Church in a bubble?

Seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it… Jeremiah 29:7

I urge, then… that petitions, prayers, intercessions and thanksgiving be made for all people – for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. 1 Timothy 2:2

Last time we looked at a dramatic story about Jeremiah the prophet. He was dumped in a muddy water tank because he insisted on preaching the truth concerning the forth-coming collapse of the city of Jerusalem to the pagan Babylonians and their king Nebuchadnezzar. The king of Judah, Zedekiah, was too broken, too spineless to stop this happening, even though he obviously respected Jeremiah and asked for his prayers and guidance. The third person in the drama is Ebed-Melech but I’m afraid I never got on to his part of the story because Jeremiah and Zedekiah seemed to provide enough food for thought.

Well, I hope to put that right soon! But before doing so a further few minutes of reflection prompted by King Zedekiah seemed justified. His sad story (its gruesome end is described in 39:5-7) made me think of the responsibility of God’s people, whether in Old Testament days or in the Christian church, to pray for those who govern them. There aren’t so many kings and queens around in our days, of course – it’s more about presidents and prime ministers, those elected democratically and those not. But, whether we like them or not, they carry heavy responsibility on their shoulders - and they need our prayers, if only for our sakes. Paul spells this out explicitly in 1 Timothy 2:2.

One of the dangers in being a church is that we can concentrate almost entirely on “in house” matters. I remember attending a service one Sunday morning in 2004 immediately after that terrible tsunami in the Indian Ocean which caused 230,000 deaths across 14 countries. For once that overworked word “stunned” fitted the mood of the whole world as it digested the details. But the service we were in proceeded pretty much as usual with no mention at all of what had happened – and certainly not a whisper of prayer. It’s as if the church we were in was saying, “Well, this is truly a tragic thing; but of course it isn’t the concern of us in the church. Our concern is with the ‘spiritual’ things – worship, evangelism, service, not to mention the needs and difficulties of our own members”.

Result? A church can retreat into its own little holy bubble  - which is not spiritually healthy! I think it was the great twentieth century Christian leader John Stott who encouraged us to pray to God “with the Bible in one hand and the daily paper in the other”.

Yes! The Bible makes it clear that the whole world belongs to God its creator: “The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it, the world and all who live in it” (Psalm 24:1). This means that just as in Old Testament days God wasn’t interested only in his own special people Israel, so in the age we live in he isn’t interested only in the church.

Earlier in Jeremiah even the pagan king Nebuchadnezzar is described by God as “my servant” (27:1-7). And the prophet went to the trouble of sending quite a long letter to those Israelites who had already gone into exile in Babylon, a letter in which he tells them to “seek the peace of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the Lord for it, because if it prospers you too will prosper…” (29:4-23).

One of Jesus’ best-known sayings is that his followers should “render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s” (Matthew 22:15-22), which, while it’s said in the immediate context of taxes and other aspects  of civil obedience, must surely include prayer. Likewise in Romans 13, and elsewhere, Paul writes about the Christian’s responsibility to be a good citizen which, again, we can assume to include prayer.

It may seem a paradox, but churches can teach certain things precisely by not teaching them. A church that rarely or never includes prayer for the big wide world outside (and not only in the context of evangelism) is in effect teaching that such matters are not its concern. I personally, as a British Christian, have never felt drawn to be part of the Church of England or another church that has a strong “liturgical” tradition. But there are times I wonder if I have missed out, for their liturgies at least require regular public prayer for the royal family and leading politicians – and, boy, how they need it in the days in which we live!

I was once confronted by a member of my congregation at the end of a service which had included a prayer for the prime minister. He was angry: “I don’t know how you could bring yourself to pray for that awful man!” And I had to point out to him that it’s a very mistaken view of prayer if we only pray for those we like or approve of.

Of course we can never know if things might have turned out differently for Israel in the days of Zedekiah if he had been a God-centred king supported by the prayers of a God-centred people. All we know is that the people had turned away from God, and their king had become a pathetic, feeble puppet. And… God’s judgment fell.

So… you don’t like the royal family? So what? the fact is that they are there, they are what they are, and they need God-given grace. You don’t like the prime minister? Again, so what? All the more reason to pray for him, for he must sometimes feel near to breaking-point. And I forbear to mention others who are, rightly or wrongly, “in authority”: Presidents Putin, Zelensky, Trump, to name but three. Our world is in deep, deep need. There’s even talk of World War 3 flaring up across Europe – our continent.

So, Christian, pray for all such leaders – and do everything you can to ensure that they are prayed for regularly Sunday by Sunday in your particular fellowship! Those prayers do rise to God – and the message will get across to all of us who seek to be faithful in our responsibilities.

(I’m afraid that Ebed-Melech has got squeezed out again! But I promise I won’t let that happen again…)

Father, our great desire is to present the gospel of Jesus, crucified and risen, to the whole world. But help us also to be faithful in bearing up to you in prayer those matters which might be described as “political”, as Jeremiah did, and as Zedekiah failed to do. Amen.

An unsung hero

But Ebed-Melech, a Cushite, an official in the royal palace, heard that they had put Jeremiah into the cistern… Jeremiah 38:7

Jesus said: When the devil lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies. John 8:44

Ebed-who? It may be that Ebed-Melech is a Bible-character you have never heard of before, or someone you’ve never stopped to think about if you have. And that’s understandable, for he appears in the Bible only here, in the book of Jeremiah 37-39. But though the part he plays is quite tiny, it’s also striking in a situation of high drama for the nation of Israel. These chapters describe the momentous event of the fall of Israel to Nebuchadnezzar the king of the Babylonians about 590 BC. A long time ago, of course; yet there are worth-while lessons we today can still learn from.

Three figures play a particular part in the drama – an uncompromising prophet, Jeremiah; a weak king of Judah, Zedekiah; and a brave unsung hero, Ebed-Melech.

Take Jeremiah first.

It fell to him to speak for God at this time of terminal crisis, and his message was anything but popular. The mighty Babylonians were beating at the gates of Jerusalem and King Zedekiah of Judah was at a loss to know what to do. Jeremiah’s message is crystal clear: Give in! Don’t resist! Accept that this your destiny, God’s way of bringing judgment on his precious people. That way, at least you will survive physically, and Jerusalem will be spared from total destruction.

Jeremiah brought bad news; and who, in life in general, likes a bringer of bad news? Answer, Nobody. But there are times when bad news is God’s sombre but true message, and such a time had come for Israel. Jeremiah refuses to compromise his message, regardless of the possible consequences. Chapter 38:1-4 give us the names of three officials of King Zedekiah who were particularly outraged: “This man should be put to death. He is discouraging the soldiers who are left in this city, as well as all the people…”.

We all long for leaders, whether political or spiritual, who are men and women of courage, honesty and integrity; leaders whose words we know we can trust, however unwelcome they may be. We somehow recognise them and instinctively respect them. And how cynical and critical we tend to be, even perhaps justifiably so, when they fall short,.

But what about the rest of us? It’s hypocrisy to ask for integrity and transparency from those who lead us, whether in the church or in world affairs, but then fall short ourselves. Jeremiah suffered because of his courage, and so may we – think of the whistle-blower, or the politician who refuses to toe the party-line. Yes, they may be seen by some as self-important trouble-makers (and there may even be an element of truth in that) but their voices may also be very important.

