One in the Crowd

The pattern of my 'quiet time' each morning is to read the scriptures aloud, even though I'm alone, just as I would if I were at the lectern in church.  I read the notes that I follow day by day - presently I'm using Scripture Union's 'Daily Bread' - and then move into prayer, prompted by the Word I've just read, by one or more of a sequence of topics from mission organisations, and by what is going on in the world, in my friends' lives and in my own.

Now, when I read in church, I try to vary my voice according to what I'm reading, adding pauses where I feel they are appropriate, so as to make the listening experience of others as effective as possible in conveying God's word into their hearts.  I'm no actor, but sometimes I find myself injecting emotion into the record of spoken words, as if I were saying them in the event, as it were.  I remember being so involved on one occasion that I completely forgot the liturgical doxology that I was supposed to say at the end of the reading, and simply returned to my seat with my eyes full of tears.

This week I've been reading from Matthew, chapter 26, in the run-up to Holy Week and Easter.  As I've said, I read the same at home as I do in church.  So this morning, as Jesus finally broke his silence before Caiaphas (v. 64), I spoke His words in a matter-of-fact tone, gradually increasing in intensity.  But when it came to the high priest's response and the ensuing assault and ridicule (vv. 65-68), these were delivered with a contempt and venom that quite scared me.

How is it, I wondered, that the emotion for these insults, that condemnation, comes forth so readily?  I concluded, in prayer, that it's simply human nature coming to the surface.  It's able to do so in the safe and controlled environment of my lounge, in a way that normally would be suppressed by our culture and surroundings.  Surely it is this that is the basis of what we term 'crowd mentality'.

I found myself thinking about my own behaviour in a crowd.  Suppose, for example, I had been in the streets of Aleppo, or Kiev, amongst a crowd of people of like mind to myself.  Would I have dared to speak out against those who sought violence?  Would I have said, "Come on, now, there's a better way of dealing with these demands."?  Or would I have joined in the shouting and the fighting, hitting out and throwing stones and Molotov cocktails along with everyone else?  I think I know the answer and, along with the emotions expressed in that reading this morning, . . . it scares me!

Father God, this week we commemorate Jesus' act of sacrifice that paid the price for the sins of each one of us.  Help me to bring my hatred and violence to the foot of the cross, and leave them there along with the rest of my sins. Give me strength, I pray, to stand up for the oppressed, and the hungry in our world, without resorting to force to express my feelings and get my point across.  Amen.

Where will it All End?

It happened that I was driving quite slowly in the outside lane, with nothing in the nearside lane.  I pulled over to see what was holding things up and discovered that, a short way ahead, was a small car trying to overtake something only marginally slower than itself.  At the time, I was listening to a sermon podcast in which the preacher  questioned how Joseph might have felt when the angel told him to get up in the night, pack up and flee to Egypt (Matt. 2:13).  As we know, he obediently did as he was bid, but did he wonder whether he’d bitten off more than he could chew?  He’d taken Mary as his wife, become the step-father of God’s Son and known the adulation of these rich foreigners ... but now the Child was under a death threat: a danger against which he was powerless!

I related what I was hearing to what I could see on the road in front of me.  Had the driver of the small car the same misgivings of Joseph?  Did he now wonder whether he’d bitten off more than he could chew?  Had he made a mistake when he estimated the speed of the vehicle he was trying to overtake?  Would he make it, or would he have to pull back in an admission of failure?

The preacher seemed to be leading towards Jesus’ own possible thoughts years later, as He faced the opposition of the Pharisees to His ministry, and suffered the declining experiences of betrayal and arrest, desertion by His friends and not one but three trials, before torture and a painful execution.  However, the sermon actually focussed on an apparent contradiction, when Jesus said to His disciples, “I have told you these things so that in me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.”  (John 16:33).  The speaker refrained from singing, as he quoted the Fred Astaire song, “There may be troubles ahead ...”

I recalled some wise words that had been given to me by my Rector many years ago, when I was going through one of life’s many distressing phases.  Basically his advice amounted to this.  “It may be tough for you at the moment, but one day you will look back on this time and, as a result of what you’re going through now, you will be able to help others as they suffer in the same way.”  Only weeks ago, I found myself in just such a situation.  I was able to share my experiences with a friend in need, and pray with him as he now trod the same path that I once had.  Those wise words had proved true for me.

A popular hymn begins, “I do not know what lies ahead, the way I cannot see; yet One stands near to be my guide, He’ll show the way to me.”  We do well to remember these thoughts when we pass through times of uncertainty; that our Lord guaranteed that, through His Holy Spirit, He would be with us always.

Where do you Belong?

Have you noticed how our American cousins tend to ‘complete the address’ when they refer to a place?  I confess I find it irritating to hear ‘Pittsburg, Pennsylvania’, or ‘Dallas, Texas’.  I mean, who doesn’t know where these places are?

Sometimes, of course, this suffix is often useful.  I questioned the need for ‘Paris, France’, until I learned that the USA has its own Parises in Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee and Texas; and even ‘London, England’ has a purpose, for it distinguishes our own capital from the Canadian city in Ontario.

