Living with vain regrets

Then Saul said, "I have sinned!... Surely I have been a fool and made a great mistake."  1 Samuel 26:21

Regrets... Do you have any? I think you'd be either a very special person or a very foolish one if you were to say No. Don't we all? As we look back on our lives there are bound to be things where we wish we could turn the clock back. Some of our regrets may be fairly trivial - a silly word which caused embarrassment, an opportunity which we missed to do something good, a petty weakness which we have never quite mastered. Trivial perhaps, yet they have left a bad taste in the mouth.

Other regrets are more serious. You did something that hurt someone badly. You took a disastrous career decision. You entered a completely wrong relationship. You got drawn into some kind of seriously bad behaviour. Whatever it was, it changed your life for ever - and now it's too late to put it right. And so you can echo the words of King Saul: "I have sinned!... I have been a fool and made a great mistake". (I'll leave you to read for yourself what Saul had done to make him feel that way.) For us the question has to be, "What can I do about my regrets?"

We can of course try to bury them in the past - to pretend those things never happened. But we will not succeed; they will always be there, lurking uglily in our minds, poisoning our consciences and destroying our peace. Otherwise, we have two choices. Which is it to be?

First, we can slump into despair, perhaps into a really destructive bitterness. We can brood, going over and over in our minds our folly and stupidity. Some people, tragically, allow their lives to be ruined by vain regrets. In extreme cases it can even lead to suicide. This can only be a victory for the devil, who loves nothing more than to destroy us.

But there is another way. This is what the Bible calls repentance. We come to God and hold nothing back. We admit our wrongdoing. We recognise that there is nothing we can now do. We humble ourselves. Then, by an act of faith, we receive God's forgiveness. And we discover that along with that forgiveness comes something wonderful - the chance to start all over again.

God loves to forgive, even where we cannot forget. That doesn't mean he doesn't care about the wrong we have done and the hurt we have caused - he does, he cares very much, and he knows that a price has to be paid. But the good news is that that price has been paid - why else did Jesus die on the cross?

I wonder if anyone reading this is living with vain regrets? Can I remind you that our loving God is the master of the second chance, the new beginning? He always has a bright new future for those who are truly sorry. Moses was guilty of murder. David committed adultery. Peter denied Jesus. Paul persecuted  the church. But each went on to play a big part in God's purposes. So why shouldn't that be true for you too?

I don't think we ever forget the wrongs we have done and the mistakes we have made. Nor would it be good if we did, especially if they caused pain to others. But repentance is all about that most wonderful gift of God - hope. So - Go forward! Go forward as a forgiven sinner, and let the hope of God fill your heart!

Dear Father, as I look back in my life there is much I feel ashamed of. But thank you that still you love me and want only good for me. I pray for the people I have hurt or damaged - if there is any kind of recompense I can make, then help me to make it. But thank you for a new start. Help me now to go forward, not always looking back, and to live from now on a life of Christlike holiness. Amen!

An army of ordinary people

Greet Asyncritus, Phlegon, Hermes, Patrobas, Hermas and the brothers with them. Greet Philologus, Julia, Nereus and his sister, and Olympas and all the saints with them. Greet one another with a holy kiss. Romans 16:14-16

There's something I like about group photos. You know the sort of thing: a class of children sitting with their teacher, freshly scrubbed and on their best behaviour; a bunch of people attending a conference; a crowd at a wedding, all dressed up to the nines. There they all are, smiling cheesily into the camera. You can't help but smile back. 
 
Well, they didn't have cameras in Paul's day; but wouldn't it be great to see a group photo of the early church in Rome? Can you imagine what it would have been like? The nearest we get to it is the list of names Paul gives us in the last chapter of his letter to them. I've picked out just a few. Please don't worry if you don't know how to pronounce them (neither do I), or if you can't think of anything you know about them. That's the whole point - they are just very ordinary people, most of them otherwise completely unknown to history. Just like us, in fact.

Isn't it good that after all the heavy-duty theology of Romans 1-15 we have this personal glimpse of the "army of ordinary people" who made up the church in the capital of the Roman empire? It alerts us to several important things.

