Learning to forgive (Joy in the Journey)

The perspective of Joseph on his sufferings at the hands of his brothers is quite stunning. When he reveals himself to them they are (to paraphrase slightly) gob-smacked. And terrified. They have every reason to be so - it seems that their sins have finally caught up with them and their callous hearts exposed and condemned.

But Joseph immediately says to them, "Do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you." (Gen. 45:5)

And, again, a moment or two later, he affirms, "God sent me ahead of you to preserve a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So, then, it was not you who sent me here, but God." (Gen. 45:7-8)

After the death of their father Jacob, Joseph again reassures his brothers of his heart toward them: "You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives." (Gen. 50:21)

Long years of suffering had the power to foster a bitterness that would make his heart an acrid, barren place, Instead, Joseph displays a breath-taking grasp of God’s sovereign ways. In his seeming absence, he has been present, at work behind the scenes, preparing the way for a rescue that could not have been foreseen. And Joseph demonstrates a humble willingness to embrace God’s purpose in his suffering, recognising his own creaturely limitations ("Am I in the place of God?"), and embracing his brothers in forgiving grace.

It is his readiness to forgive that carves out for his brothers an opportunity to demonstrate repentance and so to know their sins cancelled and cleared. Their lives can begin again from this point. The past no longer needs to corrupt their future.

What Joseph had come to know is not a lesson that is casually learned. Such gains are exceedingly hard won. This is not a minor skirmish; it is a full-on battle that is fought on the ground of our desolated history. We must not condemn ourselves if we struggle to forgive when we know the deepest pain of being harmed by others.

Joseph’s reconciliatory spirit was forged over long years in the crucible of suffering. The grace he offered was not cheap, neither for him nor his brothers. All we can do is to ask the Lord to help us, in our distress. Ask him to heal our hearts, to pour his consolation into our souls, so that we might be taken closer to where Joseph now stood.

That consolation has not simply its root but its whole life and substance in the one who loved us and gave himself for us. This scene in Genesis leads us, with great and clarifying power, to see afresh the glory of the submission and humility of our Lord Jesus on the cross. How deeply and joyously glad we can be for his words, "Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they’re doing."

Over time, and as we consciously place ourselves into the hands that were pierced for us, the hands of the physician of souls, we might find that we are able to begin to pray - falteringly, haltingly, but truly - “Make me, O Lord, a channel of your peace.” The Lord Jesus, in his healing love, is able to make the words and the wisdom of James become visibly true in our lives, that “peacemakers who sow in peace raise a harvest of righteousness”.

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At the cross where Jesus suffered,

I lay down my bitter blame;

Where he prayed, Father forgive them,

Lord I know I must do the same.

Laying down my pain, my anger,

Vengeful thoughts nailed to the cross;

Take the sting of wrongs remembered,

No more measuring my loss.

I'll not use my words as weapons,

Or the past to gain control;

On my tongue no trace of venom,

Only grace to comfort and make whole.

I am weak but God is with me,

Past and future in his hand;

Turns to good the ill we suffer,

Works all things into Love's plan.

Holy Dove, return and rest here,

As I think and speak the best;

Though it takes ten thousand choices,

I'll press on to honour and to bless.

For the love of Christ my Saviour,

By the strength he daily gives,

This will be the thanks I offer:

I will totally forgive.

    For my Father in heaven

    Showed mercy to me

    How can I not be merciful

    When God's been merciful to me,

    God's been merciful to me

(Graham Kendrick

Copyright © 2009 Make Way Music)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_T_lCAgrklg

Your enemies routed (Joy in the Journey)

We have enemies, within and without. The Bible couldn’t be plainer on this point. Whatever terms it might use - “the world, the flesh and the devil” is a good summary given by the apostle John - we battle against forces whose intent is to cause us harm and hurt. Eternally.

In Psalm 92 - a song for the sabbath day - the writer joyfully declares and celebrates the Lord’s character and ways as the one who is “for ever exalted”. And his supremacy and faithfulness lead to this statement:

“My eyes have seen the defeat of my adversaries;
My ears have heard the rout of my wicked foes.”

All that stood opposed to the writer in this life, all that was a sore point of contradiction within the soul, has been in principle overcome and defeated.

The seeing and hearing of this verse might refer to the physical reality of enemies in the original context, but it’s right and helpful for us to pursue its line of thinking into all that the gospel so clearly discloses to us. The powers of sin and chaotic disorder, the terrors of evil and death, have been engaged and overcome by our Lord Jesus Christ.

At times this might be an overlooked aspect of the gospel; where that’s the case we do ourselves a huge favour in reconnecting with it. Jesus our Messiah has won a great victory; it remains to be enacted in its fullest scope but its definitive nature is not in doubt. In his death on the cross, sin was condemned by God. As evil reached its height, in plunging the Lord of glory to the depths, it over-reached itself and was dealt the death-blow. The ragged lunging of shame was tamed, its imposter’s mask once and for all removed.

In Christ, by faith in God’s Son, we are more than conquerors. We share in all that he won through suffering. The gospels portray our Saviour as the great champion of his people, steadfast on the field of battle, even to the death of the cross. They are there not simply to provide us with information but to give the surest consolation and to pour strength into our enervated souls.

What this all means is that we can have confidence in facing what stands against us, in owning our weaknesses and naming our shame. We are not removed from them; we still battle hard and, at times, feel like hoisting a white flag in surrender. But those experiences do not negate the victory of Jesus. Somehow, in the strange and glory-filled wisdom of God, that triumph gets seen in and through our weaknesses.

And what becomes plain as we take courage from his promises is that “this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Cor. 4:7). What we have seen and heard - that our enemies have been routed - becomes in some way visible and audible to those whose lives remain shrouded in darkness. And, please God, that realisation might be the first rays of the dawning in their hearts of “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.” (2 Cor. 4:6)

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Safe in the shadow of the Lord,

beneath his hand and power,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

my fortress and my tower.

My hope is set on God alone,

though Satan spreads his snare,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

to keep me in his care.

From fears and phantoms of the night,

from foes about my way,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

by darkness as by day.

His holy angels keep my feet

secure from every stone;

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

and unafraid go on.

Strong in the everlasting Name,

and in my Father's care,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

who hears and answers prayer.

Safe in the shadow of the Lord,

possessed by love divine,

I trust in him,

I trust in him,

and meet his love with mine.

(Timothy Dudley-Smith b. 1926)

Can these bones live? (Joy in the Journey)

“Can these bones live?” Can this life be turned-around? Can hope be embedded in the heart? Can these bones live, the dry bones we see all around us, the lives empty and forlorn, in the grip of the most desperate drought, in a nation that is weary and worn, that is often senseless and brutish? Can the darkness of death be dispelled and the light of resurrection dawn upon benighted souls?

