A question of conscience

I care very little if I am judged by you or any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. 1 Corinthians 4:3-4

“My conscience is clear!”

So declares the person standing on the steps of a court of law after being found “not guilty”. We instinctively wish them well. It must be horrible to be accused of something you didn’t do: we hear stories of people being found innocent after perhaps years in prison, and we feel nothing but sympathy – the stress! the loss of precious time! the bitter sense of injustice suffered! Perhaps we breathe a quiet prayer for them.

But of course we don’t absolutely know. We too have probably said to others, and to ourselves, that our conscience is clear on a particular matter. But that doesn’t settle the question once for all. The fact is that conscience can be an unreliable guide, and while it’s important to take it seriously and to listen to it, it is far from infallible. As Paul puts it: “My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent”.

Paul’s two letters to the church in Corinth make it clear that his relationship with that church wasn’t always easy. There were people there who really didn’t think much of him at all and were very ready to find fault with him. He felt this deeply, for, after all, he had founded the church in the first place: these people were his spiritual children, and he had invested much energy and time in them (see the story in Acts 18).

So we find in the Corinth letters a strand of what today might be called “edge”, and it’s very much there in chapter 4:3-4. We could paraphrase his words like this: “I don’t really care what you think about me – or what anybody else does, come to that. I don’t even waste too much time worrying about myself. True, my conscience is clear – but so what? It could be misleading me, couldn’t it? All that matters is what God thinks…”

Conscience is a very important part of the human make-up. And just as we are responsible for keeping our bodies fit and healthy, so too we are responsible for ensuring that our consciences are in good working order.

How do we do this? The answer is simple: by feeding it regularly on the Bible, through reading and prayerful reflection, and through taking seriously what we hear in teaching and preaching.

But we can still get it wrong. It’s a life-time job to bring our hearts and minds – and therefore also our consciences – into line with the heart and mind of God: old prejudices and wrong ideas can linger for a long, long time. But as we humble ourselves and soak our minds in his word, that alignment can gradually take place.

So, a question: what is the state of your conscience, and mine, today?

I knew a woman once who got home from shopping and found that a shop had slightly undercharged her, to the tune of a pound or two. She got quite worked up about this and, thinking it was her Christian duty, she walked back a mile or so to the town centre (she didn’t have a car) and insisted on paying the difference.

She asked me what I thought. Well, on the one hand I could only admire her scrupulous honesty. But given that there had been no intention to defraud, given indeed that the fault was the shop’s, not hers, I felt that she had over-reacted and that her conscience-pangs were unnecessary.

But then I have also known people who act in ways that go flat against the clear teaching of the Bible. Point this out to them and they may very well respond, “Well sorry, but my conscience is clear!” – as if that settles the matter.

In a nutshell: there are times when our consciences are clear – but shouldn’t be; and times when they are troubled – but needn’t be.

The word “conscience” doesn’t occur in Romans 14, but in that chapter Paul in effect writes about it in relation to matters of diet and sabbath observance. In essence he distinguishes between those whose consciences are over-tender – like that woman and her shopping – and those whose consciences are over-robust – like those who are happy to justify sin by appealing to their conscience. Certainly, he urges the Christians in Rome to be obedient to their consciences, but always on the assumption that they are walking close to God.

There is a wide spectrum between the two types – and all of us are on it somewhere or other. Result: either we muddy our witness (and spoil our happiness) by lapsing into sin; or we lose our peace and joy in God by being too hard on ourselves.

Put it yet another way: your conscience may be a harsh task-master, or it may be an over-indulgent grand-dad. Neither of which is how our loving Father wants it to be…

Lord, help us to get it right!

Father, help me to nourish my conscience through feeding on your word and through being filled daily with your Holy Spirit. And so enable me to live a Christ-like life, neither condemning myself when there is no need, nor excusing myself when there is. Amen.

To fast or not to fast?

Jesus said, When you fast, do not look sombre as the hypocrites do… Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full... Matthew 6:16-18

Not long ago I heard a sermon about fasting. The preacher was someone I knew just a bit, and for whom I had great respect – thoroughly biblical, practical, and always humble and warm.

