Too good to be true? (2)

 

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—

    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore. Psalm 121

The big question last time, looking at this beautiful Psalm 121, was: Is it too good to be true? Do the words “The Lord will keep you from all harm” promise more than they deliver; are they just empty words? We must be realistic and recognise that many non-Christians would be likely to smile cynically and dismiss it out of hand: “Pie in the sky…”

I want to suggest three things we need to do to answer this kind of objection…

First, gladly recognise that the poetry of the psalms is full of language that is figurative, that is, non-literal.

We know for a fact that even the most spiritually-minded child of God may sometimes have “a foot that slips”, even to the point of breaking bones, and is not always “kept from all harm” (just the opposite, in fact!). While the psalmist obviously expects wonderful things for God’s people in this life, he deliberately uses exaggerated language to make his point. And, more to the point, his readers will be perfectly aware that he is doing this.

This is a figure of speech called “hyperbole”, which is basically “exaggeration which everyone recognises as such”, and so is not deceived by. And it’s not just in the psalms; it was written of Saul and Jonathan, for example, that “They were swifter than eagles, they were stronger than lions” (2 Samuel 1:23), and I don’t think anyone will have protested “Oh, don’t be ridiculous - that’s impossible!”, though literally speaking that’s the case.

Non-literal language is so much part and parcel of the way we speak and write that usually we simply don’t take any notice it, or if we do we’re in no doubt that it’s not be taken at face value. We had a friend who, if you asked him if he would like a drink, was likely to say, “Oh yes please – I could murder a cup of coffee!” We would just smile sweetly and say “That’s John!” And who has never put down a heavy bag and exclaimed “That weighs a ton!”

The point is that such non-literal language is widely used in the Bible, especially, but not exclusively, in the poetic books. Didn’t Jesus say that “faith like a grain of mustard-seed can move mountains” (Matthew 17:20), which was his picturesque way of saying that by faith even things that seem impossible can be changed? Didn’t he say that just as a camel cannot go through the eye of a needle, no more can a rich person enter the kingdom of God (Matthew 19:24)? To take such arresting figures of speech as literally true borders on the ludicrous: their truth (and they are true!) lies in a completely different direction. Jesus was a teacher of truth – and he knew how to make an impact.

(I remember a poem about a highwayman I learned at school – all mysterious and slightly spooky – which contained the line “The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas”. Utter nonsense? Certainly, if you insist on taking it literally. But I knew exactly what it meant; and it has lodged in my memory for a whole life-time – much better than if it had said “the moon looked like an abandoned ship being tossed about on the clouds”. A good example of the richness of human language.

Another example: Are the Narnia stories true? Of course not! – they are about fawns and elves and a witch and a rather wonderful lion. And yet… they are true, aren’t they? C S Lewis made up this fantasy world to teach the truth about Jesus.)

Enough! We’ve come a long way from Psalm 121! But I hope it makes the point clear. The world of writing swarms with non-literal language, and that includes the Bible, but it serves the purpose of making the truth interesting and arresting, of emphasising things that might otherwise be missed or glossed over.

The second thing we must do is to bear in mind that the Bible is a very big book, and that we need to take it as a whole in order to get anything like a full picture, and not just pluck out individual verses or short passages. If Psalm 121 is indeed too good to be true I suggest we take a look at the grim and unrelenting Psalm 88: “I am overwhelmed with trouble … I have borne your terrors and am in despair… darkness is my closest friend”. Yes, that’s in the Bible too!

Indeed, I suggest we take a good, long look at the crucifixion and digest the terrible words of the dying Jesus: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me…?” Personally, I don’t think Psalm 121, properly understood, needs any kind of corrective – but if it does, where better (or should I say worse?) to look?

Third, and most important of all, we must remember that the Bible takes  us on a story, and that story is – well, we don’t know how near the end.

It  takes us from the Garden of Eden, through the fall into sin, the founding of Israel, the people chosen by God to make his name known, through the captivity in Babylon and the subjection to the Roman empire, to the ministry of Jesus, his death and resurrection and the coming in power of the Holy Spirit… and which will reach its climax in the new, heavenly Jerusalem where (wait for this) God “will wipe every tear from their eyes and there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain…” This, and nothing less, is the hope and expectation of those who have looked to Jesus for forgiveness and salvation.

And when that day comes, the glory will be so wonderful that passages like Psalm 121, beautiful though they are, will seem like nothing!

Father, thank you for passages like Psalm 121. Thank you for the promises of a sin-free world and fulness of life for everyone who puts their trust in the risen Christ. But thank you too for the realistic focus on sin, death and pain. Please help me to blend these twin realities as I seek to make the victory of Christ known. Amen.

Too good to be true?

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—

    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore. Psalm 121

Last time I reflected on the sheer misery of Psalm 120, the psalm of a man who feels that he is in an alien land, a barbaric land, a land of lies and violence, and how he “calls on the Lord in my distress”. It’s a sheer delight, then, to move on to Psalm 121, for this is totally different, all about assurance and confidence. The basic message is as simple as could be: the man or woman of God is safe in his loving arms, whatever life may throw at them.

Two main thoughts strike me about the psalm as a whole…

First, it is in essence a simple statement of faith in God: “My help comes from the Lord”.

Very likely the writer is a worshipper on pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and as he approaches the holy city he is awe-struck by the mountains around the city. (I wonder if he is the same person as the one who wrote Psalm 125, just a little further on: “As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds his people both now and for evermore”?)

To the people of Israel mountains could be a reason for fear: they might be the place of false gods, where people who were disobedient to the one true God would set up their altars, their pagan “high places”; and they were certainly places where there was the danger of attack from brigands, especially if you were travelling alone. Their very remoteness might make you a little nervous.

But to the psalmist, a man of faith, they speak of the power and majesty of almighty God, and the fact that he is both the awesome creator of all things and also the loving protector of his own people. Going back again to Psalm 125:2: “As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds his people, both now and for evermore”. No less than six times in Psalm 121 (and it’s only eight verses) do the words “watch over you” and “keep you” occur. He obviously enjoys dwelling on this wonderfully reassuring theme.

But this is where the second thought strikes me, and it takes the form of a question: does he in fact promise more than he can deliver?

In verse 3, we are told that God “will not let your foot slip”. In verse 5, that he will ensure that “the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night” (whatever that may mean). In verse 7, that “the Lord will keep you from all harm”, that “he will watch over your life”, that he will “watch over your coming and going both now and for ever more”.

