The tears of Jesus

Jesus wept. John 11:35

Do you cry easily? If so, do you think of it as a weakness? (It’s striking how often, when people break down in tears, they feel the need to apologise: “Sorry”, they say, as they dab their eyes.)

But of course that’s wrong: weeping is an entirely healthy reaction to pain and sorrow. Indeed (being personal for a moment) it’s one of my regrets that I am so rarely moved to tears: if anything, that’s the weakness, not the opposite.

Jesus wept. Here in John 11 he weeps at the tomb of Lazarus. Go to Luke 19 and you find him weeping over the city of Jerusalem just a few days before he goes to the cross. And the writer to the Hebrews tells us that during his earthly life “he offered up prayers and petitions with fervent cries and tears… “ (Hebrews 5:7).

So… if anyone reading this gets a bit embarrassed at being a rather ready weeper, please think again!

Why did Jesus weep?

The John 11 reference seems clear: he is lamenting the death of a man described as “the one you love” (verse 3).

That seems obvious – and I don’t doubt that Jesus was sad about Lazarus. But there are times when things that seem obvious are in fact wrong, and this, I think, is one of them. Taking the passage as a whole it seems much more likely that Jesus is weeping at the sheer pitiful hopelessness of those people gathered at the tomb.

There would have been a large crowd of local people, supplemented probably by a group of others – professional mourners – bought in for the occasion. They were all doing their duty, if at different levels of sincerity.

But the spotlight falls on Mary, one of Lazarus’ sisters. She reproaches Jesus for taking so long to arrive: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died”. This really churns Jesus up inside. John says he was “deeply moved in spirit and troubled”, which very likely means that he was in fact angry (that word “troubled” is used elsewhere in Greek writing to refer to the “snorting” of horses, as we might refer to someone “snorting with indignation”).

It’s not Mary and the others he is angry with, though. No, he is angry at the grip that death has taken on the human race, what John Calvin (1509-1564) called its “violent tyranny”. Jesus is demonstrating his implacable hatred of death.

But the great thing is this: this build-up of rage explodes in tears of love: “Jesus wept”. The angry Jesus is also the compassionate Jesus.

Although the circumstances are different, pretty much the same thing applies to Luke 19. Coming down from the Mount of Olives he “saw the city and wept over it, saying ‘If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace – but now it is hidden from your eyes’…” (verses 41-42).

To this day Jerusalem is a magnificent city, especially when viewed from the Mount of Olives. And so it was in Jesus’ day. But at that time what especially drew the eye would be the temple, thought of by the people of Israel as the earthly dwelling place of God.

Yet here, with a breaking heart, Jesus predicts its soon destruction: “They (Israel’s enemies) will not leave one stone on another, because you did not recognise the time of God’s coming to you” (this happened at the hand of the Romans some forty years later). There will be terrible suffering for the city-dwellers: “they will dash you to the ground, you and the children within your walls”.

Jesus was a devout Jew. And as he surveys the beautiful city and foresees what is going to happen to it he bursts into tears, as if to say: “Oh, why didn’t you receive me? Why are your hearts so hard? This need never happen!”

So… What breaks Jesus’ heart at the tomb of Lazarus is the people’s hopelessness; what breaks his heart here is Israel’s hard-heartedness.

I wonder what breaks his heart as he looks down on us – as individuals, as churches, as nations? We can never know, of course. But at this start of Holy Week, with Palm Sunday still in our minds, and especially with the coronavirus pandemic overshadowing us, it’s a question we would do well to think about.

However little we might be able to understand, one thing is beyond all doubt: Jesus is full of compassion for lost men and women. His tears aren’t “crocodile tears”, nor tears of self-pity; no, they are tears of intense pain and tender love.

Can you see his crumpled face and trembling lip? Can you see those tears running down his cheeks? They were shed for you and for me.

Lord Jesus, thank you that as you look down on me and see my stubborn heart and my feeble faith, you feel great and tender compassion. Help me to respond to that compassion with humility and joy. Help me to know that I am loved by you. Amen.

The Valley of Baka

Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage. As they pass through the Valley of Baka, they make it a place of springs; the autumn rains also cover it with pools. They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion. Psalm 84:5-7

Do you ever think of your life as a pilgrimage? Some Christians, of course, make a lot of the idea; they even go on literal journeys to places regarded as sacred.

But if life itself is a journey – cradle to grave – then there is a sense in which all of us are on pilgrimage: walking with God through life and looking forward to the day when we will “see Jesus as he is” (1 John 3:2).

