Some favourite reads and listens 2021

In no particular order (as they say), here are some books/listens I've really enjoyed through this year:

Thy Will Be Done: The Ten Commandments and the Christian Life by Gilbert Meilaender - wonderful, wonderful book.

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

(also by Tim Keller, this trio of short books on birth, marriage and death)

Favourite re-read would be CS Lewis' Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer

I know I'm late to the party on this one but Neil Postman's Amusing Ourselves to Death remains a perennial recommendation on all sorts of lists, so why not on here too?

Esau McCaulley's Reading While Black: African American Biblical Interpretation as an Exercise in Hope came so highly praised and reading it I can see why.

Among the authors who reached the end of their earthly pilgrimage this year was Walter Wangerin Jr. Another late-in-the-day acquaintance, The Book of the Dun Cow is now a firm favourite.

Uprooted: Recovering the Legacy of the Places We've Left Behind by Grace Olmstead was a calming morning listen, read impeccably by the author.

Tish Harrison Warren followed up her very enjoyable Liturgy of the Ordinary with a great read, Prayer in the Night: For Those Who Work or Watch or Weep. I listened to the audiobook of this one, too, and it was terrific. Won't be to everyone's taste but I loved it.

I thoroughly enjoyed Joe Rigney's Strangely Bright: Can You Love God and Enjoy This World? And his work on CS Lewis is another great read.

Reading a signed copy of Kazuo Ishiguro's Klara and the Sun was always going to be a delight and it more than delivered the goods.

Andrew Cotter's Olive, Mabel and Me makes it onto the list because I finished reading it on New Year's Day - and because it's such a hilarious read.

As a ministry read, Stefan Paas' Pilgrims and Priests: Christian Mission in a Post-Christian Society was incredibly stimulating.

An end of year list wouldn't be complete without some Wendell Berry - so take your pick from his novels, Jayber Crow and The Memory of Old Jack or a collection of his poetry, The Peace of Wild Things. I'm already looking forward to reading some Berry in 2022.

Lastly, Spotify let me know that Kate Bush's song, And Dream Of Sheep, was my most-played-track this year. I can't argue with them; it defined my summer listening. As an album of the year, whatever the stats might show, I'll opt for the latest from Sara Groves, What Makes It Through. Something of a scalpel for the soul, it's a reflection on events of the last several years - here's her own take on the album:

In Kazuo Ishiguro’s book The Buried Giant, a husband and wife are waking up to their own histories - the ways they have been wounded, and the ways they have hurt the other. The story inspired me to explore the role our memories play in forgiveness and reconciliation. What do we remember, what do we forget, and what do we memorialize? How can we move toward each other when we have different versions of what happened? We are imperfect witnesses to our own lives and histories, and in the end, it is really difficult to tell ourselves the truth.

On God answering our prayers

Proper prayers flow from faithful, obedient hearts bringing to God real needs that we beg him to meet. His answer may be “Yes, here and now, as requested,” or “Yes, but in a better way than you asked,” or “Yes, but you must wait—I will take the right action at the right time, which is not yet.”

God, the perfect Father, loves to give good gifts to his children but reserves the right to give only the best, and only in the best way. What he gives, therefore, is not always what the praying believer had in mind.

JI Packer, Pointing to the Pasturelands, p.303

A little bit of Bible sleuthing...

So in Genesis 33:4, Esau behaves in a way that is echoed by the Father in Luke 15, in their response to the returning (wayward) son - Gen 33 it's Jacob coming home, Luke 15 it's the younger brother, the prodigal.

The connection in the LXX (the greek translation of the Old Testament) to the greek in Luke 15 is quite marked - both contain this exact phrase: ἐπὶ τὸν τράχηλον αὐτοῦ καὶ κατεφίλησεν αὐτὸν.

So the Pharisees (the elder brother in the parable) refuse to do what Esau did (and what the father in the parable does) in welcoming the returning repentant one home. The Pharisees despised Esau and his descendants (the Edomites) yet Esau's actions were more in line with those of Jesus than theirs were.