At face value this seems to suggest that the child of God is guaranteed a happy and trouble-free life. No stumbles, broken bones or grazed elbows; no sunstroke or skin cancers; no “harm” in any area of life; clear leading and guidance every minute of every day. Wonderful!

But isn’t it too good to be true? We slightly shake our heads and say “But life just isn’t like that!”

I read some years ago about a Christian organisation that planned a “healing mission” in a place where Jesus was virtually unknown. Such was the zeal of the people running it that they advertised it with glowing promises: “Come and be healed!” they proclaimed on posters and leaflets, and people from far and wide dug into what small savings they had, even selling precious farm animals they could never replace, in order to get there. But the hype, even if sincere, was way “over the top”: and the “results”… non-existent. All that was left behind was a legacy of bitterness, anger and confusion as the would-be “healers” were run out of town.

(Before we rush to condemn and shake our heads let’s call to mind the times we too may have brought the church and the name of Jesus into disrepute, with genuine but misguided zeal.)

Once you focus on this reality of the Bible, you’re bound to ask how we should explain it, especially to sceptical non-Christians who use it as an excuse to reject Christianity: “Oh, your faith is just pie in the sky when you die! It isn’t in touch with the harsh realities of life”. I’ll suggest three possible answers we can give, but as I’m running out of space I’ll give them as headings now so that then if you’re interested you can come back next time for a fuller explanation.

First… we need to recognise that poetic verse, both in the Bible and otherwise, depends very much on non-literal language. This is particularly true of the psalms, the proverbs, the prophetic books and, of course, the “vision” books such as Daniel and Revelation. This is something we needn’t be embarrassed about or ashamed of. Christians who insist that all Bible truth is literal truth very soon get into a tangle.

Second, we need to remember that the Bible is a very big and varied book – or, to put it more correctly, collection of books. This means that we make a big mistake if we pluck any particular verse or passage out of context (such as “he will not let your foot slip” or “he will keep you from all harm”) and treat it a universal truth in any and every situation. Scripture needs to be balanced with scripture.

Third, and most important, all such passages in their different ways are pointing towards a day when all sorrow and pain will be once for all banished, when God will “wipe every tear from our eyes”, and even death “will be no more” (Revelation 21:4).

When that day comes, I don’t think anybody will be talking about “too good to be true” any more!

Father, help me to be an honest reader of your word, honest when I simply don’t understand it, honest when it seems to contradict reality, and grant that by the work of your Holy Spirit I will be enabled to grasp the deep and life-changing truths of Jesus. Amen.

Far, far from home

I call on the Lord in my distress,

    and he answers me.
² Save me, Lord,
    from lying lips
    and from deceitful tongues.

³ What will he do to you,
    and what more besides,
    you deceitful tongue?
⁴ He will punish you with a warrior’s sharp arrows,
    with burning coals of the broom bush.

⁵ Woe to me that I dwell in Meshek,
    that I live among the tents of Kedar!
⁶ Too long have I lived
    among those who hate peace.
⁷ I am for peace;
    but when I speak, they are for war. Psalm 120

Just recently I have read my way through Psalm 119, all 176 verses of it. I have taken it in the bite-size chunks the Bible divides it into, day by day, and found many good and challenging things in it, especially regarding the Bible as God’s “law” or “commands” or “precepts”. But I won’t deny that I was glad to come to the end. I found myself feeding on two quite tiny psalms.

What struck me in particular was the sharp contrast in mood between Psalm 120, which I have put above, and Psalm 121…

I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
    where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
    he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord watches over you—
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all harm—
    he will watch over your life;
⁸ the Lord will watch over your coming and going
    both now and forevermore. Psalm 121

Surely, from the depths to the heights!

In Psalm 120 the psalmist, while still praying to God (“I call on the Lord in my distress”), and while still experiencing something of his presence (“and he answers me”), is in a pretty bleak mood.

His problem? He feels out of place - alienated, to use the modern word.

The commentaries don’t tell us much about Meshech and Kedar, but it seems they were places where there was an atmosphere of, first, lies and, second, warlikeness – and both were a long way from the holy city of Jerusalem. It seems almost as if the writer feels he has become too accustomed to this atmosphere, and has just woken up exclaiming “What am I doing here? I don’t belong here!” He is far, far from home, in more ways than one.

What led him to live in Meshech and Kedar we aren’t told: sinful, disobedient decisions? or circumstances over which he had no control? Whatever, he is deeply miserable, and draws his psalm to an end with a plaintive, almost self-pitying, note: “I am for peace; but when I speak, they are for war”.

Such alienation is something I know very little of: little more than homesickness the first time I ever travelled alone. But probably most of us do know the sheer loneliness of, perhaps, a first night at college or adjusting to a new home: it was all so strange!

As a student I spent a few weeks working on a kibbutz (a communal village in Galilee) and messages from home were more precious than I could have imagined. One day, out in the banana groves, somebody told me that there was an air-mail letter for me back at the centre. Oh joy! It was an agony to have to wait till my shift ended. But when I got back I found that the letter had disappeared, and I don’t think it ever came to light. I am not a person easily moved to tears, but on that occasion I was suddenly like a heart-broken child: life seemed so cruel. I was so far from home.

Three things from Psalm 120 seem applicable to such circumstances…

First, as Christians we are people of the truth: falsehood should be utterly alien to us. Jesus spoke of himself as “the way, the truth and the life”. He spoke of the devil – no less! – as “a liar and the father of lies”.

But like the psalmist we live in a world of “lying lips and deceitful tongues” (verse 2) – of “fake news” and the casual acceptance of lies as part and parcel of everyday life (in published surveys the majority of people seemed quite surprised at the very suggestion that lies are necessarily wrong). We don’t want to be holier-than-thou-honest, of course not. But simply – well, straight, the kind of men and women that other people can instinctively trust.

Second, as Christians we are people of peace. Again, the Bible speaks of Jesus as “the prince of peace” – have we ever sat down to think seriously about that wonderful title?

In our world of conflict, hatred, jealousy, anger, killing, just quoting those words doesn’t solve all the problems, of course, neither the practical ones nor the moral ones: some Christians, for example, are out-and-out pacifists while others think, albeit with sadness, that there is a place for “just war”. But to persevere in prayer for peace, and for political leaders who will struggle with integrity to find a way to bring it about – that, surely, should be high on our prayer lists, both in our private prayers and in the context of worship. Christianity is about more than individual, personal salvation.

Third, as Christians we are people of compassion.

