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.

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

Confident sinners

Here's a paradox - the longer we've been a Christian, the more we come to realise how sinful we really are. We discover that our antagonism towards God runs very deep.

Does this sound familiar? Before I turned to Christ, I sometimes felt guilty about specific things I'd done, but I didn't know what to do with the guilt. It was a joy to discover that because of Jesus' death on the cross, I'm forgiven and accepted by God.

For a while I was delighted to find that I was overcoming some of my unwanted bad habits. But then the Holy Spirit started to show me things that I'd never seen as sinful before. And worse than that, I sometimes found myself committing sins I thought I'd conquered years ago. I also realised that even the good things I do are often motivated by a need to gain another person's approval, or fear of criticism, or pride in my own skills. And what of the good things I could have done, but failed to do, out of laziness, fear or lack of love?

If you recognise this process, you'll know that at this point it becomes tempting to doubt that God could really love us. It was one thing to believe that God loved us when our sins were all out on the surface - deep down we knew that we were really quite decent people. But how could God love someone who is sinful to the core?

Eventually (by God's grace) we discover that doubting God's love is itself a sin. Perhaps the greatest sin of all. Isn't that what the story of Adam and Eve is all about? Satan, in the form of the serpent, persuaded the pair that God didn't really have their best interest at heart, that he was treating them unfairly, and keeping good things from them. So they chose to doubt God's love. They ignored his warning about what would happen if they tried to judge for themselves what was good and evil. And then, when they realised what they'd done, they shamefacedly hid from God rather than coming to him for forgiveness. They refused to confess, blaming each other, the serpent, even God himself. They didn't recognise God's anguished question, "What have you done?" as the cry of love. They heard it as a rebuke.

Over and over God's Word tells us that Jesus really did die for us "while we were yet sinners". Each new discovery of the depth of our sinfulness serves to grow our understanding of how much Jesus suffered for us on the cross. Instead of being weighed down by our discovery that we aren't just people who sin, but innately sinful, we find new freedom, thankfulness and joy. The more we understand how sinful we are, the more we come to appreciate just how much God loves us.

And then we meet another paradox - the more we recognise our ingrained tendency to sin, the more God can use us in his service. Because we no longer dare trust ourselves, we learn to depend on him. We know we can't overcome our sinfulness by our own efforts, but God's Spirit is working in us to make us more and more like Christ. It's this confidence in Christ, not self-confidence, that turns pew-warmers into witnesses and activists into prayerful, powerful servants of God.

A shorter version of this article originally appeared on "One Candle", my former website. It may be copied (without alteration) for non-commercial use, but please acknowledge its source.

After the storm

After forty days Noah opened a window he had made in the ark and sent out a raven, and it kept flying back and forth until the water had dried up from the earth. (Genesis 8:6)

When we’re in the middle of a crisis, all we want is for it to come to an end. Each day we look for signs that it might soon be over. We long for life to return to normal.

Once the crisis is over, many things do return to normal. We may live in the same place, work at the same job, be surrounded by the same people as before. But even if nothing else has changed, we ourselves are likely to have changed as a result of what we have been through.

We may also find that our relationship with God is different to what it once was. Though we were aware of his presence with us during the crisis, and still draw comfort and strength from him, our established rituals, habits and patterns of thought have been disrupted by our experience. What once seemed important may no longer seem to matter. What once seemed simple and clear cut may now seem more complex.

Some people find this confusing, even alarming. They fear that they may be losing their faith. Yet in fact their faith and trust in God is deeper than it was before they went through a crisis. If you find yourself in this situation, give yourself time to readjust, and allow God to speak to you in and through your new circumstances. Rather than struggling to go back to where you once were, be obedient where you are now, and allow God to lead you to where he wants you to be.

Chosen in Christ

You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last—and so that whatever you ask in my name the Father will give you. John 15:16 (NIV)

Image by Ged Carroll via Flickr

Jesus taught his disciples many things in the three years that he was with them. But when he spoke to them for the final time before his death, we can be sure that he didn’t waste words. What he told them over supper in that upstairs room was of utmost importance. And one of the things that he really wanted them to know was that they did not choose him, but he chose them.