It's the 2nd time in Luke a despised outsider has acted more righteously than the in-crowd (the Samaritan in Lk. 10). And Jacob then tells Esau that his face is like the face of God - the face of one who welcomes in mercy. 

Music and Song in the Bible

 Mark Futato:

One thing is clear when you look at God’s revelation, from Genesis to Revelation, that whenever really big things happen in the history of redemption, there’s music, there’s poetry - for example, when the Man meets the Woman for the first time in the Garden of Eden we have the first poem; at the time of the Exodus we have poetry; during the height of King David’s reign we have poetry; when Christ comes we have poetry; at the end of the Book of Revelation we have poetry, we have music. And I think part of the reason for this is that God not only wants to engage our minds and our wills but he wants to capture our emotions as well - and music and poetry have a way of capturing the heart, they have a way of capturing the mind, they capture the will, they capture the emotions, they capture the intellect. And so I believe that God has put a lot of his revelation, for example the whole book of Psalms, in musical poetic form because it captures the whole person.

Dr. Mark Futato

Forgetting Jesus Christ

The command to 'remember Jesus Christ' at first sight seems extraordinary. How could Timothy ever forget him? Yet the human memory is notoriously fickle: it is possible to forget even one's own name! The epitaph over Israel's grave was 'they soon forgot', and it was to overcome our forgetfulness of Christ crucified that he deliberately instituted his supper as a feast of remembrance, a fragrant 'forget-me-not'. Even so the church has often forgotten Jesus Christ, absorbing itself instead now in barren theological debate, now in purely humanitarian activity, now in its own petty, parochial business.

John Stott, Guard the Gospel, p.61

My memory

My memory

isn't

what it used to

be,

suffering the fraying

of edges made

ragged

by the wastage

and

shredding of

time's unkempt

false positives.

But, in truth,

even though I have

loved the easy

familiarity

of proper recall,

the promise of the

day when all that is

good shall be restored

beyond its birthed

capacity and all

that is bad

shall be

transfigured

by

wisdom

and a

cross,

is all that truly needs

to remain.

The Success of the Early Church

Reflecting on the growth of the early church, Gerald Sittser offers some thoughts to explain its success:

Christians had to guard the newness of the message without isolating themselves from the culture or accommodating themselves to the culture, which required them to form people in the faith and thus grow a movement of genuine disciples who could survive, and even thrive, in such a world. Rome would have ignored Christianity if Christians had been too isolated; it would have absorbed it if they had become too accommodating. For the most part it did neither.

Resilient Faith - Gerald L Sittser - Brazos Press, p.6

Augustine and A Well-Read Life

Augustine’s Confessions bears rereading because its story is the human story, a story that—with time and contemplation—I can also make my own. Like the prodigal’s tale, it shows me how I can return home. Like the Psalms it echoes, it gives me laments with which to confess my sin and praises to sing the faithfulness of God. And like the gospel it embodies, it teaches us all how to read and live our way into God’s great story of love.

from A Well-Read Life

Approaching God with freedom and confidence

If Ephesians 3:12 was a statement in isolation it would still be splendid, conveying such warmth and hope: that being joined to Jesus, by faith in him, people like us can come to the living God “with freedom and confidence”. The freedom of children entering our Father’s presence, knowing that we belong there and belong to him. And doing so with a proper sense of confidence - that his love and power are such none can ever ask too much. Confidence that asking for bread will not yield a stone.

You can read the whole piece over at The Waiting Country.

There is a river....

‘There is a river’ - the most powerful statement, definitive and decided. Set within a psalm that exhorts us to stillness because God reigns supreme, that offers the greatest comfort in the midst of calamity and hostility, these words lead into a place of calm and confidence.

You can read the whole piece over at The Waiting Country.

On Suffering (Jayber Crow)

Where did I get my knack for being a fool? If I could advise God, why didn’t I just advise Him (like our great preachers and politicians) to be on our side and give us victory and make sure that Jimmy Chatham had not died in vain? I had to turn around and wade out of the mire myself.