It’s hard, in our present climate, to think about peace and truth without thinking of certain victims of lies and war: in a word, of migrants. In Britain those people risking their lives in open boats to get here, and penned up in hostels where temptations to violence, sexual wrongdoing and idleness are all around – they stir up furious, hate-filled reactions from many of us who feel that “our” space is being threatened. This animosity is understandable, but we need to remember the tragic backgrounds from which many of these “invaders” come.

“What can I do?” we may ask. To which “Not a lot” may be the honest answer. But we can and must persevere in prayer, not least for wise and principled politicians who will struggle to find a just solution. And to pray even for those who seem to threaten us – that, surely, is a Christlike thing to do.

Yes, the person who wrote Psalm 120 is in a state of real distress. But still he “calls on the Lord”. May we do the same until the day comes when we can say “he has answered me” – and find ourselves out of the gloom of Psalm 120 and into the blue skies of Psalm 121.

Back for that next time!

Father, I pray for all the lonely and far from home, for the victims of warfare and injustice, for those whose hearts are breaking. Give me the gift of Christ-like compassion and an understanding of how to make it known in whatever ways I can, and the faith to believe in that day when “the earth shall be filled with glory of God as the waters cover the sea”. Give me eyes open to see – really see - the visitor and stranger. Amen.

Snapshots of the early church (2)

3 We landed at Tyre, where our ship was to unload its cargo. 4 We sought out the disciples there and stayed with them seven days. Through the Spirit they urged Paul not to go on to Jerusalem. 5 When it was time to leave, we left and continued on our way. All of them, including wives and children, accompanied us out of the city, and there on the beach we knelt to pray. 6 After saying goodbye to each other, we went aboard the ship, and they returned home.

7 We continued our voyage from Tyre and landed at Ptolemais, where we greeted the brothers and sisters and stayed with them for a day. 8 Leaving the next day, we reached Caesarea and stayed at the house of Philip the evangelist, one of the Seven. 9 He had four unmarried daughters who prophesied.

10 After we had been there a number of days, a prophet named Agabus came down from Judea. 11 Coming over to us, he took Paul’s belt, tied his own hands and feet with it and said, “The Holy Spirit says, ‘In this way the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem will bind the owner of this belt and will hand him over to the Gentiles.’”

12 When we heard this, we and the people there pleaded with Paul not to go up to Jerusalem. 13 Then Paul answered, “Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” 14 When he would not be dissuaded, we gave up and said, “The Lord’s will be done.”

15After this, we started on our way up to Jerusalem. 16 Some of the disciples from Caesarea accompanied us and brought us to the home of Mnason, where we were to stay. He was a man from Cyprus and one of the early disciples.

Acts 21:3-16

We have been following Paul’s journey to Jerusalem, along with his party of friends and supporters, and last time I picked on two “snapshots of the early church” from this passage. The first was simply the touching love which Paul and the people he met with demonstrated for one another as they moved from place to place. Whatever else the church may be today, it was then a community of sacrificial, Christlike love. May ours be the same!

The second was the gift of prophecy, which played a big part in the early church. We were introduced to the four unmarried daughters of Philip the evangelist, “who prophesied”. I suggested that in our view of prophecy we need to be carefully balanced – don’t dismiss it out of hand, for that might mean we are “quenching the Holy Spirit”; but at the same time don’t swallow it hook line and sinker, for that could lead to wild Corinth-style disorderliness.

But Acts 21 prompts further thoughts regarding prophecy, so let’s return to that topic today.

First, it makes us aware of the importance of female voices in the early church.

Apart from verse 9 we know nothing about these four women. What form did their prophetic gifts take? Did they exercise their gift in the church when it was gathered, or only in the privacy of their home? Frustratingly, Acts doesn’t tell us, so it’s not for us to know.

But we do know from 1 Corinthians 11:13 that women were at liberty to pray in services of worship (as long as they went along with the cultural expectation of having their heads covered), and presumably that would apply to prophecy as well. (What we make in our day and age of the head-covering rule, or of Paul’s seeming ban on women preaching… well, I leave that for another day! - though personally I am pleased that most churches seem happy to view such practices as no longer applicable.)

The point that matters is that women’s voices were valued (not just tolerated) in the early church, and churches that attempt to silence them today are simply wrong. Paul, regarded by some as a “woman-hater”, was nothing of the kind – think of the warmth with which he spoke of Priscilla, and the other female names in Romans 16.

Second, the actions of Agabus (verses 10-11) raise questions about the gift of prophecy: “he took Paul’s belt, tied his own hands and feet with it and said, ‘The Holy Spirit says, In this way the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem will bind the owner of this belt and will hand him over to the gentiles’”. That sounds like unwelcome news!

It’s sometimes said that the gift of prophecy is not about “foretelling” (that is, telling the future), but about “forth-telling” (that is, declaring the word of God). Well, that may generally be the case, but it certainly wasn’t so in the case of Agabus (Acts 11:28 is another case in point). Rather like some of the Old Testament prophets, Agabus performed a mini-drama, in this case with Paul’s belt (don’t ask how exactly he managed to do the tying! – that’s not the point) and it must have amounted to a very arresting scene (“What on earth is he up to…?”). Agabus provided his own interpretation: “the owner of this belt will suffer at the hands of the Jews” and everyone looking on took this as God urging Paul not to go to Jerusalem – just as had the Christians of Tyre (verse 4), where “through the Spirit” they pleaded the same thing.

What is specially interesting is that everyone except Paul made the obvious application: “Paul, don’t go on to Jerusalem; you’re liable to be killed!” And on each occasion Paul… refused to obey. So it seems that there are times when a genuine, Spirit-sent prophecy should in fact be questioned. Paul had already made up his mind that God wanted to him to face whatever might happen to him in Jerusalem, and nothing, not even Spirit-given prophetic words, was going to stand in his way.

So…? If nothing else, this suggests that we need to treat prophetic words with great care and wisdom. Putting it more directly: let’s be very wary of the devout Chrisian who declares that “the Lord has given me a message through the Spirit…”. The wise Christian’s response is “Well, he may indeed have done so. But let’s look at this message very carefully before we make up our minds.” How many people, one wonders, especially in the period of charismatic renewal, have been suckered (one almost uses the word blackmailed) by hyper-spiritual Christians who are convinced they are God’s mouthpiece, and who manage to convince others too.

Putting the main point another way, in the words of 1 John 4:1, we are to “test the spirits to see if they are from God”; and why? “because many false prophets have gone out into the world”. The Christians of Tyre, and Agabus, were certainly not false prophets, yet in these situations they didn’t have the final word. Christian, be wise! Christian, don’t be gullible!

