Faith without expectancy?

It was about this time that King Herod arrested some who belonged to the church, intending to persecute them. ² He had James, the brother of John, put to death with the sword. ³ When he saw that this met with approval among the Jews, he proceeded to seize Peter also. This happened during the Festival of Unleavened Bread. ⁴ After arresting him, he put him in prison, handing him over to be guarded by four squads of four soldiers each. Herod intended to bring him out for public trial after the Passover.

⁵ So Peter was kept in prison, but the church was earnestly praying to God for him.

⁶ The night before Herod was to bring him to trial, Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, bound with two chains, and sentries stood guard at the entrance. ⁷ Suddenly an angel of the Lord appeared and a light shone in the cell. He struck Peter on the side and woke him up. “Quick, get up!” he said, and the chains fell off Peter’s wrists…

¹² When this had dawned on him, he went to the house of Mary the mother of John, also called Mark, where many people had gathered and were praying. ¹³ Peter knocked at the outer entrance, and a servant named Rhoda came to answer the door. ¹⁴ When she recognized Peter’s voice, she was so overjoyed she ran back without opening it and exclaimed, “Peter is at the door!”

¹⁵ “You’re out of your mind,” they told her. When she kept insisting that it was so, they said, “It must be his angel.”

¹⁶ But Peter kept on knocking, and when they opened the door and saw him, they were astonished… Acts 12:1-15

There aren’t many passages in the Bible that raise a smile. That’s no criticism, of course, just a fact. But I think Acts 12 does just that.

The story summed up…

Simon Peter has been imprisoned by King Herod. The believers “pray earnestly” for him, whereupon he is miraculously set free by an angel. He goes to the house of Mary, the mother of John Mark, where “many people had gathered and were praying”. A servant girl called Rhoda comes to answer his knocking at the door, but on hearing his voice she is so discombobulated that instead of opening it she runs back inside and  – guess what? – they don’t believe her: “You’re out of your mind” they tell her. When she insists, they change their minds: “It must be his angel”. (Meanwhile poor Peter is still outside in the cold, wondering what’s going on…)

Not very funny for Peter. But hopefully we can see the comical side, if only because – let’s be honest – we see a little too much of ourselves in that group of praying Christians. They were, I am sure, very strong in their faith, “praying earnestly for him”, and confident that God could, and sometimes did, work extraordinary miracles. Yet when they were told by Rhoda that Peter was knocking on the door they simply didn’t believe her (did some of them roll their eyes and shake their heads, muttering, “That silly girl Rhoda”?). They have been praying for the very thing Rhoda announces! How could they be so foolish?

But are we any better? Our prayers can become dutiful and formulaic, so much so that if we had today what we might call a “Rhoda moment” we would be as sceptical as that group gathered in the home of John Mark’s mother.

It’s possible, it seems, to have genuine faith - but also to lack expectation.

I find this, in a back to front kind of way, quite encouraging. These people, after all, were living in the near-aftermath of Christ’s resurrection and the coming of the Holy Spirit. We’re not! I won’t say that miracles were a daily event in their experience – that would be going too far - but certainly they seem to have happened on a pretty regular basis: Luke tells us, for example, that “The apostles performed many signs and wonders among the people” (Acts 5:12). Given that it seems the meeting had gathered for the precise purpose of praying for Peter, might we not feel entitled to expect something a bit better than plain unbelief! So when we are inclined (as I often am) to accuse myself of lack of expectation, is it wrong of me to console myself with the thought “Well, apparently the first believers were no better!”?

Still more: I know we mustn’t make excuses for ourselves for lack of expectation, but it’s a fact that much of our praying is likely to be what you might call “long-term” praying, where we rightly emphasise the need for perseverance in our prayers, whereas the praying we read about in this passage is red-hot up to date.

Jesus tells his people in Matthew 7:7-8 to “ask (and go on asking), seek (and go on seeking), knock (and go on knocking) and the door will be opened to you”. I heard this described once as “soaking” prayer, and while, yes, there may be times when we feel that God has given us a “No” answer, and therefore stop praying for a particular topic or person (see Paul’s experience in 2 Corinthians 12:8-9), the “norm” is simply to keep persevering.

