Jesus' tears

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

There are few portrayals of Jesus in the Gospels that appeal to me more than this: I see him shaking his head in sorrow, the tears standing in his eyes.

The key word is “compassion”. The verse could be translated literally, “When Jesus saw the crowds his stomach churned with pity…”. This is a level of emotion that we, perhaps, rarely know – though seeing a little child dragged out of the ruins of Gaza must surely come close.

Here is the full humanity of Jesus: he wasn’t God pretending to be a man, simply playing a part; no, he was fully divine but fully human as well. This is what God is really like.

Matthew uses some graphic words to describe the crowds in Galilee: “harassed” could equally be vexed, or distressed; “helpless” could be laid low, or unable to cope; “like sheep without a shepherd” – well, that speaks for itself: lost, wandering, aimless, hopeless.

These aren’t people caught up in the horrors of war, which of course is even worse; they are people – just “ordinary” people - struggling to cope with the everyday pressures of life. I can’t help thinking of the people milling around our local city centre in the build-up to Christmas: struggling to make ends meet, determined to have “a good time”, whatever that may mean, but looking anything but happy. In a word, just ordinary human beings like untold millions on the face of the earth from the beginning of time. Whoever it was who called this sad and sinful world “a vale of tears” wasn’t far wrong.

As I imagine Jesus, full of tenderness, surveying this scene, I find myself challenged by the question: How might I react in the same situation? Indeed, how do I react?

Do I react with indifference? “Well, that’s the way life is. There’s nothing much I can do about it, so I’ll just look after myself as best I can, and leave others to look after themselves.”

No Christian, reading about the compassion of Jesus, can possibly be content with that. Famous as the shortest verse in the Bible, John 11:35 tells us that “Jesus wept” at the tomb of Lazarus. (And that was by no means the only time.) God help us all to pray, in the words of the beautiful little Graham Kendrick song, “Soften my heart, Lord, soften my heart… from all indifference, set me apart…”

Hopefully, I don’t react with callousness. “It’s none of my business, so why should I bother with the sufferings of other people? I’m all right, so as far as I’m concerned that’s that”. That, in fact, is just one step away from indifference, our first category; it’s indifference that has hardened into heartlessness, and we need to be very watchful, for it isn’t only our bodies that change, it’s also our inner selves. Let’s examine ourselves, in case we wake up one day and find ourselves asking, “How – oh how! – did I come to be this way?”

I might just shrug my shoulders and react with despair. “The pains of this life have no end; they are questions without answers, wounds without medicines”.

Even a Christian may sometimes feel this way, and that’s understandable. The list of problems seems infinite: wars and rumours of wars (as Jesus foretold); economic crises wherever you look; climate change threatening the future of our planet; poverty, homelessness and hardship; gender confusion; political instability and tension…

When tempted to despair we need to come back to base, so to speak, and to remind ourselves that it was ever thus. The pains of our world may take different forms from centuries ago, but in principle they are very much the same – and that was a world to which Jesus came proclaiming good news!

Only faith can enable us to hold fast to the promises of Jesus in, for example, Matthew 24, so our business is to be totally honest with God, and with one another, and to cling on if necessary by our very finger-nails. As Christians we are essentially deeply serious people, as well as full of joy.

There is also a fourth possible response to the suffering of our world: I might choose to condemn: “These people who are so lost and helpless – well, they have brought it on themselves. Unlike me, they have failed to get to grips with the forces of life, and that is why we see them dependent on food-banks, or lying in shop doorways in the city centre, or unable to hold down a reasonable job. They’re just life’s losers”.

There may be some truth in our criticisms, for we know that all of us need to be held to account for our sins and follies. But judging, ultimately, is God’s business, not ours. Our business is to foster the compassion of Christ within ourselves and within others. Lord, preserve me from arrogance and self-righteousness!

A key thing to finish with: Jesus didn’t just feel compassion; he went on to act compassionately, to do something. He preached the good news; he taught the truth of God; and he healed the sick and fed the hungry.

“But I’m not equipped to do that!” we say. To which Jesus relies: Oh yes, you are! You have the equipping of my Spirit. No, you can’t feed the world’s hungry or stop the world’s wars. But you can take a look at your own tiny bit of the world, and work out how to make a tiny bit of a difference right there.

Can’t you?

Father, thank you that Jesus knew the meaning of tears. Please increase daily the level of my tenderness, until I truly can feel his compassion and weep with his tears. Amen.

From terror to joy

And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. ⁹ An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. ¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David a Saviour has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.” Luke 2:8-12

My mother was a farmer’s daughter. I remember visiting the farm on childhood holidays, in what seemed to me, born and brought up in London, the backwoods of southern Ireland. A city boy through and through, I’m afraid that nothing of that rural way of life has left its mark on me. So the story of the shepherds and the angels doesn’t strike any particular chords with me.

The farm had dairy cattle anyway – big lumpy, floppy, smelly cows, I remember - rather than sheep. So, probably like most of us, I have to work hard with my imagination to picture these unnamed men Luke tells us about, “living out in the fields” as they guarded their flocks by night.

The experts tell us that probably they were looked down on by their more prosperous neighbours because their work routine prevented them from fulfilling their religious duties – just as in our world there are those for whom standard Sunday service times are simply not possible. (I began my ministry twenty years later in Scunthorpe, Lincolnshire, a “steel town” which functioned according to a shift system that imposed a sleep pattern quite alien to anything I had known.)

I wonder what that night-shift was like for the shepherds of Luke 2? I picture them huddled up against the cold, struggling to stay awake and longing for morning to come. Then something odd happens: a stranger appears as if out of nowhere. Who can he be? Why has he come? How has he come? A sense of something uncanny creeps over them, but it doesn’t last long, for it becomes apparent that the visitor is a messenger of God himself (that’s really what an “angel” was), and “the glory of the Lord shone around them”. Puzzlement turned to sheer terror.

The angel’s first words are simple: “Do not be afraid…” Then he goes on to tell them about the birth of “a Saviour”, the “Messiah”, in Bethlehem; and just to ensure there’s no risk of mistaken identity, that they will find the child “lying in a manger” (there can’t be too many new-born babies in Bethlehem answering to that description!). Whereupon a heavenly choir appears, filling the night sky with awesome light and the sound of glorious singing. It doesn’t take the shepherds long to agree to visit Bethlehem “to see this thing that has happened” (verse 15). So off they hurry (I wonder what happened to the sheep?). And sure enough…

There’s much to encourage us in these few verses.

