Reflections on a family of geese

A cheerful heart is good medicine. Proverbs 17:22

Somebody posted a lovely Facebook video today. It showed a family of geese – mummy-goose, daddy-goose and a line of half a dozen fluffy little mini-gooses (whatever they’re called) holding up traffic in a busy south London suburb.

The police were out: at least one patrol car and a couple of motor-bikes. The officers did their valiant best to shepherd the geese off the road and onto some safe grassy spot. They didn’t have an easy time: daddy-goose in particular had a clear mind of his own, and the officer dealing with him had to make a couple of sharp backward steps to avoid a painful nip in the leg. I suspect the police would have been more at ease chasing a bunch of criminals.

But people walking by thought it was very funny (as did I) and even passing drivers didn’t seem to object to being held up. Everyone was smiling. (And yes, the police were smiling too.)

I thought: it’s good to have something to smile about, especially in these rather solemn days we’re living through. Whereupon what popped into my mind? Answer: Proverbs 17:22, a verse that I think a modern psychologist would heartily agree with: “A cheerful heart is good medicine…” Yes indeed, that cheering little drama did us good.

That led me to the obvious question: How cheerful a heart do I have, not just for a few minutes during a health crisis when something delightful happens, but in more normal times as well?

I’m not forgetting that there are times when cheerfulness of heart is a genuine impossibility, times when tears of sorrow are natural, right and indeed healthy. Shallow, forced good-humour is not expected of even the most devout Christian; Jesus was never afraid, or ashamed, to weep.

But I think we make a mistake if we assume that our day-to-day mood is not something, generally speaking, that we can actually control. Much of the time we can choose to be grumpy, or choose to be blithesome (if I may fish a beautiful word out of the past).

We all know the lift we feel when a particular individual comes into the room. They don’t necessarily come in cracking jokes, but you know that the whole atmosphere is going to lighten up a notch just because they are there.

And so the challenge again: am I that kind of person? Or do I make excuses for myself, claiming that it’s “just my temperament”, “just the way I happen to be”, that makes me a bit of a grump? Let none of us say that we can’t change! With God, after all, all things are possible.

But… wait a minute! All this may be well and good, but isn’t there something deeper that can be said about a cheerful heart? I think there is.

You sometimes hear it said that there are people who are “comfortable in their own skins”. By which is meant: they are inwardly at peace, not always striving for things beyond their reach, not ambitious in an unrealistic or wrong way, not unhealthily “driven”. I think it’s people like that who come across as being cheerful-hearted.

And this is why we as Christians can cultivate a cheerful heart.

When we first put our trust in Christ our sins are forgiven, we are reconciled to God as our Father, we receive the gift of the Holy Spirit – the Spirit of peace – and we are incorporated into God’s family. Since then, little by little, we are being remade to become the people we were originally intended to be. And so, in a quiet and gentle way, we can’t help but be cheerful.

To put it in a single sentence: when you come to Christ you find your true identity; you become the real you, no longer the you who is at odds with yourself, with the world and with God.

The Anglican prayer-book says that to be a servant of God is “true freedom”, which of course seems nonsense: how can you be both a servant and free? But it’s true. And in the same way, when we lose our identity in Christ, we in fact find our true identity.

That is the way of inner peace and a cheerful heart, with or without a family of geese to help us along. Is it the way you have found, the way you are walking? Why not start today?

Jesus take me as I am,/ I can come no other way./ Take me deeper into You,/ Make my flesh life melt away./ Make me like a precious stone,/ Crystal clear and finely honed,/ Life of Jesus shining through,/ Giving glory back to you. Amen.

By Dave Bryant.

When people go off the rails

When Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood condemned. For before certain men came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles. But when they arrived, he began to draw back and separate himself from the Gentiles because he was afraid of those who belonged to the circumcision group. The other Jews joined him in his hypocrisy, so that by their hypocrisy even Barnabas was led astray. Galatians 2:11-13

One of the challenges of church life is the way trends come and go. You have to think about things you had never even dreamed of a year before, because they have become popular in certain circles and are causing confusion. You have to ask yourself: is this trend from the Holy Spirit? – or is it just a passing fad?

