A bad memory

The fruit of the Spirit is…kindness… Galatians 5:22

I’m sitting on a bench by the river in San Antonio, Texas. I’m only here for a week; the friends I’m staying with are both at work, so I’m just having a stroll and soaking up the warmth and the atmosphere.

A man comes and sits next to me. He turns out to be what once might have been called a “rough diamond” – well, rough anyway; not sure about the other bit. We get chatting.

Someone approaches our bench from behind. Looking round I see a young woman who is obviously in great need. I know nothing about drugs and their symptoms, but something about her eyes and her general demeanour alerts me immediately.

“Excuse me,” she says, “I’m not going to ask you for money…”

Whereupon… “Beat it, or I’ll call the cops…” So bursts out my new friend with frightening, cruel viciousness.

“Beating it” is exactly what she does. I’ve never seen a whipped dog – not, at least, until this moment. She slinks off, her head sunk, her shoulders bent.

My friend resumes our friendly conversation…

This happened some fifteen years ago. It took perhaps ten seconds all told, but I’ve never forgotten it. And it never fails to fill me with shame - because I did nothing.

A thousand thoughts ran through my head in a split second… It all happened so quickly!… I was in a state of shock, it was so utterly unexpected... This isn’t my country, I’m a visitor here, it’s not for me to interfere… Perhaps this is the way things are done here… What could I do anyway? – I’m in no position to help her… Perhaps she is a well-known local character who has exhausted many attempts to help her…

But it didn’t take me long to realise that all that is just feeble excuses.

Oh, why didn’t I jump up, ask my friend to excuse me, run after her and at least show some kind of concern, let her know how sorry I was about what had happened? Why not show just a touch of kindness? At least that would be better than nothing. “Mere gestures” aren’t always “mere” are they? They can make a real difference.

Who knows? Such a little show of kindness might have changed that woman’s life for ever, given her a new hope, saved her even from killing herself, for all I know. Of course there’s no point in tormenting myself with what might have happened, but it’s hard not to ask the question.

And another question comes crowding in: that was an opportunity missed that I know about; but how many others have there been that I didn’t even notice? Why? Because I was too much wrapped up in my own affairs, too insensitive to the prompting of the Holy Spirit, just too plain uncaring.

Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10). He “saw” the man lying beaten up by the roadside and “took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds…” How easily, instead of “seeing”, he could have turned a blind eye, like the priest and the Levite.

Paul encourages the believers in Galatia (Galatians 6:10): “As we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the household of believers”. (Note that “especially”; not “exclusively”: note that “all people”.)

Likewise in Ephesians 6:10 he urges his readers to “make the most of every opportunity” (to “redeem the time”, as the King James Version put it). We usually take this to mean opportunities for evangelism, and rightly so. But why not acts of kindness, mercy and generosity as well?

Many of us are frustrated by the pandemic situation we are having to put up with at the moment. “I’m just not able to do the things I normally do!” we say. We might even add, “I sometimes find it hard to fill the day.” But could it be that God is putting opportunities for acts of kindness and other forms of service in our way, if only we have the eyes to see them and the wills to take them up?

A message sent to someone… a greeting exchanged with a stranger… a word with the person at the supermarket check-out… an offer of practical help for someone unable to get out…

Kindness (isn’t it a beautiful word!) can take a million forms.

Open my eyes, Lord, to see the opportunities to show kindness that you put in my way. And quicken my will to take them up and act upon them. Amen.

A tormented heart

Blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the one whose sin the Lord does not count against them and in whose spirit is no deceit. When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy on me; my strength was sapped as in the heat of summer. Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.” And you forgave the guilt of my sin. Psalm 32:1-5

A man in his fifties recently called the police and told them about a murder he had committed in his twenties. He has a terminal illness and doesn’t expect to live long, so he has decided there was “something I need to get off my chest”.

Well, I hope he finds some measure of peace, even if thirty years late.

Who knows, perhaps somebody might tell him about Christ, and the way his blood shed on the cross is enough to wash away all our sins.

