A world-weary cynic and a man of God

Herod... had given orders to have John arrested, and he had him bound and put in prison. He did this because of Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife, whom he had married. For John had been saying to Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife.” So Herodias nursed a grudge against John and wanted to kill him. But she was not able to, because Herod feared John and protected him, knowing him to be a righteous and holy man. When Herod heard John, he was greatly puzzled; yet he liked to listen to him. Mark 6:17-21

Have you come across the word “conflicted”? It seems to be getting more and more common.

It means to be in two minds about something; in effect, to be confused and unsure. When Crystal Palace (my team) plays Liverpool (my wife’s team), I am conflicted about who I want to win (sadly, I can’t say the same for my wife...). You may feel thoroughly conflicted over the Brexit debate. You may have strong anti-abortion views - until you hear about a teenage girl who is pregnant through rape.

I reckon all of us are conflicted, more or less seriously, over all sorts of issues that crop up in our lives.

Well, Herod Antipas, the ruler of Galilee and Perea in the days of Jesus, was a conflicted man if ever there was one. And it was all to do with the firebrand preacher John the Baptist.

John had the guts to confront Herod over his marriage to his sister-in-law Herodias, which was illegal under Jewish law. Herod had John imprisoned, but that wasn’t enough for Herodias; she wanted him killed. (Which is exactly what happened in the end - read the whole passage, Mark 6:14-29).

What makes this sorry story fascinating is that Herod, tyrant though he was, clearly had a strong respect and even a liking for John. He “feared John and protected him” (perhaps putting him in prison was in fact a means of keeping him safe?). He “knew him to be a righteous and holy man”. When he heard John “he was greatly puzzled; yet he liked to listen to him”.

Conflicted indeed! - he obviously felt a sense of loyalty to his wife, yet he couldn’t escape the fact that John really got through to him. He seems to have been somewhat in awe of him, and when Herodias insisted on his death he was “greatly distressed”.

Herod was a morally feeble man, a man of little principle, the man to whom Jesus referred as “that fox” (Luke 13:32). Yet it’s hard not to feel slightly sorry for him. Deep down he knew that John the Baptist was a man of stature and integrity. Yet he connived at his death, feeling himself to be backed into a corner (pretty much like Pontius Pilate, who enters the story much later, and who we know far better).

The relationship between Herod and John has much to teach us. Above all, it suggests that the man or woman who, through a life-long practice of prayer, worship and sincere commitment to God, is bold in upholding the truth - that that person can have a significant impact even on people who couldn’t care less about God.

The days in which Herod lived were deeply superstitious - all sorts of religious beliefs were on the go. And likewise with us today.

We are often told that religion is a dying force in modern society, and there is truth in that, if by religion we mean organised, established, traditional practices. Yet surveys suggest that most people still pray in some way or other, especially, of course, in times of crisis. Most people expect that death will be marked by some kind of religious ceremony. New-born babies are routinely taken to a place of worship, Christian or otherwise, to mark their arrival in the world.

It’s easy to dismiss such residual religiosity - and, of course, it’s a million miles from pure Christianity. But it’s not nothing! And it can be a wide-open entry-point for honest and humble witness for Christ.

How often do we hear people describe the time of their conversion as being sparked by an ordinary Christian in their circle of acquaintances?...  “I didn’t really understand what made her tick,” they say about someone in their work-place, “but somehow I sensed that she had something I didn’t have - and I began to see that it was something I needed and wanted...” Or: “At first, to be honest, I thought he was a bit of a nutter, but over time he somehow got through to me and it started to make sense...”

It’s true that we never read of Herod Antipas undergoing any kind of “conversion” experience. But who knows what might have gone on in his heart, especially a few years later (AD 39, to be precise), when, after being dumped out of office, he was thrust into exile by the emperor? By that time he will have known the full story of Jesus, never mind John the Baptist...

Herod saw that John was “righteous and holy.” He just couldn't help it. He was “greatly puzzled by him”; yet he “liked to listen to him” He couldn’t resist his appeal.