I have been a Christian long enough to remember the birth of what became known as the charismatic movement, with its emphasis on the person and gifts of the Holy Spirit – that certainly shook a few foundations in its early days! Then there was what became known as Christian Zionism, a teaching that put the nation of Israel in the spotlight. I remember too what was virtually a craze, that no service or meeting was complete if it didn’t include people falling over, trance-like, supposedly “slain in the Spirit”. Not to mention the “prosperity gospel” and various other movements.

Some time ago I heard of an old friend – I’ll call him Pete – who had headed off down a track which, I felt, was dubious to say the least. I remember shaking my head in disbelief: “What, Pete? Good, solid, reliable Pete? I find that very hard to believe!” But so it was.

You may have had similar experiences…

Writing to the churches in Galatia that he and Barnabas had founded, Paul got embroiled in a major crisis. There isn’t space to go into all the unhappy details here – suffice to say that certain Christian teachers had come to Galatia and were spreading what Paul believed was a “different gospel” (Galatians 1:6) to the one he and Barnabas had taught.

It was threatening a split in the church, for it meant that Christians from a Jewish background were being asked not to share meals with Christians from a Gentile background – which, as far as Paul and Barnabas were concerned, was an absolute outrage, a denial of the true gospel, that all believers in Jesus are one body in him.

Paul is scandalised that “Cephas” (Simon Peter) – the man appointed by Jesus as the human head of the church, no less! – had gone along with this wrong teaching (Galatians 2:11). But what was particularly painful for him was that “even Barnabas” had done so (2:13).

Note that sad, puzzled, anguished “even”. Like me and my friend Pete, surely not Barnabas!

Barnabas, it was you who welcomed me into the church in Jerusalem when nobody else wanted to know me (Acts 9:27)! It was you who came looking for me in Tarsus so that we could check on the exciting things going on in the church at Antioch (Acts 11:19-26)! It was you who made me your number two on that pioneer missionary journey we shared (Acts 13 and 14)! It was you who supported me at the big conference in Jerusalem – remember, when we got the leaders of the church to see that Gentiles don’t have to become Jews in order to follow Jesus (Acts 15)!

And now – this! Oh Barnabas, Barnabas, what has happened to you?

Why retell this story?

Well, if nothing else, it reminds us that the early church was anything but perfect or trouble-free. Far from it! Indeed, this wasn’t the only time Paul and Barnabas had a major falling out. For their second missionary journey Barnabas wanted to take his nephew John Mark with them again, even though he had let them down the first time. But Paul said a very firm No. There was a “sharp disagreement” between them (Acts 15:39), so much so that they actually went separate ways.

The early church was certainly not always a harmonious, united community. And that, I think, can be an encouragement to us when we experience similar things in church life today. None of us are right in every respect. We can all get things wrong. We can all be taken in by wrong ideas that are doing the rounds.

We aren’t told how the relationship between Paul and Barnabas developed, but the impression we get is that they remained in fellowship as time went on. Certainly, however shocked Paul was with the behaviour of Barnabas (and Peter of course), he never regarded him as anything but a true fellow-Christian.

And so we are reminded that our duty is always to love one another, and to look – and pray – for agreement and reconciliation.

In church last Sunday our pastor preached about the wretched failure of Simon Peter in denying Jesus before the crucifixion – and how the risen Jesus tenderly and lovingly restored him (John 21:15-24). A wonderful illustration of our responsibility to show love and compassion – even to those we fear have gone off the rails.

(Come to think of it, if Barnabas could go off the rails – and Simon Peter – and even my friend Pete – I suppose it’s not impossible that you or I could too, is it…?)

