Faith on false pretences?

Then people brought little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked them. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there. Matthew 19:13-15

In a recent newspaper article Kemi Badenoch, the leader of the British Conservative Party, explained among other things how she had lost her Christian faith. She had, she said, followed the shocking story of the father who had virtually enslaved his own daughter in his house for over twenty years, and decided that she could no longer believe in any God who could allow such an appalling thing to happen in spite of constant prayer.

Well, you can’t help feeling a certain amount of sympathy, and it’s good that various Christians have responded in helpful and thoughtful ways. But one thing she said that particularly struck me was that, as a child with a strong church upbringing, she had somehow developed the belief that when she prayed, even for quite trivial things - for example, for beautiful hair or for the bus to arrive on time - she could expect that prayer to be answered. And her experience was that sometimes that indeed happened. But now, in adulthood, she couldn’t accept that that young woman’s prayers in such a horribly dire situation had for so long gone unanswered.

Reflecting on her comments triggered a bad memory in my mind.

It was my practice when a young minister to include a “children’s talk” as part of the Sunday morning service. One Sunday I told the story of blind Bartimaeus, and the wonderful love and power Jesus showed in healing him. All that was needed was faith!

A great story. But I made a big mistake. I overlooked the fact that in our congregation we had a lady who had lost her sight in her later years.

Had Mrs Carter been prayed for? Oh yes. Had she been prayed over? Certainly. She had been prayed for in English and in tongues and with laying on of hands. Did she have faith in Jesus? No doubt about that.

Had she been healed? No. No, she hadn’t.

As I stood at the church door after the service, dear Mrs Carter came to me to tell me, very graciously, of her distress: “You have taught the children this morning that I don’t have enough faith…” I felt embarrassed and ashamed and could only mumble an apology. How could I have been so unutterably stupid? Mrs Carter was far more forgiving than I deserved.

The Kemi Badenoch story didn’t only trigger that memory: it also made me think about how we as Christians teach young children the stories of the Bible. We can be in no doubt that Jesus loved children (the story at the top is included in Matthew 19, Mark 10 and Luke 18); he “took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands upon them” (Mark 10:13-16).

But – and I had never really noticed this before - nowhere are we told what he said to them, or anything of what he taught them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know! Well, we don’t, and that’s that; so it’s up to us to prayerfully work it out for ourselves. I’m not implying any criticism of those who taught Kemi Badenoch as a child – I don’t know what her circumstances were like, and it wouldn’t be for me to judge even if I did. I’m just pointing out that it’s something we should give some serious thought to.

Please forgive me another childhood memory. As a small boy in Sunday School I still remember learning the story of King Solomon and the two women disputing over a dead baby (1 Kings 3). Solomon’s proverbial wisdom is reflected in his gruesome command to take a sword and “cut the living child in two”. It didn’t happen, of course – but that was the whole point of the wise king; he knew maternal love would prevail and make itself known.

But I was a small boy and, well, just learning the story frightened me. Has it scarred me for life? No, thank God; but…

How careful we need to be, especially when so much unsuitable material is readily available on line.

And what about the songs we sing? We are all very concerned - and rightly so – that children should enjoy being in church with us. Long gone are the days when everything was stiff and staid. But is there a danger that we end up teaching them songs which convey unbalanced truths that go well with jolly tunes (probably accompanied by actions)? A new one to me comes to mind, focussing on the sheer power of Jesus; it contains the words “He can heal the sick! He can raise the dead!” followed by “Only He can do this…”

Well yes, he can, thank God. Certainly he has done it in the past. Occasionally, no doubt, he still does it today. But wonderful though this truth is, are we in effect showing children only a tiny part of a far bigger picture? Do we ever go to the trouble of also explaining to them plainly that very often that isn’t what in fact happens? that millions of prayers are offered every day which (seemingly at least) go unanswered?

Are we, in practical terms, setting them up for a Kemi Badenoch-type fall? Could Kemi Badenoch herself have been saved this kind disappointment? Could she, with a steadily deepening and maturing faith, be a solid Christian today?

Father, thank you for the children you have committed to our care and for the privilege of introducing them to Jesus. Give us the wisdom, whether as parents or as teachers, to judge their level of understanding wisely so that we don’t inadvertently feed them only partial truths. Hear us too for Kemi Badenoch, that the response to her remarks may lead her to think again. Amen.