Perhaps somebody might point him to a passage like Psalm 32, where the writer (traditionally thought to be King David) describes the agony of living with a guilty conscience: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long. For day and night your hand was heavy upon me…”

Most of us can only imagine what it must be like to live a “normal” life with such a shadow on your conscience…

Can you ever be really happy? Perhaps you marry and have children – but as you experience the joys of parenthood, as you watch your children sleeping innocently at night, can you escape that gnarling memory? You succeed in your job and become rich and powerful, but in your deepest thoughts it’s just ashes in your mouth. You sit by a pool soaking up the sun on a wonderful luxury holiday, but even as you sip your drink that terrible haunting broods over you.

This is where verse 5 comes to us as the best news we can ever receive. Says David: “Then I acknowledged my sin to you and did not cover up my iniquity. I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.’ And you forgave the guilt of my sin.” How clear, how simple, can you get! God loves to forgive.

A person who has committed murder is obviously an extreme case. But in reality all of us are in the same situation. All of us “have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). Who has a perfectly clear conscience?

I think I can claim to have lived an averagely OK life; certainly a “respectable” one. But there’s no getting away from the fact that the older I get and, being retired, the more opportunity I have to take stock of the past – well, the less I like the person I have been, and to a large extent still am.

Oh, no murders or other gross sins, don’t worry about that! But didn’t Jesus teach that anger can be as bad as murder? that lust is tantamount to adultery (Matthew 5:21-30)?

And what about my acts of meanness and pettiness…? The jealousies and spiteful thoughts…? The arrogance and pride…? The tasks done half-heartedly or shoddily…? The laziness and selfishness…? The crude thoughts and flashes of temper…? The – oh, I could go on a long time! And so, I suspect (if you will pardon the cheek), could you.

The man I mentioned would probably have spent a major chunk of his life in prison if he had either confessed at the time or been found out. But I wonder if, given the way he’s feeling now with death approaching, he might have preferred that.

Somebody might object: This is all very well, but what about the person he killed? Going to the police now won’t do them any good, will it? A death-bed conversion, if that’s what it is, seems all too easy, too convenient.

That’s understandable. But while the murderer might escape human justice, he can’t escape the judgment of God. And if God knows that his heart is not truly sorry, then there will be no forgiveness.

There is a very big difference between repentance – true, heart-felt sorrow with a genuine desire to change and make amends, so far as that is possible – and remorse, which may be merely regret born of self-interest. We may not be able to tell the difference, looking on. But we needn’t doubt that God can. And as for the murder victim, what can we do but leave them in the hands of a perfect, just and holy God?

The point of all this is very simple: a guilty conscience on the one hand, and inner peace and happiness on the other, cannot co-exist. They are at war with one another. Even a true Christian flirting with sin is bound to be a miserable Christian, however big a smile they may put on.

If there is repenting to be done, the time to do it is now. Not tomorrow or next week, but now. And then we will be able to join in David’s joyful declaration: “Blessed is the one whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered!”

Blessed indeed!

Father, thank you for the word of Jesus that there is rejoicing in heaven over every sinner who repents. If there is anything of which I need to repent, please give me the honesty and humility to do so – and so to enter into the peace and joy which only you can give. Amen.

When we groan in prayer

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. Romans 8:26

King Claudius of Denmark is having a bad time. He has murdered his brother and taken both his throne and his widow. His nephew, Prince Hamlet, has made it clear that he knows all about it. Claudius is afraid: “O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven”. And so he kneels to pray.

But he can’t. Oh, he can utter the words all right; but he knows that unless he confesses both to God and to his fellow-men what he has done, his prayers are a waste of time; they simply bounce off the ceiling. And so he rises from his knees: “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below./ Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”

Well, you don’t need to be a murderer to know that feeling. If your heart isn’t in what you are praying you are wasting your time. C S Lewis put it well: you might as well train a parrot to say your prayers for you.

But wait a minute. Suppose we reverse what Claudius says – instead of “words without thoughts never to heaven go”, what about “thoughts without words often to heaven go”?

Is that true? Putting it another way, are words essential to prayer?

According to the Bible, the answer is a definite No.

In Romans 8:26 Paul makes it very clear that there are times when we just don’t have the words. Perhaps we don’t know enough about the situation that’s troubling us. Perhaps we are feeling crushed in spirit and can’t conjure up the words we need to express what’s going on in our hearts. Perhaps we are simply dog-tired with the pressures of life. Perhaps the best we can do is “groan”.

If that is so, Paul has a massively encouraging thing to say: the Holy Spirit within us turns our groanings into prayers that God our Father hears, understands and responds to. He “intercedes for us through wordless groans”.

