The bitterness and the joy

Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy. Proverbs 14:10

One of the delights of reading Proverbs is that often you are left to work out for yourself why a particular verse is there. It’s not a book of “doctrine”, or teaching, for you to squirrel away as eternal truths; no, a lot of it consists of observations which are plopped in your lap, so to speak, for you to reflect on and think about. Conversation-starters, if you like.

Proverbs 14:10 is a case in point. After reading it you might think “OK, thank you for that observation – but now what do you expect me to do about it?”

Here are some possibilities which occurred to me.

1 You might ask the question, Is it actually true?

You don’t mean to doubt God’s word, but it could be taken to say that what goes on in the secret place of another person’s heart, both the bitter and the joyful, is indeed “secret”, unknowable to anyone else.

And that isn’t strictly true, is it? We have a saying that “a problem shared is a problem halved”, and while that may not be strictly true either, there is a precious sense in which pouring out your heart to a friend in a time of trouble can bring real relief. And certainly we can share another person’s joy, as when we attend their wedding or some other celebration.

I think that what the writer means is that at the very deepest level we are in fact strangers to one another. There is an inner you and an inner me, and an outer you and an outer me. Certainly we don’t (I hope) consciously “project an image” to the outside world, but there’s a whole lot of us that is hidden, even to those who know us best.

That leads to:

2 Don’t jump to conclusions.

I was in a service once when we had a bunch of young people doing a presentation on behalf of a missionary organisation. I was leading, but I had handed over to them for a ten minute slot. As is not unusual with enthusiastic young people, they got up to various antics in order to get their message across. I happened to catch sight of the face of an elderly man in the congregation – a quite old-fashioned elderly man. It was like thunder. “Uh-oh” I thought, “Will’s not liking this – get ready for repercussions…!”

A moment or two later the group asked for a volunteer to come up front and help, and - Will?... Will was out of his seat like a shot and acting like a teenager. How wrong could I be!

Do you tend to jump to conclusions? Could it be that that man who seems a bit stand-offish is in fact just very shy? That that woman who snubbed you (so you thought) in the street yesterday, was heading home from the hospital after receiving bad news; and simply didn’t see you? That that person at work who is sharp, critical and unhelpful is going through the pain of a dying marriage?

God alone truly knows our hearts.

And that leads to:

3 Don’t pass shallow judgments.

Of course, Jesus us tells us not judge at all (Matthew 7:1). But even that is not to be taken strictly literally, for he also told his disciples to “watch out for false prophets” (Matthew 7:15) and to not “throw your pearls to pigs” (Matthew 7:6) – and how can you be obedient to those commands if you haven’t in some sense passed a judgment on who might be a false prophet or who might be a “pig”?

What he meant was that we shouldn’t dismiss or condemn another person without very good reason (and not even then). And that surely is what our verse in Proverbs suggests as well.

How easy it is to pass shallow judgments! We can smile sweetly on the outside while despising another person inwardly. One of the advantages of getting old (allow me to slip for a moment into geriatric mode) is learning to appreciate and value people who, in earlier days, you were tempted to, er, think little of.

Perhaps the greatest overall lesson of Proverbs 14:10 is, very simply…

4 Be kind.

It’s said that you can’t begin to understand another person until you have walked ten miles in their shoes. There’s truth, surely, in that. It doesn’t mean that we should be indifferent to behaviour or attitudes which are downright wrong; all men and women are sinners, after all. But given that judgment ultimately belongs to God and God alone, it’s not a bad principle to think always the best rather than the worst.

That little word “kind” is very beautiful – simple, unpretentious. It pops up in the middle of Paul’s list of the “fruit of the Spirit” in Galatians 5:22; it’s a stronger word than just “nice”, a little less strong than “compassionate”.

Whatever, it’s a word that can certainly be applied to Jesus. So I find that a little reflection on Proverbs 14:10 ends up pointing us directly to him. I do hope you agree with me.

Loving heavenly Father, thank you that you know the deepest secrets of my heart – the good and the bad, the happy and the painful – and still you love me. Help me to treat others with that same kind of love and kindness. Amen.

