Don't drive the people away (Ambrose)

I had been like a gentle lamb led to the slaughter. (Jeremiah 11:19)

If the highest goal of virtue is the betterment of the most people, gentleness is the loveliest of all, which does not hurt even those it condemns, and makes those it condemns worthy of forgiveness. Moreover, it is the only virtue that has led to the growth of the church, which the Lord established at the price of his own blood, embodying the gentleness of heaven. Seeking the redemption of all, he speaks in a gentle voice that people’s ears can endure, under which their hearts do not sink, nor their spirits tremble.

If you endeavour to improve the faults of human weakness, you should bear this weakness on your own shoulders and let it weigh upon you. For we read in the Gospel that the shepherd carried the weary sheep and did not cast it off (Luke 15:5). And Solomon says, “Do not be overly righteous” (Eccl. 7:16), for restraint should soften righteousness. For how can people whom you despise, who think that they will be an object of contempt and not of compassion, feel safe to seek healing from you, their physician? 

The Lord Jesus had compassion on us in order to call us to himself and not frighten us away. He came in meekness and humility, and so he said, “Come to me, all you that labour and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you” (Matt. 11:28). So the Lord gives rest and does not shut out nor cast off and rightly chose disciples that would interpret his will, which is to gather together and not drive away the people of God.

Ambrose

(James Stuart Bell, Awakening Faith, Day 355)

Six Recognitions of the Lord (Mary Oliver)

1.
I know a lot of fancy words.
I tear them from my heart and my tongue.
Then I pray.

2.
Lord God, mercy is in your hands, pour
me a little. And tenderness too. My
need is great. Beauty walks so freely
and with such gentleness. Impatience puts
a halter on my face and I run away over
the green fields wanting your voice, your
tenderness, but having to do with only
the sweet grasses of the fields against
my body. When I first found you I was
filled with light, now the darkness grows
and it is filled with crooked things, bitter
and weak, each one bearing my name.

3.
I lounge on the grass, that's all. So
simple. Then I lie back until I am
inside the cloud that is just above me
but very high, and shaped like a fish.
Or, perhaps not. Then I enter the place
of not-thinking, not-remembering, not-
wanting. When the blue jay cries out his
riddle, in his carping voice, I return.
But I go back, the threshold is always
near. Over and back, over and back. Then
I rise. Maybe I rub my face as though I
have been asleep. But I have not been
asleep. I have been, as I say, inside
the cloud, or, perhaps, the lily floating
on the water. Then I go back to town,
to my own house, my own life, which has
now become brighter and simpler, some-
where I have never been before.

4.
Of course I have always known you
are present in the clouds, and the
black oak I especially adore, and the
wings of birds. But you are present
too in the body, listening to the body,
teaching it to live, instead of all
that touching, with disembodied joy.
We do not do this easily. We have
lived so long in the heavens of touch,
and we maintain our mutability, our
physicality, even as we begin to
apprehend the other world. Slowly we
make our appreciative response.
Slowly appreciation swells to
astonishment. And we enter the dialogue
of our lives that is beyond all under-
standing or conclusion. It is mystery,
It is love of God. It is obedience.

5.
Oh, feed me this day, Holy Spirit, with
the fragrance of the fields and the
freshness of the oceans which you have
made, and help me to hear and to hold
in all dearness those exacting and wonderful
words of our Lord Jesus Christ, saying:
Follow me.

6.
Every summer the lilies rise
    and open their white hands until they almost
cover the black waters of the pond. And I give
    thanks but it does not seem like adequate thanks,
it doesn't seem
    festive enough or constant enough, nor does the
name of the Lord or the words of thanksgiving come
    into it often enough. Everywhere I go I am
treated like royalty, which I am not. I thirst and
    am given water. My eyes thirst and I am given
the white lilies on the black water. My heart
    sings but the apparatus of singing doesn't convey
half what it feels and means. In spring there's hope,
    in fall the exquisite, necessary diminishing, in
winter I am as sleepy as any beast in its
    leafy cave, but in summer there is
everywhere the luminous sprawl of gifts,
    the hospitality of the Lord and my
inadequate answers as I row my beautiful, temporary body
    through this water-lily world.

(Thirst, pp.26-28)

The Deal God Didn't Make And Cannot Keep (Joy in the Journey 72)

Psalm 44 expresses deep agony. The nation is in turmoil and, seemingly, a sitting duck for its enemies. They not only feel weak, they are weak, desperately so. And they are gloated over with great glee.