Why was that? Three possible reasons come to mind. First, he wanted to ensure that the disciples would never become arrogant about their position. They would never come to believe that God owed them something for having dedicated their lives to him. They were disciples by his choice, not theirs.

Second, he wanted to avoid becoming a commodity or package, something the disciples would sell to others as ‘a good choice in life’. The person who is called by Christ does not make ‘a decision for Christ’ in order to get the spiritual goods. They are already chosen and can only humbly submit to him as Lord. The disciples were called to bear witness to Christ, not to sell Christianity.

Thirdly, he wanted to give the disciples reassurance in those times when they were tempted to believe that they were not committed enough, not dedicated enough, and therefore not acceptable to God. Peter was about to deny Jesus. Thomas would doubt him. All would abandon him. But that didn’t negate the bond between the disciples and Jesus, because he had chosen them. If it was by their own choice that they followed him, their failure could suggest that they had not been sincere enough in their decision. But if he had chosen them, they were secure. 

That is not to say that following Christ doesn't involve a striving to become a better disciple. But knowing that we are Christ's by his choice, not ours, sets us free from constantly questioning our level of commitment based on our performance. We will avoid the trap of frequently dissecting our past motivation while grimly trying to improve on the commitment we made last week, last month, last year. 

When we fall down, it is our reliance on Christ, not our resolution to follow him, that we need to review. "Even if I have to die with you, I will never disown you." is commitment. (Matthew 26:35) "Now, Lord, consider their threats and enable your servants to speak your word with great boldness." is reliance on Christ. (Acts 4:29) We are his, he has chosen us, and he is committed to seeing us bear lasting fruit.

The Lord will be my light

Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be my light. Micah 7.8

Dungeons are traditionally dark, windowless places. That's no accident. Except for those born blind, human beings find being in the dark for any length of time disturbing. We rely so much on our vision to make sense of the world. Keeping a prisoner in complete darkness is a sure way of torturing their mind and breaking their spirit.

Sometimes life itself seems to become a dark and dreary dungeon. We can't understand what is going on. Our personal lives are shadowed by illness, loss and loneliness. The world around us is dark with disasters, wars, cruelty, threats and human suffering.

This is as true for Christians as it is for anyone else. In fact it can seem worse for Christians. Where is God in the darkness around us? Why is he allowing us to suffer such confusion and disorientation? In those times we are likely to hear a voice whispering to us "God doesn't care! He can't help you. Are you sure he even exists?"

To recognise these whispers as the voice of an enemy, the enemy, rather than our own, is a great relief. To summon the courage to say "I don't know why this is happening, but I know that God is trustworthy and I will wait for him" is often the turning point in our troubles. It's like finding a candle suddenly shining in the darkness. The dungeon doesn't disappear, but we're no longer afraid of the dark.

The violence of the Old Testament - Part 2

(Thursday thesis)

This is the second part of a series on violence in the Bible, particularly the Old Testament. Part 1 can be found here. And yes, I know it's not Thursday, I'm posting this late.

Two options that don't work

Ignoring the violence of the Old Testament isn't an option for several reasons. First, it suggests that we’re afraid of what conclusions we might come to if we did face it. We’re afraid that our image of God and the way he works might have to be revised in ways that we’re not comfortable with. We’d rather stick with the censored Bible and the blurry image of God we’re familiar with.

But living in fear of discovering the truth isn't healthy, psychologically or spiritually. It puts us constantly on guard against anything that might disturb our carefully constructed version of truth. It means that our faith is not really placed solidly on the God of the Bible, but on an idol of our own construction. We’re creating our own cannon of books and passages that are acceptable to us.

If the God of the Bible really is a cruel and sadistic monster, as the New Atheists suggest, then we should be right to reject him as they do. But not bothering to find out whether it’s true or not seems bizarre. Hoping that it isn't true is not faith but wishful thinking.

Ignoring the violence of the Old Testament also ensures that we live in fear of other people questioning us about it. We’ll find ourselves unwilling to invite people to church or our Bible study group if we know that one of the ‘difficult’ passages from the Old Testament is going to be read. We’ll avoid suggesting that people read the Bible for themselves, or point them only to the New Testament. We’ll look embarrassed and give a half-hearted answer when we are questioned about difficult passages. Fear will kill our desire to evangelise, or lead us to offer a short and sweetened version of the gospel.

