of music, the company of a trusted friend. Or he may soothe our anxious, unstable hearts by the calming, healing work of his Spirit, in the quietness of the unseen spaces of the soul. However he chooses to do so, the rest he freely gives is one that is able to sustain us through the most perplexing and challenging of times.

The certainty with which David writes can be ours, too, because he is the unchanging God, engraving onto our own lives the grace of a Saviour who encountered the most depraved hostility and who suffered in order to become our victorious and glorious Head.

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Jesus, I am resting, resting

In the joy of what Thou art;

I am finding out the greatness

Of Thy loving heart.

Thou hast bid me gaze upon Thee,

And Thy beauty fills my soul,

For by Thy transforming power

Thou hast made me whole.

O how great Thy lovingkindness,

Vaster, broader than the sea!

O how marvellous Thy goodness,

Lavished all on me!

Yes, I rest in Thee, Beloved,

Know what wealth of grace is Thine,

Know Thy certainty of promise,

And have made it mine.

Simply trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,

I behold Thee as Thou art,

And Thy love, so pure, so changeless,

Satisfies my heart;

Satisfies its deepest longings,

Meets, supplies its every need,

Compasseth me round with blessings;

Thine is love indeed!

Ever lift Thy face upon me,

As I work and wait for Thee;

Resting 'neath Thy smile, Lord Jesus,

Earth's dark shadows flee.

Brightness of my Father's glory,

Sunshine of my Father's face,

Keep me ever trusting, resting;

Fill me with Thy grace.

(Jean Sophia Pigott, 1845-82)

Contending hard for God's people

Most pastors probably feel that they're working hard right now on behalf of their churches - tackling things we've maybe never had to tackle before, things specific to the pandemic. That hard work is good and proper and ought not to be shunned. But something Paul says in Colossians 2:1 struck me very forcefully when reading it recently.

He wants them to know just how hard he is contending for them. What is striking isn't that he feels he needs to tell them (it's actually good for them to know this); it's what that contending, that desperately hard work, consists of.

From the context - and from the similarly-worded description of Epaphras in 4:12 - it's clear that Paul is speaking about his prayers for them.

He's in prison, let's remember, so he can't be referring to very much by way of other types of activity on their behalf. And somehow I don't imagine he has in mind writing letters to the emperor or to the local authorities in Colossae and Laodicea to petition for the believers there. You might say he at least means the letter he's writing to them - after all, that's a form of ministry that probably wasn't dashed off before an afternoon siesta - and instructing Tychicus before he goes back to them. Well, maybe he would include those - but there's so little doubt as to what he really means. He's speaking about his prayers for them - prayers that have been reported on, briefly, in 1:9ff.

This praying, this interceding - and let's not forget it's for believers he's not yet met - comes under the heading of hard work. He's contending for them in his prayers - taking their side, pleading for them, wrestling for them. It drains him. He suffers in doing so. This isn't a few pleasant and polite requests; it's hard work, it's demanding labour. It's warfare.

Not because the one to whom he prays is a reluctant hearer of prayer. That's not the case at all. No, the intensity is because of the significance of the issues for which he prays - the maturing of the believers into fully-assured and fruitful Christians, who won't be deceived by fine-sounding arguments or taken captive by hollow and deceptive philosophy. And because there are all manner of obstacles being put in the way of that, both seen and unseen, whose only intent is to harm and destroy the church.

The content and the contention in Paul's prayers is a continual rebuke to my own. But they also provide a model and a framework for me, for us, to embrace and to get down to work with. These are surely days in which we need to be contending hard in prayer for the Lord's people, both near and far.

Joy in the Journey 58 - Listening to God until...

For every Christian, listening to the Lord, paying attention to his Word, is not a matter of debate; it's an almost instinctive and delightful bend of the heart to hear our Father's voice.

Until it isn't.

In Acts 22, the apostle Paul is giving a defence of himself to the crowd in Jerusalem, having been rescued from certain death by the Roman commander. He speaks to them of his life history in Judaism and of his conversion on the road to Damascus. The crowd listens to his account and his experience of the risen Jesus quietly, until he speaks of being sent to the nations so that they also might receive grace. At this point they erupt in anger, "Rid the earth of him! He's not fit to live!"

The crowd that heard Paul are clearly not comparable to Christians eager to listen to their Lord and Saviour. But hearing the voice of the Lord can be severely challenging - not because what he has said is indistinct and unclear but because the opposite is true.

Throughout the Christian life the gospel continues to challenge our prior commitments, our predispositions and prejudices, and it undercuts our self-righteousness and self-identification.

For the crowd in Acts 22, that self-identity was as 'most favoured nation' and the other nations as being unworthy of redemption. That is unlikely to be our particular challenge but it can all too easily be the case that our sense of identity is tied too tightly to the particular sub-culture (tribe) we belong to, the particular flavour of 'evangelical' or how we believe that ought to play-out in terms of our politics or other viewpoints. And when that happens, tempers can rise and a sense of outrage is inflamed.

You see this all the time online. But it also happens in person - and our hearts are not immune. The churches of Galatia were not uniquely susceptible to the temptation to bite and devour one another.

And the antidote lies in the very truth that we smart under - the gospel of God. What do we have that we did not receive, and received entirely by grace? Did God's word originate with us or are we the only ones it has reached? Is there anything that counts before him except faith expressing itself through love and the new creation?

What we are, we are by the sheer grace of God. Our standing is entirely 'in Christ', in whom alone our hope is found. As that reality undercuts our pride, it establishes our hearts in grace and works a generosity of spirit that refuses to recognise the dividing walls of hostile tribalism.