It hadn’t always been like this. In times past, things had been far more positive, far more expansive and assured. Looking back from the rusting present, they were the golden days, shiny and inviolable.

And the writer of the psalm knows where the blame lies. The fault can be laid, fairly and squarely, at the door of the God to whom they belong. The living God, the God of all the earth; the unconquerable, all-powerful God of covenant faithfulness. And right now, this God is acting deaf, playing dead and covering his eyes to their harsh reality. In a devastating charge, he is accused of having sold his people for a pittance and been none the richer for it.

What galls the writer is that this would be understandable if they had acted treacherously towards him, but they hadn’t. They had been faithful to the covenant; they had kept their part of the bargain - and he had reneged on his (see Lev. 26:3-8). And so he must be roused, awakened to their plight, stirred to take his own vocation seriously. Wasn’t it he who said they would be his people and he their God? Then it’s time to make good on his commitment.

Those are serious charges against a God whose character is supposedly marked to the core by faithfulness and integrity. But this is a deal he did not make and cannot keep.

The apostle Paul quotes verse 22 in Rom. 8:36 as he speaks of his and his colleagues' experiences in serving Jesus. They are not spared the suffering; in fact, they’re like sheep ready to be slaughtered. Nevertheless, "in all these things", in all the struggles and sorrows, in all the perplexities and alarms, they are more than conquerors in Jesus.

The experience of God’s people, as much in the Old Testament as in the New, would be traced along the arc of suffering for the sake of God’s purposes in the world. That would, of course, be uniquely fulfilled by Jesus the Messiah. Yet, whilst not replicating his atoning work, his people nevertheless share in bearing his marks upon their bodies and fill up his sufferings in their own flesh (Gal 6:17; Col 1:24).

The (gospel) mystery of the anguish of Psalm 44 is that, if it wasn’t discipline for sin, then it must have a sanctifying - that is, a missional - dimension to it. The work of God progresses in the world not through sweeping all his enemies away in military victory but by the triumph of love over evil, even in the face of slaughter.

And yet, gloriously, in the face of such malevolence "nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord". Nothing will prevent the whole cosmos being flooded by the light of his glory, as the waters cover the sea, even when the daily reality is that his people ”are considered as sheep to be slaughtered”.

The truth was, he hadn’t forsaken his people; he hadn’t refused to keep the bargain they believed he had made with them. There never was a promise of seamless victories over all hardship and all enemies. Rather, their experience would presage the coming of the Messiah, whose sufferings would be for a world of sin. And those who suffer with him will have the Spirit of glory and of God resting upon them as he leads them in the unbreakable security of his love. We have his word on that.

The serpent would strike their heel but, in the Messiah, they would crush his head, through the gospel of the God of peace (Romans 16:20).

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

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,

Is laid for your faith in His excellent word!

What more can He say than to you He hath said,

You who, unto Jesus, for refuge have fled?

In every condition, in sickness, in health,

In poverty's vale or abounding in wealth;

At home or abroad, on the land, on the sea,

As days may demand, shall thy strength ever be.

Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed!

I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid;

I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,

Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand.

“When through the deep waters I call thee to go,

The rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;

For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,

And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,

My grace, all sufficient, shall be thy supply;

The flame shall not hurt thee; I only design

Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine.

The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,

I will not, I will not desert to its foes;

That soul, though all hell should endeavour to shake,

I’ll never, no never, no never forsake!

('K' in Rippon's Selection, 1787)

What does 'all things' in Romans 8:32 mean?

 Jim Packer suggests it means this:

The meaning of ‘he will give us all things’ can be put thus: one day we shall see that nothing – literally nothing – that could have increased our eternal happiness has been denied us and that nothing – literally nothing – that could have reduced that happiness has been left with us. What higher assurance do we want than that?

Packer, J.I.. Knowing God Through the Year (p. 297). John Murray Press. Kindle Edition. 

In praise of a really cheap bible

Back in the spring - Lockdown Spring - I bought a new bible from 10ofThose. I had been using a single-column NIV but was struggling with how deep it was (the physical bible, not the contents - I mean, they're also deep and, yes, I struggle with them, too). The bible I bought was the NIV, British spelling (yay, no more roosters), 2-column, grey faux-leather with lime green zip. This one:

I paid £7.99 for it. I didn't really expect much, to be honest. But it's become my regular reading bible over the past months and I really like it (it's currently £9.99, btw - hardly extortionate).

The best bit is probably the 9-point text, which is a great size (11-point would be even more fab but that would make this a much bigger bible). The text is nicely dark and the paper pretty white giving great contrast. The paper quality isn't tops but this is a bible for under £8. Yes, there's bleed-through but that's pretty standard on all but the very priciest bibles.