Christ did not descend from the cross except into the grave. And why not otherwise? Wouldn’t it have put fine comical expressions on the faces of the scribes and the chief priests and the soldiers if at that moment He had come down in power and glory? Why didn’t He do it? Why hasn’t He done it at any one of a thousand good times between then and now?

I knew the answer. I knew it a long time before I could admit it, for all the suffering of the world is in it. He didn’t, He hasn’t, because from the moment He did, He would be the absolute tyrant of the world and we would be His slaves. Even those who hated Him and hated one another and hated their own souls would have to believe in Him then. From that moment the possibility that we might be bound to Him and He to us and us to one another by love forever would be ended.

And so, I thought, He must forebear to reveal His power and glory by presenting Himself as Himself, and must be present only in the ordinary miracle of the existence of His creatures. Those who wish to see Him must see Him in the poor, the hungry, the hurt, the wordless creatures, the groaning and travailing beautiful world.

I would sometimes be horrified in every moment I was alone. I could see no escape. We are too tightly tangled together to be able to separate ourselves from one another either by good or by evil. We all are involved in all and any good, and in all and any evil. For any sin, we all suffer. That is why our suffering is endless. It is why God grieves and Christ’s wounds still are bleeding.

But the mercy of the world is time. Time does not stop for love, but it does not stop for death and grief, either. After death and grief that (it seems) ought to have stopped the world, the world goes on. More things happen. And some of the things that happen are good. My life was changing now. It had to change. I am not going to say that it changed for the better. There was good in it as it was. But also there was good in it as it was going to be.

(Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry, pp. 311-312)

Other boats

New post over at the waiting country on Substack...

"There were other boats with him."

Don't be like the mule

Psalm 32 is justly famous, both within the Bible and in the lives of Christians, for its plain and powerful statements about the blessings of forgiveness and the LORD’s amazing willingness to not count our sins against us. For those who confess their sins and put their trust in God’s provision for mercy - his own Son - the outcome is bold and stark:

And you forgave the guilt of my sin. (verse 5)

No closure could be more blessed nor more secure. The guilt of our sins taken away, no longer counted against us.

You’d think we would all simply bow our heads in worship and live continually in the freedom of such favour, taking the greatest pains not to be careless or capitulate to sin. But there is a recognition here that we are far from straightforward people, that the twisted nature of our hearts will take much unravelling. Thus, the psalm pleads with us:

Do not be like the horse or the mule,

which have no understanding

but must be controlled by bit and bridle

or they will not come to you. (verse 9)

It appears that there is a tendency in each of us to deny the depths of the issues we face, that our tendency to wander is more than a passing phase. Horses and mules are well-known for their potential to be obstinate (some, not all) but they aren’t the only creatures known to be so. People like us fall into the same category.

In her poem, Six Recognitions of the Lord, Mary Oliver bears eloquent witness to the shock of discovering the obstinacy of remaining sin:

…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.

The Christian life demands that we slow down our responses and become willing to learn. The Lord’s love for us is such that he will not allow us simply to career off into territory that is dangerous and harmful, both to ourselves and others. If need be, he will act to restrain us, to use bit and bridle, tides and time, turning us away from judgement and disaster. It won’t be pretty - we may well find our strength sapped as in the heat of summer (verse 4) - but it will be effective.

The reluctance of horse or mule to “come to you” is perhaps echoed in the willing diversion of our hearts away from the Lord’s presence. We carry upon us both the burden of unresolved shame as well as the poundage of a pride that does not relish correction. And so we dig our heels in, refusing to “Come to the waters…[to] buy and eat…without money and without cost.”

You really don’t need to carry that weight any longer. In coming to the LORD we are not coming to a faceless rider, as simply another mount for him to use. We are those he dearly loves. He will not exploit our weaknesses.

Nor are we hopeless captives to the folly of our pride and to the fear of exposure. The Spirit is able to help us calm and quieten our souls, so that we no longer fret fitfully like children who have not been weaned (Psalm 131). Instead, we can truly find rest in the joy of knowing that “the LORD’s unfailing love surrounds the one who trusts in him” (verse 10), trusting in the God “who justifies the ungodly” (Rom. 4:5).