An example to inspire us

As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him. Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away.  Matthew 27:57-60

You think you know someone pretty well – you have, after all, known them for quite a time. And then you meet someone else who also knows them well, and they tell you something about them that you didn’t have a clue about. You gain a whole new insight into their life and character. “Well, fancy that”, you say.

Every man and woman is like a mosaic, and each of us knows only a small part of that mosaic. (Note to self: Never be surprised to learn something new about somebody I thought I knew well! Second note to self: Remember, there is no such thing on the face of planet earth as an uninteresting human being, if only I am prepared to give them patience and respect.)

If we were to be asked “Who was Joseph of Arimathea?” we would probably answer, “The rich man who took Jesus’ body down from the cross and had it laid in a tomb”. And we would be right.

But there’s more to this very minor New Testament character. In spite of having only a small part in the story, he appears in all four of the Gospels, and they all have a different angle to emphasise.

Let’s pull together the different parts of the mosaic…

Matthew tells us that he was rich, that he was a disciple of Jesus, and that the tomb in which he placed Jesus’ body was his own.

Mark tells us that he was “a prominent member of the Jewish council” – their “parliament” - and that he was “waiting for the kingdom of God”.

Luke misses out the word “prominent”, but says that he was “good and upright”, agrees that he was “waiting for the kingdom of God”, and wants us to know that he “had not consented” to the lengthy “trial” in which the council agreed to hand Jesus over to the Romans.

John adds that his discipleship was “secret… because he feared the Jewish leaders”; and that he was accompanied by Nicodemus, a fellow-member of the council (the man who “came to Jesus by night” (John 3)).

No doubt there was a lot more to Joseph of Arimathea as well. But certainly, if we take all these details together, we build up a picture of an impressive character: a prominent Jew, educated, respected among his own people, of a godly and spiritual nature.

Various things stand out. They may be a word to us…

First, he was courageous. All right, he may have kept his discipleship secret, but the way he approached Pontius Pilate to ask for the body was “bold” (so says Mark), no doubt involving risk. And the fact that he had stood against the other council members – perhaps the only one in that meeting to do so? – was brave. (Was that the first time he had broken cover and made his discipleship open?)

Courageous... Is that a word to us? Has the time come to “stand up, stand up for Jesus”, as the song puts it?

Second, he was generous. To have provided the necessary burial clothes and, along with Nicodemus, the various anointing ointments, would have been very costly. And to have given Jesus the dignity of burial in a tomb he had had built for himself, no doubt at great expense, showed a wonderful indifference to his own wealth.

Generous... Is that a word to us? Through Joseph, and through the unknown woman who squandered “an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume” (Matthew 26:6-3), is God calling us to have a fresh look at our attitude to money?

Third, he was wonderfully humble - such was his desire to honour Jesus that he was prepared to be identified with a convicted criminal.

He couldn’t bear the thought that Jesus’ body might end up slung into a ditch or a common grave (the usual fate of criminals who didn’t have anyone to bury them).

(Perhaps he had in mind too the words of Deuteronomy 21:22: “If someone guilty of a capital offence is put to death and their body exposed on a pole, you must not leave the body hanging on the pole overnight. Be sure to bury it that same day, because anyone who is hung on a pole is under God’s curse”. Of course, at that point Joseph didn’t know that in a very wonderful sense Jesus was indeed “under God’s curse” because he had “borne our sins in his body on the tree” (1 Peter 2:24). But that doesn’t take away from the beauty of his action.)

Humble... Is this too a word to us? Are we willing to suffer humiliation for the sake of Jesus?

Above all, Joseph of Arimathea loved Jesus. Where else did this courage, this generosity, this humility come from?

Yes, he may have had only a minor part to play. But when the moment came for him to step onto the stage, how beautifully he did so.

Again, is this a word to us?

Thanks be to God for the example of Joseph of Arimathea.

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

"... their eyes were opened..."

When he was at the table with them, Jesus took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognised him… Luke 24:30-31

Do you ever fail to see the obvious? Something is right in front of your nose, but somehow you don’t see it; or spoken right into your ear, but you don’t hear it.