Words can be highly over-valued things! Of course, under normal circumstances they are vital: they are the most natural and obvious way in which we communicate with one another, and, of course, with God himself.

But they are not essential.

We hear a lot these days about “body language”, and is there any reason why groans, tears, cries, sighs, even shoulder-shrugging and fist-shaking, shouldn’t come under that heading?

I knew a man who had lived for many years with severe physical pain. It got to such a pitch one day that he lay down on his living-room floor and – to use his own words – “howled at God”. He got up free of pain.

I’m not suggesting, of course, that howling at God – or any other action - is a guaranteed way of getting our prayers answered. Of course not! But – well, if I remember right, that’s what he told me.

There are times and circumstances for long, sustained praying, perhaps accompanied by fasting. But we needn’t be too hard on ourselves if that is not our everyday pattern. I have just counted the number of words in the Lord’s Prayer in my NIV Bible: around seventy. Next to nothing! (This post you’re reading will probably run to about eight hundred.) And this is the “model” prayer Jesus gave to his disciples! You can pray it, in an unhurried way, well within a minute!

But let’s go back to groaning (so to speak). This is a very unusual New Testament word, occurring about half a dozen times. But it obviously mattered to Paul. In Romans 8 it occurs here in verse 26, and also in verse 23, as something Christians routinely do. In verse 22 it is used of “the whole creation”, which is “groaning in the pains of childbirth”: as if to say that our fallen, sinful, hurting world is moving towards something beautiful, new and wonderful.

But I specially like the occurrence in Acts 7:34. Stephen, who is about to be stoned to death, takes his persecutors back to the time of Moses and the Exodus, and quotes God as saying: “I have seen the oppression of my people in Egypt. I have heard their groaning…” (You can find the reference in Exodus 3.)

God doesn’t say he has heard their words, their prayers – though I’m sure he has. No, he says he has heard their groaning.

What need is there to say more? If God heard the groaning of his people in Moses’ time, some thirteen hundred years before Christ, and again in the days of the early church, why should we doubt that he still hears them today?

Christian, use words in order to talk to God. Of course! But if, for whatever reason, you can’t find the words, don’t doubt that God loves you, hears you, and will answer even your wordless groanings.

Father in heaven, please fill me more and more with your Holy Spirit, and so teach me better how to pray - whether with words or without them. Amen.

Grace and works

For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Ephesians 2:10

What do you think of this sentence…?

“We can’t be saved by good works – but neither can we be saved without them.”

Does it make sense? Does it contradict itself?

I think, in fact, that it sums up very neatly the apostle Paul’s doctrine of “justification by grace through faith”. It states perfectly the fact that “good works” – things that we do, actions that we perform – are completely useless when it comes to being put right with God, but that they are absolutely essential when it comes to living out the life to which God has called us.

Ephesians 2:1-10 is one of those passages rammed full of truths to ponder deeply. It’s quite short, but Paul packs into it the essence of the gospel…

First, the human race is “dead in transgressions and sins” (verses 1-3). That is, we are, by nature, a race in rebellion against God and therefore “deserving of wrath”. That’s the bad news.

But, second, God has acted to put this right (verses 4-6). Because he has “great love for us” and is “rich in mercy”, he has sent Christ Jesus his Son to deal with our sin. He has “made us alive with Christ” and “raised us up” with him – clear references to what Jesus did by dying for us and rising again. That’s good news!

And so, third, all that remains for us to do is to recognise “the incomparable riches of his grace” and to gladly receive it “through faith” (verses 7-9). Our “works” just don’t enter into this, for – well, God has done it all in Christ! There’s literally nothing we need – indeed, nothing we can – contribute, so “no-one can boast”.

That’s verses 1-9: a passage that glows with several of the Bible’s most luminous words – love, mercy, grace (three times) and kindness. This is our God!

But having spelled out both the bad news and the good news so clearly, Paul has something else to say by way of a vital rounding off: something we simply mustn’t miss. And he does this in verse 10, where he focusses on the theme of “works”, and the place they have in all this. He makes three statements…

First, “we are God’s handiwork”.

In essence this simply presses home the truth that we contribute nothing to our salvation – “we are God’s handiwork”, not our own or anybody else’s; he has done it all.

