Running on empty?

Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him. Psalm 62:5

Jesus said, Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all that they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest”. Mark 6:30-31

There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God. Hebrews 4:9

“Yes, I’m pretty much running on empty”. So said a drained, exhausted fellow-pastor to me.

It’s a good image, isn’t it? My first car was an elderly Volkswagen Beetle, and I well remember that sinking feeling, when still a new driver, as the needle on the petrol gauge got closer and closer to the red zone, and the anxiety in my mind grew: Would I make it to a petrol-station? And what would I do if I didn’t (which is sometimes what happened)?

Of course, you don’t need to be a burned-out pastor to feel this way. You may be a worker with an over-demanding boss, or a parent with lively children, or a victim of unexpected and all-consuming circumstances. Indeed, you may be a church-member who has been carrying a responsibility, alongside your secular and family responsibilities, for longer than is wise.

Whatever, you need a rest!

I’ve put together a group of Bible verses with “rest” as their theme. Together, they can help us to look with confidence to God – the God who himself “rested from all his work” (Genesis 2:3) and who commanded his people to observe a weekly day of “sabbath-rest” (Exodus 20:8-11).

Psalm 62 begins with a word of testimony: “Truly my soul finds rest in God” (verse 1) – it seems he can look on this as a real experience in his life. But the thought is then repeated in verse 5 as a command to himself: “Yes… find rest in God”. Finding rest in God is clearly not a once-for-all thing.

The psalmist is going through a tough time: he sees himself as “this leaning wall, this tottering fence” (that’s quite a self-description!), as he suffers at the hands of his enemies; but he affirms his faith in God as his “rock, salvation and fortress” (verse 6).

 As we soak up those powerful words, may we also be able to affirm with him, “I shall not be shaken”.

Matthew 11:28-30 gives us one of the greatest, most comforting promises Jesus ever made, directly addressed to “all you who are weary and burdened”. He describes his “yoke” as “easy” and his ”burden” as “light”. That may seem a flat contradiction of his command elsewhere to “take up your cross and follow me” - the cross easy? the cross light!

But the background makes sense of it. Jesus has in mind the religion of the scribes and Pharisees, who saw their duty as being to pile heavy burdens on both themselves and others (Matthew 23:1-5). In comparison with that crushing kind of religiosity, the cross is indeed a privilege. So Jesus’ slightly surprising words warn us of the many types of present-day religion, whether Christian or otherwise, which boil down to duty-upon-duty, burden-upon-burden.

If we feel in need of rest today, let’s not be ashamed to unbuckle and throw off some of those burdens which we may originally have taken on with pleasure, but which have come to be more like a crippling weight. Let’s directly ask ourselves if we have lost the skill of enjoying our walk with Jesus and our relationship with God.

Mark 6: 30-31 is a delight: Jesus invites his disciples to take a break and enjoy a bit of peace and quiet: “Come with me to a quiet place and get some rest”. Beautiful!

But easier said than done, perhaps. What if our circumstances are sheer unremitting grind, from which no release is possible? – caring, perhaps, for a sick loved one, or coping with an obligation which, with the best will in the world, we simply cannot shrug off?

Under such circumstances, we can only cry out to God to supply our energy and needs on a day-by-day – indeed, on a minute-by-minute -  basis.

But Jesus’ invitation to his disciples is a reminder that his claims upon us are not a call to take leave of plain common sense: we need rest! we need relaxation! we need holidays! Martyrdom is, sadly, the lot of some; but let’s not martyr ourselves, perhaps out of a sense of spiritual pride or a false notion of needing to win favour with our Father God. The sabbath principle is intended as a gift for our enjoyment: well, let’s enjoy it then, insofar as we are able.

Seriously, Christian, is it time you took a break?

Hebrews 4:9 is a good rounding-off verse for this theme. Rest is apparently not a matter for this life only, for “there remains a sabbath-rest for the people of God”. The New Testament uses rest as a metaphor for heaven itself.