First, the church is people, not buildings. At this point in history there was simply no such thing as a church building. In verse 5 Paul mentions the church that "meets at the house of Priscilla and Aquila". That's the way it was: in order to meet for worship and fellowship the early Christians gathered in homes or hired halls. I sometimes think that the church today would be a lot healthier if it had stayed that way. Buildings can be a curse as well as a blessing: the vast amounts of time and money they gobble up! the superstitious reverence they attract! the wrong image they can give to the non-Christian world!

Second, if the people Paul mentions here make up, say, about a quarter of the whole church - meeting in four or five locations around the city - then the church was really quite small, consisting of about 100 people. Again, much like many churches today. We must resist discouragement if our numbers are small: God can do massive things from truly tiny beginnings.

Third, the church was a community of workers. Do you notice the number of times Paul refers to people "working hard"? Yes, serving Christ and his church is often a matter of sweat and toil, rolled up sleeves and perseverance. The church isn't a social gathering with religious trimmings! Are you a worker in the church of Christ? Is it time you became one?

Fourth, there is a strong sense of affection, indeed, of love. People have "risked their lives" for one another. They are "dear friends"; Rufus's mother, it seems, "has been a mother" to Paul too. They were in the practice of kissing one another in greeting. This isn't a group of relative strangers who shake hands on a Sunday morning, make a few minutes of polite conversation, and then head off home. Oh no: these are brothers and sisters, sharing their very lives with one another.

Fifth, they were a mixed group. There are about 24 mentioned by name, of whom a little less than half were probably women. And we can be sure that there were rich (some had homes big enough to host a meeting) and poor. Different talents, different aptitudes, different personalities. Paul doesn't mention it here (though he certainly does elsewhere) but no doubt there were tensions too, differences of opinion, even personality clashes. Let's not imagine the early church was perfect, any more than yours is today.

Why not take a few minutes to read your way - slowly and imaginatively, picturing these people with your mind's eye - right through Romans 16? And keep in mind this thought: one of the greatest joys and privileges of being a Christian is that you are a member of the family of God, gathered together with others in a local congregation. 

Value the church! Value your church, whatever its faults may be! Love one another! Be a worker! Give of yourself and what you have cheerfully and gladly! Above all, remember that you are a saint (verse 2)!

Dear Father, I may never be a Simon Peter, or a John, or a Paul. I'm just a Patrobas or a Tryphena, an Epenetus or a Persis. But I am one of your children, joined with my brothers and sisters in the family of your church. I am a saint! Thank you. Thank you! Amen.

Just do it!

Jesus said, "When you pray..." Matthew 6:5

I like the way Jesus introduces his teaching on prayer. He doesn't give a command: "Pray!" He doesn't make a suggestion: "I think you would find it helpful to pray." He doesn't ask a question: "Have you thought about praying?" He doesn't scold: "Why don't you pray more!"

No. He makes an assumption: "When you pray..."

Of course, prayer was a basic part of the life of every Jew, so it was an assumption he could safely make. (Which raises the uncomfortable question, incidentally: Could he make the same assumption about you? About me? Are we serious pray-ers?) But still, his approach is strikingly low-key and matter-of-fact. And I think that's something we modern Christians - most of us no doubt Gentiles - can learn from. We often tend to make heavy weather of prayer, and it's as if he is saying, "Just get on with it; and here's a brief outline of how to go about it."

A quick digression... I enjoy reading the slogans people have on their tee-shirts - well, the ones that aren't obscene, anyway. My all-time favourite is one I saw on a young man at the Oval watching the cricket: "Just give me treacle sponge and custard and nobody will get hurt." Ah, I thought, a man after my own heart! I've got a bit bored with the "Keep calm..." ones, though I suppose "Keep calm and make a brew" on my son's favourite mug isn't too bad. 

But there is one which I must admit really irritates me. That man opposite me on the tube tapping away on his little gadget - what message is he actually wanting to convey with his slogan: "Just do it"? I'm quite a gentle person really, but I somehow get this compulsive urge to grab him by the throat and give him a good shaking: "Just do what? What a ridiculous, fatuous, empty, moronic, meaningless, clueless, asinine slogan to inflict on the rest of us! Pah!" Just do it, indeed! (I generally succeed in suppressing the urge, you will be pleased to know.)

And yet... perhaps, on reflection, I need to think again - for when it comes to the matter of prayer, it strikes me that "Just do it!" pretty much sums up what Jesus is implying here. He takes it for granted.

