He ever lives to intercede for us (Joy in the Journey 84)

As we pray, we hope to do so regularly and consistently. That is our aim and our desire. But, for many reasons, we struggle. It might be a matter of health, when our physical weakness robs our spirit of the energy to raise itself in adoration and petition. There are times when those with young children have such broken nights that whole days pass by in a haze of weariness. Often we are blindsided by the torrent of activity we're plunged into.

And then there are the darkest of times, when we feel ourselves marooned and isolated to such an extent that we feel incapable of uttering any words at all.

Sometimes it's best to just accept that this is how things are, for now. Better times may soon come. We trust in God's kindness they will.

Yet, in all the struggle, we can know that even the slightest connection to Jesus is sufficient for us to know his powerful grace. The woman in Mark 5 whose life and vitality were ebbing away knew that the mere touch of his garment would bring her the relief she longed for. The multitude who crowded around our Lord at the close of Matthew 14 knew the same.

Because the power of grace and compassion are entirely in our Lord Jesus and not in us. It isn't the fluidity and coherence of our prayers, nor the clear expression of our longings that makes the difference. It is Jesus.

And not only can we take encouragement from that but Hebrews 7:25 assures us that, in all our inconsistency and variability, our Lord Jesus prays continually for us: "He is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them."

Jesus lives, forever, and Jesus prays, constantly, for us. Nothing hinders him. He is no part-time Saviour. He isn't having to fight a rear-guard action against resurgent evil such that he has no spare capacity for us in all our need.

By the power of his indestructible life, he stands and prays for us. With full wisdom and insight. With an empathy that reaches depths no other can plumb. With a willingness and ability to help that can scale every height.

As we lament our weakness in prayer, the fact remains that we are loved and held by the Saviour who saves to the uttermost. No latent inability in our souls and no blatant attempt to snatch us from our Lord will alter the outcome. There ever shall be mercy and grace to help us in our time of need.

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

I hear the words of love,

I gaze upon the blood,

I see the mighty sacrifice,

And I have peace with God.

’Tis everlasting peace!

Sure as Jehovah’s name;

’Tis stable as His steadfast throne,

For evermore the same.

The clouds may come and go,

And storms may sweep my sky;

This blood-sealed friendship changes not

The cross is ever nigh.

My love is oft-times low,

My joy still ebbs and flows;

But peace with Him remains the same-

No change Jehovah knows.

That which can shake the cross

May shake the peace it gave,

Which tells me Christ has never died ,

Or never left the grave!

Till then my peace is sure,

It will not, cannot yield,

Jesus, I know, has died and lives,

On this firm rock I build.

I change, He changes not;

The Christ can never die;

His love, not mine, the resting-place,

His truth, not mine, the tie.

The cross still stands unchanged,

Though heaven is now His home,

The mighty stone is rolled away,

But yonder is His tomb!

And yonder is my peace,

The grave of all my woes!

I know the Son of God has come,

I know He died and rose .

I know He liveth now,

At God's right hand above,

I know the throne on which He sits,

I know His truth and love!

(Horatius Bonar, 1808-89)

"I knew that you are a hard man." (Joy in the Journey 83)

It's one of the saddest things that could ever be said to the Lord: "I knew that you are a hard man..." (Mt. 25:24) It's not something any Christian would see themselves saying in the cold light of day, yet it is a suspicion that can be harboured in the shadows of our hearts, however much we might rush to deny it.

Of course we gladly honour the grace that has saved us, forgiven our sin and made us his children. For all that we are deeply thankful. And yet, at the level of day to day life, the suspicion lingers and festers: he expects; he exacts. He makes impossible demands. He holds our every thought and word and deed up to the light and, on seeing every imperfection and blemish, his face clouds with bitter disappointment.

And so the Christian life is lived in distorted fear. As the nameless man in the parable admits, "I was afraid." This is not the fear of the Lord that is pure and endures for ever (Ps. 19:9), the fear that is an overwhelmed amazement at the love of God. This is fear that hides from his face, believing it to be thunderous and darkened with displeasure. This is fear that is fed by unrelieved shame.

How did we get ourselves into such a state?

Possibly through teaching that was not sufficiently true to the character of God revealed in the Bible. Perhaps by what we saw (unwittingly) modelled by others, in their own fearful discipleship and possibly in how they then treated us. It could be we've settled for a skewed portrait and haven't pursued our questions with a believing vigour, assuming the answers will only confirm our wretched suspicions.

However it came to be, there is another road to take. In Matthew 11 the Lord Jesus invites us to come to him and rest. That rest for our souls is intimately connected to the fact that "No one knows the Father except the Son and those the Son chooses to reveal him to" (11:27). The gentleness and humility of heart that all who come to Jesus discover is a revelation of the character of the Father. He is supremely generous and compassionate and merciful.

That reflection of the Father in his Son is immediately seen in Matthew 12. Our Lord Jesus defends his disciples in a sabbath controversy with the Pharisees and proceeds to give complete restoration to a man whose hand was shrivelled. The sabbath was for rest and blessing, fulfilled in faith in Christ. Nothing could be more appropriate than to heal on it and bring joy and relief.

The Pharisees' approach to the law led to enslavement and a mis-characterisation of the living God. Our Lord Jesus makes plain that the fulfilment of Law and Temple is found in him and in the complete transformation and healing he alone can bring, as the Son who reveals the Father.

We can lay our false fears to rest, in the solvent of divine love that has power to dissolve all anxieties and misgivings. He is not, in any sense, a hard man. Let's not hide in the shadows, suspicious of our Father, for, truly, "the heart of the eternal is most wonderfully kind." 

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

Sing praise to God who reigns above,

The God of all creation,

The God of wonders, power and love,

The God of our salvation.

With healing balm my soul He fills,

The God who every sorrow stills -

To God all praise and glory!

What God's almighty power hath made

His gracious mercy keepeth;

By morning dawn or evening shade

His watchful eye ne'er sleepeth;

Within the kingdom of His might,

Lo, all is just and all is right - 

To God all praise and glory!

I cried to Him, in time of need:

Lord God, O hear my calling!