It was interesting that right at the start he confessed (with some embarrassment) that fasting was something he had never done, though he had been a Christian for many years, and a preacher for quite a few.

Why then had he decided to preach on the subject!

Simple: he was working his way through Matthew’s Gospel, and had reached Matthew 6:16-18, where Jesus doesn’t tell his followers to fast, but simply assumes that they will: “When you fast…” It’s true that the passage as a whole is a warning to his followers not to make a show of their religion – and given that he is a Jew speaking to his fellow-Jews, and given that fasting was a normal feature of Judaism, he naturally includes it in the examples he mentions, along with “giving to the needy” (verse 2) and “prayer” (verse 5).

In other words, Jesus isn’t mainly concerned here about fasting, but about the kind of hypocrisy that loves to flaunt its faith in order to impress.

But still, there Jesus’ assumption is, plain as day, and the preacher (all credit to him!) didn’t feel it would be honest to skip over it and hope that nobody noticed. With a slightly shame-faced smile he told us that now he would have to take fasting more seriously. (I never discovered if he did, but then I didn’t hear him regularly.) And so we had a sermon on fasting…

I suspect that most of us likewise tend to push fasting to the back of our minds and not really take it seriously – to some extent I plead guilty to that myself. And it’s true that it’s not a prominent theme in the New Testament, cropping up in just a handful of places.

The most obvious example, of course, is Jesus himself fasting for forty days and nights (!) in the wilderness (Matthew 4). Then there are the leaders of the church in Antioch; they receive the Holy Spirit’s guidance to send out Barnabas and Saul as missionaries “while they were worshipping the Lord and fasting” (Acts 13:1-3).

The basic purpose of fasting is simple: to draw closer to God by denying ourselves things which otherwise tend (quite properly) to fill our horizons. This is clear from Paul’s teaching on marriage and other sexual matters in 1 Corinthians 7. In verse 5 he tells married couples not to overdo what we might call sexual fasting, but he does recognise that it may sometimes be helpful “so that you may devote yourselves to prayer”. We fast, in whatever form, in order to deepen our relationship with God.

So what about us? If, like that preacher, we feel perhaps we ought to take it more seriously, when might we put it into practice? Let me suggest a few possibilities…

First, if we are aware of having fallen into some sin, it might be a good way of demonstrating to God our true sorrow, and of asking him to cleanse and renew us.

Second, we might be facing a big decision – to go for a particular job; whether or not we should marry; how to handle a delicate situation. A time of fasting might help to clear our minds, get things in perspective, and so be better able to discern God’s will for us.

Third, we might have a serious need – sickness, financial worries, family problems – or even a crisis on our hands. Spending time focussing on God, seeking healing or simply peace of mind, might help us through a dark time.

Fourth, we might feel led to fast along with others – like those leaders in the Antioch church, who seem to have been seeking the way ahead for their church. Or a small group of friends who share a particular concern might decide to fast over an agreed time. One area where it became part of my own annual pattern was a “day of prayer and fasting” for the whole church at certain points in the year, most obviously at new year.

I’m sure it goes without saying that there is nothing magical about fasting – it’s not a quick fix, and certainly not an attempt to twist God’s arm (as if we could!). Further, there are no strict rules about it, no formula for us to follow. You may skip just one meal, and devote that time to focus on prayer. Or you may feel led to fast over several days. In a church fast, there should be no compulsion, and sensible account should be taken of individual people’s health needs. Enthusiasm shouldn’t trump wisdom!

I’m sure there’s a lot more that could be said. But I think it’s worth noticing that in Matthew 6 Jesus isn’t afraid to speak of rewards in relation to fasting. We can’t earn God’s blessing by fasting (or by anything else); but it does, he clearly says, bring rewards.

Something to think about?

Loving Father, please help me to know if, how, and when you might be calling me to fast. Amen.

Confessions of a not very nice person

Jesus said, “Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets.” Luke 6:26.

