Lent 47: He is risen!

He is risen!


May you know the joy of meeting the risen Lord.
May you know him in your life.
May you know him in your being.
May you know him as a real, constant and true presence.

He is so much more than I ever imagined. 
I imagine that there is so much still to come.

Halleluiah!

Lent 45: They killed my Lord.

... he said, "It is finished."  Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.  John 19: 30

I know that Jesus had to die - that it was the only way to defeat the violence, sin and death that ruled our world - that it was the only possible outcome of such a revolutionary life - that it was the only way to avoid responding in violence - that it was the sign the world needed - that it was how a way could be made for us to truly be with God - that it was the greatest way for God to show just how deep his love is for us - that it had to be.

But I still can't bear it that they, that we, killed this man. 

That the best, the truest, the most authentic human being who ever lived, had to die.

That this man who has become my closest friend, who speaks truth into my deepest being, and who holds me in my darkest moments, was beaten, mocked, despised, isolated and killed in the most violent of ways.

They killed my Lord. 

Lent 44: So very human

He said to them, "Why are you sleeping? ..."  Luke 22: 46

Tonight I went to a Maundy Thursday vigil where we sit in silence from the end of the service (20.30ish) until midnight.  I lasted until 22.45 and then my eyelids were drooping and my mind was too fuzzy even to think, let alone pray.

Jesus needed the disciples to be with him, spiritually and mentally, while he underwent one of the most challenging times of his life.  Jesus needed to know that his friends and companions were somehow with him, and they weren't able to give that to him.  I get the impression that they never fully absorbed the gravity of his words about his forthcoming suffering and death.  It certainly feels like they didn't really ever believe it would happen. 

Then, when Jesus is arrested, one of the disciples cuts off the ear of a slave.  Jesus promptly puts a stop to the violence and heals the slave.  Even when he is being arrested, Jesus continues to undermine violence of any kind.  The disciples still, even at this point, somehow didn't get it. 

Then Peter, even after being told he would deny Jesus and insisting that this would never happen, denies three times that he had anything to do with Jesus.

The disciples were so very human, right to the end.  They blundered about getting some stuff right and a lot of stuff wrong.  They came from all kinds of backgrounds, had messy histories and said a lot of stupid things.  But Jesus loved them and used them. 

Anyone else find that rather comforting?

Lent 43: Forgive, and forgive, then forgive some more.

Then Peter came and said to him, "Lord if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive?  As many as seven times?"  Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy seven times." Matthew 18: 21-22

This week's episode of Rev (season 3, episode 4) tackles a question which nobody wants to have to deal with.

What would we do if someone came to our church, moved into our neighbourhood or worked in our workplace, who had done something which we find utterly repulsive and awful, and asked to be part of our lives?

(If you haven't watched the episode yet and don't want to know what happens, don't read on - I basically summarise the plot)

In the episode a man, George, starts coming to Adam Smallbone's (the vicar) church.  Adam asks for his help with the accounts and only later finds out from him that he had served time in prison for having images of child abuse on his computer.  George is obviously broken, honest about what he has done, repentant and trying to start again.  He explains how it all started with porn and got worse and worse until he found himself looking at pictures he swore he never would.  He explains that getting arrested was the best thing that could have happened as it stopped him feeding his addiction and gave him a fresh start.
Adam decides that George should not be excluded from the church because of past crimes, however awful, and invites him to continue being part of the church as long as he signs a statement saying he will stay away from young people in the church.  George says he is no risk to children but understands and agrees.  Later at the church committee, one member has found out (not from Adam) who George really is and tells everyone.  The committee vote that George should not be allowed to be church treasurer and are very angry at Adam for concealing George's past from them and for inviting such an awful person into their community.  One member of the church, Colin, attacks George and George decides to leave the church, even though Adam says that he will always be welcome.  He doesn't feel safe there any more, understandably.  The episode ends soon after George walks away into the unknown.