When the day closes, our confidence is this: he will not let the rising of the mighty waters reach us. He himself is our hiding-place, the strongest protection from trouble, even the self-inflicted pain of stubbornness. And he will ever surround us with songs of deliverance.

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

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee;

Let the water and the blood,

From Thy riven side which flowed,

Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labours of my hands

Can fulfil Thy law's demands;

Could my zeal no respite know,

Could my tears for ever flow,

All for sin could not atone;

Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring,

Simply to the cross I cling;

Naked, come to Thee for dress;

Helpless, look to Thee for grace;

Foul, I to the fountain fly;

Wash me, Saviour, or I die.

While I draw this fleeting breath,

When my eyelids close in death,

When I soar through tracts unknown,

See Thee on thy judgment throne;

Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

Let me hide myself in Thee.

(Augustus Montague Toplady, 1740-78)

a love theme for the wilderness

On the same album that yielded the title of this blog, The Blue Nile also penned a song that has the words, “I write a new book every day - a love theme for the wilderness”. That life can be thought of as, at times, a wilderness experience is something the Bible doesn’t simply endorse but lays down as a regular feature of the Christian life.

Wilderness is where the people of Israel spent 40 years after the exodus from Egypt. Freed from slavery, they spent the next 40 years wandering, in almost aimless circles, in the desert (as John Starke notes, Moses had “a lot to communicate to a people who are called to live free when they’ve known only slavery”). What sort of release from captivity is this turning out to be? Where is the freedom, where is the fulfilment of hope? Where is the love?

And we experience the same struggles. “I write a new book every day”? Hardly. We sketch out a rough draft and then fill the waste-bin with rejected scripts. Even the most accomplished among us remain complete amateurs at penning a tale that makes sense of life, that holds out hope as a validated reality.

We need far more than our own words, our own designs. That book looks ready to be pulped before it’s even been written.

Our great confidence is that the Lord is the divine Author and the overarching theme of his tale is love, a love that persists even in the wilderness of our own choices. It’s the story of a love that seeks and saves, that keeps and guards, that sanctifies the heart and clarifies the hope. A love that doesn't wilt in the burning heat of a shade-less noon at the foot of a Cross. When all around and within our soul gives way, he then, in great covenant love, is all our strength and stay.

And his pen is filled with indelible ink. There can be no erasing of his declared promise to take and make a people for himself, the commitment to melt their hard hearts even as they endure the wilds of the wilderness.

In the book of Hosea, his love to a wayward people - people just like us - is expressed with deepest compassion:

I am now going to allure her;

I will lead her into the wilderness

and speak tenderly to her. (Hosea 2:14)

In the most unexpected and dramatic twist in the tale, the wilderness experience was for the sake of winning his people’s hearts back to him, saving them from the destruction of their sins. The cold light of their exilic day would expose the decay of their waywardness, even as the rising sun would declare the Lord’s unfailing love, its heat beginning to thaw their obduracy.

Has he been softening your heart, to bring you back to himself? Or opening your eyes to see that what you thought was paradise is, in truth, the badlands? If he is doing that it is an act of tenderest kindness. He wants to bring you home.

In his novel, Jayber Crow, Wendell Berry describes young J Crow’s days in an orphanage after his adoptive parents’ deaths. He would wake in fear but slowly grew accustomed to where he now lived - but he knew it wasn’t what he longed for:

After I quit waking up afraid, feeling that I might be nowhere, I began getting used to the place. I began to take for granted that I was somewhere, and somewhere that I knew, but I never quite felt that I was somewhere I wanted to be. Where I wanted to be, always, day in and day out, year in and year out, was Squires Landing and all that fall of country between Port William up on the ridge and the river between Sand Ripple and Willow Run. When I heard or read the word home, that patch of country was what I thought of. Home was one of the words I wrote in my tablet.

Home, his heavenly home, is what the LORD writes on the tablets of our hearts. Soon enough, our wilderness days will close and its love theme finally fulfilled. The waiting country will be exchanged for eternal dwellings and our dear Lord Jesus, the one who suffered in a wilderness and overcame, will speak his words of heartiest welcome.

