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

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

Rescued

When I was a child, I went to church with my parents and attended Sunday school every week. By the time I turned fourteen, there were no other kids my age in the church. The Sunday school supervisor decided that, since he was short of teachers, I could take on a class. So I found myself teaching a class of ten and eleven-year-olds.

It was daunting, but I enjoyed finding ways to bring the old familiar Bible stories to life. Then Easter came along, and I became aware that I really had no idea how Jesus dying on a cross had anything to do with me or the children I was teaching. 'Jesus died to save sinners'. It said so in the prayer book. I'd heard it every week. But what did it mean?

I was in my early twenties before I found the answer. While reading a Christian book, I discovered that Jesus willingly took on himself the sins of the whole world. On the cross, he paid the penalty for our rebellion and indifference to God. My sins were included. And because my sin had already been judged and the penalty paid by God himself, in Jesus, I could be at peace with him. I didn't have to earn my way to heaven (a task which I had already learned was impossible). That discovery became a precious moment. Not only did I have an answer, I also had a Saviour, a Rescuer.

Since then I have learned that the Bible gives many different answers to my question, 'What does "Jesus died for sinners" mean?' Jesus was the ransom, paid to set us free from our slavery to sin. Jesus took our sins to the grave and left them there when he was raised to life. Jesus, being sinless, overcame the power which death held over sinners. Satan threw everything he had at Jesus, and lost, so that he no longer has any claim over us.

Jesus became the new representative of humankind, replacing the old representative, Adam. Jesus was the sacrificial lamb, the true sacrifice which the Old Testament sacrifices had only mirrored. Jesus, by his supreme example of love for people and obedience to God, draws us to himself. Jesus conveys to us the lengths to which God would go to save us from the consequence of our rebellion towards him.

The Bible writers used these and other examples, drawn from human experience, to explain how Jesus' death could save sinners. They are all helpful and true. And yet in the end, salvation is still something which is beyond our full comprehension. It is too marvellous for words. All that we can do is accept it from God with wonder and gratitude.

Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay

Jesus makes mothers' day

He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; he gently leads those that have young. Isaiah 40.11 (NIV)

The prophet Isaiah had good news to announce to God’s people. God himself would come and be their shepherd. He would demonstrate his power and authority, but he would also have a special concern for those who were so often left behind by the rest of the flock. The young and their mothers would be close to his heart.

Jesus came, but not even his disciples recognised him as the Good Shepherd. When parents brought their young children to Jesus for him to bless, the disciples shooed them away. Couldn't these people see that Jesus had much more important things to do than to fuss over their children? He was a prophet, not a grandmother (see Luke 18:15-17).

We’re not told specifically that it was mothers who brought their children to Jesus, but it’s likely that it was they who carried the youngest infants to him. And Jesus welcomed them. He knew how difficult it was for mothers to keep up with the more ‘holy’ people around them when their infants needed feeding and their toddlers squirmed and wriggled in their arms and lack of sleep sometimes made them too tired even to pray. 

He saw that they came with faith in him, not in their own holiness. They knew that neither they nor their children had done anything that deserved his blessing, but they came anyway. Jesus rewarded their faith by blessing their children. 

Then he honoured them by telling the shocked disciples that they needed to become like these little children. The kingdom of God was open to those who had the same unquestioning trust in God’s love and care that these infants had in their mothers. 

No goodbyes

"I am with you always, to the very end of the age". (Matt 28.20b)

A few days before she was to start kindy, a little girl began insisting that her mother should let her walk there on her own on the very first day. This seemed rather strange, so her mother tried to find out why it was so important to the child. Eventually the little girl said “Well, if I go on my own I won’t have to say goodbye to you when you leave”. 

We all dislike saying goodbye and being separated from those we love. Yet it’s an inevitable part of life. Friends move away to work in another city, children leave home, sometimes war or persecution drives people apart. The ultimate separation is death, which removes even the possibility of being re-united or keeping in touch. There are no emails or Christmas letters from beyond the grave.

Some find any separation so painful that they become demanding and cling to those who love them. Others build walls around themselves and pretend that they don’t care. But we’re made to be in relationship with other people. We can’t avoid the pain of separation if we want to be human.

Only someone who will never die can promise that he will never leave us or forsake us. Only one who has eternal life could keep such a promise. That one is Jesus. He won’t tire of us and go off to find someone who is better at getting their Christian life together. He won’t abandon us because he has more important things to see to. Death cannot separate us from him. When separation from those we love seems overwhelming, he is there with us, a constant presence in our lives.

For all the saints?