It takes my highlighting crayon very well (the ones I have are well over 30 years old so I can't say if you can still get them - they'll last me until heaven's shore).

Pencil or pen notes? I imagine you'd get some bleed with an ink pen, pencil will probably be ok, if it's sharpened first.

I knew, however, that I was going to hate the zip - open in hand I'd always found a zip got in the way. And when perched on a shelf in the pew at church. But I don't hate it. It's not a problem (and, actually, I really like the splash of colour it brings to the bible). I haven't been using it in a pew, it's just been sat open on my desk. We'll see how that goes.

Durability? I dunno, can't say. But the price makes me feel comfortable with hauling it around and not worrying too much (the zip means the pages will be protected - another win for the zip).

I do still like a single-column layout but here's something else I've noticed: reading muscle-memory (it's got a proper name but you can go look that up) has meant I actually enjoy this double-column edition. I suspect that's because it seems to be pretty near to my old beloved 1984 NIV hardback, popular with helps, from back in the late 80s. Just a hunch.

Overall, what more can I say? It's what's inside that counts. And this package helps in getting there.

Prayer in an unhealed world

(Notes for Tuesday evening's prayer meeting)

The resurrection of our Lord Jesus is (along with his death upon the cross) the hinge on which history turns. A new world is birthed on the first day of a new creation week (Jn. 20:1). Death has been overcome, sin has been defeated.

Jesus shows his hands and speaks his peace into the hearts of his astonished disciples (Jn. 20:19f). Nothing could ever be the same again. Invincible hope has entered the cosmos.

But the scene immediately following in John 21 brings us down to earth a little. The disciples decide to spend a night on the lake and, as experienced fishermen, would have reasonable confidence that their nets will fill up with fish.

Except they don't. And if they had expected the resurrection of Jesus to mean an immediate end to the futility of life in this world, they would have been sorely disappointed.

The same remains true for us. A new creation has dawned, the sun is rising above the horizon, but the full light of day is yet to appear. This world is not yet put right in every respect. There remains much distress and dysfunction.

But our Lord comes to his wearied disciples and directs them, instructs them, leads them, so that there might yet be fruit for their labours, a catch to take home to their hungry families. In this not-yet-renewed, still-broken world, with sorrows and struggles all around us, the Saviour still comes to us as his people and continues to meet us in the labours that are all but unavailing, lifting the burden and bringing hope and blessing.

He directs us according to his wisdom, placing us in the theatre of broken dreams, at the sharp end of grief and loss, emptiness and pain, and tells us to cast our nets into those waters. When we cannot enter others' lives, he calls us to the agony of prayer, longing and pleading for those who are lost, weeping with those who weep. Because this world is not yet finally healed and restored.

Andy Le Peau writes that "Christ is already present with those who suffer, who grieve, who are anxious, who rejoice in a good outcome. How can we join him as he offers grace to them?" (Andrew T. Le Peau, Write Better, p.172)

We join him as we pray.

And notice, for our encouragement to continue faithful in prayer, just as the disciples' disappointment was turned to amazement, so too we are assured in Ps.126 that,

"Those who sow with tears
will reap with songs of joy.
Those who go out weeping,
carrying seed to sow,
will return with songs of joy,
carrying sheaves with them."

The harvest may not be immediate but it remains assured. Our tears are bottled, our prayers are heard. And God's real and true and perfecting answer will be given.

And when the world is finally filled with light and bathed in blessing, as our sorrow is turned to gladness, we will again recognise whose world it always was and is, whose hand directed and whose voice commanded. "It is the Lord!" will then pour from our hearts as an overflowing spring of joy, welling up in eternal life.

Sanctified By The Truth? (Joy in the Journey 71)

It seems so very obvious: Jesus wants his people to be sanctified; that is, to be made holy. No grime, just goodness. No more tainted love, just pure and sincere devotion.

In fact, he prays for just that in his great prayer in John 17:17-19:

Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world. For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified.

But what does he have in mind?

He links the sanctifying - the setting apart - of his disciples to his own act of being set apart: "for them I sanctify myself, that they may be truly sanctified". So, he made himself holy so that we too could be holy? Is that what this is saying? Wasn’t he already and always holy, anyhow?

The emphasis here works in a slightly different direction. Jesus is speaking about setting himself apart for doing God’s will, not making himself pure (that was never in doubt). He committed himself to this calling so that he might rescue people from sin, from the clutches of death and decay, and reconcile them to God, safely brought into his family. That's why he sanctified himself.