Perhaps the clearest snap-shot from these verses is the sheer devotion and dedication of Paul. Hearing the plea of those around him to turn back from Jerusalem, he resolutely declares: “Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus” (verse 14).

Oh for such devotion and courage in us!

Father, please help me to make the church to which you have called me wise and mature, and most of all to be filled with Christlike love. Amen.

Snapshots of the early church

 3 We landed at Tyre, where our ship was to unload its cargo. 4 We sought out the disciples there and stayed with them seven days. Through the Spirit they urged Paul not to go on to Jerusalem. 5 When it was time to leave, we left and continued on our way. All of them, including wives and children, accompanied us out of the city, and there on the beach we knelt to pray. 6 After saying goodbye to each other, we went aboard the ship, and they returned home.

7 We continued our voyage from Tyre and landed at Ptolemais, where we greeted the brothers and sisters and stayed with them for a day. 8 Leaving the next day, we reached Caesarea and stayed at the house of Philip the evangelist, one of the Seven. 9 He had four unmarried daughters who prophesied.

10 After we had been there a number of days, a prophet named Agabus came down from Judea. 11 Coming over to us, he took Paul’s belt, tied his own hands and feet with it and said, “The Holy Spirit says, ‘In this way the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem will bind the owner of this belt and will hand him over to the Gentiles.’”

12 When we heard this, we and the people there pleaded with Paul not to go up to Jerusalem. 13 Then Paul answered, “Why are you weeping and breaking my heart? I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die in Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus.” 14 When he would not be dissuaded, we gave up and said, “The Lord’s will be done.”

15After this, we started on our way up to Jerusalem. 16 Some of the disciples from Caesarea accompanied us and brought us to the home of Mnason, where we were to stay. He was a man from Cyprus and one of the early disciples.

Acts 21:3-16

Paul is heading from the region of Asia Minor (Philippi, Troas, Miletus) by ship to Jerusalem, and these verses tell us about things that happened along the way. It’s a longer passage than I usually take, but I think it’s worth it, and I’ve left the verse numbers in to make it easier to refer back to. Please read the passage right through to start with.

Our twenty-first century church is, of course, immensely different from the sort of thing that is being described here, but there is still much that we can learn, and much to make us think. I think of it as “Snapshots of the early church”. Let me pick out one or two, pretty much at random…

Snapshot one: these verses demonstrate great love and affection.

Jesus said that “by this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35). Paul, of course, had a special place in God’s purposes but, make no mistake, the love these early Christians  had for him was neither a distant, formal kind of support, nor a shallow celebrity cult - Paul the super apostle (in fact there were those in the early church who weren’t too sure about him at all).

Everywhere he and his party go they are met, or accompanied by, or given accommodation by, Christian brothers and sisters. Chapter 20 finishes with him in Miletus saying goodbye to Christian leaders from Ephesus – kneeling, praying, embracing them. According to 21:1 they had to “tear themselves away from them” (can you see it?).

When they got to Tyre (verses 4-6) they stayed with the church there, and were pleaded with “through the Spirit” (note those words!) not to go to Jerusalem for fear of them coming to harm. But Paul had made up his mind, and there was a touching little farewell procession to the beach where “all of them, including wives and children” knelt to pray with them. Again, can you picture it?

The plain fact is that Christlike love – self-giving, sacrificial love - is the absolute hall-mark of the church in any day and age. Which raises the question: is it also the hall-mark of our churches? Or do we tend to see “church” as a building or an organisation rather than a family? Even if some of us feel we have little to contribute to our local church we can pray to love others with a truly Christlike love. Not until we get to heaven will we have the slightest notion of how much we may have contributed.

Snapshot two: the gift of prophecy seems to have figured strongly in the New Testament church.

In verse 8 we read about “Philip the evangelist” (remember him from Acts 6:5 and 8:26-40?) who “had four unmarried daughters who prophesied”, and in verses 10-11 about a man called Agabus, whom we have also met earlier, in Acts 11:28. How the four daughters of Philip exercised their prophetic ministries we can only guess (though wouldn’t that have been an interesting household to spy on!). But Agabus seems to have had an approach to prophesy akin to that of the Old Testament prophets, including what we might think of as “visual aids” or something like street theatre (verses 10-11).

If prophesy was indeed a big feature of the early church, that leaves two questions: first, what exactly was it? and second, should we today be expecting it to be part of our church life?

It’s impossible to be absolutely precise about the first question. My own feeling is that as good a definition as we can reach would be: “prophecy is a spontaneous, Spirit-inspired utterance which may be delivered by any respected member of a Christian gathering and which speaks directly to an existing situation or problem”. (Whatever it is, it is not to be identified with a prepared message or “sermon”.)

So should we, especially if we belong to a tradition that doesn’t recognise this gift for today, be more open to it?

Some churches think prophesy was needed in the early church only because at that time there was no such thing as “the Bible”; now that we have the full scriptures it has ceased to be relevant or necessary.

I doubt very much if that is correct, but I recognise that an over-emphasis on spontaneous gifts can lead to all sorts of problems. We know, for example, that while Paul himself highly valued the gift of “speaking in tongues” (1 Corinthians 14:18) he knew only too well the shambolic mess it had reduced the Corinth church to: “will they [that is, any visitors or outsiders] not say that you are out of your mind?” (1 Corinthians 14:23). Beware anything that smacks of hysteria or loss of order!

But equally some churches over the years have got themselves locked into a cast-iron “liturgy” or other pattern which renders their worship rigid and formulaic: everything is cut and dried in advance; anything remotely fresh or “spontaneous” is viewed with fear and suspicion; and you can’t help wondering if windows need to be thrown open and a breath of spiritual fresh air allowed to circulate.

Riotous spontaneity on the one hand (that’s Corinth) and fixed pre-packaged patterns on the other (that may be some of us?) are both to be avoided. But are there times to avoid being over-cautious and let that fresh wind of the Holy Spirit blow?

I’ve run out of space, so please join me again next time as we continue to learn from Paul’s journey to Jerusalem.

Lord of the Church, I realise that the early church, for all its radiant love and vibrant, risk-taking faith, was far from perfect. But thank you for the honest portrait we find in the New Testament, and help me to do all I can to seek to build up that kind of church in my own locality. Amen.

Faith on false pretences?

Then people brought little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them and pray for them. But the disciples rebuked them. Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there. Matthew 19:13-15

In a recent newspaper article Kemi Badenoch, the leader of the British Conservative Party, explained among other things how she had lost her Christian faith. She had, she said, followed the shocking story of the father who had virtually enslaved his own daughter in his house for over twenty years, and decided that she could no longer believe in any God who could allow such an appalling thing to happen in spite of constant prayer.