May something of the mysterious, magnetic beauty of Jesus be seen even in us. Who knows what wonderful changes it might lead to in somebody’s life?

Lord God, I know that of myself I am nothing. But I do desire to follow Jesus, and I know that your Holy Spirit is in me. I pray that in some wonderful way others may see in me something that I don’t even see in myself. Amen.

Can hatred be holy?

Do I not hate those who hate you, Lord, and abhor those who are in rebellion against you? I have nothing but hatred for them; I count them my enemies. Psalm 139:21-22

I heard a top world sportsman being interviewed on television. Asked about one of his rivals, he said bluntly, “I hate so-and-so”. It was like a slap in the face, all the more so because it was said in such a matter-of-fact way, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

The word hate, surely, is one of the nastiest and ugliest in the English language - it conjures up all sorts of spite, malice and anger, the very worst feelings we are capable of.

This is why, while we may feel hate for somebody (let’s be honest!), we tend not to express it. And this is why that sportsman’s words came across as so shocking - and why the psalmist’s words do so as well here in Psalm 139.

The psalm as a whole is a very challenging prayer - about the fact that God knows everything about us, even the secrets of our deepest hearts. It tells us there is no way we can escape from his all-seeing eye - we can, as they say, run, but we can’t hide. All strong, bracing stuff; it makes you think, but hopefully in a positive way.

But then these verses come like a kick in the teeth. How can the Psalmist say such a ferocious thing! How did these words find their way into the Bible?

Some people try to explain it on the grounds that it is Old Testament, not New. “Oh well,” they say, “there’s loads of anger, judgment and hatred in the Old Testament - but the New Testament of course is different, and that’s what we as Christians draw from.”

But that just isn’t true. Who was it who said, “Love your neighbour as yourself”? Why, Jesus, of course. Wrong! It’s there in Leviticus 19:18 - Jesus was just quoting it. And what about Proverbs 24:17: “Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice...”?

No: there’s plenty about forgiveness and love in the Old Testament (and, come to that, a fair bit about God’s anger and judgment in the New). So you could say that the man who wrote Psalm 139 was in fact ignoring his own scriptures.

How can we, as Christians, apply these verses? Let me share two ways in which I personally have tried to do so.

First, they encourage me to be honest with God.

As I said earlier, most of us would never talk openly about hating people. But haven’t we all felt such emotions in our hearts? Have we never wished somebody ill?

Let me come clean. I was badly cut up by a fellow-driver once - his driving could have caused a serious accident. I found myself muttering and fervently wishing that he would wrap himself and his car round the nearest available lamp-post. I didn’t say it, of course; I’m much too nice and well brought up for that. But there’s no denying: the thought was there.

So can I claim to be any different from the psalmist? Hypocrites that we are, we can hide murderous thoughts behind smiling faces. At least the psalmist was honest, putting into words what the rest of us only think.

God knows us through and through: “Before a word is on my tongue you, Lord, know it completely”, says verse 4 of this same psalm. Well, if this is so, why not give up any silly pretence of keeping secrets from God? He can take it! Get it off your chest!

Second, these words challenge me as to where my ultimate loyalty lies.

How so?

Well, it’s important to notice that this isn’t just an overflow of petty personal spleen (like me in the car that day), but an explosion of outrage that people should be so disobedient to, and disrespectful of, almighty God. The people the writer feels so angry towards “speak of you (God) with evil intent” (verse 20); they are those “who hate you,” those who “are in rebellion against you” (verse 21). It’s not about him; it’s about God.

The Psalmist is declaring which side he is on - nailing his colours to the mast, if you like. This is a man who knows exactly where he stands in the greatest question any of us have to face: are we for God or against him, “on the Lord’s side” or not? There is no middle way.

We sometimes talk about “righteous anger/ indignation” - times when it would be a sin not to be angry. But if there is such a thing as righteous anger, may there not also be such a thing as “holy hatred”?

And so the question arises: As I look around me at the world and all the wickedness in it, how much do I care? Enough to be angry? Or do I just shrug my shoulders?

