If they were to examine my life day by day, week by week, some people might think I'm on the verge of suffering from OCD ... Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. If it's true, then I suggest 'enjoying' rather than 'suffering from' would be more appropriate. I prefer the description 'a creature of habit': habits that bring me a degree of mental or emotional comfort. One such habit is a preference - OK, obsession if you wish - for consistency in such things as document layout, which helps make me a good proof-reader. I realised the other day that it stretches to filing, too. I couldn't remember how I file a particular set of documents and, rather than reason it out logically, I looked back to see how I'd done it before and followed the existing pattern, right or wrong.
Looking back to former things might be all right for filing, but it's not always a good idea to preserve past ways. The policy of 'Grand-daddy did it' is not a good one in the changing climates of the 21st century and we can find Biblical precedents, too, where it has been condemned.
When they escaped from the oppression of living under Pharoah's rule in Egypt, the Israelites hadn't gone far before they discovered that this adventure of going to a Promised Land was not going to be an easy one. They had barely crossed the Red Sea when the grumbles began. They looked up and saw the Egyptian hordes close behind them. Exodus 14:10-12 describes their reaction. They would rather have stayed where they were than be slaughtered as they feared at that moment.
Once out in the desert, they needed food; God provided manna for them to collect every morning. They were told not to keep it overnight: there would be more tomorrow. But the habit of storing food was clearly a strong part of their psyche and one not easily given up. Some of them did keep the manna, only to find that it was smelly and full of maggots the next day (Exodus 16:20). The need for a daily collection quickly became the norm, however, ... until the day before the Sabbath. Moses explained that, on this day, they should collect for two days and save what was left at the end of the first (16:23). Some decided to follow the newly acquired 'daily' habit instead of listening to fresh instructions ... and had a wasted journey the next morning (16:27), to the exasperation of the Lord (16:28-29).
Then there was a need for water; the 'Grumble Council' was in action again (17:2-3). Seeking a divine response, Moses was told to strike a particular rock with his staff and they were provided with water (17:6). The book of Numbers relates a similar incident later on their travels. In that case, there were grumblings, not only about the lack of water, but also about the lovely food they'd had in Egypt that they couldn't get there in the desert (Numbers 20:3-5). This time, however, it was Moses himself who followed past habits instead of listening to instructions.
The Lord had told him to take his staff with him and speak to the rock (Numbers 20:8). Moses was exasperated with the people and gave them a good telling off, before acting. Then he resorted to past tactics (Exodus 17:6, also 7:20, when he had struck the water of the Nile with his staff and turned it to blood). Having spoken to the people, he struck the rock - twice - and the people got the water they needed. The Lord, however, was not pleased by this disobedience and punished Moses (Numbers 20:12).
Paul, too, had 'Grand-daddy did it' problems. He was constantly fighting to keep the infant churches he'd established properly on track in their new-found faith in Jesus. We can read one of the angriest passages in his letters in that sent to the Galatians: "You foolish Galatians!" he exclaimed, "Who has bewitched you?" We can almost hear him shout as he dictated (Gal. 3:1). The circumstances that led to this outburst aren't neatly encapsulated in a couple of verses but if you read the previous chapters you'll get the idea. Basically it's a question of relinquishing a slavish - and failing - adherence to the Law as the path to salvation, and accepting that Jesus' death was all that was necessary to meet the Law's demands.
The challenge that faced the Galatians is the same one that faces us today. Do we want to go back to the old ways, struggling to keep a set of rules? Put another way, are we seeking to fit Jesus into our old lives when we should be moulding our lives into Jesus' way, the Way of the Cross?
Friday, 1 May 2020
Wednesday, 15 April 2020
How did I get Here ... from There?
Harold Wilson, who was the UK's Prime Minister in the 60s and 70s, is reported as saying, "A week is a long time in politics." Whether Wilson or not, and whatever the original context, it's an aphorism that underlines just how much can happen or a situation develop during a relatively short time. In all our lives there are times when things are moving really fast; at such times we may snatch a breath and ask, 'How did I get here ... from there?'.
I recently found myself in just such a situation while reading a book whose plot moved so swiftly that I had to go back and read a couple of chapters again to see just how that happened. In real life, it might well be in the development of a new relationship, for example, but real life doesn't offer a replay, and we can only engage memory ... which could bring its own complications!