Dear Father, thank you that your word is so honest in depicting the frailties and failings of the first Christians. Please use the church to which I belong, in spite of its errors and weaknesses – and please use me to, in spite of mine. Amen.

Life on hold? No!

Mordecai said to Esther: “Who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” Esther 4:14

“I just want to get on with my life!… It’s so frustrating when everything’s on hold…”

Have you found yourself saying – or just thinking – something like that recently? I’m referring to the coronavirus pandemic, of course. Quite apart from the great sadness of premature and unexpected deaths, and all the fear and uncertainty, it’s just so frustrating. Oh to get back to normal!

I certainly find myself thinking this way. But then I know I must take myself in hand… No! The idea that life is “on hold”, as if someone has pressed the pause button and all we can do is sit and wait for things to start running again, is wrong. It’s as if life – real life – consists of just two parts: there’s the stuff I have to do simply in order to keep going – work, earning a living, looking after home and family, and all the normal everyday chores and duties; and there’s the stuff I like to do for leisure and enjoyment. Anything else is an intrusion, an interference that I am entitled to resent.

But no. We have never been promised an easy ride, and in reality anything that life, for whatever reason, throws at us, is still part and parcel of life as a whole.

If we are Christians we believe that our lives are in the hands of the God who is our loving heavenly Father. And this means that whatever happens to us will one day be woven into a bigger, wider picture which at the moment is hidden from us. And this, in turn, means that it is our responsibility to view these things, however unwelcome, in as positive a light as we possibly can. As the saying goes: every problem is an opportunity if only we can see it right.

Esther was an ordinary Jewish girl. She lived among her people under Persian domination nearly 500 years before Christ. We don’t know what life was like for the Jews at that time, but there are indications that it wasn’t too bad.

But a crisis arose. Xerxes, the king, fell out with his queen, Vashti, and decided to replace her. Esther, who was exceptionally beautiful, ended up being chosen as the new queen. Xerxes wasn’t aware she was Jewish – but a top official called Haman was, and he had a bitter grudge against the Jews. Especially, he hated Esther’s older male cousin and guardian Mordecai, who had acted to scotch a plot on Xerxes’ life. Cutting the story short, Haman poisoned Xerxes’ mind against the Jews – and got him to sign a decree that all the Jews were to be “destroyed, killed and annihilated” (Esther 3:13).

If we think the present pandemic is bad (and it certainly is), imagine how this news must have terrified the Jewish people.

But Mordecai has an idea: he tells Esther that, even though it might cost her her life (and that was a real possibility: this kind of marriage didn’t have much to do with love), she must go to the king, expose what Haman is up to, and plead for the decree to be overturned.

In case Esther is reluctant, Mordecai points out that if she does nothing she will die anyway with the rest of her people, so she might as well take the risk. And then he produces his clinching argument: “And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?”

As if to say, “Esther, it’s no coincidence that you were gifted with great beauty… that Vashti fell out of the king’s favour at just the point she did… that I was around at a time to do King Xerxes a significant service… that you now are in prime position to bring about the rescue of your people… No! God’s hand is in this… and, Esther, he has a job for you to do”.

Is it ridiculous to compare a threatened mass slaughter in the ancient world with a horrible virus threatening the lives of millions today? I don’t think so.

True, none of us can do anything remotely as dramatic as what Esther was able to do. But in principle there is no difference; we too have our role to play; we’re not marking time; God has a purpose for us too.

Shakespeare’s Hamlet told his friend Horatio: “… there’s a divinity that shapes our ends,/ Rough-hew them how we will…” Yes! And that “divinity” is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.

So our business is not to wait in frustration, drumming our fingers and wanting  to “get on with our lives”, but to ask him: “Lord, what do you want me to do? You have blessed me greatly. Now, how can I myself be a blessing to others? Please show me what good I can do, however slight it may seem”.

And then get on and do it.

Loving Father, I don’t want to treat these difficult days as just an interruption in my “normal” life. No, I want to use them as fully as I can for the good of others and for your glory. Please show me how. Amen.