For death He gave me life indeed

And kept my feet from falling.

For this my thanks shall endless be;

O thank Him, thank our God with me -

To God all praise and glory!

The Lord forsaketh not His flock,

His chosen generation;

He is their Refuge and their Rock,

Their Peace and their Salvation.

As with a mother's tender hand

He leads His own, His chosen band -

To God all praise and glory!

Then come before His presence now

And banish fear and sadness;

To your Redeemer pay your vow

And sing with joy and gladness:

Though great distress my soul befell,

The Lord, my God, did all things well -

To God all praise and glory!

(Johann Jakob Schutz, 1640-90

tr. by Frances Elizabeth Cox, 1812-97)

Like sheep without a shepherd (Joy in the Journey 82)

"Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.” (Matthew 9:35-38)

Harassed and helpless: doesn't that so neatly and so completely summarise how many people are feeling right now? Maybe you'd put your tick next to that box to describe your own state of mind and body. Life is pressing in on you, from all angles. From outside and from within. The expectations you can't meet. The mistakes you can't put right, the words you can't take back. The gnawing agony of shame that says you're too weak to cope.

It seems like there's so very little that can be done to prevent the walls from closing in, slowly and inexorably. We can maybe keep some things at arms' length, for a while. Perhaps. If everything goes our way. But perhaps not. It feels like we're going to suffocate, to drown in the flood of troubles or be swept away in the manic, ragged race to keep life together.

Matthew's words have the most wonderful encouragement for the harassed and helpless. For us. He tells us that our Lord Jesus, on seeing the people in such need, didn't tut tut their decisions or their tactics for navigating through the choppy seas of life. He didn't despise them for being unable to cope or despair over their inability to come up with a plan to get themselves out of the mess. He had compassion on them. He felt for them deeply and truly. His heart went out to them. He was moved in the depths of his being with genuine care and concern.

And that compassion was not simply on account of the symptoms they were experiencing - the sickness and disease, the poverty and the political oppression, the struggle to make something of themselves, the tensions within the family. All were seen by him and moved him deeply. But he also saw the larger reality: they were like sheep without a shepherd. They had no one to properly care for them, to protect and feed them, to lead them to quiet waters and pasture them in green meadows. No one who loved them and was willing to take full responsibility for them. No one to walk with them through the dark, dark valleys of life (and death).

And so he came, to be the shepherd of the sheep. To be the one whose love and grace are such that he would bear all things for them, to rescue and restore, even to the laying down of his life. To be the shepherd who knows his sheep, personally and intimately. Who calls them by name and whose voice is unmistakable and whose lips have been anointed with grace.

This is our Lord, our Saviour. We belong to him - and not for the years of time alone. What gladness that, through all changing scenes of life, we are his.

Notice that our Lord's words in that paragraph also lay out a part for us to play, in seeing the desperation that's all around us: pray the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into his harvest field. It belongs to him, he has brought it to the point of readiness to reap, but additional labourers are needed. As we respond to the Lord's word, we're praying for more people to be called and set apart for gospel work.

But we can also, haltingly but humbly, ask him to please use us, weak and frail as we are, to be a blessing to others. Not because we have all the answers to their many questions or the supplies for all their needs - but, simply, because our own hearts have been touched by the compassion of the Good Shepherd; as he leads us to "come in and go out and find pasture," our hearts' longing is for all the harassed and helpless around us to hear his shepherd's call.

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

O! tell me, Thou life and delight of my soul,

Where the flock of Thy pastures are feeding;

I seek Thy protection, I need Thy control,

I would go where my Shepherd is leading.

O! tell me the place where Thy flocks are at rest,

Where the noontide will find them reposing?

The tempest now rages, my soul is distress'd,

And the pathway of peace I am losing.

O! why should I stray with the flocks of Thy foes,

'Mid the desert where now they are roving,

Where hunger and thirst, where affliction and woes,

And temptations their ruin are proving!

O! when shall my woes and my wandering cease?

And the follies that fill me with weeping!

Thou Shepherd of Israel, restore me that peace

Thou dost give to the flock Thou art keeping.

A voice from the Shepherd now bids thee return

By the way where the footprints are lying:

No longer to wander, no longer to mourn;

O fair one, now homeward be flying!

(Thomas Hastings, 1784-1872) 

His grace to me was not without effect (Joy in the Journey 81)

It seems that, often, one of the strongest impulses in many Christians is to shy away from affirming the effectiveness of the Lord's work in them. We loathe the faux-humility that is, in reality, a boastfulness that exalts a person and side-lines the Saviour. And so, knowing that "the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked," we err on the side of extreme caution and couch any statements about ourselves in the drabbest of terms.

We insist on referring to ourselves as 'sinners' when the New Testament never once uses that term to describe someone who is now a Christian. It doesn't deny our propensity to still sin - that would be foolish and naïve - but it constantly stresses our new status and our deliverance from the stranglehold of the power of sin. We need to take our lead from God's Word on this. Sin may still defile us but it no longer defines us.

The example of the apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 15 is extremely helpful. He is intent on honouring the veracity of the Lord's work in him and, indeed, through him. Without any affectation he says, "By the grace of God I am what I am...I worked harder than all of them - yet not I but the grace of God that was with me".

From such a long way back, from being one who did his very best to raze to the ground the fledgling church, Paul has been saved and put into God's service, entrusted in the power of the Spirit with breaking new gospel ground, taking the message of salvation to places as yet unreached. And all because the grace of God was powerfully at work in him.

What seems so counter-intuitive to us actually honours the Lord - and in turn helps us. He has worked in our lives and is still at work in us. We need to recognise that and receive the encouragement it gives us. And give to him the honour he so richly and rightly deserves.

We receive mercy and find grace to help us in time of need not because we have special qualifications or have a certain potential that can be unleashed under the right circumstances. No, grace is the free favour of God, unconditioned by anything to do with our own efforts.

It isn't genuine humility to deny the strength and significance of saving grace in our lives. However much against the cultural grain of our church context it goes, we are to delight in and magnify the Lord for his work in us. Once we were blind, now we can see. Once we were dead in trespasses and sins in which we used to walk - now we are raised with Christ and seated in heavenly places.