Right now, when we are in lock-down because of the spread of the coronavirus, time can be very heavy and the opportunity for reflection can cause us to look back. We might, for example review decades of happy family life, looking over the shoulder, as it were, of a loving spouse to the barren time before you met, and wonder, 'How did I get here ... from there?'. If you're retired, you might look back at your career and reflect how one job led to the next, or perhaps why you found yourself jumping from one situation to another so different. Maybe a great privilege you enjoyed contrasts to a very humble beginning and you think with some amazement, 'How did I get there ... from there?'
In Biblical times, one of the lowest ranking jobs in society was that of a shepherd. Their life tended to be nomadic, there for a few weeks and then gone without trace. To many, that made them unreliable. Then there was the job itself: out in all weathers, dealing with animals, the smell, the grime, deprived even of the meagre facilities that those primitive societies could offer. A shepherd was far from the town-dweller's first choice of social acquaintance!
And yet, many shepherds would perhaps be surprised to find themselves, thousands of years later, immortalised in the reading material of religious communities. 'How did they get here ... from there?' The prophet Amos, for example, was 'one of the shepherds of Tekoa' (Amos 1:1). He wasn't the son of a priest or prophet, hadn't had a scholastic upbringing; he was just a common shepherd. He lived in the time after Israel had split into two kingdoms and was sent by God to the 'other' kingdom (as if a schoolgirl were to be plucked from her Swedish home to address the United Nations!) with a message of condemnation and judgement that is still relevant today.
About three centuries earlier, David was sought out by the prophet Samuel who had been sent to anoint him. He wasn't even considered by his father important enough to be with the rest of the family to greet the prophet (1 Sam. 16:11). He was out looking after the sheep. And yet he is regarded as the greatest King of Israel. I wonder if he ever looked back to those boyhood days and asked 'How did I get here ... from there?'
And don't let's forget those shepherds 'looking after their flocks by night' who were the first to be told of the birth of the greatest Shepherd of all!
Last week would normally have been one of the busiest of the year in church circles but this year it has come, for many of us, in the midst of a time of extreme inactivity. If you're tempted - as I have been on many occasions - to look back over your life and wonder 'How did I get there?', spare a moment to consider what the human Jesus might have been thinking in the garden before his arrest (Luke 22:39-45). Then think of the Jesus who greeted Mary through her tears on that first Easter morning (John 20:15-16).
Somehow, however great the achievements or transitions of our lives, they pale into insignificance against the story our Saviour could tell!
I recently found myself in just such a situation while reading a book whose plot moved so swiftly that I had to go back and read a couple of chapters again to see just how that happened. In real life, it might well be in the development of a new relationship, for example, but real life doesn't offer a replay, and we can only engage memory ... which could bring its own complications!
Right now, when we are in lock-down because of the spread of the coronavirus, time can be very heavy and the opportunity for reflection can cause us to look back. We might, for example review decades of happy family life, looking over the shoulder, as it were, of a loving spouse to the barren time before you met, and wonder, 'How did I get here ... from there?'. If you're retired, you might look back at your career and reflect how one job led to the next, or perhaps why you found yourself jumping from one situation to another so different. Maybe a great privilege you enjoyed contrasts to a very humble beginning and you think with some amazement, 'How did I get there ... from there?'
In Biblical times, one of the lowest ranking jobs in society was that of a shepherd. Their life tended to be nomadic, there for a few weeks and then gone without trace. To many, that made them unreliable. Then there was the job itself: out in all weathers, dealing with animals, the smell, the grime, deprived even of the meagre facilities that those primitive societies could offer. A shepherd was far from the town-dweller's first choice of social acquaintance!
And yet, many shepherds would perhaps be surprised to find themselves, thousands of years later, immortalised in the reading material of religious communities. 'How did they get here ... from there?' The prophet Amos, for example, was 'one of the shepherds of Tekoa' (Amos 1:1). He wasn't the son of a priest or prophet, hadn't had a scholastic upbringing; he was just a common shepherd. He lived in the time after Israel had split into two kingdoms and was sent by God to the 'other' kingdom (as if a schoolgirl were to be plucked from her Swedish home to address the United Nations!) with a message of condemnation and judgement that is still relevant today.
About three centuries earlier, David was sought out by the prophet Samuel who had been sent to anoint him. He wasn't even considered by his father important enough to be with the rest of the family to greet the prophet (1 Sam. 16:11). He was out looking after the sheep. And yet he is regarded as the greatest King of Israel. I wonder if he ever looked back to those boyhood days and asked 'How did I get here ... from there?'
