Don't harden your hearts (Joy in the Journey 69)

Psalm 95 opens with verses of luscious praise to the living God, "the Rock of our salvation". They've often been used to open a worship service, calling us together and turning our eyes heavenwards.

It's such a shame, then, that the second half of the psalm spoils it, dissipates the warm glow and dampens the elevated spirit, as it moves from the call to worship to the clearest warning: "Don't harden your hearts."

The change of tenor and tone of voice is quite disturbing. A dark cloud has now crossed the face of the sun, a sinister chill has fallen and it feels like it's time to pack up and go inside. Such a shame, we were having a lovely morning.

Why the warning? And why does it so disturb and even disappoint us?

The Psalms aren't only for our comfort, they're also for our instruction and training in righteousness. They're scripture, after all. And the placement of this warning is inspired.

It reminds us of our continuing vulnerability to sin, even if we've been Christians for many years. If we're tempted to think, 'That's not me', we need to see how the psalm lays down a continuity between the people it was written to and those of the wilderness generation it refers to: "As you did...in the wilderness." They hadn't been there in person but they were of the same spirit, in the same need, from the same broken human stock.

Sometimes we close the door of our hearts to the Lord and his voice because of the weight of disappointment and duress we have known. Where is the promise, now, that he will not forsake us or let us down?

At other times, the slow-burn of temptation catches and begins to blaze and we find we're on the cusp of giving in to it. But how could we do that when we know Jesus has so loved us? By hardening our hearts, bolting the door.

Or we harden ourselves through small, decisive choices. They're barely visible to the naked eye, adjusting the set of our hearts by tiny degrees, but the long-term effect is to take us completely off course.

We need the warning.

But it's no accident that it comes after the opening half of the psalm, where the worship is sincere and compelling. Praise and the unfolding of the greatness of God - his person and work - are the necessary counterpoint to the urgent warning.

These opening words put kindling into our hearts and light a fire of devotion - a bright and holy flame that brings before us, in the warmth of spiritual affection, the beauty and blessing of the living God. "For the LORD is the great God, the great King above all gods." He is "the LORD our Maker... And we are the people of his pasture, the flock under his care." Under the care of the Good Shepherd who laid down his life for his sheep.

The psalm is calling us to join in the song of praise, to come with thanksgiving and joyful gladness. Taking up that call has the capacity to re-order and reclaim our hearts, to keep them from the deadening deceitfulness of sin.

And, like the pure nard that Mary lavished on our Lord Jesus in readiness for his death, such devotion reaches others - "the whole house was filled with its fragrance" - and helps to sustain within each of us a softness and responsiveness of heart.

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My eyes are dry,

My faith is old;
My heart is hard,

My prayers are cold.
And I know how

I ought to be,
Alive to you

And dead to me.

O what can be done,

For an old hard like mine?
Soften it up

With oil and wine:
The oil is you,

Your Spirit of love;
Please wash me anew,

In the wine of your blood.

Keith Green (1958-82)

Apostasy and Recovery (Lovelace)

It appears that the recovery of apostate bodies is not only a possibility according to biblical teaching but that it is in fact the central theme of the history of redemption... If the implications of Romans 11 are stretched a little, it would almost seem that apostasy is a prerequisite for recovery and that the proponents of every formal orthodoxy must be allowed to show their share in human nature by a period of backsliding and decay, so that every mouth may be stopped and God's mercy vindicated.

Dynamics of Spiritual Life, p.302f

Whether you find yourself agreeing with Lovelace's assessment or not, the possibility is indeed a humbling one. It is also supremely hopeful.

Jesus in the presence of death (Joy in the Journey 68)

There are times we find ourselves in the presence of death. It is near at hand. We lose those we love most and so do those we know and care for. It is a place, a chasm, of deep confusion and the most unsettling anguish. And we find ourselves asking, What am I to do here? What does standing with others look like? How am I to handle my own heart? What on earth does any of this mean? Who, even, am I? It is that disorientating.

We can expect such questions because death is not our natural milieu. It is an intrusion into the goodness of God's created realm. The very fact we find the whole experience angular and jarring is testament to the fact of death's silent invasion of territory that does not belong to it.

If ever we need to know the presence and help of our blessed Lord Jesus it is in those moments. How did he treat death and loss? What do we see and how might it help us?

He was not shielded from its impact. It is assumed, probably correctly, that the absence of Joseph from the record of our Lord's ministry is an indication that he has already died. If correct, then our Saviour knows the grief of deepest familial loss.

But we also see his deliberate entrance into situations where death has invoked its desolating power - just outside the town of Nain (Luke 7:11-15); in the home of Jairus (Mark 5:35-43); in the town of Bethany (John 11:17-44). What do we see on those occasions:

Jesus feels and speaks with fathomless compassion:

• As he encounters the desolate mother of the young man: "his heart went out to her and he said, 'Don’t cry." And he proceeds to touch the bier they were carrying him on - complete identification with all that has happened. Not standing apart and insulated at a safe distance.
• To the anguished Jairus, on hearing news that his daughter had now died: "Don't be afraid, just believe." And, having put out the crowd, he gently takes her by the hand and says, "Talitha koum".
• And at Bethany, his love for Martha and Mary and Lazarus is such that we're told "He was deeply moved in spirit...", that "Jesus wept" and that, "once more deeply moved," he came to the tomb of his friend.