Well, you can’t help feeling a certain amount of sympathy, and it’s good that various Christians have responded in helpful and thoughtful ways. But one thing she said that particularly struck me was that, as a child with a strong church upbringing, she had somehow developed the belief that when she prayed, even for quite trivial things - for example, for beautiful hair or for the bus to arrive on time - she could expect that prayer to be answered. And her experience was that sometimes that indeed happened. But now, in adulthood, she couldn’t accept that that young woman’s prayers in such a horribly dire situation had for so long gone unanswered.

Reflecting on her comments triggered a bad memory in my mind.

It was my practice when a young minister to include a “children’s talk” as part of the Sunday morning service. One Sunday I told the story of blind Bartimaeus, and the wonderful love and power Jesus showed in healing him. All that was needed was faith!

A great story. But I made a big mistake. I overlooked the fact that in our congregation we had a lady who had lost her sight in her later years.

Had Mrs Carter been prayed for? Oh yes. Had she been prayed over? Certainly. She had been prayed for in English and in tongues and with laying on of hands. Did she have faith in Jesus? No doubt about that.

Had she been healed? No. No, she hadn’t.

As I stood at the church door after the service, dear Mrs Carter came to me to tell me, very graciously, of her distress: “You have taught the children this morning that I don’t have enough faith…” I felt embarrassed and ashamed and could only mumble an apology. How could I have been so unutterably stupid? Mrs Carter was far more forgiving than I deserved.

The Kemi Badenoch story didn’t only trigger that memory: it also made me think about how we as Christians teach young children the stories of the Bible. We can be in no doubt that Jesus loved children (the story at the top is included in Matthew 19, Mark 10 and Luke 18); he “took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands upon them” (Mark 10:13-16).

But – and I had never really noticed this before - nowhere are we told what he said to them, or anything of what he taught them. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to know! Well, we don’t, and that’s that; so it’s up to us to prayerfully work it out for ourselves. I’m not implying any criticism of those who taught Kemi Badenoch as a child – I don’t know what her circumstances were like, and it wouldn’t be for me to judge even if I did. I’m just pointing out that it’s something we should give some serious thought to.

Please forgive me another childhood memory. As a small boy in Sunday School I still remember learning the story of King Solomon and the two women disputing over a dead baby (1 Kings 3). Solomon’s proverbial wisdom is reflected in his gruesome command to take a sword and “cut the living child in two”. It didn’t happen, of course – but that was the whole point of the wise king; he knew maternal love would prevail and make itself known.

But I was a small boy and, well, just learning the story frightened me. Has it scarred me for life? No, thank God; but…

How careful we need to be, especially when so much unsuitable material is readily available on line.

And what about the songs we sing? We are all very concerned - and rightly so – that children should enjoy being in church with us. Long gone are the days when everything was stiff and staid. But is there a danger that we end up teaching them songs which convey unbalanced truths that go well with jolly tunes (probably accompanied by actions)? A new one to me comes to mind, focussing on the sheer power of Jesus; it contains the words “He can heal the sick! He can raise the dead!” followed by “Only He can do this…”

Well yes, he can, thank God. Certainly he has done it in the past. Occasionally, no doubt, he still does it today. But wonderful though this truth is, are we in effect showing children only a tiny part of a far bigger picture? Do we ever go to the trouble of also explaining to them plainly that very often that isn’t what in fact happens? that millions of prayers are offered every day which (seemingly at least) go unanswered?

Are we, in practical terms, setting them up for a Kemi Badenoch-type fall? Could Kemi Badenoch herself have been saved this kind disappointment? Could she, with a steadily deepening and maturing faith, be a solid Christian today?

Father, thank you for the children you have committed to our care and for the privilege of introducing them to Jesus. Give us the wisdom, whether as parents or as teachers, to judge their level of understanding wisely so that we don’t inadvertently feed them only partial truths. Hear us too for Kemi Badenoch, that the response to her remarks may lead her to think again. Amen.

A steep learning curve

Shortly before dawn Jesus went out to them, walking on the lake. When the disciples saw him walking on the lake, they were terrified. “It’s a ghost,” they said, and cried out in fear.

But Jesus immediately said to them: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.”

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter replied, “tell me to come to you on the water.”

“Come,” he said.

Then Peter got down out of the boat, walked on the water and came toward Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid and, beginning to sink, cried out, “Lord, save me!”

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand and caught him. “You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?”

And when they climbed into the boat, the wind died down. Then those who were in the boat worshipped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.”

Matthew 14:25-33

Was Simon Peter a hero for having the faith to step out of the boat and walk on the water? Or was he a failure for panicking and starting to sink?

It’s a question that has been asked many times, not least in sermons. And it’s a perfectly natural and reasonable question. It’s certainly a question that comes as a challenge to us, reminding us of the many times we, like Peter, have let Jesus down. But the challenge is not destructive or demoralising, because Jesus responds so lovingly to Peter’s failure: we are told that as he saw him begin to go down he “immediately (note that word) reached out his hand and caught him”. Yes, he rebuked him: “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” But the rebuke was loving rather than a telling-off (there’s a big difference), rather the way a parent gently chastises a child.

If you’re anything like me you enjoy the story because it makes you feel better about yourself. After all, if even the human leader of Jesus’ twelve apostles could fail in this dramatic way and still be rescued, perhaps there’s hope for me too! And if the gospel-writers see fit to expose the weakness of their leader in such a public way, well, surely there must be hope for me. Whether we should derive such encouragement or not – well, that’s another question! - are we just administering easy comfort to ourselves? But, whatever, it’s a difficult temptation to resist.

In some ways the story is rather puzzling. It starts (verse 22) with Jesus almost seeming to abandon his disciples: “Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead of him”. Then what does he do but… climb the nearest mountain to get a bit of solitude for prayer! It’s almost as if he wants to get as far from them as possible, and that’s not easy to understand. They clearly end up with a hard time and a long, dark night, “buffeted by the waves” (verse 24). What is Jesus up to?

His behaviour suggests at least two things.

First, he needed time to himself.

Some Christians suggest that because Jesus was (indeed, is) the Son of God, he was some kind of spiritual super-man, always fully charged with energy and never experiencing weakness of any kind. But that is plain wrong. The reason (for example) he sat and got into conversation with the woman at the well (John 4) was because he was “tired from the journey” and needed a drink (which, by the way, he wasn’t ashamed to ask for). A little later here in Matthew’s Gospel (chapter 26) we read of his agony in the Garden of Gethsemane where he pleaded with God his Father to spare him the torment of crucifixion (… “if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me”) and where the men who have been his companions for his earthly ministry couldn’t even so much as stay awake. To put it in plain terms, he felt agonisingly abandoned and lonely: he needed companionship (as we all do).