If we take the closing chapters of Revelation seriously, we see that it is anything but a lazing-around-doing-nothing kind of rest; on the contrary, it is all about delighting in God in all his holiness, all about perfection, joy and beauty, total fulfilment.

Some of us perhaps don’t find it easy to look forward to heaven, because we, the fortunate ones, find this earth quite enjoyable, thank you very much. But a day will come when that will change... And for the many whose way is specially hard – the over-burdened, those in pain or sorrow, the troubled and hurt, the victims of cruelty, injustice  or oppression – this is the hope to cling to.

Something better – infinitely better, indescribably better – awaits us. Hang on in there! Enjoy what rest you can, of course; but never doubt… it’s only a matter of time.

Father God, my loving Lord and my caring Shepherd, please help me to learn the art of finding rest in you. And hear my prayer today for all those for whom there seems to be no rest. Amen.

Th man with the withered hand

Another time Jesus went into the synagogue, and a man with a shrivelled hand was there. ² Some of them were looking for a reason to accuse Jesus, so they watched him closely to see if he would heal him on the Sabbath. ³ Jesus said to the man with the shrivelled hand, “Stand up in front of everyone.”

⁴ Then Jesus asked them, “Which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save life or to kill?” But they remained silent.

⁵ He looked around at them in anger and, deeply distressed at their stubborn hearts, said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” He stretched it out, and his hand was completely restored. ⁶ Then the Pharisees went out and began to plot with the Herodians how they might kill Jesus. Mark 3:1-6

We talk a lot about the love of Jesus – and rightly so, of course. We talk less about his anger, for while it could be fierce it is not so central to his personality as his love. But there are times when it flashes out, and this incident of “the man with the withered hand” is a vivid example.

Matthew, Mark and Luke all give us the story, though in slightly varying forms, but it’s Mark in particular who draws attention to his anger. In verse 5 we read that he “looked at them (that’s the religious die-hards in the synagogue) in anger and, deeply distressed at their stubborn hearts, said to the man, ‘Stretch out your hand…’”. Whereupon he healed him.

I don’t think Jesus ever aimed to be aggressive or confrontational, but here it’s almost as if he is indeed looking for a show-down. Look at the sequence of events…

As he enters the synagogue that day he perhaps senses a “put-up job”: the man with the withered hand is “there”, in full view of the congregation… he is aware of being “closely watched” by his opponents, and he realises they want to make an issue about sabbath-observance (they’re “looking for a reason to accuse him”)… so he boldly asks the man to “stand up in front of everyone”. Picture the scene, and the hush that must have descended on the place.

And then Jesus asks his opponents a direct and very provocative question: “Which is lawful on the sabbath: to do good, or to do evil, to save life or to kill?” It’s as if he is saying: “I see you watching me! I know very well what you’re after! All right then, if it’s a confrontation you want, by all means lets have a confrontation!” And he puts them fairly and squarely on the spot.

There follows the most telling sentence in the story: “they remained silent”.

Well, of course they did! What could they say? Can you see them, looking at him with deep animosity, but knowing that they haven’t a leg to stand on? They can’t answer “To do evil”, because even they wouldn’t want that; they were no doubt good and devout men. But neither can they say, “To do good”, because that would give Jesus the green light to do a “work” which, in their understanding, would mean breaking the sabbath, something that was unthinkable.

Have you ever been struck dumb by someone who exposes your hypocrisy or dishonesty with an unanswerable remark? (Perhaps you were caught out in a lie.) If so, you’ll know how Jesus’ enemies felt that day. And if, like them, you were too stubborn to say frankly, “Yes, I’m sorry, you’re right, of course, and I must change my view”, you will know how humiliated they felt. But it doesn’t stop them burning for revenge: “they began to plot… how they might kill Jesus”. It only drives them deeper into sin.

The great tragedy of the story is that those people, in spite of being so exposed by Jesus’ words and actions, persisted in their stubborn refusal to accept the liberating truth he brought. It was that hardness of heart which ultimately led to the cross.