First: the first people to receive the message of Jesus’ birth were low on the social scale, on the margins of society. He wasn’t made known to the religious leaders in the temple at Jerusalem, or to the political leaders like King Herod in his palace. His parents were nobodies - and the news of his birth came first to nobodies.

What does this have to say to us in the church today? I speak as a pretty “middle-class” Christian belonging to a pretty middle-class church. Well, to be middle-class is no sin! But there’s something to ponder here. We only have to read through the New Testament to realise that the early Christians were, many of them, slaves – lower in status even than those shepherds.

So thanks be to God for Christians who have heard his call to make his love known to those at the bottom of the pile, and have rolled up their sleeves for serious action! – whether we look back to people such as William Booth and his Salvation Army, or in our own time to those who serve as Street Pastors, or who run food banks, or who sit with drug addicts and alcoholics in our city centres, or who establish little Christian communities (churches in embryo?) in run down parts of cities.

Lord, forgive us if we have come to value respectability, correctness, even doctrinal precision, rather than the practical outworking of love!

A second encouragement: the first word of the angel to the shepherds was “Do not be afraid”. Isn’t that precious! Certainly, a heavenly vision of angels is likely to result in a need for a bit of reassurance. But I fished out my heavy Bible concordance a little earlier to discover that this same exhortation, or something very like it, occurs more than 100 times throughout the Bible in all sorts of different situations.

“Religion” has often been used to instil fear in people – Am I good enough?... Am I doing enough?... Am I measuring up?... Might God be angry with me?...

There is, no doubt, a time and place for such questions - sin certainly needs to be “called out”, to use a current in-word. But let us never forget that the first word is one of love and reassurance: “I bring you good news that will cause great joy…”

Am I living a life of good news? Is my church a community of great joy? If not, are they worthy of the description “Christian”?

We never meet those shepherds again in the Bible, so we have no idea what became of them. But perhaps a day will come when we will meet them in heaven, and they will tell us their full, joyful story…

Father, thank you that your great desire is not to crush us but to lift us up, not to condemn us but to forgive us. May even my everyday life convey something of the good news and the great joy which can be ours in Christ. Amen.

All about bruised reeds and smouldering wicks

A bruised reed he will not break,

    and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out. Matthew 12:20

My, we Christians can be a pretty quarrelsome lot, can’t we?

Look back over two thousand years of church history and what do you find? Answer: splits and splinters, arguments and wars (sometimes literal, sometimes theological), massive fallings-out, hatreds, even killings. True, there’s been a lot of wonderful stuff as well – let’s not be ashamed to highlight that fact - but there’s no doubt that divisions, factions and enmities are often what catch the eye. Oh dear! How alien this is to the spirit of Jesus.

Matthew 12:20 gives us a strange but rather beautiful description of his personality, and the way he went about his ministry. Matthew tells us that he wasn’t interested in “breaking bruised reeds” or “snuffing out smouldering wicks”. That’s a striking turn of phrase! What does it mean?

Matthew is in fact borrowing words from Isaiah 42:1-4, where the prophet speaks about the mysterious figure called “the servant of the Lord”, a figure whom the early church couldn’t help but identify with Jesus of Nazareth - once his first followers had witnessed him proclaiming the kingdom of God, healing the sick and even raising the dead, it became apparent to them that this was indeed the fulfilment of Isaiah’s prophecy.

It’s worth quoting the Isaiah passage more fully, putting the part about reeds and wicks back where it belongs…

… Jesus withdrew from that place. A large crowd followed him, and he healed all who were ill. He warned them not to tell others about him. This was to fulfil what was spoken through the prophet Isaiah:

 

“Here is my servant whom I have chosen,
    the one I love, in whom I delight.
I will put my Spirit upon him,
    and he will proclaim justice to the nations.
He will not quarrel or cry out;
    no one will hear his voice in the streets.

A bruised reed he will not break,
    and a smouldering wick he will not snuff out,
till he has brought justice through to victory.

In his name the nations will put their hope.”

There’s a lot one could draw from that passage, but what strikes me is the way it spotlights Jesus’ quiet manner. He didn’t “quarrel” or “cry out” or “raise his voice in the streets”. He was no ranter or blusterer. In terms of our modern world, he wasn’t the kind of person to take to social media in order to fling out angry, ignorant or vicious opinions. (Might there be a word there for some of us?)

 

Certainly, there were times he could be quite ferociously outspoken; witness his disputes with the scribes and Pharisees (Matthew 23:13-36). But that was a blast against hypocrisy, which he detested, and could find no excuse for (might that too be a word for some of us?). The words of the old children’s hymn, “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild”, though perhaps rather sentimental, are still worth pondering.

 

Going back to the bruised reed and the smouldering wick, they are a clear reminder that not all Bible truth is literal truth. They are figures of speech, “metaphors”, like so much else in the Bible, and they serve to illustrate something far more important. After all, as I said earlier, Jesus had no particular interest in reeds, bruised or otherwise, or in wicks, smouldering or otherwise.

 

To me, the bruised reed is the broken person: the person who has suffered great pain or injustice, and who can’t imagine ever getting over it. Perhaps it’s because of marriage or other relationship hurts; perhaps injustice at work; perhaps a major disappointment; perhaps being let down by a once-friend; perhaps serious illness, whether physical or mental; perhaps some kind of addiction.

 

Whatever, you sometimes hear people say, “I felt as if I had been tossed on the scrap-heap”. In which case the message is good news: Whatever this big, brash, go-getting world may do to you, however much it may despise and dismiss you, Jesus never tosses anybody on the scrap-heap; he works to comfort, mend and heal. If I may put words into his mouth, he says, “I still value you; I still have a meaning and purpose for your life; I will never leave you or forsake you; I will never give up on you; trust in me”.

 

And the smouldering wick? I see this as the person who is, to use an in- phrase, “burnt out”. No energy, enthusiasm or motivation; just dragging him or herself from one wearisome duty to another: only half alive, if that.  A candle-flame guttering just before extinction is a perfect illustration of this kind of person. And to them is given the promise of Jesus: “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). As if to say: I have come to patiently nurse that dying flame back to life.

 

If anyone reading this is in this kind of situation, all I can do is urge you: Remember the bruised reed… remember the smouldering wick… And turn your face to the gentle, quiet, loving face of Jesus!

 

Lord Jesus, thank you that you don’t cast us off when we are beaten by the pressures of life or even when we give way to sin. Thank you that you offer us forgiveness, new life, new hope, and never-failing love. Help me to live in the light of that love. Amen.

