Do people ever get on your nerves?

When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Matthew 9:36

A friend wrote recently: “There’s nothing quite like the city centre on the Friday before Christmas to make you long for the extinction of the human race...”

Ouch! Don’t worry - he’s a thoroughly nice chap really, if somewhat given to exaggeration.

And, of course, he has a point. People, especially in large numbers, can be intensely irritating. In fact, I tend to feel that a football match is probably even worse than the crowded town centre - all the cursing, swearing and ugly chanting; the selfish people who insist on standing up in front of your children so they just can’t see; the mindless passion channelled towards something that, ultimately, really just doesn’t matter. Ugh!

And then there’s the person who sits next to you on the bus eating smelly food or tormenting you with tinny earphones or loud phone calls or making no attempt to control their children. I could go on... Grrr!

Make no mistake, I’m just as annoyable as the next person; my patience can wear thin pretty quickly. (And, of course, I would never cause annoyance to others, would I?) So I have a lot of sympathy for my friend. Yes, this world would be a truly lovely place if it weren’t for all those other people.

But we have to live in it the way it is, not the way we would like it to be, so we might as well get used to it.

When I find myself feeling like my friend, I have a go-to Bible verse I try (not always successfully, I’m afraid) to bring to mind: “When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36).

Isn’t that just beautiful? - he “had compassion on them”.

That’s a striking expression: the original Greek uses a word that refers to your “gut” or even your “bowels”. There are times, when we are experiencing some high or extreme emotion, when our very stomachs seem to churn over inside us. And Matthew seems to be suggesting that that’s how it was for Jesus on that occasion (and, of course, many others too).

At Christmas we focus very much on the sheer humanness of Jesus: born as a helpless baby. This humanness didn’t end as he grew up: no, as a man he could be weary and hungry, he knew tears, pain and anguish (yes, what pain! and what anguish!).

And this means there were times he felt impatient  with people, even those he loved. His disciples could be so dense! - why couldn’t they understand? When he went off once, presumably for a bit of peace and recuperation, he seems not to have been pleased to have someone disturb him, even treating her quite sharply (Matthew 15:21-28). But, of course, he never gave way to such a mood; his tenderness and compassion were limitless.

And so on this occasion in Matthew 9, part of a preaching and teaching tour around Galilee, we can picture him viewing the crowds thronging around for words and deeds of healing, with his heart sinking. He could have felt resentment or irritation. But no, whatever his tiredness... he “had compassion on them”.

So how can we make this beautiful little verse our own?

The answer, in principle, is simplicity itself: turn it into a prayer: “Lord Jesus, help me to see these people with your eyes, to feel for them your compassion. Help me to understand that they are harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Help me to pity rather than despise them...”

If I manage to breathe such a silent prayer (sometimes I fail) I find that it makes a difference straight away; oh, the people don’t change, but I do. And isn’t that what matters most?

This world is full of lost souls. I don’t mean “lost” in the sense of “heading straight for hell” (let’s leave that judgment to the God who knows all things), but in the sense of leaderless or rudderless, like children lost in a forest.

Putting it more accurately, they do have leaders - but leaders who lead them astray; and rudders - but rudders permanently jammed in the wrong position. What hope do they have but to be shown the right way, and led to the right leader, even Jesus himself.

And whose responsibility is it to do that if not yours and mine?

Lord Jesus, you are the Good Shepherd. So... Soften my heart, Lord,/ Soften my heart. / From all indifference/ Set me apart;/ To feel your compassion,/ To weep with your tears./ Come , soften my heart, O Lord,/ Soften my heart. Amen.

(Graham Kendrick)

The peasant and the commissar

A few days ago I shared some thoughts in the aftermath of the British general election. Reflecting on the division and confusion our country had got into, I wondered if a lack of serious prayer had contributed to our sorry state. And I pointed out that praying for someone or something doesn’t necessarily mean you like them or agree with them. We pray because God tells us to do so (1Timothy 2:1-2). And that’s that.