If you’ve been a Christian for any length of time I wouldn’t be surprised if there are people and situations for whom you have been praying regularly for years. And under those circumstances it’s virtually impossible to maintain that red-hot expectation with which we began – while trusting, of course, that God is, if I may put it so, “on the case” in ways we cannot see.

The point being… If we are talking about “excuses” for lack of expectation in prayer (which of course we’re not), are we not in a better situation than those people so long ago in Jerusalem whose need was indeed red-hot? Their need that day was fresh and urgent; ours, usually, is unavoidably routine to the point of seeming humdrum. (And, of course, there must be no attempt to artificially whip the emotions up!)

Where does this lead us? Perhaps to some such prayer as this…

Dear Father, please keep my faith strong, positive and expectant. But at those times when prayer seems dull and repetitive, please keep me strong in sheer trusting perseverance. Amen. 

The God who turns bad to good

¹² Now I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel. ¹³ As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace guard and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ. ¹⁴ And because of my chains, most of the brothers and sisters have become confident in the Lord and dare all the more to proclaim the gospel without fear.

¹⁵ It is true that some preach Christ out of envy and rivalry, but others out of goodwill. ¹⁶ The latter do so out of love, knowing that I am put here for the defence of the gospel. ¹⁷ The former preach Christ out of selfish ambition, not sincerely, supposing that they can stir up trouble for me while I am in chains. ¹⁸ But what does it matter? The important thing is that in every way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice. Philippians 1:12-18

I have recently had an experience which I found troubling.

There is a well-known evangelical Christian writer whose writings I have always found helpful, and whom I have recommended to others. But he has now confessed to a long-standing extramarital relationship and declared that his ministry is over.

It’s not the relationship itself that particularly troubles me – though of course it does – for this kind of thing seems to be increasingly common; no, it’s the uncertainty about the view we should take of his books and articles. One friend in particular to whom I had given one of his books – should he now be warned, something like “This writer should be avoided because he has blotted his copy-book”? Should Christian booksellers be expected to withdraw his books from their shelves as “no longer approved of”? Of course it’s reassuring that he has shown regret by (as I understand it) voluntarily stepping down from his ministry. But his writings are still there, and they are not going to change.

Well, I was chatting recently about this to a group of friends, including the one who I had lent the book to, and was reassured by their response. It basically boiled down to: “Well, if what he wrote was true and helpful when he wrote it, it’s still true and helpful now, isn’t it?” Nobody attempted to excuse his failure; and presumably Christian publishers from now on will be inclined to touch him, if requested, only with the proverbial barge-pole. But truth is truth: and truth, while it might be added to or refined, doesn’t change, does it?

So… sad, certainly, yes, sad, sad, sad. But let it rest there; for surely my friends were right. Let our priority now be to pray for this man as he surveys the wreckage of his life. We have no reason to doubt the sincerity of his faith, after all – and don’t we all fail and sin in various ways? Pray even more, of course, for his wife and family.

And then, as it happened, I found myself reading Paul’s letter to the Philippians, especially the verses I have quoted above: chapter I:12-18. I felt it offered us a parallel. This parallel is by no means exact, true, but I think it throws some light on the dilemma I had found myself troubled by.

Fact: Paul had enemies – or should we say “opponents”? – in the church (the Corinth letters in particular make this clear). This shouldn’t really surprise us, since while as Christians we are saved sinners, we are still sinners, and perhaps prone to fall out with one another! When he wrote his letter to the Philippians he was in prison - we don’t know definitely where, but Philippians 1:12-14 suggests an important city of the Roman empire, possibly Rome itself.

According to this passage he feels his imprisonment has served as a challenge and inspiration to others, a blessing in disguise, if you like. But then he perhaps rather surprises us by mentioning other Christians “who…(wait for it)…preach Christ out of envy and rivalry… out of selfish ambition, not sincerely, supposing they can stir up trouble for me while I am I chains…”.