This is a word to all of us. To humble ourselves, to admit that we were wrong, to change our attitudes and ways, can certainly be humiliating. But, oh how liberating as well! No wonder Jesus spoke of yielding to him as being “born again”! A whole new life – clean, fresh, peaceful, joyful - begins. And it’s a life that never ends.

Is it time you came to kneel humbly at the foot of the cross?

A wonderful story. But wait a minute… haven’t we forgotten somebody? This isn’t just an account of an acrimonious debate about religious differences. Doesn’t somebody get healed in the midst of it? What about the man with the withered arm?

We don’t know his name or anything else about him. He says nothing; he does nothing except to stretch out that arm for healing. But he isn’t just a pawn being manipulated by powerful parties, by Jesus and his enemies. No; he is a man, a human being, with feelings, very likely a neighbour of many of the people in the synagogue that day: somebody’s son, somebody’s husband, somebody’s father. And for him life changed radically that day.

And so we are reminded that Jesus loved and was concerned for the ordinary people, the non-entities, men, women and children, those who have no voice, no power, no influence – and those over whose heads debates about the sabbath day and many other high-sounding things floated unnoticed.

We have seen that Jesus is explicitly said by Mark to be “angry” with his opponents. It’s worth reflecting on the fact that such a thing is never said by Matthew, Mark or Luke about people like that unknown man – the man with the withered arm. No. For them he has nothing but compassion and a desire to show them the perfect love of God. Isn’t that exactly why the gospel is “good news”?

Father, thank you for the tender love of Jesus for even the most ordinary of people. Please give me grace and wisdom never to fall out with fellow-believers unless it is over something really important – always to focus on his tender compassion. Amen. 

A tiny story with massive repercussions (2

Soon afterwards, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.”

Then he went up and touched the bier they were carrying him on, and the bearers stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother.

They were all filled with awe and praised God. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.” This news about Jesus spread throughout Judea and the surrounding country. Luke 7:11-17

Last time I highlighted three things that, to me, make this remarkable miracle story so extremely attractive – first, it’s told in such a low-key, matter-of-fact way, just Jesus doing the kind of thing Jesus did, no fuss, no bother; second, it’s essentially all about his compassion, even more than his power, helping us to see where our priorities should lie; and third, it shows him putting human need before religious duty by his willingness to make contact with the dead. Worthwhile lessons, all.

But there’s something else too. It’s unusual among the Gospel miracle stories in that Jesus acted without first seeking, or finding, faith in the person on the receiving end.

Think of the other two stories of raisings from the dead. They are very different.

In Luke 8:40-56 we read about Jairus’ daughter. Her father comes to Jesus pleading that he would heal the girl, who at that point is still alive. But later messengers come with the news that she has in fact died, and there is no reason to doubt that this is the case. Jesus comes as requested and speaks the simple word, “My child, get up!” Which she immediately does.

In this case Jesus had encouraged Jairus: “Don’t be afraid ; just believe, and she will be healed”. Would he have performed the miracle if Jairus had faltered in faith? We don’t know, though I like to think so. But as so often with his miracles, faith is key.

Likewise with Lazarus (John 11). His two sisters, Martha and Mary, are distraught at his death – and puzzled and hurt that Jesus didn’t come more quickly. But he makes it clear that this is a test of their faith; he does come, and proceeds to call Lazarus – entombed, remember, “for four days”! – back from death: “Lazarus, come out!” Imagine the agonising tension of that moment before “the dead man came out”, the breath-taking moment as he appeared standing, perhaps blinking, at the mouth of the tomb. The sisters’ faith was anything but rock solid – but Jesus responded to it nonetheless.

But… regarding the widow of Nain, faith is not so much as mentioned.

All she was expecting that day was, sadly, to say farewell to her son, on whom she was completely dependent. Yet Jesus appeared out of the blue, and, unbidden, acted powerfully and positively on her behalf. He made no demands of her, indeed, as far as we know, didn’t even speak to her; it was her dead son that he spoke to!