In response my friend James, who is an expert in all things to do with Russia, sent me a story. I thought it was too good not to share, so here it is...

A Soviet Commissar came across a peasant kneeling in the fields one day.

“Get up,” he told the man.

“But, Commissar, I’m praying for the Party”.

The Commissar was unimpressed: “And I suppose that before the Revolution you prayed for the Tsar?”

“I did,” said the peasant.

“Well,” said the Commissar, “look what happened to him.”

The peasant smiled and said, “Exactly!”

Nice one! (Thanks, James.)

The message is clear: God is working his purposes out in our world, and in some way we don’t understand our prayers play a part in bringing those purposes to fulfilment.

So... just be obedient and get on with the call to pray - and let God do as he pleases with your prayers.

Nina and I are expecting that in the next few days unto us a child will be born, a grandson be given, and, given that our son may be away at sea, we may be called on to roll our sleeves up and brush off our (admittedly non-existent) midwifery skills. (Eeek!!!) So I don’t know when I will be blogging next. But until then I wish you a very happy Christmas!

A painful Christmas memory

Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquity. Psalm 51:9

A memory dredged up from my childhood years...

It’s Christmas morning. In our home our parents don’t hang up stockings; they spread our presents out on the living-room table. My brother and I - he’s two years older than me - get up early and revel in exploring it all. Our parents stand watching us, smiling and enjoying our excitement.

On this particular Christmas Day we have at last explored everything in sight. And I turn to my parents and say, “Is that all?”

To be fair to me, I’m only a small boy, and what I mean is: “Have we found everything, so that now we can get on and enjoy playing with it?” Completely innocent. But of course it doesn’t come across that way - not to my parents, anyway. It sounds as if I’m disappointed and ungrateful - almost like a reproach: “Is that all? Huh, I don’t think much of this”.

I see their faces fall, I see their smiles disappear.

What a stupid, cruel thing I have said! I know that we’re not a well-off family, and I’m vaguely aware that they must have struggled and made real sacrifices to get together as much as they did. And that question - just three tiny words - has caused them deep pain.

Oh, I know that later on, when they were alone, they will have comforted one another: “Don’t be upset. He didn’t mean it the way it sounded...!” But I don’t think they will have ever forgotten that moment, any more than I have.

I never said sorry. And now my parents have been dead for many years. If only...!

I’m sure we all know what it’s like to regret something we have said or done. If only we could bite back that careless word! If only we could undo that stupid act! And, of course, as well as the inadvertent, unwitting “sins” like mine on that occasion, there are also far worse things: the deliberate and inexcusable wrong deeds.

Well, there’s no point in living with vain regrets. What can’t be done, like “unspeaking” a word that has been spoken - well, it can’t be done, and that’s all there is to it.

But this is where the words of the psalmist can help us: “Hide your face from my sins and blot out all my iniquity.”

I love that very practical, down-to-earth expression blot out. It means that what was previously there - embarrassing, shameful - just isn’t there any more. Not that it’s covered over, like a mistake scribbled out in a note-book; no, it is actually washed away once for all. What we can never do, God can - and does. God has taken care of it.

The psalmist, of course, was unable to see this wonderful truth in the way we do today. It’s impossible, surely, for anyone who lives after rather than before the death of Jesus to interpret this verse apart from him. The passage that springs straight to my mind is Revelation 7:14, where the great crowd of people praising God before his throne have “washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb”. And it reminds us of baptism, which speaks so simply of cleansing and new life; which speaks of the past dealt with once for all.

Only God can forgive sins - and the good news is that it’s something he loves to do for all who are truly sorry - just have another look at, for example, Luke 15:1-7. And once they are forgiven, that means they are gone for ever.

But... that doesn’t mean, of course, that we should rest idly if there are situations where we can make some kind of amends for our wrong-doing, whether intended or unintended. Is there somebody in your life or mine who is entitled to an apology, even some material recompense? Let’s face facts, if we don’t do it now, the chances are that we never will.