And when you come to the Lord's Prayer, a few verses later, again, how very low-key and matter of fact it is. It's short - you can say it slowly in about thirty seconds (I've just done it). In church, blink and you miss it. It's terse, down to earth and practical. You might even say it's quite flat and unemotional. Yet we tend to tie ourselves in knots when we try to pray: real prayer, we subconsciously imagine, should be lengthy and passionate, probably loud and repetitive, preferably accompanied by fasting. Otherwise, well, it won't weigh with God, will it?

Please don't get me wrong. Of course there is a place for fasting, for intensity, for long and emotional praying. Of course. The Lord's Prayer isn't there to tell us everything we need to know about prayer, or to be the only prayer we ever pray. Of course not. But recognising its sheer - what word should I use? - its sheer ordinariness could really help to liberate us from a few hang-ups. Why not relax and just get on with it? I suspect that the problem for many of us isn't so much that we don't pray in the right way, but that we don't pray much at all. 

How seriously do you and I take the wonderful privilege and responsibility of prayer? Do we sometimes make it too hard for ourselves? Do we allow ourselves to be put off because we "don't feel we're doing it right"? Perhaps we can hear the voice of God even through that man's annoying tee-shirt: "My dear child, just do it!"

O God, please help me to pray day by day, not only when it's a joy, but also when it seems little more than a routine, not only when I'm in the mood, but also when I'm not, not only when my faith is bubbling, but also when my spirits are low. Amen.

Did I do wrong?

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m on the top deck of the 79 bus in Alperton, north-west London. The bus is full - people of all races and colours. I’m one of a handful of whites. We are all minding our own business, hoping the bus will be able to crawl its way at least reasonably quickly through the bottle-neck which is Wembley High Street.

A young black woman comes up the stairs. She starts preaching: in a very loud voice. “Is there anyone here who loves Jesus? Is there anyone here who reads the Bible?” We all, metaphorically at least, pull our coat collars up around our faces: whatever you do, no eye contact.  

She starts to read from John’s gospel. “‘There was a man sent from God whose name was John’. Does anyone here have a friend called John?” Silence. Squirming. Cringing. And I don’t think it’s only because we can’t see the relevance of the question. She carries on...

For the next ten minutes, until we get to my stop, I wrestle with a genuine spiritual, even a moral, dilemma. Am I wrong to keep my head resolutely under the parapet? Should I not give support to a fellow-Christian, however misguided she might be? Worst of all, am I guilty of disloyalty to Jesus? I satisfy myself with the thought that there is no reason why I should be rail-roaded into a discussion which I haven’t initiated, which I have not been invited into in an appropriate manner, and which I feel can only do damage to the witness of the church. That’s enough for my conscience - I think.

It’s a relief to get off the bus - she is still hard at it as I descend the stairs. I walk home mulling over in my mind the big question of cultural sensitivity in presenting the gospel. There’s no doubt that that young woman deserves ten out of ten for enthusiasm; but I would only grudgingly give her even one out of ten for wisdom. 

Well, I thought that was the end of the matter. But now something quite remarkable happens. I ought to say that this kind of preaching is something which I was completely unfamiliar with, even after more than twenty years in this part of London. I had never even heard of it, never mind encountered it. 

But the very next day, Sunday, we head for church, and it so happens that a close minister friend of mine is visiting and is invited to share his story with the congregation. He is from Nigeria, and when asked how he became a Christian he replies that it was through the ministry of - wait for it - “bus evangelism” back home. Yes, this practice that I and the other passengers on the number 79 found so excruciating was how he was brought to faith in Jesus. Even worse follows - apparently he also, in his early days as a Christian, was himself an enthusiastic bus evangelist. I decide I have some serious thinking to do. Is this sequence of events mere coincidence? Or is God saying something to me?

At house-group the following week I ask another friend, also from Nigeria, if this is a practice she is familiar with. “Oh yes,” she cheerfully replies, “I do it all the time when I’m back home. It really splits the bus in two! Half the passengers shout that I should sit down. The other half say ‘Keep it coming, sister!’”

I am left pondering various things.

First, the dilemma I mentioned earlier: was I guilty of being ashamed of Jesus? Or was I right to calm my conscience in the way I did?

