The poor and meek and lowly? Who cares?

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

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

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

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

I wonder what that night-shift was like for the shepherds of Luke 2? I picture them huddled up against the cold, struggling to stay awake and longing for morning to come.

Then something odd happens: a stranger appears as if out of nowhere. Who can he be? Why has he come? How has he come? A sense of something uncanny creeps over them, but it doesn’t last long, for it becomes apparent that the visitor is a messenger of God himself (that’s really what an “angel” was), and “the glory of the Lord shone around them”. Puzzlement turned to terror.

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

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

Number one: the first people to receive the message of Jesus’ birth were low on the social scale, on the margins of society.

He wasn’t made known to the religious leaders in the temple at Jerusalem, or to the political leaders like King Herod in his palace. His parents were nobodies – and the news of his birth came first to nobodies.

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

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

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

A second encouragement: the first word of the angel to the shepherds was “Do not be afraid”. 

Isn’t that precious! Certainly, a heavenly vision of angels is likely to result in a need for a bit of reassurance. But I fished out my heavy Bible concordance a little earlier to discover that this same exhortation, or something very like it, occurs more than 100 times throughout the Bible in all sorts of different situations.

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

There is, no doubt, a time and place for such questions – sin certainly needs to be “called out”, to use the current expression. But let us never forget that the first word is one of love and reassurance: “I bring you good news that will cause great joy…” Christianity is a “don’t-be-afraid!” religion.

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

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

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

Make it personal

Be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns and songs from the Spirit.  Sing and make music from your hearts to the Lord. Ephesians 5:19

When it comes to Christmas carols, I must admit that my feelings are rather mixed. I quite seriously dislike the ones that strike me as slushy and sentimental (“Little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes”, for example: why…?), and likewise the ones that rest largely on traditions that have little to do with the actual events described in the New Testament (all that stuff about “sleepy cows and asses”, for example: who says…?).

But others I find very helpful, in fact I regret that we only ever sing them at this time of year. Especially, I appreciate those that retell something of the familiar story, and then, towards the end, morph into direct prayer; which, surely, can only be good.

An example is “As with gladness men of old /Did the guiding star behold…” It climaxes in this prayer: “Holy Jesus, every day / Keep us in the narrow way…”, a prayer which, surely, any sincere Christian can say Amen to.

Of course these poems are designed “for congregational use”, but I have found that, especially if I have become a little sluggish spiritually, they are good for personal use too. It’s easy to change the “we”s and “us”es of a gathered group to the “I”s and “me’s” of, well, just I and me. Doesn’t this, for example, constitute a beautiful and very meaningful prayer (notice the italics, please)?... “Holy Jesus, every day/ Keep me in the narrow way;/ And, when earthly things are past,/ Bring my ransomed soul at last/ Where it needs no star to guide,/ Where no clouds your glory hide.”

I’m not suggesting that we should focus too much on ourselves with our  songs and hymns – that, in fact, is a modern trend in church life which I find it hard to identify with – but there are times when our personal spiritual lives need something of a kick-start, and tailoring the words of a gifted song-writer to our own situation in the privacy of solitary prayer can be very helpful.

By the way, the man who wrote “As with gladness” was William C Dix (1837-1898). He nearly died at the age of 29, and was confined to bed for many months, subsequently sinking into depression. Yet many of his best known hymns date from that dark period. I don’t know when he wrote “As with gladness”, but I like to think that composing hymns for others to use helped him to pull through.

Another favourite carol is “O little town of Bethlehem”. The final verse, adapted for personal use in the way I have suggested, goes like this: “O holy child of Bethlehem,/ Descend to me, I pray;/ Cast out my sin, and enter in;/ Be born in me today./ I hear the Christmas angels/ The great glad tidings tell; / O come to me, abide with me,/ My Lord Immanuel.”