These are not the words of a charlatan or the crocodile tears of a showman. This is the heart of God, open and raw, in plain sight. He is not, in any possible sense, untouched or untroubled by the feeling of our infirmities. As he beholds us in grief, he holds us, binds us, tightly, to his heart of mercy and weeps with us.

He breathes hope into broken hearts: The day will surely come when the words of our Lord just outside Nain ("Young man, I say to you, get up."), to the daughter of Jairus ("Little girl, I say to you arise") and then to his dear friends ("Your brother will rise... Lazarus, come out!") will be translated into a final command to all his loved ones to rise and enter into life everlasting.

Every last vestige of decay and mortality will be removed from us as his instruction to "Take off the grave clothes and let [them] go" will be irrevocably fulfilled.

What certainty of joy and what joyous certainty lie before us. And what a compassionate, loving and tender-hearted Saviour walks with us, now, through these valleys and into the uplands of promised hope.

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From heavenly Jerusalem's towers,

The path through the desert they trace;

And every affliction they suffered

Redounds to the glory of grace;

Their look they cast back on the tempests,

On fears, on grim death and the grave,

Rejoicing that now they're in safety,

Through Him that is mighty to save.

And we, from the wilds of the desert,

Shall flee to the land of the blest;

Life's tears shall be changed to rejoicing,

Its labours and toil into rest.

There we shall find refuge eternal,

From sin, from affliction, from pain,

And in the sweet love of the Saviour,

A joy without end shall attain.

David Charles, 1762-1834; tr. Lewis Edwards 1809-87)

Cheap grace makes people harder to bear

Though the attempt to claim justification without a clear commitment to sanctification outrages our conscience, we usually repress this from conscious awareness, and the resulting anxiety and insecurity create compulsive egocentric drives which aggravate the flesh instead of mortifying it. Thus the Protestant disease of cheap grace can produce some of the most selfish and contentious leaders and lay people on earth, more difficult to bear in a state of grace than they would be in a state of nature.

Richard Lovelace, Dynamics of Spiritual Life, p.104f

On the arm of her Beloved (Joy in the Journey 67)

It hardly needs saying that these are exceptionally difficult days, not just for individuals but also for groups of people - for Christians and churches. It is quite legitimate - and underscored so memorably and forcibly in the letter to the Hebrews - to view the Christian life through the lens of a wilderness experience. But what is generally true has been, for many, significantly emphasised by the trials of these past months.

But that will not always be so. In the Song of Songs a rhetorical question is asked by the Friends that focusses our attention on a royal scene of resplendent joy:

Who is this coming up from the wilderness
leaning on her beloved? (Song 8:5a)

The wilderness that has been a place where faith has been tested and refined, where the hearts of the people have been laid bare (Dt. 8:2) and their hopes purified. They had experienced the unconditional love of God their Father, love that disciplined and trained them for their ultimate benefit.

And now, pictured in this delighted question, is the end of the journey. The bride is being escorted from the wilderness by her husband, led by the arm into the fulness of love in a life of enduring fruitfulness. Not led as someone who is aged and infirm and in need of support, but the captivated ushering of the loved into a new Eden.

Elsewhere the LORD is portrayed as a warrior who rescues his people by a great victory over all the oppressive forces of chaos and death, of sin and evil. Here, the Saviour is given his most intimate title, the Beloved. The church, as his bride, experiences the privation and the preparation of the wilderness, but will one day be taken by the arm to walk with her Beloved into an unending future of deepest fellowship and affection, of the most genuine love.

The verses that follow celebrate the beauty of their union:

Place me like a seal over your heart,

like a seal on your arm;

for love is as strong as death...

Many waters cannot quench love;

rivers cannot sweep it away. (Song 8:6,7)

Not all the rivers of confusion and pain unleashed by a global pandemic. Not the many waters of death's deeps. Because the Lover is held and cherished and escorted from the howling wilderness by her Beloved. The seal on his heart.

This is our hope. This is our longing and the fruit of our belonging.

It may be very apt to mark in this way the beginning of Advent, as we long for the return of the King. He is coming back to take his bride by the arm and to lead her home, to the fullest, consummated joy.

Amen. Even so, come Lord Jesus.

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O Jesus, King most wonderful,

Thou conqueror renowned,

Thou sweetness most ineffable,

In whom all joys are found!

When once Thou visitest the heart,

Then truth begins to shine;

Then earthly vanities depart,

Then kindles love divine.

O Jesus, light of all below,

Thou fount of life and fire,

Surpassing all the joys we know,

And all we can desire:

May every heart confess Thy Name,

And ever Thee adore;

And, seeking Thee, itself inflame

To seek Thee more and more.

Thee may our tongues for ever bless,

Thee may we love alone,

And ever in our lives express

the image of Thine own.