In the church calendar October 31 was traditionally All Hallows Eve, the evening before All Saints Day on November 1. It was a time for remembering the dead, both the saints and martyrs (”the hallowed” or holy ones)and loved ones who had died. It may have been timed to coincide with an older pagan festival which marked the onset of winter, although originally All Saints day was in May.

Many ancient cultures believed that on one day of the year the souls of the dead visit this world. Food and drink would be provided to welcome these visitors. Others believed that the unhappy souls of those who had died wandered the earth, or that evil spirits might try to gate-crash the party, so rituals were devised, such as wearing costumes and masks, to ward them off.

In Europe in the Middle Ages, children would go door to door collecting specially baked “soul cakes” in exchange for saying prayers for the dead. During the Reformation the idea of praying for dead souls was dismissed along with the concept of purgatory, but that did little to dampen popular enthusiasm for ancient practices. In England in the 1960’s, “mummers” with blackened faces still came to the door offering to drive evil spirits from the house by humming, for a small donation. Trick or treat is nothing new!

Many Christians see Halloween as a pagan festival that has more to do with Satan than with Christ. Others reject the commercialism or are concerned about the safety of children, physically or spiritually. But how might we find creative ways to remember and reflect on the lives of those who went before us? Rather than condemning our neighbours for their fascination with death, how might we demonstrate in a positive way that Christ has overcome death and Satan?

God of all comfort?

Richard Beck, author of the Experimental Theology blog, recently ran a fascinating series of essays on why people believe in God, evaluating the theories of Sigmund Freud and William James.

Freud, in his book "The Future of an Illusion" described faith as a sort of psychological narcotic, a way that some people deal with the pain and futility of existence. James, on the other hand, argued in "The Varieties of Religious Experience" that not all those who have faith find it a comfort. For some, faith creates as many problems as it solves, and yet they continue to believe. Thus faith cannot simply be the product of wishful thinking.

Since I can't do justice to Beck's arguments, I recommend you read the articles for yourself (or at least the conclusion, which summarises the whole series.) I'd like to pick up on just one aspect of his essays. In what way is knowing God a comfort and consolation? While not in any way denying that evil and suffering are the direct result of human sinfulness and the work of Satan, I've often struggled with the question "But didn't God himself create human beings and Satan?"

God is good. I know this from scripture and from experience. But he is also the all-knowing creator of everything, including human beings and Satan. So isn't he ultimately responsible for the existence of suffering and evil? Didn't he know, before he began the work of creation, what human beings and Satan would become? Didn't he know in advance about every war, every famine, every disease, every disaster that would happen throughout history?

If he knew David and Jeremiah before they were even conceived, didn't he also know Hitler and Pol Pot? Didn't he see Auschwitz and the Cambodian killing fields before time began? Surely he must have known in advance about every unkind word, every abuse, every mean-spirited action of ours that would add to the store of evil and suffering in the world.

Yet he still chose to create this world. Which seems to leave me with three options. I can choose to ignore such questions and have a neat and tidy faith that says " Satan and sin are the source of all evil, God is the source of all goodness and comfort." This can lead to a form of dualism that glosses over many uncomfortable verses of the Bible about God's involvement in suffering and catastrophe.

Secondly, I can reject the whole idea of God and, like Freud, decide that faith is just a form of wishful thinking. Read Richard Beck if you want to see why this doesn't work.

Or I can try to come to terms with the fact that the God whom I know as good is nevertheless the one who permits the existence of evil and suffering. God is light, but he created a world which would become full of darkness. Such a God is not always a comfort and a consolation. Sometimes he's frighteningly unknowable, dreadfully distant.

When I read the Bible, and the Old Testament in particular, I encounter this God almost as often as the God of grace and peace. Think of Job. Think of Jeremiah and the other prophets. Think of Jesus in Gethsemane.

But perhaps there's another way to look at this, using my own experience as an analogy. When I chose to have children, I knew that no matter how good a parent I tried to be, those children would inevitably experience suffering, pain, grief, loss, and all the other evils that are common to human life. Sometimes I would even be the cause of their pain. How do you explain to a child the need for discipline? How do you explain that some painful medical procedure is being done for their good?

I also knew before they were born that they would surely cause me pain and suffering at some time, through their words and actions. Being a parent would be costly in many ways. Despite my best intentions, they might turn away from me and ignore me. They might even turn around and curse me for having given them birth.

Yet knowing all this, I still chose to become a parent because it was worth it. And perhaps in that is a hint at why God chose to create this world, despite knowing exactly how much evil and darkness would be mingled with goodness and light. Because, for some reason, it was worth it.