If there is good to be done, the right time to do it is now. If there are true words to be spoken, the time to speak them is now. (Suppose I had immediately jumped in and reassured my parents...!)

How did God put right those cruel words that Christmas morning so long ago? How could he possibly “unsay” what I had said? I don’t know. But what I do know is that because of Jesus’ shed blood I need no longer live with that sense of burning regret - and I can simply commend my parents to his compassion.

May God help us all to live with a certainty of sins forgiven and the peace of a clean conscience! Amen.

Thank you, Lord God, that there is rejoicing in heaven over a single sinner who repents. Help me to live day by day with an assurance that I am forgiven - but also with a new determination to “go and sin no more”. Amen.

As the dust settles...

I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession 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. This is good, and pleases God our Saviour, who wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth. 1 Timothy 2:4

The British general election is over, and the nation is gradually digesting what this might mean.

We are a seriously divided nation - there is triumphant joy on the one hand, and incredulous disappointment on the other.

As Christians it is natural - and right - to remind ourselves that God is ultimately in control, and that what at the moment seems so earth-shattering will take on a different perspective with the passing of time. Also, to remind ourselves that God is able to bring good out of bad (and by “bad” I mean the state of our nation; I’m not making any comment about the election result).

But I think it’s specially appropriate to highlight Paul’s words to Timothy in 1 Timothy 2 - his urging that we should pray for “kings and all those in authority”.

A simple point: to pray for someone doesn’t necessarily imply approval of them or support for them. It’s simply to obey God’s word.

I had this brought home to me many years ago one Sunday when I had offered prayer in our morning service for the then prime minister. I was virtually told off afterwards by someone in the congregation: “I don’t know how you could bring yourself to pray for that man!”

How wrong could you be! How massive can a misunderstanding be! Nowhere in the Bible is there any suggestion that we should only pray for people we like! Indeed, on the contrary, surely it’s leaders that we might most strongly disagree with who need our prayers most? If they are wrong, don’t we believe that our prayers can make a difference?

Paul points out that to do this is in fact in our own best interests: “...that we may live peaceful and quiet lives...”. I don’t think he’s suggesting that we should be thinking only of ourselves: no, national and international concerns are far more important. But the fact is that when God hears the prayers of his people for the wider world, they themselves are likely to receive a blessing, if only in the form of a spin-off.

As I look back over the last couple of years I feel rather guilty: how often did I remember to pray for the nation? You may feel the same. Who knows? - if we had been more serious about prayer in the first place, our nation may not have ended up in the confusion, division and acrimony that we are presently experiencing.

Forgive me for stating the obvious, and for reiterating what many others, both Christians and non-Christians, have already said, but this is a time for Christians to be calm, peaceful, and prayerful. Jesus tells us, after all, that “blessed are the peace-makers” (Matthew 5:9).

So, let’s spell it out... if we are on the “winning” side: no gloating, but humility, respect and a desire for reconciliation. And if we are on the “losing” side: faith, graciousness, respect and dignity.

And whatever side we are on: no slanging matches (including those via social media), no recriminations or insults, no triumphalism or despair - for when we say that God is in control we are not just trotting out a cliché, but speaking the sober truth.

And most of all: a commitment to prayer, in obedience to God’s word.

Father, we pray for our nation at this time of division and anger. Out of all that is bad at the present time, please bring something  good and wholesome. Amen.

Fact and fiction at Christmas (2)

While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. Luke 2:6-7

Last time I shared my enthusiasm for a beautiful song, Stuart Townend’s “From the squalor of a borrowed stable”.

But I pointed out that that first line can in fact be challenged at each point - in all probability Jesus wasn’t born in “squalor”, he wasn’t born in a “stable”, and the place where he was born wasn’t “borrowed”. I pointed out that much of what we have been taught about the Christmas story comes not from the Bible, but from details added over the centuries by hymn-writers and preachers.