Jeremiah, in a word, “spoke truth to power”, and it cost him. Do we have that kind of moral backbone and determination?

Second, what about Zedekiah?

He came to power as a puppet ruler set up by King Nebuchadnezzar (37:1), and he is now remembered as the twenty-first – and last - king of Judah, reigning nominally from roughly 597 to 587. The great days of David and Solomon are long gone, and the crisis of complete take-over by the mighty (and cruel) Babylonians is looming.

Sadly, Zedekiah comes across as weak and spineless. He is indifferent to God’s word - and yet prepared to ask Jeremiah for his prayers (37:1-3). He refers to God as “our” God, and wants to know if “there is any word from the Lord” (37:17) - but he clearly has no confidence in God, and his faith is purely skin-deep. When Jeremiah’s opponents say that he should be put to death, his reply is pathetically feeble: “he is in your hands… The king can do nothing to oppose you” (as if to say, “I’m only the king, after all”).

And that’s how Jeremiah ends up being dumped in some kind of water-tank. His opponents in fact hold back from killing him - we don’t know why; not, I suspect, out of compassion – but “they lowered Jeremiah by ropes into the cistern; it had no water in it, only mud, and Jeremiah sank down into the mud” (38:6). Oh well, I suppose that’s one way to silence God’s spokesman…

Such giving in by King Zedekiah suggests a near-broken man. Whether a stronger king could have made much difference is, I suspect, doubtful: God’s time had come. But nonetheless Zedekiah stands as an emblem of failure.

I think this suggests something to those of us who are Christians about our attitude towards our secular, political leaders. But I’m running out of space, so I’ll leave it till next time – and then move on to the third figure in our story, Ebed-Melech, where we started. I think we will find in him a small ray of light to brighten all the murk and misery which fill this sad story. Pease join me again next time.

Dear Father, thank you for the courage and honesty of Jeremiah, who stood against the forces of lies and evil. Please forgive those times I have kept quiet, or even lied, when it was my responsibility to speak unwanted truths, regardless of the consequences. Lord, give me honesty and integrity in every situation! Amen.

Fatalism - or faith?

If I die, I die. Esther 4:16

They sound a bit grim, don’t they, these words of Esther?

They remind me of a song from my childhood days, way back in the 1950s: Que sera sera, whatever will be will be… They suggest fatalism, a hopeless shrugging of the shoulders in the face of the future.

What has brought Esther to this sorry state? Piecing together the history involves various complex questions, but a likely scenario is this. It is nearly 500 years before Jesus, and the people of Israel are under the rule of the Persian empire and their king, Xerxes. The action of the story takes place in the royal citadel of Susa, where many Jews live. Among these is a man called Mordecai, who has been responsible for bringing up his young cousin Esther, or Hadassah, who was orphaned in childhood.

King Xerxes falls out with his wife Vashti, who refuses to obey him and allow herself to be put on display as a trophy wife. He divorces her and decides to find a new queen to take her place, so a search is started to find a suitable young woman; and Esther is chosen. It is not generally known that she is a Jew.

Enter Haman, an official of the royal court – who has a deep-seated hatred of the Jews. He uses the influence he has with the king to urge him to pass a decree that all the Jews in the empire should be killed. Xerxes foolishly agrees, with the result that “there was great mourning among the Jews, with fasting, weeping and wailing…” (4:3). Esther realises that, queen or not, her position will be pretty precarious once her Jewishness becomes known. But what can she do?

This is the point at which the wise Mordecai comes up with an answer: she must approach the king and plead with him on behalf of her people. Only one problem, says Esther: anyone approaching the king without express permission is liable to be put to death – once again, queen or no queen. Fair enough: but Mordecai tells Esther that there is nothing for it but to take that risk. After all, as a Jew she is liable to be put to death anyway. Esther sees the sense of this; so after urging Mordecai and all the Jews in Susa to fast and pray (let’s not overlook that), she agrees with his plan. And so… “if I die, I die…”

If you don’t know how the story unfolds, just take a few minutes to read the remaining chapters, 5 to 10.

The great lesson from the book of Esther for us today - in fact, for all God’s people down through time – is summed up in the word providence. This, in essence, means the way in which God works his purposes out, both in history and in people’s personal lives, in ways that are often hidden from us. We may, at the time, put it down to coincidence or luck. But looking back later we realise that there is a pattern and a purpose in what has happened and, by faith, we see what we may call “the hand of God” at work.

Mordecai obviously knew something of the providence of God. When he and Esther become aware of how desperate their situation is he puts it to her: “who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” (4:14). As if to say, “Look, Esther, you remember how amazed we all were when, you, an unknown Jewish girl, were chosen to be Xerxes’ new queen. Well, suddenly it seems as if there might be some divine purpose in that of which we couldn’t then so much as dream! Perhaps God himself has brought this about, and intends to give you a big place in the working out of his will”.

God’s providence doesn’t only work in big world events. It works too in the lives of the “little people”, like most of us, who simply seek to walk with God day by day. The classic Bible text for this is Romans 8:28: “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…” – where “all things” really means all things! Clinging to that conviction even in the hard times, when events in our lives seem chaotic, is a severe test of faith. May our faith not fail us! Remember Job!

It's worth noticing one particular peculiarity in the book of Esther – the word “God” never appears. How strange is that in such a God-filled book as the Bible!

What’s the significance of it? Simply this: While God is certainly at work for the good of his people, he nowhere makes himself known (as far, that is, as we are told). There seems to be no prophetic voice raised, no miracles performed, no charismatic leader to rally and inspire the people. The fact seems to be that events unfold in entirely “natural” ways with just one very brave man and one very brave woman at the heart of it all. The faith they have inherited from their ancestors seems to be so deeply rooted in their hearts that they simply assume that God is there, though unseen, and can be trusted. It’s in their very DNA. And, of course, that faith is ultimately vindicated.

This can be true also for us. We believe in our loving God – of course we do. But there are times when it is hard. We pray earnestly, even desperately, perhaps even despairingly. We live with heartache, deep down quite disappointed with God. But ultimately (an important word, that!) God chooses to show his hand, and we see things in a completely new light…

Oh, so he was there all the time! Thanks be to God!

Loving Father, give me the faith of Mordecai and the obedience of Esther, especially during hard and even desperate times - if not immediately, then to see the unfolding of your hidden purposes as time goes by. Amen.

Lord of the world, as we reflect on the story of Esther, we cannot help but think of  the current grave situation in the middle east. We pray for your intervention in the conflict between modern Israel and the Palestinian people, asking that wise and peace-making voices will be heard on both sides and will soon prevail. Have mercy, Lord! Amen.

Gossip

The words of a gossip are like choice morsels; they go down to the inmost parts. Proverbs 18:8 (NIV)

Gossip is so tasty – how we love to swallow it! Proverbs 18:8 (Good News Bible)

In everyday life there are few things we hate - and yet love - more than gossip. How so? We hate it when we are the victims (“How dare they say such things about me!”); we love it when we have an opportunity for  it ourselves (“Hey, had you heard that…?”).

Gossip can be broadly defined as “malicious talk”. I found myself thinking about it recently when I read that a politician’s ex-wife had written a book detailing the break-up of their marriage. I haven’t read it, nor will I, but it sounded very much like “dishing the dirt” on her former husband and various other people too. I bet it will “fly off the shelves” in its thousands. But just reading about it made me feel uncomfortable, even slightly grubby.

