The pharaoh and the Hebrew midwives

The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, whose names were Shiphrah and Puah, ‘When you are helping the Hebrew women during childbirth on the delivery stool, if you see that the baby is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, let her live.’ The midwives, however, feared God and did not do what the king of Egypt had told them to do; they let the boys live. Then the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and asked them, ‘Why have you done this? Why have you let the boys live?’

The midwives answered Pharaoh, ‘Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women; they are vigorous and give birth before the midwives arrive.’

So God was kind to the midwives and the people increased and became even more numerous. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families of their own.

Some fifty years ago, when I was still quite a young Christian, the story of Corrie ten Boom was very popular. She was a member of a Christian Dutch family who hid Jews in their home, a jewellers’ shop, to keep them from the Nazis during the second world war. A true hero.

But even more heroic, many thought, was her sister Betsie. Betsie was adamant that, as a Christian, she would never tell a lie.

The story goes that, as the Gestapo one day raided their shop, the Jewish refugees got under the table, where they were hidden by a table-cloth. A soldier fiercely asked Betsie “Where have you hidden the Jews?” To which she looked him in the eye and said “Under the table”. Thinking that she was trying to make fools of them the soldiers didn’t look but went off elsewhere.

I wonder what you and I would have done? All right, Betsie got away with it, and all credit to her for her faith and courage. But suppose it hadn’t worked out that way…

That story raises the question, Can a Christian ever be justified in lying?

The Bible tells us that Jesus is “the way, the truth and the life” (John 14:6), and that the devil himself is “a liar and the father of lies” (John 8:44). If anything in this world is sacred and holy, it is surely truth. So Betsie, surely, did what was right, and her courage was rewarded by God.

And yet…?

The Bible gives us stories (admittedly not many) where God’s people do lie, and seem to be blessed by him for doing so. A classic case is that of Rahab the prostitute and the Hebrew spies (Joshua 2), where in a situation rather like that of the ten Booms, Rahab lied but, like Betsie, got away with it.

All right, we might say, but Rahab wasn’t one of God’s people, so what would you expect? True, but in the Christian scriptures (Hebrews11:31) she is nonetheless praised for her faith.

And then there is the story of Shiphrah and Puah, the Hebrew midwives (Exodus 1). Not only did they bravely refuse to obey the Egyptian king when told to kill all the male children at birth, but then, when hauled up before him, told him what seems to have been a straight lie (verse 19). Whereupon God “was kind to the midwives”, and rewarded them with children of their own.

Complete truthfulness is certainly a Christian ideal, no doubt about that; but it isn’t always an entirely simple matter, is it?

Most of us, I’m sure, are happy to resort to what we might call “social” lies. “How are you today?” someone asks us, and we reply “Oh, not so bad, thanks”, even though we feel pretty grotty: we just don’t want to get involved in a discussion of our health, and the other person is only being kind, after all. “What do you think of my new hair cut?” someone else asks us, and we reply “Er, very nice”, though in truth it strikes us as pretty ghastly.

Those are trivial examples. But imagine another possibility, taken to an  extreme degree. You are walking through a wood and a small child comes tripping cheerfully along. Two minutes later a man appears clutching a blood-stained knife and asks “Which way did that child go?” Do you point him in the right direction? or in precisely the opposite direction?

To tell a lie is an evil. But are there times when it may be the lesser of two evils? – times when we have to choose, not between right and  wrong, but between two wrongs. You simply have no alternative.

The worlds of commerce, politics and public affairs generally furnish all sorts of examples. Wasn’t there once a British chancellor of the exchequer – a Christian, indeed – who was asked by a newspaper reporter if he intended to devalue the pound, said no, and then went on to do precisely that? He explained later that if he had told the truth at that particular moment it would have got into the headlines and caused a complete collapse of the currency. A British political party leader resigned just a year or two ago because he had come to the conclusion that no Christian could, in integrity, occupy that position. Was he right? (Sad, and rather worrying, that story, I would say.)

Go back to Shiphrah and Puah. Were they true heroes of faith for standing up to pharaoh even at the cost of lying? Or are they to be criticised for falling short of God’s ideal of perfect honesty? If I had to decide, I don’t think I’d be in any doubt which way I’d go.

Let’s thank God that most of the time we are not called on to make such decisions. But let’s also pray for those whose role in life makes it something they can’t avoid – especially in these dark days of “spin”, “fake news”, and sheer downright lies.