I suppose it’s pretty bad manners to tell stories that reflect well on yourself, but something happened recently which was so unusual (not to say funny) that I’m going to do it anyway. Apologies in advance!

I got talking to a couple I know just very slightly, and somehow the conversation turned to what we had done jobs-wise. I mentioned that I was a retired minister. The wife’s jaw hit the floor and she looked at me in utter amazement: “You mean you’re a preacher?” she said.

“Er, yes,” I said. And then, “You seem surprised,” just to fill the silence, really. “Well, yes,” she said (and here comes the embarrassing bit): “you seem such a nice person, not like vicars I have known.” Now it was my jaw’s turn to hit the floor. I did mention earlier that this couple knew me only very slightly, didn’t I? Well, once I had regained my composure, I pointed this out to her and assured her that on closer acquaintance her opinion was very likely to change.

Quite possibly you get paid compliments right out of the blue on a regular basis. But this was very much a one-off for me, and it made me think. Over the next few days my thoughts covered quite a lot of ground…

First, and most basic (and shameful), I realised that the incident had made me proud and smug. Let’s face it, we all like to be paid compliments, don’t we, even when they’re totally undeserved? So, without even thinking about it, I felt pretty pleased with myself – flatly against the teaching of Romans 12:3: “do not think of yourself more highly than you ought…”

And then I realised that I had been shockingly judgmental. I had unthinkingly assumed that the preachers this woman had taken exception to were no good – oh, bound to be one of those vicars who don’t really believe the Bible or preach the gospel. Not like me. Oh no, not like me.

But then I thought, what right did I have to make such a judgment? What if those “bad” ministers had in fact offended that woman by having the courage and integrity to tell her something she didn’t want to hear – but something which she needed to know? What if the thing she had taken exception to was in fact the faithful preaching of the gospel? What then? I didn’t know otherwise, did I?

And then I found myself thinking about the whole question of popularity: of course we all like to be popular, that’s natural enough. But popularity can be a very dangerous thing. What was it Jesus said? – “Woe to you when everyone speaks well of you, for that is how their ancestors treated the false prophets” (Luke 6:26). Yes! Being popular may be a sign not of Christlike goodness but of spiritual treachery. I wonder how often any of us seriously reflect on those sobering words?

(Not, of course, that we should go out of our way to be unpopular. There are people who seem to take delight in causing offence, as if that proves how virtuous they are; that’s obviously wrong.)

I don’t think there’s necessarily anything wrong with taking pleasure in somebody’s good opinion or genuine praise. If you’ve passed an exam, or won a sporting competition, or been awarded a prize for something – if you’ve gone out of your way to be kind, or considerate, or brave, or helpful, and somebody thanks you – well, why shouldn’t you feel pleased? Always assuming, of course, that you remain humble, and that you want, above all, to honour Jesus?

But to be praised by someone who barely knows you is a rather different matter! That lady had no basis for her high opinion of me apart from a completely superficial acquaintance. So what right did I have to feel good about myself, natural though that was?

What it all boils down to, I think, is this… How easy it is to jump to conclusions! How easy it is to think the worst of other people rather than the best! How easy it is to dismiss other people, even to inwardly condemn them, on the evidence of – what? – just plain hearsay or gossip or prejudice. Here’s another saying of Jesus, a rather better-known one, but equally sobering: “Do not judge, or you too will be judged” (Matthew 7:1).

Well, my warm glow of self-satisfaction and self-righteousness soon began to fade. Mr Popularity? Pah! Mr Smarmy Smugness, more like it.

The lady I shared that conversation with seemed, herself, a very nice person – certainly refreshingly outspoken! Perhaps I will get to know her a bit better in the days to come. I suspect that, whatever the rights and wrongs of her past dealings with “vicars”, she might have things to teach me about how sometimes we Christians come across to outsiders…

Father, you tell us in your word not to think more highly of ourselves than we ought. Please forgive me for the times I have been guilty of just that very sin. Lord, teach me true humility! Amen.