Can our bones live? Can our dearth be reversed and our lives flooded again by the life of God? Are there any reasons to keep on keeping on?

The question was addressed to Ezekiel as a ‘son of man’ - a mere mortal. A man with all the usual limitations - from the dust and returning to the dust. Whatever answer can be given to the plight of the nation, it doesn’t lie with him. Having been asked, his response is marked by a humility that has within it the seeds of living hope:

“Sovereign LORD, you alone know.”

Yes, only he knows. It is as far beyond us as it was Ezekiel. His nation had been torn apart, stone by stone and life by life. There was the deepest decay at its heart. The powers that be (in this case, the Babylonian empire) were at their peak. There were no evident reasons for hope, none at all.

In a culture that continually self-harms, enthroning death by embracing decay, the same bleak outlook would seem to be true for us. Minor respites, here and there, perhaps. But genuine grounds for expectancy? It seems not.

Where all hope was seemingly dead and buried, the LORD speaks. He has addressed Ezekiel and now calls him to address the dry bones, to proclaim to them, to let them know that breath will enter them and they will come to life. And that happens when Ezekiel has further spoken, this time to the breath, at the Lord’s direction. The re-made but inanimate army would only then come to resurrection life.

A resurrection without life would be not simply irrational, it would also be intolerable and desolating. Lives reformed, returned to some sense of normality and meaning, yet without true transformation; re-calibrated but without the breath of life to give vitality and indissoluble joy. That isn’t what is so sorely needed and would be bitterly disappointing. We can be thankful for all that might change circumstances for the better, but we long for lives to be renewed at the deepest level.

The words of the Lord and the breath of the Lord: the live-giving message and the life-giving Spirit - these are the proper basis for genuine hope, a hope that leads to sustained prayer for new life. Come, O Lord...

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O Breath of Life, come sweeping through us,
Revive Thy church with life and power,
O Breath of Life, come, cleanse renew us,
And fit Thy church to meet this hour.

O Wind of God, come, bend us, break us,
Till humbly we confess our need;
Then in Thy tenderness remake us,
Revive, restore; for this we plead.

O Breath of Love, come, breathe within us,
Renewing thought and will and heart:
Come, Love of Christ, afresh to win us,
Revive Thy church in every part.

Revive us Lord! Is zeal abating
While harvest fields are vast and white?
Revive us, Lord, the world is waiting,
Equip Thy church to spread the light.

(Elizabeth Ann Head, 1850-1936)

Pleading your own righteousness

Pleading your own righteousness is a mug’s game. Anyone who has any awareness of their own fallibility, their own propensity to sin and deceitfulness wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole.

Which is why, when we read something like Psalm 7:8 (”judge me, O LORD, according to my righteousness and according to the integrity that is in me”), our instinct is to run a mile and to morph the text into something along the lines of, ‘But, actually, if you did that I’d be in deep trouble - so please judge me according to Jesus’ righteousness instead.’

We can maintain that David spoke in these terms because this is the Old Testament; no gospel-respecting New Testament believer would ever think to ask to be dealt with on the basis of their own righteousness. And there’s absolutely no need to do so; you go with justification by faith every single time. It’s the only way to stay sane.

And yet…the great proponent of justification by faith, the apostle Paul, does just what David did (and Psalm 7:8 is far from an isolated example). He frequently calls God to be his witness that his behaviour and his motives have been pure and blameless. Here’s a few examples of that:

• God, whom I serve in my spirit in preaching the gospel of his Son, is my witness how constantly I remember you in my prayers at all times. (Rom. 1:9)
• My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. (1 Cor. 4:4)
• Now this is our boast: Our conscience testifies that we have conducted ourselves in the world, and especially in our relations with you, with integrity and godly sincerity. We have done so, relying not on worldly wisdom but on God’s grace. (2 Cor. 1:12)
• I call God as my witness —and I stake my life on it—that it was in order to spare you that I did not return to Corinth. (2 Cor 1:23)
• On the contrary, by setting forth the truth plainly we commend ourselves to everyone’s conscience in the sight of God. (2 Cor. 4:2)
• we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it. For we must all appear before the judgement seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad. (2 Cor. 5:9,10)
• Since, then, we know what it is to fear the Lord, we try to persuade others. What we are is plain to God, and I hope it is also plain to your conscience. (2 Cor. 5:11)
• The God and Father of the Lord Jesus, who is to be praised forever, knows that I am not lying. (2 Cor. 11:31)
• I assure you before God that what I am writing you is no lie. (Gal. 1:20)
• God can testify how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus. (Phil. 1:8)
• we speak as those approved by God to be entrusted with the gospel. We are not trying to please people but God, who tests our hearts. (1 Thess. 2:4)
• You know we never used flattery, nor did we put on a mask to cover up greed —God is our witness. (1 Thess. 2:5)
• You are witnesses, and so is God, of how holy, righteous and blameless we were among you who believed. (1 Thess. 2:10)
• holding on to faith and a good conscience (1 Tim. 1:19)
• I thank God, whom I serve, as my ancestors did, with a clear conscience (2 Tim. 1:3)

And it’s not just Paul (is it ever just Paul?). The writer of Hebrews can confidently assert, “We are sure that we have a clear conscience and desire to live honourably in every way” (Heb. 13:18).

This spills over into how Paul admonishes believers to live holy lives, on the basis that God is their judge, both now and at the last day. They will, even now, be judged according to their righteousness ("if we judged ourselves truly then we wouldn’t be judged…" 1 Cor 11:31). If they have behaved decently and in the light then they can say so to the Lord as they walk with him. It won’t mean they have no difficulties to face - this isn’t a health/wealth paradigm that Paul is constructing - but they will be able to look God in the face as they worship him, openly and unashamed of their conduct.

It’s also interesting just how much instruction Paul gives to a younger, possibly timid believer - Timothy - to live righteously and in all godliness. Far more emphasis on that than on burying himself in the gospel, preaching the gospel to himself every day etc. (Sometimes received wisdom isn't as biblical as it seems...)

So what is this saying? And what am I suggesting? Simply that we must not allow the glory of justification to be diminished by appealing to it in such a way that our own conduct has no significance whatsoever. We need to endeavour to maintain as clear a conscience as we can. Our final destiny rests in the finished work of Christ and that deserves our full confidence, but there is also a place, in our daily living, for a due sense of confidence before God on the basis of our own integrity before him. Not a ‘final judgement’ confidence but a ‘walking with the Lord in honest fellowship’ kind of confidence.