Lord God, you know the hearts and motives of each one of us, and you call us to be people of transparency and truth. Help me to work out this high ideal day by day, maintaining a clear conscience in every situation. Amen.

Who needs friends?

Paul came to Derbe and then to Lystra, where a disciple named Timothy lived, whose mother was Jewish and a believer but whose father was a Greek. The believers at Lystra and Iconium spoke well of him. Paul wanted to take him along on the journey, so he circumcised him because of the Jews who lived in that area, for they all knew that his father was a Greek. Acts 16:1-3

I hope in the Lord Jesus to send Timothy to you soon, that I also may be cheered when I receive news about you. I have no one else like him, who will show genuine concern for your welfare. For everyone looks out for their own interests, not those of Jesus Christ. But you know that Timothy has proved himself, because as a son with his father he has served with me in the work of the gospel.  Philippians 2:19-22

Do you remember meeting for the first time someone who became a best friend? – perhaps even your husband or wife? They were a total stranger to you; you didn’t, as we sometimes say, know them from Adam. And now you look at them, perhaps ten, twenty, thirty, even fifty years on, and smile to think how somehow they became as intimate a part of your life as a favourite old jumper. How did that happen? you ask yourself. Well, never mind how! It just did.

The scholars reckon that the apostle Paul first set eyes on Timothy about 49AD, roughly twenty years after the resurrection of Jesus. We get the impression from Acts 16 that from the moment he first set eyes on him in the town of Lystra Paul saw his qualities and potential and so “wanted to take him along” on the missionary journey he and Barnabas were engaged on. Which he did. Timothy became part of his team.

The scholars can’t fully agree when Paul wrote his letter to the church in Philippi, including this reference to Timothy, but it would have been around ten years later, give or take a few. It would be hard to imagine Paul using more glowing terms to describe him: “… I have no one else like him… will show genuine concern for your welfare… has proved himself, because as a son with his father he has served with me in the work of the gospel…”

That impression of deep respect and admiration is confirmed by the two letters Paul wrote to Timothy, and which we find a little later in the Bible. Timothy became like a loved son to Paul, and all in relatively little time.

So? Well, Paul is sometimes portrayed as an austere, even severe man. But there are many places in Acts and the letters which make it clear that he was capable of deep and strong affection. We never read of him having a wife and family (though we do read about a sister and a nephew), which may have been why his colleagues, young and not so young, became specially important to him: think of Barnabas, Silas, Epaphroditus, Titus, Epaphras, Aristarchus, Philemon, Apollos, Priscilla and Aquila (enough to be going on with?).

Paul needed people, friends, as do you and I. And while people who are not fellow-Christians may be friends whom we cherish (indeed, there is something wrong with us if we don’t have friends outside of Christ), it’s inevitable that our brothers and sisters in Christ are particularly special to us.

It's worth noticing that these rich friendships weren’t formed just by having cups of tea together or sitting around discussing the latest news (not that there’s necessarily anything wrong with that), but by working together. The deepest, strongest bonds grow up between Christians when they serve and pray together.

Paul wasn’t ashamed to ask for help, and to seek the prayers of his friends. He knew well his own weaknesses, and his dependence on others and, if I may be blunt, we are fools if we fail to do the same.

Why not pause for a moment to call to mind those many people who have been true friends to you? There was a time when, yes, you didn’t know them from Adam; but now they are part of the very fabric of your life. You couldn’t begin to calculate the extent to which they have enriched you. And, thinking about them, be thankful to God.

Here are lines from two songs, one dating back over two hundred years, one about forty years old. Perfect for turning into meditation and prayer…

Blest be the tie that binds/ Our hearts in Christian love;/ The fellowship of kindred minds/ Is like to that above.

We share our mutual woes,/ Our mutual burdens bear,/ And often for each other flows/ The sympathizing tear. (John Fawcett, 1740-1817)

And this:

Brother, sister, let me serve you,/ Let me be as Christ to you;/ Pray that I may have the grace/ To let you be my servant, too.

We are pilgrims on a journey,/ We’re together on the road;/ We are here to help each other/ Walk the mile and share the load.

I will hold the Christ-light for you/ In the night time of your fear;/ I will hold my hand out to you,/ Speak the peace you long to hear.