I love that word “handiwork” (literally “something made”), because for me it brings to mind the skill of an artist or a craftsman. I confess that when I look in the mirror I don’t really see myself as a work of art. Yet that, Paul implies, is what I am! I am part of God’s fallen creation in the process of being lovingly re-created in the likeness of Christ.

The first Adam fell into sin, and dragged me down with him. But the last Adam, risen from death, has drawn me up to be part of a whole new and perfect creation. (Paul enlarges on this theme in 1 Corinthians 15, especially verses 42-57.)

Second, we are “created in Christ Jesus to do good works”.

Ah, so this is where good works come in! We do them not in order that we may be saved, but because we have been saved. To be raised with Christ (verse 6) is to become part of him; and what works did he ever do apart from good works? so how can we possibly be part of him without mirroring those works?

Third, these good works are works “God prepared in advance for us to do”.

In other words, from all eternity God planned that his new creation should be full of beautiful, pure, holy acts and deeds: Christlike acts and deeds.

I think perhaps the NIV version of the Bible lets us down a bit here, for a literal translation would read that God prepared these works in advance “that we might walk in them”. So much better than “for us to do”!

Walking implies progress and development. It implies a relationship. It was said of Enoch that “he walked faithfully with God” (Genesis 5:22-24); the prophet Micah challenges his people: “God has shown you… what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (6:8).

So Ephesians 2:10, rounding off a wonderful passage, invites us to pause, and think, and recognise a challenge: am I in fact walking with God day by day in the good works he has prepared for me? And if I’m not, can I really have any confidence that I am a saved person?

In a nutshell: Good works aren’t an optional extra!

Let’s go back to the sentence we started with: “We can’t be saved by good works – but neither can we be saved without them.”

It makes perfect biblical sense. This is the gospel in its fullness: a gospel that brings comfort and hope - but which also challenges complacency.

Whoever has ears to hear…

Loving Father, thank you for the salvation which has been given to me as a free gift in Christ. Thank you too for the good works you have prepared in advance for me to do. So help me, day by day, to act justly, to love mercy and to walk humbly with you. Amen.

A tale of two Jesuses

What is there in common between these two men: Barabbas, the criminal condemned to be crucified by the Romans, but then set free by Pontius Pilate in his failed attempt to save Jesus from the cross; and Vladimir Lenin, the man who laid the foundation for the communism that would dominate Russia for decades?

I ask because they happened to come together in my mind a few days ago. I was halfway through a big fat biography of Lenin when a friend sent me an online article about Barabbas. And though the two men are separated by two thousand years, and belong to totally different cultural, political and religious backgrounds, I was struck by a clear similarity.

One word sums it up pretty well: they were both fanatics.

How can you define fanaticism? Roughly, it’s enthusiasm that has got out of control; passion which has ceased to be balanced and reasonable. Go to any football match and it’s right there, in yer face.

Taken to extremes, fanaticism (always bad) is deadly. So it was with Barabbas and Lenin, for we know that both of them were prepared to kill in order to achieve their aims.

Lenin talked openly about using “terror” as a weapon in his political armoury. He subscribed to the famous view that “if you want to make an omelette you’ve got to be prepared to break some eggs” – where the “omelette” was the earthly paradise promised by the teachings of Karl Marx, and the “eggs” were the lives of any poor individuals unfortunate enough to get in their way.

Regarding Barabbas we know very little. But Luke tells us that he “had been thrown into prison for an insurrection in the city, and for murder” (23:19).

Insurrections, or uprisings, against the Romans were common around that time, not least among religious fanatics determined to reclaim Israel as God’s kingdom on earth. Various groups existed, among them the sicarii – “dagger-men” – whose very name tells you how they chose to go about their business.

The article my friend sent me assumed that Barabbas was a “Zealot”, a revolutionary hot-head who believed that Rome could be overcome by sheer military force. The latest expert opinion is that Zealots as a group didn’t in fact come into being for another thirty or so years, but there’s no reason to doubt that people of that way of thinking were around at the time of Jesus’ death, and Barabbas may well have been one. (One of Jesus’ disciples, of course, was known as “Simon the Zealot” – though presumably he left that firebrand attitude behind when he joined Jesus!)

