How's your appetite?

 Taste and see that the Lord is good… Psalm 34:8

Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty” John 6:35

Like new born babies, crave pure spiritual milk, so that by it you may grow up in your salvation, now that you have tasted that the Lord is good. 1 Peter 2:3

How’s your appetite?

A good appetite is a sign of good health, so it’s no wonder that in the Bible food is an important theme. In the Old Testament God gave his people the Passover meal to remind them every year of their deliverance (their “exodus”) from captivity in Egypt. And in the New, Jesus gave his church the regular remembrance meal of bread and wine to remind them of the new, greater, deliverance brought about by his death on the cross.

Apart from those key meals, the Bible places great importance in general on “table fellowship” within families and communities: meals aren’t just refuelling stops, but opportunities for fellowship and sharing.

Who you might and might not share a meal with became important, and strict rules and taboos grew up over it – which is why Jesus caused such outrage by insisting on sharing meals with people regarded as outcasts and “sinners”, and why Peter and Paul later fell out over it (Galatians 2).

But it’s the spiritual, metaphorical meaning of food that verses like the ones I’ve put at the top focus on.

First, the palmist throws out an invitation to his readers to “taste and see that the Lord is good”– as if to say, “Feed yourself on God himself and it will bring you joy and pleasure”.

Second, the apostle Peter conjures up the picture of the new-born baby eager for its mother’s milk - as if to say, “That baby knows what’s good for it! – it doesn’t need to be taught because it has a natural craving; and that’s the way you should be as new-born Christians beginning to grow in Christ”.

And then of course Jesus compared himself to bread, indeed to “the bread of life” - as if to say, “Just as you can’t live without bread, in the same way if you want true life, life as God intends it to be, then you must feed on me”.

So back to the question I started with: “How’s your appetite?” - your spiritual appetite?

Two questions spring to mind.

First, what are the marks of a healthy spiritual appetite?

That’s a big question which deserves a big answer. But perhaps we can boil it down to something like this…

The Christian life involves various disciplines without which we cannot grow in Christ. We might sum them up as: regular worship and fellowship; a determined personal prayer life; a habit of regular reading and reflecting on the Bible; a sensitive conscience which is aware of the dangers of sin; a daily determination to live a holy, Christ-centred life and to be of service to him.

If we can look into our hearts without being either complacent on the one had or overly self-condemning on the other and honestly say, “Yes, in all humility I think that those desires are indeed there, albeit not as strongly as I would like” – then I think that that indicates a healthy appetite.

It’s important to realise that that desire for God doesn’t have to be – indeed, can’t always be - red-hot. Even the finest Christians are subject to natural moods and feelings, and are affected by the ups and downs of daily events. Many fine Christians down the centuries have suffered from what today we call “depression”, what might in earlier times have been referred to as “melancholy” – you think of the psalmist questioning himself, “Why, my soul, are you downcast?” (Psalm 42), and not being able to find a clear-cut answer.

A simple, honest, humble desire to walk with God by faith, however imperfect: that suggests a healthy spiritual appetite.

Second, how can I restore my spiritual appetite if it has in fact withered away?

Do I just force myself against my own grain to go on doing the things I listed? Turning up to church purely as a duty? Forcing myself to pray out of a permanently cold heart? Scolding myself for bad habits even though I know I am going to continue in them, knowing that in truth I have no intention of breaking free from them?

If we have reached that point then very possibly some serious action is needed. Why not have an honest talk with a pastor or other spiritual adviser? If we find it hard over a long period to pray privately, why not ask a trusted Christian friend to pray both with us and for us?

And perhaps it’s time to have a ruthlessly honest self-examination, facing up to the habitual sins that we have drifted into.

I suggested earlier that in the ups and downs of the spiritual life we shouldn’t be too hard on ourselves. But now we need to see the other side of the coin: neither should we be too soft with ourselves if indeed our hearts have become indifferent to God. Change may be needed – a radical change of heart, followed by a change of life-pattern. That may be humbling and painful – but oh what joy it will ultimately bring!

Whatever, we need to constantly remind ourselves that God loves us as a father and a mother love their children. He is the God who promised his people, “Open wide your mouth and I will fill it” (Psalm 81:10).