Affirming this is not self-serving; it places the honour firmly where it belongs: with the Son of God who loved us and gave himself for us, in whom we are new creatures. The old has surely gone and the new is truly here.

Because his grace to us was not without effect.

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

O how the grace of God

Amazes me!

It loosed me from my bonds

And set me free!

What made it happen so?

His own will, this much I know,

Set me, as now I show,

At liberty.

My God has chosen me,

Though one of nought,

To sit beside my King

In heaven’s court.

Hear what my Lord has done

O, the love that made him run

To meet his erring son!

This has God wrought.

Not for my righteousness,

For I have none,

But for his mercy’s sake,

Jesus, God’s Son,

Suffered on Calvary’s tree—

Crucified with thieves was he—

Great was his grace to me,

His wayward one.

And when I think of how,

At Calvary,

He bore sin’s penalty

Instead of me,

Amazed, I wonder why

He, the sinless One, should die

For one so vile as I;

My Saviour he!

Now all my heart’s desire

Is to abide

In him, my Saviour dear,

In him to hide.

My shield and buckler he,

Covering and protecting me;

From Satan’s darts I’ll be

Safe at his side.

Lord Jesus, hear my prayer,

Thy grace impart;

When evil thoughts arise

Through Satan’s art,

O, drive them all away

And do Thou, from day to day,

Keep me beneath Thy sway,

King of my heart.

Come now, the whole of me,

Eyes, ears, and voice.

Join me, creation all,

With joyful noise:

Praise him who broke the chain

Holding me in sin’s domain

And set me free again!

Sing and rejoice!

(Emmanuel T Sibomana)

His love endures for ever (Joy in the Journey 80)

It's hard to acknowledge but sometimes, just sometimes, the Bible seems to be needlessly repetitive. We've come to expect it from preachers, but from the Bible itself?

Psalm 136 might strike you in that way. After every line, a phrase is repeated: "His love endures forever." A wonderful truth, but by the time you've read it 26 times it perhaps begins to lose a little of its lustre. And in that psalm it almost seems to hinder the flow of the words as they retell the story of creation and then of Israel's deliverance from Egypt and the victory over their enemies in the wilderness. Why construct the intrusion? Why not just start and end the psalm with the phrase? We'd be sure to get the point.

But maybe we wouldn't. Maybe we'd fail to see just how necessary and nourishing repetition is to our souls. That every moment of every day is undergirded by this reality. The spiritual discipline of rehearsing the goodness of God, of counting your blessings and naming them one by one, is not merely human advice. The pattern for the practice is firmly established in scripture and it is one we do well to embrace for ourselves.

This tells us something about how we're created and how our minds function. That truth repeated can become truth embedded. That its borrowed lines burrow their way into our hearts and minds and adhere there, retaining their Spirit-given ability to strengthen and sustain.

Proof for that is dramatically portrayed and offered to us as Psalm 136 closes its doors of praise and Psalm 137 opens in lament. After the final declaration that "His love endures forever", we are faced with these devastating words: "By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion." When it seems like the end of days has come, when the sky has fallen in, the echoes of the earlier refrain still linger. Because not only do we need the reminder of the love of God as we recount history, we also need it in the maelstrom of present sufferings too.

Let's not fail to see that the psalms are placed as they are for our instruction and our consolation. The agonies of Babylonian captivity are immediately preceded by the affirmation of the loyal love of the Lord that will never be terminated. His steadfast, saving love will outlast all the trials of time. It cannot be wrenched from us by the severest of circumstances, nor the cruellest of enemies. It cannot be torn from us by our own foolish capitulation to sin's deceitfulness - Romans 8:38,39 assures of us of that in the most emphatic terms. This is, indeed, love that reaches deeper than depths of self-despair.

Truth that is received and carved into our souls through regular rehearsal is truth that is ready to help us address the sorrows and the struggles of the darkest of times. It doesn't insulate us from them but it does offer insight within them - the breaking of the first light of dawn into the gloom of our lamenting, a shelter within the eye of the storm and the promise of a future that is inviolable.

We might not immediately read the repeated lines of scripture with relish but the wisdom of doing so is beyond doubt. And won't be regretted.

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

O teach me what it meaneth,

That cross uplifted high,

With One, the Man of Sorrows,

Condemned to bleed and die!

O teach me what it cost Thee

To make a sinner whole;

And teach me, Saviour, teach me

The value of a soul!

O teach me what it meaneth,

That sacred crimson tide,

The blood and water flowing

From Thine own wounded side.

Teach me that if none other

Had sinned, but I alone,

Yet still Thy blood, Lord Jesus,

Thine only, must atone.

O teach me what it meaneth,

Thy love beyond compare,

The love that reacheth deeper

Than depths of self-despair!

Yes, teach me, till there gloweth

In this cold heart of mine

Some feeble, pale reflection

Of that pure love of Thine.

O teach me what it meaneth,

For I am full of sin,

And grace alone can reach me,

And love alone can win.

O teach me, for I need Thee,

I have no hope beside—

The chief of all the sinners

For whom the Saviour died!

O infinite Redeemer!

I bring no other plea;

Because Thou dost invite me

I cast myself on Thee.

Because Thou dost accept me

I love and I adore;

Because Thy love constraineth,

I’ll praise Thee evermore!

(Lucy Ann Bennett, 1850-1927)

Why the lives of early Christians had a great impact

We who formerly delighted in fornication now embrace chastity alone; we who formely used magic arts dedicate ourselves to the good and unbegotten God; we who valued above all things the acquisition of wealth and possessions now bring all we have into a common stock and share it out to all according to their need; we who hated and destroyed one another and on account of their different manner of life would not live with men of another tribe, now, since the coming of Christ, live happily with them, and pray for our enemies and endeavour to persuade those who hate us unjustly to live conformably to the good precepts of Christ, so that they may become partakers with us of the same joyful hope of a reward from God the ruler of all. (Justin Martyr)

Michael Green, commenting on those words, says:

The link between holy living and effective evangelism could hardly be made more effectively. In particular, Christians stood out for their chastity, their hatred of cruelty, their civil obedience, good citizenship and payment of taxes (despite the severe suspicion they incurred on this count because they refused to pay the customary civil formality of praying to the emperor and state gods). They did not expose infants; they did not swear. They refused to have anything to do with idolatry and its by-products. Such lives made a great impact.