There's another aspect to being a parent that tells me a lot about God. Before I had children, I knew that if and when they suffered, I would suffer too, because love is like that. But knowing this wasn't enough to prevent me from wanting to share my love and the good things of my life with children of my own. Fortunately my children have been relatively healthy and happy, and have caused me little grief. Even so, I've come to know what it is to be in anguish with them and for them when they've been sick or distressed, disappointed or misused.

As a created being I don't and can't know why God created the world with all its attendant evil. But I know enough about him to know that his reasons were good and the cost to him was great. Faith is not denying the reality of evil, but trusting that God has his reasons for allowing evil to exist for a time and he will not let us be overcome by it. Faith is believing that one day we too will be able to say "It was worth it."

The pros and cons of being a Christian's kid

Children growing up in a Christian family have many advantages. They usually have caring parents who provide for their physical needs, without being so focused on material things that they have no time for their children. Their upbringing will shelter them from the worst aspects of the world around them. Their parents are less likely than most to be addicted to alcohol or drugs or gambling. And they'll be introduced to the truths of Christianity from infancy.

This will provide them with a framework in which to view the world and make decisions. Deciding to follow Christ will seem the natural thing to do, rather than a leap into the unknown. Even though they may wander away from the church and Christianity in their teenage years, they will retain the knowledge of how to return to God when they're ready.

But there are disadvantages to being brought up in a Christian home and church culture. One of them is that having been taught and trained to do the right thing from childhood, it's easy for the child of Christians to become judgmental about others' behaviour. While some children from Christian families deliberately try everything that comes their way as an act of rebellion, most children with a secure, loving family and a well-ordered life find the temptations that others face just not that tempting. It then becomes difficult for them to empathise or even relate to those less fortunate in their upbringing when they 'fall into temptation'.

Another hazard is that while outwardly holding to a gospel of grace, the life-long Christian can be subtly persuaded that their own right living must earn them some credit with God. After all, within their Christian family, good behaviour was rewarded and bad behaviour punished, and their sense of justice encouraged. This can give rise to feelings of resentment towards God, when all their hard work seems to go unacknowledged.

Sermons that describe the Christian as someone who has moved dramatically from a position of rebellion against God to one of repentence often seem a bit out of touch with the experience of the person who can't remember exactly when they adopted their parents' faith as their own. Their own more subtle forms of rebellion are less often the subject of sermons, especially in churches that are focused on evangelism. This can lead to complacency, boredom with church and lack of spiritual growth.

The 'problem of evil' - if God is both good, and powerful, why is there so much evil in the world? - is often seen as something which deters people from becoming Christians. Yet the person from a Christian family may have a greater struggle to come to terms with evil, pain and suffering than the non-believer or recent convert.

The new convert may well come from a background where the evil of the world is a given, having no explanation, and they've lived all their lives without much hope of ever being free from it. To discover God and all that he promises, to discover the gospel that confronts evil, is liberating. The world has not changed, but they have something to hold on to in the storm.

The person who has been brought up in a Christian home, sheltered from the worst of the world's evils and told constantly about the goodness and love of God is sometimes stunned by the reality of suffering and evil when it confronts them as adults. They are not prepared for the storm. They may be familiar with the various theological explanations offered for evil, but such explanations sound hollow against the pain they see around them. What sort of God would allow such things? Where is the God who answers prayer? The compassion fostered by their Christian upbringing ironically feeds their grief and doubt. They feel that as Christians they should be able to offer an explanation, yet they have nothing to say that doesn't sound trite.

I suspect that many of the atheists who throw up 'the problem of evil' as an argument against Christianity come from a Christian background. Certainly many people date their loss of faith to some tragic event in their own life or the lives of those close to them. By God's grace others, like Job, find that their experience eventually deepens their faith and brings them to a more personal understanding of God.

Reputations

Somewhere recently I read that little children have no reputation to earn, keep or lose. They are oblivious to the whole concept of reputation, and totally unconcerned about what others think of them. The author suggested that this was what Jesus meant when he said that if we want to enter the kingdom of heaven we must become like little children (Mk 10.15).

This lack of concern or even awareness of their own reputation is perhaps what also distinguishes "fools for Christ". Such people are free to do whatever God calls them to do because they have nothing to lose. It doesn't matter to them that others might think them foolish for acting or speaking as they do.

If little children have no concept of reputation, how does it develop? Why are most of us so concerned to protect our reputations? I suspect it comes from constantly hearing phrases such as "What will people think?", "You look very silly when you do that", "How do you expect to make friends if you behave that way" and so on.

Even if parents avoid using such phrases themselves, their children soon hear them elsewhere. They observe how older children and adults constantly assess, judge and condemn other people. "She really shouldn't wear those colours with hair like hers", "He's such a lazy so and so," "Have you seen the weeds in their garden?"