Two happy women

 At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, ⁴⁰ where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. ⁴¹ When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. ⁴² In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! ⁴³ But why am I so favoured, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? ⁴⁴ As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. ⁴⁵ Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfil his promises to her!” Luke 1:39-45

I find it hard to read this little passage without smiling. It’s just such a happy episode, and if sheer happiness doesn’t make us smile, well, something is wrong indeed.

Mary, young and fit, and no doubt flushed from her walk, comes bustling into the home of Elizabeth and gives her a loud greeting. Elizabeth - not so young and not so fit! – perhaps hoists herself out of her chair to return the greeting, and as she does so she feels the child in her womb, John the Baptist-to-be, give a lively kick. She interprets this sudden movement as her baby greeting Mary’s, womb to womb.

John is to be the forerunner and herald of Jesus the Messiah in thirty years’ time, and here they are, depicted as starting to get to know one another, so to speak. Wonderful! Are you smiling too?

Various great truths emerge…

First, we never know when God is going to do something new.

The people of Israel had long been promised a Messiah, a King - indeed, the King of kings. But why precisely now? And why precisely here, in “the hill country of Judea” - as we might put it, “out in the sticks”? It’s been a long, hard wait, centuries long, in fact. But now it’s coming to an end.

From which the simple lesson is: never give up on God. We never know when he will spring a surprise; it may be in bleak and unpromising times. He is always there, even if sometimes he seems to be hiding behind the scenes.

Second, God has a wonderful habit of using very ordinary people.

The fact that Elizabeth was a priest’s wife didn’t make her particularly special – the priesthood was something a man was born into, not something he “qualified” for. And as for Mary herself, we know next to nothing about her except that she had “found favour with God” (Luke 1:30).

Yes, God can take the most ordinary human material and do the most extraordinary things with it: think David the shepherd boy (1 Samuel 16); or Hannah, the barren wife (1 Samuel 1-2); or Amos the shepherd and mere “tender of sycamore-fig trees” (Amos 7:14); or Simon Peter, whose only talent was for pulling fish out of the sea.

God loves to take and use the “humble and lowly”. So why not you, or me? Lord, help me to be of use to you this very day, even if it is cold and wet and grey!

Third, it’s a story about humility.

We don’t know how old Elizabeth was, or how exactly she was related to Mary, but Luke 1:36 describes her as “in her old age”, so she was certainly far senior to Mary. Yet instead of feeling in any way jealous or put out by what God was choosing to do through the younger woman, she delights to rejoice with her, and humbles herself with the question, “Why am I so favoured, that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” As if to say, I don’t deserve this!

The fact that Mary is putting her in the shade – taking centre-stage in God’s great drama – is neither here nor there.

This poses a challenge: How good am I at delighting in the success or blessings of others? Somone outshines me, perhaps somebody far younger: do I feel stirrings of jealousy deep down inside? A well-known novelist once said, “Every time a friend succeeds, something in me dies”. Oh, you poor, cramped, bitter little man! (Or could that be me…?)

Fourth, the euphoria of that special day was not a permanent state.

As we read on in the Gospels we find that for both Elizabeth and Mary there would be tears aplenty ahead.

We aren’t told how long Elizabeth had to live; it seems unlikely that she would have survived long enough to see John launched on his strange career, with his camel-hair robe and weird diet and his habit of disappearing off into desert places (Matthew 3). But it seems unlikely that as he grew up he wouldn’t have exhibited signs of what may have seemed quite troubling eccentricity.

And as for Mary… What pain and frantic anxiety she must have felt that time when, as a 12-year-old boy, Jesus went missing in Jerusalem for three days (Luke 2:41-52). (One of our sons, when he was little, did a runner on us in a garden centre which may have lasted ten minutes, if that; it still brings me out in a sweat.)

Then that time when word was going round that Jesus had gone crazy, and Mary had to send other sons to fetch him home - only to hear him almost seem to disown them (Mark 4:20-34).

Not to mention the cross… “Near the cross of Jesus stood his mother…” (John 19:25). Just imagine that for a few seconds.

All a long, long way from that glorious encounter between Mary and Elizabeth that we started with.

Faith in Christ crucified and risen promises joys without limit and without end. But the experience of these two women makes very clear that there may be many tears along the way. May God help us to bear them with faith and glad endurance!

Dear Father in heaven, thank you for the beautiful encounter between Mary and Elizabeth on that memorable day. Thank you too for the times I have known highs in my spiritual life. Help me to remember them, to cherish them, and to build upon them – but also to know that, wonderful though they were, they are nothing compared with the eternal glories to come. Amen.

Thinking about dying?

To me, to live is Christ, to die is gain. Philippians 1:21 (NIV)

Alive, I’m Christ’s messenger; dead, I’m his bounty. Life versus even more life! I can’t lose. Philippians 1:21 (The Message)

There was a report in the paper recently that funerals are going out of fashion in Britain. It seems that more than 50% of people are opting for “direct cremation” (whatever that may mean), rather than more traditional ceremonies.

Two main reasons for this trend are suggested. First, expense: full-blown funerals and cremations are not cheap. And second, a general decline both in religious faith and also, presumably, in any sense of a need for a formal farewell for the person who has died.

Fair enough. As a minister, I have always felt uncomfortable when asked to conduct a funeral by, or for, people I don’t know. It’s hard to do so with any great warmth and - putting it bluntly – it can easily trigger the rather nasty thought, “If you’ve been happy to live without God, then be prepared to die without him”. Putting that a little more kindly: have the courage of your own unconvictions!

There are two problems with that. For one thing, it seems harsh and judgmental; after all, I don’t know for sure about that person, and who am I to judge anyway? And second, the words of a Christian funeral, spoken clearly and with conviction, are extremely powerful: am I therefore spurning an opportunity to present the gospel of Christ crucified and risen?

Whatever, there’s no getting away from the fact that matters of life and death are real and meaningful to most people - and that those of us who profess faith in Christ do indeed have something positive, challenging and comforting to say.

I personally have been doing a bit of thinking about it all recently – partly, perhaps, because of the grimness of the covid crisis, but also, I’m sure, because I have become increasingly conscious myself of getting old. It’s a bit sobering when you realise that your last birthday took you nearer to 80 than 70!

My wife and I chat about it, not sombrely, indeed sometimes jokingly, and of course against the background of a faith built and nurtured over many years. The verse I have quoted at the top, Philippians 1:21, has become a favourite for us; the Message translation is quite free, but I think it well reflects Paul’s great confidence: “Alive, I’m Christ’s messenger; dead, I’m his bounty. Life versus even more life! I can’t lose”. That changes everything!