I read a newspaper article once about somebody I slightly knew - but totally failed to see the connection. A day or two later a friend said to me “Did you see that thing about Paul in the paper the other day?” Only then did it dawn on me…

I decided (trying to reassure myself that I wasn’t completely stupid) that I had had no reason to expect Paul to be in the paper, so – well, that was it.

Go to the afternoon of the first Easter Sunday.

Two people are walking sadly from Jerusalem to Emmaus, roughly seven miles away. One of them is called Cleopas, probably the same person as the “Clopas” mentioned in John 19:25 as the husband of a woman called Mary; so very likely this story is about a married couple.

They are completely confused by the events of the last few hours. They are disciples of Jesus, and Mary was with a group of women at the foot of the cross. So she, if not both of them, saw him crucified. They have sat through that wretched, utterly miserable Saturday. And now they’re heading, presumably home, to Emmaus.

But before setting out they have been puzzled by rumours: Jesus, it is said, is alive again! What’s going on? No doubt they’re mulling it over as they walk.

And then they are joined by a stranger. It is Jesus – but they don’t recognise him. Perhaps it’s getting dark (no street lights, remember); perhaps his face is partly cloaked. Or perhaps their numbed minds just can’t process what’s in front of their eyes; they are in a state of what today is called “denial”.

Jesus explains what has gone on, drawing from the pages of the Old Testament, pages with which they should have been familiar; but still they don’t “get it”. They persuade this stranger to share a meal with them. And then… something happens. He, though the guest rather than the host, takes it on himself to “break the bread” – and suddenly they understand: “their eyes were opened and they recognised him”. What a moment!

It's like what had happened to Mary Magdalene that morning. She finds Jesus’ tomb open and empty. She assumes the body has been stolen. She becomes aware of a man standing near her. He asks why she is so upset. She thinks he must be the gardener, and asks him where the body is. He speaks just a single word: her name, “Mary”. And suddenly she too sees: “Teacher!” she cries out. Again, what a moment!

Let me say categorically: it is the greatest moment of your life when your eyes are opened and you see Jesus for who he truly is: the crucified and risen Son of God. Nothing can ever be the same again.

Has that yet happened to you?

That moment of revelation is both a gift and a command. A gift, because it is something that happens to us, perhaps right out of the blue, as with Cleopas and Mary, and with Mary Magdalene. But also a command, because we are told to believe, to have faith.

It's hard to marry those two things together; but experience suggests that that’s the way it is. We mustn’t use the fact that our eyes haven’t yet been opened as an excuse, a cop-out. God calls us to see – and if he calls us to see, then we needn’t doubt that he will make it happen, as long as our hearts are humble and open.

Can you think of another couple in the Bible of whom it is said “their eyes were opened…”? Sadly in this case it was to see their downfall: “they knew that they were naked”, and so they took steps to cover their shame. Yes – Adam and Eve, right at the beginning.

And so the first creation went horribly wrong. But now, on the first Easter Day, God is bringing into being the new creation, a creation of which we are all invited to be a part.

Are you yet part of this wonderful new, clean creation? Have your eyes yet been opened?

Here’s a prayer I invite you to pray…

Open my eyes, Lord,/ I want to see Jesus,/ To reach out and touch him/ And say that I love him./ Open my ears, Lord,/ And help me to listen./ Open my eyes, Lord,/ I want to see Jesus. Amen. (Robert Cull, altered)

Too good to be true?

When he had received the drink, Jesus said, “It is finished.” With that he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. John 19:30

Buying carpets can be an expensive business, so we had put down a deposit in advance, with the remainder due on completion of the job. Once the fitter had done his work we produced what we owed, he processed the money and handed us back our bill. The words “Paid in full” were written across it.

It was a nice feeling, to know that everything was in order, the work was satisfactorily done, and - most of all - we didn’t owe any money.

In the world in which Jesus lived, the Greek word for “paid in full” was tetelestai, which literally means “completed”, “finished”, “done”, “over”. And this is the word John uses to tell us about Jesus’ dying word on the cross: “It is finished”.

So what was going on? What was “finished”? Just this: Jesus was declaring in the most public way possible that he had completed the work his Father had sent him to do - the work of paying, once and for all, for human sin by his death on the cross.

