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