And he expressly states that, just as he had been sent into the world by the Father on that mission, and had responded by setting himself apart for it, so too is he sending his disciples into the world. That's why he is praying for them, that they - and the church in its collective experience - might also be sanctified, belonging to God and serving him and his plans of love. That they might be enabled and equipped to fulfil their calling to go into all the world with the good news. Set apart and sent out; that’s the church of Jesus Christ.

Notice, then, the crucial role played by the Bible in this: "sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth." As we read, listen to and meditate on scripture, the Spirit who breathed it out works it into us, aiming to make us more like Jesus. Yet not simply in terms of what we usually think of as holiness - clean hands and a pure heart, gentle words and gracious behaviour. Yes to all that, please God. But, crucially, becoming Christ-like in our commitment to, and sacrificial outworking of, the great mission of God. Set apart to be like the Saviour of the world, who came in humility, who lived the deepest compassion and offered himself in committed love.

If Jesus prayed for that, it would be good to add our Amen to it.

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

Lord, her watch Thy church is keeping;

When shall earth Thy rule obey?

When shall end the night of weeping?

When shall break the promised day?

See the whitening harvest languish,

Waiting still the labourers' toil;

Was it vain, Thy Son's deep anguish?

Shall the strong retain the spoil?

Tidings, sent to every creature,

Millions yet have never heard;

Can they hear without a preacher?

Lord Almighty, give the word:

Give the word; in every nation

Let the gospel trumpet sound,

Witnessing a world's salvation

To the earth's remotest bound.

Then the end; Thy church completed,

All Thy chosen gathered in,

With their King in glory seated,

Satan bound, and banished sin;

Gone for ever parting, weeping,

Hunger, sorrow, death, and pain:

Lo! her watch Thy church is keeping;

Come, Lord Jesus, come to reign!

(Henry Downton, 1818-85)

The Listening God (Joy in the Journey 70)

Eugene Peterson comments that, "Pastoral listening requires unhurried leisure, even if it's only for five minutes. Leisure is a quality of spirit, not a quantity of time. Only in that ambiance of leisure do persons know they are listened to with absolute seriousness, treated with dignity and importance. Speaking to people does not have the same personal intensity as listening to them." (The Unbusy Pastor)

Peterson's words may expose our hurt and disappointment, because we know we have not been listened to, nor have we listened, quite like that. But alongside the regret, we might also find an echo and a resonance in our spirit that comes from knowing that the living God is a listening God. Such is how he is portrayed within the pages of scripture.

Of course, he is also the speaking God who has an awful lot to say - not because he is 'gabby' but because his words are the expression of his infinite life and the bestowal of it. But the God who speaks is also the God who listens to his creatures. That is quite astonishing.

Our words have so little to offer to him - no wisdom he does not already possess; no knowledge that isn't eternally his; no insights he has been sorely lacking. We have nothing to add; we cannot utter anything truly original. And yet he is pleased to hear us and to listen with the full weight of his being.

He invites us into his presence to present our requests to him, with thanksgiving; to ask, to seek, to knock; to call upon him, to give him no rest, to plead urgently for justice and mercy and grace to help in times of need. All this and much more besides. Not to furnish him with things he needs to know but to honour our own being as thinking, feeling, speaking creatures, made in his image and likeness.

Knowing this, David was able to pray,

Listen to my prayer, O God,
do not ignore my plea;
hear me and answer me. (Ps. 55:1)

You, LORD, hear the desire of the afflicted;
you encourage them, and you listen to their cry... (Ps. 10:17)

The God who already knows all things listens to us, takes the time to hear, to honour the dignity he bestowed upon us in creation. He is unhurried and untroubled. There is no clock to watch. There is no-one more important he needs to go see.

Which makes his invitation, "Call to me and I will answer you" (Jer. 33:3) far more than mere platitude. It comes with the full assurance of being seen and known and heard.

Few may understand us, but God our Father does, to the furthest edges of our souls. Our Lord Jesus faced all the temptations common to us and hears us as our great and sympathetic High Priest. The Holy Spirit searches our hearts, hearing and listening to their cries and longings.

He doesn't demand that we make sense as we pour out our hearts to him. He isn't scoring our coherence. He is our Father who listens, with unhurried leisure, to his children.

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

I love my Lord because He heard my voice;

My God, He listens to my prayer.

Because He hears me when I call on Him,

Through all my days I shall pray.

My soul was saved from death, my eyes from tears;

My feet now walk before the LORD;

Yet in despair I thought my end was near,

My faith in life disappeared.