I’d better be careful, though. Am I in fact being self-righteous? Have I never gossiped myself? Oh, I’m afraid I have, not intending any harm (of course!), but being guilty all the same. When you realise that you are guilty it’s then that you also realise that you are not in fact the very nice person you like to present yourself as, but… well, really rather nasty. That, I’m afraid, is me.

The Bible nowhere gives us extended teaching about gossip, though James 3:1-12, about the tongue in a more general sense, comes pretty close. It’s a frightening warning, using the graphic image of the forest fire, easy to start and tragically hard to stop. No, we have to pick up little Bible snippets here and there, not least in Proverbs, from which I have taken the verse at the top.

I’ve culled together some of the basic features of gossip under three headings; they’re a challenge to me, and I hope they might be to you as well.

First, gossip is no trivial matter.

I used to think the words of Jesus in Matthew 12:36-37 seemed rather  exaggerated; but in fact they bring home to us the sheer importance of wrong words in general, and that obviously includes gossip: “I tell you that everyone will have to give account for every empty word they have spoken. For by your words you will be acquitted, and by your words you will be condemned”. All right, actions may speak louder than words, as the saying goes, and forgiveness is always there for us when we repent;  but let’s not allow ourselves to water those solemn words down too much.

Second, gossip is frighteningly addictive.

That comes across in the verse at the top, where the writer compares it to a tasty meal. It’s tempting, and like all temptations it threatens to ensnare us until we can’t get free. We all know how a harmless-seeming habit can threaten to dominate our lives. When we gossip we not only harm the person we gossip about, we also harm ourselves, poisoning our own personalities. God has given to each of us the responsibility to recreate that personality in the likeness of Jesus, and even an occasional giving in to temptation - any temptation - will slowly harden into a fixed habit unless we make a decisive effort to stamp on it.

Is it time all of us had a look at our habits? Are we slowly, quietly destroying ourselves?

Third, gossip does more harm and damage than we can imagine.

Proverbs 16:28 tells us that “a perverse person stirs up conflict, and a gossip separates close friends”. That, again, is the NIV translation. But I think that the Good News version is more punchy: “Gossip is spread by wicked people; they stir up trouble and break up friendships”. Yes! If you drop a little innocent-seeming remark about a person you’ve had as a friend for many years, and if they get to hear about it, they will never trust you quite the same again, will they? And why should they?

I spoke of gossip as a “poison”, and nowhere is that more true than in the life of a church. How many good, solid churches have been slowly destroyed by “trouble-makers” and “busybodies” who don’t know when to keep their mouths shut? Very likely they mean no ill – perhaps it just gives them a feeling of importance, that they’re “in the know”. Of course, there are times for open, frank discussion conducted in the love of Jesus, but “sin is not ended by multiplying words, and the prudent hold their tongues” (Proverbs 10:19). (Beware too that even prayer can be a vehicle of gossip. The person who prays fervently in a group that God “would bless Jack and Barbara as they go through this difficult time” may very likely start all sorts of hares running…)

Evangelist Billy Graham said, “A real Christian is a person who can give his pet parrot to the town gossip”. And there’s a Spanish proverb: “Remember that anyone who gossips to you will eventually gossip about you”. To listen to gossip is as wrong as to talk it.

I finish with a childhood memory which has stuck in my mind. A teacher told us that before saying anything about anybody else we should ask ourselves three questions: Is it true? Is it kind? Is it helpful? I’ve never forgotten that: I only wish I had obeyed it more carefully!

Father, please forgive the unwise, untrue and unkind words I have spoken, and please help me always be the prudent person who knows when to hold their tongue. Amen.

Happy all the day?

A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes the spirit.

All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart has a continual feast.

Light in the messenger’s eye brings joy to the heart, and good news gives health to the bones.

A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.

Proverbs 15:13, 15:15, 15:30, 17:22

Martin Chuzzlewit isn’t one of Dickens’s best known novels, but it has a varied cast of characters, one of whom is called Mark Tapley. Mark is known for his indestructible cheerfulness, his refusal to let anything get him down, indeed for his quirky habit of actively seeking out difficult and trying circumstances in order to test his optimistic good nature against them. He seems a pretty unlikely character, I must admit – but every time he comes into the story he makes you smile.

I’ve grouped together four Bible verses from the book of Proverbs, all on the theme of cheerfulness. It’s a long time now since I read Dickens’s book, but dipping into Proverbs somehow dredged him up from the mists of my memory. I wonder if Mark Tapley had nourished his personality on these and other similar verses?

The question arises: How should we understand them? As they stand, they are quite simply statements of fact, of the way things are - yes, a cheerful spirit is good for one’s health, both mental and physical, no doubt about that.

But does the writer also intend his readers to treat these statements as aspirations, even as commands? Is he indirectly telling us to make sure we are always cheerful? Even more, is he suggesting that if we fail to do so we are guilty of sin? If so, many of us could well reply, “That’s all very well for you to say, but if you knew what I am going through at the moment I don’t think you would say it so easily. Tears of pain, not smiles of pleasure, are the best I can muster at the moment.” Think of some of the atrocious sufferings of people in Gaza or Ukraine.

As always when we read the Bible, the key thing is to take it as a whole. The Bible is a very big book, and different passages put different emphases on different questions; they sometimes, in fact, might seem to contradict one another. Thinking about these four verses from the centre of Proverbs, various things need to be said if we are to get the full biblical context.

First: No, they are not to be viewed as commands.

Part of the enjoyment of Proverbs is the way it tosses out observations and opinions almost at random, as if to say to the reader, “Here you are, what do you make of this?” The Bible wants to get us thinking, and one way Proverbs achieves this is by setting up contradictions (call them “paradoxes” if you’re uncomfortable with that word). Proverbs 26:4 and 5, for example, seem on the face of it to be in flat contradiction with one another (no wriggling allowed, please!).

So… not commands to make us feel guilty, but statements to make us think.

Second: the Bible never turns a blind eye to the reality of human pain.

Far from it! The people we read about, both the big names and the unnamed “ordinary people”, are anything but “now I am happy all the day” in their relationship with God. The Psalms, an obvious example, reflect both intense joy and deep misery. And at the centre of Christianity stands the cross, truly an agonising emblem of pain, humiliation and suffering. Our little snippets from Proverbs are anything but a full picture, so while of course it is good to nurture a cheerful, trusting spirit, it would be ridiculously naïve to imagine that we may never be overwhelmed by negative feelings.

Third: these verses about cheerfulness are not a license for irresponsibility.

Sometimes you meet Christians who are so determined to have the “cheerful face” that reflects a “happy heart” that they brush aside the troubles and sorrows of life as being of no importance: “Well, God’s in control, isn’t he? And he loves us, doesn’t he? So why waste time worrying?” The result of such a shallow approach to life is that friends or other members of the family end up shouldering the heavy burdens while the person in question takes shelter behind an artificial smile. And what kind of witness is that? In times of trouble God expects us to roll up our sleeves so far as we are able and get on with the job of battling through.