Could it be that having strong feelings - even perhaps wrong strong feelings - is better than spineless indifference or turning a blind eye?

Lord God, I remember those times when our Lord Jesus was angry. Guard me, I pray, from every hint of sinful anger. But help me too to know when anger is appropriate and right, and show me how to channel that anger for good. Amen.

The sad man on the bus

And we urge you, brothers and sisters, warn those who are idle and disruptive, encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone. 1 Thessalonians 5:14

“Be patient with me. I have dementia.”

So read the lapel-badge worn by the man getting off the bus. It rather stopped me in my tracks - not something I had seen before. I certainly wouldn’t have pushed past him as I got on, badge or no badge; but it ensured that I gave him a little extra time and space.

I thought, “How sad”, and felt a real pang of sympathy for both the man himself and the woman who seemed to have hold of his arm, presumably his wife.

A Bible-verse flashed into my mind: “Comfort the feeble-minded”. I’m not sure “feeble-minded” would be a politically correct expression today, so I would avoid using it; but I must admit that it struck me at the moment as quite fitting. But when I went looking for the verse I couldn’t find it.

But then in1Thessalonians 5:14 I found this... “encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone”. Bible-translators have obviously decided that “encourage the disheartened” is a better translation than “comfort the feeble-minded”, and no doubt they are right.

Whatever, the point stands. That little trio of injunctions - “encourage the disheartened, help the weak, be patient with everyone” - are all to do with compassion, kindness and sensitivity. And it shows that Paul expected the early church to have members who needed such support.

I once heard somebody comment, perhaps a little mockingly, on the number of people in a particular church who might be described as having “special needs”, or being troubled with “mental health issues”. And somebody in the group immediately responded: “Any church that doesn’t have a good quota of such people doesn’t deserve to be called a church”.

That, surely, is right. If people in particular need of support, understanding and encouragement don’t find these things in the church, well, where will they find them? Aren’t they exactly the kind of people Jesus chose to spend much of his time with? We are told, for example, that he was criticised by the religious authorities for mixing with “tax-collectors and sinners” - real “low-lifes” - to which he memorably replied, in effect, “Don’t you understand that I’m a doctor? What sort of doctor mixes only with healthy people?” (Mark 2:13-17).

Our western society has been described as a throw-away society. Once a thing has become surplus to requirements we simply toss it in the rubbish-bin. I read recently about articles of clothing, some of them quite expensive, which people expect to wear just once or perhaps twice, at a pinch. And as for the plastic we throw away without thinking...

Sadly, the throw-away mentality can extend to people. We joke about someone having been “round the block a time or two”, or being “past their use-by date”, or ready to be “put out to grass”. We mean no harm; indeed, it might be meant quite affectionately, and the person on the receiving end laughs good-humouredly. But it speaks volumes.

And it isn’t only to do with age; it can be people of all ages. Some people have naturally robust, confident temperaments, and we instinctively defer to them. But others are naturally timid and lacking in self-confidence. Perhaps they were unloved as children (just imagine that!), or bullied and brow-beaten at school. Perhaps they have been scarred by a traumatic experience. Perhaps they have been crushed by a failure or disappointment.

We might say, “But surely faith in Christ changes things?” And yes, of course it does. But even a powerful conversion experience and a solid faith don’t automatically render us immune from some of the curses of our modern world: things like depression, anxiety, burn-out and low self-esteem.

I recently heard a challenging sermon when the speaker focussed on the gentleness of Jesus as predicted by the prophet Isaiah: “He will not quarrel or cry out; no-one will hear his voice in the streets...” And then these beautiful words: “A bruised reed he will not break, and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out” (Matthew 12:19-20, quoting Isaiah 42:2-3).

Yes! Jesus is in the business of mending the bruised reed, not snapping it and tossing it in the bin; of re-igniting the stuttering candle, not pressing his thumb on it.

A question to test ourselves with: Do we instinctively turn away from the “bruised reeds” we come across - the “non-entities” and “low-achievers” - and give our attention only to those who are outwardly impressive and attractive?