The theme appears earlier in John’s Gospel. In 4:34 Jesus speaks of how God sent him “to finish his work”; and in 5:36, of “the works that the Father has given me to finish”. At those points Jesus is looking to the future. But now, in 19.30, he is talking of the present.

Of course, because we weren’t there we can never know exactly how Jesus uttered that word. But Matthew, in his Gospel, mentions him speaking “with a loud voice”, and very likely that was it. One thing we can be certain of is that it was a cry of triumph rather than a whimper of defeat. Jesus wasn’t saying “It’s all over, I’ve had enough, I can’t take any more”. No, he was celebrating a victory that had at that moment been achieved.

This is massively important.

The human mind seems to be hard-wired to think that, if we are to be right with God (“saved”, to use another Bible word), then we must try very hard to make ourselves right. The “work” belongs to us. And how do we do it? Well, obviously, by doing good deeds, by living a good life, by going regularly to church, by giving to charity. If we try really hard to do these things we might just do enough to squeeze into God’s favour – the credit side of the balance sheet will outweigh the debit side.

Completely obvious! And completely wrong.

If this is the way you instinctively think, can I ask you to really take on board that single word tetelestai? And can I urge you as a result to reboot your thinking on this vital subject?

When Jesus cried “It is finished” that meant that he had done it all; and if he had done it all, that can only mean that there is, quite literally, nothing left for us to do.

Put it another way: being right with God is a gift from Jesus to us. All we need to do – all we can do – is reach out the hand of faith and make it our own.

You might be tempted to reply “But that’s just too good to be true!” Certainly, it seems like that, I must agree. But if Christianity is true, then it is plain fact – why else is the Christian message called “good news” (which is what “gospel” means)?

After all, it’s hardly good news to be told that you must work with all your might and main to earn forgiveness and salvation – but that even after you’ve done that there’s no guarantee of success; you still might not “make the cut”.

No; to be offered salvation as a free gift from God purely on the basis of what Jesus did on the cross – well, that really is good news.

Does this mean that we needn’t bother with all that “good living” I mentioned earlier? – the going to church, the giving to charity, the showing love, forgiveness and generosity? No, it doesn’t. But there’s a  big difference: we do these things as a response to God’s love, not as a way of hoping to earn it. This isn’t about becoming “religious”; it’s about becoming a new man or woman because Jesus has lifted the weight of your sin and washed you clean.

There’s a song, by Graham Kendrick, that sums up perfectly the invitation that we are offered: “The price is paid,/ Come let us enter in/ To all that Jesus died/ To make our own./ For every sin/ More than enough he gave,/ And bought our freedom/ From each guilty stain...”

Yes, it is finished! Is that word – tetelestai, spoken from the cross on the first Good Friday - the greatest word ever spoken?

More to the point, is it a word you still need to respond to? If it is, why not do so right now? Here’s a prayer you might like to pray in your heart…

Father God, thank you for opening my eyes to the meaning of the cross. Thank you for showing me that, though I am sinful and separated from you, Jesus has paid the price once for all on my behalf. Help me, right now, to reach out the hand of faith and to receive this wonderful gift. Amen.

"Surely not me, Lord?"

So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them and prepared the Passover. When evening came, Jesus was reclining at the table with the Twelve. And while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.”

They were very sad and began to say to him one after the other, “Surely you don’t mean me, Lord?”

Jesus replied, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born.”

Then Judas, the one who would betray him, said, “Surely you don’t mean me, Rabbi?” Jesus answered, “You have said so.”

You know what it’s like when somebody “says the wrong thing” – a joke backfires, perhaps, or a confidence is given away. A cloud descends, and everyone feels awkward and embarrassed.

I’m not suggesting that Jesus said the wrong thing, but it must have been a bit like that as he celebrated Passover with his disciples. This meal, remembering the escape of the people of Israel from Egypt under Moses, was a sacred, solemn event. But it was joyful too, because it reminded the Jews that their God was a powerful and just God, and so it gave them hope that as he had delivered them from slavery in the past, so he would also in the future.