Oh! That’s a pretty severe criticism, isn’t it? In a word, Paul feels he is being opposed by deliberate, wilful trouble-makers who, as the saying goes, have it in for him. Who these people were we can’t be absolutely sure (and, of course, we only get Paul’s slant on things) but certainly they professed to be Christians, and God alone fully knew their hearts.

The key thing for our purposes is what comes next. The first two Greek words of verse 18 are translated in the NIV “But what does it matter”? That could be translated: “But so what?” or “Who cares?” or even “What the heck?” And Paul then goes on to add the key words: “The important thing is that in very way, whether from false motives or true, Christ is preached. And because of this I rejoice”.

You see the parallel with the writer who has fallen into sin? Anyone who happens to pick up one of his books, blissfully unaware of his fall, may receive blessing and light, just as anyone who heard a Christ-centred sermon by one of Paul’s opponents may have been brought to faith. What matters is the word, not the messenger. Which, when you stop to think about it, is just as well, isn’t it? For when has there ever been a perfect preacher, or a perfect writer?

We must be careful, of course. The way we live and act matters enormously: Jesus tells us that we are to be “perfect, as our Father in heaven is perfect” and there must be no hint of “Oh well, God will forgive; that’s his business”. Holiness is a serious business.

The Victorian preacher C H Spurgeon, talking about the tragedy of the preacher who falls into sin, said (I quote from memory): “Such a preacher should be restored to ministry only when his repentance is as famous as his downfall was notorious”. Wise words, I think.

But the main thing to take away from Paul’s words here is the great truth of the gospel: that God’s love and grace in Jesus far outweigh even the worst of our sins, and far outshine even the weakest of our preaching. Thanks be to God!

Father in heaven, please help me to emulate the “What does it matter?” of your servant Paul, as long as your love revealed in Jesus is clearly displayed. Amen.

Foreigners...! (2)

¹¹ Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus travelled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. ¹² As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance ¹³ and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

¹⁴ When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed.

¹⁵ One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. ¹⁶ He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.

¹⁷ Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? ¹⁸ Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” ¹⁹ Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.” Luke 17:11-19

We saw last time how Jesus responded to the ten lepers whom he “cleansed” of their disease, and how disappointed he was that only one of them turned to give him thanks - and “he was a Samaritan”, not a member of the chosen people of Israel. We drew the obvious point: Jesus is for anybody and everybody who humbly cries out to him. And we also felt (I hope) the sharpness of the challenge: that we should cleanse our hearts of any hint of prejudice or hatred (easier said than done, I think, if we are ruthlessly honest with ourselves).

But there was more also to think about…

First, the importance of gratitude.

This is what the tenth man demonstrated in an extravagant way. “Praising God in a loud voice”, he “threw himself at Jesus’ feet…” And this is what gave Jesus such pleasure to see, even though the person in question was a mere “foreigner”.

Somebody scored a goal for my team the other day, his first ever for the club. He launched himself into a succession of mid-air cartwheels (and could have ended up with a broken neck, I thought). But you couldn’t help smiling as you watched.

Well, our childlike trust in God will not necessarily take that form, but even it doesn’t, it can and should form the inner essence of our very personalities: not carping or grumbling or complaining, but quietly content with the lot he has given us. Here is a prayer of the poet George Herbert (1593-1633): “Thou hast given so much to me… Give me one thing more – a grateful heart”. May God hear our loud ”Amens”.

An old children’s song went: “Count your blessings,/ Name them one by one./ Count your blessings,/ See what God has done./ Count your blessings,/ Name them one by one./ And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.” (There is no law forbidding adults from singing children’s songs, so feel free…)

Being always thankful may sometimes seem to be asking too much, and I certainly don’t mean to make light of the really bad times when we feel close to despair. But by God’s grace hopefully we can shape our personalities over time into a basically positive mould.

A second issue raised by this story is the age-old puzzle of healing.