So let's go on eagerly listening to our Lord in his Word - the humbling it brings is that we might be further raised into the likeness of our Saviour.

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In Christ alone my hope is found,
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This Cornerstone, this solid Ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My Comforter, my All in All,
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone! – who took on flesh,
Fullness of God in helpless babe.
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save:
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied –
For every sin on Him was laid;
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain:
Then bursting forth in glorious day
Up from the grave He rose again!
And as He stands in victory
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me,
For I am His and He is mine –
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me;
From life’s first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand:
Till He returns or calls me home,
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand.

(Stuart Townend & Keith Getty Copyright © 2001 Thankyou Music)

Joy in the Journey 57 - A glorious throne

Jeremiah 17:9 speaks of "A glorious throne, exalted from the beginning..." - the Lord's seat of honour, established in righteousness and justice. A throne that is for ever and ever; a throne that is set in heaven, commanding a full and proper perspective of all things. A throne that is from the beginning, upon which all creation is founded.

It is this throne that Ezekiel sees in his inaugural vision, a throne of Lapis Lazuli, brilliant in beauty and an appropriate setting for "a figure like that of a man... from what appeared to be his waist up he looked like glowing metal, as if full of fire, and that from there down he looked like fire; and brilliant light surrounded him."

For the beleaguered captives in Babylon to whom Ezekiel's visions were given, this was breath-taking and just the news they needed. The throne had not been vacated; the One whose seat it was remained upon it. As Isaiah's sight of the LORD - "high and exalted and seated on a throne" - had given much-needed perspective in a time of national upheaval so, too, would Ezekiel's. The greatest power belonged to heaven's King, not the pretenders of earth.

In days of crippling insecurity and instability, these are visions of a throne that are thrilling and compelling for us. Where does real power reside? Whose is it and how will it be wielded? The One whose throne is glorious.

But Jeremiah's statement offers us still more. "A glorious throne, exalted from the beginning, is our place of sanctuary." The throne of power and majesty and ineffable glory is also, for us, a place of refuge and safety. Amid the storm that has engulfed us, we have hope and a home with the God who reigns over all.

And to this exalted throne we can come with genuine confidence, for it is "the throne of grace" (Heb. 4:16). Grace reigns! Sin - our sin - has abounded, but grace has super-abounded. There is no power greater and no authority superior. And so we, who are imperfect and soiled, stumbling in the darkness and conscious of the damage we have done, can yet draw near to God with solid assurance. We can ask for the cleansing, healing mercy of our Saviour and find it. We can plead for grace for a world lost in sin, for those we know and love whose lives remain shrouded in darkness. 

We can ask and we can be assured, quieted by his love as we are held in his grace, because "standing at the centre of the throne" is "a Lamb, looking as if it had been slain." The glory witnessed by Ezekiel is at its brightest and most radiant in the face of our blessed Saviour, whose throne of grace is our place of sanctuary.

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Done is the work that saves,

Once and for ever done;

Finished the righteousness

That clothes the unrighteous one.

The love that blesses us below

Is flowing freely to us now.

The sacrifice is o’er,

The veil is rent in twain,

The mercy-seat is red

With blood of Victim slain;

Why stand we then without, in fear?

The blood divine invites us near.

The gate is open wide;

The new and living way

Is clear and free and bright

With love and peace and day.

Into the holiest now we come,

Our present and our endless home.

Upon the mercy-seat

The High Priest sits within;

The blood is in His hand

Which makes and keeps us clean.

With boldness let us now draw near,

That blood has banished every fear.

Then to the Lamb once slain

Be glory, praise, and power,

Who died and lives again,

Who liveth evermore,

Who loved and washed us in His blood,

Who made us kings and priests to God.

(Horatius Bonar, 1808-89)

Chris Wright on Paul's preaching & teaching re idolatry

Paul's evangelism was uncompromisingly effective but not calculatingly offensive. Paul could speak the truth with grace and respect. He did not have to disparage and demean his listeners in order to display and commend the gospel. We could learn from him.

Comparing Paul's theological argument to Christians in Romans 1 with his evangelistic preaching to pagans recorded in Acts, there is a marked difference of tone, even though there is certainly no clash of fundamental conviction. It is the same theology but in different tones.

• Romans, written to Christians, highlights the wrath of God. Acts in recording speeches made to pagans, highlights God's kindness, providence, and patience. Both, however, do explicitly insist on God's judgement.
• Romans portrays idolatry as fundamentally rebellion and suppression of the truth. Acts portrays it as ignorance.
• Romans portrays the wickedness that idolatry spawns. Acts portrays idolatry as "worthless".
• Romans points out how perverted the idolater's thinking has to be. Acts points out how absurd it is when you stop and think about it.
• Paul could excoriate idolatry as "a lie" before Christian readers but did not blaspheme Artemis before her pagan worshippers.

So there is a difference in tone and tactic in Paul's confrontation with idolatry depending on the context of his argument. However, we should be clear that in both cases, he is building all he has to say on very solid scriptural foundations, for every one of the points mentioned above, even though they have differing and balancing emphases, can be related to the Old Testament rhetoric against idolatry, as we have seen. It is particularly noteworthy that, although Paul nowhere quotes the Old Testament in his evangelistic preaching among Gentiles (as he so profusely does when speaking among Jews in synagogues), the content of his message is thoroughly grounded in, and plainly proclaims, the monotheistic creational faith of Israel.

Chris Wright, Here are your Gods, pp.55f

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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)