Grant us, while here on earth we stay,

Thy love to feel and know;

And when from hence we pass away,

To us Thy glory show.

(Latin c.11th century; tr. by Edward Caswell, 1814-78)

Known by the Saviour of the World (Joy in the Journey 66)

Who knows you? How well do they do so? And what is it they know? For most of us there are many things we keep hidden and yet we cherish a deep longing to be known - to be seen, to be recognised and received. It's part of being persons, made in the image of God.

When our Lord Jesus meets and strikes up a conversation with a woman at the well in the town of Sychar in Samaria, we see just how significant it is to be known, known by God.

You might know the story well. He asks for a drink and she is puzzled by it - he is unashamedly crossing boundaries. He tells her he can give her living water and she then shows that she is someone who is sincere about God, honouring Jacob as the one who gave them the well. When Jesus offers her water that will forever quench her thirst, she is eager for it. It's at this point that Jesus tells her to go and call her husband.

This is a famous moment in this brief encounter, but it's often misunderstood. Her reply ("I don't have a husband") is acknowledged by the Lord ("You have had five husbands and the man you're now with is not your husband"). This is often taken to be his way of exposing her sin and raising her guilt to the surface of their conversation. But John's account doesn't go in that direction. (In any case, that number of husbands is more likely to indicate a broken and abused life, not a cavalier and promiscuous one)

The woman's response is to affirm that Jesus is clearly a prophet and she takes that opportunity to ask him for his thoughts on where true worship of God can occur. Far from recalling her to the subject of her husbands and her sin, the Saviour answers her questions and leads her to see that he is the coming Messiah. Her longing, her sincere seeking, is at an end.

How does she respond to this encounter? What is it that stays with her, that makes her leave behind her water jar and go to speak to the very people she's likely been avoiding on account of her complex life? Just this: "Come, see a man who told me everything I've ever done." Everything about her was known by him - the crass betrayals, the callous disregard; the failed hopes and the portentous fears. All her trembling aspirations and fondest dreams.

She ought to have been known by her husband - but there have been five of them, each of whom put her away, finally abandoning her to an unmarried relationship. This man by the well, this stranger who speaks as no one ever spoke, is different and his knowing of her is different.

This may not seem all that significant to us at first glance, but it clearly was for the people of Sychar, for "Many...believed in him because of her testimony, 'He told me everything I've ever done'". They felt and were drawn by its relevance.

The Lord's dealings with people - with this woman, with us - are not, first and foremost, about sins, secret or otherwise. It's about being known as a person, fully and truly. Which will include all our sins and all our accumulated shame, of course, but it is more than that because we are more than the sum of all our wrongs.

We are persons, made by God and made to know God. Our sin separates us from him and must be atoned for, must be forgiven and its power over us broken. Only Jesus can do that, by the agonies of his cross. And he bears it all for us, not because we're his pet project but because we are people that he sees and knows and loves.

The biblical language of knowing for a marriage relationship is not accidental. It points us to the deepest level of intimacy, the centre-point of eternal life: to "know...the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom [he] sent" and being known by this God in all the cavernous depths of our soul.

The woman at the well is unnamed but she is not unknown. The Saviour of the world knows her, deeply and fully and truly. And the same Lord Jesus knows us. Nothing is hidden from him and nothing needs to be. We are seen and recognised and loved and embraced. Known by God.

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How good it is, when weaned from all beside,

With God alone the soul is satisfied,

        Deep hidden in His heart!

How good it is, redeemed, and washed, and shriven,

To dwell, a cloistered soul, with Christ in heaven,

        Joined, never more to part!

How good the heart's still chamber thus to close

        On all but God alone -

There in the sweetness of His love repose,

       His love unknown!

All else for ever lost - forgotten all

        That else can be;

In rapture undisturbed, O Lord, to fall

        And worship Thee.

No place, no time, 'neath those eternal skies -

How still, how sweet, and how surpassing fair

That solitude in glades of Paradise,

And, as in olden days, God walking there.

I hear His voice amidst the stillness blest,

        And care and fear are past -

I lay me down within His arms to rest

        From all my works at last.

How good it is when from the distant land,

From lonely wanderings, and from weary ways,

The soul hath reached at last the golden strand,

        The Gates of Praise!

There, where the tide of endless love flows free,

        There, in the sweet and glad eternity,

        The still, unfading Now.

Ere yet the days and nights of earth are o'er,

Begun the day that is for evermore -

    Such rest art Thou!

(Gerhard Tersteegen, 1697-1769; tr. Unknown)

Do my words make others eager to hear the gospel?

Pondering: if those who don't know or haven't heard the gospel could hear my words, read my comments, to or about fellow Christians, would they be eager to hear the gospel from me?

Do those words have the spirit of the gospel within them? Are they full of mercy and good fruit? Are they pure and peace-loving, considerate and submissive? Are they impartial and sincere?

Because those words surely disclose my heart. May they not betray the gospel.

The engaged sign (Joy in the Journey 65)

It would seem to be common sense: you need to have an engaged sign that you use to maintain some distance from others in life, the ability to self-isolate in a non-Covid way. To protect yourself, physically and mentally. You've got to think of you.