Fourth: in spite of what we have said, the basic truth stands out clearly: Christianity is a trusting and positive faith, and therefore, whatever sufferings we may experience, our basic mind-set is positive. We cannot and should not try to brush our trials aside, but by God’s grace we can and should tackle them with faith and confidence. We may – indeed, we should – call on our brothers and sisters in Christ for support, whether spiritual or physical, but then what else is the church for?

Putting it starkly: in principle a miserable Christian is a contradiction in terms. We worship Christ crucified and risen again, and every story is assured of a happy ending. I knew of one Christian who admittedly had had quite a hard life and who you rarely caught smiling; I heard it said of her that she was admirable in many ways, but was in fact “a bit of a misery-guts”. I don’t defend the person who used that unkind expression, but it was hard to avoid the element of harsh truth in what they said.

In Philippians 4:4 Paul urges his readers to “rejoice in the Lord always”. Then, as if to ram it home, he repeats it: “I will say it again: rejoice!” Good words to keep in mind.

Dear Father, thank you for the cheerful, positive Christians I have known over the years who have lifted my spirits, lightened my burdens and brought a smile to my face. Please help me in my dark times not to falter in faith, but to trust through thick and thin, and to be a good example to those around me. Amen.

When life seems cruel

Now Elimelek, Naomi’s husband, died, and she was left with her two sons. They married Moabite women, one named Orpah and the other Ruth. After they had lived there about ten years, both Mahlon and Kilion also died, and Naomi was left without her two sons and her husband. Ruth 1:3-5

Salmon was the father of Boaz, who mother was Rahab, Boaz the father of Obed, whose mother was Ruth, Obed the father of Jesse, and Jesse the father of King David. Matthew 1:5-6

Some people seem to have a particularly difficult lot in life – hardship, sickness, bereavement, troubles of all sorts. Others seem to coast through pretty easily, outwardly at least (though the person looking on doesn’t see the hidden pains). Usually, only God knows why this should be: to the human eye it all seems just a matter of luck.

Naomi certainly qualifies as what we might call one of life’s unfortunates. Born in Judea in that shadowy period of history after Moses but before David, having married Elimelech and given birth to Mahlon and Kilion (can you picture the happy little family group?), things start to go wrong. Famine forces them to leave their home in Jerusalem, so they move to neighbouring Moab where, presumably, they were able to make a better living. Then Elimelek dies. The two boys grow up and marry local girls called Orpah and Ruth. But then, cruelly, both boys die and Naomi, left alone, has no-one to care for her except her two daughters-in-law. Both girls seem to have been loving and sensitive, but there is no man to earn a living (a must in that society at that time), and certainly no “social security”, so what is Naomi to do?

Word has got around that things are looking up in Jerusalem, so there seems only one answer: head back home. But… is Jerusalem any longer her home? She has lived in Moab for some ten years by now, her sons grew up, married and died there, and Jerusalem seems a bit of a distant memory. And what about Orpah and Ruth, possibly the only people in Moab with whom she has a strong, warm bond? They, after all, are under no obligation to come with her.

Bu she feels she has no realistic choice, and the decision is made: Jerusalem it must be. And so the story unfolds… (Please take the few minutes it needs to read it right through.)

Several things strike me as worth taking to heart.

First, we must avoid any tendency to imagine that our lot in life is dictated by good or bad deeds we have done. True, some people who live what might generally be regarded as a thoroughly wicked life do indeed “come to a bad end”; but others in that same category die comfortably in their beds surrounded by luxury. To human eyes the different fates of different people do indeed seem a case of pot luck. But let the words of Jesus in Luke 13:1-5 be our safeguard against slipping into superstition in this way.

Second, the story of Naomi reminds us that, as Paul says in Romans 8:28, “in all things God works for the good of those who love him”. True, it may take time; and true, the path may be rocky. But God knows what he is doing, even though we may need great faith to hang on to his promises. After all, right at the heart of the Christian faith stands a cross, a symbol of pain and defeat.

Third, we should never pronounce too dogmatically on the decisions other people make. Think of Orpah. Have you ever wondered what became of her? Verse 14 is particularly touching: “At this they wept aloud again. Then Orpah kissed her mother-in-law good bye, but Ruth clung to her”. Truly a parting of the ways. Orpah’s life has become intertwined with Naomi’s and Ruth’s, but now we see her turning away and walking slowly back to her Moabite home.

I heard a Christian once say how sad it was for Orpah – how sad that she chose to make the “wrong” choice. But surely no. Both young women were confronted with a difficult decision, and what was right for one may not have been right for the other. Of course, we know now how Ruth’s decision worked out – marriage to a kind and generous man, Boaz, in Jerusalem; the gift of a son called Obed, who had a son called Jesse, who had a son called … David; and thus, for Ruth the Moabitess, a place in the family line of the Messiah. Truly wonderful! Orpah meanwhile sinks into obscurity.

But wait a minute – who are we to talk about obscurity? What appears to us as obscurity may have been a rich and rewarding later life for Orpah in the familiar surroundings of Moab, fulfilling the purposes of God in a different but still meaningful way.

Who knows what God might be doing through the lives of people we think of as completely insignificant?

Two final thoughts…

First, a big part of the appeal of the Ruth story is that all the main actors in it – Naomi, Ruth, Orpah, dear kind Boaz, even the unnamed women of Jerusalem who welcomed back Naomi and her foreign daughter-in-law – behave well. No spite, no selfishness, no jealousy; just kindness and compassion. In our modern world, so poisoned by hatreds and animosities, so much in need of honesty and integrity, doesn’t this give us qualities to aspire to?

Second, it’s hard to read this story without thinking of the plight of migrants today – a prime modern example of the “unfortunates” of our world – men, women and children carrying their pathetic few belongings as they walk miles in the hope of finding a place to rest their heads… May God give us hearts of compassion.

Meanwhile we leave Naomi and her family in Jerusalem. Naomi, now old and worn, is holding baby Obed on her lap. Little did she know what this child was destined by God to be.

Thank you, Father, for the lovely book of Ruth, and for the kindness and compassion it demonstrates for us. Please help us to hold on to you in faith if hard times come, and always to have tender hearts for those whose lives are cruel and sad. Amen.

Through a glass darkly

For now, we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face… 1 Corinthians 13:12

Some wise person once said, “The more I know, the more I realise how much I don’t know”.

I imagine that most of us can identify with that. When we’re young, brimming with life and energy, there’s a temptation to think we “know it all”, and to set about putting the world to rights. But as time goes on we learn it really isn’t quite that simple: there are things we just don’t understand; there are questions we don’t know the answers to. Welcome to the real world!

It can be specially difficult if we’re Christians. We have, in Jesus, the living word of God, and, in the Bible, the written word of God. We have, in the Holy Spirit, the very wisdom of God. Surely that should set us up for life? Yes, indeed. Being in a loving relationship with God – a Father who speaks and who deepens our understanding of life – makes a massive difference in all sorts of ways. But the fact is that we have no choice but to live our lives with unanswered questions.

I remember, as a young minister, feeling I was under an obligation to have an answer for any questions people might put to me; I, after all, was the “expert” on such things (ha ha). It came as a real relief to realise that sometimes I just had to say “Sorry, I don’t know the answer to that”. I learned that sometimes we just have to live with mysteries – and I think that fact came as a relief too to the person asking the question.