This episode is very clear that what George did was awful, and that children should be protected from him.  However, it is not afraid to address the radical nature of what forgiveness really means.  The suggestion is that there should be nothing that we are unwilling to try to forgive.  Adam is dealing with his own guilt over something he has done and realises that he cannot refuse this man his forgiveness and care.  At one point in the episode someone claims that it is God's job to forgive, not Adam's.  I do not think that that was Jesus' message, and neither does Adam.

I am impressed, moved and challenged by this story and the way in which it was handled.  Whilst care of the abused should always come first, in a society which views child abuse and everything connected with it as the most heinous of crimes, we need to know how we will handle the abusers as well as the abused.

In the light of the coming days in the church calendar when we especially remember the death and resurrection of Jesus, questions around sin and forgiveness are especially apt - Jesus died for all people, to take away all sin, and rose to defeat all death.  No one excluded.

How do we approach someone who seems to have fallen as far as one can go?
How would Jesus approach them?
What does the radical command to love our neighbour mean in this scenario?

I, personally, am grateful to the makers of Rev. for daring to touch on this theme, and to ask questions which are far from easy.  I also have no idea how I would actually react if placed in this situation.  I can only pray that God would give me grace.

If you haven't yet watched the episode, I really recommend that you do.

Lent 42: The way, the truth and the life

Jesus said, "I am the way and the truth and the life." John 14: 6

Do you know, I am actually starting to believe this.

I have always believed it partially or I wouldn't have stuck with my faith.  I knew there was something good in it all and had experienced enough of God to be sure it was worth persevering. But I didn't really know who Jesus was - who he really is.  I felt that he had said some great things, done some great things, and there was that mystery of the cross which I couldn't (and still can't) get my head around but knew was important; but I didn't know him and so wasn't too bothered by this phrase and its validity.

The more I get to know Jesus Christ, my risen Lord, the more I see that in him God is known, in him life is found abundantly, in him is truth, in him is the way to live and to be.

I can't explain this logically.  I do not, in saying this, deny all good in other religions, ways of life, moral frameworks and so forth.  All I know is that, as I become more deeply acquainted with this man Jesus, the more I know that this is true.

He is the way and the truth and the life, and I want him to become my way, my truth and my life.

Lent 40: The laughable lord

Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it... John 12: 14

I don't know about you, but I find this image of Jesus slightly embarrassing.  Jesus, our Lord and God, on a donkey.

In finding this a little unpalatable I am missing the point as much as anyone who expected Jesus to be some kind of war-lord, leading the people of Israel in a revolution against the Romans.   I am missing the point because I fail, again, to see that God uses the weakest people in society as much or more than the strong, and that it is in our weakness that we are most able to be used by God.

In theory, weakness, or acceptance of weakness, should be what we celebrate as much as anything.

But do we not all swarm to strong characters and able people, like moths to a lamp?

Do we not all feel slightly uncomfortable around those who our society deems 'failures' or most 'troublesome' and 'unloveable'?

Have we still not realised just how much Jesus subverted and subverts everything that we laud and praise and celebrate in talent and strength and power by spending his time with those who were weakest and by refusing to fight aggressive power with aggressive power even as far as death?

I still don't think I have got it.

This Jesus, who we love and name 'Lord', was strong, but strong through weakness.  This 'Lord' of ours processed into Jerusalem at the climax of his ministry on a laughable animal, and refused worldly power and fame on every level.

This Jesus shows us a way of being so radical that we with our hierarchical churches and power-hungry social structures, even after 2000 years of tradition and study, have barely even begun to scratch the surface of.

There is always so much more.

Lent 39: Jesus, the social revolutionary

Jesus said, "Leave her alone."  John 12: 7 (Story also in Matt 26: 6-13, Mark 14: 3-9, Luke 7: 36-50)

In the story of Mary anointing Jesus' feet, which is present in all four gospels, Jesus rebukes men (in some stories, the apostles, in some, the pharisees) for criticising and crushing a woman for her actions.

In my opinion, this story is as much about oppression and equality as is it about the poor and/or preparing Jesus for his death.

A group of strong, probably powerful men, make a woman who is already at the bottom of society (the suggestion in most gospels is that she was a prostitute) feel even smaller.  They see her taking Jesus' attention and making a spectacle and cannot cope with it, probably partly because she is a woman and partly because she is 'sinful'.  They preach about giving to the poor and wasting money, and, as I imagine it, try to take Jesus' attention back for themselves.