(Evangelism in the Early Church, p.184)

Christ formed in you (Joy in the Journey 79)

In the heat of battling for the Galatians' hearts and minds, the apostle Paul writes of his overriding aim: that Christ might be formed in them (4:19). It's a powerful image and one that speaks into our lives, whatever the circumstances, because of its primacy in the whole work of salvation.

Paul's aim in preaching and teaching, in praying and pastoring, is to see the likeness of the Messiah displayed not simply in individuals but within and among churches ('Christ' is often used to indicate the corporate nature of the church). But 'displayed' doesn't do justice to what he writes: formation is his goal; being shaped and fashioned into the life and character of the Saviour, in the power of the Holy Spirit.

It is not for nothing that he uses in this verse the metaphor of childbirth, the forming of a life in the womb and its being brought into the world. Formation is a long process, whether it's gestation or the processes we see in the natural world - rocks smoothed and shaped by the incessant pressure of the waves and rivers; landscapes sculpted by the weather over long ages.

That we're thinking about a lengthy process means we're forced to contend with the need for patience and perseverance, for arduous toil, in all weathers and, often, against the tides. It's good to be realistic and clear-eyed about what is involved.

You see that in Paul's ongoing prayer and labours; you see it in Epaphras wrestling in prayer for his brothers and sisters in Colossae. And, supremely, we see it in the Lord Jesus Christ, praying in the hours before the cross, praying for his disciples and for those who would come to believe in him, praying that we would be formed into a unity that reflects the inner life of God himself - Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Formation is no easy work but it is deeply worthy. The life of God in the warp and woof of the souls of men and women. Originally made in his image but deformed by sin's ugliness, that marred image is now being renewed, the deep flaws being healed, cleansed by the washing with water through the gospel word.

Christ is being formed in us - and among us - as his people. To willingly submit to his shaping of our souls and to partner with him in working out his salvation in our lives is a high calling. It takes time; much time. It will take the wisdom and power of God, of the crucified and risen Lord.

Without doubt all formation involves pain and struggle. But one day it will be completed and the final unveiling of his people, his bride, will bring him endless delight and eternal glory. "God's dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them" - fully formed and radiant in his all-consuming love.

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

I thirst, Thou wounded Lamb of God,

To wash me in Thy cleansing blood;

To dwell within Thy wounds; then pain

Is sweet, and life or death is gain.

Take my poor heart, and let it be

For ever closed to all but Thee!

Seal Thou my breast, and let me wear

That pledge of love for ever there.

How blest are they who still abide

Close sheltered in Thy bleeding side;

Who life and strength from thence derive,

And by Thee move, and in Thee live!

What are our works but sin and death,

Till Thou Thy quickening Spirit breathe?

Thou giv'st the power Thy grace to move;

O wondrous grace! O boundless love!

How can it be, Thou heavenly King,

That Thou shouldst us to glory bring;

Make slaves the partners of Thy throne,

Decked with a never-fading crown?

Hence our hearts melt, our eyes o'erflow;

Our words are lost; nor will we know,

Nor will we think of aught beside,

My Lord, my Love, is crucified!

Ah, Lord, enlarge our scanty thought,

To know the wonders Thou hast wrought;

Unloose our stammering tongues, to tell

Thy love immense, unsearchable.

First-born of many brethren Thou!

To Thee, lo! all our souls we bow;

To Thee our hearts and hands we give:

Thine may we die, Thine may we live!

(Nicolaus Ludwig von Zizendorf, 1700-60;

Johann Nitschmann, 1712-83;

Anna Nitschmann, 1715-60;

tr. John Wesley, 1703-91)

The righteousness that goes before Him (Joy in the Journey 78)

The 'ground' of 2021 still lies mostly fresh before us, untrodden and, in large measure, unseen. Some steps that we will take are known to us, others are beyond our sight. But even those we believe we can see are likely to contain hidden depths and aspects unknown by us. And what is hidden from us often causes hesitation and even alarm.

All of which leads to a solemn conclusion: we need to be led through all the days given to us.

Each life is lived one day at a time and every day is navigated step by step. We're urged to keep in step with the Spirit as we make choices, reach decisions and consecrate our days in faith to the Lord. But with each step we stand in need of his guiding hand upon our lives.

Psalm 85 was written within days of longing for God's blessing to be known once more, for previously experienced realities to return. We may well share in those longings, personally and as churches. As the psalm draws to a close it offers us the solid assurance of guidance and the hope we so badly need:

"Love and faithfulness meet together;
righteousness and peace kiss each other.
Faithfulness springs forth from the earth,
And righteousness looks down from heaven.
The LORD will indeed give what is good,
and our land will yield its harvest.
Righteousness goes before him
and prepares the way for his steps." (verses 11-13)

The journey that the Lord takes - and that he leads his people on - is one whose every step has been prepared by and within his righteousness - his faithful, unbreakable promises, his full-blown integrity and steadfast, committed love. At its heart, the gospel is the unveiling of that righteousness - from faith and for faith; the power of God that brings salvation for all who believe.

That righteousness, that gospel reality, is the foundation for every move the Lord takes with his people. His every step is prepared by and in righteousness and so possesses a solidity that is unmatched and unattainable by human effort. He lacks no wisdom and pours into every life that he holds in his hands an abundance of mercy and compassion.

Here is where we find hope and can place our whole confidence for our unseen journeys. The ground of all our days has been secured by the meeting together of the love and faithfulness of God, the embrace of his righteousness and peace, in the giving of his Son to be our Saviour. His sacrifice means that there will indeed be a harvest - in the lives reclaimed and made fruitful, to the glory and praise of God.