Claim that promise! Hold him to it! And see how, perhaps very slowly, he restores your spiritual appetite.

Lord, it is my chief complaint/ That my love is weak and faint;/ Yet I love thee, and adore;/ O for grace to love thee more. Amen!

William Cowper (1731-1800)

A story to make us new people (2)

In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he travelled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

Don’t ask who your neighbour is. Ask who you can be a neighbour to.

Last time I suggested that that’s a good summary of why Jesus told this great story.

But it contains several themes, and I only had space for two.

First, the act of violence it starts with brings home to us the reality of human wickedness, the sin with which we are all tainted, even if we would never act out such wickedness. And, second, the sad spectacle of the man lying broken on the road speaks to us of the reality of human suffering, the millions of people in our world today whose circumstances are cruel.

Now, third, it’s a story about religion gone rotten.

It’s no accident that the two men who see the victim and “pass by on the other side” are described by Jesus in religious terms: one a “priest”, a religious leader, the other a “Levite”, an official who served as an assistant in the Jerusalem temple. After all, Jesus could have said simply that they were two “travellers”. But no: he is obviously wanting to make a point – if ever people ought to have put their religious faith into practical action, it was these two.

They had lost sight of what their faith was all about. Most commentators reckon that their callous neglect of the injured man was down to a particular understanding of Leviticus 21:1-4. There, contact with a dead body renders a person “unclean”, in the sense of not being allowed to participate in religious activities. Given that their very jobs involved working in the holiest place in Judaism, the Jerusalem temple – well,  obviously (as they saw it, anyway), they couldn’t risk going near what might be a corpse.

It’s easy for us to criticise them: how could they put the claims of religious duty above the claims of compassion!

But let’s be careful. Have I never been guilty of exactly the same thing? – too busy being a minister, perhaps, to give time to some troubled person?

Those of us who identify ourselves as evangelical protestants are very good at spotting the hypocrisies and double standards of fellow Christians in other traditions. But it’s sobering to reflect on the fact, taking just one example, that Nazism came to the fore in possibly the most strongly protestant country in Europe, aided and abetted by millions of supposedly devout Christians. (I hesitate to add, as another example, recent events on the other side of the Atlantic…)

Fact: any religious tradition can go rotten. And when things rot, they tend to smell; you might even say, quite literally in this case, “to stink to high heaven”.

The tragedy of the priest and the Levite is that they just didn’t see it - or, if they did, they hardened their hearts against it. Could that be you? Or me? Is it time for a little self-examination?

If all that is calculated to disturb and even depress us, the fourth theme of this story must surely do the exact opposite: this is a story about compassion. Thanks be to God for some fresh, clean air!

Just as it’s no accident that Jesus chose to identify the two who “passed by on the other side” as a priest and a Levite, so too it’s no accident that he identifies the person who “came where the man was…”; and who “… took pity on him” as a Samaritan, a member of a people who were bitter, ancient enemies of Israel. Can you imagine a more pointed thrust by Jesus at the religious man he was talking to?

Compassion - a willingness to share in the sufferings of others. What does this story teach us about it? I suggest two things…

First, it can be costly.

I say “can be”, because that isn’t necessarily the case. A kind word or a sympathetic smile may be all you are able to give; indeed, all the other person needs. And they cost nothing.

But if we wish to show compassion we must be prepared to pay a price.

In the case of the Samaritan, that price involved time, convenience and money. He gave the man what first aid he could. He hoisted him onto his own donkey (meaning that he himself would have to walk). And he paid the inn-keeper’s expenses. This rescue act wasn’t just a matter of dropping a cheque in the post, good though that may be; no, it cost.

Second, compassion knows no prejudice.

The Samaritan could have said to himself “But this man is a Jew! Surely I, as a Samaritan, must focus on my own people”. But he didn’t.

Some years ago I travelled to India with a Christian human rights organisation; we were aiming to find out how things were for Christians in India, and to give what support and encouragement we could. So I was slightly taken aback to see on our schedule a meeting with a Muslim group (Muslims as well as Christians suffer serious persecution in India).

“Hang on a minute!” I thought. “Aren’t we here to support Christians?”