Psalm 84 is a song of pilgrimage: “Blessed are those whose strength is in you, whose hearts are set on pilgrimage” (verse 5). We can picture a group of faithful Israelites walking the stony road to “Zion” (that’s a poetic name for Jerusalem) in order to worship God and offer sacrifice in the temple built by King Solomon.

They may have come a long distance, and the journey may have been hard. In particular, they have had to pass through “the Valley of Baka” (verse 6), which seems to be an especially dry and arid place.

Nobody knows whether Baka was a literal physical location, or if it is a poetic reference to the barren experiences of life – the name could be translated “Valley of Tears”, and we can picture those pilgrims perhaps running short of water, perhaps even losing heart and wanting to go back home.

But see what the psalmist tells us: “As they pass through the Valley of Baka, they make it a place of springs”. That’s a striking statement! Their  experience may be hard; but because of who they are, it seems that they are able to transform the circumstances which are causing such trouble.

One commentator says that they have the kind of faith “which dares to dig blessings out of hardships”. I like that! We who have water at the turn of a tap find it hard to imagine that there are times and places when water has to be dug for. These people don’t give up; they keep going; indeed, “they go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion” (verse 7).

You will probably see where I’m heading… We are like pilgrims. This coronavirus pandemic is our Valley of Baka (there have been, and of course will be, others). And the question is: Do we have the kind of faith that makes Baka “a place of springs”?

It’s easier said than done. For me as a retired person it’s tempting to see this time as basically a matter of hunkering down and hoping to get through to the end. I can only imagine, almost with a shudder, what it’s like for the front-line health workers, for parents looking after small children, for people living in high-rise flats and unable to get out, for workers whose everyday responsibilities put them in danger, for those who are frail or sick, for business people who cannot see how they can survive economically…

But however severe our situation, God can help us to “dig blessings out of hardships”.

How can we do that, when all around us people are frightened and anxious?

First and foremost, of course, is to renew our faith in God day by day. Through simple, even childlike, prayer we can pour out our hearts to him and plead for the strength we need to tackle whatever the day may bring – to take away our fear and anxiety, and to give us opportunities to bring hope and calm to those we come in contact with.

Beyond that, for most of us the old saying is true: it’s the little things that count. People most in the front line testify how much it means to them if someone takes the trouble to offer just a word of thanks. It costs so little, and it can mean so much!

As my wife and I go out for our daily walk it’s heartening to receive a greeting from strangers we meet. And in this modern world there are so many ways to keep in touch with others we cannot physically meet. Whatever method we use, it’s something simply to do – a few minutes spent in touch could be a life-saver for someone.

If like us you’re retired, the cancelling of normal things frees up time which either we can dribble away or turn to some good use. And what better use could there be than to pray? So is God calling us to develop a ministry of intercession? I suspect that if church buildings were still open, people would be gathering in large numbers simply to pray. Well, we can’t to do that. But God sees and hears even when we are scattered in our homes. We can never calculate the effect of prayer.

This Valley of Baka is grim, no doubt about that. But if we tackle it like those pilgrims of Psalm 84 – if we tackle it in a Christlike way – there is every reason to hope that we will end up better people, our society a better society, our world a better world.

Lord God help us to hold fast to you, to trust even in the face of fear, and to bring the light and love of Jesus to everyone we have contact with. Amen.

How's your appetite?

Open wide your mouth and I will fill it. Psalm 81:10

Have you ever tried to spoonfeed a baby whose mouth remains clamped tight shut?

I think most parents will be able say, perhaps with a sigh, “Oh yes!” It’s an experience which is likely to be (a) maddeningly frustrating, (b) rather messy and (c) ending in tears (and that’s not just you).

All that’s a long time ago now for me, but I still think of it every time I read this verse in Psalm 81 – God inviting his people (I think it’s an invitation rather than a command) to feast on him: “Open wide your mouth and I will fill it”. Don’t be like that baby! No, be like those hungry birds in the nest, their open beaks stretching up for food.

The psalm looks back to the “exodus”, the time God delivered his people Israel from their captivity in Egypt. It starts in a mood of noisy celebration (verses 1-3). Then it recalls some of those distant events (verses 4-7). And then it becomes a plea from God that the people would be always loyal to him and him alone (verses 8-10a). And then… this invitation (verse 10b).

For the rest of the psalm the mood is sombre, starting with a sad “but” in verse 11: “But my people would not listen to me…” – a loving complaint of God against his people.