These ten men were “cleansed” of their leprosy pretty well immediately, such was their implicit confidence in Jesus’ command to “go and show yourselves to the priests”. Strictly, they don’t in fact ask for healing, just that he will “have pity on us”. And he doesn’t tell them he will; it just happens in their act of faith and obedience: it was “as they went” that they were cleansed.

Which leaves us wondering, “Why is healing such a rare event in most of our lives? Have we got the method wrong? Or would just a small  increase in faith make a difference? No. And no again. There is no “correct” method, and there is no “required” level of faith. Jesus tells us that faith as tiny as a mustard-seed can move mountains; but he also chastises his disciples for their lack of it.

Every healing is unique. In the Bible itself it comes in different forms; we seem to be told that if we have faith it will happen (no ifs, no buts: for example James 5:15-16), but we also know the plain reality of our experience – and there are verses like 2 Timothy 4:20, about Paul’s colleague Trophimus, who was “left ill in Miletus”. (We feel like asking, “Er, why, Paul?”)

One thing we can say with certainty is that the New Testament never tells us that the gift of healing, and miracle-working in general, is withdrawn completely from the church. This means that we should have no qualms about crying out to God for his healing grace if it’s in our hearts to do so. We may feel it right to accompany such prayer with the laying on of hands or anointing with oil or the use of tongues – but as I said earlier, there is no fixed method or magic formula.

Over my time as a Christian and as a pastor I have got involved in many long and sometimes heated discussions about miracles, including healing. But I have concluded that it is too serious and, often, too emotional, a topic to be reduced to the level of arid intellectual debate. It touches us at a deep and personal level. So – dare I put it this way? – why not give it a try if the circumstances call for it? No, there is no guarantee (whatever some Christians may say). But there is always hope. We never know what God might see fit to do; and is he not our loving Father in heaven?

Father, please help me to develop a personality moulded by gratitude for every good gift I have received from your hand; and also the faith to believe in your power to heal. Amen. 

Foreigners...!

¹¹ Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus travelled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. ¹² As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance ¹³ and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

¹⁴ When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed.

¹⁵ One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. ¹⁶ He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.

¹⁷ Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? ¹⁸ Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” ¹⁹ Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.” Luke 17:11-19

Who was the Good Samaritan?

Oh, that’s easy! He was the man Jesus told a story about, the one who showed sacrificial kindness and generosity to a victim of an attack who had been left half dead on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. It’s in Luke 10:25-37.

Quite right. It’s a beautiful story; but it has a very sharp point too, because Jesus told it in order to answer an “expert in the law” who challenged him to define the word “neighbour”. In the story two Jewish religious leaders had already seen the man lying in the road – and had chosen to “pass by on the other side”, in effect to ignore him. But this Samaritan came along and did – with interest – what they had failed to do. The expert in the law got the point: in effect, “we Israelites should treat our enemies – yes, even the Samaritans - as neighbours”. But he couldn’t bring himself even to use the word “Samaritan”.

Very good. That’s the story everyone knows.  But wait a minute: in Luke 17:11-19, the passage above, we read of another man who could also be described as a “good Samaritan”, though in a very different way. This time the story is an account of something that actually happened, with Jesus the main actor in the drama.

Leprosy was a terrible affliction. It not only ate away at the flesh, but also cut people off from their communities, for they were forced to live apart to avoid the spread of the disease.

On this occasion Jesus was in territory close to Samaria when a pathetic group of ten men with leprosy, correctly keeping their distance (can you see them?), shouted to him: “Jesus, master, have pity on us!” And that’s exactly what he did: without any ado he told them to “Go and show yourselves to the priests” (only the priests were authorised to declare a leper “clean” from the disease). To obey that command took real faith - but the miracle happened: “as they went, they were cleansed”.

But now comes the point: of the ten men, just one thought to turn to Jesus to give thanks, “praising God in a loud voice” and “throwing himself at Jesus’ feet”; the other nine presumably went straight to the priests and so disappear from the story.

And Jesus is disappointed: “Where are the other nine? Has no-one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?”

Ah! A foreigner. I don’t know if Israelites and Samaritans were likely to have a markedly different appearance, but Jesus obviously saw that there was something different about this man, and Luke the writer spells it out for us in plain words.