Ignoring the violence of parts of the Old Testament means that we’ll have no biblical way to understand the violence in the New Testament or in the world around us. The crucifixion will be a jarring aberration in an otherwise peaceful landscape. The final judgement scenes in Revelation will seem out of place. The lavender-scented version of the world that comes from our edited Bible won’t match up with a reality where war, brutality, rape, domestic violence, murder and a host of other evils are on display daily.

The violence of the Old Testament - part 1

A smiting God

The word 'smite' is seldom used today, yet everyone seems to know its meaning. The reason they know is that everyone is aware, whether they've read the Bible or not, that a lot of 'smiting' went on in the Old Testament. And often God was the one doing the smiting.

Tissot: the taking of Jericho

Recent translations of the Bible don't use the word smite. But the perception that the Old Testament is full of violence, much of it ordered or carried out by God himself, hasn't gone away. New Atheists such as Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchins have made much of it, painting a picture of God as a violent and sadistic monster, promoting genocide

But it's not just the ignorant and the New Atheists who are disturbed by the violence of parts of the Old Testament. Many Christians are disturbed by it too. For some, the violence is intolerable, more than they can stomach. Their solution has been to reject the Bible as a source of truth and walk away from their faith. I have been tempted to do this myself at times.

And surely we should be deeply concerned when we read of God ordering the Israelites to slaughter every living thing in a city, including women, children and even the animals (Deut 20:16-18, Jos 6:21). Or when Moses is outraged on God's behalf because the Israelites have spared the women and children of Midian. (Num 31:7-19). What sort of God tells parents to have their unruly son put to death? (Deut 21:18-21) or orders the stoning of adulterers? (Lev 20:10)

Who hasn't winced when such passages have been the reading for the day? What Bible study leader or preacher hasn't wished they could avoid such passages in their teaching of the Bible? Isn't the Old Testament giving us a picture of a God that would feel familiar to the Taliban? Haven't such passages been the justification for so much blood shed and war in the name of God over the centuries?

If you had been here - Martha's lament

Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (John 11:21)

The raising of Lazarus
by Duccio di Buoninsegna

Unless you are reading this story for the first time, you already know the outcome. Lazarus has died, and his sisters Mary and Martha have called for Jesus. When he eventually arrives, Jesus tells Martha that her brother Lazarus will rise again. Martha responds "I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day." After assuring Martha that he is the resurrection and the life, Jesus asks Martha if she believes that whoever believes in him will never die. Her answer? "I believe that you are the Messiah, the son of God".

So Martha's initial words "Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died" can simply be read as a statement of faith: "I know that you can heal the dying." After all, she goes on to add "I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask." (11.22) Martha expresses a faith in Jesus that is more than justified when Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead.

But let's look back at the situation before Jesus' arrival, from Martha's point of view. Her brother Lazarus becomes ill and is obviously dying. She and Mary are desperate - not only do they love Lazarus, but the prospects for two unmarried women with no male family support are grim.

They hear that Jesus is not far away and send a message "Lord, he whom you love is ill". They have been friends of Jesus for some time, they have lovingly ministered to him and believe that he cares about them. They have also seen and heard enough about what Jesus has done amongst the sick and dying to believe that he will surely be able to do something for Lazarus.

Doubting Thomas

Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”  
John 20:24-25 (English Standard Version)

I once thought of Thomas as someone with a sceptical outlook on life - a first century scientist who looked for evidence to support his hypotheses. I assumed he was like the many people I know who reject the Christian gospel because (they assume) there is not enough evidence to support it.

But these are people looking at Christianity from the outside. Thomas was not like that. He'd lived alongside Jesus for three years. He'd watched Jesus, listened to him, learned so much about him first hand. He'd been as committed to following Jesus as any of the disciples. When Jesus set out on his last journey to Jerusalem, it was Thomas who had urged them, "Let's go and die with him".