I don’t think we need doubt that the time for words - for preaching - would come soon enough, once the dust had settled, so to speak. No doubt Jesus would enter Nain and proclaim the good news of the coming of God’s kingdom to exceptionally large crowds.

But… the deed preceded the words; the act preceded the preaching.

This surely is a principle that applies to us today. Putting it another way: we have no right to preach the message of the gospel unless our lives first demonstrate that the love of God is with us and in us in practical ways. And even if the opportunity to share the gospel in words doesn’t arise, we must never forget that good things are there to be done simply because – well, they are good things. Isn’t that enough? A Christlike act is never wasted, though we may never see what it eventually leads to; and what it eventually leads to – well, that’s God’s business, not ours.

Reading between the lines, I speculate that the widow of Nain had never encountered Jesus before that momentous day; perhaps Nain was a bit of a backwater, and this planned visit was his first. If that is right, perhaps she can stand for us today as an example of “those who have never heard”.

Even though the Christian faith has spread world-wide, there are many millions who have never yet heard the gospel, people to whom the name of Jesus is simply not known. They have never put their faith in Jesus – but then how can they be expected to if they have never heard of him?

Those who have heard the gospel, and have hardened their hearts against it… well, that’s a different matter altogether. But should we be surprised that Jesus here showed such love to one of “the lost sheep of the house of Israel”? – that “his heart went out to her and he said ‘Don’t cry’”?

The point is this: faith is not a condition we must fulfil in order to enter the kingdom of God. To treat is as such is to turn the gospel into a threat: “If you don’t have faith you can’t be saved”. No! It’s a word of glad and loving invitation: “You want to be saved? Wonderful! Just believe…!”

Reading the story of the widow of Nain irresistibly calls to my mind the words of Charles Wesley’s hymn “Love diving, all loves excelling”: “Jesus, thou art all compassion,/ Pure, unbounded love thou art;/ Visit us with thy salvation,/ Enter every trembling heart”.

Isn’t that exactly what he did for that woman that long-ago day? And isn’t it exactly what he will do too for you and me if we will only invite him?

Father, as we have received the never-ending compassion of Jesus in our own lives, so help us to bounce it off to others, friends or strangers, Christians or unbelievers, saints or sinners, simply because it’s a good thing to do, and to leave the consequences safely in your hands. Amen.

A tiny story with massive repercussions

Soon afterwards, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.”

Then he went up and touched the bier they were carrying him on, and the bearers stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother.

They were all filled with awe and praised God. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.” This news about Jesus spread throughout Judea and the surrounding country. Luke 7:11-17

What a truly wonderful story this is!

When the Russian writer Leo Tolstoy wrote his most famous book War and Peace it took him well over half a million words. Here Luke tells the story of the widow of Nain’s son in little more than one hundred.

So? Well, it’s of no real significance, of course; I’m sure there’s a place for big long books. But it reminds us that words used very economically can muster a real, even life-changing, power. I read War and Peace many, many years ago – and I remember very little about it. But this little story has stayed with me all my adult life and made an impact on me and the kind of person I aim to be.

Jesus and his disciples are heading for a small town called Nain, probably the place known today as Nein, just a few miles from Nazareth. He seems to have picked up “a large crowd” along the way, only to find that they are on a collision course with another crowd coming out of the town gate and heading for the near-by burial ground. It seems that the whole town is turning out to offer support to a woman who, having already suffered the sorrow of losing her husband, is now having to come to terms with the death of her only son.

Jesus and his followers, it seems, “yield right of way”, no doubt out of respect. But Jesus finds it impossible to remain simply a spectator: “he went up and touched the bier (the open coffin)… and said ‘Young man, I tell you, get up!’” And that is exactly what he did – “and began to talk”. I wonder what he said? I like to imagine something like, “Hallo, Mum! What’s going on? Who are all these people, and why are they all crying? And who is this man who’s just woken me up? I was having a wonderful dream…!” But Luke doesn’t see fit to tell us.