Be on the look-out!

No one should seek their own good, but the good of others. 1 Corinthians 10:24

It’s natural to be self-centred.

I don’t mean that in a critical sense; no, self-centredness is a fact of life, and basically neutral. You get up in the morning and of course you think about what the day might hold for you – what responsibilities you have to fulfil, what difficulties you might need to grapple with, what pleasures you might hope to enjoy. That’s the way life is, and there’s nothing wrong with it.

The trouble is when that natural focus is all we ever have – it’s me, me, me all the time. And that is why it’s a good mental exercise each day to ask ourselves the question: What should my priorities be today? Do I need to consciously open my eyes wider to ensure that I see my “me-life” in a wider perspective?

Tragically, it’s possible to lose the ability to actually see other people at all. Oh yes, they’re around me, of course – some of them in fact are helpful and useful (though others, if I’m to be honest, are a bit of a pest).

But do I treat them essentially as items of scenery on the stage where I, of course, am by far the most important actor? Do I notice them as my fellow men and women, or just take them for granted as necessary props?

The twelve words in the verse above are wonderfully simple – but also completely revolutionary if we dare to take them seriously.

In the original context Paul is talking about differences of opinion (and there were plenty of those!) in the church at Corinth, focussing mainly on scruples about food. But his plain words – “No one should seek their own good, but the good of others” – are also of far wider application. They mean nothing less than this: every person we ever come across – whether somebody in desperate need, or a casual acquaintance with a bit of a problem – has a claim on our loving concern.

Paul’s words are really another way of expressing Jesus’ command: “Love one another” and, even more, “Love your enemies” – a command beautifully illustrated in the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37).

The little word “seek” is important. Why? Because it suggests something purposeful and deliberate – to seek something is different from just happening to come across it. Some of the Bible versions translate it as “look out for”, which I think is even better. The point is that we don’t need to seek our own good, because that’s something we do automatically. But when it comes to other people, that’s a different matter. We need to be consciously “on the look-out” for ways of doing good to others. Eyes wide open!

A supermarket check-out worker sadly said, “People just don’t see us as people – we might just as well be mechanical robots”. What applies in that most humdrum of settings applies in untold numbers of others too.

Do we, then, need to completely reboot our attitude towards other people? How’s that for a thought to chew on today?

It’s true that there is a danger here: Could such an attitude turn us into busy-bodies? C S Lewis wrote somewhere about people who insist on doing good to others: he said (I’m quoting from memory here), “Yes, and you know who the others are by the hunted look on their faces”. “Do-gooders” are among the most despised and disliked of people.

Obviously that’s far from what Paul intends – or Jesus, come to that. Indeed, Jesus explicitly warns against it: “Be careful not to practise your righteousness in front of others, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven. So when you give to the needy, do not announce it with trumpets, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and on the streets, to be honoured by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you” (Matthew 6:1-4).

I love that expression, “do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing”. Truly good deeds are done with discretion and sensitivity, and, if at all possible, in complete secrecy. As the Anglican prayer book puts it: “We ask for no reward, save that of knowing that we do your will”.

So back to the question I asked earlier: Do we need to reboot our attitude to other people? – to make up our minds to consciously look out for their good before our own? What a different world this would be if we all did so. There’s plenty of scope for it! – and not just because we’re in the throes of a health crisis.

Lord Jesus, you “made yourself nothing”, giving your life for others – and that includes me. So help me day by day to see the needs of others before my own, and to respond with sensitivity and love. Amen.

How can I abide in Christ?

Jesus said: “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit… Abide in me, as I also abide in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:1-5

A group of us recently were thinking about John 15, where Jesus compares himself to a “vine” and describes his disciples as his “branches”. Just as a vine-branch has to remain attached to the vine, so we have to “abide” or “remain” in Jesus.