Detail from Carl Heinrich Bloch "Doubting Thomas"

Nor was Thomas like the Pharisees who wilfully disbelieved Jesus because he threatened their own position. As Jesus had predicted in his story of Dives and Lazarus, they would not believe even though someone were to return to them from the dead. (Luke 16:31) Thomas wasn't refusing to believe whatever evidence might be presented to him. He was adamant that he would only believe if he saw for himself, but later, having seen, he believed whole-heartedly.

Why did Thomas refuse to believe the words of ten men who were all well known to him? The other disciples had not believed the women who brought the news of the resurrection. "It seemed an idle tale to them", something the women, in their emotional turmoil, had dreamed up. The word of a woman was not admissible as evidence in a Jewish court, and no doubt the disciples had something of this attitude still with them even after spending three years with Jesus. But the word of two men had authority, and here were ten men all in agreement.

The disciples were no doubt so excited that they could hardly get the words out, as they told Thomas that they had seen the Lord. They must have told him, too, about Jesus showing them the wounds in his hands and side. Yet their collective enthusiasm and explanation didn't persuade him. Thomas insisted, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”

Other versions of this verse say "I will not believe". Either way, Thomas is quite emphatic. Nothing anyone can say will ever persuade him that Jesus has risen. Only seeing the evidence in front of him will make him change his mind.

It's difficult and risky to draw conclusions from the few sentences we have about Thomas. Yet there seems a definite movement in Thomas' attitude to Jesus in John's account, from the courageous commitment he showed on the road to Jerusalem, through the confused questioning in the upper room, to this determination not to believe without seeing for himself.

This willful doubting of Thomas is often taken as an example of arrogance or stubbornness towards Jesus. But could it be that Thomas' is guarding himself from further hurt and confusion? Is his refusal to believe perhaps a means of protecting himself from being disappointed and mistaken again, a case of 'once bitten, twice shy'?

It would seem, from his words in the upper room, "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" that his recent determination to follow Jesus to his death was based on a less than accurate understanding of what Jesus was going to do in Jerusalem. He thought he knew where Jesus was going and why, but somehow what Jesus said in that last conversation with his disciples rattled Thomas. There's a desperation, almost exasperation in his question "How can we know the way?"

Then came the furtive arrest, the mockery of a trial and Jesus brutal death. Thomas did not go to his death with Jesus after all, he fled with the other disciples. Like Peter with his broken promise to remain with Jesus, Thomas had more on his mind in those days after the crucifixion than just his grief at the loss of a good friend and teacher. He was surely struggling with guilt at his own act of betrayal, and a continuing sense of confusion and disappointment.

Detail from Rubens
 "The incredulity of St Thomas"

There are many people like Thomas. Once upon a time they were deeply committed Christians who sincerely thought that they would go to great lengths, even to death, for the Lord and the gospel. They were the Youth workers in their churches, the best students in theological college, the people everyone knew was destined for the mission field or a great preaching ministry. Then something happened that stopped them in their tracks. Perhaps it was a tragedy in their own lives or the life of someone close to them. Perhaps it was a bitter, destructive conflict in their church, or the moral failure of someone they looked up to as a model and mentor.

Suddenly the gospel they thought they understood no longer made sense, it didn't help them describe what was happening, it didn't cover their wounds. At that point they decided that the only way they would be able to go on believing would be to have evidence that the gospel was really true. In the past they had believed because of what they heard and read, but now other people's words are not enough. Now they need evidence from Jesus himself. In order to protect their shattered confidence, they will not believe unless they see.

Yet they also struggle with their own shame at having promised so much and then walked away. Their pride has to deal with the fact that they've spent years trying to convert others, and now they no longer believe themselves. They look back on their past enthusiasm with embarrassment. This only adds to their determination not to go this way again without strong evidence. The merely wounded might declare that they cannot believe, the shamed insist that they will not.

The risen Jesus deals with the failings of each of his disciples gently, graciously, personally. He doesn't issue a blanket pardon. In fact, he doesn't actually rebuke any of them for their abandonment of him. He takes Peter aside on the beach and by asking three times "Do you love me" allows Peter to undo each of his three denials of him. How, then, does he deal with Thomas?