Well yes, so indeed we were. But somehow this contact had been made – so why wouldn’t we do what we could to help these people too? (I wonder, by the way, how much praying has been done recently in Christian churches for the cruel plight of the Uighur Muslims in China?)

Paul writes: “As we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers” (Galatians 6:10). “Especially” to believers, yes. But not exclusively. “Especially”, yes. But not only.

True compassion means your heart is stirred by the sufferings of – well, anybody and everybody.

Thanks be to God for the good Samaritan!

Lord Jesus Christ, you have displayed for all people the costly gift of compassion by taking upon yourself the sins of the world and dying on the cross. Please give to me the same gracious attitude for whoever I may meet. Amen.

A story to make us new people

In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he travelled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

“Which of these three do you think was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

Don’t ask who your neighbour is. Ask who you can be a neighbour to.

That’s the essence of Jesus’ teaching in his wonderful story of the Good Samaritan.

An “expert in the law” (what we might call a “theologian”) has challenged him to sum up what he must do “to inherit eternal life”. Jesus throws the question back at him, as if to say, “You’re the legal expert, not me – why don’t you tell me?” The man’s reply is standard Jewish teaching – love God with all your being, and “love your neighbour as yourself” (that’s Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18 put together).

Well said, says Jesus. “Do this and you will live”. End of conversation.

Except that it isn’t. The man seems to want to get one up on Jesus, so he goes on to ask for a definition of that word “neighbour”. The person next door? The people in my “neighbourhood”? My fellow Jews as a whole? Probably that last definition is the one he is expecting.

But what does Jesus give him? No definition at all – but a story. It’s a story about various people behaving badly, and one person behaving beautifully. And Jesus rounds it off with another question: Can you see a neighbour in my story?

Well, there’s only one candidate! Only problem: he’s not a Jew at all, but a Samaritan. One commentator writes that “the Samaritans and the Jews hated each other like poison”, so I imagine that the lawyer is shocked rigid, but rather than say plainly “Well, the Samaritan, of course” – words he would choke on - he mumbles “the one who had mercy on him”.

Like any great story, the more you read it the more you find in it. Let’s ask the question: What is it about? Let me pick out various strands.

First – though perhaps easy to overlook – it’s about human wickedness.

At the heart of the story is an act of sheer violence: an innocent man is attacked by robbers, stripped naked, beaten and left lying half-dead in the heat of the sun. Can you imagine the few minutes of terror as he desperately tries to defend himself? the cries? the sickening sound of blows? the blood on the ground? This sort of thing, apparently, wasn’t uncommon on that lonely, desolate road “from Jerusalem to Jericho”.

Perhaps the robbers would have tried to justify their act on the grounds of poverty or misfortune. But… wickedness is wickedness; or, to use a shorter word, sin in sin.

I don’t suppose that anyone reading this would be guilty of such an act of violence. But this is human nature, and so it is part of all of us. Remember how Jesus said that hatred is tantamount to murder, and lust to adultery (Matthew 5:21-30). We have all sinned “and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23), however civilised and outwardly well-behaved we might be.

So, yes, none of us would dream of doing such a horrible thing; but let’s make no mistake, none of us either is free from the reality of darkness deep down in our hearts, and the need to confess to God.

Do any of us need to do some repenting today?

Second, this is a story about human suffering.

I’ve tried to conjure up a picture of the traveller lying broken and helpless on the road. I don’t think it’s stretching things too far to suggest that he is a symbol of the many millions of people in our world that we tend to think of as “victims”.

They come in all sorts of types, not just victims of crime: the hungry, poor and homeless, of course; the sick and disabled; those under the heel of political or religious authorities; those, in a world of great riches, who live - or should we say survive - at the bottom of the pile.

Those of us who live comfortable and prosperous lives are no more deserving than they would be of the good things we enjoy. But for the accident of birth or circumstances, it could be us lying broken on the road.

The question is obvious: Do we see? And if we do, do we care? And if we do, do we do anything about it?

This leads neatly into the next strand we find in this story – it’s about religion gone rotten. But I think we will have to leave that until next time…

Loving Father, thank you for Jesus’ wonderful story. Help me to absorb it into the very depths of my soul, so that it may help me to become a newer, better person. Amen.