The question at the end was an obvious one: but does this actually matter? And I suggested that the answer is simple: Yes and No.

First, No it doesn’t - as long as we ensure that the essence of what we believe remains true to scripture.

The Gospel-writers (that’s just Matthew and Luke, by the way; Mark and John don’t tell the story) give us such bare details that it’s not surprising that Christian people have wanted to flesh those details out from their imaginations.

You could even say that this is a good thing, for presumably it arises from prayerful meditation on the details we are given; and what could be wrong with that?

(Indeed, it can serve as a challenge to all of us: how much time do we reckon to spend on meditating on the Bible as a whole, not just the Christmas story? Oh, we read the Bible, of course, those of us who mean business about our faith. But reading is one thing; allowing it time to sink deep into our minds and hearts can be quite another.)

So yes, let’s by all means emphasise that Jesus - God in the flesh! - was born to lowly parents and in far-from-ideal circumstances; that he was revealed first to shepherds, people who were at the bottom of society and despised by many; that he was born in a tiny backwater in Judah, not in the capital city of Jerusalem or in a palace fit for a king; that he narrowly escaped being killed by a jealous ruler... yes, let’s emphasise all this and more besides. And if that stirs our imaginations to enlarge the story to make it even more real and moving, so be it.

But second, on the other hand, let’s beware that these imaginative embellishments, however sincerely meant, can be harmful if we don’t keep them rooted in scripture.

I pointed out last time that the suggestion that the baby Jesus didn’t cry can create in our minds a misleading idea of his humanity - that in fact he wasn’t fully human after all, in spite of various things he himself said as an adult.

More generally, there is a danger that we sentimentalise the Christmas story. We end up in effect making it into a lovely fairy tale that appeals particularly to children. (I’m sure we’ve all heard people say “Oh well, Christmas is really for the children, isn’t it?” And you want to respond, “No, it’s even more for sinful men and women who have no greater need than to have their sins forgiven and be reconciled to God!”)

If we slip into a sentimental way of thinking about Christmas we are in effect buying into the whole sugary business of Santa, and robins on Christmas cards, and baubles and tinsel, and trees, and parties, and presents, and...

I knew a man once who, when Christmas was getting close, chose to wear a Santa Claus hat with a difference: it was black, not red, and it had the words “Bah! Humbug!” inscribed on the front (words which originated, I think, with Charles Dickens’ Scrooge).

All right, that’s sad, really sad. But let those of us who are Christians, even while we thoroughly enjoy the celebrations, at least keep a hold on the fact that the Christmas story is deeply serious. Why? - because it shows us our loving and merciful God acting to resolve a deeply serious problem: nothing less than the grip of sin on our lives and upon our world.

I started by sharing a song I have come to love. I can’t think of a better way to end than with the words of another song, this time from the nineteenth-century writer Phillips Brooks...

How silently, how silently,/ The wondrous gift is given!/ So God imparts to human hearts/ The blessings of his heaven./ No ear may hear his coming;/ But in this world of sin,/ Where meek souls will receive him, still/ The dear Christ enters in.

Yes! What matters at Christmas is that we receive “the dear Christ” into our lives. That may be something we did many years ago, in which case let’s do it afresh.

And if it is something you have never yet done, let me simply urge you to do it now. Jesus is waiting, longing to find a place, not in a manger, but... in your heart.

Holy Jesus, every day/ Keep us in the narrow way;/ And when earthly things are past,/ Bring our ransomed souls at last/ Where they need no star to guide,/ Where no clouds thy glory hide. Amen.         W C Dix (1837-1898)

Fact and fiction at Christmas (1)

While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. Luke 2:6-7

You know how sometimes a song or hymn gets a grip on you and just won’t let you go? Well, over the last few years that’s happened to me with Stuart Townend’s “From the squalor of a borrowed stable”.