If we ask ourselves the question “Am I ready to go?”, the honest answer of the Christian is likely to be that old stand-by “Yes, and no”.

Yes, in that we are, by faith, “in Christ”, to use a favourite expression of the New Testament: our sins are forgiven and his resurrection life has been gifted to us. We have become part of him. All is well.

But no, in that we may feel we still have a lot of living to do! – people to go on loving, work to go on doing, things to go on enjoying and learning about. Life is good! – at least for those of us who are privileged to be relatively free of the poverty, war, pain, sickness and hardship that blight the lives of so many millions. Even we have to tell ourselves firmly that, however good life may be for us, what we are to inherit after death is indescribably better.

Does the Bible offer us any guidance regarding funeral customs?

Not really. God’s Old Testament people were certainly unafraid to give vent to their grief, but beyond that there is little to satisfy our curiosity. One example is the burial of Abner, killed by David’s right hand man Joab but very publicly mourned by David (2 Samuel 3): “King David himself walked behind the bier. They buried Abner in Hebron, and the king wept aloud at Abner’s tomb…” He even sang a “lament” for him (verses 33-34).

The New Testament offers us just one “funeral” (that of Jesus, of course, doesn’t count!). In Acts 6-8 we read about the witness and martyrdom of Stephen, stoned to death by an angry crowd. In 6:2 we read very simply: “Godly men buried Stephen and mourned deeply for him”. No details at all.

That little verse sums up perfectly the twofold nature of any kind of Christian funeral. First, a profound hope of eternal life – those early believers would have been in no doubt where Stephen had gone! But second, a frank recognition of the great sadness which inevitably accompanies death, especially a cruelly premature one. No stiff upper lips, please!

Those of us privileged to conduct such services should plan and pray that both those strands might be clearly reflected.

Of course, what really matters is not so much services and ceremonies once a death has taken place, but the nature of the life that has gone before. As Christians we seek, of course, to live well – but should we not also strive, as earlier generations of Christians did, to die well?

And what does dying well mean? What else but dying in childlike faith, in solid hope, in glad obedience, and in firm allegiance to Christ who lived, died, and rose again? Loving Father, grant me grace so to die!

Father, thank you that your Son lived a perfect life, died a perfect death, and rose victorious from the grave. Thank you that that changes everything. Help me to live day by day in the light of this greatest of all truths, to be a light to all who know me, and to come to that day when I shall see Jesus as he is in glory. Amen.

A person of many moods

Sing the praises of the Lord, you his faithful people; praise his holy name. For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favour lasts a lifetime; weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. When I felt secure, I said, ‘I shall never be shaken’. Lord, when you favoured me, you made my royal mountain stand firm; but when you hid your face, I was dismayed… You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy… Psalm 30

Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall. Proverbs 16:18

I think Psalm 30 is one of the most interesting and nourishing of the psalms, even though it’s only twelve verses long. Why? Because it travels through a variety of moods, from fear and misery to sheer joy and delight. (I’ve only quoted a handful of verses – please take a moment to soak it up as a whole.)

Just look at the way the psalmist describes what has been going on in his life…

He is like somebody rescued from the sea, “lifted out of the depths” (verse 1), “brought up from the realm of the dead” (verse 3). Has he had a serious bout of illness? – verse 2 certainly suggests so.

He has felt rejected by God himself, indeed, that God has been “angry” with him (verse 5). Do you remember times, perhaps as a child, when you felt the cold blast of an adult’s anger?

He has cried out to God, perhaps as never before (verse 2). He has even gone so far as to imagine that God’s arm can be twisted: “What is gained if I am silenced, if I go down to the pit?” (verse 9), as if to say, “Come on, Lord, it really doesn’t reflect very well on you if I, known as one of your children, should be allowed to go right under!”

Grim times indeed. I wonder if you can identify with that today? If so, be assured you are not alone.

But now notice the wonderful change of key…

God has “lifted him out of the depths…”; he has not let his enemies “gloat over him” (verse 1). He has been rescued, vindicated!

Certainly, he has known tears – “weeping” has “lasted through the night”, but he has made the wonderful discovery that “rejoicing comes in the morning” (verse 5). Yes, his “wailing has been turned into dancing”; and God has “removed his sackcloth and clothed him with joy” (verses 11-12). A new, bright dawn has arrived. (If you have a Good News translation of the Bible, take a look at the drawing under Psalm 150 – I like to think our psalmist is that chap on the left, really giving it everything he’s got…)

So… a man who has found God in a whole new way and who can’t contain his joy; and a psalm for us to squirrel away for when the dark times come. Make a note!

I’ve skimmed over the whole psalm; but I’ve left out one of its most important features: the writer also gives us an insight into what went wrong, and what led to his misery.

Our moods of course can swing quite violently from day to day, very often through no particular fault of our own. But here it seems that, putting it briefly, a particular sin had got a grip on the writer; he had had a bit of an arrogance problem: “When I felt secure, I said, ‘I shall never be shaken’. Lord, when you favoured me, you made my royal mountain stand firm; but when you hid your face, I was dismayed…” (verses 6-7).

You can only admire his honesty, can’t you? He thought he had everything sorted out, and was, presumably, feeling pretty pleased with himself – “I’m all right, Jack” - but as he looks back and reflects, he is humble enough to pour his thoughts into this poem, and then to allow it to go public.

If the title, “Of David”, which has been added to the psalm, is in fact correct – and it very well could be – then we are looking at one of the characteristics that made this flawed, imperfect man so attractive: he was deeply humble and always willing to admit his faults.

One of the most dramatic and disturbing episodes in David’s life was his adultery with Bathsheba and his murder of her husband, Uriah the Hittite. Nathan the prophet catches David out and confronts him with his sin. What does he do? Make excuses? Try and wriggle out of his responsibility? Laugh it off? Claim that, well, this is the way powerful kings behave – helping themselves to whatever women they like, thank you very much?

No. According to 2 Samuel 12:13: “David said to Nathan, ‘I have sinned against the Lord’”.

Just that. No ifs, no buts. A beautiful simplicity. Yes, David was capable of great sin, but capable too of frank, open confession. Is this a word for some of us?

We who claim to follow Christ can easily slip into pride, arrogance, self-assurance, over-confidence, call it what you like. We have done well! We are successful! We are king of the castle! Our church is the biggest, the best-known, the most influential, the most doctrinally correct, the most Spirit-filled. We’re all right, Jack.