God is disappointed: his people will not allow him to do for them what he longs to do to make them happy.

The challenge these words pose for us is about receptivity: how receptive, how open, are we to what God wants to give us? What sort of spiritual appetite do we have? Are we, like Israel so long ago, a disappointment to him?

It’s not just about knowing God or believing in him, but about enjoying him.

Spiritual appetite can take various forms. Two in particular come to mind.

First, a hunger for God’s word.

When Jesus was tempted by the devil (Matthew 4) he went without food for forty days. Rather unnecessarily (I always think) Matthew adds that “he was hungry”. You bet he was! And so the temptation to “tell these stones to become bread” must have been massive. But what does Jesus do? Quoting from Deuteronomy 8:3 he replies: “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God”.

Yes, we need bread, food. Of course. But God is a God who speaks, and why would he speak unless he wants us to listen? Why would he cause his word to be written down and preserved from generation to generation unless he expects us to read it? (I’m not forgetting that many of God’s people may not be able to read, even today: thank God, then, if his word is made available to them through those who are called to teach and preach.)

What about us? Do we take the reading of the scriptures seriously? Do we aim for familiarity with the whole Bible, both testaments, and not just the favourite and well-known bits?

I would love to know more about  the Christians of Berea. They barely figure in the Bible – you’ll find them only in Acts 17. They were Jews, so no doubt familiar with the Old Testament through attendance at the synagogue. But Luke tells us that they received the gospel message “with great eagerness, and examined the scriptures every day to see if what Paul said was true” (verses 10-12).

During this time of “lockdown”, if we find that we have more time on our hands than usual, how about modelling ourselves on the Bereans? Why not get our teeth into some part of the Bible that perhaps we are not too familiar with?

The second kind of spiritual appetite is a hunger for God’s holiness.

In his sermon on the mount Jesus said, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness” (Matthew 5:6).

To have a good command of scripture is a great thing. But of course it means precisely nothing if it doesn’t have the effect of making us new people – “righteous” people.

There’s a lot that could be said about that word “righteousness”. It’s certainly nothing to do with “self-righteousness”, and it’s far more than simply “being good”. In essence it is the purity and holiness that can be ours through faith in Jesus and through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit. It’s the quality of character that arises from enjoying a relationship with God himself. It’s all about simple trust and glad obedience. For me the word “Christlikeness” is about as close as we can get.

And we are called to “hunger and thirst” for it. What, I wonder, is our response to that?

Let’s go back to Psalm 81. It ends with a wonderful promise for those who will indeed “open wide our mouths” – we will be “fed with the finest of wheat; with honey from the rock…”

God is a loving, generous God. Let’s not be slow to enjoy his generosity!

Loving Father, thank you for the gift of your word. Please, through your Holy Spirit, sharpen my appetite for it, and may it produce a harvest of pure, Christlike righteousness in my everyday life. Amen.

Psalms, hymns and spiritual songs

Be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord… Ephesians 5:18-19

When we sing in worship we generally take it for granted that it is God we are singing to. And that’s right, of course.

But Paul here puts another angle on it: he tells us that we should “speak to one another in psalms, hymns and spiritual songs”. (He says much the same thing in Colossians 3:16.)

He is making a very simple point: while our singing is primarily directed to God, our songs and hymns also play a very important role in doing one another good.

For two thousand years the church has been singing, and a vast amount of material has grown up. Do we ever stop to think what a rich resource this is? Do we ever pause over words that can nourish and stimulate our faith? How much we are missing!

When I was a teenage Christian way back in the 1960s there was a hymn that I felt we ought literally to address to one another. It was like a sung sermon, a good old-fashioned scold: “Yield not to temptation,” it said severely, “for yielding is sin…” There was another line: “Shun evil companions, bad language disdain…” No messing there, eh? Looking back, I wonder why we didn’t eyeball one another as we sang, frowning and wagging our fingers.

They don’t write hymns like that these days, do they? (Perhaps just as well…)

But then I have another favourite which, likewise, is addressed to one another – and I think it is one of the most  beautiful songs I know. It was written in 1977 by Richard Gillard – not that long ago, but I wonder if it is still sung today?

“Brother, sister, let me serve you,” it starts. And that sets the tone for the whole song; it’s all about the privilege of serving our brothers and sisters in Christ.

Here are a couple of verses, worth absorbing deeply:

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”.