It's strange, really, that Jesus appeared first to his disciples when Thomas was absent. He could surely have arranged things so that all eleven disciples were together. John's account makes it sound as though Thomas arrived not long after Jesus left. That raises the question, did Jesus actually intend for Thomas to be absent on that first occasion? And if so, why? And why wait eight days before appearing again with Thomas present? We're not told.

We can imagine what those eight days must have been like for Thomas, with the other disciples all insisting that they'd seen Jesus and all talking about what they had seen, what he had said, what they had felt, what it could mean. Like the odd man out on a jury deliberation, he must have felt some pressure to accept what they were saying. Yet he apparently continued to insist on withholding belief until he saw the evidence for himself. Did Jesus wait those eight days, hoping that Thomas would change his mind? Or did he have some other intention in waiting?

Caravaggio "The incredulity of Saint Thomas"

When Jesus did appear, dramatically through a locked door, he wasted no time in speaking to Thomas. And he knew exactly what Thomas had been demanding. “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.”  With Jesus standing in front of him, Thomas surely didn't need to put his fingers in the nail holes to believe, but Jesus meets the full demands of Thomas unbelief. He holds out his hands to him.

Written dialogue does not always convey the tone in which something is said, nor the expression on the face of the speaker, and John does not tell us how Jesus spoke these words to Thomas. Often the verse is read as a stern rebuke or a command "Do not doubt!" and the words are used to warn those whose faith is wavering that doubt is not acceptable to Jesus.

These words could just as easily be said gently, compassionately, perhaps even ironically. "Don't be doubting, but believe". The original Greek text could be literally translated "Don't become disbelieving". Jesus loved Thomas just as he loved each of his disciples. He understood Thomas better than Thomas understood himself. Jesus' living presence in the room was rebuke enough to someone who had been denying that possibility.

Again, we can ask why John recounts this episode about Thomas in his gospel. In Luke's account of Jesus appearing to his disciples, Thomas is not mentioned by name. Instead, Jesus says to all of his disciples "Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts?" (Luke 24:38) Then he shows them his hands and feet and invites them to touch him.

It is often said that this incident with Thomas is included by John to encourage those who have come to faith in Jesus through the witness of the apostles (directly, in John's day, or indirectly through scripture since then.) They may not have seen the risen Lord Jesus, but Jesus himself said that those who believe without seeing are 'blessed'. (John 20:29)

But if the emphasis is on  the blessing of believing without seeing, why not provide an example of someone who did believe solely on the word of the disciples. And why single out Thomas as the doubter, when John says none of the disciples believed the women's account, and when Luke makes clear that even with Jesus standing amongst them, some of the other disciples doubted? Jesus words in John 20:29 (“Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” ) could be inserted after Luke 24:40 and make perfect sense.

We might also ask what Jesus meant when he used the word 'blessed' for those who believe without seeing. Did he mean that they are commended or even rewarded by God for their faith? Or is their faith somehow a blessing in itself?

In that week of suspended belief Thomas was surrounded by friends who were no longer grieving but ecstatic in their joy at having seen Jesus alive. He must surely have longed to have their faith, to share their joy with them. And yet he's afraid to let go of that commitment never to believe unless he sees. The cost of being proved wrong and disappointed again seems just too great to bear. So while they're rejoicing, he's in a state of emotional turmoil and sadness. What if Jesus should never appear to his disciples again. He will have missed out forever on settling his doubts.

And now suppose he meets someone who has been told by the disciples about the resurrection and they have believed and are full of the excitement of a new convert. Wouldn't he describe their state as 'blessed' compared to his own?

But Jesus doesn't leave Thomas in his doubts. He comes to him. He gives him all the evidence he needs. And just in case he should later doubt that it happened, he comes to him while he's with others who can recall and confirm what took place and what was said.

It's worth noting three things in  this story. First, Thomas never stopped being a disciple.The other disciples did not exclude him because of his doubts. He was not numbered with the Pharisees who refused to believe for very different reasons. Second, Jesus is gracious to Thomas, and doesn't exclude him either. Instead he meets his need. But third, Jesus says those who believe without needing proof are far better off than those who will never believe without seeing.