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

Instead of a hymn to close this email, here’s a link to a new song by the super-talented Rob Halligan, where he has put some words I wrote to music and I could not be more chuffed!

This item was first published on the waiting country newsletter - to subscribe see below:

On metaphors (Lackoff & Johnson)

The most fundamental values in a culture will be coherent with the metaphorical structure of the most fundamental concepts in the culture. (Metaphors We Live By, p.22)

That is so worth thinking about.

'the waiting country' newsletter

When the UK was on the cusp of lockdown, back in mid-March 2020, I wrote an email to our church members to encourage them in the Lord Jesus for the coming days. I wrote a second email that week and from there it settled into a twice-weekly mailing. Each one was reflections either on a specific Bible verse or passage or perhaps a biblical theme more generally. Each email concluded with the words of a hymn.

As the pandemic and the lockdowns continued, so did the emails. Other friends asked to be added to the mailing list.

Here we are, some 15 months and over 120 email articles later. The emails were posted to this blog under the Joy in the Journey label (a title for the emails chosen in relative haste, referencing the song by Michael Card).

I’ve chosen to continue writing but to reduce the frequency to weekly, on a Wednesday, from 30th June (except for when I’m away on holiday). And I’ve decided to do so via a Substack newsletter with the same name as this blog, the waiting country. 

Where’s that phrase from? Well, for those who know me it will come as no surprise that it’s part of a line from a song - “and starting out we find the waiting country”. The song is called Rags to Riches by The Blue Nile and was on their first album, A Walk Across The Rooftops, released in 1983. I loved the line and the phrase seemed to me to be an apt way of thinking of the Christian life - we start out and find the waiting country, a country that was already prepared and waiting for us, and also a country in which we are waiting, for our Lord Jesus to return from heaven and for the fulness of God’s healing reign to be known throughout a renewed creation.

If you find these articles helpful to you I will be more than glad. It was a joy to me - a joy in my journey - to write the original pieces over the past year. I’ve been very thankful for the encouragements received from a number of people and their expressions of appreciation. If these help you to lift your eyes in hope and worship of the Lord Jesus Christ then the effort in writing them will be more than repaid.

You can subscribe below if you'd like to do so.

Enthroned over the flood (Joy in the Journey)

Have you ever seen a sign that warns you a certain footpath is liable to flooding? It’s a great candidate as a sign to write over your life: the onrushing waters of chaos, the riptides of panic and alarm, the swirling currents of temptations, the overwhelming waves of desolation. Not just in the parlance of a pandemic but simply life in a fallen world where sin still exercises a malign reign.

Psalm 29 has words that are not just suited for such times but establish a framework for all our days, whatever they contain: “The LORD sits enthroned over the flood” (v.10). He is unfazed by it; more, he is sovereign over it. The waters cannot overflow the boundaries he sets for them (Jer. 5:22), not in creation, nor in your soul.

Talk of the flood is perhaps a reminder of the cataclysm of judgement and salvation that came to pass in the days of Noah. The LORD was enthroned then, too. The violence of a humanity drowning in sin would not be determinative for the future of God’s world. He acted to judge and to save, in a rescue that arcs forward to its true realisation in the Saviour who was submerged under the waters of death so that we might know “the pledge of a clear conscience towards God” (1 Peter 3:21).

The earlier part of the Psalm proclaims, even celebrates, the voice of the LORD in the terrifying storm that sweeps in from the sea and makes landfall, devastating the forests. There is the most peculiar combination of terror and calm in knowing that the clashing cymbals of the storm are the declared might of the LORD. There is no higher reality.

But it is also more than that. The God who speaks through the storm is the same Lord who can, therefore, speak to the storm, to still it for the sake of his distressed disciples (Mk. 4:35-41). A stilling so powerful that their fear of the raging wind is translated into a reverent fear of the Saviour that is deeper still and far more acute. In life’s storms and in its stillness, Jesus is Lord.