At the moment, because of the pandemic, we aren’t able to sing together in worship, or to “speak to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs”. So I want to take Paul at his word and share some of the very precious words that others have written in order to bless us – words which I think can help us through troubled times.

Here is Matt Redman’s lovely song “Bless the Lord, O my soul”. I especially love the way it looks death straight in the face, with quiet faith and peace…

And on that day/ When my strength is failing,/ The end draws near and my time has come,/ Still my soul will sing Your praise unending,/ Ten thousand years and then forevermore…

From an earlier time, what about William Cowper (1731-1800)? He was a troubled man who sometimes struggled with his faith. But he was able to declare that “God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform”. I think these lines are particularly appropriate for our present circumstances…

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;/ The clouds ye so much dread/ Are big with mercy, and shall break/ In blessings on your head… His purposes will ripen fast,/ Unfolding every hour;/ The bud may have a bitter taste,/ But sweet will be the flower.

That image of the bitter bud and the sweet flower has lived with me all my Christian life.

A song by Brian Doerksen has just nine lines, but they are a wonderful prayer…

Faithful one, so unchanging,/ Ageless one, you’re my rock of peace./ Lord of all, I depend on you,/ I call out to you, again and again,/ I call out to you, again and again./ You are my rock in times of trouble./ You lift me up when I fall down./ All through the storm/ Your love is the anchor,/ My hope is in You alone.

When it’s sung, there’s an inspiring burst in the music with “You are my rock in times of trouble (amen!)… All through the storm your love is the anchor…” Amen again!

At a time when we all need to be showing patience and kindness, especially to those most affected by the pandemic, what could be better than Graham Kendrick’s little prayer…

Soften my heart, Lord,/ Soften my heart./ From all indifference/ Set me apart./ To feel your compassion,/ To weep with your tears;/ Come soften my heart, O Lord,/ Soften my heart. (Stress that word “your”!)

I could go on (oh, how I could go on)! But I have run out of space. I simply hope there is something in these snippets to encourage and to stir up faith and love.

Our God, our help in ages past,/ Our hope for years to come,/ Be thou our guard while troubles last,/ And our eternal home. Amen.

Isaac Watts (1674-1748)

Faith in tough times - a personal reflection

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28

When Paul says “all things” in that verse, does he really mean all things? Even the bad things? Even the painful things? The wrong things? The sins, even?

How do you answer that question?

Romans 8:28 is a wonderful verse. But it suffers a little through being almost too quotable – it’s one of those verses it’s easy to trot out without really thinking about it. And that can lead us to be rather complacent: “Oh well, if God really does work everything for good for those who love him, it doesn’t matter much what I do, or don’t do, does it? – he’s promised to put it right, or at least to bring good out of it…”

(I suspect too that it can have the effect of really annoying our non-Christian friends if we quote it too glibly: “There you go, you Christians, so shallow, so trite, talking as if all the pains and troubles of this life really don’t matter. Can all these things be airily dismissed by quoting a few words from the Bible? Isn’t this just ‘pie in the sky when you die’?” Let’s be careful how we witness!)

Well, I don’t doubt that Romans 8:28 is true. If God really is the Lord of all creation, and the Lord of history, how can things not work out for good for those who belong to him? (And yes, that includes our sins; even they, if truly repented of, can be midwives to new virtues coming to birth.)

With the current pandemic continuing, I’m sure all of us have derived comfort from various Bible verses akin to Romans 8:28: “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear…” (Psalm 46) is a classic example. But again, words which are easy to quote may be difficult to get a strong and practical grip on.

So I find myself asking: Do such words really make a difference to me, apart from offering what might be called a passing comfort-fix?

What I’m leading up to is this: that I as an individual can cancel the truth of Romans 8:28 if my attitude is wrong. How is the pandemic going to work out for good if I slip into a complacent and even fatalistic attitude?

I realised that I had to make a choice between two opposing mind-sets: the positive and the negative.

Either I view the situation simply as an ordeal that I must endure – that’s the negative; or I view it as a challenge through which I can grow – that’s the positive. Yes, it certainly is an ordeal I must endure; but can I, by faith, make is something else too?

In John 11 we read how Jesus raised his friend Lazarus from the dead. The disciples found it hard to believe that he would allow him to die, but, mincing no words, “he told them plainly, ‘Lazarus is dead’…” Whereupon Thomas – “Doubting Thomas” – responded, “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (John 11:14-16).

There’s a perfect example (if the word “perfect” is appropriate!) of a negative attitude: you can almost see Thomas shrugging his shoulders in hopelessness.