This woman let go of all inhibition and showed her deepest emotion and commitment to Jesus.  She did something extravagant, raw, earthy and undignified.  This was everything the pharisees weren't (and, probably, the disciples too) and they couldn't stand it. She humiliated them by her very presence, and her actions made this so much worse.

Then Jesus, who they all wanted to pay them attention, drove the whole thing home by backing her rather than them.  He saw the beauty in what she did and in who she was and turned everything upside-down by criticising the men for their words.  She understood what was needed, Jesus told them, not them.  She honoured him more with this action than they had done with all their ritual and pomp.

Wow.

In the society Jesus lived in, backing a woman's actions over mens' will have been almost unheard of.  Jesus time and time again lifted up those who were crushed by society and gave them their dignity back.  It is truly mind-blowing stuff. 

Are we surprised that a lot of people had it in for Jesus when he did this sort of thing?  He made people (mostly men) feel very uncomfortable indeed.

We have come a long way with gender equality, but there is still a long way to go, and there are many other issues of equality to be addressed.  I wonder who Jesus would be lifting up in our society today.  Who would Jesus be protecting from the crushing words of those who think they know better?  Who would be crushing them?

Lent 38: Costly giving

Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair.  John 12: 3

The perfume Mary used to anoint Jesus was worth three hundred denarii, which amounted to something like a years' wages for a labourer.

A years' wages.

Christians know they should be giving everything they have to Jesus, and we have come to the conclusion that the most precious thing we can give is our hearts.

I think it is sometimes easy to think that, once we have tried to give our hearts to Christ, the giving stops there.

The thing is, when you have truly given your heart to someone/something, there is no end to the giving that cascades out of you as a result.  If your heart truly belongs to someone, you will give all you have because that is where your heart lies.

So, as we give our hearts more and more to Christ, we will also be unable to do anything other than give more and more of our lives, resources, time and thoughts to Christ.

If we are 'only' giving our hearts, and then keeping all the rest for ourselves, assuming we have done enough, I would tentatively suggest that we have not actually given our hearts very much at all.

Mary gave Jesus her heart, and then it was a joy to her to give him something that was worth a years' wages.

Can you imagine?  Giving a years' wages away.... However much you earn, that is a lot of money and a very very sacrificial amount.

I am not saying we should all go and do that, for 'giving' to God (as I understand it) doesn't mean having nothing, it means using it for God, which might indeed mean giving a hell of a lot away.

I believe that our lives show how much our hearts belong to God.  It might not be obvious from the outside - that doesn't matter - but if we look at the way we choose to use our time, resources, thoughts, money and so on, we might get a picture of how much we have managed to give our hearts to God.

After all, it seems that we live what we love.

Lent 36: The God who weeps

When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved..... Jesus began to weep.  John 11: 33, 35.


When I am deeply hurt or sad, the greatest gift someone can give me is not to try to make the pain go away (that is usually a sign that they are uncomfortable with my emotions), to give me a practical solution (they want to fix things, which may not be possible and certainly isn't the most urgent thing) or to feel sorry for me (that generally makes you feel pathetic and that you ought to stop). 

No, the greatest gift someone can give me, even though it is both hard to give and hard to receive, is to be with me, to enter into my pain and to feel what I feel.  To give me permission to feel what I am feeling.  To give me time to get my head around what has happened.  To not be afraid of the depth of emotion.  To allow it to touch them in some way.

When Jesus saw what those around him were feeling, he allowed it to touch him.  He validated their feelings.  He stepped into their grief and saw it from the inside.  Yes, he went on to take away the reason for their grief; but I believe that this moment, when he cries, is the greater gift, strange as that may sound.

We can't always make pain go away, and we can't make things come back that we have lost.  We do have a God who heals, and gives, and performs miracles...

But more tangible, healing and valuable than all this:


We have a God who cries with us. 

Lent 35: The curse of modern worship songs?