May God forgive us if we do! - for we are being disloyal to the spirit of the one we profess to call “Lord”.

(Oh, and let’s never forget: it may not be long before it’s me, or you, wearing the sad badge of that man getting off the bus...)

Lord Jesus, thank you that you never stood aloof from even the least impressive of people, but loved and cared for them. Please help me to be like you. Amen.

The man who startled Jesus

When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. “Lord,” he said, “my servant lies at home paralysed, suffering terribly”... Then Jesus said to the centurion, “Go! Let it be done just as you believed it would.” And his servant was healed at that moment. Matthew 8:5-13

Last time we thought about the story of the centurion’s servant, and the puzzle of why Matthew and Luke tell the same story but with significant differences. My suggestion was that we should relax, accept that that’s just the way it is, and not waste time trying to harmonise the two accounts - presumably God is more concerned that we should learn from the basic facts of the story than that we should succeed in dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s of precisely what happened.

So - what are the basic facts of the story? What lessons can we draw?

It revolves around one of the most attractive figures we meet in the Gospels. You sometimes hear it said of someone, “I can’t speak too highly of him/her” - and those words would fit the centurion perfectly. Let me simply share how he challenges me.

For one thing, he is genuinely humble.

Though not himself a Jew, he is perfectly ready to appeal to this upstart Jewish teacher, Jesus. I don’t know what his superiors in the Roman army might have thought of that! - but it clearly doesn’t bother him. He knows his need, and is not too proud to reach out to the one person who can meet that need. Isn’t humility a beautiful thing?

So... How humble am I?

Second, he has the sensitivity to gently decline Jesus’ offer to come to his home: “I do not deserve to have you come under my roof...” Perhaps he was aware that for many Jews it would be very difficult to enter the home of a gentile, so he is keen to spare Jesus that difficulty (not, of course, that Jesus would have minded).

So... How sensitive am I to the feelings and convictions of others?

Third, he is kind and compassionate. Though the desperately sick man is merely a servant, a person of no account in the Roman world (a “living tool”), the centurion is prepared to go to all this trouble on his behalf. Luke’s account spells it out; he “valued his servant highly”. No hard taskmaster, this!

So... How kind and compassionate am I?

Fourth, his compassion isn’t just talk. Even the Jewish delegation which approaches Jesus on his behalf speaks of him in glowing terms: “This man deserves to have you do this, because he loves our nation and has built our synagogue” (Luke 7:4-5).

This unknown soldier is not only friendly-disposed towards the Jews but has, it seems, actually financed the building of a synagogue! Of how many non-Jews could that be said, I wonder!

Talk is easy, isn’t it? Fine words are - well, just that, fine. But what matters is what we do (and, of course, that isn’t only about money). During a trip to Texas some years ago we picked up the scathing criticism of useless big-mouths who are “all hat and no cattle”. That criticism couldn’t be levelled at the centurion.

So... Do my actions match my words?

Fifth, and most striking of all, his faith is wonderfully strong and simple.

“Look, Jesus,” he says (in effect), “I’m a soldier. I know about authority structures. I know how to obey orders, and I know how to give them too. And when I give an order, I know it will be obeyed. A word is enough - if I say ‘Go’, that’s it, he goes. Well, your authority is infinitely greater than mine, and your word is infinitely more powerful. So... Say the word, and my servant will be healed...” (Luke 7:6-7).

Whereupon, Luke tells us, “When Jesus heard this, he was amazed at him, and turning to the crowd... he said, ‘I have not found such great faith even in Israel’” (Luke 7:9).

That word “was amazed” could equally well be translated “marvelled” or “wondered”. Often in the Gospels we read about Jesus causing people around him to marvel. But this is something else! For a moment, Jesus himself is startled, taken completely by surprise.

How feeble and shallow is my faith in comparison with that! Oh for a childlike simplicity of faith that stops even Jesus in his tracks!

So what happens? We are told with a minimum of fuss: “Jesus said to the centurion, ‘Go! Let it be done just as you believed it would’. And his servant was healed at that moment” (Matthew 8:13).