And the fact is that, however sincere our faith may be, we too can slip into that kind of attitude. Oh yes, we believe in theory that Romans 8:28 is true; but it makes no practical difference to the way we are.

So (I continued to ask myself) what can I do to ensure that my faith does in fact result in something positive through the coming weeks? To which the answer could only be: By making up my mind every day, even every hour, that I will look for and expect to see the presence, the power and the love of Jesus at work in, through and around me.

When I get to the end of this difficult time (assuming I do – I make no assumptions!), my prayer is that I will be a more Christlike person than I was at the beginning: a more faithful Christian; a better husband; a more loving family member; a more responsible member of society; a more thoughtful friend and neighbour – to highlight just the most obvious weaknesses.

My circumstances may be very different (and probably a lot easier) than yours. But if that prayer is answered, then and only then will Romans 8:28 have been fulfilled for me. But if it happens for me… well, why shouldn’t it also happen for you?

God really does work in all things for the good of those who love him. Lord, help us believe it, and to “trace the rainbow through the rain”!

O joy that seekest me through pain,/ I cannot close my heart to Thee;/ I trace the rainbow through the rain,/ And feel the promise is not vain/ That morn shall tearless be. Amen.

George Matheson, 1842-1906

Who needs music?

Adah gave birth to Jabal; he was the father of those who live in tents and raise livestock. His brother’s name was Jubal; he was the father of all who play stringed instruments and pipes. Zillah also had a son, Tubal-Cain, who forged all kinds of tools out of bronze and iron. Genesis 4:21-22

Whenever the spirit from God came on Saul, David would take up his lyre and play. Then relief would come to Saul; he would feel better, and the evil spirit would leave him. 1 Samuel 16:23

When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives. Matthew 26:30

What is it about music!

I remember some years ago walking through St Pancras railway station in London. It was organised chaos: hundreds of people wheeling suitcases, struggling with ticket machines, talking anxiously into their phones. And then: the sound of… a piano.

I couldn’t quite believe it at first – it didn’t sound like piped music, not professional enough for that. But it was good, and I looked around to see where it could possibly be coming from. And then I saw him: a man sitting at an upright piano right in the middle of the concourse, and playing beautifully.

I shook my head in amazement. What a wonderful idea somebody had thought of! That man could have been playing purely for his own enjoyment, but people were gathering round to listen. And – the great thing – everyone was smiling.

If you’re on Facebook you might have seen a similar thing a few days ago: an elderly man playing “Somewhere over the rainbow”. A young woman came and stood next to him, and started to sing, resting her hand on his shoulder. It was simply beautiful – I’m tempted to use the word “magical”.

You might also have seen a video from Italy. Right in the middle of the corona virus crisis – and it’s pretty grim over there – dozens of madcrazy Italians were standing on their balconies, even on the flat roofs of their apartment blocks, and singing, belting out their music and jigging about. You couldn’t help but smile: the sheer exuberance! the sheer determination to not be downcast!

I’ve no idea how music “works” – why it is that those humanly arranged sounds and maybe words can move us to tears, perhaps of joy, perhaps of sorrow. Just little black marks on paper, after all! Something to do with the nervous system, I suppose. All I know is that it happens, and it’s wonderful.

I find myself thinking of shepherd boy David strumming his harp to tease King Saul out of one of his dark moods – what the Bible calls “an evil spirit from the Lord”.

I think too of Jesus and his disciples after celebrating the Last Supper: “when they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives”. I wonder what hymn it was: a psalm, probably. What were their voices like? Simon Peter a booming bass? Jesus a rich tenor?

For many of us, while music might be quite important, it’s probably on the fringes of our lives: a luxury rather than a necessity.

But then I thought of Jubal (all right, I had to check on his name first). Right in the earliest days of human life on earth this man is described as “the father of all who play stringed instruments and pipes”. The remarkable thing is that his name is sandwiched between that of Jabal, the first farmer and livestock-breeder, and that of Tubal-Cain, the first craftsman and tool-maker.

Farming and tool-making are pretty important activities – yet music-making is right up there with them. Which can only mean, surely, that it is important in the eyes of God, indeed a true gift from God.

God’s people, both Old and New Testament, have always been a singing, music-making people: my Bible concordance offers some two hundred references to people singing, some organised into big choirs, some simply singing alone. A favourite of mine is Acts 16:25, where we read that Paul and Silas, confined to a dungeon with their feet in the stocks, “were praying and singing hymns to God, and the other prisoners were listening to them” (what a witness!).

