Leaping in the dark

Are you afraid of letting God get a grip on you? Do you stand at a distance, too scared to let him get close? Do you fear what he might do with you, or ask you to do, if you handed over your life to him?

In one sense, we should all be afraid of God. We should never underestimate his power and awesomeness. It is a dreadful thing to fall, unprepared, into the hands of the living God.

But it's not this reverent fear which holds many of us back from putting ourselves fully in God's hands. Our fear comes from other sources.

Some fear losing control. They've had unpleasant experiences of being controlled and manipulated by others. Perhaps they've been through a time where life was chaotically out of control and they've vowed (often subconsciously) never to let that happen to them again. They want to believe God can be trusted, but there's a dreadful emotional barrier in the way.

Some would like to be closer to God, but they're already committed to serving someone or something else - their career, their reputation, their parents or spouse, an ideology, an organization or a secret society. They're unwilling to depose their idol, and God allows no rivals.

Half-heartedness is sometimes a mask for laziness. While I continue to serve God on my terms, I can set limits to how much time and effort I give him. Being a paid servant is one thing, becoming a slave of Christ is quite another. But fear can also cause half-heartedness - what if God asked me to do more than I could cope with? What if I never achieve the things I want to achieve because I'm too busy doing God's work?

Satan uses our fears to keep us at a distance from God. He tells us God doesn't have our best interest at heart. He keeps the word "fanatic" fresh in our minds. He holds us over a dark abyss and whispers "This is faith. Do you really want to jump?"

Jesus calls to us, "Follow me". But where? What will happen along the way? Putting all our trust in him can seem like a leap in the dark, until we understand how he proved his trustworthiness on the cross. If you are afraid to trust your life to God, or know that he's asking you to trust him more, talk to another Christian about it and ask them to pray with you. The only truly safe place in the universe is in God's hands.

Photo by Mitchell Hartley on Unsplash

Faith in Crisis - free ebook to download

I've recently put together some of the articles from this blog and my archives that seem relevant to the present times. They cover topics such as faith, trust, doubt, disasters and questions about God's goodness.

The result is 'Faith in Crisis', a small eBook in PDF format that's free to download from my website. I hope and pray that it will be an encouragement to you.




UPDATE

I've now added a second eBook, Hope in Sorrow, which is made up of longer articles on grief, depression, stress and death. You can download it free from my website.

Help me, Lord

Where do you go when life hurts? Who do you turn to when your health falters, when relationships sour, when things happen which leave you feeling sad, angry, weary or frightened? As Christians we know the answer: "Take it to the Lord in prayer."

Unfortunately, despite the old song, many of us have learned that it's selfish to pray for ourselves. Ignoring the ache in our hearts, we methodically work through praise, thanksgiving and praying for others before we bring our own problems to God. It's as though, somehow, we must earn the right to talk to him about ourselves.

Imagine a child coming to her father and saying "Dad, you're the greatest. I'm really grateful for all the things you've given me. Please look after my sister Mary, who has a sore thumb. And Dad, I've broken my wrist and it hurts."

I'm not suggesting that we shouldn't regularly praise and thank God. Nor should we be selfish and demanding children who ignore the needs of others. Sometimes praying for others can lift us out of a mood of self-pity. 

But it's easy to fall into the subtle temptation to use praise, thanksgiving and intercession for others as a means of twisting God's arm. We may seem to be honouring God. Yet what we're really doing is showing a lack of trust in him and probably feeding our own pride as well. ("See how unselfish I am, praying for Mary before I pray for myself".)

The psalmists often poured out their hearts to God, before reminding themselves of his goodness to them in the past. Praise frequently followed their laments, but not always. Their prayers sometimes seem quite abrupt and self-focused. Yet it would be difficult to accuse the psalmists of not trusting God or not taking him seriously.

Jesus taught his disciples to begin their prayers with worship (Father, hallowed be your name) and a commitment to God's kingdom (Your will be done) before asking him to meet their own needs (Give us this day). This is how we should pray most of the time. 

Yet it's not the way that Jesus prayed in Gethsemane or on the cross. Nor did he ever turn anyone away because they failed to worship and thank him before they asked for healing. The very fact that they came to him for healing showed that they recognised who he was and put their trust in him. We can do the same.

Image by Steve Bidmead from Pixabay

Fallen and restored

There's a false understanding of the gospel which goes something like this: "Human beings are wretched, worthless creatures, quite useless and valueless to God. But because Jesus died for us, we have become precious to God."

It's false because it begins the gospel in the middle of the story. Fallen human beings truly are wretched creatures. But that isn't how God created us. He made us in his image, "a little lower than the angels". In his original plan, each one of us was to be a magnificent being, living in loving relationship to God, glorifying him and of great value to him. The very word "fallen" suggests this idea.

All that God has ever created is good, in the sense of being excellent, pleasing and valuable. That includes each of us. It’s true that from the moment of conception, we have been marred by others' sins, and corrupted by our own sins. We have done nothing to deserve God's love. Yet even in our sinful, unforgiven state, God loves us because he made us and knows who, and what, we were meant to be.