And don't let's forget those shepherds 'looking after their flocks by night' who were the first to be told of the birth of the greatest Shepherd of all!
Last week would normally have been one of the busiest of the year in church circles but this year it has come, for many of us, in the midst of a time of extreme inactivity. If you're tempted - as I have been on many occasions - to look back over your life and wonder 'How did I get there?', spare a moment to consider what the human Jesus might have been thinking in the garden before his arrest (Luke 22:39-45). Then think of the Jesus who greeted Mary through her tears on that first Easter morning (John 20:15-16).
Somehow, however great the achievements or transitions of our lives, they pale into insignificance against the story our Saviour could tell!
Wednesday, 1 April 2020
Mothers' Day and Beyond
How did you mark Mothers' Day this year? Almost certainly, your celebrations would have been different from normal. The corona-virus has meant that many people will have had to revise their plans, whether they were whatever had been the accepted norm for many years or arrangements made for something special this year. Much had to be changed or totally abandoned almost at the last minute.
My intentions differed little from any other Sunday, and have remained that way since my mother died sixteen years ago. But they, too, changed this year because there was no church service to attend. Instead, thanks to technology - and in common with many other congregations across the country - we were able to participate in a service that was live-streamed on the internet. I remember an occasion a few years before she died, when I collected my mother from her home and took her to church with me for the morning service.
That's a memory that leads me to remark about what the day is called. 'Mothers' Day' is a modern term that has undermined its original name, 'Mothering Sunday'. It seems to have had its origins in early-modern times when services would be held on the fourth Sunday of Lent (sometimes known as 'Refreshment' Sunday) for which people would return to the church where they were baptised, or perhaps attend a special service in the cathedral or 'mother church' of a diocese. This idea of the church caring like a mother for her members is wonderfully prefigured by Jesus in the days leading up to his arrest (Luke 13:34).
More recently, e.g. in the Victorian age, Mothering Sunday became an occasion when young adults who were 'in service' (i.e. household servants) were given a day off to visit their mother church. This custom was thus perhaps the only time of the year when whole families could gather together, unimpeded by the conflicting demands of work. As these elder children - some scarcely into teenage - walked through country lanes to their home villages (there was no other means of transport!), they would pick wild flowers to present to their mothers on arrival. So the practice grew up of giving flowers or other gifts on that day. What had started as a spiritual celebration of the mothering role of the church became re-focused on the earthly mother of the human family.
I have found it difficult in this last week or two to accept that the combination of my age and a long-standing medical condition requires me to relinquish my lifelong role of doing things, whether for myself or for other people. In its place comes a role of inactivity, bringing with it, as it does, the prospect of having to rely on others to do things for me.
As I see it, motherhood is a gradual transition of a similar kind, one that some mothers find difficult, others less so. It is interesting to notice from the gospels how the roles and relationship between Mary and Jesus changed over his lifetime: Luke 2:7 (baby); Luke 2:43-51 (teenager); Luke 8:20 (teacher) and John 19:26-27 (provider). It's good to be reminded in this topical way that Jesus has experienced all stages of our lives and therefore can understand all of our needs as we bring them to Him in our prayers.
My intentions differed little from any other Sunday, and have remained that way since my mother died sixteen years ago. But they, too, changed this year because there was no church service to attend. Instead, thanks to technology - and in common with many other congregations across the country - we were able to participate in a service that was live-streamed on the internet. I remember an occasion a few years before she died, when I collected my mother from her home and took her to church with me for the morning service.
That's a memory that leads me to remark about what the day is called. 'Mothers' Day' is a modern term that has undermined its original name, 'Mothering Sunday'. It seems to have had its origins in early-modern times when services would be held on the fourth Sunday of Lent (sometimes known as 'Refreshment' Sunday) for which people would return to the church where they were baptised, or perhaps attend a special service in the cathedral or 'mother church' of a diocese. This idea of the church caring like a mother for her members is wonderfully prefigured by Jesus in the days leading up to his arrest (Luke 13:34).
More recently, e.g. in the Victorian age, Mothering Sunday became an occasion when young adults who were 'in service' (i.e. household servants) were given a day off to visit their mother church. This custom was thus perhaps the only time of the year when whole families could gather together, unimpeded by the conflicting demands of work. As these elder children - some scarcely into teenage - walked through country lanes to their home villages (there was no other means of transport!), they would pick wild flowers to present to their mothers on arrival. So the practice grew up of giving flowers or other gifts on that day. What had started as a spiritual celebration of the mothering role of the church became re-focused on the earthly mother of the human family.