The basic meaning of Jesus’ metaphor is clear enough: if we fail to abide in him we will become spiritually dried up and barren. We may appear outwardly to be Christians, but it will be nothing but show.

No problem there. But then the question arose: What does it actually mean to “abide in Jesus”? What might abiding in him look like? Even more: how can I know if I am abiding in him?

Good questions, all of them.

We agreed that, at heart, it’s all about a deep personal relationship with Jesus. What else is Christianity about if not that? But when we tried to put our fingers on it a little more precisely we found it wasn’t entirely easy to pin it down. Thinking about it later, it struck me that perhaps we had made rather heavy weather of what is in reality a fairly straightforward matter.

I found myself wondering if we had allowed that word “remain” or “abide” to smuggle into our minds a sense that is too static. By which I mean: if you abide or remain somewhere you aren’t moving. And so we can make the mistake of thinking that “abiding in Christ” is mainly about simply being quiet and still in his presence – very much a “spiritual” thing, what some Christians might even call “mystical”.

The classic model for this is Mary of Bethany. In Luke 10:38-42 we read how she and her sister Martha gave hospitality to Jesus – and how tension arose because, while Martha was busy being a good hostess, Mary “sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he said”. Which Martha didn’t like very much! (And, of course, Jesus defended Mary; she had “chosen the better part”.)

And so we found ourselves talking about how difficult it is, in the context of desperately busy lives and constantly distracted minds, to just sit quietly at Jesus’ feet – as if that is the essence of “abiding in him”.

Please don’t get me wrong. There is certainly a place – a vital place – in our lives for doing exactly that. Indeed, one of my own favourite songs captures this well: To be in your presence,/ To sit at your feet,/ Where your love surrounds me,/ And makes me complete./ This is my desire, O Lord,/ This is my desire… Amen to that!

But while this is true, I wonder if in fact Jesus meant something much more “ordinary” (if I can use such a word). Putting it simply: to abide in Jesus is nothing other than to trust, love and obey him minute by minute and day by day. And that is something we can do – indeed, something we should do – even when we are not consciously thinking about him.

Marriage provides a helpful analogy. In a good marriage husband and wife love one another all the time, not just when they’re together or when they’re thinking of one another. Certainly, there will be – there must be – times of special closeness and intimacy. But a large part of a marriage relationship belongs in the context of busyness, tiredness, sheer drab day-to-day routine: marital love isn’t “switched off” during such periods of life.

And so it is with us and Christ. Abiding in him is (if I can use an expression from science which I don’t claim to understand) a “steady state”; it’s not an occasional activity. You may be a nurse run off your feet, unable to think of anything other than your next patient; but you’re still abiding in Christ. Or you may be a harassed parent caring for demanding children; but you’re still abiding in Christ.

We need to beware of becoming spiritual navel-gazers, always worrying if we are “doing well enough”. Or, changing the analogy again, becoming spiritual hypochondriacs who are constantly taking our temperatures to check that we really do love Jesus. Introspection is always a risk for the seriously-minded Christian.

A day will come when we will see Jesus face to face – and then, don’t worry, there will be ample opportunity to bask in his presence! Until that day comes, our call is just to roll up our sleeves and get on with the nitty-gritty business of living this wonderful Christian life.

You want to be sure you’re “abiding in Christ”? I suggest four simple elements: trust him; love him; obey him; enjoy him.

That should do it!

Lord Jesus, thank you for inviting me to abide in you. Thank you that this is a twenty-four-seven state, even when I’m tired and busy and feeling anything but spiritual, not an activity I focus on from time to time. So please make me fruitful in every situation in my everyday life. Amen.

Prejudice

Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote – Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.” “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked. “Come and see,” said Philip. John 1:45-46

Are you ever guilty of prejudice?

We probably react with indignation to that question – “Who, me? Not at all!” But we’re almost certainly fooling ourselves. If by prejudice we mean making up our minds about something, or someone, before we’ve really learned anything about them, then I’m afraid most if not all of us are guilty.