1 Corinthians 13 is Paul’s great passage on love. His chief point is that, whatever we have by way of knowledge, wisdom, wealth, power, spiritual gifts, even a generous and sacrificial spirit, if we don’t have love we are “only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal”, ie, we are all wind and emptiness. And then comes his famous statement that “we see only a reflection as in a mirror”. (Remember that in Paul’s day mirrors were not made of glass, like today, but of burnished metal: hence the poetic translation in the King James Version of the Bible, that “we see through a glass darkly”).

If Paul, the man who probably had a deeper insight into the things of Jesus and a firmer grip on them than almost anybody else (he wrote more of the New Testament than other single person, after all) could say that, well, surely there is hope for all of us!

What does this mean for us in practice? I offer a few suggestions…

First, accept such limitations cheerfully as a fact of life.

Certainly, let’s do all we can to grow in knowledge and wisdom – God expects that of us. But let’s accept too that there is a limit, and that that is nothing to ashamed of.

Second, be wary of people, especially preachers and teachers, who give the impression of “knowing it all”.

They may be well-qualified in theological terms, with letters after their names and impressive titles, but, again, that may mean nothing. I always feel a slight sliver of fear when I read James 3:1: “Not many of you should become teachers… because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly. We all stumble in many ways”. God help us to be humble, not arrogant!

Third, take pleasure in the mysteries of the world in which we live.

One of my regrets as I look back is that the glories of the night sky – those vast distances, those circling planets - or of a magnificent natural scene – mountains, lakes, trees - were pretty much lost on me. I could use as an excuse the fact that I grew up very much as a city boy, but I wish now that I had taken more advantage of such opportunities as I had, and I see it as a pretty feeble excuse.

Modern psychologists tell us that developing a sense of wonder and awe, perhaps by looking seriously and attentively at the structure of a leaf or the movement of a tiny insect, can benefit our mental health, and I can well believe it. Many of us grew up with the idea that “science” and “religion” are at loggerheads, contradicting one another. But many leading scientists are religious in various ways, and they are often the first people to recognise that, in spite of all they know, the gaps in their knowledge remain massive.

I like the quotation of Albert Einstein (who, I am led to believe, knew just a bit about science): “Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind”. What exactly Prof Einstein meant by that unsatisfactory catch-all word “religion” I don’t know (I don’t think he was an orthodox Christian), but never mind!

God’s world is full of wonder. Sometimes it’s a wonder that leads to fear, even pain. But in spite of the sadnesses and tragedies that dog our existence, not least the reality of death itself, there is also much beauty, much to provoke a gasp of awe (have you looked recently at the face of a new-born baby?). And this is so for the Christian, the same as everybody else. The heavens really do “declare the glory of God” (Psalm 19); they have been doing so since the birth of creation; and they will continue to do so until Jesus returns. If only we have eyes to see…

But let’s not overlook the second part of Paul’s statement. Now, it’s true, “we see only a reflection in a mirror; but… “then we shall see face to face”.

That’s a sombre but wonderful thought. What shall we see? Who knows what wonders! But at the heart of them all, “we shall see Jesus as he is” (1John 3:2).

Christian, live daily in the light of that great truth!

Father in heaven, this world in which you have placed us is truly a wonderful yet mysterious place. Thank you for all you have shown us of yourself and your glory, whether in nature or, supremely, in Jesus, God-in-the-flesh. Help me to live gladly with the mysteries I cannot grasp, and to look forward to the day when, by your kindness and grace, I shall see Jesus as he is. Amen.

The man who tried to run from God

The word of the Lord came to Jonah son of Amittai: “Go to  the great city of Nineveh and preach against it, because its wickedness has come up before me”. But Jonah ran away from the Lord and headed for Tarshish… Now the Lord provided a huge fish to swallow Jonah, and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights. Jonah 1:1-2, 17

Poor Jonah! There’s nothing to suggest he was anything but a true Israelite who, under normal circumstances, was keen to do God’s will. Yet in the course of these four little chapters it’s hard to imagine how he could have got things more completely, totally wrong!

He attempts to run away from God’s call to him, but God refuses to let him. He ends up “in the belly of a huge fish”, from where he prays a heart-felt prayer, acknowledging his hopelessness and despair; whereupon God causes the fish to “vomit” him onto dry land. By now he has got the message, so he gets on and does as God had first instructed him. The result: a massive revival across Nineveh where everyone, both king and people, humble themselves before God.

This, surely, is every preacher’s dream. Yet Jonah remains in a thoroughly bad mood, still questioning God’s purposes (“I told you so, Lord!”, 4:2) and, for all we know, never becoming reconciled to them. We say good-bye to him in this angry, sulky mood.

The first two chapters of the book involve Jonah and the pagan sailors whose lives he has put in danger – plus God, of course. There is much we can apply to ourselves to warn and challenge us.

First, the person who tries to run away from God is on a fool’s errand.

Did Jonah really believe that jumping on a ship and heading in the opposite direction to Nineveh would do any good if God had really made up his mind? It would seem that yes, he did. His faith in God may have been entirely genuine, but it doesn’t seem to have been very mature (though who am I to judge!).

The fact is that wilful disobedience to God is always a flight into the darkness, and though our circumstances today may be far less dramatic than Jonah’s, exactly the same thing applies to us as Christians. Disobedience to God robs us of our overall purpose in life, of our inner peace, and threatens to lead to disaster.

Is this a word to anyone reading this?

Second, the mind of God is far more generous and loving than we can fully grasp.

Jonah no doubt had his reasons for rebelling against the purposes of God. True, the people of Nineveh (Assyrians) were bitter enemies of Israel. True, God was specifically “the God of Israel”. But hadn’t God called Israel precisely in order to be “a light to lighten the gentiles”, not just a harsh condemning voice? True, Jonah was called by God to “preach against” Nineveh  because of their “wickedness”, which sounds pretty severe, but the closing verses of the book make clear that God’s ultimate purpose is gracious, to show compassion (“. . .should I not have concern for the great city of Nineveh?”).

As Christians we are well-attuned to the call of evangelism and, hopefully, we take it very seriously: Jesus is for every human being on the face of the earth! Yet we can still maintain a narrow, mean-minded spirit towards people who, deep down, we have decided are “not like us”. (A young eighteenth-century Christian had begun to feel a strong sense of call towards the teeming millions of China. When he shared this vision with older ministers he was told by one, “Young man, if God decides to make the gospel known to the people of China, he is perfectly able to do that without any help from you”.)

Are any of us guilty of prejudice of any kind – racial, religious, social or whatever? Let’s never forget: God loves sinners, strangers and outcasts. He loves failures and even those we may cruelly dismiss as odd-balls.

Is it time for a re-think of some of our attitudes?

Third, what are we to think when non-believers behave better than believers?

I have to admit that the more I read the story of Jonah, the more sympathy I feel for the unnamed sailors whose lives were endangered by his folly as they went about their day-to-day business. Putting it briefly, they did all they could to rescue him: “each cried out to his own god”, and they jettisoned their no doubt valuable cargo (verse 5); they reasoned with him (verses 6-12) when it must have been tempting to tip him overboard pronto; and in the end they only did that when all else had failed and they had reached the end of their resources (verse 13).

In a word, they showed him kindness; their actions were better than his. And haven’t we all known times when we have been put to shame by non-Christians who have outshone our response to a particular situation?