I will weep when you are weeping,/ When you laugh I’ll laugh with you;/ I will share your joy and sorrow/ Till we’ve seen this journey through. Richard Gillard (1977).

Beautiful! And let’s never forget the beautiful words of Jesus to his disciples: I have called you friends.

Who needs friends? You do. And I do.

Father, help me to accept the friendship of others with gratitude and humility, and to be, myself, a true friend to others and to hold the Christ-light for them. Amen.

Permission to nag God

Then Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up. He said: “In a certain town there was a judge who neither feared God nor cared what people thought. And there was a widow in that town who kept coming to him with the plea, ‘Grant me justice against my adversary.’

“For some time he refused. But finally he said to himself, ‘Even though I don’t fear God or care what people think, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will see that she gets justice, so that she won’t eventually come and attack me!’”

And the Lord said, “Listen to what the unjust judge says. And will not God bring about justice for his chosen ones, who cry out to him day and night? Will he keep putting them off? I tell you, he will see that they get justice, and quickly. However, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?” Luke 18:1-8

I can’t help smiling every time I read this story. On the face of it, it’s almost as if Jesus is comparing God himself to a crooked, hard-hearted judge who is nagged and pestered by a widow to get the justice she’s entitled to.

Of course that isn’t really the message. Taking the Bible as a whole, that simply isn’t what God is like.

True, many of Jesus’ parables work by drawing a comparison between God and a human figure – the story of the “Prodigal Son” is a good example, where God is represented by a loving, compassionate father who, dropping any vestige of dignity, runs down the road to greet his returning, wayward son.

But this story works by drawing not a comparison but a contrast; it’s one of those “how much more” stories, where the point is: If even a bent judge can be expected to deliver justice from time to time, albeit from bad motives, how much more can a perfectly just and holy God be expected to deliver justice to his chosen people who cry out to him?

I have always thought of the story as “The parable of the unjust judge”, which is how various translations and commentaries entitle it. But I notice that it’s more common now (as in the NIV) to see it entitled as “The parable of the persistent widow”.

I think that’s better, because it is surely the widow on whom the spotlight mainly falls, not the judge. Yes, we can focus on the judge to reflect on the misuse of power, or the way that people in positions of influence tend often to bully and treat with injustice those who have no power (why do I find myself thinking of P and O?).

But the real point is the need for God’s people to be stubbornly preserving in prayer. Luke spells this out right at the start: “Jesus told his disciples a parable to show them that they should always pray and not give up”.

You couldn’t put it plainer than that, and it’s specially relevant at the present time, as the agonising situation in Ukraine goes grinding on from day to day.

Both on a world-wide scale, and in our own personal circumstances, there are times when the only weapon we feel we have is faith expressed in persevering payer: prayer when we feel like anything but praying; prayer when we feel, frankly, like giving up; prayer when our faith is weak and our doubts are strong; prayer when our prayers seem to be achieving precisely nothing.

I see I’ve used the word “feel” there more than once. I didn’t intend that, but it’s worth thinking about, for it reminds us that the way we happen to feel on any given day is completely irrelevant to our need to pray. Putting that another way: the effectiveness of our praying doesn’t depend on the way we feel. Indeed, you could say that the fact that we don’t feel like praying, but do so anyway, is a good sign that our prayer is motivated by genuine faith.

There are times when it’s relatively easy to pray – we feel spiritually strong, and things are going reasonably well with us. But the real test is that we keep on praying even when we feel flat and inwardly dead. To pray then takes faith! - to pray, if I can put it like this, through gritted teeth.

Looking again at the passage, you can’t help feeling that the final sentence could easily have been left out. Jesus rounds the parable off with a question: “However, when the Son of Man comes (that’s him, of course), will he find faith on the earth?”

Now, why did Jesus add that question? It’s not an ordinary question, of course, the sort where our purpose in asking is simply to get some information (“Did Palace beat Liverpool yesterday?” or “What’s the weather forecast for Saturday?”). No, it’s what’s known as a “rhetorical question”, where the reason for asking it is to make the other person think, or to throw out a challenge.

Jesus asks this question not in order to get his disciples scratching their heads and coming up with a logical, doctrinally correct answer. (After all, of course there will be true believers when he returns in glory! Who else would he be coming for?)

No: he asks it to challenge them, as if to say: “How will you stand on that day? Will you be waiting for me? Will you be ready for me?”