Imagine, then, the moment when, with the meal under way, Jesus spoke with a brutal plainness: “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me”. Can you hear the sudden silence? I picture every face fixed on him, perhaps one or two hands frozen in mid-air between mouth and table: sheer shock and disbelief. What did he say? What did he say?

No wonder, as Matthew tells us, that “they were very sad and began to say to him one after another, ‘Surely you don’t mean me, Lord?’”

Translated literally, their words were “Not I am, Lord?”, but I suspect that “Surely not me, Lord?” would be pretty good; or “You don’t mean me, Lord, do you?” Whatever, what strikes me is that the disciples were open to the possibility that it could be them - perhaps they had learned the lesson of Simon Peter’s rash bravado (Matthew 16:21-23).

The lesson for us is clear: never slip into complacency; never assume that we could never fall. And, by the same token, don’t be too hard on those who do fall; we don’t know what pressures they are under.

Paul, though writing to the church in Corinth in a different context, puts it beautifully: “So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!” (1 Corinthians 10:12).

I wonder if anyone reading this is too sure of yourself? or too ready to look down your nose at others?

And then it’s Judas’ turn (verse 25). His words are the same, “Not I am…?” Except that they’re not quite the same… his final word is not “Lord” but “Rabbi”. It’s difficult not to feel that this is significant. To call Jesus “Lord”, as the other eleven did, is to recognise his divine authority, and to declare your allegiance to him. But anyone, disciple or not, who simply wanted to show him respect might call him ”Rabbi”, teacher.

Was this a sign that Judas’ faith in Jesus had ebbed right away?

We tend to think “traitor” the moment we think of Judas. But we need to remind ourselves that there was a time not so long before when he had the same zeal and enthusiasm as the others: he had heard Jesus preaching! he had seen him healing the sick! he was there when Jesus called Lazarus out of the tomb! He was trusted enough to be appointed the disciples’ “treasurer” (John 13:29).

Yet now, for money, he plans to hand Jesus over to the Roman soldiers.

Who can guess what went on in Judas’ mind leading up to these sad events? Nobody, of course. But we can benefit from his fall by asking ourselves entirely seriously the same question: “Surely you don’t mean me, Lord?” Lord, give us the humility to recognise our own frailty!

Why was Jesus so gentle with Peter and so hard on Judas?

Well, was he in fact so hard on Judas?

The signs are that right to the end he held open the door through which Judas could have returned into the fold. He knew what he was planning to do, but still he welcomed him to the Passover meal. When Judas asked him that key question (verse 25) he gave the rather odd reply “You have said so”, not “Yes, I’m afraid you are the one”, as if inviting him to unsay what he had said.

And when the soldiers came for Jesus in Gethsemane and Judas greeted him with a kiss(!) he called him “friend” and told him to “do what you came for” - as if to say, “Well, if you really are sure you want to go through with this, you’d better get on with it”.

Judas betrayed Jesus, he didn’t simply collapse, like Peter, in a moment of panic and fear (Matthew 26:69-75). To betray someone requires cold planning and deliberate intent – Judas must have taken time and trouble to visit the chief priests in order to bargain with them (Matthew 26:14-16). Oh the sheer sadness!

We know that later he regretted what he had done (Matthew 27:1-5). But it was too late. Again, Paul can help us here: “Godly sorrow (like Peter’s) brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow (like Judas’) brings death” (2 Corinthians 7:10).

Oh Lord, don’t let it be me!

Father God, thank you for the compassion of Jesus towards those who failed him, whether Peter through weakness and fear, or Judas through calculated betrayal. Lord, I fail him too every day: have mercy upon me, I pray. Amen.

The pharaoh and the Hebrew midwives

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah, ‘When you are helping the Hebrew women during childbirth on the delivery stool, if you see that the baby is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.’ The midwives, however, feared God and did not do what the king of Egypt had told them to do; they let the boys live. Then the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and asked them, ‘Why have you done this? Why have you let the boys live?’

The midwives answered Pharaoh, ‘Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive.’

So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families of their own.

Some fifty years ago, when I was still quite a young Christian, the story of Corrie ten Boom was very popular. She was a member of a Christian Dutch family who hid Jews in their home, a jewellers’ shop, to keep them from the Nazis during the second world war. A true hero.