What can we say? All I can think of is this...

Thanks be to God for this lovely man, this anonymous centurion. And thanks be to God for Jesus, who met his need - and who will one day meet the needs of everyone who reaches out to him in simple, humble, childlike faith.

Lord God, grant me the kind of faith that makes even Jesus start with amazement. Amen.

Spot the difference...

When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. “Lord,” he said, “my servant lies at home paralysed, suffering terribly”... Matthew 8:5-6

Jesus... entered Capernaum. There a centurion’s servant, whom his master valued highly, was ill and about to die. The centurion heard of Jesus and sent some elders of the Jews to him, asking him to come and heal his servant... Luke 7:1-3

Do you notice anything in particular about the two quotations above, one from Matthew and one from Luke?

It’s clear that they are telling the same story, about a Roman soldier who is desperate to get Jesus to come and heal his servant. But for some reason there are significant differences in the details of the story. (You need really to read the whole accounts given in Matthew 8:5-13 and Luke 7:1-10.)

In Matthew’s account the centurion approaches Jesus personally, and Jesus heals the servant without coming to the house. In Luke’s account the centurion approaches Jesus through a delegation of “some elders of the Jews” and the same thing happens: the servant is healed at a distance. But Jesus and the centurion never meet.

There are other passages in the Gospels where a similar thing happens - the story is basically the same, but some of the details are different, if not contradictory.

Two obvious questions arise...

First, why does this happen? And second, is it something that should trouble us, given our belief in the inspiration of the Bible?

(1) Why does this happen?

To answer this we need to put another question first: how in fact did the four Gospels come to be written in the first place?

This is something which most of us never stop to think about. And why should we? After all, we have the Gospels, and that’s what matters. If we give it any thought at all, we probably imagine Matthew, Mark, Luke and John each sitting down, praying, and proceeding to record all the things God led them to set down in writing.

But it wasn’t quite like that! Luke himself tells us at the beginning of his Gospel that “many people have undertaken to draw up an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us...” (Luke 1:1).

In other words, in those earliest days after the resurrection, various people wrote down accounts of incidents in the life of Jesus, and of his words. When the Gospel-writers set about composing their books, they presumably had access to some of these accounts and worked them into their Gospels (all, of course, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit).

It’s worth remembering that Luke wasn’t one of the twelve, so he will probably not have personally witnessed the events he records: he depended on those who were “eye-witnesses and servants of the word”, people who “handed down” the stories (Luke 1:2).

Is this what happened with the episode of the centurion’s servant? The basic story is much the same, but the differences are quite substantial. Was Matthew working from one document and Luke from another?

When historians today write their books they take great care to make sure that they have got everything just right. Anything that might seem like a contradiction or inconsistency will be pounced on mercilessly by their critics. And quite right too.

But of course it just wasn’t like that in the ancient world. Everything depended on eye-witness reports and personal memory - no recording devices, cameras, even short-hand. And as we know, two people giving eye-witness reports of the same incident - a car accident, for example, or a political event - will produce accounts which do not tally completely.

So, if this helps explain why this happens...

(2) Is this something that should trouble us?

Surely not. We should not expect the Bible to be something it never claims to be. It’s true that Luke, in those opening verses of his Gospel, insists that he has “carefully investigated everything from the beginning” (Luke 1:3); but the fact remains that the New Testament  belongs to a particular time, place and culture - so a polished, scrupulously researched, modern-style historical record was never a possibility.

It’s worth saying too, of course, that many of the seeming inconsistencies in the Bible can be resolved without too much difficulty. But where that is not the case, it’s a waste of time and energy to tie ourselves in knots trying to find some solution. (I read about a man who, desperate to harmonise the Gospel-accounts of Peter’s denial of Jesus, ended up concluding that the cock must have crowed six times.)

The message is simple... Let the Bible be - the Bible! Let it be what it is - a big, baggy, immensely varied collection of ancient documents which God has given as a gift to his church.

We are not to try and pin it down, like a butterfly in a glass case, or to strap it into a strait-jacket of our own devising.