If your response to this is still, ‘Whoah! That’s dangerous!’ then maybe you need to come up with some other way to deal with what is a consistent emphasis not simply in the Psalms but in the NT too.

Those who have been brought from death to life (Joy in the Journey)

As you offer yourself to the Lord each day, in worship and as a living sacrifice, how do you see yourself? What image comes to mind, what description would you use?

For some, the answer is pretty bleak: ‘Not much of any use here, Lord. It’s all pretty rubbish really - just a few leftover scraps, not enough to make anything of worth with. But, if you still want me, I’m yours. Not that it’ll make any difference to anyone.’

We need to deal with truth, not despairing falsehoods.

In Romans 6, Paul speaks about what is now true of the person who is in Christ. Encouraging his readers to not offer any part of themselves to serve sin any longer, he reminds them that they are now free to offer themselves to God “as those who have been brought from death to life”.

Here is the Easter reality for each and every Christian - not just the few, the elite who have their act together. No, this is true for all whose faith is in Jesus Christ, without any exception. United to him in his resurrection, the Spirit who raised him from the dead now lives in us.

This changes everything.

No longer are we slaves to sin, such that we are compelled to offer ourselves to it as instruments of wickedness. A sea-change has occurred - life, the life of God, has renewed us, heart and soul. Brought out of death, loosed from its malign design and its corrupting influences, we have been ushered into life in all its fulness.

What that means, says Paul, is that we are now free, each day, to offer every part of ourselves to the Lord as instruments of righteousness. The whole of me belongs to him and every last part of my being can be offered to him and to his righteous plan to renew all creation. My thoughts, words, deeds. My emotions and motivations. All that I hold, all that I measure and make. All that I once believed was broken and beyond repair can now be placed into his holy hands, offered in secure faith.

All this, Paul later says, is a response to God’s great mercies and is truly pleasing to him. He is glad, thrilled even, to receive us as we offer ourselves to him. A sacrifice that is sweet and acceptable to him. Our true and proper worship.

If you’re a Christian, this is who you now are and this is what lies open before you, each morning. A world of potential beckons, through the open doors of his grace. You are dead to sin and alive to God in Christ. No longer under the law but under grace, here is a liberty that is life-changing.

“Offer every part of yourself to him” - because you are his. Holy and accepted. Cherished, released and remade.

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Jesus my Lord will love me forever,
From Him no power of evil can sever,
He gave His life to ransom my soul;
Now I belong to Him.

Once I was lost in sin's degradation,
Jesus came down to bring me salvation,
Lifted me up from sorrow and shame,
Now I belong to Him.

Joy floods my soul for Jesus has saved me,
Freed me from sin that long had enslaved me
His precious blood, He came to redeem,
Now I belong to Him

    Now I belong to Jesus,
    Jesus belongs to me,
    Not for the years of time alone,
    But for eternity.

(Norman J Clayton)

Afraid, yet filled with joy (Joy in the Journey)

Matthew tells us about fear at the empty tomb of Jesus - the guards who experience the earthquake and see an angel of the Lord come down and roll away the stone are “so afraid” that they appear to be as dead and as still as a stone.

But they aren’t the only ones who are afraid. The women who had come to anoint the body of the Lord with spices also see the angel and are told that the tomb is empty because “He is not here; he has risen.” Told to go and tell his disciples the news they “hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy”.

We can easily understand the guards’ reaction but why are the women afraid? (It’s the very same word that Matthew uses) What is it about the resurrection that could make anyone fearful? Isn’t it just the biggest collation of every dream you could ever have had, all rolled up into one huge ball of wonder? We can understand the joy but the fear, the terror? It seems entirely out of place.

It’s the same instinct that leads us to think that “fear of the Lord” is passé. That reaction needs correcting - because without this fear the joy will remain confined and insubstantial.

What the Lord has done in tackling sin and death and overcoming all the forces of evil and chaos is the largest demonstration there can have been of his supreme power and authority, and of the absolute commitment of his love to fallen, sin-sick humanity. We are not dealing with points of trivia but the training of the whole mind and will of God on the forces arrayed against us. Who could stand before such majesty and not tremble with awe?

In responding in fear to the edges of that work in the vacant tomb and the report of the resurrection, albeit by an angel, these faithful women are modelling for us a godliness that can only lead to deeper reserves of joy, for they are honouring the incomparable Lord of glory. Their fear is a holy terror that is neither inappropriate nor primitive; it is embracing the truth about God (and ourselves) and quaking at its magnitude.

Eugene Peterson reflects with acute perception on the fears reported by Matthew and helpfully distinguishes them: “There is a fear that incapacitates us for dealing with God, and there is a fear that pulls us out of our preoccupation with ourselves, our feelings, or our circumstances into a world of wonder. It pulls us out of ourselves into the very action of God.” (Living the Resurrection, p.71)

A fear that can lead us out of ourselves and our circumstances and into wonder and amazement is not to be shunned. Such fear is the ballast our joy needs, anchoring it in the astonishing works of God and the supreme reality of his eternal being.

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My God, how wonderful Thou art,

Thy majesty how bright!

How beautiful Thy mercy seat,

In depths of burning light!

How dread are Thine eternal years,

O everlasting Lord,

By prostrate spirits day and night

Incessantly adored!

How wonderful, how beautiful,

The sight of Thee must be,

Thine endless wisdom, boundless power,

And aweful purity!

O how I fear Thee, living God,

With deepest, tenderest fears,

And worship Thee with trembling hope

And penitential tears!

Yet I may love Thee too, O Lord,

Almighty as Thou art;

For Thou hast stooped to ask of me

The love of my poor heart.

No earthly father loves like Thee;

No mother e'er so mild,

Bears and forbears as Thou hast done

With me, Thy sinful child.

Father of Jesus, love's reward,

What rapture will it be

Prostrate before Thy throne to lie,

And ever gaze on Thee!

(Frederick William Faber, 1814-63)

"I've seen the Lord!" (Easter sermon)

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. And the earth was formless and void and darkness was over the surface of the deep.” It was chaotic and empty of meaning.

And when he began the work of new creation, early in the morning on the first day of the week, it was dark and it was chaotic. People were coming and going - first the women, then Peter and John, then Mary once more.

There’s lots of confusion.

But, in this new creation work of God, what was empty - the tomb in which the body of the Lord had been laid - now begins to give everything meaning. He would be the Light that would give life and meaning and shape and hope to human lives.

I’d like us to see how that happens for Mary but before we get to that it would be good to pause for a few moments and try to take in something of the chaos at the tomb.

Mary (and the other women that John doesn’t mention) see that the tomb is empty. They have come to anoint the body of their Lord, to treat with final dignity what had been so callously brutalised.