And that challenge applies as much to us today as it did to them then.

Christian, Jesus is coming back – so live every day in the light of that truth!

Lord God, help me to take a lesson today from that feisty old lady in Jesus’ story, so that when he returns I will be ready, waiting, and busily serving and praying. Amen.

People - or things?

Masters, provide your slaves with what is right and fair, because you know that you also have a Master in heaven. Colossians 4:1

Last Wednesday our older son was an officer with P and O Ferries. Today (it’s Saturday as I write) he’s at home with his wife and children wondering what comes next, having been unceremoniously dumped by P and O along with 800 other employees. No preparation; no warning; just clear off.

The Greek philosopher Aristotle (384-322 BC) famously defined a slave as “a thing, a living property”, a “tool”. Well, our son wasn’t exactly a slave of P and O: there is, of course, a world of difference between slavery as practiced in the Roman empire and being an employee in our modern world. But in the light of what’s happened it’s hard not to see a distinct resemblance. As thousands of people are now protesting, this is no way to treat human beings, who are, well… people.

The subject of slavery – one group or class of people treating another as essentially property – is a tricky one when we come to the New Testament.

Jesus never condemned it or called for its abolition; indeed, some of his stories seem to regard it as simply a fact of life to be accepted. The early church treated it much the same, judging by Acts and the letters.

The explanation usually given for this – and surely correctly – is that the whole structure of the Roman empire depended on slavery, and any attempt to dismantle it would have led to the collapse of society as a whole, including its many good features - not to mention the destruction of the rebels at the hands of the Roman army (think Spartacus, who lived roughly 100 years before Jesus). It would have been futile.

No, the abolition of slavery was a reform that would have to wait its time. That time, in many parts of the world, still waits; and even in Britain it took a shamefully long time to arrive - the era of William Wilberforce, Lord Shaftesbury and others (many of them Christians), in the nineteenth century.

But the New Testament contains many glimmerings of the change that will one day come, and Paul’s words in Ephesians 6:5-9, and especially Colossians 4:1, are just such a glimmering: “Masters, provide your slaves with what is right and fair”.

Probably that seems pretty small beer to us, pretty feeble stuff. But we need to remember the cruelty and complete injustice with which slaves were often treated in Paul’s time. Those words were in fact quite revolutionary – be nice to your slaves, indeed!

Better still, we need to notice the way Jesus treated those who were despised in his day - his willingness to touch sufferers from leprosy (horrific!), and to welcome women who were outcasts of society (shocking!) being the most obvious examples.

The little letter to Philemon is relevant. It’s the story of a runaway slave and his master, where Paul tries to tread a delicate balance between the eternal truth that all people are of equal value in God’s sight on the one hand, and the need to not come across in an inflammatory or revolutionary way on the other.

Not to mention the stern words of Jesus’ brother in James 2:1-13… In the ancient world, where else but in the church would you find masters and slaves sitting side by side?

But back to P and O and our son…

What this all comes down to is that God is concerned for justice. In his eyes every human being is of equal value, and is to be treated as such, and thus every time an injustice is done it’s right that there should be a burst of outrage in any healthy society. Never mind P and O - what better example could we seek than what’s going on at this moment in Ukraine?

Someone once said, “Any time you see someone sigh, shake their head and say ‘Oh well, business is business, I suppose’, you can be sure they are about to do something they’re ashamed of” (and that applies even if the proposed course of action is perfectly within the law). Those words imply that they are about to go against the demands of conscience, and that is always a disastrous thing to do.

Here are some words from Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, who lived some 350 years after Jesus: “The rule of justice is plain, namely, that a good man ought not to swerve from the truth, nor to inflict any unjust loss on anyone, nor to act in any way deceitfully or fraudulently”.

It’s easy for us to condemn P and O; they’re sitting ducks at the moment. But of course the demands of justice apply to us all, and who can claim never to have drowned the voice of conscience? Not me, I’m afraid. Let’s each of us commit ourselves afresh to act only according to scrupulous honesty and integrity.

And if, of course, you are someone who occupies a position of power over others, in however small a way, let this be a prompt to keep a clear conscience – at whatever the cost.

Father, thank you that in every society there are powerful men and women who maintain the highest standards of honesty and integrity. May I be challenged and inspired by them, however lowly my place in life. Amen.