One other detail about Barabbas is given in some, though not all, versions of Matthew 27:17 - that his full name was Jesus Barabbas, “Jesus the son of Abbas” or “the son of the father”. If that is correct, as the best modern translations suggest, we have the fascinating thought that Pilate offered the crowd a choice between two Jesuses: Jesus the son of Abbas, or Jesus the Christ, the Messiah. And we know which Jesus they chose…

Where is this history lesson taking us?

It reminds us that that such fanatical movements, even those which are genuinely sincere, are two-a-penny down through history. They come and they go. They promise so much – and ultimately deliver so little. They become mere “wrecks of time”.

We all know what became of Lenin – or if we don’t we can easily find out. But we are not told what became of Barabbas. A legend grew up quite early in the church that he was so moved by the willingness of the other Jesus to die in his place that he became a follower of that Jesus. That would be wonderful if it were true, and of course it could be.

But perhaps it’s more likely that (if he lived to be an old man) he witnessed the terrible events of AD70, when the Romans destroyed the Jerusalem temple and much of the city with it – and all his dreams went up in smoke and ruins. (Lenin, of course, didn’t live to see the destruction of the Berlin wall.)

Violence can only ever lead to misery, failure and disillusionment. But the truly wonderful thing about “the other Jesus” is that he conquered by dying. Which, of course, is why we Christians can sing “In the cross of Christ I glory”.

The Barabbases and Lenins of history proclaim “Here is a cause worth killing for!” But the quiet voice of Jesus the Anointed One says “Here is a cause worth dying for!” - which is why he calls his followers to “take up your cross and follow me”.

Literally dying for Jesus is unlikely to be asked of us (though it is being asked of many believers in many parts of the world even as I write or as you read these words). But the fact remains… if we call ourselves Christians, then we are called to die with him. Only then can we hope to live with him.

But our hope shines out over the wrecks of time… his kingdom will know no end.

In the cross of Christ I glory,/ Towering o’er the wrecks of time:/ All the light of sacred story/ Gathers round its head sublime. Amen!

John Bowring (1792-1872)

Communion in lockdown

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: the Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. 1 Corinthians 11:23-26

On two Sundays recently my wife and I have done something we have never done before, not in 40 years of marriage.

No, we haven’t taken up bungee-jumping or lion-taming (far too boring), nor even done an in-depth verse-by-verse study of Leviticus. No: something very much simpler; we have shared communion together in our own home, just the two of us.

It has seemed a little strange – sitting face-to-face at our dining room table with a glass of wine and a slice of bread between us. But it has been good; we have felt close to God and strengthened in our faith.

The church we belong to has a policy of not holding virtual communion services, and of course we respect that policy. But we were both feeling the lack of this important feature of Christian worship - something, after all, that Jesus commanded his people to do - and therefore decided there was no good reason why we shouldn’t do what we did. After all, the months are drifting by; it won’t be long before it’s a full year!

We remembered that, in the earliest days of the church, communion (or the Lord’s Supper, or the eucharist, or the mass, or the breaking of bread, or whatever it is generally called in your particular tradition) was an actual meal where the church as a whole gathered. It wasn’t a “sacrament” (whatever that rather slippery word means; it isn’t in the Bible), and there was no requirement that it should be presided over by an officially recognized person (though, as it happens, I am one such).

No: just a meal, in the course of which the participants would pause to remember how the body and blood of Jesus were given for us on the cross. Given that in those early days there were no such things as church buildings, such gatherings would have been held in homes.

So… if then, why not also today?

It would, I hope it goes without saying, be wrong to hold such a gathering “in competition”, so to speak, with an official church gathering. No; the authority of the church must be recognised and submitted to. But lacking such an official gathering - so that the choice comes down to either no communion or an “irregular” communion - again, why not?

What did we actually do?

Answer: the things that you would expect. We read a song or two (too self-conscious to sing!). We read various Bible passages, including the obvious ones from the end of the Gospels (say Matthew 26) or from 1 Corinthians 11. We prayed, using both set prayers and extempore ones, and making sure to lift up to God the needs of our troubled world as well as more personal and local ones. And, when the moment seemed right, we gave thanks for Jesus’ broken body and shed blood and ate a scrap of bread and drank a sip of wine. We also allowed plenty of silence.

Of course, “it wasn’t the same”, as we have got used to saying about all sorts of things during this pandemic. No, as on any other Sunday, we missed the physical closeness of our brothers and sisters in Christ. But we both felt that it was far better than nothing.