But the body isn’t there. Mary believes it must have been stolen so she heads back to the other disciples in anguish of heart. Which brings Peter and John onto the scene. Having heard that the tomb is open and empty, they head there.

John outruns Peter (I’m sure he never let him forget that) but he doesn’t go into the tomb - he pauses, trying to take it in. Peter, so different to John, arrives and goes right in. He notices how things are arranged (incidentally, body-snatchers wouldn’t bother unwrapping the body and leaving the cloths neatly folded).

This is all a puzzle to Peter - you can picture him trying to make sense of it.

Then John does go in and something clicks for him. “He saw and believed.” Not full-blown belief yet, but the first beginning of settled, certain faith in the resurrection of Jesus from the dead.

Different folks and different strokes:

• Mary, awash with grief at the seeming theft of his body.
• Peter, eager to see, trying to take it all in but not coming up with much at first.
• And John, cautious, thoughtful and the first stirring of faith in a resurrected Messiah.

Is that a picture of us, too?

• Tears are plentiful because life has been so hard. Some grieving because we’ve lost those who meant so much to us.
• Others can see some of the details of the Jesus story but aren’t too sure what to make of it.
• And others still, following in John’s footsteps, are beginning to believe that Jesus is alive and that death has been conquered.

Easter Sunday: we’re in the story. Somewhere.

That story has within it the power and the glory to move us from tearful confusion, from bitter anguish, to the clearest faith and the fullest joy.

And that’s what Mary’s story offers us.

1. For Mary, the empty tomb doesn’t speak for itself.
Grief is like a powerful distortion field. It blurs everything and dials down our ability to make sense of what’s before us.

In Star Trek and Star Wars, the spacecraft have force fields to protect them from harm. But our grief often acts to keep us from any relief, from any semblance of what might make life worthwhile.

Mary simply can’t begin to put two and two together. Death is too final for that. She isn’t persuaded by the sight of angels in the tomb. Does she even realise that they’re angels?

And when she turns around and sees Jesus standing there, she sees but doesn’t see, doesn’t realise who he is.

Grief can do that to us. The sorrows of life, the struggles and the pain - they all work against us from recognising the one true God and his presence in our lives.

We need Jesus to do something, to say something, to bring us back from the darkest places.

And he does.

2. My sheep know my voice - I call them by name
The Lord asks her why she’s crying (as the angels did) but then adds “Who is it you’re looking for?”

It might seem callous to do so but he knows what he’s doing. He always does, with you and me, too. Jesus never wastes words, never exploits our weakness and vulnerability. That’s not who he is. He knows what he’s doing, we can trust that.

And that’s clear here. Mary hears his voice but doesn’t recognise whose it is. But when Jesus speaks her name the lights go on immediately.

There’s something extra here now!

Once she realises this is her Lord, once the sound of voice calling her name enters her ears, Mary’s doubts and confusion, her endless sorrows cease.

She calls out “Rabboni” - My Teacher!

O the joy, the gladness, the sheer exuberance of that moment! It will never, ever, be forgotten.

Do you remember that scene in The Railway Children where Roberta (Jenny Agutter) sees her father on the railway platform after the smoke has cleared?

She cries out as she runs to him, “Daddy! My daddy!” He’s not lost, he’s not dead. He’s back with them, She wants him back for good and he is.

Well, if you do remember that scene and it brings a tear to your eye - I’m sure it does - then Mary at the feet of her Lord will not fail to do so too.

Because this is not fiction; this is real lives rescued from death; this is the true Lord of all, coming back from the depths of the grave, to rescue and save and give hope that is deeper than our griefs.

Interestingly, it’s when he says her name that she recognises him. Through her tears - and because in resurrection he’s recognisable but different - she hadn’t been able to make him out.

But when he speaks her name the clouds clear and her heart breaks with joy. It’s him! It’s Christ her Lord, risen. The mighty conqueror. It’s his glorious voice that calls her.

Earlier in John, Jesus spoke about “the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep”. He said the shepherd “calls his own sheep by name and leads them out” and “his sheep follow him because they know his voice.”

This is being acted out for us here in the lived experience of Mary.

And it’s something we can know, too. Our names being spoken by the risen Lord Jesus.

Not audibly but deeply into our souls, in moments like these. He calls to us, in the tears of our grief and unbelief, in the trauma of life in a world of death, in the pain and confusion that we can’t seem break free from.

He calls your name - calls you to believe, to receive from him the greatest gift ever offered:

• the living presence of God
• the clearing of all your guilt
• the remaking of your heart
• the re-framing of your whole future, your ultimate destiny.

3. You can’t stay here, Mary
Mary tries to cling to him - to keep him there. ‘No way am I letting you out of my sight ever again!’ ‘But Mary, there’s more to come. I’m going back to my Father - to your Father - and the world needs to know what you now know. So go to my brothers…’

When you first come to know Jesus there’s an understandable longing to stay at that point. You’re seeing and feeling and knowing things about the one true God for the very first time.

Those are special days indeed.

But they have to give way because he has a larger purpose for you. The picture is far bigger than you ever imagined. There is enough joy here to wrap its arms around the whole world. It needs to be shared.

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Where do we leave Mary? Back with the disciples and excitedly saying the most stunning words that ever came from her lips: “I have seen the Lord!”

What beautiful assurance this is!

Can anything else really matter now, in a determinative sense? Can anything change this great reality?

She has seen the Lord. And if you have believed in Jesus, then you have seen the Lord, too - not physically but truly. Seen his love, tasted his goodness, been folded into his eternal joy.

Is that your Easter experience? That the risen Lord Jesus, in all his glory, has called your name and wiped your tears? Planted you into a bigger picture with a part to play, sharing this great news?

If this isn’t yet the story of your life but you long that it might be, then ask him to meet you, in your confusion and sorrow, in your sin and failure.

Ask him to call your name and to breathe new life into your heart.

"He can't save himself!" (Joy in the Journey)

“He saved others but he can’t save himself!” It was an insult hurled at a dying man, hung between two criminals. A man who had healed the sick and raised the dead, who had forgiven sins and restored people into life with God. A man who had multiplied fish and bread and fed multitudes, who had walked the waves and stilled the storm. And now he was nailed to a tree.

‘Yes, he saved others, but just look at him - utterly helpless, a pathetic and powerless sight. A worm of a man. If he was to come down now, from the throes of death, we’d be sure to believe in him. But he can’t. He’s a fake and he’s history.’

If there was anything Jesus was still capable of as he hung there it was to save himself. He lacked no power, no status - however hidden those might be from his tormentors. One word from his lips and legions of angels would be deployed to release him. His abusers have got it badly wrong.