It’s true that the sailors’ kindness might have involved a strong element of superstition – they might have been afraid of incurring the anger of their gods if they put Jonah to death. But on the principle of always believing the best of somebody’s motives rather than the worst unless there is some very good reason to do otherwise, why not accept that, while they were no doubt sinners like the rest of us, they were motivated by goodness of heart? Why need we doubt that God was happy to accept their sacrifice and vows (verse 16)?

I like to imagine the mood on that ship as Jonah’s body sank, as the sea grew calm, and as those men rested on their oars in exhaustion. I like to think of it as one of a deeply serious peace.

It had been anything but a normal day at the office, certainly – yet had they not met with God that day?

Father, we can all smile at the folly of Jonah as we think of our own stupid blunderings and sins, our acts of weakness and disobedience. We can all see ourselves in him. Lord, have mercy upon us! Amen.

Of olive trees and arrogance

Do not be arrogant, but tremble. For if God did not spare the natural branches, he will not spare you either. Consider, therefore, the kindness and sternness of God… Romans 11:20-22

Let’s be honest, there are times when, reading Paul, we find ourselves wondering “What is he going on about!” This applies particularly to Romans 9-11, a substantial chunk of the letter where he is grappling with the place of Israel in the outworking of God’s purposes.

Is Israel, the descendants of Abraham, still the chosen people of God? Has their rejection of God’s intended purpose for them – to be “a light to lighten the gentiles”, a fulfilment of the Old Testament prophets – resulted in their final dismissal from the stage of world history? Has God, so to speak, given up on Plan A and, in Jesus, moved on to Plan B?

You only have to skim-read these three chapters to see how distressing such an idea is to Paul. He reaches something of a climax in 11:1-6, where he vehemently rejects the very suggestion: “I’m a Jew myself!” he exclaims; as if to say, “God hasn’t cast us off! He knows exactly what he is doing, and it’s only a matter of time before everything becomes clear”.

In 11:17-24 he uses the illustration of the olive tree to explain what God is doing, and what he is going to do in the future. This is a part of the letter where we can get seriously lost, if only because most of us, I suspect, haven’t got a clue about the growth and cultivation of olive trees. Suffice to say: they are a vital part of the Mediterranean world,  greatly valued by local people; valued for their fruit, for the shade their branches give from the heat of the sun, for their life-span (possibly even hundreds of years), and for their wood. It is hardly surprising that over the centuries they became a symbol (along with the vine and the fig-tree) of prosperity for the nation of Israel.

We need to be clear about the context here: in these verses Paul is addressing specifically gentile rather than Jewish Christians (11:13), and he is keen to ensure that they don’t (as an old friend of mine might have put it) “get ideas above their station”, in other words, become arrogant. “Oh”, they might think, “God has finished with Israel; they’ve let him down too often. Now it’s us - former heathens, pagans! - who have entered into the grace of God through faith in Jesus, and Israel is consigned to the scrap-heap of history”.

Not so! replies Paul. Think of the olive tree. Yes, many Israelites have indeed lost touch with the purposes of God and so have lost their way and become like a dead, fruitless tree. And yes, you gentiles, though nothing better than wild, uncultivated trees, have indeed been “grafted in” to draw sap and produce good fruit. This is indeed wonderfully so, but – and here comes the punch-line – “do not consider yourself to be superior to those other branches” (verses 17-18). And then a dark warning: “If God did not spare the natural branches, he will not spare you either”.

In a word, don’t take your new status in Christ for granted; more specifically, don’t let it engender in you spiritual pride… because if you do, the day might come when you’re in for a nasty shock.

Paul then goes on to suggest something that such arrogant gentile Christians have obviously not so much as dreamed of: if the people of Israel “do not persist in unbelief, they will be grafted in, for God is able to graft them in again”. Now, taken as it stands, that sounds pretty unlikely to me! – can dry, withered branches lying on the ground really be re-grafted onto a fruitful olive tree? Surely not! (Though admittedly I haven’t had a chance to check with a professional horticulturalist.) But that is the point: God is a God of miracles, and Paul, putting it in plain words, is holding out a hope that the Jewish people might yet return to their ancestral God.

Sorry if this has all got a bit complicated. Let’s boil it down to two simple things we need to get hold of…

First: Christian, pray for God’s ancient people Israel.

God called Israel to be his special people - but not in terms of privilege so much as in terms of service. And that calling has never been revoked, however much Israel may have failed.

That doesn’t mean we should become “Zionists”, and certainly not that we should always be on the side of modern Israel in terms of the politics of the middle-east. Not at all. Every nation on earth is blighted by the reality of sin – and that sad truth applies to every area of conflict, whether Ukraine and Russia or, just in the last few days, India and Pakistan or, of course, the terrible situation in Gaza. Every nation needs to know about the love of Jesus, and wrongs done on every side fall under the judgment of God.

So pray for Israel of course (and avoid like the plague every hint of antisemitism). But pray too for the suffering people of Gaza.

Second: Christian, avoid arrogance.

As we have seen, part of Paul’s concern in this part of Romans is that the gentile Christians tended to look down on their Jewish brothers and sisters as rejected by God. From what we have seen from the olive tree illustration, we must put that suggestion firmly to one side.

But we must be careful. There are plenty of other issues on which it is easy for Christians to look with contempt on their fellow-Christians. The main one is probably doctrinal correctness, the attitude of those who are convinced that they have got every jot and tittle of teaching sorted out, and who therefore hold themselves arrogantly aloof from fellow-Christians who hold different views on certain things. (What things? Well, the Holy Spirit, the return of Jesus in glory, the authority of scripture, church government, baptism, styles of worship will do for a start…)

It's a strange irony that, of all strands of Christianity, the one that most emphasises the pure grace of God towards sinners, and which should therefore be most noted for its humility, can come across as arrogant and self-important in keeping its distance from those it considers to be in error.

May God help us all, however confident we are in our faith and understanding, to have the humility to recognise that it could just be us who are the ones in error on certain things!

Father, I want to be right in my understanding of your word in scripture, but my understanding is very limited and I know that it’s easy to be deceived by unreliable and even false teachers. Teach me the humility to be open to correction, and never to look down on those who, as I see it, have got certain things wrong. Amen.

Father, we look with sadness upon present-day conflicts in our world, especially in the middle east. We pray for Israel, who have suffered so much; we pray too for the Palestinian people of Gaza, who likewise have suffered untold injustice and misery. O Lord, send peace and hope, we pray! Amen.

Encouragement? or cop-out?

But thanks be to God, who always leads us as captives in Christ’s triumphal procession and uses us to spread the aroma of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are an aroma that brings death; to the other, an aroma that brings life. And who is equal to such a task?... 2 Corinthians 2:14-16

Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect… 1 Peter 3:15

Just recently I was chatting with a group of fellow-ministers when we found ourselves sharing a common frustration about “evangelism” or “witness”: how can Christians (not just pastors) find a way to cross that invisible line between (a) being friendly, pleasant and helpful in any ways we can (of course!), and (b) actually talking about Jesus plainly and sharing the good news which has transformed our lives?

The two Bible passages above both came into our discussion.