If you are of a pedantic frame of mind you might object that you are praying here for something you have already received (Jesus has long since “descended to me”, hasn’t he? he has already “cast out my sin” and “entered in” and “been born in me”). Well, yes, if you insist; but I don’t think there’s any serious inconsistency in praying such a simple, basic prayer. Don’t we all in fact need to come afresh to God day by day? And can’t we be confident that God understands us and doesn’t get impatient with us? He knows the true state of our hearts – hopefully, an honest yearning after more of him - and isn’t too worried about a little superficial doctrinal inconsistency!

I sometimes think that hymns and songs can be wasted on us when we sing them; might we not derive far more benefit from slowly and thoughtfully reading them, even in the context of corporate worship? Too often it’s just the tune that carries us through, and we barely notice the words which, after all, are what really matter.

I knew a wise pastor who adopted the practice of pausing before the singing of a song or hymn to allow individual members of the congregation to read the verses out loud. There was a kind of magic in hearing those four or five voices lifted up in turn to read – and I’m sure that, when the music started, the words were sung with far greater meaning and appreciation than usual. Lord, preserve us from mindless singing!

But whether sung or read, may the message of Christmas become alive  for us in these coming days. May our souls be “meek to receive him”… How silently, how silently,/ The wondrous gift is given!/ So God imparts to human hearts/ The blessings of his heaven./ No ear may hear his coming;/ But in this world of sin,/ Where meek souls will receive him, still/ The dear Christ enters in. Thanks be to God!

Father, thank you for the gift of music, for those who compose and play, and for those too who write words which are challenging, stirring and moving. As I sing Christmas hymns and songs over the coming days may my dull spirit be refreshed by the moving of your powerful Holy Spirit. Amen.

When religion goes bad

Then some Pharisees and teachers of the law came to Jesus from Jerusalem and asked, ² “Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? They don’t wash their hands before they eat!” ³ Jesus replied, “And why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition?...”

¹⁰ Jesus called the crowd to him and said, “Listen and understand. ¹¹ What goes into someone’s mouth does not defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what defiles them.”…

¹⁵ Peter said, “Explain the parable to us.” ¹⁶ “Are you still so dull?” Jesus asked them. ¹⁷ “Don’t you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out of the body? ¹⁸ But the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and these defile them. For out of the heart come evil thoughts – murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander. These are what defile a person; but eating with unwashed hands does not defile them.” Matthew 15:1-20

Among many Christians there are two words which – well, I won’t call them “dirty” words, but words which we are suspicious of: “religion” and “tradition”.

“Religion” conjures up all sorts of ritual, an emphasis on pomp and ceremony, which seems far beyond anything Jesus either practiced, or wanted from, his followers; and “tradition” suggests fustiness or what we might just call “old-fashionedness”. We don’t like either, and do our best to avoid them! (I include myself in that category: “religion”, especially, is something I sometimes think I have an almost religious dislike of.)

For other Christians, though, religion and tradition are important to their faith: for example, buildings specially designed for worship, special robes worn by those who lead the church, and historic patterns of services (technically known as “liturgies”).

Sadly, the two groupings can come to view each other with suspicion, even enmity, and there can be a solemn shaking of heads and heaving of sorrowful sighs at the mistaken practices of the other grouping. (Oh, what hypocrites we can be!)

One of the main aspects of Jesus’ earthly ministry focused on precisely this kind of divide, only to an even greater extent. Here in Matthew 15 we read of a head-on clash between Jesus and “some Pharisees and teachers of the Law” who were offended at the disciples’ failure to observe certain traditional practices (verses1-2): “Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? They don’t wash their hands before they eat!” And Jesus was in no mood to be conciliatory: “And why do you break the command of God for the sake of your tradition?” he shot back at them. There follows a quite detailed confrontation about different aspects of Jewish customs and practices at that time. No “gentle Jesus meek and mild” here!

Setting aside the details involved, Jesus gets to the nub of the issue by talking about the human heart: “…the things that come out of a person’s mouth come from the heart, and these defile them”. He then lists some sins straight out of the ten commandments – “murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander” – all of which find their origin in the dark depths of the human heart, which is akin to a spiritual cess-pit. The implication is clear: when you face up to such harsh, destructive realities, who cares about trivial cleansing rituals! What we all need is a new heart.