Though it’s not strictly a Christmas carol, it’s certainly suitable for this time of year. But it takes us right through Jesus’ earthly life, and there’s a line in the second verse which always touches me deeply: “Yes, he walked my road and he felt my pain” - ten little monosyllables perfectly summing up the compassion of Jesus! A beautiful hymn.

Mind you, if you wanted to find fault with it, you need look no further than the first line. How so? Well, in all probability, (a) Jesus wasn’t born in squalor, (b) he wasn’t born in a stable, and (c) the place where he was born wasn’t “borrowed”.

Do I hear howls of rage and fury from my friends? “What on earth do you mean? We’ve loved this story since we were little children! Go away, you horrible, nasty man!”

Well, sorry, but the fact is that much of what we believe about the Christmas story comes not from the Bible, but from centuries of schmaltzy hymns and over-sentimental sermons.

For example... We sing about the “three kings”. But who says there were three? Certainly, three gifts are mentioned, but there’s no suggestion that it was one gift per king (who were actually “magi” or “wise men”, not kings). For all we know there might have been twenty of them, each of them bringing some gold, some frankincense and some myrrh.

Perhaps we sing about “the oxen standing by”. But who says there were animals present? Not Matthew or Luke. And as for the sheep, no mention of them either - they were probably left in the fields (with the one unfortunate shepherd who drew the short straw).

And as for “little Lord Jesus no crying he makes”, it’s a case of “don’t get me started”. This isn’t far off heresy. Jesus was fully human as well as fully divine. We know from later on that he could be tired and low in spirits, that he could be angry and disappointed. Perfect man, yes; but superman, no. He will have cried like any other baby (yes, and needed to have his nappy changed too).

And all that stuff about Joseph and Mary forlornly trudging the streets of Bethlehem while door after door is closed in their faces by apologetic, shoulder-shrugging inn-keepers - it’s all read into Luke 2:7, certainly not read out of it.

Kenneth Bailey was a Christian missionary and also a respected Bible scholar. He spent 40 years living in the middle east: he spoke the local languages, and his mind was soaked in the cultural customs of the people among whom he lived.

Pointing out that Joseph, the earthly father of Jesus, was a “son of David”, and that Bethlehem was “the city of David”, he says this: “In such a world a man like Joseph could have appeared in Bethlehem, and told people, ‘I am Joseph, son of Heli, son of Matthat, the son of Levi’, and most homes in the town would have been open to him.” It would have been a shocking disgrace for anybody to have closed their doors to him; it would have been an honour to accommodate him and Mary.

So what actually happened? In all probability (I stress this again, as of course it can’t be proved), Joseph and Mary had planned where they hoped to stay, but when they arrived the guest room (that’s another translation for the “inn”) at the back of the house had been let out to another family (no mobile phones, of course, so the house-owner can’t be blamed for thinking that perhaps Joseph and Mary weren’t going to make it after all).

But rather than turn them away, he cleared a space on the ground floor of his simple open-plan house, the space where, during the night, the animals would be accommodated. No doubt they could be temporarily put elsewhere.

There, using a comfortable manger as a make-shift crib, complete with clean straw, and surrounded by local women (how could they not want to do all they could to help!), Mary gave birth to Jesus.

Squalor? No. Stable? Probably not. Borrowed? No, but quite likely planned and paid for, even if perhaps the rent was reduced because the accommodation given wasn’t as good as the proper guest room.

That’s the way Bailey reconstructs the events of that momentous time. (And he’s no solo voice, by the way - many other experts go along with him.)

But you might ask: Does it actually matter? To which the answer is very simple: Yes and No. But I’ll have to come back to that next time...

(Oh, by the way, Santa Claus doesn’t exist either. Just in case...)

Heavenly Father, please help me this Christmas-time to see the wonderful events surrounding the birth of Jesus with fresh eyes, and so to worship you with fresh joy, hope and faith. Amen.