We certainly gained as well as lost. Hearing those familiar Bible words again without distraction, and reading beautiful (including “liturgical”) forms of words in prayer or exhortation, brought home to us in a fresh way what this simple act can mean.

I don’t think it would be an exaggeration to use the word “holy” to describe our experience.

If you decided to do this, the format might well be different. There may be more than just two of you in your home. You very likely don’t have an “ordained” minister to preside over the service, in which case a little more research and preparation may be needed in advance. You may, of course, be on your own – but need that prevent you from pausing one meal-time to remember Jesus?

All I can say is: we found it to be a blessing, and would recommend that, if communion really is otherwise just not possible, you at least consider it. Jesus said: “Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with them, and they with me” (Revelation 3: 20).

So simple! So unadorned! So precious!

Lord Jesus, thank you that we don’t have to be in any particular building, or led by any particular individual, in order to know the nearness of your presence. Please, at all times and in all places, make my heart your home. Amen.

When someone's a pain in the neck

Love is patient, love is kind… 1 Corinthians 13:4

Be patient, bearing with one another in love. Ephesians 4:2

Be patient with everyone. 1 Thessalonians 5:14

What do you do about people who annoy you? Ignore them? Avoid them? Gossip behind their backs? Treat them with a frosty politeness? (I take it that if you’re a Christian – and very likely even if not – you would not stoop to do them actual harm.)

Just asking the question might cause us to smile, roll our eyes and heave a sigh. Well, that’s all very well as long as that annoying person isn’t actually present. But let’s be honest, annoying people can be, well, really annoying in the flesh – they “get our goat”, spoil our day - and then, grrr, we end up feeling guilty.

I knew somebody once who would routinely end a conversation with the words “See you then – I’ll give you a tinkle”. By which he meant “I’ll ring you some time” (though he never did). Every time he said that – it was, ridiculously, the word tinkle that did it - I felt that I could cheerfully smash his teeth straight down his throat (in Christian love, of course).

More seriously, I’m aware that some people have to live with really intense irritation hour after hour from, perhaps, a maddening family member or an obnoxious boss at work. Possibly, dare I suggest it, from somebody at church. If that’s the case it really is a problem, and no joking matter. Yes, annoyingness can cover a wide spectrum of seriousness.

The Bible tells us that we are to love one another, to be patient and forgiving towards one another. I’ve put just three simple verses to that effect at the top. No Christian could possibly disagree with that – but, let’s be honest, it’s easier said than done.

I remember once struggling with negative feelings towards some people I met from time to time. They were perfectly nice people – sincere Christians, and probably far more Christlike than me (not that that’s difficult, of course). But there were things about them – opinions, mannerisms, tastes – which I found seriously difficult to cope with.

I felt bad; and rightly so. And then one day the thought came into my mind, “Why not put them on your daily prayer list?”

(I ought to explain that I’m one of those Christians who find it helpful to use lists for prayer. It’s not everyone’s thing, of course, and it’s not the only way I pray, but I find it helps me to be at least a little bit disciplined, even at risk of becoming rather mechanical.)

Whatever... what a simple, and obvious, idea it was! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? But… would it make any significant difference?

I can only report that yes, it did. The next time I saw these people it’s no exaggeration to say that I saw them with new eyes. Which is exactly what I had prayed for: “Lord, please help me to see these people as you see them, and so to love them as you love them”.

Almost immediately they ceased to be just irritating and exasperating, and became needy and vulnerable. I realised that they had problems – “issues” as they say these days – which explained a lot of what I had found hard to stomach. Quite simply, I began to feel a real sense of what I can only call compassion.

I don’t say it will necessarily always “work” quite that dramatically. But just in case you feel you are suffering this kind of torment, I can only recommend it as a good place to start: isn’t God in the business of changing hearts and minds?

Notice, though, please, that the people being changed weren’t the people I had a problem with. No – it was me. And isn’t that precisely the way prayer is meant to work? Prayer that leaves the pray-er unchanged is a mockery.

So I should mention too that God put another thought into my mind…

Could it be that, ahem, I am a person who sometimes drives other people up the wall? Oh, surely not! I’m such a pleasant, easy-going, easy-to-get-along with person, aren’t I? No silly mannerisms or grating habits; no irritating little foibles… Mmm… I’m not so sure.

Could it even be that someone reading this blog has been tempted to smash my teeth straight down my throat?