Oxen, asses and forgiveness

If you come across your enemy’s ox or donkey wandering off, be sure to return it. If you see the donkey of someone who hates you fallen down under its load, do not leave it there; be sure you help them with it. Exodus 23:4-5

I read once about a woman who was up in court charged with “causing a breach of the peace”: apparently she was found dancing up and down on her husband’s grave, singing “Who’s sorry now?”

We may smile at that. But of course it’s not really funny. And in fairness it may be that her husband was a total brute and her joy was – well, if not justifiable at least understandable.

How do you feel when something bad happens to someone you don’t like, when they “come a cropper” or “get their come-uppance”, as they used to say? Be honest, now!

It may be that that person has really hurt or damaged you in some way and you are entitled to feel angry. But… you are a Christian, so, ok, you refrain from dancing a jig, but you do mutter under your breath “Serves them right!”

But one more moment’s thought makes you aware that if you really are a Christian, that’s just not good enough. Didn’t Jesus tell us (Matthew 5:44) to love our enemies? In a world full of anger and the desire for revenge, isn’t that a wonderful verse? He goes on to say that we must pray for our enemies; and you know it’s got to be genuine, whole-hearted prayer, not just empty words. (Whoever said Christianity was easy?)

In Romans 12:19-21 Paul echoes Jesus’ teaching – “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink” – and we marvel at the simplicity and the no-ifs-no-buts demands of following Jesus.

But wait a minute!

Have we ever noticed that in Romans 12 Paul is in fact quoting directly from the Old Testament (Proverbs 25:21-22)? And have we ever noticed the two verses I put at the top, about what to do if you see your enemy’s ox or donkey wandering loose or collapsed under its load? Be sure to return it, in the first instance, or to help your enemy get it back on its feet, in the second. The teaching of Jesus? No. The teaching of the law-laden Old Testament book of Exodus.

The teaching of Jesus of course is wonderful; thank God for it! But it isn’t always original. Remember, he was a Jew who was soaked in the Jewish scriptures he had learned from boyhood. (You might even say that the greatest thing about his words is not so much the new ones he spoke, but the old ones he fulfilled.)Isn’t Exodus 23:4-5 a perfect example of what it means to “love your enemy”? – and it was spoken fifteen hundred years before Jesus walked this earth.

I would even go so far as to say that the passages from Proverbs and Exodus give us something that Jesus’ words don’t. Yes, he tells us to love our enemies, and commands us to pray for them. But those Old Testament passages clothe that truth in practical everyday action. How exactly do I love my enemy? – by giving him food and drink when he’s hungry and thirsty, that’s how – by running over to help him pick up his fallen donkey, that’s how.

What is particularly helpful about those examples (or, of course, about the modern equivalents that might come to our minds today) is this: I don’t have to feel loving or forgiving in order to carry them out – I just get on and do them.

That is helpful because, very likely, when we talk about forgiving people who have hurt us, we stumble at the little voice inside that says “But isn’t this just hypocrisy? The fact is that my heart is empty of any feeling of forgiveness”? And that may be true. But such down-to-earth examples provide a bracing, answering voice: “Never mind! Just do the loving thing and let the feeling follow in God’s good time. It will, don’t worry, it will!”

It goes without saying that when we do the loving thing we must carefully avoid coming across as superior, of seeming to say, “Yes, you have hurt me badly, but I am really such a wonderful Christian that I am willing to forgive you and even to try to love you”.

Who wants to be forgiven by a self-righteous prig? Your enemy is likely to respond “You can stick your forgiveness, thank you very much!” No: the act simply speaks for itself – in the rather odd expression used by the writer of Proverbs, it will have the effect of “heaping burning coals” on his or her head (presumably by stirring up a sense of shame and remorse).

Whatever, the message is clear… never mind how badly I still feel about my enemy, next time I see his ox lumbering down the high street looking lost, I know what to do, don’t I…?

Loving Father, thank you that in the cross of Jesus you have extended your forgiveness to me in spite of my lack of deserving. Teach me to do the same for others, and by your Holy Spirit please cleanse my heart of any vengeful, vindictive thoughts. Amen.