Incurably religious?

Paul then stood up in the meeting of the Areopagus and said: “People of Athens, I see that in every way you are very religious. For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: TO AN UNKNOWN GOD. What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you…” Acts 17:22-23

“I’m not a particularly religious person, but I certainly found myself praying…” So wrote a newspaper reporter the other day from Ukraine, as bombs and shells exploded around him.

Religious… It’s a word I hate, because it conjures up all sorts of wrong ideas. Somebody once was filling in a crossword, and his frown of puzzled concentration suddenly turned to a smile as he looked up at me and said, “Oh, you’re religious, aren’t you!”, assuming I would know the answer to a particular clue. I wanted to shout back at him “No! I’m not religious. But I do believe in Jesus, and try to follow him! – which is a very different thing.”

In Acts 17 Paul is killing time in Athens, waiting for his friends Silas and Timothy to catch up with him. He takes the opportunity to look around this great city, and is specially struck by the large number of pagan temples there are. There’s even one dedicated “TO AN UNKNOWN GOD” – presumably the Athenians didn’t want to run the risk of missing anyone out!

He gets into discussion with some of the local intellectuals, and is invited to explain his weird “Christian” beliefs in the Areopagus, a council or forum where matters of religion and culture were debated.

In Acts 17:22 he begins his speech by remarking on what a very “religious” city Athens is. It’s interesting that that word occurs exactly twice – just that - in the whole New Testament (the other time is at Acts 25:19). Paul uses it as a “hook” to hang his message on, a point of contact with his listeners. (Note: he doesn’t start by quoting the Bible at them.) I don’t think he’s being derogatory, it’s just that it’s the best word he can find.

And however much we may dislike it today, “religious” is sometimes the best we too can find, so we just have to put up with it, even if through gritted teeth.

But back to that reporter in Ukraine…

It’s been said that the human race “is incurably religious”, and his comment bears that out: he couldn’t help but pray.

Experts who study human cultures and customs tell us that wherever you look you find some kind of belief in the supernatural, what the dictionary calls “action or conduct indicating a belief in, reverence for, and desire to please, a divine ruling power; the exercise or practice of rites or observances implying this”.

At the lowest level this takes the form of what most people would regard as superstition, “religious belief or practice founded upon fear or ignorance”, to quote the same dictionary.

Such beliefs are still well alive, even in our modern, educated, technological world: a cricket fan watching the West Indies/ England test match the other week stood motionless in one particular spot for the duration of the day’s play, believing that his team stood a better chance of winning if he did so (and it was a very hot day!). Funny if not sad!

Christians can be superstitious. There has been a debate recently in the Church of England, stirred up by the pandemic, about taking communion “in one kind” - that is, the bread but not the wine - with people worrying if that can be “a true eucharist”; as if God would withdraw his blessing if things aren’t done strictly according to certain rules.

And we who perhaps pride ourselves on being pure, biblical, evangelical believers can be superstitious: ask yourself, are you comfortable about  finishing a prayer without tagging on the little formula “in Jesus’ name”? I freely confess I find it difficult.

But, having said all that, there is a positive side also to what we might call “religiosity”. Two things are worth noticing…

First, the fact that people are more inclined to pray in times of crisis doesn’t necessarily mean that God rejects those prayers. He is gracious and merciful. “More things are wrought by prayer/ Than this world dreams of” wrote the poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson; and what Christian would dispute that?

Our world at the moment is a deeply troubled world, with the war in Ukraine and the continuing simmering of the coronavirus just two of the worst symptoms. As people all over the world cry out “Lord, have mercy on us”, who knows how he might respond?

And second, let’s be encouraged that that deep-seated religiosity in the hearts of our neighbours, friends, families and work-mates might do for us what that altar “to an unknown god” did for Paul: that is, give us a point of contact with frightened, even superstitious people. Might it give us an opportunity to humbly point them to Christ?

Lord, help us to be ready if and when that moment comes!

Father, please forgive me if my faith in you ever degenerates into superstition or mere habit. Forgive me too if ever I am tempted to despise those who cry out to you only in times of crisis. Father, as I know you hear my prayers, please, in your mercy, hear theirs also. Amen.