Jesus, we’re told, “gave him back to his mother”, just like Elijah with the widow of Zarephath (1 Kings 17:23), and the crowd declare that another “great prophet” has appeared among them. What a day! What an event!

What makes this little story so irresistibly attractive? Here are three things that occur to me…

First, it’s all so low-key.

A momentous miracle is done, but there is no blaring of trumpets or parading of power on Jesus’ part. I suspect that when he set out that morning with his disciples he had no idea that such a thing was going to happen; perhaps he had never preached at Nain before, and simply decided that it was time he did.

But once the set of circumstances had arisen he responded in a spontaneous, indeed an almost matter-of-fact way, and his heavenly Father used him.

Is there a word for us there? When a new day begins the prospect may look pretty ordinary, perhaps quite drab and even unwelcoming, just something to be got through. Perhaps we need to summon the simple faith to believe that, so to speak, God can turn our dull grey to beautiful colour – as long as we are then alert to fresh possibilities as the day unfolds. Who knows what God might have up his sleeve?

Second, it’s all about compassion.

Certainly, this is an incident when the sheer power of Jesus is displayed; but Luke’s emphasis seems to fall more on his overflowing compassion. He tells us that when Jesus saw the widow “his heart went out to her”, using a word which suggests a wrenching of his gut, a powerful moving of his inmost being. Jesus could be a deeply emotional man; we must never forget that on occasions he “wept”.

A song that has become a favourite of mine in recent years is “Soften my heart, Lord, soften my heart…” by Graham Kendrick. If you don’t know it, and especially if you feel your heart to be a little cold and unfeeling, I recommend that you turn it into a personal prayer. In it we pray to “feel Christ’s compassion” – and is there anything greater than that that we can pray for?

Third, it shows Jesus focussed on what really mattered.

Why does Luke bother to tell us that Jesus “touched the bier”? Answer: presumably because, strictly speaking, that was something he shouldn’t have done as an obedient Jew. Contact with the dead would render a person ceremonially “unclean” (see, for example, Numbers 19). Certainly, an unclean person could be cleansed by obeying certain rituals laid down by the priest; but it was something to avoid if at all possible. I can’t help wondering if a suppressed gasp of shock went up from the crowd that day in Nain when Jesus touched the bier.

By taking this action Jesus made the point that the priest and the Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37) failed to recognise: fearful of becoming unclean they “passed by on the other side” when they saw what they took to be a corpse. But Jesus, through the example of the Samaritan, makes clear that the claims of compassion take precedence over any kind of legalistic requirements.

Is this a reminder for some of us? Have we turned our loyalty to Jesus into an essentially rules-based religion? If so, have we lost our true focus? Is it time for some serious self-examination?

I think there is more to be gleaned from this story, but I have run out of space. Pease join me again next time.

Soften my heart, Lord, /Soften my heart. /From all indifference, set me apart; /To feel your compassion, to weep with your tears./Come, soften my heart, Lord,/ Soften my heart. Amen.

 Graham Kendrick.

Safety-first religion?

Jesus said, “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Matthew 5:14-16

The ordinary homes Jesus was familiar with would have been very basic; certainly no central heating or air conditioning, and no beautifully sealed windows to keep out the drafts. If you lit an oil-lamp and put it on a stand it might give you enough light to see by, but not much more than that. And if there were strong winds outside, there was a good chance that they would snuff the lamp out and leave you in darkness.

So what were you to do? One option would be to find a sheltered corner where the wind couldn’t reach, and tuck the lamp away there. Problem sorted. Except that, no it wasn’t: fine, you now had a lamp that was safe – but which would give only a glimmering of light, and what was the point of that? All you had done was to solve one problem by creating another.

Jesus’ parable of the lamp under the bowl is one of his best-known, perhaps because it is so easy to grasp. Its very absurdity makes us smile – of course no-one in their senses would go to the trouble of lighting a lamp and then hiding it away!