Witness - false and true

Whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus... Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord... Colossians 3:17, 23

Jesus said, “Be perfect... as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Matthew 5:48

It was good to see pictures of Roberto Firmino being baptised recently. (In case you’re not a football fan, Firmino is the Liverpool centre-forward and one of the world’s top players.) Quite funny too that he was supported in the pool by Alisson Becker, the Liverpool goal-keeper - apparently Firmino felt he needed someone “with a safe pair of hands” to be there for him, and Becker certainly has that.

It’s pretty common these days for top footballers, sometimes Christians, sometimes Muslims, to be open about their religious allegiance. A little further back it wasn’t much heard of, though various names do come to mind, such as Gavin Peacock, Jermain Defoe and (still playing) Bournemouth’s “holy goalie” Artur Boruc. Way, way back I can remember Jimmy Armfield, a member of the 1966 World Cup squad, who was always open about his faith (and who played the organ at his local church).

Of course, any sports person who “goes public” is putting themselves under a lot of pressure. Footballers in particular can hardly move a muscle, on or off the pitch, without ending up in the papers or on social media. This, I suppose, is the price they pay for the spotlight of fame and the massive sums of money they are paid.

But just let them step out of line and the charge of hypocrisy is quickly levelled: “Huh, I thought you were supposed to be a Christian!” Exactly those words were directed by a fielder to a batsman who, having touched the ball to the wicket-keeper (meaning he was out), refused to walk. “So much for your Christianity!”

Some years ago now another group of high-profile Christian cricketers were found to be heavily involved in match-fixing. That didn’t go down too well with the fans. And there’s a footballer still playing in the Premier League that I always keep my eye out for. No doubt about his faith; but no doubt either about his willingness to pull his opponent’s shirt or jab his elbows into his ribs.

The basic principle is simple: if we claim to be a Christian, let’s make sure we act as a Christian. You can get baptised twenty times over - you can profess to follow Jesus a thousand times over - but if it isn’t reflected in the way you live it’s all a sham.

What’s this got to do with ordinary people like most of us? Well, you and I may never occupy that kind of limelight. But in principle we are in exactly the same position - it’s just that the people who might notice our hypocrisy are numbered in handfuls rather than millions. You can be a rank bad witness just as much in the office, or the shop floor, or the school, or... well, wherever you find yourself in the course of your everyday life.

As I look back over my life I can think of various people who tell me I was instrumental in helping to draw them to Christ. I am humbled as I think of them.

But just occasionally I find myself wondering: how many people might there be who did not come to Christ because of me? - people who looked at some aspect of my behaviour or personality and thought, “Thanks but no thanks. If that’s what Christians can be like, you can include me out”. It doesn’t have to be anything particularly gross that does the damage - a flash of anger, perhaps, or a reputation for unreliability, a slipshod attitude to work, or a touch of arrogance.

How often have we been a bad advertisement for Christianity?

Twice in Colossians 3 Paul urges his readers to be the very best they can be “whatever you do” - whether you’re a bus driver or a star centre-forward. We are commanded to do everything - not just “the religious bits” - for the glory of Jesus. And never far from our minds must be the simple words of Jesus himself: “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect”.

As far as I know, Roberto Firmino is a model of Christian integrity. But the temptations will be great. In a way I feel quite sorry for him, because football is a fast, frenetic game, and one that is bound to involve physical contact, and we all know what can happen in the heat of the moment. (To this day, though I wasn’t quite in the Firmino class in my playing days, I still remember the moment somebody deliberately raked his studs across my shins. It’s a good job he was moving fast, because I’m not sure what I might have done if he’d stayed within reach.)

Many eyes are focussed on the top celebrities. But many eyes are focussed on you and me too. May God help us to remember it minute by minute.

Father, I pray for followers of Jesus who are public figures. Thank you for them and for the witness they show to the world. Help them to be strong, disciplined and wise. But help me too to live my life day by day as one who is a Christian in more than just name. Amen.