The trouble is that prejudice is often an unconscious thing – you might pass a complete stranger in the street, and something about the way they look, or the way they’re dressed, perhaps even the way they walk, causes you to look down on them, to pass some kind of judgment on them. You can’t quite put your finger on what it is, but – sorry, that’s that.

It’s sad, because if you had met that person under different circumstances – perhaps introduced by a friend – they might have become a friend as well.

Some forms of prejudice are glaringly obvious – race, skin colour, social class, religion, politics, personal appearance, you name it. But we still like to insist – “Oh no, not me!”

I think that perhaps Nathanael should be regarded as the patron saint of prejudiced people. We don’t meet him much in the Gospels, but here he is in John 1.

It’s right at the start of Jesus’ ministry, and he’s beginning to gain a reputation. The fishermen brothers Simon Peter and Andrew have discovered him and soon Philip follows suit. I imagine him, radiating excitement, bouncing up to his friend Nathanael: “Listen, we have found the man foretold by Moses and the prophets! – it’s Jesus, from Nazareth!”

At which Nathanael sniffs and replies: “Nazareth? That’s a bit of a dump, isn’t it? I’ve never heard of anything good coming from there…”

He had a point. In the whole Old Testament, when there are prophecies of the one who will be sent by God to be Israel’s king and saviour, Nazareth never so much as gets a mention. So what is there to get excited about, Philip?

But how wrong can you be…!

Yes, he had a point. But couldn’t he have said, “Nazareth? Are you serious? I really find that very surprising. But never mind – tell me more…” Would that have been so hard?

Sadly, it’s in the area of “religion” that prejudice often rears its most ugly head. As Christians we should certainly be people of strong convictions – what, otherwise, is the point of being Christians at all? But – be careful! For the stronger our convictions are the more likely we are to feel that we’ve got it all right and anybody who doesn’t agree with us is therefore wrong.

Listen to them? Why should we bother? See if there’s anything we can learn from them? No way! OK, we’ll be polite and courteous, of course; but don’t expect anything more than that.

(And beneath that layer of courtesy, could there be a tinge of smugness and complacency?)

Another way to ask the question about prejudice is “How open is my mind? Am I prepared to sit down and think – really think – about opinions I instinctively feel uncomfortable with?” Yes, I may still end up rejecting them; but at least I will have gained some idea what I’m rejecting, and why.

People who live with prejudices become increasingly crabbed and mean-spirited; a mind barred and bolted against other ideas is a recipe for pettiness. The poet William Blake wrote: “A man who never alters his opinion is like standing water, and breeds reptiles of the mind”. Ouch…! I don’t like the sound of that! How many slimy reptiles have I got crawling around in my mind?

I suspect there are two main reasons we allow our opinions to be dictated by prejudice.

The first is laziness. We just can’t be bothered to turn our minds from the trivial things that pre-occupy us in order to give ourselves a much-needed mental spring-clean. As someone once put it: “Don’t bother me with the facts – I’m perfectly happy with my prejudices”.

The second is fear. If I change my mind on something – why, I might have to change my way of life! I might have to wave goodbye to some of the things I’m cosy and comfortable with. Who wants to move out of their “comfort zone”?

Ah, but what liberation and refreshment is waiting for us if we do!

It wouldn’t be fair to leave Nathanael in his Mr Grumpy-don’t-talk-to-me-about-Nazareth mode, for that isn’t how the story ends…

“Come and see” said Philip. And, to do him credit, that’s exactly what he did. And what do we read next…? “Nathanael declared, ‘Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the king of Israel!’”

If only we were all as quick and ready to discard our prejudices!

Father God, grant me a generous spirit, an open mind, and a deep love of Jesus. Amen.

An after-thought… Let me confess to a little prejudice of mine, and share the pleasure that ditching it has brought me.