His remaining on the cross is not because of any inability on his part; it is entirely due to his determination to provide the one true sacrifice for sins and rescue multitudes from death. It is love that holds him there, not limitation. He endures the cross, despising its shame, that he might enter the joy that was set before him - the limitless joy of honouring his Father and saving his fallen creation.

When it comes to interpreting the ways of God and the truth before our eyes, fallen and sinful humanity are at a distinct disadvantage. “It was for us he hung and suffered there”, not because of any lack in himself.

And those who got that wrong continued to err. They add, “He trusts in God. Let God rescue him now if he wants him.” Rescued he will be; and wanted he most certainly is - loved eternally by his Father! And so the Father will raise him to life, not allowing his Holy One to see decay. But it will be after all is finished and salvation achieved. It will be when death has been overcome and Satan defeated, when the barrier to life has been lifted and the prisoners' chains loosed.

Good Friday demands a different perspective, a renewed sight, a clarified vision. Its treasures are not discerned except by divine illumination. To unaided human reason it is simply a tragedy that could have been avoided if compromise had been sought, but now there was no way back. But when, by the Spirit’s energies our inner eyes are opened and our hearts humbled, the scene before us is transformed.

We see, then, that this is no avoidable tragedy, nor is it violent human might proving itself right. Here, rather, is love vast as the ocean, loving-kindness as the flood - the Prince of Life laying down his life as a ransom for us, the just for the unjust, to bring us back to God.

That Spirit-given sight can dissolve our hearts in thankfulness and melt our eyes to tears - tears of deepest, wondering joy.

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

Alas! and did my Saviour bleed

And did my Sovereign die?

Would He devote that sacred head

For such a worm as I?

Was it for crimes that I had done,

He groaned upon the tree?

Amazing pity! grace unknown!

And love beyond degree!

Well might the sun in darkness hide,

And shut its glories in,

When God, the mighty Maker, died

For man, the creature's sin.

Thus might I hide my blushing face

While His dear cross appears;

Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,

And melt my eyes to tears.

But drops of grief can ne'er repay

The debt of love I owe:

Here, Lord, I give myself away;

'Tis all that I can do.

(Isaac Watts, 1674-1748)

Persistent Realism and Profound Hope

The fact that the Psalms never clearly report a change in external circumstances is one mark of the Bible’s persistent realism. Prayer is not always answered in the terms we expect and long for; the answer may be given in a way that is not even perceptible to someone looking at the situation from the outside. God answered intense prayers for my friend Marty’s healing as she was dying from a brain tumour. During the fifteen months following the operation that confirmed her diagnosis, she was steadily and at last fully healed from a lifelong sickness of sadness. It was a time of growing joy and freedom, a period punctuated by laughter as well as tears, as Marty gradually shed the crippling anxiety she had known for a lifetime. She died on Holy Saturday, and she died confident that she had been delivered.

(Ellen F. Davis, Getting Involved with God)

The God of All Grace (Joy in the Journey)

The pandemic and its fallout are far from over. There is much we have yet to experience. ‘Long-Covid’ will perhaps come to describe not just the ongoing impact of the virus that many suffer from but the multiple effects of all that has happened. We are not at the end, yet.

Peter’s words from the close of his first letter are perfectly suited to where we find ourselves:

“And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power for ever and ever. Amen.” (1 Peter 5:10,11)

He is so conscious that those he writes to are “suffering grief in all sorts of trials” (1:6). It’s clear that he feels deeply for them and is doing all he can to help them by what he writes. They stand in great need of all that the Lord can supply to simply keep putting one foot in front of the other. Life is more than tough for them. Each day is a challenge.

Which makes his closing statement so full of the encouragement they need. The one in whose hands their lives are held is “the God of all grace”. There are no limitations with him. His is not help that is limited to those who will help themselves. This is free favour, a divine gift, not conditioned by merit or distinction. All grace - sufficient for our every need, even in the teeth of a pandemic and the ongoing struggle to live wisely and faithfully in a flaccid world.

The presence of God to sustain through present trials is underscored by Peter’s undimmed hope that after “a little while” the Lord will himself restore them, making them to be strong, firm and steadfast. There is an end to their struggles. They won’t be perpetual. They can have a hope for the future that sees them as living vibrant lives of sustained discipleship.

However, that end-point isn’t necessarily just around the corner in their earthly existence. It may well be, of course, and who wouldn’t want for that to be so? But it’s also possible that Peter’s words are intended to turn their eyes to the larger future, the longer days of unbroken fellowship with the Lord in glory.

Peter’s “little while” is then parallel with Paul’s “momentary troubles” (2 Cor. 4:17). Neither apostle is in denial about the struggles and pains of this life but, rather, they see them in truer and fuller perspective, in the light that breaks even now from heaven’s shore.

The consolation ends with Peter acclaiming, “To him be the power”. Peter is acutely aware that he is writing to those who are socially and economically powerless, at the mercy of political forces beyond their reach. And so he reminds them that it is, in truth, God, the God of all grace - their God - who genuinely has power. Power to act for their good and power to make good on all his promises.

We can trust our every day and our ultimate destiny to him.

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

When I survey life's varied scene

Amid the darkest hours,

Sweet rays of comfort shine between,

And thorns are mixed with flowers.

Lord, teach me to adore the hand

Whence all my comforts flow,

And let me in this desert land

A glimpse of Canaan know.

And O, whate'er of earthly bliss

Thy sovereign will denies,

Accepted at Thy throne of grace

Let this petition rise:

Give me a calm, a thankful heart,

From every murmur free;

The blessings of Thy grace impart,

And let me live to Thee.

Let the sweet hope that Thou art mine

My path of life attend,

Thy presence through my journey shine,

And crown my journey's end.

(Anne Steele, 1717-78)

Without wonder

Without wonder, we approach spiritual formation as a self-help project. We employ techniques. We analyse gifts and potentialities. We set goals, We assess progress. Spiritual formation is reduced to cosmetics.

Without wonder, the motivational energies in spiritual formation get dominated by anxiety and guilt. Anxiety and guilt restrict; they close us in on ourselves. They isolate us with feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness; they reduce us to ourselves at our worst. Spiritual formation is distorted into moral workaholism or pious athleticism.

(Eugene Peterson, Living the Resurrection, p.30f)

Submit to God; resist the devil (Joy in the Journey 100)

The letter of James is chock-full of practical, wise advice and instruction. It looks at life under the sun, with all its challenges and perils, and diagnoses gospel-based remedies for its ailments. He speaks plainly, insistently. It’s hard not to be humbled by his words.