No... Let it breathe! Let it sing! Let it fly! Let it teach and comfort, let it challenge and rebuke, let it puzzle and inspire. But let it not reduce us to fretting about things which have perplexed the church for two thousand years, and which it’s a waste of time to agonise over.

The Bible is what it is. Let’s get used to it - and be thankful!

(Perhaps next time we’ll come back to the centurion’s servant and see what really matters about the story...)

Father, thank you for your written word, the Bible. Help me day by day to take it seriously as I read and digest it. May it shape my thinking and inspire my living. And may it lead me, little by little, to become more like your living Word, the Lord Jesus Christ himself. Amen.

How to grow as a Christian

The next section [of the wall] was repaired by the men of Tekoa, but their nobles would not put their shoulders to the work under their supervisors. Nehemiah 3:5

On the face of it, Nehemiah 3 is about as dull and irrelevant a Bible passage as you could wish not to find.

The people of Judah, back from captivity in Babylon, have at last got round to the job of rebuilding the ruined walls of Jerusalem. Spurred on by their governor, Nehemiah, they have come to see that this is an urgent task, and in this chapter we are given a lot of detail about who exactly built each section of the wall.

Dull? Perhaps. But in another way it’s quite a heart-warming chapter, because it gives us a picture of co-operation: groups of people with their sleeves rolled up working side by side.

Except, that is, for one jarring note... In verse 5 we read that a particular section of the wall was “repaired by the men of Tekoa”, only then to be told “but their nobles would not put their shoulders to the work”. How sad is that!

What was wrong with these nobles of Tekoa? Were they just lazy? Or was this kind of manual work below their dignity? It’s hard to think of any other explanation. All we know is that they go down in history as petty-minded and, frankly, rather contemptible.

In church life, do you know people who are like the nobles of Tekoa? More to the point, are you - am I - one yourself? People who “don’t put their shoulders to the work”?

I think Nehemiah 3 in general, and verse 5 in particular, has two simple lessons we today need to get hold of.

First, all worthwhile church work involves whole-hearted co-operation.

Jesus gathered around him a group of followers - he didn’t walk the hillsides of Galilee alone. Paul’s letters show that he had a strong circle of friends and companions in his missionary work - no lone wolf, he. And if you want to know what the early churches were like, just riffle through Romans 16 (another “dull” chapter, basically just a string of names) and get a feel of the energy and commitment of those people. (Look out for the number of times we read about people “working hard”.)

Here’s a blindingly obvious fact that we tend to overlook: God has seen fit to gather his people into working communities. They are called “churches”, and within them we belong to one another and are answerable to one another.

A statement  which, I must confess, irritates me every time I hear it is: “I am a Christian, but I have no time for organised religion”. I want to shout, “Well, what sort of ‘religion' do you want then? Disorganised religion? DIY religion? Personal religion that makes no demands?  Religion that means you don’t have to put your shoulder to the work? Pah!” (I don’t, of course.)

Jesus didn’t found the church for fun, or on a whim. He didn’t found it so that we could look at it and say “Thanks, Jesus, for founding the church, but I think I’ll not bother with it if you don’t mind”. He does mind. The church, where we worship and serve together, and where we love and care for one another, is vital to God’s plans and purposes.

Just as the people of Judah in Nehemiah’s day were required to get stuck in to the work God had for them, so today are we. Is this something we need to do some serious thinking about? Is it time to shoulder a bit of responsibility?

Second, the person who opts out of the work also opts out of the blessing.

Here’s the good news. It is in working together that we grow and mature as Christians, and through which we experience joy and fulfilment.

I picture those mean-spirited nobles of Tekoa looking down their noses at the men (and some women - see verse 12) toiling away near them. What, I assume, they didn’t see was the comradeship that must have existed among those people - the way they encouraged one another when somebody looked tired or helped them out when they needed something.

I don’t know if what we call “banter” had a place in Hebrew culture, but I do hope so. In my experience it certainly does when Christians are working together - and it is one of the delights of Christian fellowship.