I have heard many people complain about modern worship songs - that they are not intelligently written, too repetitive, too simple.

Traditional hymns often have really beautiful and complex words which have deep meaning and which are the result of hours upon hours of prayer and work.  They sometimes summarise in one line something one has been feeling or experiencing, something which modern worship songs very rarely achieve.

Here is one of my favourites:

1. O Love, that wilt not let me go,
   I rest my weary soul in Thee;
   I give Thee back the life I owe,
   That in Thine ocean depths its flow
   May richer, fuller be.
2. O Light, that followest all my way,
   I yield my flickering torch to Thee;
   My heart restores its borrowed ray,
   That in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day
   May brighter, fairer be.
3. 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.
4. O Cross, that liftest up my head,
   I dare not ask to fly from Thee;
   I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
   And from the ground there blossoms red
   Life that shall endless be.

The reason that there seems to be such a gulf between this kind of hymn and the songs of those such as Tim Hughes and Chris Tomlin, I believe, is that traditional style hymns and modern worship songs are trying to achieve something completely different.

Traditional style worship is essentially poetry.  Song lyrics are often very poetic, but the depth found in the words of many hymns is akin to the words of many poets, and indeed often are the words of poets.  They are worthy of in-depth reading and meditation and have very much to offer.  It is, indeed, worship when we use our talents and spend time working hard on something.  I personally find, however, that hymns would give me more if they were used much more meditatively - if we took the words and prayed them slowly, rather than singing them so quickly and skimming over so much meaning.

Whilst there are many well-thought-out recent songs (e.g. Stuart Townend), my experience of singing many modern worship songs is that they are, in contrast to traditional-style hymns, more of a tool to enable open, personal praise of God.  They are usually used as part of a longer session of worship in which there might be times when people sing their own words, or only music is played.  They are simple, and rightly so, because then the words do not get in the way of real encounter with the living God who is among us.  I find myself able to sing for a while, then stop and focus on God, then sing some more... something I find I cannot do with the more wordy hymns and songs (or when one song is played and we all sit down again - my brain needs time to get into gear).  These simpler songs give permission for me to use them as I will and help me to get into a state of mind where I can actually spend time with God and worship him from within myself.  Repeating lines gives us time to focus in and realise the meaning of even the simplest words of praise, and to allow them to become part of ourselves.  What else, after all, are Taize chants trying to achieve?

There is something amazing about many voices joining together in worship and unity, and this is an important part of praise, but if all we do is enjoy lusty tunes and poetic words, are we actually praising God?

There is nothing superior about the different ways of writing songs and doing worship, there is just something lost when we do not use the songs to their full potential, or mistakenly believe that all songs have the same purpose.  

Lent 34: This is life.

Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life.  Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die."

They will live.

They will never die.

Does this just mean going to heaven?

I have always found the promise of heaven exciting only in the context of heaven starting now, of eternal life beginning in every moment that we choose belief in Jesus.

I cannot connect to a purely future-based heaven, which is something we often seem to think we trade a good, faithful life for.

Resurrection, for me (and really for everyone - for that is what baptism represents), is about life and relationship: is the unfolding of a fully alive, fully free human being who is in Christ, and in whom Christ is.

It is life.  And this, now, is life.

Whatever happens after we die is God's prerogative.  I cannot control it, and nor do I wish to.  I simply wish to experience unity with God, and if that can be found in any way here and now then I shall seek after it.

Lent 33: Laid down his life

"I am the good shepherd.  The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."  John 10: 11.

Lays down his life.

We always interpret laying down of life as meaning 'dying', but it suddenly occurs to me that the laying down of Jesus' life has a fuller meaning than the event of his death in isolation from his life.

Jesus laid down his entire life for us, for his sheep.

Jesus was fully human, whilst being fully God, and so had all that we have as human beings.  Jesus laid down his learning, his goals, his time, his priorities, his love, his interests, his desires, his family, his ambition, his dreams.  He laid down everything, which finally meant his life.  His sacrifice to God was everything he had and was, including (and most-importantly) his very life-force, but not excluding everything else he was.

This doesn't cheapen the crucifixion. 