But the point he is making is that, in fact, that is exactly what many of us do. In Jesus we have received from God the very light of the world; yet we keep quiet about him rather than making sure that the light shines. We’re like those fantastically rich people who spend millions of pounds on a precious painting - and then lock it away in a secure room to make sure it doesn’t get damaged or stolen. Our Christianity is in essence a safety-first thing; we’re glad we have it, yes, but are happy to keep it to ourselves.

I imagine that this passage is preached on hundreds of times every year in various churches, with a clear and obvious application: Christian, go out and evangelise! Talk about Jesus to your family and friends, your work-mates and neighbours, your leisure companions and casual acquaintances. Do it tactfully and respectfully, of course; choose your moments with care; but… do it!

Many Bible-teachers, however, believe that Jesus wasn’t only addressing those who would come to believe in him and become known as “Christians”, but also, in the first instance, those who were part of his own people, the Jewish nation.

Jesus was, after all, “the King of the Jews” (among many other titles),  and a big part of his original ministry was to summon his fellow-Jews back to their true calling. Some of the wonderful prophetic passages in the later part of Isaiah relate to this ministry: “I, the Lord, have called you in righteousness; I will take hold of your hand. I will keep you and make you to be a covenant for the people and (here comes the key part) a light for the Gentiles, to open eyes that are blind…” (Isaiah 42:9).

In short… The Jewish people were favoured by God; he chose them as a select people – but not so that they could look down on the gentiles and condemn them. No! – it was to share with them the heaven-sent light they had already received by God’s grace. And this, Jesus thought, they had failed to do. Stories like the lamp under the bowl were aimed at giving them one last chance to roll their sleeves up and obey their ancestral calling by turning to him.

And we all know what happened: rejection. Jesus’ mounting distress is vividly expressed in sayings like Luke 13:34-35: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those who sent you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, and you were not willing…”.

The disturbing thing is that we today - the church, the new Israel - can be guilty of exactly the same mistake as the original Israel: we “hide our light under a bushel”.

But why would we do this? Here are some possibilities…

We fear persecution.

Down through history God’s people have suffered persecution, even, sometimes, to the extent of death. But in our modern western world that doesn’t apply, or only in the mildest sense. Certainly, in places like North Korea, China, Mexico or Cuba it’s a very different picture; but most of us can’t really make persecution our excuse.

Our faith is half-hearted.

Many of us, perhaps, while we still “believe” in the sense of giving mental assent to our inherited Christian faith, quite possibly including church-going, don’t have the kind of faith that inspires and motivates us day by day, shaping the very structure of our lives.

I think it was the Victorian preacher Charles Spurgeon who suggested that it’s possible to have “enough Christianity to make us miserable, but not enough to give us joy”. It’s a sad way to be.

Are any of us like that? If so, we are overdue for a very honest self-examination. Otherwise, it’s not so much a matter of hiding our light under a bowl as, putting it bluntly, not really having a light to hide at all.

We still believe, but we have lost confidence.

At the beginning of his letter to the church in Rome, Paul roundly declares “I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes…” (Romans 1:16). When he says “I am not ashamed…” I think it’s really a deliberate understatement for “I am proud…!”

In our modern western world we Christians can easily lose confidence: our churches are often struggling; numbers overall are falling; modern morality, sexual and otherwise, is brazenly unchristian; the intellectual mood often seems to have tossed Christianity onto the scrap-heap of ideas. So we are tempted to shrink a little into ourselves, still valuing Christ and his cross, yes, but unsure of what reception a clear declaration will receive.

There is only one solution to this dilemma: take out that oil-lamp, re-supply its oil, trim its wick, and let the light shine! We may be surprised - indeed thrilled - by what happens…

Lord Jesus, I want to be faithful and true to you in all circumstances, but I confess that often I am timid and unsure of myself. Please give me courage and confidence, and so help me to make an impact for you on those I meet, by both the words I speak and the life I live. Amen.