How are we to respond to such might? The psalm tells us that “In his [heavenly] temple all cry, 'Glory!'” And in the temple being built with living stones, our highest calling is to join that chorus of acclamation. Where worship and wonder replace fear and alarm; where the breath-taking sight can hush the hurtling heart into being still and knowing that he is God. Majesty - worship such majesty.

When we reach the end of all our journeying, when our boat is safely harboured and the storms past, our joy will be complete as we take our place among the heavenly choir, extolling the one who is radiant with uncreated, unmediated glory. The one who gives strength to his people through all their days, who blessed and blesses them with peace.

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

Like a river glorious

Is God’s perfect peace,

Over all victorious,

In its bright increase;

Perfect, yet it floweth

Fuller every day,

Perfect, yet it groweth

Deeper all the way.

    Stayed upon Jehovah

    Hearts are fully blest,

    Finding, as He promised,

    Perfect peace and rest.

Hidden in the hollow

Of His blessed hand,

Never foe can follow,

Never traitor stand;

We may trust Him fully,

All for us to do;

They who trust Him wholly

Find Him wholly true.

(Frances Ridley Havergal, 1836-79)

Into the Valley (song)

Some words that I wrote a few years back have now made it into song, courtesy of Rob Halligan.

I can't begin to say how thrilled I am by this!

Did you speak too soon? (Joy in the Journey)

Have you ever felt you spoke too soon? That you were too hasty and if you’d only listened to James’ exhortation to be “slow to speak” things could have turned out very differently? You’re not alone.

Sometimes we can feel that on behalf of others, too. We watch them, listen to them, and wish they’d taken things slower. That they'd draw breath and wait. Maybe that’s how you feel about Paul in the book of Acts - with his back firmly against the wall, he exercises his right as a citizen and appeals to Caesar. He asks for his case to be heard in Rome by the emperor (Acts 25:11). But did he speak too soon? Is his imprisonment in Rome, with which Acts ends - and where in all probability Paul’s life ended too - a tragic waste of potential, of usefulness and service to God? Has he rashly blown his inalienable right to freedom?

It can feel like that, and especially so when we overhear Agrippa telling Festus that if Paul hadn’t appealed to Caesar he could have been set free (Acts 26:32). If only he’d been more patient and played a longer game, his life would have been extended and his freedom put to good gospel use.

But that emotional ride on the roller-coaster of Paul’s life forgets the most significant fact: it was the Lord himself, before any appeal by Paul to Caesar, who told his servant to “Take courage! As you have testified about me in Jerusalem, so you must also testify about me in Rome.” (Acts 23:11) Had Paul jumped the gun? Not at all. He took the step he did in complete assurance that to go to Rome was in God’s purpose for him, either by this means or another. The climactic statement by Luke in Acts 28:14 only serves to underline that: “And so we came to Rome.” Journey's end; in the place of God's choosing.

This wasn’t a simple but tragic twist of fate. Nor was it the folly of speaking in haste and repenting at leisure. Paul’s confidence remained in the Lord and he was secure in his hands.

We might agonise and lament on his behalf, that if he’d only waited things could have been so different but, in doing so, we betray our own limited view as to what usefulness means and how deep the wisdom of God goes into life’s circumstances. That holds as true for our lives as it did for Paul’s. And we'd be denying Paul’s dearly-held conviction, expressed when faced with the tears of those who will see him no longer: “I consider my life worth nothing to me; my only aim is to finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me,” (Acts 20:24) His forthright, passionate commitment is a perennial challenge to us, shining its searching light on our choices and stances.

When push came to shove, when under house-arrest in Rome, did Paul have a more limited usefulness? He sees his role, his calling, in terms that transcend the means by which it had previously been carried out: “the task of testifying to the good news of God’s grace.” He could faithfully continue doing so in whatever circumstances he found himself. Our lives change; our options might seem to be narrowing, our effectiveness tapering. But wait: is that really true? Are the Lord’s hands tied?

Did Paul speak too soon? Clearly not. But we might, when we close-off avenues of service simply because we haven’t considered them. Or when our eyes are not open enough in faith to see ways in which the Lord might choose to be at work in our present and our future. And, always, his hands are safe, our lives secure.