Leaders, and how to view them

Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save… Psalm 146:3

Stop trusting in mere humans, who have but a breath in their nostrils. Isaiah 2:22

So… yet again a respected and prominent Christian leader is caught out, exposed as guilty of sexual misbehaviour sufficient to land him in a court of law. Oh, how wearily familiar this is!

The writer of Psalm 146 is, of course, writing about Israel’s national life, not about the Christian church. Likewise too the prophet Isaiah. But their warnings are applicable to all manner of situations, including the life of the church.

The point is simple: Human beings are bound, at some point, to let you down! So let’s get that idea into our heads.

The relationship between Christians and their spiritual leaders isn’t entirely simple. The New Testament assumes that leaders are to be respected and obeyed: “Have confidence in your leaders and submit to their authority” says the writer to the Hebrews (13:17). This, surely, is the Christian’s “default position”.

Yet it also contains warnings about being misled. Jesus spoke to  his disciples about “false prophets”, who “come to you in sheep’s clothing”, though “inwardly they are ferocious wolves” (Matthew 7:15). Paul too is realistic about “false apostles, deceitful workers, masquerading as apostles of Christ”, and adds grimly, “and no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:13-14). In a similar vein, John warns about the “many antichrists” who have come into the world, and urges his readers not to “believe every spirit”, but to “test the spirits to see whether they are from God” (1 John 2:18, 4:1).

Things aren’t always what they seem! People aren’t always what they  seem! Christian, be aware of that fact.

The man I started with was a prolific writer and teacher, and I can only imagine how the people now feel who placed great reliance on him. Very likely someone reading this blog knows the experience of being completely let down by a leader they respected, trusted and even loved: “I just can’t believe it! I feel my whole faith has been shaken. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to trust anyone again”.

What positives can we gain from this sad reality? Somehow we need to maintain a delicate balance between, on the one hand, respecting and trusting those whom God has set over us in Christ – that’s the default position I mentioned; and, on the other, viewing them only with suspicion, as the psalmist and Isaiah might suggest.

I have met Christians who are so sure of their own rightness that they fall into that second category; they seem almost to sniff around anyone in a position of authority or influence, whoever they might be and however glowing their reputation, determined to find fault with them.

But I have also known others who trust their leaders so much as to virtually put them on a pedestal, as if they can do or say no wrong.

I was made aware of this kind of attitude very early on in my ministry by a remark a loyal church member made. A few of us had been having a bit of a discussion on one of those “grey areas” where disagreement (hopefully friendly) is inevitable. This man listened to my viewpoint, thought for a moment and then said, “Well, if that’s good enough for you, I’m OK with it”.

It made me feel uncomfortable; it was as if he was saying, “I’m happy to let you do my thinking for me – you’re the pastor, after all”. But what if I was wrong? – as, of course, was perfectly possible. Shouldn’t all of us develop the habit of prayerfully thinking and even questioning for ourselves?

Here’s something we need to ask ourselves: How dependent on other human beings is my faith in Christ? Do I test against scripture the things I hear and read? Is there some individual who, to be honest, I’m a bit dazzled by?

Suppose I were shipwrecked on a desert island? – no church, no minister, no books (perhaps just a Bible salvaged from the wreckage), no sermons, Bible studies or small groups. What would happen to my faith? Would it gradually putter out like the last half inch of a candle?

Putting it another way: to what extent is my faith really mine? And to what extent is it a hand-me-down faith drawn unthinkingly from others? From parents, perhaps, or from teachers or children’s workers, or from some preacher who has meant a lot to me, or an author whose books I have valued? Good people, of course; but not infallible.

Leadership in the church is a vital gift of God, and we should be thankful for it and take it seriously. But let’s be careful. Ultimately only God himself can be completely relied upon.

If we remember that it may save us, one day, from a lot of hurt and disillusionment.

Loving Father, thank you for gifting your church with men and women who, in their various ways, lead us in the things of Jesus. Help me to respect and submit to them. But help me too to remember that total reliability lies only in you and your word – in the living word, Jesus, and the written word, scripture. Amen.