What can I do to thank God for His love,

For all His benefits to me?

I will life up salvation's cup on high

And call on Him by His name.

My vows to Him I promise to fulfil,

To Him I sacrifice my life.

He freed me from the servitude of sin

And now I serve as His slave.

Unite in praise, great family of God,

His children, bring to Him your thanks.

City of peace, where God has made His home,

With one accord, praise His name!

(© Jonathan Barnes)

Why Psalm 104 gets quoted in Hebrews 1

Hebrews is replete with quotations from the psalms. And maybe sometimes it seems like they've just been reached for as a repository of useful quotes. But, no, there's surely always more going on than that. We maybe just need to dig a little deeper.

Take Psalm 104 for instance. It makes an appearance in Hebrews 1 - only briefly and pretty routinely. The writer is arguing for the Son's superiority to angels and uses Psalm 104:4 to contrast what is said about angels there to what is said about the Son in Psalm 45. So far, so expected.

But is there any deeper reason for the selection of Psalm 104? Perhaps there is. That psalm in its place within the psalter acts as a prelude to the double-barrelled reciting of covenant history in Psalms 105 and 106. There, the history of Israel, from the call of Abraham to the wanderings in the wilderness, follows on from the celebration of creation in Ps.104.

And what follows in the next chapters of Hebrews? Especially in chapters 3 and 4, the focus is on Israel and their history, in particular the wilderness generation (through the lens of Psalm 95).

A simple collocation of ideas? Possibly. Neither Psalm 105 nor 106 is quoted in Hebrews, after all. But maybe it's further evidence for just how much the psalms helped forge the theological framework of the NT and its understanding of salvation history.

That would get my vote.

The Books That Got Me Through This Year

Ok, you're right, that title is a bit melodramatic. Point taken. But here are a few books that meant a great deal to me this year. In among all the other books that I get to read because of what I do, these books were special:

Wendell Berry, Stand By Me - I read other books by Berry this year, too, and loved each of them but the short stories in Stand By Me (some of which I'd read before) were so absorbing, like oceans of calm. Often bittersweet, never less than humane and earthed in God's good but now fractured creation, these stories wove their magic in my soul on many an evening.

Martyn Lloyd-Jones, Faith on Trial - sermons on Psalm 73. It's almost getting to the point where a book like this feels like it's from a bygone age, such is the whirling speed of life. But it was so timely, so completely poised with deep spiritual wisdom. Like gulping fresh air when you've been under water too long.

CS Lewis, Perelandra and Till We Have Faces - ok, this is not one book, it's two. But I read them almost simultaneously (which could have been complicated and confusing but somehow I managed to pull it off). TWHF was intriguing, being so well loved and held by many to be CSL's finest fiction. I thoroughly enjoyed it, too. Perelandra, the second of the sci-fi trilogy I've read this year, was by turns achingly beautiful and deeply distressing, on occasion opening up worlds of meaning and shockingly humbling.

J Todd Billings, The End of the Christian Life - written by a man with terminal cancer, this is elegant, thoughtful, pastoral wisdom at its finest. Reading it seemed to both slow time down and make it seem smaller, in light of eternal realities.

Alan Jacobs, Breaking Bread with the Dead - anything Jacobs writes is a joy to read but this was also timely (as in, for our times) and offers to help shift your perspective a few degrees. I'm so glad for it.

Marilynne Robinson, Jack and When I Was a Child I Read Books - another double A-side! It was inevitable that Jack would be in this list - such beauty and longing and sorrow - but I'm adding a book of essays, too, because they force you to slow down. They're not light reading but slowing down the mind to grapple with more than present crises was such a necessity.

Richard F Lovelace, Dynamics of Spiritual Life - this is now an older book (I'm suggesting 1979 is old only because Lovelace was writing from and for that moment in time) but remains so relevant. I don't really know enough in detail about the church history he deals with to make any informed assessment of his conclusions, and some of his predictions or hopes for the immediate future certainly don't seem to have transpired. But this is deservedly considered a classic. It rebalances thought even while pushing it further, embedding core realities more deeply and demanding they be reckoned with.

Graham Greene, Our Man in Havana - this is more by way of honourable mention, just because it made me laugh so much. I first read it when I was 17 and had a distant, 40-years-ago memory that it was enjoyable. For once, that kind of memory didn't let me down. A necessary means of escape.

There were probably more but these remain in my mind. Poetry by Christina Rossetti and Mary Oliver also figure highly but some things go without saying. And now they've been said.

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.

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

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.

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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