The first two statements encourage us to be gentle towards those who struggle with doubt (including ourselves), and to continue to include them in our fellowship. The third precludes us from thinking that there is any merit in doubting, though we may have good reasons for having doubts. Waiting for proof is a risky path to take if proof comes only by a gift of grace.

(This is the second of an occasional series of articles on Biblical characters who experienced doubt. See also Jesus, are you the one? )

Jesus, are you the one?

Now when John heard in prison about the deeds of the Christ, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?”
And Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight and the lame walk, lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, and the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them. And blessed is the one who is not offended by me.”  Luke 7:2-6 (English Standard Version)

John the Baptist
 by Leonardo da Vinci

John the Baptist had staked his whole life on obeying God's call to be the forerunner, the herald, of the Messiah. He'd never shirked speaking the truth as God revealed it to him, whether to the despised local soldiers and tax collectors, or to the respectable and respected Pharisees, or to the powerful King Herod. He'd pointed repeatedly to Jesus as the coming Messiah, and humbly acknowledged his own inferior status. Now he sat in a dark, stinking cell in Herod's prison. It was unlikely that he'd ever leave that cell alive.

He could have followed his father into the temple service, an honorable and respectable occupation, with the opportunity to marry and have a family. Instead he'd gone off into the desert, living rough with only his disciples for company. While not making any claim himself that he was the expected Elijah, sent to call the people to repentance, he'd lived with the same fierce determination that Elijah had to do God's will and turn God's people back to him. He was a prophet like the prophets of old.

John the Baptist
by Guido Reni

Not long before his arrest, he'd met Jesus by the banks of the Jordan and recognised him as the one he'd been telling people about. Jesus had come to him and asked to be baptised. It must have been an awe-inspiring experience for John. What made him so certain, at that moment, that Jesus was the messiah? Did he receive some prompt from God? (John 1:32) He certainly appeared to be in no doubt that all that he had predicted about the one who was to come was fulfilled in this man Jesus.

Yet now, in the prison cell, he seems to have had a crisis of belief. He's heard rumours and reports about what Jesus is doing, but they don't seem to encourage him. He sends his disciples to Jesus to ask him "Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another?"

Not-so-simple questions about the Old Testament (Reading the Old Testament part 6)

Asking “who, what, when” questions can be very helpful in understanding the Old Testament. But what about the “difficult” passages – the ones you hope your unbelieving friends won’t read (but they inevitably do, and then want you to explain why you would want them to read such a barbaric, sexist, racist book.) I’m thinking of texts such as Deuteronomy 20:10-18, Numbers 5:11-31, Judges 19, etc

The usual response to such questions is to attempt to explain away the difficulties those passages pose by appealing to cultural differences, poor translation of the text and/or the overwhelming sovereignty of God. Although many commentators frustratingly gloss over the difficulties, there are lots of books on the market that valiantly tackle them.

Some explanations are helpful. Others border on being rationalisations, or seem barely more acceptable than the passages they seek to explain. Many are just as culturally bound to the author’s time as the original texts were to theirs.

I’d like to suggest a different approach, one that doesn’t attempt to squeeze the Old Testament into our own comfort zone.

First, we need to recognise that there is nothing new about finding parts of the Old Testament objectionable. The Gnostic Bishop Marcion in the second century was so appalled by the Old Testament that he produced his own version of the Bible which excluded it (along with large chunks of the New Testament.) He was condemned as a heretic for his views, but he still had an audience.

Augustine of Hippo, who lived in the 4th century, was brought up in a Christian family. But as a young adult he dismissed the Old Testament as crude and barbaric compared to the writings of people like Cicero and the Manicheans. He later became one of the greatest theologians, and came to terms with the Old Testament. So Christianity hasn’t fallen apart because of these difficult passages, despite generations of struggling with them.

Second, we need to recognise that the Bible often leaves us to draw our own conclusions about the “rightness or wrongness” of a story. The fact that something happens in the Bible without comment doesn’t mean that it is therefore approved as God’s will. It could just as well be an example of human depravity. Wisdom is required.

Third, and more importantly, we have to deal with Jesus’ attitude towards the Old Testament. Most of our ‘modern’ objections to the apparent sexism, racism etc of the Old Testament are actually based on Jesus’ own teaching about loving our enemies, and Jesus’ example of treating all people with compassion and respect for their dignity. It would be ironic if we rejected the Old Testament while using the teaching of the one who inspired its writers and who appealed to it so often.