I have found it difficult in this last week or two to accept that the combination of my age and a long-standing medical condition requires me to relinquish my lifelong role of doing things, whether for myself or for other people. In its place comes a role of inactivity, bringing with it, as it does, the prospect of having to rely on others to do things for me.
As I see it, motherhood is a gradual transition of a similar kind, one that some mothers find difficult, others less so. It is interesting to notice from the gospels how the roles and relationship between Mary and Jesus changed over his lifetime: Luke 2:7 (baby); Luke 2:43-51 (teenager); Luke 8:20 (teacher) and John 19:26-27 (provider). It's good to be reminded in this topical way that Jesus has experienced all stages of our lives and therefore can understand all of our needs as we bring them to Him in our prayers.
Sunday, 15 March 2020
It's Spreading!
Just think how many times in an average week you spread something. Most likely it's butter on bread or toast before applying jam or marmalade, or some other tasty sandwich filling. A farmer in ages past would spread his seed 'broad-cast' from a basket strapped on his chest; nowadays there are great machines to do this for him.
Another spreading, less conscious, but more significant, is the spreading of disease. Our awareness of that has been heightened recently with the advent of the corona virus, and a short while ago, ebola. One of the ways adopted to stop the spread of either is to discourage people from touching each other. In most societies touch is so important ... to touch someone, offering a hand of friendship or support, or the shaking of hands in greeting, is to many second nature and so instinctive that to stop it is very difficult.
In church this is something we do quite often as part of our liturgy ... and maybe take for granted. It's known as 'sharing the peace'. For non-church-goers I should explain that this is a semi-formal occasion when we get up and greet one another with a handshake, or a hug, or whatever seems appropriate, in the name of God. It's also an opportunity for a quick apology, an enquiry about aches and pains or something more serious, or for a few words of catch-up with someone we haven't seen for a few weeks.
Someone pointed out in a recent conversation that, out of all the people she had greeted that morning, she knew the names of all but one, and could greet them personally. It niggled her that there was one person with whom she had so far had neither a conversation nor the opportunity to discover his name, and she resolved to correct this at the earliest opportunity. Our discussion moved on to the recognition that this 'semi-formal process' is - or can be, if looked at in the right way - an expression of our calling as people of God to spread His love to those around us.
One of the elements - indeed, the key element - of our Faith is Jesus' death and resurrection; on the night before He died He celebrated the Passover with his disciples and, after the meal, He prayed for them (a prayer that is summarised in chapter 17 of John's Gospel). "As You sent Me into the world," Jesus prayed, "I have sent them into the world. ... My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message." (John 17:18,20). Notice particularly those last few words.
Jesus sent His disciples into the world to spread far and wide the message of what he had taught them and of what He was about to do for the whole of mankind. The same love that sent Him to the Cross is ours to share with those around us. Earlier in His conversation with the disciples, Jesus had spoken of them being like the branches of a vine. He told them, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit." (John 15:5).
In our turn, we share that mission, too. It doesn't mean we all have to stand on street corners proclaiming to passers-by ... though some are called to do just that. Often it's the small things done to or for someone close that sow the seeds of that fruit in their hearts. In our prayers in church each week, and individually in our homes, we pray for many classes of people in need: victims of war; people burdened by guilt, filled with anxiety, sorrow or despair; those who are lonely or alone, whose homes have become a prison; people living with difficult or broken relationships, who don't know where to turn or what to do. All are victims, one way or another, of a lack of love. If we keep our eyes and ears open, keeping aware of the names and needs around us, we can spread God's love to them.
Matthew concluded his Gospel with words often referred to as 'the Great Commission': "Go and make disciples of all nations" (Matt:28:19). The most successful way to do this is by spreading God's love.
Another spreading, less conscious, but more significant, is the spreading of disease. Our awareness of that has been heightened recently with the advent of the corona virus, and a short while ago, ebola. One of the ways adopted to stop the spread of either is to discourage people from touching each other. In most societies touch is so important ... to touch someone, offering a hand of friendship or support, or the shaking of hands in greeting, is to many second nature and so instinctive that to stop it is very difficult.