And let’s make no mistake: there wasn’t any hint of play-acting in the different trials he was subjected to, nor in his inability to carry the cross to Golgotha, nor in his “cry of dereliction” (“My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”).

No: if Jesus needed that time of solitude, away from his disciples above the Sea of Galilee, it was for some good reason, even if we aren’t told what that was. He was – let’s spell it out – fully human as well as fully divine.

May that great truth be a comfort to those of us who particularly need it at the present time.

Second, Jesus’ behaviour is also explained by the fact that there were times when he needed to put his followers through testing-times.

Muscles grow hard and strong through exercise; they become flabby through under-use. And faith is like that. Certainly, Jesus put his disciples through a hard time that night on the Sea of Galilee. But he knew the kind of struggles their loyalty to him would entail in the months and years to come, so that long-drawn-out night of fear and that personal crisis for Peter would have constituted what today tends to be called a “steep learning curve” for them all.

The Bible suggests that God only ever allows us to have our faith stretched and tested in order to stiffen our spiritual muscles. It’s true that that may seem pretty cold comfort at the time. But it remains true.

Hebrews 12 is a section of the New Testament which focuses specially on this truth. “Endure hardship as a discipline; God is treating you as his children…” (verse 7). And then (verse 10) “God disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share in his holiness” (verse 12).

The storms of life can be hard, and we may sometimes feel unjustly treated – “Lord, it’s not fair!” But let’s notice two things: first, that we should view them as signs of fatherly love, not coldness or indifference, and certainly not cruelty; and second, that they are intended to deepen our holiness, to make us more like God himself. Which, of course, raises the key question: Do I in fact want to be more holy? Really?

Well, while we try and honestly work that out, assuming that we are not presently in a Peter-and-the-apostles situation, perhaps we should turn our thoughts to things we might be doing for those who are…

Father, I fear I would be just as weak as Simon Peter if I were in his shoes. But thank you for the assurance that you love me and that you will never let me go. Give me, please, the gift of true compassion for those who may feel they’re going under. Amen.

"The living should take this to heart"

 

A good name is better than fine perfume,
    and the day of death better than the day of birth.
² It is better to go to a house of mourning
    than to go to a house of feasting,
for death is the destiny of everyone;
    the living should take this to heart.
³ Frustration is better than laughter,
    because a sad face is good for the heart.
⁴ The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning,
    but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.

Ecclesiastes 7:1-4

We’ve been talking a bit about death recently, my wife and I. Why so? Well, mainly because we have quite suddenly become conscious of our getting old (both in our seventies) with all that that means: new aches and pains, and increasing weakness and inability to do things we never even used to have to think about. You could say a sharp new reality has kicked in.

We’ve even bought what we call our “death book”. It’s a glorified exercise book in which we each jot down various practical matters which we feel the one of us who is left behind would benefit from having to hand, if they don’t already – things as varied as bank account numbers and hymns and songs we feel might be appropriate for our respective funerals. (I heard recently about the emergence of “death cafes”, where people meet to share together something of the experience of preparing for death; all very cheerful, I’m told.)

Each day my wife and I share together a few minutes with the Bible and prayer, taking turns to choose the Bible passage. This is the background against which my wife chose Ecclesiastes 7:1-7 the other day (with, I might say, a slightly wicked smile on her face), and which I thought it might be worth reflecting on.

On the face of it the writer could be dismissed as just a complete misery-guts: “the day of death is better than the day of birth. It is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting”. Are we really expected to take such an outrageous saying seriously? Surely not!

Well, let’s recognise first that in the so-called “wisdom” books of the Bible (Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Job, Song of Songs) the purpose of the various writers is to stimulate thought – and to do that sometimes by throwing out provocative and controversial opinions to wake people up. We shouldn’t treat the wisdom books the same way we treat the factual, history books (like Kings, Chronicles or the Gospels), or books of reasoned argument (like the letters of the New Testament). In this case it’s as if the writer is saying: “I’ll give you something to think about, so just listen to me…!” After shaking our heads in bewilderment we hopefully might find ourselves saying, “Actually, I think I can see his point…”

Well, if that’s right, what might that point be?

I would sum it up like this: The fact is that life is a serious business, and to refuse to take it seriously is to miss the point of what really matters. Humour is a great gift, and humourless people are a drag on both themselves and those around them. But by the same token the person who is never serious, the person who refuses to get to grips with the general realities of life drives everyone around them to distraction - ”Will you please be serious for a minute!” Wasn’t there a pop-group once who used to declare to the world that “girls just wanna have fun”? Well, that’s all very well; but sorry, it simply isn’t the way things are.

If we need a bit of seriousness, what better place to go to than a funeral? A Christian funeral, of course, may be an event of great peace, hope and even joy – thanks be to God for that! – but it is bound also to be an event with a deep substratum of seriousness: we find ourselves in touch with the deepest realities of our human lives. We find ourselves also confronting questions which it’s very easy to try to avoid most of the time. And a funeral draws us together as a community: it reminds us of the immeasurable value of the people we live around, even if day by day we are tempted to take them for granted.

We are all grateful for the cheerful, funny people in our lives. No problem with that (and even Ecclesiastes recognises it: “when times are good, be happy”, 7:14). But when things are hard do we not instinctively turn to the serious people, the people with a bit of depth to them?

The Bible takes death very seriously. Paul describes it as “the last enemy” (1 Corinthians 15:26) – last, yes, but still an enemy. When Stephen was killed by the mob, we read that “godly men buried him and mourned deeply for him” (no stiff upper lips there) (Acts 8:2). Paul also assures us that after death “there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). To state the obvious, the resurrection of Jesus changes everything for those whose trust is in him.

So why not look it fairly and squarely in the face? As Ecclesiastes 7:2 says: “The living should take this to heart” (can’t you almost see the writer wagging his finger?)

An after-thought… If what I have said is right, does it affect how we should think about “assisted dying”?

My impression is that most Christians are very uneasy about this proposed change in the law, and my tendency is to go along with them. But let’s be careful. The world we live in tends to view death as the worst thing that can ever happen to us, and that the prolongation of life is supremely what matters. But surely no Christian can ever accept that.