On the surface, perhaps they don’t have a lot in common. But I think if we look briefly at them we can indeed see a link, and find that there is both a challenge and an encouragement, not to mention a warning…

In 1 Peter 3:15 Peter seems simply to be giving advice to his readers about the Christian duty of evangelism, how and how not to go about it. His advice can be summed up as: always be ready to make Christ known – but don’t push it inappropriately.

No doubt there have always been Christians who evangelise in off-putting ways. I think with some embarrassment of my early years as a teenage Christian. I was converted at 15 and went back to school determined to convert everybody in five minutes flat. I’ll never know how many people looked at me with a mixture of puzzlement (“What’s happened to him?”), contempt (“Oh, he’s become a religious nutter!”), and sheer incomprehension (“Doh!”). Had I inadvertently put anybody off for life? Oh to be able to turn the clock back!

Peter’s advice is simple: let the other person take the initiative, and when our turn comes to speak, to do so “with gentleness and respect”.

What about 2 Corinthians 2:14-16? What’s all this about beautiful smells “pleasing aromas”)? Paul is using the image of smell as a metaphor for the good news of Jesus (though perhaps he is mixing his metaphors a little in a slightly complex passage).

The first and most obvious comparison (we are “captives in Christ’s triumphal procession”) is to a Roman army victory parade. We have to imagine the victorious soldiers, having defeated the enemy, returning home to be greeted by great crowds of people. They bring with them, in chains, some of the enemy soldiers; sacrifices are made to the gods of Rome; incense is burnt along the route; the noise and sense of excitement are intense (imagine a football team who have just won the cup returning home on an open-top bus) – and the smell must have been overwhelming.

Why Christ’s followers should be depicted as playing the part of the defeated prisoners isn’t entirely clear, but, as I said, Paul is probably happy enough to mix his metaphors. What matters is the smell.

Not until you lose your sense of smell, perhaps through a heavy cold or some other illness, do you realise how precious and important it is. I used occasionally to walk past a quite up-market coffee shop, and the aroma of the freshly-ground beans was quite wonderful; it was tempting to stop for a few minutes just to have a few good sniffs. And probably all of us experience certain smells occasionally which have the power to transport us back to some scene or event from long ago.

It's hard to put into words exactly how “aromas” affect people, but the point is that they spread and linger, and somehow seem to burrow to somewhere deep in our minds. So an obvious application of Paul’s metaphor is that a Christlike manner and way of living – what we might call a “silent witness” – does have an impact, even if the name of Jesus is not spoken. It may then become the role of another Christian some time in the future – perhaps even years ahead – to evangelise more directly. To change the metaphor, we are all links in the chain of witness. And in this particular instance our place is to be wordless, but to pray and trust that, by the Holy Spirit, something of Jesus may be seen even in us.

So we can be encouraged! We may be frustrated that we have not succeeded in speaking explicitly of the gospel. But, to change the metaphor yet again, we have hopefully sown seeds of truth which will germinate under somebody else’s witness.

I spoke earlier of both a challenge and an encouragement. Let’s sum them up…

The challenge comes in Peter’s words, “always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have”. Always be prepared. Yes! Surely there must have been opportunities to speak for Jesus - but we simply failed to see them. Lord, help me not to make that mistake again!

The encouragement comes in Paul’s use of the image of smell. A Christlike way of life may make a deeper impact on somebody’s life than we could begin to imagine. What, me, Lord? You even used me, a most imperfect follower of Jesus, to act as a link in the chain, to be a silent sower of the seed? That’s wonderful!

But I also suggested that our two passages should sound a warning for us. What might that be? Just this: let us not use them as a cop-out from the responsibility of direct evangelism. Let us not say, All right, I didn’t manage to explicitly speak of Jesus, but not to worry. After all, the person in question didn’t ask me to explain my faith; and anyway, by the grace of God something of the aroma of the gospel may have been passed on.

No! That may be true; but let’s not console ourselves with easy excuses.

Let’s allow Peter to have the final word regarding witness and evangelism: Christian, always be prepared…

Father, in our modern and godless world it can be very difficult to communicate the gospel of Jesus in plain words. So I take comfort from the words of Paul and Peter. But help me never to let them be an excuse for laziness, or cowardice, or sheer spiritual insensitivity. Help me always to be prepared for unexpected opportunities. Amen.

Pilate's wife

While Pilate was sitting on the judge’s seat, his wife sent him this message: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him”. Matthew 27:19

This verse is the only place in the Gospels where we read about Pontius Pilate’s wife. It represents her unique claim to fame.

As she witnesses her husband having to deal with the prisoner Jesus – “that innocent man”, as she calls him – she experiences a bad night. We can picture her startled out of sleep, frightened, in the middle of a dream. As she sits up and tries to get her thoughts in order two truths about Jesus take shape in her mind: first, he is “innocent” (the word could also be translated “just” or “righteous”); and second, her husband is being worked on by corrupt people to do harm.

She is alarmed enough to send him a message, even though he is “sitting on the judge’s seat”, carrying out his routine duties as the Roman governor of Judea. “Have nothing to do with him!” is her plea.

Do you ever have vivid dreams? The sleep experts tell us that most if not all of us do have dreams, though we may not remember them. But there’s no getting away from the fact that when we do they can affect us powerfully, and if they take the form of a nightmare they can seriously shake us; they can seem more real than, well, reality itself. I rarely dream – but my wife tells me of a night when I woke up shouting out with fear. (My dream, as I recalled it, was about a church member who I found particularly awkward; guess, please, if you like, what the significance of that was…)

A question arises: Should we attach any significance to dreams or other forms of unplanned mental activity? The Bible is full of it, of course: the books of Daniel and Revelation are pretty much sequences of dreams put down in writing. And we also read of such dramatic experiences as that of Jacob, God’s wayward servant, alone in the open country, dreaming of “a stairway resting on the earth, with its top reaching to heaven, and the angels of God ascending and descending on it” (Genesis 28). In the New Testament we find Paul and his companions, unsure of God’s guidance on their missionary work, having “a vision of a man of Macedonia standing and begging him, ‘Come over to Macedonia and help us’” (Acts 16).

But that was then, and now is now, and we need to be careful.

Things have changed over the centuries, not least because we now have scripture in full to turn to; an undue credulity is to be avoided. But I like to think that the experience of Pilate’s wife – a dream speaking truth – was in fact a gift of God. Assuming that she knew nothing of God, how else might God communicate with her than by such means?

When we as Christians are unsure of God’s way ahead for us we will pray and read the Bible, of course (perhaps with fasting, let’s not forget that), but the answer to our prayers doesn’t itself come through direct scripture, more often through the inner working of the Holy Spirit in our minds: we experience a sense of peace, perhaps, or an unusually strong impression, or a striking coincidence. Why then not a dream or vision? Test it, of course: talk it over with a trusted friend; take time to let it sink in; soak it in prayer. But if we are serious about hearing God’s voice and receiving his guidance, why not be open to all possibilities?

God is a God who speaks, and the fact is that he has his ways of communicating with people who otherwise might not know anything of him.

About Pilate’s wife we know virtually nothing. I have assumed she knew nothing about Jesus. But who is to say? Her message to her husband suggests she had her finger on the pulse of life in Jerusalem; that she wasn’t a wife who held herself aloof from what was going on. We know from elsewhere in the Gospels that Jesus had many female followers. We know too that large crowds of people, both male and female, gathered to hear him speak and witness his miracles. Today, male politicians’ wives can barely move without cameras clicking and the curse of unwanted  publicity. But would anybody know if this particular woman chose to mingle with the crowds?