Until one day we discover that we aren’t. Perhaps, for us as for the writer of Psalm 30, a helping of humble pie might be just what we need.

Or perhaps the stark warning of the apostle Paul: “If you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!” (1 Corinthians 10:12).

It’s only a matter of time, be clear about that…

Father, please forgive me for the proud, arrogant spirit that so often hides behind a smiling face. Bring me low, so that in time I will be lifted high in Christ. Amen.

Jesus and the children

People were also bringing babies to Jesus for him to place his hands on them. When the disciples saw this, they rebuked them. But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these”. Luke 18:15-16

It used to vaguely bother me when evangelists stressed the importance of winning converts while they were still young.

I was in a meeting once when the speaker asked us to raise our hands in groups according to what age we were when we came to faith in Christ. I can’t now remember the numbers with any precision, but it was something like this… Below ten? – just a smattering. Ten to sixteen? – quite a forest of hands went up (including mine). Sixteen to twenty-one? – again, a significant number. After that? – just ones and twos.

So what was it that troubled me? Well, that break-down might seem to imply that Christianity is a faith for the immature or gullible. Not, of course, that the speaker intended such a suggestion – he was, after all, himself a Christian evangelist! - but it could be taken that way by people opposed to “religion” in general, and Christianity in particular: Oh, it’s a need you grow out of as you develop into adulthood, like believing in Father Christmas. Clever, sophisticated, experienced people don’t get taken in by all that religious stuff! The message seemed to be “Grab ‘em young, or the chances are you won’t grab ‘em at all”.

On the face of it there is some truth in such statistics. The majority of new converts do indeed seem to be younger people: as I look back over my 40-plus years of ministry, what I might call “elderly converts” are few and far between (though I do particularly remember with a smile the baptism of a couple of sprightly, jolly, 80-plus ladies).

The answer to that feeling of being “vaguely bothered” is, of course, the story of Jesus welcoming the children and rebuking the disapproving disciples. It’s a story important enough to appear in each of Matthew, Mark and Luke. But Luke has a tiny detail the others don’t have. In Matthew and Mark we are told that unspecified people (presumably the parents) were bringing their children to Jesus. But Luke goes out of his way to tell us that Jesus himself “called the children to him": in other words, he didn’t just allow them to be brought, he actively invited them himself.

And then follow those beautiful - and very challenging - words: “… the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it” (Luke 18:15-17).

Jesus didn’t focus on children only because of their innocence and receptiveness, but because they model the attitude with which we all need to come to God, whether we are nine or ninety. Remember that prayer he once prayed: “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children” (Matthew 11:25).

Remember too his rebuke of other adults disapproving of noisy children (they were joining in the traditional Jewish shout, “Hosanna to the Son of David”): “Yes,” says Jesus, “but have you never read, ‘from the lips of children and infants you, Lord, have called forth your praise’” (Matthew 21:14-16).

How beautiful such passages are! Children aren’t receptive to Jesus mainly because they are naïve and gullible, but because they bring with them into this world an instinctive openness to spiritual realities and other precious things you can’t measure. Putting it another way: they haven’t yet learned to be jaded, cynical and twisted – something that so easily happens to us as we grow.

In other words: the responsible Christian evangelist (parent, teacher, preacher) working with children is not exploiting their naivety; he or she is feeding and nurturing a natural appetite that the “adult” world, tragically, has lost sight of. They need our prayers, our support and our respect – especially given that the openness of children leaves them vulnerable also, of course, to false ideas.

As I said, my hand went up in the 11-16 category. I sometimes wonder how things might have turned out for me if my undramatic little conversion had not happened when I was a spotty 15-year old. Perhaps I would have embarked on a life of crime and become enormously rich!… or discovered a talent for music and had a career to match Beethoven or the Beatles!… or developed my stellar sporting ability and ended up opening the batting for England!...

Or perhaps not. Just slipped into a typical conventional life, more likely.

True, it might have been exciting to have a spectacular conversion experience in, say, my fifties. But how much then to unlearn! How much damage to clear up! How much time to reclaim!

No - there’s a lot to be said for a life as a run-of-the-mill Baptist minister! No regrets; oh, no regrets! Thank you, Lord, for calling me young!

Thank you, Father, for the wonderful gift of children. And thank you for those adults who are specially gifted in teaching and nurturing them in Christ. Especially when it seems a hard and thankless task, please reassure them that their work is not in vain. Amen.

A big ask!

Therefore, although in Christ I could be bold and order you to do what you ought to do, yet I prefer to appeal to you on the basis of love… Philemon 8-9

I wonder how Philemon felt when he received this short letter from the apostle Paul? (Please take a minute to read it right through; it’s only 25 verses.) Still more, I wonder if he actually did what Paul asked of him?

To get the background, let’s ask a few questions…

First, who was Philemon?

In verse 1 he is described as “our dear friend and fellow-worker”, suggesting that at some time he had been a member of Paul’s missionary team.

In verse 2 we learn that he and his wife (assuming that’s who Apphia is) host a church in their home in Colossae. (Was Archippus their son?)

The letter as a whole suggests that he was a well-to-do citizen of Colossae: for one thing, his house is big enough to accommodate a church; for another, he is a slave-owner.

In verses 4-6 it becomes clear that Paul values him very highly as a fellow-Christian; very likely he was one of the church’s leaders.

Second, what has occurred to bring about this letter?

Reading between the lines, Paul, who is in prison (probably in Rome), has met a runaway slave of Philemon, a man called Onesimus. Verses 17-19 suggest (we can’t be sure) that as well as running away he helped himself to a bit of loose cash as he did so, thus compounding his offence. Perhaps Onesimus met Paul by chance as a fellow-prisoner; or perhaps, having already heard about him, he made a point of looking out for him.

Whatever, and this is the key point: under Paul’s influence Onesimus has become a Christian – Paul says he “became my son while I was in chains” (verse 10).

And now, lo and behold, here he is back in Philemon’s house, clutching this letter – a letter in which Paul makes it very clear to Philemon that he expects him to receive Onesimus back, and with a massive proviso: “no longer as a slave, but better than a slave, as a dear brother… in the Lord” (verse 16).

As the letter unfolds, Paul puts considerable pressure on Philemon: in effect, “You will do as I ask, won’t you, Philemon – you won’t turn down the request of a poor old man banged up in prison, pleading on behalf of a young wastrel who has come to trust in Jesus and whom I have come to love as my very own son?” Some scholars have virtually accused Paul of emotional blackmail and, while perhaps that’s going a bit far, you can see their point (see verses 8-21)!