Throughout many years I have hardly ever watched Songs of Praise on BBC television. Admittedly, my Sunday pattern – two services to lead, two sermons to preach – hasn’t exactly made it possible. But there was prejudice too. Songs of Praise, as far as I was concerned, was fusty and traditional – religiosity rather than true Christianity.

But just recently, with the coronavirus, Sundays have of course changed radically. After “meeting” with my fellow church members for our online service – well, there’s still a lot of Sunday left! So why not spend half-an-hour with Songs of Praise?

We’re glad we did. No, not everything is quite to our taste. But never mind! Some great singing! Songs and hymns old and new! Traditional church music and rock bands! And stories – stories of lives changed and things achieved in Jesus’ name.

Sunday lunch these days goes down with a nice helping of humble pie. If you haven’t tried it, may I suggest you give it a try?

Putting death in its place

Death, be not proud

John Donne lived from 1572-1631, a contemporary of Shakespeare, and is reckoned to be one of the greatest poets in the English language. He was also a Church of England clergyman and (though he sowed a wild oat or two in his young days) several of his poems (the “Holy Sonnets”) demonstrate very clearly his strong Christian faith. “Death be not proud” is one of them; it has long been a favourite of mine, and I felt I would like to share it with you this Easter Sunday.

One problem with poetry, of course, is that it doesn’t always yield up its meaning easily, and this is especially the case when the language is 400 years old. So I’ve put the full text of the poem in bold print, and added a pretty rough-and-ready paraphrase in the hope of making the basic meaning clear. (Please don’t feel insulted if you know the poem!)

I suggest that, once you’ve got the meaning clear, you might like to read it straight through out loud. Donne is speaking directly to death – in fact, he is flinging contempt and defiance its face. So when you get to the last four words, don’t forget to shout them out good and loud!

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

Death, you can wipe that arrogant smirk off your face. Yes, men and women have often called you mighty and dreadful, but in fact you are nothing of the kind!

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

For those people who you think you destroy don’t in fact die – poor death! – and you can’t kill me either!

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.

We get great benefit from rest and sleep – which are like imitations of you. How much more benefit will we get, then, from you yourself! The very best of people go in the end to you – and that is then a rest for their bodies and a deliverance for their souls.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

You’re nothing but a lackey! – a servant to fate, chance, political ambition and human violence. You work through poison, war, sickness, but we can find sleep through drugs and tablets – in fact better sleep than what you offer us! So what have you got to be so proud about?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

We simply have to pass into one little sleep, and then we wake for evermore and death shall be no more. Death, you shall die!

Donne doesn’t actually mention the resurrection of Jesus, but it’s on that event – the event we as Christians celebrate today – that his faith rests.

Christianity is totally honest about death. In 1 Corinthians 15 Paul glories in Jesus’ victory over the grave, but that doesn’t stop him referring to death as an “enemy”: “The last enemy to be destroyed is death” (verse 26). And he comes to the climax of this great chapter with an exclamation of praise and wonder: “Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?… Thanks be to God! He gives to us the victory through out Lord Jesus Christ” (verse 54-57).

Yes, death remains an enemy – and we are particularly conscious of it at the very difficult time we are passing through at the moment. But victory over it is promised. That was the faith of the early Christians – and of John Donne – and of untold millions of believers in Jesus down the centuries.

I pray it will also be your faith and mine.

Thine be the glory, risen, conquering Son,/ Endless is the victory Thou o’er death hast one. Lord Jesus, thank you for the hope you give us. May it comfort and sustain us especially through these difficult days, and may it bring us to that day when we will see you face to face. Amen.

Pilate's wife

While Pilate was sitting on the judge’s seat, his wife sent him this message: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man, for I have suffered a great deal in a dream because of him.” But the chief priests and the elders persuaded the crowd to ask for Barabbas and to have Jesus executed. Matthew 27:19-20

Only Matthew tells us about Pilate’s wife. Not Mark, not Luke, not John. He devotes precisely one verse of his Gospel to her, though without mentioning her name.