Yes, our sin arouses his anger, the anger of a good sovereign whose subjects are in revolt against his just laws. But it is also the anger of an artist who sees his precious work being spoiled and destroyed, the anger of a lover who sees his beloved giving herself to worthless suitors and prostituting herself.

Almost every metaphor used to describe Jesus' death involves some sort of return to a state that has been lost and is now regained - atonement, reconciliation, redemption, forgiveness, healing. Jesus' death did not make God love us. Jesus died for us because God loved us and wanted us restored to himself.

In the past, human life and achievement were often over-valued, as if man were the measure of all things. But in recent times, human beings have increasingly been portrayed as a blot on an otherwise perfect and harmonious universe. We need to be careful not to absorb this idea into the gospel. Not only does it lead to a devaluing of human life (as seen in the growing acceptance of abortion and euthanasia) it also robs the gospel of its message of restoration.

We have fallen from glory and deserve condemnation. But through Jesus we are being restored to the glory that God intended us to have, a glory that brings greater glory to him.

Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay 

Is God really good?

Sometimes I wonder if God really is good. When I watch the news, or read a newspaper, I wonder how we can keep saying "God is in control". When I see the terrible pain and suffering that people inflict on each other, not just in the world, but even in the church, I sometimes begin to doubt that God is even real. Where is he? What is he doing? Are we just wasting our time in church on Sunday?

What keeps me from tossing my Bible in the bin is reflecting on the life of Jesus. Jesus lived in a time when the blind and the lame and the leprous had no hospitals, no Medicare, no social services. He saw children tormented by uncontrolled epilepsy and dying of infections.

He lived in a country occupied by soldiers who didn't look to see if the media were watching before they beat people up. As he wandered about the countryside, he probably saw the mangled bodies of those who had been crucified. He heard his disciples arguing, vying with each other for status, making promises he knew they couldn't keep. He knew far better than I do what the real world is like.

And yet he kept talking as if God were in control. He spoke of God as our Father, who loves us and cares for us.

Perhaps Jesus was just crazy and deluded, ignoring what was in front of him and living in a spiritual dream world. If that's the case, we might as well go home. But if he was sane, then it's tremendously reassuring to know that he lived in the real world. He knew what it's like, and yet he could still trust his Father. He could still believe that his life and death had purpose and meaning. He could still work with his disciples, despite their failings. He didn't look around him and throw up his hands in despair.

Jesus could have used his divine powers to miraculously change the world. He was certainly tempted by that possibility. So why did he heal only a few? Why did he feed just a few thousand and not all the world's hungry? Why didn't he end the brutal political system of the time?

Who knows? The fact that he could have done these miracles, but didn't, suggests that what he did was more important than all of these potential miracles. It helps to bring things back into their eternal perspective.

Photo by British Library on Unsplash

The Evil That Men Do (review)

The Evil That Men Do, by Marcus K. Paul, (Sacristy Press, 2016) takes an unflinching look at some of the most shameful events in the history of the church, such as the Crusades and the Spanish Inquisition. It also examines periods in Christian history which are commonly held up to ridicule, such as 16th and 17th century Puritanism, and Victorian religiosity and "do-goodism".

The book is well written, being neither simplistic nor contentious. The author makes no effort to deny or excuse atrocities. The cover tellingly shows Thomas Cranmer being burned at the stake by fellow Christians in 1556.

Through his knowledgeable and widely-sourced descriptions of the political and philosophical background of each era, Paul sets events in context. He also points to some of the positive impacts of the church and individual Christians in each era which are often overlooked. As he says, "the evil that men don't do because of their beliefs is hardly susceptible to recording and measurement", whereas their evil deeds live on in memory.

I read the book while researching and thinking about the First World War. Chapter 10, "Global War and the Abridgement of Hope", deals with the horrors of the war and the widespread loss of faith and changed attitude towards the church that resulted from it, especially amongst soldiers. The author takes up Wilfred Owen's argument that it was often the experience of other's actions that destroyed, or occasionally preserved, faith. He compares this to the Victorian era, when disbelief was more likely to result from pondering and debating abstract ideas.

He deals sympathetically with those who lost their faith. After the war, he says, many people were so psychologically scarred by what they had been through that no amount of rational argument for God's existence, let alone goodness, could move them. This was especially the case if it was offered by clergy who had not seen the brutality firsthand. (Things were rather different in America, where the experience of the war years strengthened Christian certainty and uniformity.)

Surprisingly, Marcus K Paul has little to say about Christian opposition to the war. He speaks of Christians, such as members of the Salvation Army, who courageously worked alongside the troops in the trenches, bringing cups of tea and comfort. His chapter has more to do with people's attitude to the church rather than the church's attitude to the war.

As is well known, the established churches on both sides largely supported both the war and conscription. More than one historian has argued that the war was portrayed as a holy war. Yet there were a few Christian voices raised against the war, including the great German theologian, Karl Barth. It would be good to hear more of them.

The book doesn't cover the more recent issue of child sexual abuse by clergy and others associated with the church. Perhaps the full extent of that evil has not been fully exposed yet. Much of what the author says about other evils could well be applied. Overall, The Evils that Men Do provides a way of thinking about the unthinkable, not justifying it, but not being overwhelmed by it either.