But, in the light of Jesus' call to sacrificial discipleship, that may sound like common sense but it doesn't sound like faithful living and following. You're only here once; your life needs to count - every minute of it. Redeeming the time because the days are evil. That sort of thing

Ever find yourself caught between those two poles - one that offers guilt-ridden respite and the other burnt-out service? Is there a better way?

Yes there is - and it's a way that our Lord Jesus himself took.

There are several times in the gospels where the Saviour absented himself from the crowds and even from his disciples:

• times when he and his disciples needed to rest - physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually (Mark 6:31).
• times when Jesus himself needed to be on his own in prayer (Mark 1:35; Mt. 14:23).
• times when he needed to experience the depths of sorrow in his own soul (Mt. 14:13).

Our own needs are not dissimilar and are legitimised by his own as the Son of Man.

But our Lord also sought distance from the crowds for the sake of his disciples' growth in knowing him and being taught by him (Mk. 9:30-32). The urgent needs of the crowds were unrelenting - there was always more to do, more to heal and help, and yet Jesus turns aside from them, for his disciples' sake.

And the teaching the disciples so needed to receive was that "The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men. They will kill him, and after three days he will rise." Teaching that they could not begin to process, that needed time to sink in, to be absorbed into their hearts and to reframe their thinking and whole outlook and expectations.

It is not disinterest in the needs of others that compels us to seek out such times for ourselves. Longing with all our hearts to "know him and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his sufferings, becoming like him in his death" is not cynical self-interest or callous disregard for the pain and lostness we see. It is indispensable preparation for serving others - not simply for healthy bodies, vital as they are, but even more for the mind of Christ to be cultivated within us and for our hearts to be strengthened in order "to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge - that [we] may be filled to the measure of all the fulness of God."

No doubt we ought to look for ways in which we can make that time. But, knowing that all our times are in his hands and at his direction and discretion, those times might be given to us in ways we did not expect. It would be good to be alert to that possibility.

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Here from the world we turn,

Jesus to seek;

Here may His loving voice

Tenderly speak.

Jesus, our dearest Friend,

While at Thy feet we bend,

O let Thy smile descend!

'Tis Thee we seek.

Come, Holy Comforter,

Presence divine,

Now in our longing hearts

Graciously shine!

O for Thy mighty power!

O for a blessed shower,

Filling this hallowed hour

With joy divine!

Saviour, Thy work revive,

Here may we see

Those who are dead in sin

Quickened by Thee.

Come to our heart's delight,

Make every burden light,

Cheer Thou our waiting sight;

We long for Thee.

(Frances Jane Van Alstyne, 1820-1915)

Joy in the Journey (64) - Godly hesitancy

James writes that each and every Christian ought to be "Quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry" (1:19) That caution comes with some justification: "because human anger does not produce the righteousness God desires."

It would seem an inherent, fallen trait that each of us is prone to be swift in forming opinions and drawing conclusions, whether of the Lord or of each other, and then in making our responses, which are often rash and ill-judged. The fall-out not only turns social media into a battlefield but also damages our relationships with each other. It also clouds our perceptions of the Lord and his ways with us.

Isaiah 11:3 tells us that one of the marks of the coming Messiah would be that "he will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears." Rather, "with righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth." His ways are considered and his responses made from a deep well of the Spirit's wisdom and understanding (v.2).

As creatures of time we're reliant upon our senses - what we see and what we hear - but we need more than them for clear and accurate perceptions of life and reality, and of our Lord and his character. What we need is for the Spirit our Lord Jesus had "without measure" to be our teacher, too, and to illuminate our minds and form our hearts.

In grace he is balm for our spirits, creating 'space' in our hearts and minds such that the rush to judgement is forestalled and we are able to be more reflective and embrace a godly hesitancy in thought and speech. Being quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to anger are hallmarks of the Spirit of Jesus at work within us.

Paul's exhortation to the Thessalonian church, "make it your ambition to lead a quiet life" (1 Thess. 4:11), and his urging believers to pray for national leaders so "that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness" (1 Tim. 2:3) sit naturally alongside James' concern for considered speech and action. Lives lived in that way reflect the character of the Messiah who "will not shout or cry out or raise his voice in the streets" (Is. 42:2).

James writes not only to highlight our frailties but also to encourage humble, honest prayer for wisdom - wisdom from above, pure and peace-loving, considerate and submissive, full of mercy and good fruit. When we ask for that wisdom to be ours we can be confident that the Father of the heavenly lights will not find fault with us but will be generous in answering our prayers, "for he knows how we are formed and remembers that we are dust" (Ps. 103:14) .

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Begone, unbelief;
My Saviour is near,
And for my relief
Will surely appear;
By prayer let me wrestle,
And He will perform;
With Christ in the vessel,
I smile at the storm.

Though dark be my way,
Since He is my guide,
’Tis mine to obey,
’Tis His to provide;
Though cisterns be broken,
And creatures all fail,
The word He has spoken
Shall surely prevail.