The steps we will take through this year remain a mystery to us, but the One who has our names inscribed on his palms is not. He has unveiled his merciful face and has called us by name. He goes out, ahead of his sheep, and we can follow him in the quiet contentment of ultimate security.

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

Lead me, Lord, lead me in Thy righteousness;

    Make Thy way plain before my face.

Lead me, Lord, lead me in Thy righteousness;

    Make Thy way plain before my face.

For it is Thou, Lord; Thou, Lord, only,

    That makest me dwell in safety.

For it is Thou, Lord; Thou, Lord, only,

    That makest me dwell in safety.

Why the churches in Revelation were in danger of dying

I was sat wondering: what did the churches in Revelation get wrong? Why were they on the verge of dying? So much of the talk about dying churches today (and the remedy for it) focusses on evangelism. Here's what I found by asking a couple of basic questions:

What were they commended for?

• I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. I know that you cannot tolerate wicked people, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. (2:2,3)
• You have this in your favour: You hate the practices of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate. (2:6)
• I know your afflictions and your poverty—yet you are rich! (2:9)
• I know where you live—where Satan has his throne. Yet you remain true to my name. You did not renounce your faith in me, not even in the days of Antipas, my faithful witness, who was put to death in your city—where Satan lives. (2:13)
• I know your deeds, your love and faith, your service and perseverance, and that you are now doing more than you did at first. (2:19)
• You have a few people in Sardis who have not soiled their clothes. (3:4)
• I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name. (3:8)
• You have kept my command to endure patiently (3:10)

What were they taken to task over?

• You have forsaken the love you had at first. (2:4)
• There are some among you who hold to the teaching of Balaam, who taught Balak to entice the Israelites to sin so that they ate food sacrificed to idols and committed sexual immorality. Likewise, you also have those who hold to the teaching of the Nicolaitans. (2:14,15)
• You tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophet. By her teaching she misleads my servants into sexual immorality and the eating of food sacrificed to idols. (2:20)
• I know your deeds; you have a reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up! Strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have found your deeds unfinished in the sight of my God. (3:1,2)
• I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. (3:15,16)

Were any of them upbraided for being insufficiently evangelistic? No, none of them. A number were on the verge of dying, of having their candlestick removed - not because they didn't speak about Jesus but because of the quality of their lives and their compromised faithfulness.

Does this have anything to say to us?

Guard your heart

(Brief notes for prayer meeting 5/1/21)

Read Proverbs 4, then focus on verse 23: "Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it."

The whole quality and content of our lives flows from the state of our hearts. There is a very real link here to Micah 6:8 "walk humbly with your God" - the need for care and prudence. We can easily break what is around us and we can (unintentionally) do ourselves spiritual self-harm.

We are vulnerable, prone to wander, prone to needless anxieties and to sinful distractions. Our hearts can become weighed down by disappointments and frustrations - the very things that can suck the spiritual life out of us. (Parable of the Sower)

We need this warning, this exhortation.

We need to recognise the dangers we face and not assume our defences cannot be breached.

But it is more than a defensive posture we need. Guarding our hearts, in large measure, means filling them with good things, allowing them space to breathe the clear air of heaven. To taste the royal food of the Saviour's banquet. To embrace truth that shines a light on error.

And asking the Lord to guard us, to keep us in the depths of our being: "you who through faith are shielded by God's power for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time" (1 Peter 1:5).

We can ask him as we pray to help us keep our hearts, to help us to embrace the wisdom that is our Lord Jesus Christ. The life we have in him is life indeed. From him flows rivers of eternal joy and goodness. Let's not be diverted from that, from him.

A doorway into sacred space (Joy in the Journey 77)

"Between every stimuli and response there is a space; silence and solitude creates a sacred space, an elongated space; this space gives you time to develop a creative response to what you're feeling - otherwise there is only reaction."

No one knows who said this - in fact, it may never have been said or written originally in that form at all. It's probably a conflation from several minds. But it poses an interesting possibility. One that isn't always in play, of course - some stimuli produce instant reaction for which there is no gap in which to make any kind of choice. Those reactions are embedded within our minds and graven on our psyche.

But the entrance of God's Word brings light. It opens, by the Spirit's creative energies, a space, often elongated and by nature sacred, in which we can pause to consider and then to respond.

When we read the Scriptures, as we intentionally stop to pray with the psalmist, "Open my eyes that I may see wonderful things in your law", we find we've entered that space. It's not time standing still - we wrestle continually with thoughts that race within the gaps between the passing of the seconds and discover, to our dismay, that time hasn't stopped and our distractibility has betrayed us once more. No, it's not the suspending of time but it sometimes is its elongation. The unknown author has chosen well.

And in that Spirit-given space there are possibilities and invitations to sit, like Mary, at the Master's feet, to mine the gold of divine promises, to carve for ourselves clefts in the rock, as we look to the Rock that is higher than we.

It can't really be explained. It's hard enough simply to describe it. But we know it's real. The Lord is there. He has purposely opened for us a doorway into animated suspension. And in that realm of light he delights to answer our prayer and we catch glimpses of those "wonderful things", indeed the Wonderful One, he whom our heart desires.

As this year opens before us, we might want to pray that our rushing hearts would be hushed and our frantic pursuits halted, for a moment or two - moments in which the Lord Jesus himself meets with us. That with Isaiah we might know our lips touched with live coals, that with the two on the Emmaus road we might know our hearts strangely warmed within us. In the spaces between the seconds.

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

As pants the hart for cooling streams,

When heated in the chase,

So longs my soul, O God, for Thee,

And Thy refreshing grace!

For Thee, my God, the living God,

My thirsty soul doth pine;

O when shall I behold Thy face,

Thou Majesty divine!

God of my strength, how long shall I,

Like one forgotten, mourn?

Forlorn, forsaken, and exposed

To my oppressor's scorn.

Why restless, why cast down, my soul?

Hope still, and thou shalt sing

The praise of Him who is thy God,

Thy health's eternal spring.

To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

the God whom we adore,

be glory, as it was, is now,

and shall be evermore.