In chapter 4, verse 7 there’s something of a summation of what he’s been saying: Submit to God; resist the devil. Both are essential and ultimately indivisible.

Submit to God - to his wisdom, to his loving ordering of all your days and his unbreakable commitment to your final salvation. He is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ and will not revoke the promised rescue his Son secured on the cross. We submit to him by taking our struggle with sin seriously, confessing our faults and humbly asking the Lord to renew us in the strength of his grace. We surrender to his love.

As we do so, says James, as we come near to him - into the light of his presence - he will come near to us. Wonderful assurance! We are not rejected on account of our fallibilities, we are not despised because of our ongoing falls. If we humble ourselves before him, owning our all-too-frequent bouts of self-reliance, “he will lift you up.”

While we submit ourselves to God, we resist the devil. That might conjure up all manner of exotic ideas that easily morph into something bizarre. But James’ meaning is as clear as the rest of scripture: resist him by continuing to put God’s Word into practice. Not just listening to it but doing what it says. Keeping a tight rein on your tongue, caring for the vulnerable, being thankful for all God’s good gifts, putting pride to death, worshipping the living God. Resist him by a faith that shows itself to be alive through the deeds it performs.

James’ straightforward comment is that if you resist him in this way “he will flee from you.” Because your life is being lived in the presence of God, in fellowship with him, sweetened by his joy and sustained by his grace. The devil has little hope of influencing those of whom this is true.

Submit to God and he will come near; resist the devil and he will flee. James has stated his case, succinctly and memorably.

And in the maelstrom of the days we're living through, both within the pandemic and beyond it, we need such clarity and conviction. We are saved entirely by the grace of God, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. And when we find ourselves up to our necks in the waters of trial, “he gives us more grace”. We are not left to battle through on our own, even when we're the ones who have put ourselves in harm's way. The Lord himself is our helper - always was and always will be. 

We need to be patient, like the farmer who has sown his crops. The harvest will come. We need to put aside grumbling against each other; none of us are without fault. We need to persevere, learning from the example of Job, confident of what the Lord will finally bring about. Remember, says James, he "is full of compassion and mercy". (James 5:7-11)

In all this we are submitting ourselves to the Father of our spirits and will live. We are resisting the malign temptations of the devil to forsake faith in Christ, to kick over the traces of a life set on perfecting holiness in the fear of God. We are being held by hands of healing, having been washed in the pure waters of sacrificial love.

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

God is my strong salvation;

What foe have I to fear?

In darkness and temptation

My light, my help is near.

Though hosts encamp around me,

Firm to the fight I stand;

What terror can confound me,

With God at my right hand?

Place on the Lord reliance;

My soul, with courage wait;

His truth be thine affiance,

When faint and desolate.

His might thine heart shall strengthen,

His love thy joy increase;

Mercy thy days shall lengthen;

The Lord will give thee peace.

(James Montgomery, 1771-1864)

Afraid of Easter?

Noticing that the word fear is used in Matthew 28 to describe both the reaction of the guards at Jesus' tomb (v.4) and the women who had seen the angel and received the news of their Lord's resurrection (v.8), Eugene Peterson comments that

it's not the same thing. There is a fear that incapacitates us for dealing with God, and there is a fear that pulls us out of our preoccupation with ourselves, our feelings, or our circumstances into a world of wonder. It pulls us out of ourselves into the very action of God.

(Living the Resurrection, p.17)

The songs that probably made me

In the early months of being a Christian, now some 38 years ago, 2 albums provided wonderful company and comfort to me. They were probably formative in ways I didn't recognize at the time - Jim Reeves' We Thank Thee (sadly absent from Spotify) and Make A Joyful Noise Unto The Lord by the incomparable Mahalia Jackson.

I listen to them, now and again, and have the most wonderful memories stirred. Lonely evenings in a Doncaster bedsit illuminated by joyous, defiant faith (Mahalia) and the calm, measured tones of straightforward truth, even when it veers towards cliché (Jim).

A whole new world was opening before me and these albums helped me begin to see some of its contours through the mist.

Enriching the Earth

In his poem, Enriching The Earth, Wendell Berry speaks of his own life's labours as renewing the soil by planting and plowing and stirring back the land's produce, his aim being to mend the earth and increase its fruitfulness. Eventually, his own lifeless body will be offered back into the earth, too, having slowly fallen "into the fund of things".

Pastoral ministry has many similarities, entirely to be expected. The seed-planting, the plowing, the offering back, all with the hope of seeing the yield - the harvest of righteousness - increase and lives mended. With Berry, there is a proper sense of not really knowing or seeing what is being served - there is a hiddenness that, wisely, closes off the possibility of vainglory.

And the offering has to include the whole life of the gospel-farmer, who traces the same arc into the fund of things. Is there to be any consolation in the hope that, after death, something might yet come from the life that was thus lived? By the resurrection of Jesus, yes. When "the most mute is at last raised up into song".

******

Enriching The Earth

To enrich the earth I have sowed clover and grass
to grow and die. I have plowed in the seeds
of winter grains and of various legumes,
their growth to be plowed in to enrich the earth.
I have stirred into the ground the offal
and the decay of the growth of past seasons
and so mended the earth and made its yield increase.
All this serves the dark. I am slowly falling
into the fund of things. And yet to serve the earth,
not knowing what I serve, gives a wideness
and a delight to the air, and my days
do not wholly pass. It is the mind's service,
for when the will fails so do the hands
and one lives at the expense of life.
After death, willing or not, the body serves,
entering the earth. And so what was heaviest
and most mute is at last raised up into song.

(Wendell Berry, from The Peace of Wild Things)

What can I pray for you? (Joy in the Journey 99)

Maybe you’ve asked that question to others and perhaps they’ve asked it of you. All sorts of things will legitimately come to mind - better health, job security, peace of mind - and nothing in this little piece is intended to discourage those particular requests. The LORD is generous and tender in the lives of his children.

But the prayers of Epaphras for his brothers and sisters in the Colossian church add extra substance and ballast to our requests. His friend, the apostle Paul, bears witness to the believers in Colossae that “he is always wrestling in prayer for you, that you may stand firm in all the will of God, mature and fully assured.” (Col. 4:12)

Epaphras knows them well. He is one of them. Knows all the contours of their daily lives. Can picture them in his mind’s eye, their homes, their workplaces. Knows the troubled relationships, knows the empty cupboards. And in the light of all he knows - and no doubt praying about the details, too - he prays as Paul reports.

He isn’t hitting the highlights because he doesn’t know the details. Rather, he is deliberately asking the Lord for what will be most necessary, fundamental and unifying in their experience of the Lord Jesus. And what will then, in turn, most commend the Saviour to others, as they see lives that have been liberated and stabilised and filled with good fruit.