His love in time past
Forbids me to think
He’ll leave me at last
In trouble to sink;
Each sweet Ebenezer
I have in review
Confirms His good pleasure
To help me quite through.

Determined to save,

He watched o'er my path,

When, Satan's blind slave,

I sported with death;

And can He have taught me

To trust in His name,

And thus far have brought me

To put me to shame?

Why should I complain
Of want or distress,
Temptation or pain?
He told me no less;
The heirs of salvation,
I know from His Word,
Through much tribulation
Must follow their Lord.

How bitter that cup
No heart can conceive,
Which He drank quite up,
That sinners might live!
His way was much rougher
And darker than mine;
Did Christ, my Lord, suffer,
And shall I repine?

Since all that I meet
Shall work for my good,
The bitter is sweet,
The medicine, food;
Though painful at present,
’Twill cease before long;
And then, O how pleasant
The conqueror’s song!

(John Newton, 1725-1807)

In praise of the Bible reading plan that isn't (a plan)

For several years I'd used plans to read through the whole Bible, generally within a certain time-frame (a year, two years...). They're really helpful in making sure you read the whole Bible, not just favourite bits (there's no problem in having favourite bits but we do need the whole), and help keep you on track. So, plans are great but they can be restrictive and somewhat inflexible. Even the ones that give you some breathing room by only specifying readings for 5 or 6 days each week still impose a certain rigidity to the shape of the journey.

So I decided on a plan that wasn't a plan.

Each day I would read a psalm, a chapter of the Old Testament and a chapter of the New Testament. When I'd got through, say, the New Testament, I'd go back and start again. And if I felt like reading more in any of those sections then I could do so - nothing was tied together.

This scheme has several benefits. It allows you to spend more time in a particular book if you choose to do so, without messing up the whole plan. Or to take larger chunks of text which can also be refreshing and helpful. Once I decided to use the flexibility by reading through the Psalms in a month.

One of the most exciting results has been to see different parts of the Bible illuminating each other, on a rolling basis. When I used a plan the same passages from the Old and the New would appear together, year on year, on the same day; with this scheme there is a fluidity that often opens up new connections and enhances an appreciation of the Bible's organic unity.

I chose not to read in the usual order (see below). Instead, I read through the Old Testament in the order of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament in blocks by authors or by what might be termed 'cultural milieu' (so Matthew is followed by Hebrews, James and Jude because of their Jewish settings). This means the gospels recur more regularly - I couldn't bear the thought of reading through all four and then not read them again until the plan was complete, as had been the case in most of the plans I'd used.

I've used this scheme for 5 years now and have read through the Psalms 14 times, I'm on my 4th reading of the Old Testament and 9th of the New Testament. Those aren't written as achievements, simply to illustrate how it can work out. One year I felt I was reading too slowly through the Old Testament so doubled-up and read from two books at once. Because you can.

As with most plans you can vary when you read to suit your circumstances. Maybe a psalm before a time of prayer then one of the other readings, followed by a time later in the day for the remaining section. Or the whole reading in one sitting. It's not a competition and everyone can find a rhythm that suits them for their own situation, for that time in life.

So a plan that's not really a plan. I've found it so helpful and have written this up in the hope that others might too.

******

Reading order:

Old Testament
Genesis
Exodus
Leviticus
Numbers
Deuteronomy
Joshua
Judges
1 Samuel
2 Samuel
1 Kings
2 Kings
Isaiah
Jeremiah
Ezekiel
Hosea
Joel
Amos
Obadiah
Jonah
Micah
Nahum
Habbakuk
Zephaniah
Haggai
Zechariah
Malachi
Proverbs
Job
Song of Songs
Ruth
Lamentations
Ecclesiastes
Esther
Daniel
Ezra
Nehemiah
1 Chronicles
2 Chronicles

New Testament
Matthew
Hebrews
James

Jude
Mark
1 Peter
2 Peter
Luke
Romans
1 Corinthians
2 Corinthians
Acts
Galatians
Ephesians
Philippians
Colossians
1 Thessalonians
2 Thessalonians
1 Timothy
2 Timothy
Titus
Philemon
John
1 John
2 John
3 John
Revelation

Joy in the Journey (63) - The LORD who longs to be gracious to you

Isaiah 30:15 opens with some of the most gorgeous words in the Bible: the Sovereign LORD, the Holy One of Israel, says to his people that

"In repentance and rest is your salvation;
in quietness and trust is your strength."

Turning back to the LORD from our folly and foibles, confessing and forsaking our all-too-familiar sins and choosing to rest in God is in itself salvation, the royal road to the relief of rescue. To put aside all the noise of our nervous laughter and the nonsense of our boasts - embracing instead the stillness of quiet and consciously, deliberately, placing our trust in our Saviour, we will discover and enter a strength not of our own making.

The appeal of the Holy One is winsome and full of a warmth that compels and draws. Such a tender, loving entreaty.

"But you would have none of it."

The tragedy in those words is unspeakable. Such is the distortion of sin in deforming our souls that words which freely offer life in place of festering decay are summarily dismissed.