But even more heroic, many thought, was her sister Betsie. Betsie was adamant that, as a Christian, she would never tell a lie.

The story goes that, as the Gestapo one day raided their shop, the Jewish refugees got under the table, where they were hidden by a table-cloth. A soldier fiercely asked Betsie “Where have you hidden the Jews?” To which she looked him in the eye and said “Under the table”. Thinking that she was trying to make fools of them the soldiers didn’t look but went off elsewhere.

I wonder what you and I would have done? All right, Betsie got away with it, and all credit to her for her faith and courage. But suppose it hadn’t worked out that way…

That story raises the question, Can a Christian ever be justified in lying?

The Bible tells us that Jesus is “the way, the truth and the life” (John 14:6), and that the devil himself is “a liar and the father of lies” (John 8:44). If anything in this world is sacred and holy, it is surely truth. So Betsie, surely, did what was right, and her courage was rewarded by God.

And yet…?

The Bible gives us stories (admittedly not many) where God’s people do lie, and seem to be blessed by him for doing so. A classic case is that of Rahab the prostitute and the Hebrew spies (Joshua 2), where in a situation rather like that of the ten Booms, Rahab lied but, like Betsie, got away with it.

All right, we might say, but Rahab wasn’t one of God’s people, so what would you expect? True, but in the Christian scriptures (Hebrews11:31) she is nonetheless praised for her faith.

And then there is the story of Shiphrah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives (Exodus 1). Not only did they bravely refuse to obey the Egyptian king when told to kill all the male children at birth, but then, when hauled up before him, told him what seems to have been a straight lie (verse 19). Whereupon God “was kind to the midwives”, and rewarded them with children of their own.

Complete truthfulness is certainly a Christian ideal, no doubt about that; but it isn’t always an entirely simple matter, is it?

Most of us, I’m sure, are happy to resort to what we might call “social” lies. “How are you today?” someone asks us, and we reply “Oh, not so bad, thanks”, even though we feel pretty grotty: we just don’t want to get involved in a discussion of our health, and the other person is only being kind, after all. “What do you think of my new hair cut?” someone else asks us, and we reply “Er, very nice”, though in truth it strikes us as pretty ghastly.

Those are trivial examples. But imagine another possibility, taken to an  extreme degree. You are walking through a wood and a small child comes tripping cheerfully along. Two minutes later a man appears clutching a blood-stained knife and asks “Which way did that child go?” Do you point him in the right direction? or in precisely the opposite direction?

To tell a lie is an evil. But are there times when it may be the lesser of two evils? – times when we have to choose, not between right and  wrong, but between two wrongs. You simply have no alternative.

The worlds of commerce, politics and public affairs generally furnish all sorts of examples. Wasn’t there once a British chancellor of the exchequer – a Christian, indeed – who was asked by a newspaper reporter if he intended to devalue the pound, said no, and then went on to do precisely that? He explained later that if he had told the truth at that particular moment it would have got into the headlines and caused a complete collapse of the currency. A British political party leader resigned just a year or two ago because he had come to the conclusion that no Christian could, in integrity, occupy that position. Was he right? (Sad, and rather worrying, that story, I would say.)

Go back to Shiphrah and Puah. Were they true heroes of faith for standing up to pharaoh even at the cost of lying? Or are they to be criticised for falling short of God’s ideal of perfect honesty? If I had to decide, I don’t think I’d be in any doubt which way I’d go.

Let’s thank God that most of the time we are not called on to make such decisions. But let’s also pray for those whose role in life makes it something they can’t avoid – especially in these dark days of “spin”, “fake news”, and sheer downright lies.

Lord God, you know the hearts and motives of each one of us, and you call us to be people of transparency and truth. Help me to work out this high ideal day by day, maintaining a clear conscience in every situation. Amen.

Who needs friends?