Ephaphras hasn’t taken a route that few others traverse in prayer. Paul himself in the early part of the same letter prays in very similar, expanded terms:

“We continually ask God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all the wisdom and understanding that the Spirit gives, so that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and giving joyful thanks to the Father…”

Such prayer, for others and also for ourselves, is demanding and often draining. It is about more than words; Epaphras wrestles in prayer for them. He agonises over them, coupling his loving concern with confidence in the Lord and his work.

We fight distractions, always it seems, but we also battle against unseen hindrances, and not only the spiritual constrictions in our own soul. Asking the Lord for this kind of progress in Christian maturity is going toe-to-toe with all that wish to see the Lord’s work collapse and Christians crumble into dust. Praying like this demands the full affection and attention of our hearts and the Spirit’s energies against evil and chaos.

We cannot expect to emerge from such wrestling unscathed and unmarked. Our resources will, at times, be severely depleted and our hearts spent. There are watershed moments as we intercede for others. But we will bear on our souls something of the imprint of Christ.

And that is entirely appropriate because this kind of praying is what our Lord is seen to do in the Gospels: in wilderness places, in the Upper Room, in the gathered darkness of Gethsemane. And, now, at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven, ever living to pray for us.

May the Lord help us to pray for each other, too.

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

Great Shepherd of Thy people, hear;

Thy presence now display;

As Thou has given a place for prayer,

So give us hearts to pray.

Show us some token of Thy love,

Our fainting hope to raise;

And pour Thy blessing from above,

That we may render praise.

Within these walls let holy peace,

And love and concord dwell;

Here give the troubled conscience ease,

The wounded spirit heal.

May we in faith receive Thy Word,

In faith present our prayers,

And in the presence of our Lord,

Unburden all our cares.

The hearing ear, the seeing eye,

The contrite heart bestow:

And shine upon us from on high,

That we in grace may grow.

(John Newton, 1725-1807)

What do you want me to do for you? (Joy in the Journey 98)

Twice, in a matter of verses, Mark records the Lord Jesus asking the same question to different people. All have sought his attention and his favour and his response is to ask, “What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:35,51)

The first occasion is when James and John approach him with a fairly open-ended request: “We want you to do whatever we ask”. It’s no wonder our Lord wants to know a bit more first! And he is wise to do so: James and John want him to grant to them (and not to others) the honour and the right to sit by his side, one on his left and the other on his right. To have the places of prominence and prestige. To be right at the heart of all that happens, helping to broker his power and basking in reflected glory.

When asked if they can endure what their Saviour will go through, they answer yes. They believe they have what it takes. How foolish and deadly is human pride. Well, they would indeed drink that cup, each in their own way, but certainly not as they had fondly imagined.

If we think they were alone in wanting that kind of position, let’s notice that the other disciples also debated which of them was the greatest. And let’s remember that we, too, can be so full of self-confidence that we don’t even consider and account for the cost of following Jesus.

It’s a very humbling scene.

And one that is quickly followed by a blind beggar, Bartimaeus by name, asking Jesus, the Son of David, to have mercy on him. He, too, is asked, “What do you want me to do for you?” It might seem his need is pretty obvious (a blind man will want to see, of course) but there is wisdom in our Lord’s approach: What does Bartimaeus most value? And does he truly believe that the Son of David can meet his deepest need?

His answer is plain but profound: “Rabbi, I want to see.” Where James and John wanted their faces turned to the adoring crowds, Bartimaeus wants his sight restored with his face turned towards Jesus. There is a huge gulf between them. He will never before have asked anyone else to restore his sight, but he asks Jesus - that tells us something important about his perception of the Lord. Their folly is set in sharp relief by his faith.

How might we answer that same question? There are many legitimate things we can and should ask for and we need have no hesitation in laying those requests before the Lord. There are also many unworthy requests that we might make, to our shame. But the answer given by Bartimaeus is one that ought to accompany us down the years, because it reminds us of the heart of the matter: "I want to see" - I want to see you, Jesus, in all your wonderful glory and in the majesty of the grace that heals completely the sin-sickness of my burdened soul.

It is this great need for inward sight that animates the prayer of the apostle Paul for the Christians in Ephesus:

“I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give you the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that you may know him better. I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in his holy people, and his incomparably great power for us who believe.”

What is it that you want Jesus to do for you?

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

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

  “Come unto Me, and rest;

Lay down, thou weary one, lay down

  Thy head upon My breast.”

I came to Jesus as I was,

  Weary, and worn, and sad;

I found in Him a resting-place,

  And He has made me glad.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

  “Behold, I freely give

The living water: thirsty one,

  Stoop down, and drink, and live.”

I came to Jesus, and I drank

  Of that life-giving stream;

My thirst was quenched, my soul revived,

  And now I live in Him.

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

  “I am this dark world’s Light;

Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise,

  And all thy day be bright.”

I looked to Jesus, and I found

  In Him my Star, my Sun;

And in that light of life I’ll walk

  Till travelling days are done.

(Horatius Bonar, 1808-89)

Through the hard things

Tim Keller was recently interviewed about his latest book, Hope in Times of Fear, written as he suffers from pancreatic cancer. He was asked,

After distinguishing between good things, hard things, and best things, you conclude: “The Bible’s teaching is that the road to the best things is not through the good things but usually through the hard things.” How does this difficult message—a prime example of the Bible’s pervasive “Great Reversal” theme—subvert the world’s values? And how can we communicate it in a sensitive and attractive way?

This was his answer:

That contrast between the good things and the hard things comes from an exposition of Luke 6, where Jesus says “blessed” are those who are poor, hungry, grieving, and marginalized; and “woe” (or “curses”) to those who get power, comfort, success (the word for “laugh” in verse 25 means to gloat in victory), and popular recognition.

What can Jesus mean? In light of the rest of the Bible he can’t mean that anyone who is successful (regardless of the state of their heart) is cursed, and anyone who is poor and marginalized is automatically blessed. But read in light of the entire canon it means that, in general, God brings strength out of weakness. He loves to work through the outsiders, the rejected, the unloved. And he so often brings strength, wisdom, and salvation itself into our lives through suffering. This pattern of divine dealing is a reflection of the ultimate accomplishment of glory and power out of suffering and weakness—the cross and resurrection.

The world—and especially our modern Western culture—has no understanding of how suffering and weakness can bring blessing. How do we communicate it in a sensitive and attractive way? I’m not sure there’s a better approach than, first, applying this to our own lives (so we don’t melt down under weakness like so many others in our time) and then, second, just being transparent.