It's important to  remember that the traditional practices in question were never commanded in the Old Testament, and they weren’t primarily to do with physical hygiene; they were not part of the Jewish “law”, which Jesus, in Matthew 5:17-20, declared his respect for and allegiance to. No, they were part of a massive, elaborate build-up of subsidiary rules and regulations (the “Mishnah”) by which devout Jews could demonstrate their loyalty to their ancestral faith. No problem there - not necessarily, anyway.

The problem arose when, instead of being regarded as a very secondary part of that devout faith, they became its very essence, which was obviously what had happened with many of the “Pharisees and teachers of the law”.

I say “many”, because we should never “tar everyone with the same brush” in anything, should we? Think of the Pharisee Nicodemus who came visiting Jesus under cover of darkness (John 3). Very likely he was just such a man – a devout Jew who faithfully upheld all that accumulation of added traditions – yet who in a humble spirit comes to this wandering Galilean preacher who is making such waves in his community, addressing him with the respected title “Rabbi”. His heart is teachable and open.

And how does Jesus receive him? By questioning his obedience to the Mishnah? No: by leading him to the central truth of his message: that a divinely given rebirth, a total renewal of the heart, is possible to everyone “who believes in him”.

We can see and hear what people do with their bodies; but their hearts…? God only knows, we sometimes say, and it’s not just an idle saying. God is the only one who knows! When did we last honestly examine our own hearts?

A personal experience…

My wife and I were on holiday a few years ago in one of those warm sunny countries which are Roman Catholic through and through. I have to confess that I have a hearty dislike of Catholicism; but we went, as tourists, into a magnificent cathedral. I sat taking it all in when an elderly woman came and sat down near me. Everything about her appearance and manner said “I am a Roman Catholic” – her prayer shawl, her rosary, her holy books, everything. So I sat there inwardly looking down on her in my self-righteousness – oh, the poor benighted soul!

And then I found myself scolding myself, “Stop it! Do I know the state of that woman’s heart? Am I in a position to judge? These rituals are probably all she has ever known, and nobody has ever taught her otherwise. For all I know she has a deeper love of Jesus than me, even in spite of her obvious devotion to Mary. Doesn’t an ounce of truth outweigh a ton of error…?”

When Jesus clashed with the Pharisees and teachers of the law he was locking horns with the leaders of the people, men who had not themselves grasped the truth of God’s sacrificial love for sinful men and women, and who were therefore unqualified to lead others in the truth. His attitude to ordinary, uneducated people was completely different,  one of pity and compassion.

When we get to heaven I suspect we will find ourselves in the company of some people who are a surprise to us: people we had, in our arrogance, looked down on. What do you think?

Father, thank you that Jesus was so ferocious in his condemnation of religious leaders who upheld rules and regulations which denied the good news of simple trusting faith in you. Forgive me when I find it in my heart to despise others who have received less light than me. Save me from hypocrisy! Amen.

Hatred

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven… a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

If I had to choose the ugliest, nastiest word in the English language I think I would probably opt for “hatred”. To me it conjures up sheer spitefulness and viciousness: I can’t help seeing in my mind’s eye a twisted, snarling face and hearing horrible words. Hatred is the polar opposite of love, forgiveness, compassion, goodness, all that we associate with the God revealed to us in Jesus. Ugh!

I remember, then, the sense of shock I felt when I first read Ecclesiastes 3 and reached verse 8. Apparently there is “a time to love and a time to hate”.

What are we to make of such a verse?

We are often encouraged to “accentuate the positive”, so let’s start by stating boldly that there is such a thing as holy hatred. That may seem strange, but it’s obvious when we stop and think about it: the Bible calls us to hate or “abhor” sin (Romans12:9), as God himself does. In this respect we may even look at ourselves and, if we are honest, feel that it would be good if we hated a bit more rather than a bit less. (I doubt if the writer of Ecclesiastes had this meaning in mind, but it seems a natural spin-off to me.)