(Nahum Tate, 1652-1717

Nicholas Brady, 1659-1726)

No more night (Joy in the Journey 76)

The Bible begins with darkness - a darkness that was over the surface of the deep. And everything, within that darkness, was formless and empty, devoid of meaning and order and beauty.

Until God spoke the first words that are ever recorded from his mouth: "Let there be light." Light to flood and eliminate the darkness. Light that will allow for shape and harmony and life itself to flourish. The empty filled and the formless ordered and beautified.

Our lives also began in darkness, hidden deep within the womb. And from our earliest days we have known darkness - a daily darkness as the sunlight fades and a daily darkness in the shadows cast by sin within and chaos without. In the gospel, the voice of God is heard speaking the same illuminating words as he shines into our hearts the light of his glory, seen in the face of Jesus Christ, his Son and our Saviour.

And yet we still know the rising and fading of the light, from day to day. We live within time and we live in the overlap of ages - this present evil age that has been invaded by the saving reign of Jesus, the age to come now present in embryonic power. We have become "light in the Lord" but still wrestle with the sorrowing darkness.

As the Bible draws to a close, a future is promised where “there will be no more night” (Rev. 22:5); no more darkness or chaos. That darkness is not dispelled by the brightness of the sun, but "the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp" (Rev. 21:23).

The creation of sun, moon and stars for light on the earth was always subsidiary, temporary and prophetic, pointing forward to a day when the whole creation will be ablaze with true light, the light of a glory that is full of grace and truth, a glory that banishes the curse, that brings to an end the old order of things, that ushers in a future healed of sorrows and devoid of pain.

So, as one year closes - and such a year - and as a new one begins, we long for the day when "The nations will walk by [his] light" and we pray with sure and certain hope, “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.”

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

Light of the world, for ever, ever shining,

There is no change in Thee;

True Light of life, all joy and health enshrining,

Thou canst not fade nor flee.

Thou hast arisen, but Thou declinest never;

Today shines as the past;

All that Thou wast Thou art, and shalt be ever,

Brightness from first to last.

Night visits not Thy sky, nor storm, nor sadness;

Day fills up all its blue,

Unfailing beauty, and unfaltering gladness,

And love for ever new!

Light of the world! undimming and unsetting,

O shine each mist away!

Banish the fear, the falsehood, and the fretting;

Be our unchanging day.

(Horatius Bonar, 1808-89)

Book releases in 2021 I'm looking forward to

In no particular order (and doubtless there shall be more...)

The Theology of Jeremiah: The Book, the Man, the Message

A World Without Email: Reimagining Work in an Age of Communication Overload

A Burning in My Bones

Turning of Days: Lessons from Nature, Season, and Spirit

Empathy Diaries, The: A Memoir

Hope in Times of Fear: The Resurrection and the Meaning of Easter

Klara and the Sun

(The links are to Amazon listings, for simplicity's sake. You can obviously buy them from other places.)

I have strayed like a lost sheep (Joy in the Journey 75)

At times during this year, you may have felt the Lord drawing your heart towards him, in love and longing. In the fires of suffering and in the midst of pain and struggle, he has been to you immeasurably kind, pouring grace into your soul and raining mercy upon your life.

Often, in those moments, during those seasons, the words of scripture seem to you like "apples of gold, fitly framed". You have opened its pages and seen there almost a glow, because the Lord is speaking, through his living Word. The Spirit is breathing solace and strength into you. When that is our experience, we're maybe reminded of the words of Psalm 119 and they become ours:

Open my eyes that I may see
wonderful things in your law. (v.18)

May your unfailing love come to me, LORD,

your salvation, according to your promise; (v.41)
The earth is filled with your love, LORD;
teach me your decrees. (v.64)

May your unfailing love be my comfort,

according to your promise to your servant. (v.76)

My soul faints with longing for your salvation,

but I have put my hope in your word. (v.81)

Oh, how I love your law!
I meditate on it all day long. (v.97)

How blessed we are to have the Bible! Its words lead us, over and again, to the one who gave it, to knowing the Word who was made flesh, the one to whom the law pointed and who fulfils it completely. Love for God's law becomes love for our saving Lord.

But perhaps you have also known times during this year when your heart has declined. You have felt lost and helpless, aware so keenly of a cooling in your affection for the Lord. You've become conscious of a distance that has disturbed you and made you weep. Self-isolation of the soul, away from its true Lover. Let the final petition of Psalm 119 be yours:

"I have strayed like a lost sheep,
Seek your servant." (v.176)

How strange those words seem - after all the love, all the deeply-rooted affection and delight in the Lord and his Word, the psalmist speaks with anguish at his state. He has wandered, he has got himself lost. He needs to be found.

Does that sit with the rest of the psalm? Sadly, yes, and our own experience proves it. No Christian life is an endless blue sky, cloudless until the dawn of heaven breaks in a sunrise like no other. Seasons of profound gratitude, of knowing that there is no one like the Lord, that Jesus is your joy and all your hope is secure in him, can give way to barren days and weeks, seasons of regret that begin to calcify into despair.

How good, when we know the sadness of a shrivelling soul, to join the psalmist in the plea, "Seek your servant". Confessing that we have gone astray, we ask our saving Lord Jesus to come find us, and by his Spirit once more draw us back. To take us up into his arms, renew our hearts and carry us home again.

He is the Good Shepherd who gave his life for his sheep. He continually seeks us, from all the places we might wander and stumble into unseen dangers. Pour out your heart to him; he doesn't despise us for our misgivings and shame. He is the suffering Servant, the Lion of the tribe of Judah who is also the Lamb that was slain. He seeks and saves the lost, always.

******

(If you're making plans for next year's Bible reading, you might be interested in a plan that isn't a plan.)

******

O Thou, to whose all-searching sight
The darkness shineth as the light,
Search, prove my heart; it pants for Thee;
O burst these bonds, and set it free!

Wash out its stains, refine its dross,
Nail my affections to the Cross;
Hallow each thought; let all within
Be clean, as Thou, my Lord, art clean!

If in this darksome wild I stray,
Be Thou my Light, be Thou my Way;
No foes, no violence I fear,
No fraud, while Thou, my God, art near.