Second, the question of cultural sensitivity. I decide that my initial dislike of what that young woman did was justified: even granted the massively multi-religious and multi-racial nature of the London Borough of Brent, it was clear that her intrusion into our privacy was unwelcome to all. 1 Peter 3:15 comes to mind - that bit about evangelising "with gentleness and respect".

Third, can such a sequence of events - I mean now what happened on Sunday morning too - be dismissed as “mere coincidence”?

And fourth, the sense that it’s easy to get a bit pompous and high-and-mighty over such a thing, and that God was teaching me, if no-one else, a serious lesson in humility. No, I don’t think I can defend that young woman. But if I am completely honest with myself, I have to confess that my attitude towards her was wrong; I was, like Michal in 2 Samuel 6, “despising her in my heart”. I think of Bible characters - today they might be dismissed as cranks and weirdos - like Ezekiel and John the Baptist, and recognise that perhaps we should thank God for people who are prepared to violate conventions and step out in ways that may shock. Not look down on them. 

Perhaps we need to rewrite the opening lines of that old hymn: “God moves in sometimes wacky ways/ His wonders to perform...”

Any thoughts?

The Curious Incident of Eldad and Medad

However, two men whose names were Eldad and Medad, had remained in the camp. They were listed among the elders, but did not go out to the tent. Yet the Spirit also rested on them, and they prophesied in the camp. A young man ran and told Moses, "Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp!" Numbers 11:24-27

Hands up anyone who has heard of Eldad and Medad. Mmm, I thought as much - even we Christians don't know our Bibles very well. All right, to be fair, Eldad and Medad aren't quite up there with David and Elijah, or Peter and Paul, in the galaxy of Bible characters. But even they have their story to tell.

We'd better start by getting familiar with that story - and really you need to read the whole of Numbers 11... 

The people of Israel have come out of slavery in Egypt. They are wandering in the desert, heading ultimately for the promised land, under the leadership of Moses. But there is trouble in the camp. The people are complaining about diet - they are missing all the nice things they used to eat in Egypt. Some even want to head straight back. Moses' leadership is being questioned. He is having a tough time.

God tells him it is time to share his leadership responsibilities with others. He is to gather seventy of the leaders of the people, and he is given this promise: "...I will take of the spirit that is on you, and put the spirit on them. They will help you carry the burden of the people..." (verse 17).

Moses does as he is told. He gathers these men at the sacred Tent where he regularly goes to be with God. And while they are there something remarkable happens: "When the spirit rested on them, they prophesied..." (verse 25).

They prophesied. Let's not worry too much exactly what this means; it was probably some kind of ecstatic utterance, akin to the speaking in tongues we read about in the New Testament. Whatever, it was obviously pretty dramatic. 

But now a little drama unfolds. It seems that two of the seventy men, Eldad and Medad, were missing from this gathering at the Tent. We aren't told why - perhaps they weren't well that day; perhaps they had somehow incurred a ritual impurity which barred them from going to the Tent. There is no suggestion that they are to blame. But anyway, they aren't there. They miss out on this dramatic experience.

But wait a minute - no, they don't miss out! It seems that they too are given this gift of prophesy, even though they are still in the camp with the ordinary people. A man comes running, like a school-child to the teacher: "Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp!" And Joshua, Moses' right-hand man, is distinctly unhappy: Moses,this really is most irregular - you should put a stop to it at once!

What does Moses do? Remarkably, he rejects Joshua's advice. Indeed, he goes so far as to say that he would be a happy man if everyone had received this gift (does that remind you of anyone in the New Testament?).

So that is the curious incident of Eldad and Medad.The question that follows is obvious: is there anything we can learn from it? Let me suggest three things.

First, you can't put God in a box. Yes, what happened that day with Eldad and Medad does seem a bit "irregular". It happened in the "wrong" place and among the "wrong" people, and it didn't happen under the official leadership. But so what? If God decided that Eldad and Medad should share in this experience after all, who is anyone to complain? God is Lord. He does what he pleases, and it is for us to bow to his will.