Job and his wife

The Lord said to Satan, “Very well, then, he [Job] is in your hands; but you must spare his life.” So Satan went out from the presence of the Lord and afflicted Job with painful sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head. Then Job took a piece of broken pottery and scraped himself with it as he sat among the ashes. His wife said to him, “Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!” He replied, “You are talking like a foolish woman. Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” Job 2:7-10

Poor Job! Poor, poor Job!

He is described at the beginning of the book as “blameless and upright”, a man who “feared God and shunned evil” (1:1). He is wealthy and powerful, yet God allows a string of catastrophes to strike him, including the deaths of his seven sons and three daughters. But “in all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing” (1:22).

But now comes a whole new affliction: “painful sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head” (2:7). Leprosy? Elephantiasis? These are two of the main possibilities scholars have suggested. But it doesn’t matter; we can only speculate after all. What does matter is that it was horrible, and we are shown him sitting pathetically on the local rubbish dump scraping his body with a piece of broken pottery, presumably to get himself some kind of relief (2:7-8). How are the mighty fallen!

And then, to cap it all, his wife turns against him. She hadn’t reckoned on this all those years earlier when they married, and you can’t entirely blame the poor woman for at last losing patience with his wonderful faith and goodness: “Are you still maintaining your integrity? Curse God and die!” (2:9).

How did Job feel when his own wife of many years, the mother of his ten children, directed those terrible words at him? Utterly, utterly lonely, I would think. His children dead; his wife turning on him: who is there left to give him comfort?

Job rebukes her for “foolishness”, and then asks a question which is one of the best short sayings in the Bible: “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” (2:10). “Fine words”, as one commentator says.

And they are words which are for us today as much as for this wretched man lost in the mists of time.

“Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?...”

I know we would never admit this, but I suspect that often we subconsciously view God as basically the guarantor of our comfort and well-being: in a word, he exists to keep us happy. It’s as if we have made a bargain: we trust and obey him, and he keeps us from any harm.

Except, of course, that it just doesn’t work like that. Ultimately, yes, God promises us everything; but he owes us nothing. Paul, quoting from Isaiah 64, speaks of “what no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived – the things God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9). Unimaginable riches are what God will pour on his people: but in his own time and his own way.

This may be a little hard on Simon Peter, but I wonder if perhaps he was an example of the “bargain” approach to following Jesus. “We have left everything to follow you,” he tells him: “What then will there be for us?” That was pretty brazen, wasn’t it? Yet Jesus replies in the same coin, so to speak: “Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or fields for my sake will receive a hundred times as much and will inherit eternal life” (Matthew 19:27-29).

What Job saw but his wife didn’t was the difference between resignation and acceptance.

Resignation is essentially a negative thing. When something bad happens, it says, “I don’t like this and I would rather it wasn’t happening; but I suppose I had better put up with it”. But acceptance is a positive thing. When something bad happens it says, “I don’t like this and I would rather it wasn’t happening; but believing as I do that God is my loving Father, I will pray to see his hand even in this, and ultimately to benefit from it”.

What about us? When troubles come do we simply try to “put up with it”? Or do we see it in the same light as Job? Something to accept as being ultimately for a good purpose? Something through which we may grow?

This doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to escape from our troubles; but it does mean that if no escape is possible, then a positive acceptance is called for, not a grin-and-bear-it resignation.

The apostle Paul was, like Job, troubled by Satan: he was given a “thorn in the flesh” (whatever that may have been), and very naturally he prayed – no less than three times – that God would take it away. But God said No: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness”.

And so Paul responded with words even more magnificent than Job’s: “That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:7-10).

Thank you, Father, that the Jesus we follow prayed that the cup of crucifixion might pass from him, but then added, “Yet not as I will, but as you will”. Grant me too, Lord, the grace of willing acceptance when troubles, great or small, come to me. Amen.

Looking death in the face

After Moses and Aaron left Pharaoh, Moses cried out to the Lord about the frogs he had brought on Pharaoh. And the Lord did what Moses asked. The frogs died in the houses, in the courtyards and in the fields. They were piled into heaps, and the land reeked of them. But when Pharaoh saw that there was relief, he hardened his heart and would not listen to Moses and Aaron, just as the Lord had said. Exodus 8:12-15

Many years ago I worked as a part-time hospital chaplain as well as serving my own church. It could be a draining as well as a rewarding task. I did my best, though I fear it wasn’t very good.