From darkness to light

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life”. John 8:12

The city [of God] does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp. Revelation 21:23

This morning I forgot to take a torch on my walk to buy the paper. Part of the route is through a little patch of unlit woodland, and for a few hundred yards during these winter weeks at about 6.30, that little torch-beam is important! All right, I made it, of course (I pretty well know the path by heart), but it wasn’t easy. I needed that light!

Light... What a perfect image this is for Jesus!

Physical light is essential for life on earth. Just imagine, if you can, that one day the sun simply stopped shining. Imagine permanent darkness. Very quickly, of course, we would die, and the planet on which we live would cease to function. No wonder the first thing God spoke into creation was light: “And God said, ‘Let there be light’” (Genesis 1:3).

And so it is with spiritual light. Without the light of the God who made us we are spiritually dead; we blunder about in darkness, hurting ourselves, those around us, and the very world on which we depend. Darkness, ultimately, means death.

This is why the verses I have quoted are so powerful and precious. The first is a statement, the second contains both a claim and a promise, the third is a prophecy. Just pondering them for a few moments can give you a whole new angle on life.

I want to ask two questions...

First, what form does spiritual darkness take?

The basic answer is that grim little word: sin. As a race we human beings are separated from God by our rebellion and wrong-doing: we are sinful. And there is nothing we can do to help ourselves - we depend completely on the kindness and mercy of God.

This is where the statement of John 1:5 comes in. God has never completely withdrawn his light from us; it continues to “shine in the darkness”. And above all, this is where the extraordinary claim of John 8:12 comes in: Jesus said, “I am the light of the world”.

All of which means that we don’t need to stumble and flounder in the dark. Infinitely better than the light any torch offers us is the light of Jesus, almighty God in human form.

As you look at your life, do you feel that, in truth, you are blundering around in moral and spiritual darkness? - wrong decisions? wrong priorities? wrong relationships? wrong motives and thoughts? I invite you to turn to Jesus and ask him to shine his light on you, indeed, to put his light within you. If you do that, you will start to prove the truth of his promise: you will “never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life”.

That doesn’t mean that from now on everything will be easy; indeed, there will be times you feel as if you are groping in the dark again. But the light of Jesus will never be snuffed out, and you will come through if you cling to him. And so the day will come when you will be part of that prophecy in Revelation 21: you (yes, you!) will stand in the city where “the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp”.

To sum up: The darkness of sin is eclipsed by the light of Jesus.

My second question is this: once we have entered into the light of Jesus, what are we to do with it?

Very quickly I suggest three answers...

First, enjoy it.

Yes, God wants us to enjoy him! And we do this by trusting ourselves to him day by day and living in the light of his presence. Followers of Jesus should be essentially happy people: their sins are forgiven, they are at peace with God, and he himself lives inside them through his Holy Spirit. There’s a lot to be happy about there, and plenty more besides.

Can you say you enjoy God?

Second, reflect it.

As the moon (just a big lump of rock, so I’m told) reflects the light of the sun, so God’s people reflect the light of Jesus. This can be summed up in a single word: holiness. Christ’s people are, or should be, Christlike people. Not yet sinless, it’s true, but on the way: growing daily in purity and goodness, and standing out as models of humility, truthfulness, cleanness of character, and divine love in our dark world.

Remember that as well as claiming “I am the light of the world”, Jesus also told his disciples, “You are the light of the world” (Matthew 5:14).

Can you say your chief ambition in life is to be Christlike?

Third, share it.

All around us people flounder in the darkness - ours is the privilege of leading them to the light. We can do many things for our families, friends and neighbours - and so we should; but nothing remotely as precious as this!

As we have, by God’s grace, come out of the darkness and into the light, let’s invite others to do the same.

Lord God, thank you for the perfect, pure light of Jesus. Enable me, by your Holy Spirit, to enjoy it, to reflect it, and to share it. Amen.

Tell the story!