Innocent as doves - and shrewd as snakes

We want to avoid any criticism of the way we administer this liberal gift. For we are taking pains to do what is right, not only in the eyes of the Lord, but also in the eyes of man. 2 Corinthians 8:20-21

At one point in my ministry we employed a young man to work with us as assistant pastor and youth worker. He was as sincere and enthusiastic as you could wish to find, and threw himself whole-heartedly into his responsibilities. Both I and the church as a whole trusted him totally.

So I was a little embarrassed when he insisted, every week, on giving me a full account of what he had been doing and how he had been spending his time.

“You don’t need to do this!” I told him. “We trust you!” But he wouldn’t have it. As he saw it, he was paid by the church and also answerable to the church, so it was important to him not only to do what was right, but also to be seen to do what was right. Never once did I feel the need to check up on the information he gave me; but the point was that I could have done if need be.

I could only respect and admire him. And his attitude taught me an important lesson. You could sum it up in a single word, albeit a rather clumsy and not very exciting one: accountability. To be accountable is to be responsible and answerable; indeed, as the word implies, happy to give an account if required.

The apostle Paul was many things: preacher, teacher, missionary, church-planter, pastor, letter-writer, to name the main ones. But it’s easy to overlook another role he took very seriously: fund-raiser.

In Romans 15:25-29 he refers to a collection he is organising “for the poor among the Lord’s people in Jerusalem”. It seems that the church there (what we might call the “mother” church of Christianity) had fallen on hard times, and Paul wanted the churches he had founded to offer financial support.

This is the background to 2 Corinthians 8-9, where (without actually mentioning the word!) Paul talks about money and how it should be handled in the church. And what comes across in 8:20-22 is that he is very keen to be properly accountable: “We want to avoid any criticism of the way we administer this liberal gift... we are taking pains to do what is right not only in the eyes of the Lord but also in the eyes of man”.

Among other things, this involved making use of respected delegates approved “by all the churches” (that’s Titus, verses 16-17, and two other unnamed “brothers”, verses 18 and 22) to be responsible for actually delivering to the Jerusalem church the cash collected.

That happened two thousand years ago. But it’s right up to date for us today, because the plain fact is that churches are not always what they should be when it comes to accountability.

This isn’t just about money - though we are all familiar, I’m sure, with those stories the papers love to print (and who can blame them?) about church treasurers who help themselves to the funds. And, of course, especially in recent years, it’s about sex - barely a week seems to go by without reports of some grim new scandal.

It’s relevant, in general terms, to questions of responsibility and leadership. Because a church is (or should be) a community of love and trust, there’s a tendency to not ask questions that sometimes need to be asked, to turn blind eyes rather than cause any embarrassment.

Those of us who occupy (or, in my case, who have occupied) leadership positions need to take notice. We are well used to the corny jokes when the hardships of work are being discussed: “Of course, you wouldn’t know what we’re talking about - after all, you only work one day a week” (ha-very-ha). But we need to recognise that sometimes “truth may be spoken in jest”.

Just occasionally some bold and cheery soul may come right out with it - “What do you actually do all week?” - but I suspect  it’s pretty rare. But why shouldn’t they? Certainly that youth worker I started with wouldn’t have had any objection.

The principle is simple: leaders need to be held to account, and this means that those who are led are perfectly entitled - and indeed right - to hold us to account. Do it, of course, with love, respect and humility (please!); but if you don’t do it, who will? And if you don’t do it, who knows what horrible unpleasantness or even scandal might be brewing a year or two down the line?

Ultimately, of course, it is to God himself that all of us are answerable. But, as Paul puts it with crystal clarity, we are “to do what is right, not only in the eyes of the Lord, but also in the eyes of man”.

Doing things “properly” may sometimes be a bit boring, and may seem “worldly” or “unspiritual”. But it matters; it really does.

Lord God, help all of us in your church, whatever our position, to speak and act with total honesty, integrity and accountability - to be, as Jesus said, as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves. Amen.

How bad is bad language?

But now you must rid yourselves of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips. Colossians 3:8

Not long ago I received a Facebook message from a Christian friend which included “the f word”. I’m not sure if my friend had written the message himself, or was forwarding one which he himself had received. But there it was, and it troubled me.