Many years ago, when I started researching my family history, I wasn’t surprised to discover that in each register index there were pages and pages of Evanses, a large proportion of whom were Welsh.  I was reminded of apocryphal stories about Welsh communities where the majority of the population were either Jones or Evans.  Distinction was provided by the addition of their trade, such as ‘Jones the Milk’ or ‘Evans the Post’.

And this brings us to the question of what distinction is necessary - or appropriate - for us, whether in our own country, or even in our own town.  There is an obvious distinction to be drawn if we have cousins with the same name; we might refer to ‘Peter in Tunbridge’, for example, to avoid confusion with ‘Peter in Harrogate’.  Are you ever referred to as ‘Eileen the Christian’, or ‘William from St Paul’s’?  How would you feel if you were?

We are taught that we should be in the world but not of the world.  This is important, because our faith shouldn’t be something we keep to ourselves, like the light hidden under a bowl (Matthew 5:15).  Instead, we should put our faith to some form of practical use, for ‘faith without works is dead’ (James. 2:17).  Not that good works are necessary to create faith, but they ought to be a natural product of an effervescent faith that cannot rest without outward expression.

Consider the last week.  Can you think of something you did to help others or to bring comfort to someone, a public-spirited gesture or contribution to the life of your church?  Is your faith bubbling over to be expressed?  Does your ‘trade’ as a Christian merit the identifying tag?  Next time you hear someone from ‘across the pond’ speaking, just wait for the ‘full address’ construction, and remember its significance in your own life.

Mucking In and Out

My father was a farm worker all of his life, and I dare to say he was proud of the fact. Were he here now, he would say that a lifetime’s hard work was nothing to be ashamed of.  Part of that time was spent with horses, a time when muck was a daily part of his life, but for a few weeks every spring, horses or not, our home became perfumed by the all-pervasive smell of muck-spreading, for muck is (as the Oxford English Dictionary confirms by according it to the word as its first definition) ‘farmyard manure’.  

As well as its spreading, ‘muck’ provides other compounds too.  Every horse-owner knows the importance of mucking out: removing the ordure and refreshing the stable with new straw.  This was also a term that I heard in childhood, to refer to spring cleaning. From time to time – and not just in the spring – it’s a good idea to get into the farthest corners and remove the stubborn dirt and any accumulated rubbish.  This is a laudable task for, as George Herbert wrote in the seventeenth century, ‘Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws makes that [i.e. drudgery] and the action fine’ (from the hymn Teach me, my God and King, based on Herbert’s poem Elixir).

An expression not heard so much these days is ‘mucking in’, an expression of working, or facing adversity, together; helping one another meet a common need.  It’s a gesture we’ve seen on our TV newsreels in recent weeks as Somerset farmers have mucked in and helped each other save their animals from the floods.  The Israelites who rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem, faced by the taunts and conspiracies of Tobiah, Sanballat and their friends, worked together, some at the walls doing the actual rebuilding, some equipped with bows, spears and body-armour to defend them, and others carrying materials, weapons in hand (Nehemiah ch. 4).  They were mucking in so that their combined efforts would succeed.  St Paul also emphasised this ‘all-for-one-and-one-for-all’ attitude to community life in his letter to the Corinthians, where he compares the inter-dependence of the parts of the body to that of each member of the church (I Cor. ch. 12).  

Even in these mechanised days, to those either living or spending their leisure hours in the countryside, muck is still an inevitable aroma of spring.  As the year and its Lenten, or growing, season open up before us, let’s think of this word and its many meanings, as they remind us to remove the rubbish of the past from our lives; to join in with communal activities, and to spread God's love among all whom we meet in our daily lives.

Tuesdays

On a Sunday morning a while ago, I met two ladies who I guess were in their early seventies.  They were neatly dressed and I imagined that they might have been walking to church.  The snippet of their conversation that I caught as they passed me by has lingered in my mind.  “Now listen,” said one to the other, “ – while I think of it – you know on Tuesdays you go to …”  Intrude with me, if you will, into this private conversation, and consider my thoughts about it, phrase by phrase.

‘Now listen’ – the speaker had to say this to gain her friend’s heightened attention.  For each of them this was an opportunity to unload the week’s events.  But what the speaker was about to impart was important.  She wanted to make sure it would be remembered, over and above their usual weekly chatter.

‘While I think of it’ – Clearly there was much to share when these two met; maybe they only saw each other on that occasion each week, and each had much to share with the other.  Having remembered the need to make this particular announcement, she wanted to ensure it didn’t get overlooked: crowded out by other matters.

‘On Tuesdays’ – Both the need to specify the day in the first place, and the emphasis which the speaker placed on the word, gave me the impression that on other days, other events would also be regularly attended; their average week was quite full.

‘You go to’ – For all her age, the listener was known to be an active individual, not content to sit in and wait for the world to come to her, she was able, and even more important, willing, to go out and find the companionship of others, and join in activities with them.  

And what of the bit I missed – whatever was going to follow, some detail about the forthcoming Tuesday’s activity?  Maybe it had been cancelled.  The build up to it suggested that there would have been, at the very least, particular inconvenience or disappointment for the speaker’s friend if she were to discover this on Tuesday; better that she was forewarned.  