All right, this is a very different kind of goodness from that of the hero of Jesus’ story in chapter ten. But Jesus was obviously glad to praise this man and to commend his faith, foreigner or not, and Luke was moved by the Spirit to include the story in his Gospel. So there are clearly things for us to learn…

First, and right up to date in our modern world, we must rid ourselves of any hint of racial prejudice or discrimination.

In John 4 we read about Jesus’ conversation with “the woman at the well”. In talking with her he broke at least three taboos. First, the very fact that she was a woman; it would be frowned on for a man and woman to be seen talking together in public. Second, she was a Samaritan and “Jews do not associate with Samaritans” (verse 9). By all accounts that’s putting it mildly, for Jews and Samaritans were long-standing enemies; “hatred” might be a more appropriate term to describe their relations. And third, she was a particular type of woman, for it emerges later that she has had five husbands “and the man you now have is not your husband” (verse 18). In the culture of the time this would be very shocking.

But Jesus obviously didn’t care. He needed water, and she was the only person around who could provide it. He obviously felt no shame or embarrassment in talking with her, and as far as he was concerned, if anyone else did – well, tough.

Our world is awash with various hatreds and prejudices. Hasn’t it always been that way? Well, yes indeed. But today it seems to be particularly prevalent. There’s racial prejudice, religious prejudice, colour prejudice, gender prejudice, class prejudice, to name only a few. And in many cases the word “hatred” is no exaggeration.

Sadly, the church has been guilty of this sin in various periods of history, and we should be ashamed, even when our prejudices are unconscious. Jesus didn’t touch the men in the story of the ten lepers – they didn’t come close enough - but we know from Matthew 8:2-4 that he would have been quite willing to do so.

Do you and I have some nasty prejudice(s?) to repent of, even if it’s just (just!?) a matter of looking down our noses at someone we consider to be beneath us? In whatever ways, do we in effect take after James and John who helpfully (?) tried to sort out some unco-operative Samaritans in Luke 9:51-54: “Lord, do you want us to call down fire from heaven to destroy them?”. A handy solution, no doubt, but Jesus leaves them in no doubt about his answer to that question.

The curse of prejudice is perhaps the main lesson of this story. But there are certainly others, so I’ll have to return to it next time. Please join me again…

Father, thank you for the compassion that dwelt in the heart of Jesus for all people – and which overflowed from it. Please give me just such a heart! Amen.

Can hatred and holiness co-exist? (2)

 

Appoint someone evil to oppose my enemy;
    let an accuser stand at his right hand.
⁷ When he is tried, let him be found guilty,
    and may his prayers condemn him.
⁸ May his days be few;
    may another take his place of leadership.
⁹ May his children be fatherless
    and his wife a widow.
¹⁰ May his children be wandering beggars;
    may they be driven from their ruined homes.
¹¹ May a creditor seize all he has;
    may strangers plunder the fruits of his labour.
¹² May no one extend kindness to him
    or take pity on his fatherless children.
¹³ May his descendants be cut off,
    their names blotted out from the next generation.
¹⁴ May the iniquity of his fathers be remembered before the Lord;
    may the sin of his mother never be blotted out.
¹⁵ May their sins always remain before the Lord,
    that he may blot out their name from the earth. Psalm 109:6-15

Last time we looked at Psalm 109 as an example of one of those Bible passages which, if we are completely honest, we would probably prefer were not there. Taken as it stands it seems full of venom and hatred for the writer’s enemies, a direct contrast with the words of Jesus about loving your enemy and praying for, not against, them.

The question arises, What is this psalm (not to mention various other parts of the Bible) doing there? Would you pray such a prayer against someone who has injured you? Can you imagine Jesus praying it? What value or use are these passages for us today?