Go back to Paul: at a time when he sensed that his earthly life was reaching its end he wrote: “For me, to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). That’s not just a sentiment for “super-saints”: no, that’s for every man and woman who simply trusts in Jesus crucified and risen.

We have something to teach the world by the way we live. Should we not have something to teach it too by the way we die?

Father, I don’t know when death may come for me, and I’m not looking forward to it. But just as I seek daily to glorify Jesus by my living, please grant me grace also to glorify him by my dying. Amen.

Asking the impossible?

You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? 

Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. Matthew 5:43-4

Did Jesus ever say a more radical, indeed a more revolutionary, thing than this? Indeed, did anybody ever say a more revolutionary thing than this? – it seems almost laughably idealistic in our troubled and hate-filled world.

The problem for many of us who know these words pretty much by heart is that familiarity can breed, if not contempt, then at least a kind of indifference, if not of downright cynicism.

“Love your enemies”? Well, that sounds a pretty tall order, but, all right, I’ll do my best; at least I can aim to be courteous, I suppose. “Pray for those who persecute you”? Well, again, I suppose I can summon up an occasional prayer, even if rather grudgingly; it doesn’t cost a lot, after all. “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect”? True, that certainly is a pretty big ask! But surely we must allow for a degree of exaggeration…

No! That won’t do!

We need to try and hear these words through the ears of their first hearers. To put it very briefly, Jesus is in effect inviting us to become like God: “that you may be children of your Father in heaven”. In other words, he wants to build a community of men and women who are, little by little, taking on the divine family likeness.

That’s the point of his words about the sun and the rain being given to all and sundry, the “righteous” and the “unrighteous”. Nowhere in the Old Testament are we told to “love our neighbours and hate our enemies” (though Leviticus19:18 could be taken as implying this). But nature itself makes it plain that God, the creator and sustainer of all things, is, putting it mildly, not picky about who he blesses! He loves all that he has made, however sinful and rebellious they may be. So, then, must we.

But what does it mean in practice to “love our enemies”? Surely, tolerating them should be enough?

The experts tell us that in the Greek in which the New Testament was written there were four main words for love: first, family love; second, sexual love; third, the kind of love we associate with friendship and respect; and then, fourth, a little-used word which one commentator defines as “unconquerable benevolence, invincible goodwill” – and this was the word which the church adopted as its favourite word for Christlike love (it’s the word Paul uses in 1 Corinthians 13). That definition I’ve just quoted from the commentary may be something of a mouthful! But it makes the point. New Testament love is love that stubbornly refuses to wish anything but good upon those who may hate and even hurt us.

This means, of course, that it is not so much a feeling as a conscious act of will. It means both wishing good on the enemy we feel we have, and also doing good to them in any way we can. Feelings, at first at least, simply don’t come into it.

Jesus goes on to tell us to pray for those who hurt us. If the hurt goes really deep that may seem a sheer impossibility - through gritted teeth only.

But… it’s a wonderful fact that remarkable things begin to happen when we take it seriously: among them, we start to see that “enemy” in a new light altogether – not just as a stupid, nasty, selfish, vindictive, spiteful individual who, deep-down, we have learned to hate and despise; but as a lost and helpless sinner who, by God’s grace, can be reborn and, as we have done, become part of the family of God. (It’s what Jesus elsewhere calls being “born again” (John 3) and what Paul describes as becoming a “new creation” (2 Corinthians 5).

It’s becoming the kind of person God always intended me to be. And it’s why Jesus’ parting gift to the church was the person of the Holy Spirit, the very breath and energy of God himself

And, of course, it’s what Jesus himself exemplified on the cross as he looked at his killers: “Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing…” (See what I meant when I spoke about beginning to take on the family likeness?)

Exploring these powerful words of Jesus – “love your enemies”, “pray for your persecutors”, even “be perfect” – takes some doing! But one thing we mustn’t do is water them down or try to wriggle out of them. We are all children of a sinful, fallen race: the first Adam was guilty of disobedience, and we still carry the curse that resulted.  But now God has sent us a second Adam (1 Corinthians 15:45-49) to renew the fallen creation. His name is Jesus, and in Matthew 5:43-48 he invites us join his new family. Not just a tarted up version of the old (if you will pardon the expression) but new priorities, new aspirations, new ambitions, new hopes, new attitudes… new you, new me!

Oh, Lord, help me to take seriously your call to be perfect, as you are perfect, whatever that may mean in practice. Amen!

... then the word of the Lord came...

 

Then the word of the Lord came to Elijah… 1 Kings 17:2

Then the word of the Lord came to him… 1 Kings 17:8

After a long time, in the third year, the word of the Lord came to Elijah… 1 Kings 18:1

Last time we thought about how “the word of the Lord came to Elijah” some 900 years before Christ, and I suggested that we imagine our way back into his time before there was any such thing as a complete Bible. If we today, in our very different world, want to hear God’s word, how are we to go about it? – apart, that is, from our reading of scripture and listening regularly to his preached word. I found there were various questions I needed to put to myself; I hope you too might find them useful.

First, how serious am I about hearing God’s voice?

That thought challenged me because it made me question my whole motivation. It’s relatively easy to read the Bible as an act of personal discipline. When I was a child we used to sing in Sunday School a song which contained the words, “Read your Bible, pray every day, if you want to grow…” Those words were then repeated two or three times so that they became part of our mental furniture, and still to this day they help form the shape of my daily life. No complaints there, then.

But while doing something good out of discipline, even habit, is no doubt better than not doing it at all, there is of course the danger of it becoming a purely mechanical routine, a mere ritual. I was quite an obedient child, and can remember rattling through my passage for the day, putting my Bible down, and feeling I had done my duty (“thank goodness I’ve got that done!”). But had I taken anything in? Had I (as Thomas asked the Ethiopian eunuch) “understood what I had read” (Acts 8:26)? It was only later that I really grasped that a verse or two digested, mulled over, perhaps even questioned, is likely to be of far more value than a complete chapter swallowed whole.

Second, what if I do hear God speaking – and don’t very much like what I hear?

In other words, what happens when a passage, or perhaps a sermon, touches my conscience in some tender place? (You may know the old rhyme: “Don’t get mad at the preacher, he’s not provoked at you; he only preaches the word of God, and sometimes the truth breaks through!”)

Well, there’s not much more to say about that question, is there! The Bible often speaks about people with wilfully “deaf ears” and sinfully  “hardened hearts”, so… “whoever (including you and me) has ears to hear, let them hear…” (Matthew 11:15).

Third, do I actively expect to hear God’s voice?