So back to the question I started with: how did Philemon react when he read this letter?  - and, presumably, found himself looking down his nose at this woe-begone young man?

We can only guess, given that we know so little about the kind of man Philemon was.

I certainly would suspect that he was shocked: “Treat one of my slaves as a brother in Christ? You cannot be serious!” We need to bear in mind that in the Roman empire at that time slavery was part and parcel of everyday life. Today, of course, we see it as a great evil, but at that time even the church hadn’t yet worked out that it was wrong. The question wasn’t “Am I all right to be a slave-owner?” but “Given that I am a slave-owner, what kind of slave-owner should I be?” (In Colossians 4:1 and Ephesians 6:9 Paul makes clear what he felt about that.)

Philemon might have been quite angry (even fine Christians can be angry, rightly or wrongly; have you noticed?). “What a cheek! How dare Paul tell me what to do with my own slaves? I paid good money for that wretched man Onesimus…”.

But I imagine that Paul was the kind of man you didn’t easily say No to! - and that, however uneasily, Onesimus was indeed reinstated in Philemon’s household. I wonder if he sat next to him in church the following Sunday? Some serious readjustment must have been required...

A simple point emerges from this little drama: Becoming a follower of Jesus is a wonderful thing, in fact, the most wonderful thing we will ever do; but, make no mistake, we may end up getting a lot more than we bargained for. Did Jesus’ fishermen-disciples ever have an inkling that their response to his call would lead to far-off travel and even imprisonment or death?

Do we sometimes overlook the fact that Jesus was always keen to point out the need to count the cost of following him? – and that “taking up your cross” wasn’t just a fancy metaphor but, for many, a gruesome reality.

Being a Christian isn’t a hobby or a Sunday pastime. It’s all or nothing. As the hymn puts it, “Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.” Or as the psalmist didn’t quite say: “Serve the Lord with gladness – or don’t bother to serve him at all”.

So… Did Philemon receive Onesimus back “as a dear brother”? We aren’t told. And there is a reason for that: because what matters now is not what Philemon did or didn’t do, but what you do, what I do…

Father, please help me! I don’t like the idea of sacrifice, and I do like security and comfort. But I want also to be a true follower of Jesus. Help me to accept his call with full seriousness, not counting the cost, and give me the faith to trust that in the end the sacrifice will be a source of great joy. Amen.

From glory to glory!

And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image from glory to glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. 2 Corinthians 3:18

A book I was reading recently made a novel suggestion: if we are Christians we are not just human beings; we are human becomings.

Once I had worked out what the writer meant I thought, Clever! But it’s not just a witty trick with words, for it conveys a real – and very important – truth. To be a follower of Jesus is to be in a constant process of change, a process of transformation, of becoming.

Of course, you could say that that is true of literally everybody, Christian or not. We get older (though not necessarily wiser). We put on weight (or possibly lose it). We learn things, whether by focussed study or by daily experience. We develop wrinkles and grey hairs. Our moods vary. Everybody changes.

But that isn’t what the book I was reading meant. No, it meant what the apostle Paul is driving at in this meaty, thought-provoking verse at the end of 2 Corinthians 3: “we all… are being transformed into his [that is, Christ’s] image from glory to glory…”.

To get the background, you need to go to Exodus 33-34 in the Old Testament. Putting it very briefly (and a little over-simply), Moses has a vision of God on Mount Sinai, and when he comes back down the mountain “he was not aware that his face was radiant because he had spoken with the Lord” (Exodus 34:29). His face, it seems, literally shone. That was wonderful, of course; but unfortunately it frightened the people and they kept their distance.

Moses’ solution to the problem was to put a veil over his face – but of course this was not necessary when he went back “into the presence of the Lord” (this is all summarised in Exodus 34:29-35).

Going back to 2 Corinthians 3, Paul compares himself with Moses. Just as Moses brought God’s word down the mountain “engraved in letters on stone” – the words of the law which could only lead to death, yet which also brought “glory” - how much more (he says) will my ministry through the Spirit bring glory!

Paul also draws attention to a small but vitally important difference from the Exodus story: it’s summed up in that little word “all”: “we all… with unveiled faces, contemplate the Lord’s glory…” Moses, in his day, was the only person who saw the glory of God direct – but Paul makes no such claim for himself, nor does he want to. No, every Christian, “we all”, has this privilege; for to see Jesus is to see the very glory of God.

And how can we possibly see the glory of God in the crucified and risen Christ without being changed! That’s what the book I was reading meant when it said we aren’t just human beings; we are human becomings.

Let’s bring it down to earth…

Do you see yourself as “a work in progress”, or as “a finished article”? - as static (I might even use the word stagnant), or as developing day by day?

We sometimes excuse our bad or indifferent behaviour with the thought, “Well, sorry, but that’s just the way I am”, or “I’m afraid it’s too late for me to change”. We may not actually say that, but that’s the truth. And it’s a sad truth, a defeatist truth, a truth that conflicts with Christian faith altogether, and which dishonours God. The person who says, for example, “Yes, I know I’ve got a bit of a short temper”, needs to be challenged, not tolerated: “Isn’t it high time that you worked on lengthening it a bit, then?”

Jesus didn’t suffer and die on the cross in order to tidy us up a touch, perhaps make us little bit more outwardly respectable. No, he died on the cross in order to make us into new people, to slowly but surely make us fit for the glory of heaven itself. Nothing less than that.

I saw a poster some time ago that somebody had stuck on the wall: “Be patient. God hasn’t finished with me yet!” I couldn’t help but smile – a  nice blend, I thought, of humour, humility and thoroughly good theology. I think it sums up 2 Corinthians 3:18 pretty well: God indeed hasn’t finished with us yet; that process of transformation is a daily, ongoing thing.

So why not take a few minutes to ask ourselves: in what areas of my life is change needed? Why not jot down a little list of areas where I know I fall short, and pray over it regularly? A bad habit, perhaps, that I have always been meaning to break, but never managed to? A new sphere of service that, deep down, I sense God is calling me to, but which I am putting off? A more determined discipline of prayer and Bible-reading? A more positive, cheerful spirit, to replace a tendency to cynicism or grumpiness?

We may not see immediate results, but a serious intention can set us moving in the right direction. We begin to grasp the reality of Charles Wesley’s truly great hymn: “Changed from glory into glory,/ Till in heaven we take our place,/ Till we cast our crowns before Thee,/ Lost in wonder, love, and praise”.