An antidote to cynicism

I urge… that petitions, prayers, intercessions and thanksgiving be made for all people - for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness. 1 Timothy 2:1-2

One Sunday many years ago I was given a telling-off at the end of a service I had led. My offence? In the course of the service I had offered a prayer for the prime minister of the day. And a quite cross man said, “I just don’t understand how you can pray for that man!”

Obviously he hadn’t voted for the prime minister in question at the last election! Fair enough – we all have our political views, and disagreement is inevitable. (Indeed, disagreement is healthy if we put any value on democracy.)

But what surprised me was that this man presumably believed that as Christians we should only pray for people we like or agree with. Which, surely, is utter nonsense.

I  can’t remember now what I said in reply, but I hope I had the presence of mind to remember Paul’s words to his young pastor-colleague Timothy in 1 Timothy 2:1-2…

As far as Paul is concerned, we Christians have a responsibility to pray for absolutely anybody and everybody (“all people”), and our prayers can take a full range of forms (“petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving”), and their purpose is, among other things, that our lives might be “peaceful and quiet” and, still more, “godly and holy”.

That’s pretty comprehensive! But I wonder how seriously we take it? Some churches, judging at least by the content of prayer in Sunday worship, seem never to extend beyond the little bubble of their own existence.

Is this a word to some of my fellow-ministers, pastors and worship-leaders? “Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear!”

But I haven’t yet got to the point in Paul’s words which touches on the confrontation between me and that man that Sunday morning. Having told us we should pray “for all people” Paul then goes on to pick one particular group: “for kings and all those in authority”.

Well, there aren’t too any kings (or queens) around these days; but there are certainly plenty of people “in authority”, or at least in positions of power and influence: there are presidents and prime ministers; there are politicians; and, like it or not, they are decision-makers who affect the lives of all of us.

So why wouldn’t we pray for them! – whether we like them or not. The second part of verse 2 suggests that it’s in our own interests to do so because our prayers make a difference. And when Paul speaks of “kings and those in authority” he’s speaking, let’s remember, of people who in his day were likely to be cruel, brutal tyrants. Didn’t Jesus pray even for the men who were crucifying him?

I sometimes wonder if I should be ashamed of a weakness I have for political cartoons. Why? Because they hold up public figures for mockery. They confirm the prejudices it’s so easy to get into our heads – “Politicians? Oh, they’re all in it for what they can get… they’re a load of liars… you can’t trust a word they say…”

No doubt there’s some truth in these prejudices; politicians are, after all, sinners just like the rest of us. But they are prejudices. We don’t know what goes on in the heart of any other person, and, as Jesus taught us, we should be very careful about judging. It’s certainly right that those who make the decisions that affect our lives should be called to account, and it’s good that there are people (including the cartoonists) who “speak truth to power”. But it’s a sad state of affairs if we descend into out-and-out cynicism.

Cynicism – the tendency or habit of always believing the worst of another person – is a poison; just as rust corrodes metal, so cynicism corrodes personality, and we become habitually sarcastic, jaundiced and prejudiced.

Is this the way of Christ?

How many of us, I wonder, would actually like to be a politician? Whatever we in Britain may think about our present prime minister, would we like to be in 10 Downing Street? Two years of pandemic… the health service verging on collapse… shocking corruption in the police service… steeply rising prices… drug and knife crime… Would you like the job of sorting that lot out?

And now, to cap it all, war in Europe, and the frightening threat of it spreading further and wider. That too?

From outside, it’s all so easy. To me, hearing the President of Ukraine pleading with Europe to enforce a no-fly zone over his tormented country, well, it was what is known as a no-brainer – “Of course, give the man his no-fly zone! – it’s the least we can do!” But then you listen to the arguments – the arguments of those contemptible politicians – explaining how this course of action would very likely make things far, far worse and, well, perhaps it’s not so simple after all…

So… pray for the politicians, don’t simply despise them. And pray not only for the ones in position at the moment, but for the generations still to come…

Oh God, the Lord of all peoples and all lands, please guide the deliberations and decisions of those who lead the nations, even those who do not acknowledge you. Please raise up men and women of stature, honesty, integrity and principle to replace them in due course. And in your mercy grant peace to the people of Ukraine, and to all the people of our world. Amen.

Justice - or vengeance?

“They have greatly oppressed me from my youth,”

    let Israel say;
² “they have greatly oppressed me from my youth,
    but they have not gained the victory over me.
³ Ploughmen have ploughed my back
    and made their furrows long.
⁴ But the Lord is righteous;
    he has cut me free from the cords of the wicked.”