We should not miss the significance of what this says, not simply of others but of ourselves, too. Under the influence of sin we are capable of self-destructive madness, choosing instead to forge our own escape route out of life's despairs, a road that only leads to intensified misery. The LORD lays bare the way of life and there are times we can barely bring ourselves to walk one step on it.

Sin doesn't only take us to the edge, it is intent on hurling us over. Who could deliver us from such a body of death?

The One who in the face of such blatant and wilful rejection declares,

"Yet the LORD longs to be gracious to you;
therefore he will rise up to show you compassion.
For the LORD is a God of justice.
Blessed are all who wait for him!"

It isn't over.

There is hope beyond the rebellion, a rescue after the hurling aside of the overtures of grace. The one thing that ultimately matters, that truly counts, is his determination to bless. It is his stand against all our sin and its condemnation in the flesh of his Son, our Lord Jesus, that gives convulsive sinners lasting hope.

Are you a Christian who knows that your struggles with sin are not yet over? Who feels the agony of betraying the Lord who gave himself for you? Then pair that biblical realism with the sovereign goodness that will never fail you, the love that will not let you go.

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Depth of mercy! can there be

Mercy still reserved for me?

Can my God his wrath forbear?

Me, the chief of sinners spare?

I have long withstood His grace,

Long provoked Him to His face,

Would not hearken to His calls,

Grieved Him by a thousand falls.

Whence to me this waste of love?

Ask my Advocate above!

See the cause in Jesu's face,

Now before the throne of grace.

There for me the Saviour stands;

Shows His wounds and spreads His hands.

God is love; I know, I feel;

Jesus lives, and loves me still.

Jesus, answer from above:

Is not all Thy nature love?

Wilt Thou not the wrong forget?

Suffer me to kiss Thy feet?

If I rightly read Thy heart,

If Thou all compassion art,

Bow Thine ear, in mercy bow;

Pardon and accept me now.

(Charles Wesley, 1707-88)

Don't just tell someone to pray about it

...It is when we come face to face with God and meditate upon Him that we are finally delivered from that low level of rational thinking and begin again to think spiritually. I wonder whether there is someone who is surprised that I have not put prayer first, or at least before this. I am sure there are some, because I know a number of Christian people who have a universal answer to all questions. It does not matter what the question is, they always say, 'Pray about it.' If a man in the Psalmist's condition had come to any one of them they would have said, 'Go away and pray about it.' What a glib, superficial and false bit of advice that can often be, and I am saying that from a Christian pulpit. You may ask, Is it ever wrong to tell men to make their problems a matter of prayer? It is never wrong, but it is sometimes quite futile. What I mean is this. The whole trouble with this poor man, in a sense, was that he was so muddled in his thinking about God that he could not pray to Him. If we have muddled thoughts in our mind and heart concerning God's way with respect to us, how can we pray? We cannot. Before we can pray truly we must think spiritually. There is nothing more fatuous than glib talk about prayer, as if prayer was something which you can always immediately rush into.

D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, Faith on Trial, p.41

Joy in the Journey (62) - When Jesus prayed Psalm 71

Many of the psalms have very specific fulfilment in the life and experiences of our Lord Jesus. Psalm 16, for example, is regularly used in the New Testament in that way. Yet, in a larger sense, we can reflect on how these songs would have been experienced by him, because, in common with his people, our Lord was familiar with the whole psalter; they were his prayer book.

(The confessions of sin, of course, are not his own but taking those words upon his lips would have been part of his identification with the sorrows and struggles of sinful people, part of his growing into the faithful high priest who is touched by the feeling of our infirmities.)

Psalm 71 is a good example of how we might engage in that kind of reading. Thinking about how these very words would have spoken to the experience of our Lord, how his own Spirit would have sustained him through them, as he expressed his confidence in his Father ("In you, LORD, I have taken refuge") and the sure and certain hope of rescue from all that evil could do to him ("you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up.").

Reading a psalm in this way is not an academic exercise in drawing lines of connection to our Saviour. Rather, it is learning to see our own experiences appropriated and absorbed by our Lord. It is seeing, through his own eyes, the outworking of atonement in our place.

And, in seeing, we are drawn into worship and reverence for the Lord Jesus Christ. Here is love, vast as an ocean. Seeing what was ahead of him, feeling constantly the opposition of sin and, with the oppression of darkness marking his every step, he walked into the furnace in our place and, having suffered to untold depths, emerged with victory assured in the blaze of resurrection light.

He has indeed become a sign, a marvel, to many - to us (v.7).

A sign through which we can learn what it means to walk by faith and not by sight, as we cast our all upon our Father in heaven, knowing that what was true for his dear Son will also be true for his sons and daughters, adopted freely by grace. Knowing that he is the rock of refuge to whom we can always go (v.3). And finding our mouths filled with his praise, declaring his splendour all day long (v.8).

Our Saviour sang Psalm 71 and invites us to join him.

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Come down, O Love divine,
Seek Thou this soul of mine,
And visit it with Thine own ardour glowing;
O Comforter, draw near,
Within my heart appear,

And kindle it, Thy holy flame bestowing.