Yes! What a day that will be! As 1John 3:2 puts it: “We shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is”.

Father, I confess that I am a pretty earth-bound, not-very-special follower of Jesus. Please stir me up by your Spirit so that day by day I really do move from glory to glory, and so bring me to that greatest day of all when I really shall see him as he is. Amen.

A note for the technically-minded: That word “contemplate” could, just possibly, be translated “reflect”. In other words, the Christian doesn’t just see the glory of Jesus, but makes it seen by others. Jesus said, “Let your light shine before others…”

A holy hatred? (2)

Remember, Lord, what the Edomites did on the day Jerusalem fell. ‘Tear it down,’ they cried, ‘tear it down to its foundations!’ Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction, happy is the one who repays you according to what you have done to us. Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks. Psalm 137:7-9

Last time I offered a couple of thoughts that might help us as we try to come to terms with the shocking end of Psalm 137. First, don’t sugar it over – it’s there in scripture and must be taken at face value. And second, keep in mind that outbursts of emotion are rarely the final word in fraught situations. Psalm 137:7-9 is, so to speak, merely a snapshot in a still-moving sequence of events – it is not given to us to justify a spirit of vengefulness.

The third thought, the one that I didn’t have space for, is: bear in mind that there is a difference between hatred and malice on the one hand, and a desire for justice on the other.

Hatred and malice are always wrong, whatever the circumstances; a desire for justice is always right, because justice is precious to God. If, in these verses, we make allowance for the understandable passion of the moment, can we not say that the psalmist is in fact pleading for justice rather than thirsting for revenge?

Is that wishful thinking on my part? I hope not! Bear with me, please…

Regarding the Edomites, let’s not fail to notice that verse 7 is, in essence, a prayer to God himself: “Remember, Lord, what the Edomites did, on the day Jerusalem fell…” The writer doesn’t curse the Edomites, but prays that true justice – God’s justice – will be brought to bear on them.

It’s as if he is saying, “Lord, you know how I feel about the Edomites and their malice and gloating on that terrible day. Well, there’s nothing I can do to sort them out! But what I can do is to leave them in your hands, and simply pray that you, who are perfectly just, will do what I can’t do”.

Even in relation to the cruel Babylonians, he doesn’t see himself as personally enjoying the experience of “getting his own back”. He is, once again, pleading for justice in the God-given form of “eye for eye and tooth for tooth” – “according to what they have done to us” - gruesome though that is in this particular case.

“Happy is the one who repays you…” he cries out to the Babylonians. Who precisely he has in mind by “the one who repays you” isn’t entirely clear, but I like to think that that too is in fact a reference to God himself.

In a word, if the white heat of rage has already cooled somewhat, perhaps he has reached the point of saying, “Well, now it’s in the hands of God, and I must do my best to leave it just there”.

In our fallen world, this may be the best we can hope for in all sorts of situations. After the fall of apartheid in South Africa a “Truth and Reconciliation Commission” was set up to try and deal justly with the backlog of anger and hatred that it had left behind. The Commission knew its limitations… Did it deliver a completely harmonious society? - of course it didn’t. Was every wrong righted? – of course not. But better, surely, to edge towards some kind of harmony than to allow bitter enmity to fester.

Why not pray for a similar thing today for Israel and Gaza once the immediate horrors are over? True, it’s hard to imagine an Israeli prime minister and a Palestinian president joining hands in a search for a lasting and just peace – indeed, it seems nothing less than dreaming of the impossible. But is not our God one who works miracles? He is the one who “makes wars cease to the ends of the earth. He breaks the bow and shatters the spear; he burns the shields with fire. He says, ‘Be still and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth’” (Psalm 46).

What applies to international affairs applies also to personal circumstances. Perhaps you or I have had an injustice done to us by somebody. Perhaps we are nursing bitterness. Perhaps we need to recognise that that can only poison us inwardly. Why not take a deep breath and dump our bitterness (yes, really!) into God’s lap? “Lord, I know so-and-so will seem to have ‘got away with it’. But so be it! I leave it with you, the perfect judge. I trust you to deal with it with your perfect, holy judgment”.

To repeat: we can easily confuse judgment, a bad thing except when in the hands of a perfect God, with justice, a value precious in his eyes; as the prophet Amos put it, “Let justice roll on like a river, and righteousness like a never-failing stream” (Amos 5:24). And as God himself has declared: “I, the Lord, love justice” (Isaiah 61:8).

Dear Father in heaven, I remember how Jesus said ‘Blessed are the peace-makers’. Help me to be one of that number every day of my life – and please hear my prayer for justice and peace in every corner of our troubled world. Amen.

O Lord, your tenderness,/ Melting all my bitterness,/ O Lord, I receive your love./ O Lord, your loveliness,/ Changing all my ugliness,/ O Lord, I receive your love… Graham Kendrick

A holy hatred?

Remember, Lord, what the Edomites did on the day Jerusalem fell. ‘Tear it down,’ they cried, ‘tear it down to its foundations!’ Daughter Babylon, doomed to destruction, happy is the one who repays you according to what you have done to us. Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks. Psalm 137:7-9

One thing I value about the Bible is its honesty. Or perhaps I ought to say, I think I do; for I must confess that I wobble a bit when I come to passages like the end of Psalm 137. What terrible, horrible words these are! The image of babies being smashed to pieces by marauding soldiers leaves you just shaking your head, doesn’t it? What’s this doing in the Bible?

Answer: being honest, that’s what. This is exactly the kind of thing that happens in warfare, modern as well as ancient. Indeed, what drew me back to Psalm 137 today was the news from Israel/Gaza about children being deliberately targeted for destruction. Nothing changes when it comes to human sinfulness, nor will it until Jesus returns, as he himself makes clear (Mark 13:7). That’s just being realistic, being honest.

The psalm as a whole moves from a mood of beautiful, sad melancholy in verses 1-6 (“By the rivers of Babylon we sat; we wept when we remembered Zion (Jerusalem). There on the poplars we hung our harps…”) to what comes like a kick in the teeth in these closing verses. I find myself wishing it had ended at verse 6.

But it didn’t, so honesty forces us to look it full in the face and see how we can make sense of it. It is, after all, part of God’s word.