I heard somebody say once, “Anyone who is serious about God will hear something from him in a sermon, even if it’s not a very good one”, or words to that effect. And if that’s true of a sermon, it’s surely true also of the Bible itself. In other words, a lot depends on the reader or listener and what we bring to their seeking to hear God’s voice. If we come with a dull, half-hearted heart, that’s what we are likely to go away with also. Lord, help me to be expectant and open to your voice!

Fourth, am I open to the danger of getting things wrong?

Core truths concerning the love and holiness of God and the good news of the gospel are not so much of a problem, but if ever we feel prompted – as Elijah was - to be specific about events and circumstances, we need to be careful. My wife and I lost what would have been our first child; it died in the womb for no particular reason. Yet during the lead-up to this event, obviously a time of considerable stress, we had Christians assuring us that “The Lord has told me that the baby will be all right”. These were Christian friends, sincere and well-meaning people who we respected and loved. But… fact: they turned out to be wrong. Elijah’s predictions of course came true, but we are reminded of the warning in John’s first letter; that all things need to be “tested” (1John 4:1).

Fifth, and this really sums up everything I’ve tried to say, how God-centred generally am I?

What kind of person am I? What kind of person do I want to be? The poet George Herbert, some of whose poems were once used as hymns (sadly not much heard today) wrote these beautifully simple lines of prayer: “For my heart’s desire/ Unto Thine is bent./ I aspire/ To a full consent”. Can I even want to be able to pray those words?

Jesus, of course spoke of those “who hunger and thirst after righteousness” (Matthew 5:6), suggesting a deep yearning for God, not just a shallow “spirituality”. And also, just to challenge us even more, there is the wonderful description of Barnabas, the man who was content to play second fiddle to Paul: “He was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and faith” (Acts 11:24). Not a bad epitaph for somebody’s tombstone!

Some Christians speak of “thin places”, meaning sites where the separation between heaven and earth is felt to be specially permeable, almost truly “heaven on earth”. Such places may be buildings or places of pilgrimage. The cunning, deceiving Jacob came to such a place at Bethel, where he had a vivid dream, to which he responded “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I didn’t realise it” (Genesis 28:16).

Perhaps we might speak also of “thin people”, odd though that sounds: men and women in whom we naturally and instinctively sense the near presence of our holy God. Elijah, I think, was such a one.

Not, of course, that we can train to somehow qualify as such men or women (it’s not something taught in Bible college!). But we can train ourselves every day to live in God’s presence – and to long for his word, in whatever form it might come.

Father in heaven, thank you that you love to speak to us - through scripture, through preaching, perhaps even through dreams and visions, through conscience or strong impressions. Give me a hunger and thirst to hear your word, even when what I hear is ninety percent consolidation of what I already know, and only ten percent something fresh. Amen.

... then the word of the Lord came...

Then the word of the Lord came to Elijah… 1 Kings 17:2

Then the word of the Lord came to him… 1 Kings 17:8

After a long time, in the third year, the word of the Lord came to Elijah… 1 Kings 18:1

The Bible introduces us to the prophet Elijah out of nowhere in 1 Kings 17:1: “Now Elijah the Tishbite, from Tishbe in Gilead, said to Ahab (that’s the evil king of Israel), ‘As the Lord, the God of Israel, lives, whom I serve, there will be neither dew nor rain in the next few years except at my word’”.

We know virtually nothing about Elijah’s “back-story” – just that his home town was “Tishbe in Gilead”, which doesn’t mean a lot to us. But he was, it seems, a bringer mainly of bad news, news of the judgment of God. He dominates the next few chapters in a sequence of highly dramatic events, and then is “taken up to heaven in a whirlwind”, leaving his servant Elisha to succeed him (2 Kings 2).

An enigmatic figure! He was (still is, I think) revered by the people of Israel, and his status as a major figure in their history is confirmed by the story of the “transfiguration” of Jesus told in Matthew 17, where he appears alongside Jesus with no less a person than Moses.

Listening recently to a sermon on Elijah I was particularly struck not so much by any of the dramatic events which are to come but by that little phrase “the word of the Lord came to Elijah” (three times in this first episode). It made me want to ask the simple question, “How? How exactly did this happen? In what form did the word of the Lord come to Elijah?”

In the many years I have been a Christian I have often wondered vaguely what the answer to that question might be. But the key word there is “vaguely”; it’s not something I’ve ever seriously got to grips with. One might say, of course, that since the Bible doesn’t tell us we should be content not to know. But the minds God has given us often run to curiosity, and, unless we have some sense of trespassing on sacred ground, allowing that curiosity to probe a little is surely not wrong.

As Christians we believe that God is a God who speaks, and our chief means of hearing his word is Scripture, the inspired books of the Old and New Testaments. But thinking of the people we meet in scripture, whether an Old Testament figure like Elijah or a New Testament figure like Paul and the Gospel-writers, that of course cannot apply, for the very simple reason that while they were active “the Bible” as a complete book didn’t yet exist! Most of us today probably have a variety of different versions of the Bible on our shelves; but for Elijah there was no such thing as “the Old Testament” (never mind the New!) for him to read a passage of day by day.

So, going back to where we started, the question arises: How did Elijah know about the coming drought? Did he hear an audible voice, perhaps coming to him in his own times of prayer or in a dream or some kind of trance-like state? Or did he know a fellow-prophet who passed on the message to him? Did he simply survey the disastrous twenty-two-year reign of King Ahab, who ruled over Israel roughly 874-852 before Jesus (summed up at the end of 1Kings 16) and feel a grim sense of foreboding which hardened into a conviction that the judgment of God was going to fall in the form of drought?

There is no way we can be sure. But it prompts various questions about how we as Christians can receive “the word of the Lord”.

As I’ve said, our regular interaction with the Bible is the obvious, and most important, starting-point. We read it day by day; we receive it through sermons, Bible-studies, commentaries and other kinds of literature; we may use some daily “thought for the day” on-line or even in an old-fashioned calendar. But how can we know for sure that some truth we are reminded of is particularly for us personally?

Of course, we are not an Elijah, or a Moses, or a Matthew, or a Paul. These were people with a special calling from God, people he dealt with in a special way. But God speaks to all his people, whether great or small, and that includes us. There are questions which I find myself wanting to ask – please join me next time as I try to explore some of the possibilities and to challenge us as to our hunger for God’s word…

Father in heaven, if you are indeed a God who speaks to his people, how can I possibly afford not to listen! Indeed, how dare I not listen? Please forgive my deaf ears and my hard heart, and teach me to listen better to your voice. Amen.