But from time to time people would assure me that when their bad time was over they would start taking God seriously: as if to say, “This has taught me a lesson – I have been really neglectful of God, and I know I must change”. Occasionally they would ask me what church I was minister of – “If I get through this I’ll be coming along!”

Well, I worked for eleven years in that hospital, and that did happen…  precisely once. A lady who had been in for quite a time recovered, and was as good as her word. I had the pleasure of baptising her, and she became a loyal church member.

True, there were others who may, for all I know, have changed their ways and joined some other church: but I have to confess that I became a little cynical.

How true this is to human nature. If you have ever made a promise to God in a time of trouble and then gone back on it (as I certainly have) you are, I’m afraid, in good company (if good is the right word).

That company includes Pharaoh, King of Egypt in the days of Moses.

Some 1500 hundred years before Christ, God sent Moses and his older brother Aaron to lead the people of Israel out of slavery in Egypt. But Pharaoh was stubborn: in some places we read that “God hardened his heart”, in others that he hardened his own heart. However we may explain that difference, he comes across as being responsible for his own disastrous decisions.

The particularly sad part is when he seems genuinely to have undergone a change of heart – only then to go back on it. This happens several times in Exodus 7-11, and 8:15 is a prime example: “When Pharaoh saw that there was relief, he hardened his heart and would not listen to Moses and Aaron, just as the Lord had said”. The key words there are “when Pharaoh saw there was relief”; as soon as things started to get a bit better, Pharaoh’s good resolution melted away like snow in the sunshine.

Are we today any different? I don’t want to draw too close a parallel between what happened all those hundreds of years ago and our present pandemic situation. And yet I can’t help seeing this as a warning to us.

Everyone is in agreement that we are living through very difficult times, and we may have heard people say things like, “Of course I dislike it as much as anyone and long for it to be over – and yet I feel that I have learned important lessons. I really hope – indeed, I intend – to be a better person when we have emerged on the other side”.

Ah, but will we?

What lessons in particular might we learn? I suggest three.

First, the value of human togetherness and compassion.

Have you noticed how people often seem to be more friendly and sympathetic? Even if you happen to be passing a total stranger in the street, it’s striking how often you get a smile and a greeting. Oh yes, there are, sadly, others who it brings the worst out of; but every time we experience that touch of shared humanity it does us good and can prompt the question, “Why can’t we be like this all the time?” And that’s a good question to ask.

Second, the shallowness of material things.

One of the tragedies of modern life, especially in the affluent west, is that we have come to measure meaning and happiness in purely material terms. Suddenly these things are either taken away completely, or much reduced, and we find ourselves bored and frustrated, even cross that we can’t do the things we think we’re entitled to do.

And then we see those members of society, especially of course the health workers and other key workers, who simply battle on at enormous sacrifice and teach us about the things that really matter.

Third, the fact of our own mortality.

Suddenly, people have been dying in shocking numbers. And of course we find it hard to cope with it.

We have been used to brushing death under the carpet, pretending to ourselves that it isn’t really there. But we can’t do that any more – not, at least, if we have any sense at all.

Death beckons us all, and we had better get used to the idea. I for one have found myself praying that God will bring me to the place where I really can genuinely echo those wonderful, glowing words of Paul: “To me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21).

Life, even at its best, is often “solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short”. So wrote the gloomy philosopher Thomas Hobbes.

But there is hope in Christ, the one who conquered death and lives eternally. May God help us, through these difficult times, to learn that hope. And not to make the same sad mistake as Pharaoh so long ago.

Father, thank you that in Jesus death is a defeated enemy. As I am forced to look it in its face perhaps as never before, please bring me to that place where I can say with Paul “to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” - and really mean it, from the bottom of my heart. Amen.

Resting in God

My heart is not proud, Lord,

    my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
    or things too wonderful for me.
But I have calmed and quieted myself,
    I am like a weaned child with its mother;
    like a weaned child I am content.