The poet and hymn-writer William Cowper (1731-1800), who experienced what today would be called serious mental health problems (they probably called it “melancholy” in his day) captured something of his misery and the inner hate it gave rise to, in the beautiful hymn “O for a closer walk with God”: Return, O holy dove, return,/ Sweet messenger of rest!/ I hate the sins that made thee mourn,/ And drove thee from my breast. His self-hatred may have been over-acute because of his depression; but haven’t we all, as serious Christians, known something of that dark mood?

The word hate is never used of Jesus, but his attack on the “teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites” (Matthew  23:13-39) is ferocious enough, I think, to be described as “holy hatred”, an utter detestation of what the Pharisees stood for (though not, I am sure, of the people themselves).

It’s also slightly disconcerting, perhaps, that he used physical force in his act of “cleansing the temple” (John 2:13-17, Matthew 21:12-13), though I think it was the sheer force of his personality that had that powerful effect, and that the “whip of cords” never actually hurt anyone.

Whatever, I can only say that while I find it easy enough to dislike various things which seem contrary to the things of God (“disapproval” would be the rather self-righteous, pompous word), I know little of holy hatred.

Thinking along these lines – of an angry Jesus -  prompts us to reflect on the place of anger in our attitudes.

God forbid that we should ever give in to unjustified anger, to temper or loss of control. But is there never a place for plain speaking, for honest rebuke, as long as it is delivered with humility? As I look back on my life I can’t help but wonder how much better a person I might have been if, at times when I had fallen out of step with Jesus, some Christian friend had “taken me aside” (assuming, of course, that I had been humble enough to take note!).

The New Testament tells us we should “admonish”  or “rebuke” one another (Colossians 3:16) – though before we do so we had better be sure (a) that we’re right in what we feel we must say, and (b) that we say it in the right spirit! To fail to lovingly admonish a fellow-Christian is often, I suspect, down to turning a blind eye to scripture through a cowardly failure of true love.

We have come a long way from Ecclesiastes 3!

But that is often the way Proverbs and Ecclesiastes work – they don’t so much lay down doctrine as set a hare running, to stimulate reflection and questioning which we can follow through in the rest of the Bible. They read pretty much as a random collection of observations, comments, personal experiences and opinions, often leaving us scratching our heads. By delving into the New Testament (especially, say, by looking at Jesus when he was angry) we are provoked into taking a look at ourselves and wondering if we have missed something important.

What the writer of Ecclesiastes offers us, not least in chapter 3 verses 1-8, is an extended meditation on the ups and downs of life in this fallen, sinful world. “This is just the way things are”, he seems to be saying – “so get used to it and work out for yourselves how you should respond, especially as someone who believes in a loving and holy God”.

We should not take his ruminations as law. The second part of verse 8, for example, “a time for war and a time for peace”, doesn’t end all discussion on the rights or wrongs of pacifism: it’s just the way things are. Jesus, let’s remember, also taught that as long as this world exists there will be “wars and rumours of war”, without implying any approval of war.

Neither does verse 3, “a time to kill and a time to heal”, close down all debate regarding assisted suicide. It too is – well, just the way things are. Which is why on so many of these questions equally committed Christians come to opposite views.

So where does this leave us? There’s an old cliché that we should “hate the sin but love the sinner”. That perhaps sounds rather glib; but I can’t find much fault with it, can you? Isn’t that precisely the attitude that took Jesus to the cross? I think that the writer of Ecclesiastes, if he had known what we know about Jesus, would have gladly nodded his head.

O Lord, give me a holy hatred of sin, and a heavenly love of all that is pure and Christlike! Help me, too, to accept the ups and downs of this earthly life with faith and perseverance, and to look to that day when all sin, pain and sorrow will be wiped out for ever. Amen.

 

Through all the changing scenes of life,/ In trouble and in joy,/ The praises of my God shall still/ My heart and tongue employ.

Fear him, ye saints, and you will then/ Have nothing else to fear;/ Make but his service your delight;/ Your wants shall be his care.

Nahum Tate (1652-1715) and Nicholas Brady (1659-1726)