Was I right to be troubled? After all, we live at a time when conventions of speech have changed enormously from, say, twenty-five years ago. Rock singers, sports stars, actors - well, yes, that’s to be expected now. But it’s also the politicians and journalists, and for all I know the doctors and teachers, who are happy to use language once considered “unacceptable” or “offensive”.

What should we as Christians think about this trend?

For one thing, we need to recognise that, like fashions in clothes, language changes; and also that what’s offensive to one person may be fine by somebody else.

Way back in the 1970s, when I was still a young minister, we once had a bit of a crisis. A Sunday School teacher, annoyed with a small girl who kept “jiffling about”, asked her to sit still. She protested, pointing to the boy next to her, “But he keeps pinching my bum.” The teacher, who you might describe as white, male, well-educated and middle-class, reprimanded her: “We don’t use language like that!”

Next thing we knew we had a stormy visit from the girl’s mother (not, I might say, either a particularly small or a particularly quiet woman), all jutting elbows and nostrils shooting flames: “What’s this about bum? What’s wrong with bum? We say bum all the time in our house...” (Oh dear: it was a time for deep breaths and calming words all round...)

I remember too the day I came across a poem by John Clare, who lived from 1793 to 1864 - right in the middle of that outwardly very strict and proper period known as “Victorian”. Describing affectionately the hardships of a young mother going about her household duties, Clare wrote of “when the baby’s all beshit”.

I was shocked; that certainly wasn’t an acceptable word in polite society! But I learned something important. Obviously in Clare’s day, and in the social climate in which he moved (Clare was the son of a farm labourer, not to mention a loyal member of the Church of England), the word “shit” was normal.

I can’t resist another story. Way back, again, in those early days of my ministry, we at the Baptist Church used to have occasional joint meetings with our Pentecostal neighbours after the Sunday evening service. There was good fellowship and sometimes quite (ahem) “lively” discussion. One evening a recently-baptised member of our church used the word “bloody”. There was a barely suppressed gasp of horror (mainly, I think, from our Penty friends) and then everyone studiously turned a deaf ear.

It later occurred to me that those people who gasped with horror might have uttered a cry of praise if they had any idea how that woman was likely to have spoken six months earlier, before she became a Christian: “bloody” represented progress!

These examples are, of course, very mild compared to some of the things we hear today. And we need to be careful of hypocrisy - which is better, a person who is known to swear a bit, but who is a genuine Christian, honest, kind, compassionate and loving; or a person who outwardly is a pillar of virtue, but who is a bully, not always strictly honest, and ill-tempered?

Well, each of us must make up our own minds when it comes to deciding what is and what isn’t acceptable. But let’s do so in a prayerful spirit - and with Paul’s words to the Colossian Christians in mind. He itemises two things in particular in the matter of speech, translated by the NIV as “slander and filthy language” (that could equally be “blasphemies and obscenities”). Those words cover a lot!

According to Jesus, we are called to be “perfect” (Matthew 5:48). Only the best is good enough for him. That applies to our deeds and our thoughts - and also to our words. And if we’re in any doubt, let’s remember the time-honoured guideline: if we must err, let’s do so on the side of strictness, not of slackness.

Added to which... what a wonderful opportunity for witness to be the one person around who keeps a pure and wholesome tongue in the midst of rising coarseness, vulgarity, obscenity and blasphemy. Not, of course, in a self-righteous manner; we don’t advertise it.

But I think it will make us stand out, don’t you?

Father, I pray in the words of the psalmist: “Set a guard over my mouth... keep watch over the door of my lips”. Help me too to remember that “Blessed are the pure in heart”. Amen.

The boy with the umbrella

Jesus said: “I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it”. John 14:13

I like the story of the church, located in an area plagued by drought, which agreed to come together to pray for rain. Just one of them, a young boy, turned up with an umbrella.

Beautiful! It makes you smile - and it makes a serious point.