This makes the crucifixion the culmination of something: no stand-alone event, but a seemingly inevitable outcome of the kind of sacrificial life he chose to lead. 

He was called to lead this life, but he also chose it willingly ("No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord." v. 18).

He gave his all.

I wonder if we cheapen the fact of Jesus' laying down of his life by counting it as only the crucifixion.

Lent 32: Fully alive

"I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly."  John 10: 10

What is it to be fully alive
abundantly so?

To feel it buzzing at every end
of every finger, so full
that we wonder where our boundary is.
To find that our feet are free
to stay or go, from the anger
or praise for which we dread and lust.
To touch a moment and rest
weighing its feel and drinking deep
of every dimension.
To see, to really see what is there
without fear of threat
to the paper-thin homes we build.
To know and to know and know
in our bones that we are held
so jealously and light.

Fully alive? That is the path
we tread until these things are
as welded to us as our skin.

Ruth Appleby, 2014.

Lent 30: Degrees of presence?

When I am in the presence of God, I know I am in the presence of God.

But I am always in God's presence.  God is everywhere all the time.

So how come I can speak, at one moment rather than another, of being in God's presence?

Why do we ask for God's presence to come?  Why do we invite the Holy Spirit to be with us?  The Holy Spirit is always with us.

Sometimes I can feel that I am in God's presence, but does that mean that God's presence is somehow stronger than at other times?

It must be so, because there are places which, when you walk into them, you instantly feel a kind of atmosphere there that is not what we normally experience - certain churches, monasteries or places of pilgrimage where there has been a lot of prayer over many years.  There also seem to be places with an uncomfortable, draining, depressive feeling to them.  It must be that God's presence can be stronger or less strong at different times and in different places.

But is the sense that I sometimes get of being immersed in God's presence due to God being more fully there, or to me being more fully there?

Possibly a bit of both.  I don't understand it, but it isn't surprising that the times when I am distracted and impatient are the times when I feel God less.  This doesn't seem to mean, however, that every time I am calm and focussed that I get an overwhelming sense of God's presence.  And sometimes I am caught completely unawares by a sudden strong sense of God with me.

It seems that we cannot tame our God; but I still find that the more I seek God and the more time I give, the more I find myself able to sit in the presence of God.

Lent 28: Should we be angry more often?

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?  Why are you so far from saving me, so far from the words of my groaning?  O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent."
Psalm 22: 1-2

Following on from my post yesterday, I have been thinking about how comfortable the Bible is with the feelings of anger and frustration.  It says clearly that should not be quick to anger, and that we need to be careful about what we do with our anger, how we express it and where we direct it; but there is no sense of shame or cover up of anger that I can find. There is certainly a lot of anger of God expressed in the Old Testament, and Jesus shows anger when he clears the temple; the psalms are full of frustration at God, and Job had his fair share of anger too.

In most examples I find, the anger or frustration of God is followed by a renewal of promise and love to God's people; and the anger or frustration of human beings is followed by a renewal of commitment and praise to God.  The anger is not allowed to stay and fester, but is expressed openly and honestly and in the context of love and praise.

I think modern Christians have learnt that being 'good' and being 'holy' involves not getting angry.  I certainly learned this somehow and am now not so sure that this is right.

Anger can be an expression of acknowledgement of injustice which moves us to action; it can be an outlet of the genuine passions and desires of human beings, which, if not released, can be turned on the self; and it also seems to be a valid and important part of grieving or letting something go.  Yes, when it is not one of these positive things, anger can be destructive and self/other-consuming, but not half so destructive as bitterness and slow resentment.

In Matthew 5: 21-22 Jesus clearly tells us that anger against another human being is wrong and damaging.  I wonder whether Jesus means the kind of slow, resentful anger that builds up when we hold onto our anger, rather than all anger and righteous anger?

I wonder whether we lose something when we refuse to get angry at all costs.  Do we lose a motivating passion, an outlet for human frustration and grief, and even a part of the image of God in us?

I have no complete thoughts on this, I just feel that there is more to anger than we often recognise, and a good and right place for it in ourselves and our relationships.