Paul came to Derbe and then to Lystra, where a disciple named Timothy lived, whose mother was Jewish and a believer but whose father was a Greek. The believers at Lystra and Iconium spoke well of him. Paul wanted to take him along on the journey, so he circumcised him because of the Jews who lived in that area, for they all knew that his father was a Greek. Acts 16:1-3

I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, that I also may be cheered when I receive news about you. I have no one else like him, who will show genuine concern for your welfare. For everyone looks out for their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But you know that Timothy has proved himself, because as a son with his father he has served with me in the work of the gospel.  Philippians 2:19-22

Do you remember meeting for the first time someone who became a best friend? – perhaps even your husband or wife? They were a total stranger to you; you didn’t, as we sometimes say, know them from Adam. And now you look at them, perhaps ten, twenty, thirty, even fifty years on, and smile to think how somehow they became as intimate a part of your life as a favourite old jumper. How did that happen? you ask yourself. Well, never mind how! It just did.

The scholars reckon that the apostle Paul first set eyes on Timothy about 49AD, roughly twenty years after the resurrection of Jesus. We get the impression from Acts 16 that from the moment he first set eyes on him in the town of Lystra Paul saw his qualities and potential and so “wanted to take him along” on the missionary journey he and Barnabas were engaged on. Which he did. Timothy became part of his team.

The scholars can’t fully agree when Paul wrote his letter to the church in Philippi, including this reference to Timothy, but it would have been around ten years later, give or take a few. It would be hard to imagine Paul using more glowing terms to describe him: “… I have no one else like him… will show genuine concern for your welfare… has proved himself, because as a son with his father he has served with me in the work of the gospel…”

That impression of deep respect and admiration is confirmed by the two letters Paul wrote to Timothy, and which we find a little later in the Bible. Timothy became like a loved son to Paul, and all in relatively little time.

So? Well, Paul is sometimes portrayed as an austere, even severe man. But there are many places in Acts and the letters which make it clear that he was capable of deep and strong affection. We never read of him having a wife and family (though we do read about a sister and a nephew), which may have been why his colleagues, young and not so young, became specially important to him: think of Barnabas, Silas, Epaphroditus, Titus, Epaphras, Aristarchus, Philemon, Apollos, Priscilla and Aquila (enough to be going on with?).

Paul needed people, friends, as do you and I. And while people who are not fellow-Christians may be friends whom we cherish (indeed, there is something wrong with us if we don’t have friends outside of Christ), it’s inevitable that our brothers and sisters in Christ are particularly special to us.

It's worth noticing that these rich friendships weren’t formed just by having cups of tea together or sitting around discussing the latest news (not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that), but by working together. The deepest, strongest bonds grow up between Christians when they serve and pray together.

Paul wasn’t ashamed to ask for help, and to seek the prayers of his friends. He knew well his own weaknesses, and his dependence on others and, if I may be blunt, we are fools if we fail to do the same.

Why not pause for a moment to call to mind those many people who have been true friends to you? There was a time when, yes, you didn’t know them from Adam; but now they are part of the very fabric of your life. You couldn’t begin to calculate the extent to which they have enriched you. And, thinking about them, be thankful to God.

Here are lines from two songs, one dating back over two hundred years, one about forty years old. Perfect for turning into meditation and prayer…

Blest be the tie that binds/ Our hearts in Christian love;/ The fellowship of kindred minds/ Is like to that above.

We share our mutual woes,/ Our mutual burdens bear,/ And often for each other flows/ The sympathizing tear. (John Fawcett, 1740-1817)

And this:

Brother, sister, let me serve you,/ Let me be as Christ to you;/ Pray that I may have the grace/ To let you be my servant, too.

We are pilgrims on a journey,/ We’re together on the road;/ We are here to help each other/ Walk the mile and share the load.

I will hold the Christ-light for you/ In the night time of your fear;/ I will hold my hand out to you,/ Speak the peace you long to hear.

I will weep when you are weeping,/ When you laugh I’ll laugh with you;/ I will share your joy and sorrow/ Till we’ve seen this journey through. Richard Gillard (1977).

Beautiful! And let’s never forget the beautiful words of Jesus to his disciples: I have called you friends.

Who needs friends? You do. And I do.

Father, help me to accept the friendship of others with gratitude and humility, and to be, myself, a true friend to others and to hold the Christ-light for them. Amen.