Things sometimes happen in church life which don't seem quite right - they aren't part of the norm, they don't fit our tradition or our expectations. They make us feel uncomfortable. When this happens we should of course think them through prayerfully to establish whether or not they are genuine and authentically from God - there are plenty of false manifestations around, after all. "Test the spirits to see whether they are from God", says John (1 John 4:1). But we shouldn't respond with a knee-jerk reaction, like Joshua. Perhaps God is at work in a new way - and we wouldn't like to get in the way of that, now, would we?

Second, we shouldn't be too suspicious of fellow-Christians who do things differently from us. Christians all over the world worship, pray and serve in all manner of different ways. And of course we all like to think that our denomination or our movement or our church has got it right. Well, some practices are no doubt closer to the biblical pattern than others, but just because someone else has a different custom or practice doesn't necessarily mean they are wrong. Is anything clearly anti-biblical? Is any fundamental principle being violated? If not, it is for us to accept that other person as a brother or sister Christian, differences notwithstanding. (The little episode of Jesus and the "strange exorcist" (Mark 9:38-41) gives us a good New Testament parallel to our Numbers passage.)

Third, there is no place for jealousy or insistence on status, especially among leaders. I think Joshua's indignation, however mistaken, may have sprung from a good motive: he didn't like to think that his master Moses' authority might be undermined by what had happened in the camp. But Moses puts him right: Don't worry on my account, Joshua! If God is at work, whether through me or not through me, that's absolutely fine. Relax, and let God be God! 

All of us Christians can harbour a sense of wounded pride and get on our high horse when someone else seems to encroach on what we see as our particular territory - it might be teaching, or music, or pastoral care, or administration, or a thousand and one things. But rather than letting our noses be put out of joint, we should rejoice that that other person is using their God-given gift. A little humility is in order!

Lord God, help me not to tie you down by my own prejudices and expectations. May your Spirit work in me and in your church exactly as he pleases. Come again, oh Holy Spirit, this very day! Amen.

When faith falters

John’s disciples told him about all these things. Calling two of them, he sent them to the Lord to ask, “Are you the one who was to come, or should we expect someone else?” Luke 7:18

Have you ever been disappointed, perhaps even shocked, to see someone you thought of as a rock-solid Christian displaying doubt? It’s probably happened to most of us who have been Christians for any length of time. “I really can’t believe it!” we say. “He always seemed so strong, so convinced. He was the one who sorted out other people’s doubts! - I would never have dreamed his own faith could wobble like that.” 

Well, it happens, sadly. But perhaps it shouldn’t come as such a surprise to us. Here, after all, is John the Baptist, a powerful prophet of God, a man quarried out of the same sort of rock as Elijah in the Old Testament. This is the man who pointed his disciples to Jesus with the words, “Look! The lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.” Who said of Jesus “He must grow greater, I must grow less.” Who declared that he wasn’t worthy so much as to bend down and untie Jesus’ sandal straps. Yet, amazingly, he sends two of his own followers to Jesus with the question, “Are you the one who was to come, or should we look for someone else?” As if to say, “Jesus, did I get it wrong about you? Was I mistaken all along?” His conviction seems to have evaporated. 

You could talk for ages about why this happened. But it would all be speculation. Certainly, John was cooped up in some horrible prison, having fallen foul of Herod the Tetrarch, so it is understandable if he was pretty depressed. Even the strongest faith is subject to physical and/or emotional stress. Sometimes people who are experiencing what might be called spiritual depression are not so much in need of prayer as of a bit of a holiday, or possibly a visit to the doctor. 

The most likely reason for John’s faltering faith is, very simply, that Jesus wasn’t turning out to be the kind of Jesus he expected. Judging by his words in Luke 3 John was expecting something dramatic, indeed ferocious, from Jesus: “His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire” (3:17). He saw the Messiah as primarily bringing judgment to a sinful nation - and Jesus simply wasn’t doing that. Hence his puzzled question. 

Several things are worth noting. First, how did Jesus respond to John’s uncertainty? Well, the great thing is that he didn’t tell him off or scold him. Indeed, he answered him very gently and sympathetically: “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cured, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and good news is preached to the poor” (verse 22). As if to say, “John, aren’t these wonderful, beautiful, powerful, compassionate things exactly what you should expect from the Messiah? Don’t doubt me, my cousin! What I bring may not be what you expected - but isn’t it far better? The fires of judgment will come, don’t worry - but they are not for now.” 