It may be that music isn’t your thing, and that’s no sin. (I knew a woman once who, when I became her pastor, felt she had to explain to me why she never sang in services: “Don’t think I’m a hard-hearted sinner – I’m just tone-deaf”.) But those uplifting experiences I’ve described reminded me that, for most people, music can have a powerful effect, and that God is pleased to use it for our blessing.

So I encourage us all to remember the people who write our songs and hymns, those who compose the music, and those who play it. How dull and flat life in general and church life in particular would be without this great gift.

And at a time when many of us are unable to come together to sing, well, we can always do so on our own. After all, it only takes one person to “make a joyful noise to the Lord”.

Dear Father, thank you for the wonderful gift of music. Please continue to inspire those who have musical gifts, in writing, in composing and in playing. And please bring me to that day when I will join the heavenly choir singing “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be praise and honour and glory and power, for ever and ever!” Amen.

When everything's uncertain...

Now listen, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.” Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, “If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.” James 4:13-15

James the brother of Jesus was nothing if not a practical man; his letter – just five chapters – is full of down-to-earth teaching. And nowhere is this more so than in these few verses at the end of chapter 4.

He addresses people who are good at planning ahead. He seems to have trades people particularly in mind; but what he says is relevant to anyone who imagines they have a strong handle on the future: “Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow!”

Among other things, this is a warning against arrogance and self-centredness. It reinforces the teaching of Jesus in his story of “the rich fool” (Luke 12:16-21); it also echoes the words of various Old Testament passages, such as Proverbs 27:1: “Do not boast about tomorrow, for you do not know what a day may bring”.

But most of all, it reminds us that the future is uncertain. And I couldn’t get it out of my mind as coverage of the coronavirus keeps unfolding.

Like many of us, I am used to making plans and expecting them, generally speaking, to happen. But suddenly that is just no longer the case. Sports events I was looking forward to… meetings I expected to attend… people I was hoping to see… responsibilities I was due to fulfil… little treats I felt I was entitled to… suddenly all these things are shrouded in uncertainty. And I don’t like it very much!

In all my life, this is something I have never experienced before. Just yesterday people over seventy were asked to “self-isolate”. I vaguely thought to myself, “Oh well, yes, I suppose that might be a good precaution to take”. And then I thought, like a four-year-old told he can’t go to the park, “Hang on a minute – that means me! Boo-hoo, not fair”. Again, I didn’t like it very much…!

Two main thoughts came to mind.

First, this is exactly how it has been for untold millions of people down through the centuries – and how it still is for vast numbers today. Those of us who have enjoyed the luxury of filling our diaries in confident expectation that those entries will be fulfilled are in a very small and privileged minority.

Without in any way making light of the present crisis, that thought helped me to get it into perspective. This is a time for clear, calm faith in God –  and for practical action to respond to what’s happening, especially for those most at risk. And not for feelings of self-pity! I have no entitlement to that luxurious way of life I have unthinkingly enjoyed.

My second thought was to wonder just how much, in reality, God is generally involved in my planning.

It isn’t wrong to plan, of course – I don’t think James is suggesting that. Indeed, it may be irresponsible not to. But it is wrong to plan as if we are the lords of our own lives. If we are Christians, we aren’t: Jesus is Lord (as we perhaps rather glibly sing). And that means that if we make our plans without reference to him we are saying one thing with our lips but something else with our actions. Which means we are hypocrites.

As James puts it: we ought to say, “if it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this and that”. We are not to take anything for granted.

Like everyone else I very much hope that the present emergency will be short-lived and more limited in its effects than we are being led to fear. Our chief thoughts must be for the sick, the frail, those who suffer with depression and other mental health issues. Of course.

But having said that, I think it’s right to add this: surely, in the long run, it’s no bad thing for us all to be reminded of the uncertainty and shortness of life. Still more, if a situation like the present one has the effect of driving us afresh into the arms of God, that can only be good.

I started with a no-nonsense word from James. Perhaps it’s appropriate to finish with a reassuring word from the psalmist: “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging… The Lord Almighty is with us” – Psalm 46.

And something like this seems a reasonable prayer to pray…

Dear Father, please help me in this difficult time to be a trusting believer, a calming presence, a responsible citizen, and a good neighbour. Have mercy upon our world – and in the coming weeks may many make that life-changing journey from fear to faith as they reach out to Jesus, who died and rose again. Amen.