A steep learning curve

Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.

But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Come,” he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”

And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshipped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

Matthew 14:25-33

Was Simon Peter a hero for having the faith to step out of the boat and walk on the water? Or was he a failure for panicking and starting to sink?

It’s a question that has been asked many times, not least in sermons. And it’s a perfectly natural and reasonable question. It’s certainly a question that comes as a challenge to us, reminding us of the many times we, like Peter, have let Jesus down. But the challenge is not destructive or demoralising, because Jesus responds so lovingly to Peter’s failure: we are told that as he saw him begin to go down he “immediately (note that word) reached out his hand and caught him”. Yes, he rebuked him: “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” But the rebuke was loving rather than a telling-off (there’s a big difference), rather the way a parent gently chastises a child.

If you’re anything like me you enjoy the story because it makes you feel better about yourself. After all, if even the human leader of Jesus’ twelve apostles could fail in this dramatic way and still be rescued, perhaps there’s hope for me too! And if the gospel-writers see fit to expose the weakness of their leader in such a public way, well, surely there must be hope for me. Whether we should derive such encouragement or not – well, that’s another question! - are we just administering easy comfort to ourselves? But, whatever, it’s a difficult temptation to resist.

In some ways the story is rather puzzling. It starts (verse 22) with Jesus almost seeming to abandon his disciples: “Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him”. Then what does he do but… climb the nearest mountain to get a bit of solitude for prayer! It’s almost as if he wants to get as far from them as possible, and that’s not easy to understand. They clearly end up with a hard time and a long, dark night, “buffeted by the waves” (verse 24). What is Jesus up to?

His behaviour suggests at least two things.

First, he needed time to himself.

Some Christians suggest that because Jesus was (indeed, is) the Son of God, he was some kind of spiritual super-man, always fully charged with energy and never experiencing weakness of any kind. But that is plain wrong. The reason (for example) he sat and got into conversation with the woman at the well (John 4) was because he was “tired from the journey” and needed a drink (which, by the way, he wasn’t ashamed to ask for). A little later here in Matthew’s Gospel (chapter 26) we read of his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane where he pleaded with God his Father to spare him the torment of crucifixion (… “if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me”) and where the men who have been his companions for his earthly ministry couldn’t even so much as stay awake. To put it in plain terms, he felt agonisingly abandoned and lonely: he needed companionship (as we all do).

And let’s make no mistake: there wasn’t any hint of play-acting in the different trials he was subjected to, nor in his inability to carry the cross to Golgotha, nor in his “cry of dereliction” (“My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”).

No: if Jesus needed that time of solitude, away from his disciples above the Sea of Galilee, it was for some good reason, even if we aren’t told what that was. He was – let’s spell it out – fully human as well as fully divine.

May that great truth be a comfort to those of us who particularly need it at the present time.

Second, Jesus’ behaviour is also explained by the fact that there were times when he needed to put his followers through testing-times.

Muscles grow hard and strong through exercise; they become flabby through under-use. And faith is like that. Certainly, Jesus put his disciples through a hard time that night on the Sea of Galilee. But he knew the kind of struggles their loyalty to him would entail in the months and years to come, so that long-drawn-out night of fear and that personal crisis for Peter would have constituted what today tends to be called a “steep learning curve” for them all.

The Bible suggests that God only ever allows us to have our faith stretched and tested in order to stiffen our spiritual muscles. It’s true that that may seem pretty cold comfort at the time. But it remains true.

Hebrews 12 is a section of the New Testament which focuses specially on this truth. “Endure hardship as a discipline; God is treating you as his children…” (verse 7). And then (verse 10) “God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness” (verse 12).

The storms of life can be hard, and we may sometimes feel unjustly treated – “Lord, it’s not fair!” But let’s notice two things: first, that we should view them as signs of fatherly love, not coldness or indifference, and certainly not cruelty; and second, that they are intended to deepen our holiness, to make us more like God himself. Which, of course, raises the key question: Do I in fact want to be more holy? Really?

Well, while we try and honestly work that out, assuming that we are not presently in a Peter-and-the-apostles situation, perhaps we should turn our thoughts to things we might be doing for those who are…

Father, I fear I would be just as weak as Simon Peter if I were in his shoes. But thank you for the assurance that you love me and that you will never let me go. Give me, please, the gift of true compassion for those who may feel they’re going under. Amen.