 I wonder how many people become Christians under false pretences? They are persuaded to trust in Jesus on the basis of something he never claimed to be or to do. And so they suffer disillusionment when things don’t turn out as they had hoped. This is the essence of the false but popular “prosperity gospel” - Jesus will make you always happy, always successful, always rich, always healthy. We need a fully rounded image of Jesus - not a false Jesus with just a few characteristics blown up out of all proportion. 

Second, let’s not be too surprised when trusted Christian friends, even public figures, fail us. And let’s not be too judgmental. What they need from us is what John needed from Jesus - support, love and understanding, not condemnation. What Paul says about the Christian who lapses into out-and-out sin applies, surely, all the more in this sort of situation: “...you who are spiritual should restore him gently” (Galatians 6:1). 

And third, let’s not forget that if this kind of thing could happen to a mighty man like John the Baptist, it could also happen to you or me. Here is Paul again: “If you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall!” (1 Corinthians 10:12). Yes, one day it could be you who is in need of comforting, reassuring words, and the support of understanding friends. 

Poor John! I feel deeply for him, don't you, sitting there in that prison cell and questioning the very thing that had given his whole life meaning. How utterly desolate he must have felt. And I am so glad that Jesus responded to him in such a loving way. Aren’t you?  

Lord Jesus, please help me when my faith falters. And help me too to be a good friend to those struggling through the darkness of doubt. Amen.

The Bit-and-Bridle Christian

Do not be like the horse or the mule, which have no understanding, but must be controlled by bit and bridle... Psalm 32:9

I’ve never been a horse: so I can only imagine what it must be like the first time a human being decides to put a bit into your mouth. A nasty, hard, cold piece of metal, with straps attached to force you to move your head whichever way your rider chooses. Even if the bit is made as comfortable as possible - as I am sure it is in humane horsey circles - it can’t be a very pleasant piece of gear. 

A bit and bridle mean control: “You will do what I say, and not just what you want. You will go where I decide, and not just where you choose. You don’t have to think for yourself - that will be done for you. And if you try to rebel and disobey, well, sorry, but it will be very unpleasant for you. You’ll end up with a pretty sore mouth.”

It’s interesting that the Psalmist uses the bit and bridle as an illustration of how we shouldn’t relate to God. Certainly, we are called to respond to God’s leading with implicit obedience. But that obedience should be glad and willing, not something forced upon us. People who work with horses say that they develop deep relationships with their animals, real affection and respect, and I don’t doubt that that is true. But it doesn’t come close - no, not by a million miles - to the relationship between two people, two thinking beings who can relate to one another through speech, with smiles and frowns, jokes and debate, gestures and silences, discussion and laughter. 

People who don’t know the Old Testament often talk of the God depicted in its pages as hard, severe, judgmental, very different from the God of the New. This is a caricature. And this psalm is just one of dozens of Old Testament passages that make that clear: “I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you and watch over you” (verse 8). No bit and bridle there! - it’s all care, concern, tenderness. In fact, it’s not far removed from the words of Jesus to his disciples in John 15:15: “I no longer call you servants, for a servant does not know his master’s business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I have learned from my Father I have made known to you”. 

I have called you friends. That pretty well sums it up. Christianity - and indeed, much of the religion of the Old Testament too - is all about relationships. How sad it is then, that we often have the talent for reducing it to the level of forced obedience, the bit and bridle option: “Oh well, God says this is what I must do, so I suppose I had better get on with it”. 

The question arises: Am I a “bit-and-bridle” Christian, aiming to please God through gritted teeth? Or am I a “glad obedience” Christian, intent on enjoying my relationship with God, and taking pleasure from doing his perfect will? – yes, even when it doesn’t really suit me. 

Jesus never used the bit and bridle image. But he did give us something a little similar: he spoke about the “yoke”, the wooden device that was used to control the ox (Matthew 11: 29-30). But the great thing about his yoke is that it is “easy” (the word can be translated “good” or “pleasant”). And what does it lead to? Ah, something bit and bridle can never give: “You will find rest for your souls”. 

 Is your soul at rest? It can be! 

Father, your ways are not always easy, and your demands can be hard. But teach me the joy of glad obedience, and so help me to know that rest and peace of soul of which Jesus speaks. Amen.