Anyone who has co-operated with others - perhaps in a special prayer session or some door-to-door evangelism, perhaps in doing the washing up or setting out chairs, perhaps in running an event or teaching a class - will know what simple, innocent  joy it can yield. I hope that includes you.

In fact, on reflection I feel rather sorry for those mean-spirited “nobles of Tekoa”, don’t you?

The message, then? Thank God for the church - and get stuck whole-heartedly into its work and ministry. You won’t regret it.

Thank you, Father, for the joy and satisfaction of working together with my fellow-Christians. Please help me to be clear about exactly where you want me to “put my shoulder to the work”. Amen.

All the lonely people

By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion... How can we sing the Lord’s songs while in a foreign land? Psalm 137:1-4

I used to know a young man who was Anglo-Indian: his father Indian, his mother English. He had lived long periods of his life in both countries. “But,” he said, “I’m never quite sure where I really belong. When I’m in India I feel an outsider, even though I was born there. And when I’m in England I sense that people view me as a foreigner.”

I find that hard to imagine. I have been extraordinarily fortunate - in seventy-plus years I have only ever lived permanently in four towns or cities, and that includes my student years. I have only ever had half-a-dozen homes; indeed, the word “home” is so obvious to me that I never really think about it. Thoroughly comfortable in my own skin, I know who I am and where I belong.

Homesickness? - yes, I have experienced that, but only during my first week as a student a mere fifty miles from home (no mobile phones in those days!), and briefly on a kibbutz in Galilee and on other short travels. So it takes a real effort of imagination to relate to someone like my Anglo-Indian friend.

Millions of people in our world are “displaced” as a result of war, injustice or sheer hopelessness at their present circumstances and future prospects. Many are genuine refugees, fleeing to the unknown for fear of the cruelties that might be done to them if they stay where they are. Often they end up in dreary camps, wretched hostels, grim holding centres.

Others, of course, have made a choice to move around the world in search of a better life, even though it may not be strictly necessary. But what right have we to judge them until we have walked in their shoes?

The people in Psalm 137 are displaced people.

It’s about 600 years before Jesus, and the powerful, cruel Babylonians - the bully-boys of the time - have taken over their beautiful and historic city of Jerusalem (or “Zion” as it was also known). They have been rounded up like cattle and dumped in camps “by the rivers of Babylon”, far, far from home.

They aren’t just homesick: despair would describe it better. Will they ever see their homeland again? Their captors make things worse by taunting them: “Come on, you like singing, don’t you? - give us one of your precious Zion songs!” But they just can’t do it - “There on the poplars we hung our harps.”

Living in Britain, I am conscious of living in one of the world’s most multi-cultural, multi-racial, multi-religious countries. I have spent most of my life in London, which sucks in people from every part of the world. How privileged I am - and of course it’s absolutely no credit to me.

Even if your experience is very different from mine, here’s a question for all of us: do we ever stop to think what it must be like for people far from home when, say, they walk into one our churches?

Yes, many may be there by choice rather than by coercion. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t lonely and sad. Lonely people don’t tend to walk around with a placard round their neck declaring “I’m a stranger a long way from home - will you talk to me?” or “You can’t imagine how much it would mean to me if you were to invite me into your home for a meal or a coffee.”

No, of course not. They come with a smile. But who can guess what might be behind that smile? - what heartache, what sheer misery.

And it’s not only people from far-off places. No, somebody may have turned up who is from Barnsley or Barnstable or Biggleswade, come to your city for work or study. Hey, it could be somebody who lives just round the corner coming along for the first time. What is it like for them?

Another question: Do I instinctively turn my face away from unknown faces, quite regardless of colour (“Oh, someone else will talk to them, and I really am very shy...”), or do I make a point of seeking them out and extending to them the love of Jesus?

Remember the words of Jesus: “I was a stranger and you did not invite me in” (Matthew 25:43). Let’s be in no doubt: that handshake, that friendly word of greeting, yes possibly that invitation to our home, may be one of the best things we will ever do.

Father, give me eyes to see the loneliness of the stranger, and compassion to befriend them. Amen.