When rising floods my soul o'erflow,
When sinks my heart in waves of woe,
Jesus, Thy timely aid impart,
And raise my head, and cheer my heart.

Saviour, where'er Thy steps I see,
Dauntless, untired, I follow Thee;
O let Thy hand support me still,
And lead me to Thy holy hill!

If rough and thorny be the way,
My strength proportion to my day;
Till toil, and grief, and pain shall cease,
Where all is calm, and joy, and peace.

(Nicolaus Ludwig Von Zinzendorf, 1700-1760
Tr. John Wesley, 1703-91)

Christmas at the Burning Bush

(Sermon preached on Sunday 27th December 2020. Text: Exodus 3:1-10)

The child in the manger, surrounded by loving parents and adoring Shepherds and Wise Men and the odd farm animal too. It all helps to make Christmas such a warm time. Mince pies, brandy cream, and the baby Jesus.

But it's dangerous.

Because we can handle children (ok, maybe not all the time). What I mean is, we can manage the idea, the picture. We can draw on personal experience of taking up a babe in our arms - they're so small, so vulnerable, so delightful.

And, yes, when it comes to thinking about our Lord Jesus, there is something very helpful in remembering that he was, indeed, born as a weak, helpless, vulnerable baby boy.

If one of the friendly but clumsy cattle in the stable had accidentally threatened to squash him underfoot, the little baby Jesus wouldn't have stretched out his hand like some kind of budding Jedi knight and zapped it away.

It's good and right to picture our Lord as a baby. His full humanity - his ability to be our great high priest - depends upon it. But the danger is in letting that picture dominate our thinking. Because it’s not the whole story. And without the whole we have no real hope.

So, having raised the red flag, let's disarm the danger, by taking ourselves back into Exodus 3, to Moses and the burning bush.

However new you might be to the Bible you've probably heard of Moses. And there are some things that immediately come to mind about him:

• he was the baby in the basket
• he grew up in Pharaoh's household
• he killed and Egyptian and went into hiding
• he led Israel out of Egypt and through the Red Sea
• he received the 10 commandments

And he saw a bush that was on fire but not burned up. A very strange sight. But even stranger: the living God spoke to him from the flames.

That puzzling scene has the help we need so that we don't nullify the meaning and the experience of Christmas.

1. Moses meets Jesus
Who is this in the burning bush? It’s “the angel of the LORD”. Who’s that? Well, to cut a long story short: it’s the eternal Son of God - it’s Jesus before he became Jesus, before he took human flesh and was born in Bethlehem.

What does this tell us about him? What does it tell us about God?

It tells us that he is more holy than we could ever begin to imagine. Greater, far more majestic, far more pure. Untouched by the stains of sin we know all too well.

This is the living God. The creator of all. The eternal One. In his radiant holiness he’s not to be messed with. You need to take off your sandals, Moses.

Similar things happen in the NT:

• When Peter realises who Jesus is, he falls at Jesus’ knees and urges him to go away, “for I am a sinful man.”
• When the guards realise who this man in the garden is, they fall to the ground. Those possessed by demons do likewise.
• When John sees the risen, glorified Christ in a vision, he falls to the ground "as though dead".

We need to put away those cosy, air-brushed ideas of Jesus that keep him in the stable. He is burning, blazing light.

Moses is puzzled by the sight of the bush not being consumed by the flames so he goes to have a look (anything to break the monotony of watching the sheep). Curiosity gets the better of him but he is blown away when the Lord speaks to him from the flames: "Moses hid his face, because he was afraid to look at God."

Moses meets the Son of God and he is aflame with fear at the sight. Christmas ought, in its own inimitable way, have something of that effect on us. We’re not dealing with a doll in the manger; this is full and proper deity, Almighty God.

2. The Holy One comes down to save
But what’s the point of this? Is God saying to Moses, ‘You can’t ever come close to me? You can’t know me, can’t ever be anything but terrified in my presence?’

No, it's not about that. Look at these words:

“I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I have come down to rescue them from the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”

He has seen the misery of the people - the injustice and the pain, the terrible struggle with all the powers of chaos. He has heard their cries.

This is deeply moving. Jesus sees us and hears our cries. The places no-one else sees, the depths of our hearts, the canyons of our souls - he sees. And the cries that never break the silence but continually break our hearts - he hears.

But that’s not all. Listen to this - listen and be amazed and astonished and comforted beyond all your hopes:

“I have come down to rescue them.”

Far from keeping them away from him, he wants them to be his people, to belong to him. The fact the bush isn’t burnt up is a sign and a picture of his people not being consumed by his holy presence.

He wants us - really and truly - to be able to live with him. Not consumed but comforted and consoled. And then sent into the world, bearing glad tidings.

This is the most amazing foreshadowing of Christmas - the language and the imagery: coming down, in order to save. Jesus comes into the world (comes down from heaven) to be the Saviour. That's why he's given the name Jesus, after all.

He didn’t come into the world to mock us in our unholiness but to make it possible for us to finally live in God’s presence, by taking away - carrying on his back - all that ever stood against us, everything that put our accounts in desperate debt.

Not to be burnt-up by his holy light but to live within it - to live in the light of his holy glory, to bathe our souls in it, to allow ourselves to be healed by it. Forgiven. Cleansed. Purged and purified.

That glorious prospect is only heightened by the reality of his holiness. He wants us to be his children. Astonishing.

He came down to rescue. Let’s finish by thinking about that.

3. The rescue

Israel's rescue would be through terrible plagues falling on Egypt, as punishment for the sin of standing against God's plans for the world (this was never just about Israel).

And Jesus? How does he save?

By taking the plague and the punishment upon himself. Christ was made a curse for us, when he hung on the tree. “Noel, Noel, the story of amazing love.” Yes indeed, Chris Tomlin.

Here is where it gets really real. We can't keep him as a baby in our mind's eye. Yes, people do that with their children - bring out the old photos, when they were tiny children, and smile with warm nostalgia.

But we must not do that with Jesus.