In church this is something we do quite often as part of our liturgy ... and maybe take for granted. It's known as 'sharing the peace'. For non-church-goers I should explain that this is a semi-formal occasion when we get up and greet one another with a handshake, or a hug, or whatever seems appropriate, in the name of God. It's also an opportunity for a quick apology, an enquiry about aches and pains or something more serious, or for a few words of catch-up with someone we haven't seen for a few weeks.
Someone pointed out in a recent conversation that, out of all the people she had greeted that morning, she knew the names of all but one, and could greet them personally. It niggled her that there was one person with whom she had so far had neither a conversation nor the opportunity to discover his name, and she resolved to correct this at the earliest opportunity. Our discussion moved on to the recognition that this 'semi-formal process' is - or can be, if looked at in the right way - an expression of our calling as people of God to spread His love to those around us.
One of the elements - indeed, the key element - of our Faith is Jesus' death and resurrection; on the night before He died He celebrated the Passover with his disciples and, after the meal, He prayed for them (a prayer that is summarised in chapter 17 of John's Gospel). "As You sent Me into the world," Jesus prayed, "I have sent them into the world. ... My prayer is not for them alone. I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message." (John 17:18,20). Notice particularly those last few words.
Jesus sent His disciples into the world to spread far and wide the message of what he had taught them and of what He was about to do for the whole of mankind. The same love that sent Him to the Cross is ours to share with those around us. Earlier in His conversation with the disciples, Jesus had spoken of them being like the branches of a vine. He told them, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit." (John 15:5).
In our turn, we share that mission, too. It doesn't mean we all have to stand on street corners proclaiming to passers-by ... though some are called to do just that. Often it's the small things done to or for someone close that sow the seeds of that fruit in their hearts. In our prayers in church each week, and individually in our homes, we pray for many classes of people in need: victims of war; people burdened by guilt, filled with anxiety, sorrow or despair; those who are lonely or alone, whose homes have become a prison; people living with difficult or broken relationships, who don't know where to turn or what to do. All are victims, one way or another, of a lack of love. If we keep our eyes and ears open, keeping aware of the names and needs around us, we can spread God's love to them.
Matthew concluded his Gospel with words often referred to as 'the Great Commission': "Go and make disciples of all nations" (Matt:28:19). The most successful way to do this is by spreading God's love.
Sunday, 1 March 2020
I Told You So!
Confession, they say, is good for the soul. This post is therefore by way of being a dose of soul-medicine. It's far more personal than my usual offering, and I hope my readers will forgive that and bear with me as I begin with a fairly long explanatory narrative.
Every year about this time our church carries out a formal review of members' stewardship of their time and talents. It goes under a variety of names and formats, but essentially gives people the opportunity to confirm that they will continue doing what they are already doing within the church community, to say that they would prefer to step down, or to say that they would like to take on a new role.
Three years ago, I ticked a box indicating that I was willing to be part of an initiative to produce - or at least consider the introduction of - a parish magazine. I had no idea how demanding this would be of my time, nor who else - if anyone - would be interested. I found myself one of a committee of three, and over the next six months we drew up a proposal and a budget, sought and obtained the approval of the church council, compiled and produced our first copy. It thereafter appeared regularly, three times a year, until the end of last year.
Each of us had particular abilities and talents that we were able to contribute; we each live very busy lives with a number of other commitments and responsibilities and, occasionally, an issue had to be delayed, but never by more than a week. The lady who compiled the actual copy on her computer and pressed the button to send the final layout to the printer gave due warning that she would like to step down after the January edition and efforts were made to secure a replacement. When her personal circumstances suddenly became more demanding, and with a successor in the frame, she relinquished her duties more abruptly than had been foreseen ... before this latest edition had gone to press.
To cut a long story short, suffice it to say that the incomer soon found himself caught in a 'cross-fire' situation. Unfortunately, instead of telling all concerned of the difficulties he faced and inviting an alternative solution, he struggled on and only partially revealed the problems, with the result that I, and others, had been 'kept in the dark' and I consequently decided that my time as one of the editorial team should come to an end. When that 'commitment' form came round the other week, I ticked a different box!
The publication that has emerged was finally distributed last weekend and is completely different from those that preceded it. While, objectively, I have to say that there is nothing wrong with it per se, I felt quite bitter to see certain pieces, which I had prepared, worked on or discussed for one purpose, presented in a totally different context and appearance ... and, in one instance, significantly changed from how it was originally planned and envisaged.