The challenge it poses is simple: When I pray, do I do so with expectation? Or do I pray purely as a duty? Even if that duty is genuine, heart-felt, and carried out in loving obedience, shouldn’t it be offered  with real expectation?

The words of Jesus I have quoted, if taken absolutely literally, suggest that whenever we pray “in Jesus’ name” we can be totally confident that what we ask for will be given. It’s not the only place where we read this: it crops up again in this Gospel at 15:16 and 16:23-24. And something very similar is found in Matthew 18:19-20 and 21:21-22, and Mark 11:22-24. It seems it wasn’t simply an off-the-cuff remark (though even if it was, it’s still a saying of Jesus, and therefore not to be dismissed); no, the repetition of the same essential promise suggests that Jesus intends us to take it entirely seriously.

I find, though, that the more I think about it, the more puzzling it becomes: it simply doesn’t square with our experience.

There are, it’s true, a couple of what we might call “provisos”.

For one thing, Jesus makes it clear that faith is called for. No problem there, of course. But it does mean that if we don’t receive what we have asked for it’s tempting for us to condemn ourselves: “Oh well, I just don’t have enough faith!”

All right; that may be true. But then the question arises: How much faith is “enough” faith? After all, Jesus tells us in Matthew 17:20-21 that faith “as small as a mustard-seed” will move mountains. Surely even those of us with sadly limited faith should “qualify” under that condition! (More seriously, going back to those people who prayed for rain, I wonder how many millions of prayers have been offered for the people suffering the bush-fires in Australia. Were they all lacking in faith?)

Another proviso, as I said, is that we pray “in Jesus’ name”.

Again, all right. But then the question arises: What does it actually mean to pray “in Jesus’ name”? Some Christians routinely add those words as a little formula tagged onto the end of every prayer: “We ask this, Lord, in Jesus’ name”. But while there’s nothing necessarily wrong with that, surely that can’t be what Jesus means? “In Jesus’ name” isn’t a mantra which magically turns a prayer into a request-that-cannot-be-denied. To think that is not faith but superstition.

Christians who bravely insist on taking these verses strictly literally are likely to end up in a kind of spiritual fantasy world.

I worked once as a hospital chaplain, and one day I ran into a nurse who I knew to be a strong Christian. Just one look at her was enough to show that she had a rip-roaring, five-star mega-cold: runny nose, red eyes, the lot. I naturally sympathised: “My, you’ve got a nasty cold!” Whereupon she put me right straight away: “No! I had a cold, but God has taken it away. It’s just that he’s left me with the symptoms.” Now, how daft is that!

(If only I had had my wits about me. I might have suggested that on any future occasion she would do well, perhaps, to ask God to leave the cold and take away the symptoms...)

Where is this leading us? Well, I would certainly be grateful for any suggestions anyone might like to make to explain this puzzle - I’m keen to learn!

There’s a book of essays called Christian Reflections, in which C S Lewis tackles this very question; the chapter is called “Petitionary prayer: a problem without an answer” (it’s one of his more technical chapters, originally addressed to a clergy group, but worth wrestling with).

Whatever you think about Lewis, it’s not often that he, in effect, admits defeat on a particular matter. But in this case he does. He ends his talk not telling his hearers what he thinks but asking them (a little tongue in cheek, I suspect) what they think: “I come to you, reverend Fathers, for guidance. How am I to pray this very night?”

Weak soul that I am, I find that faintly encouraging. If someone like Lewis, with his great spiritual sensitivity and his extraordinarily acute mind, was baffled by this question, perhaps I just have to live with puzzlement.

And so that’s what I do.

But let’s not forget... Jesus obviously wants us to pray with expectation, not just with perseverance, vital though that is. So let’s ask for grace to do exactly that. Perhaps we will never receive an intellectually satisfying answer, but who knows when we will receive something far more wonderful: a true miracle in answer to our faltering prayers?

Whatever, next time you pray for rain, don’t forget to have your umbrella handy...

Father, please teach me what it means to pray with faith, to pray with perseverance, to pray in the name of Jesus - and to pray in keen expectation. Amen.