He came down to save - and saving meant the cross: the pain and the shame, the agony and the darkness. He allowed himself to be plunged into it to rescue us.

(Remember that powerful scene in the Christmas Day video, of the boy going into the mouth of the serpent?)

Into your world this Christmas - into your life, with all its complications - a voice is calling. It’s the voice of the Holy One. He’s calling you take off your shoes and to then come near, not to stay away. To bow in honour and worship of the child who became the man Christ Jesus.

Coming to him won’t destroy you, it will remake you.

And he’s calling you to come to him, afresh, as a Christian, from all the failures that grieve your heart and with all the burdens you carry. They will not - they cannot - consign you to endless rejection, because Jesus loves you freely and heals from all wandering and shame.

He commissions us to walk in the light, as he is in the light. Saved and renewed, in awe of the living God. With his light shining out from within us, into such a needy world as this.

Our eyes are blinded by that light and yet, strangely and wonderfully, we’re able to see better and more clearly than ever before. Because we’re seeing the burning and beautiful glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

The one who has now come down, to rescue us.

On Christmas Day (Joy in the Journey 74)

Christmas Day! Here at last. After all the suffering of this year, all the pain and confusion, we can today remember that the Word was made a bonny baby boy, chortling in his crib, bathed in light and untouchable joy and ethereal warmth. Or so it seems and so we oft-times picture the incarnation of our Lord.

But that is not the truth. That picture does not hold the hope we need and it cannot contain the truth about the Son of God. No - this is the witness of Scripture:

"The Word was made flesh and made his dwelling among us."

He was made flesh - made like us in every way, except for sin. Made to feel the cold, the hurts, the longings and the agonies of life in a such a world as this. Not exempt, but frail and breakable. Able to be crushed on the cross, pulped by Pilate's henchmen. Not evading evil but putting himself into its hands, to do its worst to him. Not hiding away from the horrors of sin but standing up, up from the trenches into the full force of enemy fire.

And being made flesh, he made his dwelling among us. Not apart from us. Not a distant neighbour that no-one ever really sees or gets to know. No, dwelling among us, such that those closest to him could speak of him and his life with complete authority.

You might know that the original language uses the term tabernacled among us. It's quite a word. It points to Jesus as the true temple, the fulfilment of the tabernacle from the wilderness days. The place where God is present with the people, where their sins would be exposed and atoned for. The place of fire and light, of judgement and mercy, of holy, saving love. All this, and so much more, in the unique Word that was made flesh.

We don't need more schmaltz and sentimentality. We need a Saviour. We need the Word made flesh. We need him to live among us, to make his home in us, as the true dwelling-place of God. That's why he came and that's what he is, in the glory that is radiant with truth and grace.

May this be, in the kindness of God, a truly happy Christmas!

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

After all pleasures as I rid one day,

My horse and I, both tir’d, bodie and minde,

With full crie of affections, quite astray,

I took up in the next inne I could finde,

There when I came, whom found I but my deare,

My dearest Lord, expecting till the grief

Of pleasures brought me to him, readie there

To be all passengers most sweet relief?

O Thou, whose glorious, yet contracted light,

Wrapt in night’s mantle, stole into a manger;

Since my dark soul and brutish is thy right,

To Man of all beasts be not thou a stranger:

Furnish & deck my soul, that thou mayst have

A better lodging than a rack or grave.

(Christmas (1) by George Herbert, 1593-1633)

Filling the hungry with good things (Joy in the Journey 73)

Mary's song, the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55), extols the virtues of the God of reversals, who "brings down rulers from their thrones but lifts up the humble". The way of the world, long established by power-brokers and wheeler-dealers, is being over-turned through the coming of the Messiah. To pander to and pamper the privileged is not his way. He doesn't play those games. When the powerful preen themselves they show who they belong to, whose values they have enshrined in their hearts, and whose destiny they will share.

The way of the Most High, the road less travelled, is the one that is exemplified in the Christmas events - the high and mighty are by-passed and put on notice that a new King has been born, a different kind of King. With his coming, "the darkness is passing and the true light is already shining" (1 John 2:8).

And within Mary's song of exaltation there is a statement of the most profound joy and lasting satisfaction for all who know their need: "He has filled the hungry with good things". By contrast, those whose trust is in their wealth, and are deceived by its riches, will be "sent empty away," finally betrayed by what held their trust. But those who are denied by the powerful, who see and own their inner poverty, who feel the desperation of a hunger that can only be met by knowing the living God - well, they will discover in the Lord the deepest reality of life in all its fulness.

This year has been harrowing for so many people and for all kinds of reasons. Emotionally, mentally, physically and economically, it has been a time of relentless stress and many have been stretched beyond breaking point. The deep anguish brought on by the pressures of the pandemic has taken the heaviest toll. And within the faceless statistics we are presented with each day are hungry souls, starving for hope and meaning and mercy. Mary's testimony, in these simple but sublime words, is that those who come to the Lord honestly seeking him in their hunger will be filled.

That isn't a promise of green pastures all the way. It isn't a cheap and cheerful façade behind which real sorrows have to be hidden. This is the promise of God that he will himself come and inhabit the human heart, to beautify the broken, restoring precious lives and making them glow, for "those who look to him are radiant, their faces are never covered with shame." (Ps.34:5) Filled, finally, to the measure of all the fulness of God, in the shoreless ocean of his love.

Tasting and seeing even the smallest part of that glorious destiny, we say with Mary,

"My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour."

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

Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord!

Unnumbered blessings, give my spirit voice;

tender to me the promise of his word;

in God my Saviour shall my heart rejoice.

Tell out, my soul, the greatness of his Name!

Make known his might, the deeds his arm has done;

his mercy sure, from age to age to same;

his holy Name--the Lord, the Mighty One.

Tell out, my soul, the greatness of his might!

Powers and dominions lay their glory by.

Proud hearts and stubborn wills are put to flight,

the hungry fed, the humble lifted high.

Tell out, my soul, the glories of his word!

Firm is his promise, and his mercy sure.

Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord

to children's children and for evermore!

(Timothy Dudley-Smith, 1926-)

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)