Invited the other morning to comment about this new magazine, I sounded off in the vein of the preceding paragraphs. Instead of sympathy, my friend's response came in somewhat sharp tones, "We have to bear with one another in love, Brian" I recognised words from Paul's letter to the Ephesians (Eph.4:2), and the exchange set me thinking. It's only a few weeks since I read the book of Jonah and I now realise that I was heading into the same bind as he did. The climax of the story is at Jonah 3:10-4:1.
Jonah didn't want the people of Nineveh to be forgiven; he wanted them destroyed. He tried to avoid going there to preach God's message, fearful that they would turn from their ways and be forgiven ... which is exactly what happened. He had forgotten how God forgave him, and rescued him from the great fish, but he was angry when God forgave the Ninevites. Jonah just didn't understand the universality of God.
I was not only annoyed at seeing an end result that wasn't what I had aimed for but also angry that I had not been given the chance to help rescue the original publication: I felt shut out. But who am I to blame someone for doing his best and failing? And, after all, is my definition of failure the only one? Another verse from Paul's writings comes to mind. It's one that has stuck in my memory after seeing it in a TV western many years ago. Romans 12:19 reminds us just whose is the responsibility of blame and punishment: "'Vengeance is mine; I will repay,' says the Lord".
It's an object lesson for me - and others, too, perhaps - in anger management!
Every year about this time our church carries out a formal review of members' stewardship of their time and talents. It goes under a variety of names and formats, but essentially gives people the opportunity to confirm that they will continue doing what they are already doing within the church community, to say that they would prefer to step down, or to say that they would like to take on a new role.
Three years ago, I ticked a box indicating that I was willing to be part of an initiative to produce - or at least consider the introduction of - a parish magazine. I had no idea how demanding this would be of my time, nor who else - if anyone - would be interested. I found myself one of a committee of three, and over the next six months we drew up a proposal and a budget, sought and obtained the approval of the church council, compiled and produced our first copy. It thereafter appeared regularly, three times a year, until the end of last year.
Each of us had particular abilities and talents that we were able to contribute; we each live very busy lives with a number of other commitments and responsibilities and, occasionally, an issue had to be delayed, but never by more than a week. The lady who compiled the actual copy on her computer and pressed the button to send the final layout to the printer gave due warning that she would like to step down after the January edition and efforts were made to secure a replacement. When her personal circumstances suddenly became more demanding, and with a successor in the frame, she relinquished her duties more abruptly than had been foreseen ... before this latest edition had gone to press.
To cut a long story short, suffice it to say that the incomer soon found himself caught in a 'cross-fire' situation. Unfortunately, instead of telling all concerned of the difficulties he faced and inviting an alternative solution, he struggled on and only partially revealed the problems, with the result that I, and others, had been 'kept in the dark' and I consequently decided that my time as one of the editorial team should come to an end. When that 'commitment' form came round the other week, I ticked a different box!
The publication that has emerged was finally distributed last weekend and is completely different from those that preceded it. While, objectively, I have to say that there is nothing wrong with it per se, I felt quite bitter to see certain pieces, which I had prepared, worked on or discussed for one purpose, presented in a totally different context and appearance ... and, in one instance, significantly changed from how it was originally planned and envisaged.
Invited the other morning to comment about this new magazine, I sounded off in the vein of the preceding paragraphs. Instead of sympathy, my friend's response came in somewhat sharp tones, "We have to bear with one another in love, Brian" I recognised words from Paul's letter to the Ephesians (Eph.4:2), and the exchange set me thinking. It's only a few weeks since I read the book of Jonah and I now realise that I was heading into the same bind as he did. The climax of the story is at Jonah 3:10-4:1.
Jonah didn't want the people of Nineveh to be forgiven; he wanted them destroyed. He tried to avoid going there to preach God's message, fearful that they would turn from their ways and be forgiven ... which is exactly what happened. He had forgotten how God forgave him, and rescued him from the great fish, but he was angry when God forgave the Ninevites. Jonah just didn't understand the universality of God.
I was not only annoyed at seeing an end result that wasn't what I had aimed for but also angry that I had not been given the chance to help rescue the original publication: I felt shut out. But who am I to blame someone for doing his best and failing? And, after all, is my definition of failure the only one? Another verse from Paul's writings comes to mind. It's one that has stuck in my memory after seeing it in a TV western many years ago. Romans 12:19 reminds us just whose is the responsibility of blame and punishment: "'Vengeance is mine; I will repay,' says the Lord".