The historic background is what is usually called “the fall of Jerusalem”, God’s city, to the Babylonians, in 587 BC: “On the seventh day of the fifth month, in the nineteenth year of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon, Nebuzaradan commander of the imperial guard… came to Jerusalem. He set fire to the temple of the Lord, the royal palace and all the houses of Jerusalem…” (2 Kings 25:8-9). And then he carted off the people into exile where, in this psalm, we find them weeping by the rivers of Babylon.

If you would like to know why the Edomites also came in for Israel’s censure (verse 7), the place to go is the little prophecy of Obadiah, especially verses11-14.

But I think the question we need to grapple with is: How should we as Christians respond to verses 7-9, given that they seem to exude nothing but raw hatred, a desire for revenge, and given that this is so alien to the spirit of Jesus, who has taught us to love and forgive our enemies?

I can only speak for myself, of course, and I claim no authority in doing so. But here are some thoughts that occur to me…

First, don’t try and sugar it over.

The fact that it’s in the pages of scripture doesn’t mean that “it’s all right, then”. The fact that the Bible describes such feelings of rage and vengefulness doesn’t mean it approves of them!

Second, remember that words spoken in the heat of emotion are not necessarily the final word in any situation.

Which of us, having seen the horrors of the fall of Jerusalem, not least the cruelty inflicted on children – especially perhaps if they were my children! – wouldn’t feel this way? Wouldn’t something be seriously wrong with us if we didn’t?

And similarly, who can blame people on both sides in the Israel-Gaza fighting who have understandable reasons for longing for revenge? Both sides have suffered injustice, whether a slow grinding injustice over decades, or a sudden appalling shock. Or both, of course.

You and I have probably known times in life when we too have suffered injustice, and it has left us seething with anger. Can we honestly claim that we have brought that anger to God – indeed, to the cross – and thus attempted to “process” it in a Christian fashion? Have we succeeded in draining every note of bitterness from our hearts, or are we still nursing dark, ugly secrets behind smiling faces?

The person who wrote Psalm 137 is unknown to us. But if we were to meet him we would probably find he was no different from you or me: that is, in great need of the grace and mercy of God in dealing with fierce but understandable anger.

There’s a third thing that needs to be said, but I’m running out of space – so I do hope you will join me again next time…

Father, our hearts are heavy as we follow terrible events in the middle-east and elsewhere. We pray that you will have mercy on us all, that you will raise up men and women who are true peace-makers, and that even through very sinful and imperfect national leaders you will bring a measure of peace and justice. Amen.

Good workmanship?

Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved, a worker who does not need to be ashamed and who correctly handles the word of truth. 2 Timothy 2:15

I heard a story recently about a man who visited a church one Sunday and heard a sermon where the preacher didn’t once mention the name of Jesus. He decided there and then that this wasn’t the church for him.

Every Christian – certainly me - is likely to agree with that man’s disappointment, not to say disgust. Preaching a “Christian” message without even bringing Jesus into it! – outrageous!

But wait a minute… The story as told didn’t contain any information about the theme or content of the offending sermon. But I can’t help wondering… did Jesus figure prominently in the service as a whole – the prayers, the readings, the songs and hymns? Was the sermon from a little-known passage in the Old Testament? May we assume that God was mentioned many times? (And even if all those things were so, would it have made it any better?)

True, the absence of the name of Jesus still seems strange. But I have to admit that as I thought the story over I decided  that, just in the interests of being fair to the preacher, I would like to have heard the whole thing.

My mind went to some advice of Paul to his protégé Timothy, a younger pastor still learning his trade, so to speak. In 2 Timothy 2:15 Paul tells him, among other things, to “correctly handle the word of truth”. That’s something the preacher in the story didn’t do, it would seem.

But again, wait a minute… We have to stop and ask a question: What precisely does it mean to “correctly handle the word of truth”?

The word that many Bibles translate as “correctly handling” is very unusual; it has the word “cut” or “carefully shape” at its root – think of a farmer cutting a straight furrow, or a road that has been cut straight. It suggests that Timothy here is being advised to take scrupulous care over the work he puts into his preaching: nothing sloppy or lazy. What he says when he preaches is to be not only true to scripture (we take that for granted) but also appropriate, relevant to everyday life, couched in clear intelligible language and honouring to God. Skilfully cut.

But even on that showing it still seems odd if the name of Jesus is not heard. But then another question occurred to my mind: Is it possible for a sermon to have too much of the name of Jesus?

That, surely, is an even more outrageous suggestion! But bear with me, please.

I have heard sermons where the preacher has seemed absolutely determined to squeeze the name of Jesus in at every possible opportunity – never mind how artificial and contrived it is. It’s as if the preacher has thought during preparation: “Never mind what this passage is actually about, my chief job is to lift up the name of Jesus… – so I’m going to find him here by hook or by crook!”

But isn’t the whole Bible, both testaments, all about Jesus? Well, yes and no.

Yes, in the sense that the Old Testament as a whole leads up to him, and the New Testament as a whole looks back to him. But No, not in the sense that every single verse or even every story, passage or chapter speaks of him. To speak as if it did is to make a mistake regarding the interpretation of the Bible.

It’s true that Luke tells us (Luke 24:27) that on the road to Emmaus the risen Jesus explained to the two bewildered disciples “what was said in all the scriptures concerning himself”. But “in all the scriptures” surely means “in scripture as a whole” (focussing particularly in this instance on “Moses and the prophets”). If Jesus had, that night, expounded every single Old Testament verse, the exposition would have gone on for days!

So yes, it is possible for a sermon to mention too often the name of Jesus, if that involves twisting and distorting the natural meaning of the text.

The vital message for us preachers is: Let scripture speak! Let it say just what it wants to say. Don’t try and make is say something which, at that particular moment, it has no intention of saying. Don’t foist upon it a meaning it doesn’t carry. The Bible, certainly, is a divinely inspired book. But it is not a magic book, and we shouldn’t treat it as if it were.

There are many traps and pitfalls into which preachers and teachers can fall – and I reckon that in my time, alas, there aren’t many I have managed to avoid. So it’s hardly my right to find fault with others. But it’s very easy for us to fall into patterns of preaching without consciously thinking about what we’re doing and why exactly we’re doing it.

All of us therefore need to pay attention to Paul’s advice to Timothy to “correctly handle the word of truth”. And as we struggle to do that, please, you who listen, be patient with us and bear with us! Above all, pray for us, for we sorely need it.

To ponder… When did I last pray for my minister?

Father, we thank you for the gift of your Word, the Bible, and we recognise how vital it is. Please pour out your Spirit on those who teach and preach it, and help all of us who listen to understand it, absorb it, and apply it day by day. Amen.