Children soon realise that they, too, are being assessed. Besides having to learn what is right and wrong, they discover another set of behaviours they have to learn; 'acceptable' and 'unacceptable'. Failure to comply leads to disapproval and exclusion from the group. And fear of exclusion is a basic human fear.

That is not to say that children shouldn't be taught to treat others with consideration and to behave in an acceptable and gracious way. No-one wants to raise a child who is obnoxiously inconsiderate. But might it be possible to teach good manners and consideration as an aspect of loving one another, rather than using the threat of exclusion?

It seems the majority of us grow up instead with a strong sense of the importance of keeping our reputation untarnished, and have an often-unrecognised but powerful fear of disapproval. How, then, do we move from there to being like little children, "God's fools"?

Do we need some re-training process? Anxious people can be taught to listen to their own thoughts and recognise when their fear of disapproval is becoming irrational. With the help of a therapist, they can learn to answer "Who cares!" when that inner voice says "What will people think?"

But my impression is that those who are fools for Christ don't need such therapy. They instinctively answer "Who cares!" Their grasp of what it means to be a child of God is so strong that they can't be moved by fear of exclusion and loneliness. They are so convinced that they are approved by God, so sure that there is no condemnation for those in Christ Jesus, that human approval is of no consequence to them.


This post is one of a series on what it means to be free in Christ:

Free in Christ - introduction

Choosing the right master

God's freedom and ours

Jesus and freedom

Going beyond personal freedom

Freed from the fear of death

Fools for Christ

Reputations

Jesus and freedom

One of the things that immediately stands out as one reads the gospel accounts of Jesus' life is how liberated he seems compared to other people.

Here is a man who is unfazed by the criticism and opposition of his enemies, the questioning and advice of his friends, or the social mores and taboos of his time. The things that so often keep us captive seemed to have no hold on him.

The Pharisees were highly respected, even feared, but Jesus tackles them head on. Rather than meekly answering their questions, he replies by questioning them. He is not afraid of their power to blacken his name, to question his authority, or even to have him arrested and killed.

Nor does he fear the censure , disappointment or disapproval of those closer to him. He can calmly walk away from his mother and brothers when they come to call him home. He calls his best friend "Satan" when he recognises where Peter's seemingly well-intentioned advice is coming from.

In a world where women and children were regarded as little better than beggars and lepers, he welcomes them all. It is difficult for us to comprehend how shocking Jesus' friendships with women must have seemed to the Pharisees, and even to his own disciples. (Look at the disciples' reaction when they find him talking with a women at the well of Sychar). What other rabbi not only welcomed women, but allowed them to sit at his feet with his disciples?

The Pharisees despised and feared women. They went to great lengths to avoid coming into contact with them in public. Women were polluting. Women provoked lustful thoughts that could drag a man away from the purity which they so carefully cultivated. Jesus appeared to be free from such fears. He was well aware of the sort of lusts and temptations that men faced. But he didn't live in fear of such lusts. He was free to relate to women as fellow human beings.

Jesus never backed away from his words in response to criticism. He never got deflected from his purposes. He was free from the sort of fears and anxieties that leave us feeling bound and confused. He treated all with respect, but was afraid of no-one. He was a completely free man.

Sometimes, of course, he was tired (Jn 4:6), exasperated (Mt 17:17), even distressed (Lk 12:50). He was not free from the normal trials of life. He was not free from temptation - far from it (Lk 4).

In the last days of his life he was physically bound and held captive. But even in the midst of his trial and execution, it was he, not his captors, who seemed most free. Pilate offered him freedom, and Jesus calmly reminded Pilate where his power to hold or free him really came from. At his crucifixion, Jesus freed his persecutors from the burden of guilt by forgiving them.

Even death could not rob Jesus of his liberty. "But God raised him from the dead, freeing him from the agony of death, because it was impossible for death to keep its hold on him." (Acts 2:24) The resurrection is the ultimate shattering of that which keeps us most bound - the fear of death.

We must be careful in what lessons we draw from Jesus' life. He was, after all, the Son of God, the second person of the Trinity. But he was also Son of Man, truly one of us, and surely we can learn much about what a human life is meant to look like by studying Jesus' life. If 'the Son shall set us free', we ought at least to consider how he modeled for us the sort of freedom he intended us to have.


This post is one of a series on what it means to be free in Christ:

Free in Christ - introduction

Choosing the right master

God's freedom and ours

Jesus and freedom

Going beyond personal freedom

Freed from the fear of death

Fools for Christ

Reputations