Legend has it that both Pilate and his wife became Christians; indeed, I read that to this day they are revered as saints by the Coptic (Egyptian) church. Probably untrue; but again, who knows? Was she, perhaps, a “secret disciple”? There must have been many such around in those dramatic, early days – uninstructed, yes, but people who had fallen under the spell of Jesus.

And, for all we know, there may be millions such in our world today: people who have only the vaguest idea of doctrine and church practices, but who have a simple love of Jesus. We may be in for a bit of a surprise when we reach our heavenly home. We may even look at somebody we thought we knew on earth and be tempted to say “What are you doing here?”. (And perhaps they will look at us and say back “And what are you doing here?”)

Enough! I’m letting my imagination run riot! But for a good reason, I hope… we simply cannot know what may be going on in someone else’s heart – so don’t make shallow assumptions!

A final question nags at me. People sometimes say, If only Pilate had taken his wife’s advice and “had nothing to do with” Jesus! But wait a minute… Isn’t that exactly what he did? Wasn’t the public washing of his hands exactly an attempt to distance himself from Jesus?

And the tragedy of Pilate, surely, is that it was a failed attempt? What Pilate should have done was to stand up against the mob, to look them right in the eye, to say in a loud firm voice, “This man Jesus is innocent so I set him free!” and take the consequences?

Yes, of course, of course. But who am I, weak and feeble, to say? (Or, if I may ask the question, who are you?)

Father, thank you for the enigmatic story of Pilate’s wife. Thank you for the multiple ways you have of speaking to people who have no Bible and never go to church. Please help me to tread that thin line between naïve credulity on the one hand and unjustified judgments on the other. Amen.

Moral coward or practical operator?

Now it was the governor’s custom at the festival to release a prisoner chosen by the crowd. ¹⁶ At that time they had a well-known prisoner whose name was Jesus Barabbas. ¹⁷ So when the crowd had gathered, Pilate asked them, “Which one do you want me to release to you: Jesus Barabbas, or Jesus who is called the Messiah?” For he knew it was out of self-interest that they had handed Jesus over to him.

¹⁹ While Pilate was sitting on the judge’s seat, his wife sent him this message: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal today in a dream because of him.”

²⁰ But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. ²¹ “Which of the two do you want me to release to you?” asked the governor. “Barabbas,” they answered. ²² “What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called the Messiah?” Pilate asked. They all answered, “Crucify him!” ²³ “Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate. But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!”

²⁴ When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!” ²⁵ All the people answered, “His blood is on us and on our children!”

²⁶ Then he released Barabbas to them. But he had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified.

An interesting man, Pontius Pilate.

For many of us he probably falls not far short of Judas Iscariot in the scales of villainy, as he was the man who “had Jesus flogged” (why that particular gratuitous act of cruelty?) and “handed over to be crucified”.

We also get a nasty glimpse of the kind of ruler he was from Luke13:1-5: apparently some time earlier he had “mixed the blood of some Galilean worshippers with their sacrifices”, which, presumably, means that he had sent his soldiers in to hack down a group of innocent Jewish pilgrims in the city of Jerusalem. This kind of vicious brutality is borne out by other ancient writers outside the Bible.

Pilate was the Roman governor in Judea, and he had the admittedly tricky job of keeping a lid on a potentially explosive situation in the city. This was all the more so because it was the time of the Jewish Passover, when Jerusalem would be heaving with religious hot-heads and fanatics. It was more than his life was worth to let the lid blow off with riots and mayhem and so bring the authorities, his bosses, galloping down from Rome. He will have had sleepless nights as the Passover approached, not least because of this man everybody was talking about, Jesus of Nazareth.

If we read all four Gospel accounts it seems clear that Pilate’s desire to set Jesus free was genuine, though his personal motives are certainly open to question. Luke records an attempt on his part to offload Jesus onto the Jewish leader Herod Antipas in the hope that he would sort him out – only to have him sent right back: too hot to handle (Luke 23:1-17).

What can we, in our very different and very mundane lives, learn from Pontius Pilate?

First, knowing what’s right to do is no use if we don’t get on and do it.

That sounds obvious, but it is by no means always simple - especially when we are answerable to somebody in a superior position who can make life very unpleasant for us if we don’t do as we are told.

A political leader in Britain some years ago resigned from his position on the grounds that it was impossible to maintain his integrity and his Christian principles, because of what was expected of him, and the lies he felt he was obliged to tell. All credit to him, I thought – better that than to be a hypocrite. But also, how very sad that the state of our politics is such that he felt it to be necessary. Far be it from me to accuse such a person of moral cowardice, but it’s hard not to put oneself in his place and wonder about oneself.

No wonder the New Testament tells us to pray for those who govern us (1 Timothy 2:1-2 explicitly and Romans 13 by implication). Nothing is easier than to criticise politicians – it’s a lazy game we all love to play -but, according to the New Testament, prayer should come first. A word to all of us who lead groups or worship services? Do we regularly pray in the context of public worship for those who have the massively weighty responsibility of leading us?

I don’t mean to make excuses for either Pontius Pilate or for modern leaders, but… how we all need God’s help to save us from shallowness and to gift us with strong moral courage!

Second, even genuine attempts to do what’s right are no use if they’re not followed through.

Yes, Pilate genuinely tried to palm Jesus off onto Herod Antipas for him to deal with. Yes, he genuinely pleaded with the crowd to accept his bargain offer to put Barabbas to death in order to release Jesus. Yes, the whole mood of his behaviour suggests that he was genuinely convinced of Jesus’ innocence. But what was the good of that? – he still ended up putting an innocent man to death.

Is there some situation in your life or mine where we are “taking the line of least resistance”? – where we are we “keeping our heads down” when we should be “putting them above the parapet” at whatever the cost? (It’s interesting how this kind of situation throws up these metaphors! – all designed to make us feel a bit better about “bottling out”. Shame on us!)

Third, gestures count for nothing.

Pilate is famous for his gesture of taking water, washing his hands, and declaring “I am innocent of this man’s blood”. Very impressive! But it’s hard not to hear a voice from heaven saying “Oh no you’re not!” God alone knows the hearts of each one of us, and he alone will adjudicate guilt and innocence. We may seek to fob our responsibility off, to salve our troubled consciences. We may decide to do something which is more than a mere gesture – make a donation, perhaps, to a good cause.

But the failure remains, the injustice is done. Wonderfully, God may turn it to ultimate good (the supreme example of that, of course, is the cross itself); but it can never be undone. Wonderfully, he will forgive us if we are sincerely penitent; but the scar remains and the pain lingers.

Failing to do what is right… I’m not thinking here only of the gross failings of someone like Pontius Pilate. Not at all. But I have to confess that just putting these thoughts down has caused me great discomfort, to put it mildly.

Oh, the petty sins, the embarrassing compromises, the cheap, pathetic opting outs! Lord, have mercy on us all!

Lord, it’s easy for us to condemn corrupt people in positions of power, but we recognise too our own sinful weaknesses and compromises. Please give us a holy hatred for sin and a true hunger and thirst for righteousness, whatever the cost may be. Amen.