I'm not suggesting that Jesus  openly commended the passages we find so difficult. He didn't quote them or even allude to them as far as I'm aware. He sometimes added his own teaching to the words of scripture: “You have heard it said…but I say to you…”

But nowhere did he condemn the scriptures (the Old Testament of our Bible), though he often condemned its misuse (Matthew 23:4). He said that he had not come to abolish the Law but to fulfill it. (Matthew 5:17) He told his disciples that the Law, the Prophets and the Psalms spoke about him (Luke 24:41). We don’t have a mandate from Jesus to dump the Old Testament.

To be honest, I don’t know what to make of this in terms of how we should read the 'difficult' texts. But it says to me that if Jesus could live with the Old Testament as it was written, not as we’d like it to be, we should also be willing to live with it, even if we can’t explain everything in it. Jesus lived with the brutality and sexism and discrimination of the world around him, not accepting it, but not running from it or destroying it. He offered the world a new way to live, then died to redeem that world. Is there perhaps a sense in which Jesus also ‘redeemed’ the Old Testament?

We are people of the New Testament. We live by Christ’s standards and understand the world through his teachings and those of his disciples. More importantly we have the Spirit of Christ within us, who strives to show us the mind of Christ. It’s easy to throw up our hands and say “this is too much, I can’t stomach this” when we come across something unpalatable in the Old Testament. (I know, I've done it often.) Perhaps where we struggle with the text we should simply bring it to him and be content to wait for understanding. Then let's go on reading.

This post is part 6 of a series on reading the Old Testament:

Reading the Old Testament part 7 - Is the Old Testament misogynistic?
Reading the Old Testament part 6 - Not-so-simple questions about the Old Testament
Reading the Old Testament part 5 - A simple set of questions to use when reading the Old Testament 
Reading the Old Testament part 4 - The Old Testament wasn't written in a day
Reading the Old Testament part 3 - Remember the Old Testament is old
Reading the Old Testament part 2 - Getting an overview
Reading the Old Testament part 1 - Know your history

The illusions of the disillusioned

(Monday musings)

Something I learned rather late in life is that healing and wholeness never take place until we accept the truth, no matter how painful or sad the truth may be. I've seen it in my own life, as I've struggled with accepting my own failings and limitations and the limitations of people who are important to me. And I've seen it proved true many times in the lives of those I've counselled. Whether the healing required is emotional, physical or spiritual, the first bitter medicine that has to be applied is always the truth.

Most of us prefer to live with our illusions. We want to believe that our emotions are always appropriate, our motives are always pure, our bodies are strong and are going to last forever, no matter how we treat them.
We want to believe that athletes never use drugs, that politician from 'our' side of politics never lie, that religious leaders never feel or gratify lust, that businesses never sell us faulty or dangerous products.
When our illusions about ourselves are shattered, we feel sadness, shame and anxiety. It may take us a while to accept the truth, deal with reality, and start to change. When our illusions about others are destroyed, we feel betrayed and angry. We are 'dis-illusioned.'

At the moment we live in a very dis-illusioned society. Every day seems to bring more news of fallen heroes, guilty gods and godesses. The question is whether we will accept the truth, and recognise that our illusions were doing us more harm than good. Will we accept that we had put people on pedestals that couldn't support them. Or will we simply lash out at whoever comes within reach, until our anger subsides and we find some new illusions, some new idols.

It's not that we shouldn't have high expectations of those who are in positions of influence or power. Those who betray the trust society places in them should be called to account. But that needs to be done in a calm, legally-sanctioned manner, by the appropriate people. As a society we need to be careful that we are punishing the crimes or misdemeanors of which the offenders are guilty, not raging against their failure to be the perfect people we wanted them to be.

The rest of us need to ask what it was about ourselves that made us put such faith in mere human beings. Why did we cling to our illusions for so long? And how are we feeding the illusions of others who put us on pedestals and ask us to be their role models, their heroes, their ideals? We all need a regular dose of truth, but will we take it?