It's an object lesson for me - and others, too, perhaps - in anger management!
Saturday, 15 February 2020
Wash and Brush-up!
Last time I wrote about going through a door and shutting it behind you. Now I want to take my reader through just one particular door: one which is, by convention, almost always shut behind the entrant. This week I'm in the bathroom, a place where - with the possible exception of mothers of toddlers - one is usually alone.
I want to draw your attention to two common household items often found there. The first one is a mirror, the prime function of which is to reflect a near-perfect image of the one looking into it. The prime function of the second item, a sponge, is to soak something up, usually water or soap, hopefully in order later to discharge its contents in the course of washing a body. Unfortunately the second stage of this operation is not essential, as can sometimes be discovered on cleaning the bathroom, when a sponge might be found somewhere inconvenient in a cold and saturated condition!
I think it will be readily agreed that these two are opposites, in that one is hard while the other soft; the function of one is both instant and constant while that of the other is delayed and finite. They have one thing in common, however, in that they can teach us something about human relationships.
If, in your childhood, you read Revd. Charles Kingsley's book The Water Babies - or had it read to you - while you may have, like me, forgotten the plot completely, the names of two characters will surely come to mind: Mrs Do-as-you-would-be-done-by and Mrs Be-done-by-as-you-did. Considering the vocation of the author, it won't surprise you that these have a biblical foundation, to be found in Jesus' teaching on active goodness and mercy in Matthew 7:9-12.
My bathroom-based reminder focuses on just one tiny aspect of this very broad topic. Suppose you meet someone whom you know quite well, but not intimately. You might well greet them with, "Hello, how are you?" or, "How do you do?" To either of these an acceptable social response is to repeat the question, which achieves nothing for either party. Sometimes a brief answer is offered, such as "Fine, thanks" or "Not too bad.", which again convey very little, and often terminate the exchange. If you know the person a little better, you might enquire, "This is a pleasant surprise, what brings you here?" Here, now, is a direct question that demands an answer. The nature of that answer will depend on all manner of things, most of which will be determined by the circumstances, feelings, demeanour or other inclination of the one giving it. There might be a dismissive, "nothing special." or at the other extreme the enquiry might prompt a lengthy explanation that could, in turn, lead to expressions of sympathy or practical advice. You will probably notice how the shorter sentences are colder and crisp like a mirror, while the final lengthy example more closely resembles the sponge's absorbing and discharging properties.
The descriptions above are very much given from the point of view of the confident initiator of the exchange. Suppose though, you are - whether by nature, or as a result of particular circumstance - going into this encounter in a more timid or fragile condition. You might not want to enter into any conversation at that time, or with that particular person. You might not wish to appear impolite, so prepare one of the short crisp rebuffs and respond, breaking your journey as little as possible <acting like a mirror>. At the extreme, you might ignore the enquiry completely, not stop and say nothing at all <acting like a broken mirror!>. At the opposite end of the spectrum, you might be pleased with the encounter, feel that this is just the person to whom you could unburden your situation or problem and you're delighted that they have greeted you in a way that invites your, perhaps lengthy, explanation. <acting like a sponge> If you continue your unburdening beyond the point where the enquirer would dearly love to move on, then perhaps your attitude could be likened to the cold, saturated sponge on the bathroom floor!
Somewhere in the midst of these examples is another scenario. You're the more vulnerable of the two, but you draw up from the depths the courage and confidence to speak first. "Hello, how are you?", you ask, hoping - perhaps, based on your knowledge of the other person, expecting - that the answer will be, "Fine, thanks ... and you?", which gives you the 'in' to an unburdening.
In a short piece like this, I'm not seeking to assign 'right' or 'wrong' labels to any of these behaviours. I'm simply suggesting that there are many different ways of meeting friends and acquaintances, and that they may vary between the same two people from one time to another ... and that we all ponder, regarding both ourselves and those we meet, "am I a mirror or a sponge today?"
I want to draw your attention to two common household items often found there. The first one is a mirror, the prime function of which is to reflect a near-perfect image of the one looking into it. The prime function of the second item, a sponge, is to soak something up, usually water or soap, hopefully in order later to discharge its contents in the course of washing a body. Unfortunately the second stage of this operation is not essential, as can sometimes be discovered on cleaning the bathroom, when a sponge might be found somewhere inconvenient in a cold and saturated condition!