Those fourteen words had much to say.  Whether an accurate summary or not, the incidence prompts a parallel question in my mind.  What does God want to say to me today?  Amongst all my rambling thoughts, and all I read or listen to, is there something special that He wants me to know?  One way to find out is to examine His word in the Bible, and to study it in depth.  This analytical technique is one that we can apply to any verse of scripture.  Treat it like a chocolate orange: ‘tap it, unwrap it’, and indulge in the full richness of God’s word.

Growing Stronger on the Vine

It’s a widely-held belief in the advertising industry that the long Christmas and New Year break offers people a great opportunity to make plans for their summer holidays.  In my case this year, it was more productive than many.  Instead of leaving things until the last moment, I’m all fixed up for a – hopefully sunny – week in July.  My mission is to lay one more ghost of the past, by re-visiting somewhere I went to many years ago with my now ex-wife.  It was, in fact, quite an enjoyable time, marred only by the fact that I was there on business, and it was actually she who did all the sightseeing!

Whilst musing on this aspect, I recalled a week I’d spent a few years ago with a Quaker family in Lincolnshire.  This was a more significant ghost-busting expedition, since it was somewhere else that the two of us had visited, this time during a rather tense episode of our life together, and I benefited greatly from the relaxation of being there years later on my own.  I recall sitting at my breakfast one sunny morning, looking through the open door to a great vine growing in the conservatory. 

Had it stood erect, the plant must have been a good eight feet from the pot to the tip of the topmost shoot, though this was hard to judge since it was tied across the metal rods that supported the roof.  If it were not suspended like that, the vine wouldn’t have been nearly so luxuriant; it would have got no taller than a foot or so above the pot, and then toppled, before perhaps being trodden underfoot.  

I wonder whether our lives are sometimes paralleled by the growth of such vines, straggling unadventurously, scarcely moving from the security of a humdrum routine, so long as we rely on our own efforts for development.  How much greater we can be if we are supported, if we are lashed to something firm, like that vine was to those roof stays.

Jesus used a vine as an illustration of his teaching (see chapter 15 of St. John’s Gospel).  Sadly there is an unwritten rule within our culture that says we should be able to stand on our own two feet, do everything for ourselves, and live independent lives.  We feel it’s a sign of weakness to admit that we can’t cope, that we need help, support or guidance.  

It’s a most selfish attitude, of course.  By kidding ourselves that we can be independent, we are not only reducing our own efficiency, but we’re denying someone the privilege of helping, of being the hands or feet of God in a situation for which they are particularly suited, and maybe called.  

To finish I’ll pass on a wise saying that (I now admit) always bears repetition.  Next time you have even the slightest doubt about your ability to manage something – be it family or business, major or trivial – remember to “Let go, and let God!”

C is for ... Beautiful?

From time to time over the years, I have taken great pleasure in listening to a particular song on the radio.  Sung by a group called Beautiful South, I believe it is called ‘Don’t marry her’.  The song is a sad tale of unrequited love.  The singer sees the object of her affections well on the path to marrying someone with whom, she is sure, he will quickly find happiness turning into boredom and frustration.

As I listened to it again recently, I realised, in three alliterative words, why I like this song.  It’s charming. A well-defined melody is matched by clear diction and smooth tonal qualities.  It’s catchy.  It took me ages to learn the words of the chorus, and I still have to concentrate really hard if I want to sing along with the record.  And it’s that chorus which provides my third ‘C-word’: “The Sunday sun shines down on San Francisco bay / And you realise you can’t make it anyway. / You have to clean the car, take the kiddies to the park. / Don’t marry her – have me!” 

The words provide a clear-cut message, spelling out the ‘plot’ of the ballad.  This other woman will quickly force the young man into a strict routine, affording him no freedom to enjoy life as we presume he does at present.  But this clear-cut message has a sting in the tail, as the singer contrasts ‘marry’ – presumably a permanent state, and possibly a blessed one – with ‘have’ – a régime of taking the pleasures of the present with no thought for the long-term.

On that occasion, two pieces of Scripture came to mind as I meditated on those words, and I invite you to look them up at your leisure and see if you agree about their relevance.  The first is Proverbs 5:3-12.  There is a definite tendency in twenty-first century, ‘post-modern’ life, whether in the specific matter of marriage or in other ways too, to look after the present, without a care for tomorrow.  It seems appropriate at harvest time to comment about sowing and reaping, and the obvious relation between them with regard to our lifestyles.  If we pay no attention to the longer term, to preparing ourselves for the future by following disciplines that we learn are not only wise but God-given, then we have only ourselves to blame when things turn sour.

And, finally, least we should think that there is any possibility of half-measures: of offering a nod of partial adherence to the lessons we find in the Old Testament, while still going our own way most of the time, I offer the simple statement that came to me at the same time, and is to be found at Matthew 12:30.

Suffice to say that, being now older and hopefully wiser through realising the potential lesson of the words, next time I hear this song, I shall content myself with the enjoyment of the music!