Israel, put your hope in the Lord
    both now and forevermore. Psalm 131

A memory from my teenage years… One of our youth leaders asked a girl to read a Bible passage in the service. She gladly agreed: “What’s the passage?” she asked. He replied, “Psalm 119”. So she happily went off to look it up.

Fifteen minutes later she came back with a monster frown on her face: “Psalm 119? You kidding? It’s got 176 verses!”

Yes, he was joking. It was Psalm 131 he really wanted – just three little verses. Cue a big sigh of relief.

I wonder if you’ve ever paid special attention to the fifteen psalms, 120 to 134? They all have the added title “A song of ascents”, though nobody is absolutely sure what that means. Only one (132) is more than ten verses. I can’t help wondering if they show that God has a sense of humour, as if he is saying, “Well done! You’ve got right through Psalm 119 and perhaps at times you’ve found it a bit of a plod. Well, here are fifteen little miniatures for you to enjoy. Why not try one per day for a fortnight?”

I personally find these short poems wonderfully refreshing, and not just because they’re so short. No: because they are generally full of trust and hope, celebrating God’s fatherly goodness and anticipating good things to come. (Perhaps, if you are feeling particularly frazzled from the pandemic, that suggestion of just one a day for a fortnight may not be a bad idea: it may be all the Bible-reading you need for the moment. This is the word of the Lord, after all, just as much as chunks of the prophets or the Gospels or Paul!)

In Psalm 131 the psalmist compares himself to “a weaned child with its mother”. He has “calmed and quietened” himself. To my shame I for many years pictured this as a baby at its mother’s breast; but that in fact is precisely what isn’t being described – I was too lazy mentally to take proper notice of that word “weaned”. No, the picture is more of a small quite active child perhaps coming to the end of a rough-and-tumble day and cuddling up to its mother before bedtime.

What matters is that he or she is peaceful and secure, aware of being loved, and therefore happy in his or her dependence. And this is an image of the man or woman of God.

“My heart is not proud, Lord”, says the psalmist, “my eyes are not haughty; I do not concern myself with great matters or things too wonderful for me…” You could take that as a cop-out, as if the psalmist is choosing to duck troubles or responsibilities which he should rightly grapple with.

But no, I don’t think there is any false humility here. Rather, he is rejoicing that in the middle of life’s ups and downs he has a solid, quiet faith in the fatherly God who overrules all things – and who loves him personally, as a parent loves their child.

But this throws up a question: Is it possible to maintain that kind of simple, childlike trust when, putting it bluntly, you are no longer a simple, childlike person?

You may have been a Christian for many years, perhaps even been to Bible college and gained qualifications; you may spend much of your time with intelligent and sophisticated non-believers who routinely challenge your faith; you may have been forced to think hard and question deeply about difficult matters of doctrine: in which case, is the kind of simple faith depicted in this psalm possible?

The answer has to be Yes. When Jesus insisted that the children should be allowed to come to him (Mark 10:13-16), he warned his disciples that “anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a child will never enter it”. That sounds pretty plain! – and rather disturbing.

We mustn’t pretend to be over-childlike, of course: God has given us minds with which to probe, question and think, and he expects us to do just that. Remember Job.

But at bottom, how can any human being, however clever and knowledgeable, be anything but a tiny child over against the infinite mystery of Almighty God? The cleverest Christian throughout history (whoever he or she may be) knows not even a million-millionth part of what there is to know.

When C S Lewis, a man who put his massive intellect at the service of the Christian faith, got married in his later years, his wife was amazed (and, I suspect, slightly amused) to discover that every night before going to sleep he would kneel at his bedside to pray. Just like a child.

When Professor Karl Barth - perhaps the most famous theologian of the twentieth century, a writer whose enormous output provides many other scholars with a whole life-time’s work - when Prof Barth was asked to sum up the essence of his theology, he is said to have replied, “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so”.

However wise and knowledgeable you become - and rightly so - never be ashamed to come back to Psalm 131!

Heavenly Father, help me to love you with all my mind as well as with all my heart, all my soul and all my strength. But grant too that I will never lose that simple childlike trust without which I cannot see the kingdom of God. Amen.