Who then can be saved? (Joy in the Journey 97)

Jesus encounters a rich man who wants to know what he must do to inherit eternal life (Mark 10:17ff). The sticking-point for his untrammelled faith in God is his considerable wealth. That has his heart and his hopes, not the living God. When he leaves, downcast, our Lord tells his disciples, “How hard it so for the rich to enter the kingdom of God” (because the choice to change allegiance from mammon to God is so acutely painful).

This amazes the disciples. But Jesus goes even further. It’s not only hard for such a person to enter God’s kingdom, it’s actually impossible (that’s the point of the camel/eye of a needle comparison). To which, in even greater amazement, the disciples ask, “Who then can be saved?”

Their perspective becomes clear: it is the rich that have God’s approval. If they are outwardly blessed then they must be inwardly so too. Material prosperity is a key marker of a successful life with God. That’s how they saw things. And, so, if the rich cannot be saved then no-one else stands the remotest chance.

This remains deeply significant for us. And not simply in terms of money (but that, too). This mindset - of outward success and comfort being evidence of God’s favour, and perhaps even drawing his favour - is unfalteringly attractive to the human heart.

We look to make sure we have all our ducks in a row, because if they’re absent or if the line is skewed then we’re unlikely to know the presence and goodness of God in our lives and in our churches. The right education - a held-together family - a successful and secure career - bucket-loads of friends - good looks - copious respect. We can keep adding into the list. These, these are what we really and truly need, says a nagging voice of doubt.

And so they capture our trust and our hopes are pinned on them. No fruitful Christian life without them. No thriving church if they’re absent. And all the while we slowly diminish, growing inwardly smaller, our souls wasting away.

The whole account puts our hearts to the test.

But it also contains everything we need to reverse the decline, to halt the fall into a withering waste. When the rich man made his case for eternal life on the basis of his achievements, “Jesus looked at him and loved him.” A look of genuine compassion and concern. He was for the man, wanting him to know true and unmerited blessing, the holy love of God that cannot be bought or sold.

From that starting-point - that we are loved by the living God - the crowning statement of our Lord to his disciples paves the way for a response of humbled faith: “All things are possible with God.” What is sheer impossibility for crippled humanity, completely defective in how we determine true value, is more than viable to the one whose words can bring life out of nothing.

‘All things’ includes your life taken up into the powerful grace of God, even in the midst of the most trying circumstances (Jesus doesn’t hide the fact that eternal life now comes with troubles - v.30). Your life flourishing and fruitful in the faithfulness of the Saviour. And churches having their life deepened and their testimony to the beauty of Jesus clarified and strengthened.

These happen not through any resources we have hoarded, nor by wedding ourselves to our society’s values and basis of approval. We are entirely in the Lord’s hands - the hands of unbreakable covenant love. To him we turn, eagerly and expectantly, in the unearned joy of eternal life.

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

Give to the winds thy fears;

Hope, and be undismayed:

God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears;

God shall lift up thy head.

Through waves, and clouds, and storms

He gently clears thy way;

Wait thou His time, so shall this night

Soon end in joyous day.

Leave to His sovereign sway

To choose and to command;

So shalt thou wondering own His way,

How wise, how strong His hand.

Far, far above thy thought

His counsel shall appear,

When fully He the work hath wrought

That caused thy needless fear.

Thou seest our weakness, Lord;

Our hearts are known to Thee:

O lift Thou up the sinking hand,

Confirm the feeble knee!

Let us in life, in death,

Thy steadfast truth declare,

And publish with our latest breath

Thy love and guardian care.

(Paul Gerhardt, 1607-76;

tr. John Wesley 1703-91)

In jars of clay (Joy in the Journey 96)

Between the solidity of God's promises and our experience of life in the here and now, there are ambiguities. Not because his promises are provisional, nor because they claim too much and cannot be truly kept. The ambiguity is down to where we’re situated, where we find ourselves: in the overlap of the ages, in the now-but-not-yet. The time of the first-fruits but still awaiting the full harvest.

Navigating that tension is one of the key challenges for wisdom and one of the true markers of our maturing as Christians. Get things out of perspective and we're easily knocked off balance. Either driven to distrust the Lord who has loved us and to doubt the justice of his reign, or forced into a pretence that all is as well as it ever could be, that we don’t struggle, not in the slightest.

The Bible encourages us to face the reality of the 'not yet' in our own experiences. We struggle, still, with sin. We feel pain as we empathise with those who carry the weightiest burdens. Along with this fractured creation we grieve and we groan. We agonise, asking who will finally be able to deliver from this collective body of death?

At the same time, by faith, “we do see Jesus, who was made lower than the angels for a little while, now crowned with glory and honour.” He is our hope, in its entirety. The forerunner, the champion, who has gone on ahead of us, clearing all the obstacles of sin “by tasting death, the death deserved by us.” The resurrection of our Saviour was the first ray of light in the birthing of a new creation.

And it is this Lord Jesus who says to us, as he did to the church in Pergamum, “I know where you live.” Knows that we’re in the tension of the in-between time, in a world where evil still exists and continues to disrupt and distort. Feels with us and for us as we gather our perplexities before him in prayer, lamenting even as we rejoice.

This was graphically portrayed in the life of the apostle Paul. His testimony to the Corinthian church remains the most acute portrayal of the Christian life in this fast-fading age:

“We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Cor. 4:8,9)

Not denying the hardships and their pain but, along with them, knowing the vital reality of the risen life of the crucified Saviour, with and among his people. It is the Lord Jesus who is the key to every “but not” spoken by Paul.

And this contradictory experience, this wrestling on towards heaven that has both light and shade, is held within a gospel purpose that sustains our own hope:

“We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us…(2 Cor. 4:7)

We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body.” (2 Cor. 4:10)

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

Far off I see the goal

    O Saviour, guide me;

I feel my strength is small;

    Be thou beside me:

With vision ever clear,

With love that conquers fear,

And grace to persevere,

    O Lord, provide me.

Whene’er Thy way seems strange,

    Go Thou before me;

And, lest my heart should change,

    O Lord, watch o’er me;

But should my faith prove frail,

And I through blindness fail,

O let Thy grace prevail,

    And still restore me.

Should earthly pleasures wane,

    And joy forsake me,

If lonely hours of pain

    At length o’ertake me,

My hand in Thine hold fast

Till sorrow be o’erpast,

And gentle death at last

    For heaven awake me.

There with the ransomed throng

    Who praise for ever

The love that made them strong

    To serve forever,

I too would see Thy face,

Thy finished work retrace,

And magnify Thy grace,

    Redeemed forever.

(Robert Rowland Roberts, 1865-1945)