But he [the landowner] answered one of them [the workers], “I am not being unfair to you, friend. Didn’t you agree to work for a denarius? Take your pay and go. I want to give the one who was hired last the same as I gave you. Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?” Matthew 20:13-15

Jesus told a story that would have a modern-day trade unionist frothing at the mouth. (See the whole passage: Matthew 20:1-16.)

A landowner hiring men to work in his vineyard agrees to pay them a denarius, which was pretty much the going rate for a day’s labour. Fair enough. But as the day goes on he hires others at different intervals and agrees to pay them “whatever is right”. Again, fair enough.

But a problem arises when the time comes to give out the pay packets - everybody receives a denarius, including those who had done only an hour’s work.

Understandably, the men who have slogged their way through the whole day are not best pleased, to put it mildly. But the landowner insists that they have received what was agreed, so what right do they have to grumble? - “Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?”

Let’s be in no doubt: in terms of employment practice the landowner’s behaviour is outrageous. But of course Jesus didn’t tell this story in order to say anything about such practices (certainly not to commend them).

No. He told this story to teach a lesson about God. And the lesson in question can be summed up in a single word: grace.

The key point is not that the landowner is unjust to those he first hired (he isn’t); but that he is generous to those who came later. And grace is, in essence, God’s wonderful generosity towards those who least deserve it.

Can you imagine a lifelong Christian - a person who has borne the heat and burden of the day, who has acquired the scars of battle in the spiritual warfare, who has given sacrificially of time, money, energy and gifts in the service of Christ - can you imagine such a person feeling resentment towards someone who has lived a wicked, idle life but who then turns to Christ on their death-bed? Of course not! They would, rather, rejoice. They would understand the meaning of grace - and the fact that we all depend on it.

Isn’t that the point of Jesus’ story?

But (if I may digress) a question arises: If this really is what Jesus was getting at, why didn’t he simply preach a sermon on the subject of God’s grace? Why tell a story which is likely to raise the hackles of any fair-minded reader?

Answer: because a thought-provoking story is often the best way to breach the wall of somebody’s mind. A straight sermon might have that effect, it’s true. But equally likely the listener might just say “Yes, that’s interesting, I must think it over some time”, and then forget all about it.

There’s a serious lesson here for those of us who preach. I’m not saying, of course, that doctrinal preaching is unimportant; not at all! But given that Jesus was obviously a great story-teller - think the prodigal son, the good Samaritan, the sower, the lost sheep, think a host of others - why do so many of us (I include myself) treat these stories simply as quarries from which we can mine “teaching” or “doctrine”?

And it’s not just the stories Jesus told - it’s also the stories about him - think the stilling of the storm, the healing of people with leprosy, the raising of Lazarus, the way he welcomed the children and hobnobbed with sinners.

And it’s about Bible-stories in general. I sat once listening to a man preach from a quite difficult and little-known Old Testament story. He drew from it a number of probably quite good doctrinal points (I can’t remember now), but at no point did he actually re-tell the story or attempt to bring it alive - a story which, I suspect, only a handful in the congregation knew, if that.

Glancing around it was obvious that most people were just sitting with glazed eyes, completely switched off. They didn’t have a clue what he was going on about, and had given up trying. And I sat there, screaming (in my mind), “Tell us the story! Please! Tell us the story!”

Back to “grace”!... It’s a great Bible word. But in our modern world it suffers from having a slightly technical feel to it - either it means something “religious” that most people don’t understand, or, for some (mainly older) people, it’s just a prayer you offer before a meal.

So (and again I’m addressing my fellow-preachers here) next time we feel led to preach about the amazing grace of God, why not - before we draw out the various doctrinal points - look for a vivid, dramatic story that is calculated to make our hearers sit up and take notice?

If not Matthew 20:1-16, I think the prodigal son would do, don’t you? With grumpy big brother in the role of the early-start workers here...

Lord God, thank you that because we are all sinners we are all equal in your sight, all totally dependent on your amazing grace. Help me day by day to delight in your forgiveness and mercy, and to delight also in sharing this truth with others, whoever they might be. Amen.