Last time I suggested a number of things in general about reading the Bible, the first of which is to take it as much as possible at face value – always making allowance, of course, for the many different types of literature we are dealing with and the alien cultural background. Some respected Bible translations (the NRSV, for example) try to solve the puzzle of Psalm 109 by inserting the two little words “They say” before verse 6, thus suggesting that the following shocking words are spoken by the psalmist’s enemies rather than by himself. It certainly turns the psalm on its head! For what little I know it is a possible amendment and possibly a justified one, but it strikes me as rather a desperate ploy, a bit of a wriggling out of the plain meaning.

No, we need to look these words fairly and squarely in the face, however uncomfortable they make us.

We might be tempted to say, “Ah, but the man who wrote this psalm lived before Jesus. He had never read the New Testament or heard the Sermon on the Mount, so what can we expect?”

That is obviously true enough. But as a devout Jew (“a man of prayer”, verse 4), had he never been taught parts of the Law of Moses such as Exodus 23:4-5: “If you come across your enemy’s ox or donkey wandering off, be sure to return it. If you see the donkey of someone who hates you fallen down under its load, do not leave it there; be sure you help them with it”. Had he never been taught Proverbs 25:21: “If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink”? Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount wasn’t introducing a new law of love to replace a law of hate; no, he was reminding the people of something they should have known perfectly well already but had chosen to ignore.

For me personally, the most challenging, if rather disturbing, use of this psalm can only be this: it is a frighteningly honest probing of the human heart. Putting it another way: this could be me speaking. It reveals myself to me…

Oh, don’t worry, I have been far too well brought up to hate anyone with such a naked hatred (no credit to me there, of course, and I like to think I don’t have any enemies anyway), but I don’t have any illusions either about the darkness that lurks in the depths of my own heart. Do you?

I know what it is to be jealous, to be unjustly angry, to look down on somebody. I always feel a grim smile coming on when I think of David’s wife Michal looking furtively out of her window, seeing him dancing exuberantly “before the Lord” at the recovery of the ark of the covenant, and “despising him in her heart” (1 Chronicles 15:29). Have I never despised someone in my heart, perhaps while smiling sweetly? Don’t I know what it means to be petty, or spiteful, or selfish or just plain nasty? What about you?

Perhaps this is just me; but I suspect not. Most of us learn to live outwardly respectable, “decent” lives; but the key word there is “outwardly”. If we return for a moment to the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:21-42), didn’t Jesus warn us that hatred and anger are tantamount to murder? that lust is tantamount to adultery? These sinful poisons are what fester invisibly in our inmost beings - and isn’t it our hearts that God knows and “searches” (Psalm 7:9)?

If nothing else, the writer of Psalm 109 (a “man of prayer”, remember) helps us to take this truth seriously, even if that wasn’t his intention. No doubt there are other things we can learn from his inner toxicity. There are many parts of the Bible, after all, which are to be learned from – of course – but not imitated.

But perhaps that’s enough to be going on with for the time being.

Father, we know that hatred and holiness cannot co-exist, and that we are called to have pure, forgiving hearts. As we read this psalm, help us to face the wickedness that dwells secretly within us and to hunger after the purity of Jesus himself. Amen.

Can hatred and holiness co-exist?

Appoint someone evil to oppose my enemy;

    let an accuser stand at his right hand.
⁷ When he is tried, let him be found guilty,
    and may his prayers condemn him.
⁸ May his days be few;
    may another take his place of leadership.
⁹ May his children be fatherless
    and his wife a widow.
¹⁰ May his children be wandering beggars;
    may they be driven from their ruined homes.
¹¹ May a creditor seize all he has;
    may strangers plunder the fruits of his labour.
¹² May no one extend kindness to him
    or take pity on his fatherless children.
¹³ May his descendants be cut off,
    their names blotted out from the next generation.
¹⁴ May the iniquity of his fathers be remembered before the Lord;
    may the sin of his mother never be blotted out.
¹⁵ May their sins always remain before the Lord,
    that he may blot out their name from the earth. Psalm 109:6-15

Some churches start the reading of scripture with the words, “Hear the word of the Lord” and perhaps finish it with the solemn pronouncement, “This is the word of God”. If you believe, as I do, that the Bible is indeed the inspired word of God, you may very well feel that that’s not a bad practice (unless, of course, it has become a mere formula). But there are passages where (let’s be honest) you may find yourself hoping that the congregation aren’t listening too hard!