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

Hast thou not known, hast thou not heard

That firm remains on high

The everlasting throne of Him

Who formed the earth and sky?

Art thou afraid His power shall fail

When comes thy evil day?

And can an all-creating arm

Grow weary or decay?

Supreme in wisdom as in power

The Rock of Ages stands;

Though Him thou canst not see, nor trace

The working of His hands.

He gives the conquest to the weak,

Supports the fainting heart;

And courage in the evil hour

His heavenly aids impart.

Mere human power shall fast decay,

And youthful vigour cease;

But they who wait upon the Lord

In strength shall still increase.

They with unwearied feet shall tread

The path of life divine,

With growing ardour onward move,

With growing brightness shine.

On eagles' wings they mount, they soar--

Their wings are faith and love;

Till, past the cloudy regions here,

They rise to heaven above.

(Isaac Watts, 1674-1748)

Even At Night (Joy in the Journey)

Everything is worse at night - or so it seems. But there are good reasons, both psychological and physiological, for believing it’s true. The influence of the body’s circadian rhythm on the immune system and its relation to inflammation; the quieter hours, when fewer distractions can mean an inflated awareness of symptoms; a mind that refuses to be quiet; or simply the different posture involved in sleeping - all can contribute to a sense of dread as night approaches.

In Psalm 16, verse 7, David says that “Even at night my heart instructs me” - even when things are stacked against him, when anxieties rise and the body is seemingly at its weakest, even then David’s heart teaches him. He is helped by the truth about God that has been embedded in his soul during long years of discipleship and fellowship with the living God.

He has just described in verse 5 something of the truth to which he clings and in which he rejoices. That the LORD, alone, is his allotted portion - everything that David has, and everything he will ever need, finds its central reality in God. The LORD has chosen to give himself to David - and to every believer in Jesus Christ. He is our portion - by his own choice, not by any external compulsion, nor by anything meritorious in us. He chooses to be our God, our Father, our Friend and Saviour. He is our cup - the celebratory symbol of joyous fellowship and intimate communion.

And this lot - the appointed fullness of salvation - is completely secure. Nothing can damage or destroy it. Nothing will cause the Lord to revoke his love; it was set upon us before the foundation of the world and is not open to revision. The cross of Jesus and his complete victory over all the forces of sin and chaos makes every blessing that we have in him immovably fixed and settled - “not for the years of time alone but for eternity”. What David has - in common with all Christians - is “a delightful inheritance”. Life itself may be tough and decidedly not a bed of roses, but what is given in Jesus, what is gifted in the down-payment of the Spirit, is delightful beyond all hope and expectation: ‘the life of God in the soul of man’.

But it isn’t all David’s doing. This isn’t self-generated wishful thinking on his part. His heart is able to instruct him, in the depths of night, only because “the LORD…counsels me”. This is not homespun wisdom that David is purveying; he is testifying to the sheer goodness of God in making himself known to us, consoling and counselling our hearts, that we might make much of that, applying its wisdom and power to our needs in the darkest of nights.

In the long hours of the night, when distress and anxiety attempt to do their worst, David puts the playlist of truth on repeat and offer his praise to God. He keeps his eyes always on the LORD (v.8), even during the night. With such a God at his right hand, David is assured that he will not be shaken. We’re invited to share that same solace.

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O Lord, Thy touch hath stirred my soul
And caused my heart to love;
My quickened mind hath been made whole
To seek those things above.

There is a path of thought so true
That brings me to Thy throne,
And there my heart may mercy sue
And claim Thy grace my own.

Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard
Those things that thou hast there:
For every promise of Thy Word
Awaits my soul to dare.

O why should I let sorrow reign,
When such a God is mine,
Who gives to me and gives again,
And tells me, ‘Mine is thine’?

The riches He hath stored for me
No measurement can tell;
For in the love of Calvary
All with my God is well.

Thy Holy Spirit now hath taught
My being to adore;
The blessings Jesus Christ hath wrought
Shall cause my soul to soar.

(William Vernon Higham, 1926-2016)