O let it freely burn,
Till earthly passions turn
To dust and ashes, in its heat consuming;
And let Thy glorious light
Shine ever on my sight,
And clothe me round, the while my path illuming.

Let holy charity

Mine outward vesture be,

And lowliness become mine inner clothing;

True lowliness of heart,

Which takes the humbler part,

And o'er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.

And so the yearning strong,

With which the soul will long,
Shall far outpass the power of human telling;
For none can guess its grace,
Till he become the place
Wherein the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling.

(Bianco da Siena, tr. Richard Littledale, 1833-90)

For a lovely version of this hymn, click here.

Joy in the Journey (61) - Encouraged in heart, united in love

How much does it matter that you and I are "encouraged in heart and united in love"? Are they the icing on the cake for the Christian life? We all want to feel encouraged and we'd also like to know a loving unity with others but, if they're missing, we'll just soldier on and make the best of what we can...?

Paul's take on this is that it matters greatly. In Colossians 2:1ff he speaks of how hard he is contending for them - putting his all into praying for them, labouring to bring them to God and to plead for his blessing on them, as was Epaphras (see 4:8). To what end? So that they might be "encouraged in heart and united in love".

But why do these matter so much? Why is Paul hung up on them, especially as we might not see them as being quite so significant? The answer is in the words that follow:

"So that they might have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge."

Being encouraged in heart and united in love are key to our progress and growth into maturity as Christians. They are indispensable to our knowing Christ and all the fulness that is found only in him. So let's think a little about each of them:

To be encouraged in heart means to be strengthened in the centre of our being, in our will and affections, our disposition and emotions. It means being built up in all the dimensions of our core life.

Paul has something similar in mind when he prays in Ephesians 3:16f that "out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith..."

Part of the key to growing into maturity is God's work in our hearts - strengthening them with his love, moving and changing our will and affections, illuminating our understanding, moving us to reflect upon his glory and to fix our eyes on Jesus. We co-operate with and promote his work in us as we humble ourselves before him, as we open his Word and open our hearts to worship him.

That's what Paul was contending for in prayer.

The second part of his aim, and the desire and longing of his prayers, is that they would be "united in love".

The importance of loving unity cannot be overstated, because it reflects the very heart and life of God himself, in the beautiful, loving harmony of the one God in three persons.

The church is a whole and the Christian life is inherently communal, even allowing for the rich variety of our differing temperaments. Every part of the body is necessary to the health of the whole; no part is dispensable.

The life we live together is to be marked by the love that flows from the living God into our hearts. A love that is sacrificial and other-seeking, a love that suffers long and is kind and more besides. A love that cannot be drummed-up by exhortation but grows most naturally in the soil of the lived experience of God's love for us in the giving of his Son in our place.

We cannot grow to maturity in Christ without genuine loving unity with our brothers and sisters, where such fellowship is possible. Rancour and disdain not only mar our testimony before a watching world, they also cause our hearts to shrivel and decline away from the Lord. The childishness (not child-likeness) of the church in Corinth sadly confirms this for us.

For every Christian, the desire to know Christ is central. Which is why we need to join Paul in praying for, and putting into place the things that tend toward, our being encouraged in heart and united in love.

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Thou Shepherd of Israel, and mine,
The joy and desire of my heart,
For closer communion I pine,
I long to reside where Thou art:
The pasture I languish to find
Where all, who their Shepherd obey,
Are fed, on Thy bosom reclined,
And screened from the heat of the day.

Ah! show me that happiest place,
The place of Thy people’s abode,
Where saints in an ecstasy gaze,
And hang on a crucified God.
Thy love for a sinner declare,
Thy passion and death on the tree;
My spirit to Calvary bear,
To suffer and triumph with Thee.

'Tis there, with the lambs of Thy flock,
There only, I covet to rest,
To lie at the foot of the rock,
Or rise to be hid in Thy breast;
'Tis there I would always abide,
And never a moment depart,
Concealed in the cleft of Thy side,
Eternally held in Thy heart.

(Charles Wesley, 1707-88)

Am I a fraud if I find it easier to pray with others?

"I find praying together with others so much easier and more satisfying than praying on my own. But I heard someone say that what we are, alone, on our knees before God, is what we really are. Does this mean that I'm a fraud?"

******

That's a really interesting question and says a lot, even in the asking. Questions about the genuineness of our faith and the security of our relationship with Jesus seem to be never far away for many people. Mostly, it's a sign of an insecure but genuine faith and is something that can be worked-on over time. Maybe the best way of working on it is not to focus on it but, instead, to fix our eyes on Jesus, who he is and what he's done; to focus on God and his character - his faithfulness and truth; and to leave the work of the Spirit to the Spirit.

But the question itself also deserves an answer. If you're deliberately trying to be something you know you're not before others then that is concerning. It doesn't mean you're a full-out fraud but at the very least it indicates that others' estimation of you looms too large in your thinking. That's something to examine, as to why it matters so much. There are many possible reasons for it, which are a whole conversation in themselves, but, again, one of the best ways to handle it is to see yourself as united to Christ and accepted by God in him, the only one whose acceptance of us counts for anything.