Psalm 109 is one such. At face value it’s just full of hatred, a full-blown cry to  God for vengeance on the psalmist’s enemies. He seems to be giving expression to precisely the opposite of what Jesus teaches in Matthew 5:44: “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” I’ve picked out verses 6 to 15, perhaps the most vicious-seeming section, but the rest is not much better. I encourage you to take a minute or two to absorb the feel of the whole psalm and to get the full force of the writer’s vitriol. This is the word of the Lord? You can’t, surely, be serious!

Yet… it is – it’s as much part of God’s word as John 3:16, or as Jesus’ cry from the cross, “Father, forgive them – they don’t know what they’re doing”. So, if we want to take our Bibles seriously, we need to look full in the face of these disturbing passages (and there are, of course, plenty of others: try Psalm 137:9, for example) and grapple with them as honestly as we can. I am, of course, no expert, but having done a bit of a trawl of various commentaries I would tentatively make the following suggestions, applicable to the whole Bible, not just this particular psalm…

First, we must resist the temptation to turn a blind eye.

We have a natural human tendency to avoid things we know we are going to dislike or find difficult. Be honest, when did you last read Zechariah or Song of Songs or Jude? But these passages are there, and they aren’t going to go away. If God has caused them to be part of his word, then it’s for a reason, and so, treading very carefully and humbly, it’s for us to make what sense we can. Better to end up unsure if we have got it right (who in the world has got it all right!) than not to try at all.

Second, always opt for the most natural meaning that suggests itself.

All sorts of strange and fanciful interpretations have been suggested, especially of course for books such as Revelation or Daniel – interpretations that offer perhaps an over-confident understanding of how the world is going to end. Get hold of a good Bible commentary – or, better still, two or three - recommended by a trusted pastor or friend. But be open to the possibility that even these trusted commentaries may not be right in every last detail.

Regarding Psalms in particular, some respected Christians understand them as “the song book of Jesus” and see him in it whether he is there or not. Certainly, it seems agreed among many modern scholars that Psalm 109 is basically crying to God ultimately for nothing more than the Old Testament idea of just retribution upon the people who have behaved so badly. Well, perhaps so. But, even if that’s right, it still sounds pretty nasty and I for one confess that I find it very hard to imagine Jesus singing or praying it.

Third, be open to the possibility that the interpretation favoured by your particular “camp” could be mistaken.

Sadly, as Christians we all end up getting grouped into camps – perhaps more traditionally known as “denominations” or “movements”. Some of us, for example, are convinced that adult believers’ baptism is the only form justified by scripture. That’s fine, of course, but let us also be happy to recognise that others who take a different view are brothers and sisters in Christ (quite likely more Christlike than we are!).

Fourth, read the Bible always in context.

The Bible is a big book – or, more correctly, a big collection of books. It’s written in languages that most of us cannot read, so, whether we like it or not, we have to depend on experts who know infinitely more than we do (this is one of the reasons we need those commentaries I mentioned). It uses all sorts of types of speech – metaphors, similes, poetry, stories, parables, hyperbole (that’s obvious exaggeration designed to heighten the impact of what is being said). So not every statement is intended to be taken literally (otherwise wouldn’t we expect to see many more blind or disabled people in church, as per the words of Jesus in Matthew 5:29-30)

I hope these comments are helpful. But we’ve hardly as yet touched on Psalm 109 itself! So I shall have to return to this theme next time. I hope you will join me.

Father, we thank you for the word you have given us in the Bible. Thank you especially for those times it delights us with the truth of your great forgiving love for all people, demonstrated supremely in the death and resurrection of Jesus. But other times it troubles us by spelling out unwelcome truths, or puzzles us with things we find hard to understand. Help us to read it humbly and with open minds, always conscious that we could be mistaken in our understanding. Amen.

When the going is hard

We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. 2 Corinthians 1:8.