Pontius Pilate was the Roman governor of Judea, and it fell to him to conduct Jesus’ trial on that first Good Friday. It was while he was doing this that he received a message from his wife: “Don’t have anything to do with that innocent man!” And why not? “Because I’ve had a dream about him today, and it’s giving me a really bad time…”

Wouldn’t we love to know more!

What exactly was her dream about? Was she genuinely concerned about Jesus, and keen to save him from an unjust death? Or was it just a case of pagan superstition – if my husband executes this man, something bad will happen! What did she know about Jesus anyway? Surely the governor’s wife wouldn’t have stood in a crowd listening to him preach?

Whatever, her dream obviously affected her deeply – though it didn’t have much of an impact on her husband. He seems to have made a half-hearted attempt to get Jesus off, but it didn’t work. No, he did that usually-fatal thing (you know the guilty feeling?) – he “went with the flow”: “Then he released Barabbas to them… had Jesus flogged, and handed him over to be crucified”. Oh well, all in a day’s work…

It would be wrong to build too much on just a single verse of scripture. (Later traditions have done exactly that, to the extent that Pilate’s wife has become “Saint Claudia” in certain churches, and even Pilate himself is regarded as a saint.) But I think this tantalising little story does suggest certain things from which we can learn.

First, God can shine his truth into very dark places.

Make no mistake, centres of Roman government were dark places – full of superstition, cruelty and appalling immorality. Yet somehow something of the light of Jesus – even if little more than a glimmer – had penetrated those murky depths. Someone at the highest level believed not only that Jesus was an “innocent man”, but believed it so strongly that she was prepared to intervene.

We tend to think, very naturally, that no-one can know anything about Jesus unless they have received some form of teaching, whether through preaching, through some kind of class or group, through a book, or through one-to-one witness. But no! God has his ways and means…

Missionaries sometime report stories, from among peoples who have never heard the Christian message, of a strange person who came to bring them blessing and showered them with forgiveness and love. The task of the missionaries then is simply to fill in the gaps – and to share the name of the “strange person”.

I would be fairly confident that within our social circles – family, friends, work colleagues – there are people that we have never thought of as  remotely “religious”, but who have some kind of faith, or just an interest in “spiritual things”, people who perhaps never go to church, but who pray. Perhaps, without even knowing it themselves, they’re just waiting for you or me to come along and fill in the gaps – and to share that name…

Second, can this story tell us anything about how we should treat dreams?

We are told by the experts that we all dream, even if we don’t remember it. Personally, I only ever remember my dreams if I’m not too well – have a bit of a temperature perhaps. And when that happens I do vaguely mull over what I’ve dreamed about in case it might be significant in some way.

But no – it generally seems to be just an odd muddle brewed up out of my own fears and insecurities, so I don’t pursue it. (My wife once dreamed that she was married to the cricketer David Gower – make of that what you will.)

But in the Bible, both testaments, dreams can be very important. So I think it would be a mistake to completely rule out the possibility of God speaking to us in such a way. Perhaps it’s the kind of thing that is more likely to happen to Christians suffering extreme circumstances, like imprisonment or torture, Christians who have no Bible, or preaching, or Christian fellowship.

What matters is this: if we do go looking for some kind of divine message in a dream, let’s be very careful to “test all things”, as Paul said about “prophecies” (1 Thessalonians 5:21): it’s easy to be deceived.

A footnote… The story of Pilate’s wife reminds me of those old, corny, bad-taste wife-jokes. You know the sort of thing: “Any man who listens to his wife gets what he deserves – har-har-har!” But on the basis of this story, surely no: Any man who doesn’t listen to his wife gets what he deserves…

A word some of us married men need to hear?

Thank you, Father, that the light of Jesus can penetrate even the darkest places. Help me to see anyone in my life who, like Pilate’s wife, is sensitive to your truth – and to be ready to share with them the name of Jesus. Amen.