Oh dear! What can I say but… SORRY! And thank you for loving me and being so patient with me. Please pray for me, even to see me as God sees me.

Father God, please help me to be loving and patient with people I find it hard to tolerate. Still more, help me to be aware that to many others I am just such a person myself. Amen.

No turning back!

From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him. “You don’t want to go too, do you?” asked Jesus. Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life”… John 6:66-68

Whereabouts in the four Gospels do we see Jesus at his most human?

As Christians we believe in his divinity – he is God in the flesh. But he is also fully human, a real man, yet without sin. So, putting the question again: at what points in his earthly life do we see his humanity most clearly?

One obvious answer is: at the cross. Nailed up to die, feeling abandoned not only by his disciples, but even by his heavenly father – utterly alone, how agonisingly human is that?

Or you might think of the day he sat by the well and talked with the woman who came to draw water: John 4:6 tells us that he was “tired from the journey”. Or, of course, of Jesus as a baby – needing to be fed and kept clean like any other baby. You might also think of the time he told his disciples quite plainly that he was ignorant of the time of his return: “about that day or hour no-one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matthew 24:36).

I am sure there are other examples too that spring to mind.

But there’s an incident described for us in John 6 which always strikes me personally as being really quite touching in the way it portrays the man Jesus.

He has been teaching the crowds, and opening up in particular the theme of himself as “the bread of life”. Some of his hearers start to get  uncomfortable: this is a bit more than they can take! And then, to make it even worse, Jesus tells them that not only must they “eat his flesh” but also “drink his blood”.

This really is too much. And so, John tells us, “From this time many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed him” (verse 66). Can you picture them shuffling off, gravely shaking their heads? That, of course, is sad. But the really touching moment, for me at any rate, is when he turns to “the Twelve” and asks them plainly, “You don’t want to leave too, do you?” (verse 67).

I don’t think he’s exactly pleading with them, but it’s a bit like that. As if to say: “Look, you may have had second thoughts since that day by the Sea of Galilee, when I called you to leave your nets and follow me. Well, if that is so, I don’t want to hold you against your will – you’ve seen all these people decide to turn back from following me, so if you feel you must do the same, well, here’s your opportunity”.

And what happens? Simon Peter acts as spokesman for the Twelve – dear, good Simon Peter! – and says a very beautiful thing: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life…” (verse 68). So simple! So honest! So humble! Words which, I’m sure, must have thrilled Jesus’ heart.

Have you ever felt like “turning back” from following Jesus?

When I was a teenage Christian there was a song we sang with great gusto: “I have decided to follow Jesus [repeat]. No turning back! No turning back!” And then the second verse: “Though none go with me, I still will follow. No turning back! No turning back!”

Oh, how sure we were! How confident. Well, I don’t know what happened to everyone in our group – but I do know that there were some, sadly, who did indeed “turn back”.

Next time I hope to return to this theme and ask the question, Why is it that followers of Jesus sometimes go back on their allegiance to him?

But for the moment I want to dwell a little on Peter’s words, just in case – who knows? - any of us are wavering in our faith and wondering if we can continue.

“Lord,” he said, “to whom shall we go?”

To whom indeed!

It’s a plain fact that you can’t turn away from something – or someone – without also turning to something or someone. So if we decide to turn away from Jesus, who or what are we going to turn to instead? Hinduism? Mohammed? The Buddha? Atheism? Materialism? Karl Marx? Pleasure-seeking? Or perhaps no -ism at all, but just the grey uniformity of an ultimately meaningless life?

I mean no disrespect, of course, to sincere adherents of the creeds I have mentioned. But if we do indeed decide to turn back, there is a question we must face: Is there really anybody better than Jesus? If so, who?

Does anybody else “have the words of eternal life”? Has anyone else come among us as God in the flesh? Has anyone else offered to God the only sacrifice that can deal with our sins and set us free from that slavery? Has anyone else conquered death and invited us to share in that supreme victory?

If anyone is indeed thinking of turning back, I can only say: Please, please, think very, very deeply – and pray really hard first!

Who else is there to go to?

Father, I think of those who used to walk with me in Christ, but who for various reasons have turned back. Please send your Spirit to work afresh in their hearts – and please help me, Lord, weak as I am, to stay with you till that day when I see Jesus face to face. Amen.