I can do all things through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13

Do you see any contradiction between these two verses? On the face of it, surely yes - one is about hopelessness and despair from someone who, looking back, is even surprised that he has survived at all; the other is a declaration, bursting with confidence and optimism, that nothing is beyond his God-given strength.

The seemingly contradictory thing is that the same man, the apostle Paul, wrote both verses – though at different points in his life. We are used to thinking of Paul as one of the great giants of faith, so the Philippians verse sounds very natural - “Well, of course, that’s Paul, isn’t it?” – whereas 2 Corinthians 1:8 may come as a bit of a shock – “Hey, that’s not like Paul at all!”

If such a great follower of Jesus can experience such diametrically opposed shifts of mood, surely there are things the rest of us can learn? I think so, anyway.

First, very simply, such unwelcome things can and do happen. Or, as my children used to say with a shrug of the shoulders after something had gone wrong at school, “stuff happens”.

We often say that “the Christian life isn’t easy”, but do we really mean it, or is it just a platitude we trot out to acknowledge that, as people say, “life has its ups and downs”? Jesus, after all, told his followers that they must “take up your cross and follow me”. That’s serious, isn’t it? And it’s a reality we need to seriously digest. Have we done so?

On the positive side it means that we needn’t feel ashamed, surprised or guilty if we find ourselves struggling. There’s no need to develop a mentality, even subconsciously, that “if I’m a Christian I should be immune to  such things”.

Perhaps Paul’s crisis was quite short-lived, but whether that was the case or not, it was certainly of serious intensity: “far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself”. The words “Paul” and “despair” don’t exactly sit naturally together in the minds of most of us, do they! All I can say is that, if a giant of the faith such as Paul can write such a thing, let’s be careful not to dismiss the possibility of something similar in our own lives - yes, even under the eye of our loving heavenly Father.

Second, if this is right, let’s resist any temptation to play the hero when things get hard.

One of the most impressive characteristics of Paul was his openness about how much he needed the support of others: his true humility, in fact. He frequently asks those who read his letters to pray for him; he has no illusions about his dependence on his loyal friends and companions.

Some of us, I suspect, while we say all the right things about how weak and needy we are, don’t really mean it; deep down we like to think we are self-sufficient.

This may be the case especially if we are in some form of Christian leadership. Yes, those we lead will expect – and rightly expect - from us competence, faith and energy, but they know – or should know, and need to learn it if they don’t! – that we are not spiritual supermen or women. “Burnout” may not be a sin; but at the same time it’s no great advertisement for the Christian life. Jesus, we are told, advised his disciples to “come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31), a command we are foolish to ignore.

What can we say about the Philippians verse – “I can do all things through him who gives me strength”?

In essence, Paul is simply saying that he has no doubt about his God-given strength when it comes to God-given service.

That word “God-given” is important. Preachers sometimes hold out unrealistic hopes and stir up unrealistic expectations of miracles pretty well every day of our lives. This can end up making Christians look foolish and out of touch with reality – rather as if we are Popeye swallowing a helping of spinach and suddenly displaying a whole new energy.

There’s a bit of me that hesitates to sound that warning – I would hate to be guilty of dowsing true, sincere faith, even faith that might be such as to “move mountains”. But, whether preachers or not, we need to look reality right in the eye. If such a miraculous thing is to happen (as God grant it may), let it be a surprise even to ourselves, thus confirming that the strength really is from God and God alone.

So…. At first sight Paul might indeed seem to be contradicting himself in these two passages. But his full story gives the lie to that: rather, he had learned from hard experience that living a life of Spirt-led service can turn out in practice to be complex and puzzling. Which, of course[CS1] , is why, later, in 2 Corinthians 12:10, he can toss out another wonderful paradox: ”… it’s precisely when I’m truly weak that I am in fact strong”.

Is that a truth we can put to the test and prove this very day, even in the ordinary circumstances of our ordinary lives?

Father, we do sometimes find following you hard, though we know that in comparison with many our way is actually quite easy. Grow in us, we pray, the kind of faith Paul had, so that like him we may learn the secret of being content in any and every situation. Amen.

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 [CS1]