 

⁵ May all who hate Zion
    be turned back in shame.
⁶ May they be like grass on the roof,
    which withers before it can grow;
⁷ a reaper cannot fill his hands with it,
    nor one who gathers fill his arms.
⁸ May those who pass by not say to them,
    “The blessing of the Lord be on you;
    we bless you in the name of the Lord.” Psalm 129

 

The two sections of this short psalm are very different from one another.

 

In verses 1-4 the writer celebrates how God has set him and his people Israel free from oppression: “…the Lord is righteous; he has cut me free from the cords of the wicked” (verse 4). It’s joyful testimony.

 

Personally, I would have been quite content if the psalm had ended on that happy note. But it doesn’t…

 

In verses 5-8 it expresses – well, not exactly ill-will towards these cruel enemies, but certainly an unashamed desire for God’s judgment upon them: “May all who hate Zion [Jerusalem] be turned back in shame” (verse 5). And then, in verse 8, “May those who pass by not say to them, ‘The blessing of the Lord be on you…’”.

 

Note that “not”! Not only can he not bring himself to wish his enemies well; he doesn’t want anybody else to either! Even if he’s not being out-and-out vindictive, it might seem almost petty and spiteful. A long way, surely, from Jesus’ “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44).

 

This was my psalm for the day today, and as I finished it I couldn’t help a feeling of anti-climax. That ending is, admittedly, far milder than the terrible climax of Psalm 137, where the writer virtually spits out a curse, a malediction, upon the cruel, marauding Babylonians: “Happy is the one who repays you according to what you have done to us. Happy is the one who seizes your infants and dashes them against the rocks” (Psalm 137:8-9). But the mood is much the same.

 

(Have you ever noticed how, when Psalm 137 is read in church, those closing verses seem to disappear?)

 

The reason why, this morning, I specially paused on this psalm – one which, after all, I must have read dozens of times before – is that I found myself linking it with events in Ukraine. Who of us would feel entitled to criticise the people of Ukraine if they were to express the sentiment of Psalm 129 – or even Psalm 137? Not me, that’s for sure.

 

And I realised afresh not just that - of course! - it’s not for me to imply criticism of God’s word by wanting to delete the whole second part, but that this note of just judgment is important, indeed vital. How, ultimately, can there be good news – “gospel” - as long as great evils continue to blight this world? And when we’re talking of great evils there is simply no room for sentimentality.

 

As Christians it goes without saying that our deepest desire even for the deepest of sinners is that they should recognise their sin, truly repent, and find forgiveness. But there can be no rejoicing until that has actually happened.

 

So as we watch the heart-breaking scenes from Ukraine, may we not pray quite unashamedly, “Oh God, bring down this man Vladimir Putin! Put an end to the cruel and wicked things he is doing!”? We pray that prayer, of course, fully aware that we too are sinners in need of God’s mercy and grace; but we needn’t be squeamish about praying it, for justice demands it.

 

And anyway, if it’s falling short of Jesus to pray such a prayer, how much worse is it to act in such a way that people are provoked to fury and, so, determined to see justice?

 

So far I have quoted from two psalms, 129 and 137, psalms that we feel make for somewhat uncomfortable reading. But now here is another one to finish with. In Psalm 58:10-11 we read: “The righteous will be glad when they are avenged… Then people will say, ‘Surely the righteous still are rewarded; surely there is a God who judges the earth’”.

 

And we might say, “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that! The fact that ‘there is a God who judges the earth’ can only be good news!”

 

But wait a minute - what about the part I missed out, where I put dots instead? Here it is in full: “The righteous will be glad when they are avenged, when they dip their feet in the blood of the wicked”.

 

Ugh! I can only comment that I have never remotely imagined one of the pleasures of heaven being to dip my feet in the blood of anybody, wicked or not.

 

It’s metaphorical language, of course; but there is a rightness about its sentiment, the rightness of divine justice. And that can prompt us to pray…

 

Lord God, you are a holy and just God. Please bring your judgment to bear on all who perpetrate great wickedness and cruelty. Yes, Lord, we would love it if they repented and were forgiven. But failing that we cry out to you especially on behalf of the nation of Ukraine: Do it, Lord! And please, please, do it soon! Amen.