The saying referred to is helpful up to a point, that point being the one we've just made. But there's more to say. We all have different temperaments and personalities. Some are very gregarious, others far more introverted, and still others have aspects of both in their makeup. So we ought to expect variations in our preferences and in what helps us. Blanket statements are good for giving a general picture but they fail at parsing particularities.

But, beyond that, the Bible itself points up the blessing of praying together with other people. Without minimising Jesus' instruction to 'go into your room and close the door' when we pray, it isn't everything the Bible has to say to us about prayer. Our Lord himself was overheard praying by his disciples. The apostle Paul could speak about the prayers of Epaphras for the church in Colossae. Instructions to prayer are often given in the plural (for a church as a body).

That the prayers of others become something we find we can 'inhabit' in a prayer meeting, finding encouragement and the enlarging of our own heart - even the expression of our own heart - is not so far removed from experiencing the same thing when reading the prayers in the Psalms. We ought to expect that our hearts will be knitted to those of our brothers and sisters at a soul-deep level when we pray together.

And finding that sometimes, perhaps often, our appreciation of God and our sense of access to him is heightened in those times is not something to make us ashamed of our personal struggles but, rather, should encourage us to persevere in seeking God for ourselves.

Joy in the Journey (60) - Let your gentleness be evident to all

The exhortation to rejoice and the invitation to not be anxious for anything but to bring all to God in prayer are a very well-known and much-loved part of Paul's letter to the Philippians (chapter 4). But within those verses is another call that gets less attention: "Let your gentleness be evident to all" (verse 5).

When times are tough and our hearts are bundles of anxieties and fears, when it seems like there is no easy way out of the challenges that face us, being gentle - being gentle to all - is far from certain. Fears paralyse our hearts and anxieties pull us inwards. And we find ourselves responding to others harshly, becoming censorious and cynical, robbed of joy.

Paul's instruction, Let your gentleness be evident to all, is a wake-up call to be heard above the noise of strife that fills our minds so constantly.

But we must be careful not to mistake a natural timidity of character for the gentleness Paul writes of. True gentleness is a tenderness of spirit and a lightness of touch in our dealings with others, as well as in our thoughts toward them and our prayers for them. It is a carefulness of speech and a consideration of our actions that takes great pains not to graze another's soul. If we ourselves are brittle and fragile, so too are others. Let your gentleness be evident to all.

Such gentleness isn't peculiar to particular personality types; it is a fruit of the Spirit of Jesus. And so Paul adds the most wonderful, brief companion statement: "The Lord is near." It is his presence now and the promise of his return in glory soon that enables such a transformation of our demeanour and responses.

The Lord is with us now and deals with each one of us so gently, with a love that knows every pain we bear and all the sensitivity of our psyche. And the nearness Paul writes of includes within it our Saviour's ultimate nearness: we shall not be abandoned to the squalor and the struggles of this life. Weeping may remain for a night but joy is coming in the morning.

Psalm 65:9-11 portrays the Lord's work in his world with a captivating beauty:

You care for the land and water it;
you enrich it abundantly...
You drench its furrows and level its ridges;
you soften it with showers and bless its crops.
You crown the year with your bounty,
and your carts overflow with abundance.

There is an intentional continuity between the hand of God in the fruitfulness of earth and his hand upon us, in the terrain of our hearts. He drenches the furrows of our lives by his presence and his word acts to level the ridges of our character, softening us with showers of loving-kindness. And when our Lord Jesus returns, not only ourselves but all creation will be crowned with beauty, overflowing with abundance as "We are filled with the good things of your house" (Ps. 65:4).

Until then, may our gentleness be evident to all because, truly, the Lord is near.

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Have Thine own way, Lord,
Have thine own way;
Thou art the Potter,
I am the clay.
Mould me and make me
After Thy will,
While I am waiting
Yielded and still.

Have Thine own way, Lord,
Have Thine own way;
Search me and try me,
Master, today.
Whiter than snow, Lord,
Wash me just now,
As in Thy presence
Humbly I bow.

Have Thine own way, Lord,
Have thine own way;
Wounded and weary,
Help me I pray.
Power, all power,
Surely is Thine;
Touch me and heal me,
Saviour divine.

Have Thine own way, Lord,
Have Thine own way;
Hold o'er my being
Absolute sway.
Fill with Thy Spirit
Till all shall see
Christ only, always,
Living in me.

(Adelaide Addison Pollard, 1862-1934)

If character matters more than gifts...

 If it is true that, for pastors and elders, character matters more than gifts (as most seem agreed is the case), then that will also hold true within the church more broadly. Which would seem to indicate that character is more essential than gifts for the church to be effective in reaching out to others with the gospel.

Which perhaps leads to the conclusion that those who serve as pastors and elders ought to focus most not on developing gifts within the church (and those identified for ministry) but on the formation of character. And that, I would suggest, is most helpfully done through preaching, prayer and pastoring.

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.