I think it will be readily agreed that these two are opposites, in that one is hard while the other soft; the function of one is both instant and constant while that of the other is delayed and finite. They have one thing in common, however, in that they can teach us something about human relationships.
If, in your childhood, you read Revd. Charles Kingsley's book The Water Babies - or had it read to you - while you may have, like me, forgotten the plot completely, the names of two characters will surely come to mind: Mrs Do-as-you-would-be-done-by and Mrs Be-done-by-as-you-did. Considering the vocation of the author, it won't surprise you that these have a biblical foundation, to be found in Jesus' teaching on active goodness and mercy in Matthew 7:9-12.
My bathroom-based reminder focuses on just one tiny aspect of this very broad topic. Suppose you meet someone whom you know quite well, but not intimately. You might well greet them with, "Hello, how are you?" or, "How do you do?" To either of these an acceptable social response is to repeat the question, which achieves nothing for either party. Sometimes a brief answer is offered, such as "Fine, thanks" or "Not too bad.", which again convey very little, and often terminate the exchange. If you know the person a little better, you might enquire, "This is a pleasant surprise, what brings you here?" Here, now, is a direct question that demands an answer. The nature of that answer will depend on all manner of things, most of which will be determined by the circumstances, feelings, demeanour or other inclination of the one giving it. There might be a dismissive, "nothing special." or at the other extreme the enquiry might prompt a lengthy explanation that could, in turn, lead to expressions of sympathy or practical advice. You will probably notice how the shorter sentences are colder and crisp like a mirror, while the final lengthy example more closely resembles the sponge's absorbing and discharging properties.
The descriptions above are very much given from the point of view of the confident initiator of the exchange. Suppose though, you are - whether by nature, or as a result of particular circumstance - going into this encounter in a more timid or fragile condition. You might not want to enter into any conversation at that time, or with that particular person. You might not wish to appear impolite, so prepare one of the short crisp rebuffs and respond, breaking your journey as little as possible <acting like a mirror>. At the extreme, you might ignore the enquiry completely, not stop and say nothing at all <acting like a broken mirror!>. At the opposite end of the spectrum, you might be pleased with the encounter, feel that this is just the person to whom you could unburden your situation or problem and you're delighted that they have greeted you in a way that invites your, perhaps lengthy, explanation. <acting like a sponge> If you continue your unburdening beyond the point where the enquirer would dearly love to move on, then perhaps your attitude could be likened to the cold, saturated sponge on the bathroom floor!
Somewhere in the midst of these examples is another scenario. You're the more vulnerable of the two, but you draw up from the depths the courage and confidence to speak first. "Hello, how are you?", you ask, hoping - perhaps, based on your knowledge of the other person, expecting - that the answer will be, "Fine, thanks ... and you?", which gives you the 'in' to an unburdening.
In a short piece like this, I'm not seeking to assign 'right' or 'wrong' labels to any of these behaviours. I'm simply suggesting that there are many different ways of meeting friends and acquaintances, and that they may vary between the same two people from one time to another ... and that we all ponder, regarding both ourselves and those we meet, "am I a mirror or a sponge today?"
Saturday, 1 February 2020
Behind Closed Doors
The aim of Gospel Around Us has always been to link faith to the common things of life and, in this post, I'm exploring links with something most of us do many times in a day ... never mind in the whole of life. How often do you go through a door and close it behind you? It may be when you pass from one room to another in your home, or at work; the door may have a self-closer, so it shuts automatically behind you. It might be to join others, or to be alone away from them; it could be that, at the end of a hard day, you pass through your front door, lean back on its strength and say, "Thank goodness that's over!"
'An Englishman's home is his castle', so it is said. It was established in common law in the seventeenth century and William Pitt (the elder) said in 1763, "The poorest man may, in his cottage, bid defiance to all the forces of the crown. It may be frail, its roof may shake, the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter, the rain may enter, but the King of England may not enter!" It's every young couple's dream, as they prepare for marriage, to have a home of their own, a front door that they can enter and lock behind them, secure from the rest of the world.
My attention was drawn recently to King David, and the Lord's promises related to him by Nathan the prophet, of which we can read in 2 Samuel ch. 7. Verse 10 has particular significance just now: "I will provide a place for my people Israel and will plant them so that they can have a home of their own and no longer be disturbed." In discussion at the time, we appreciated that this verse is held to support Israeli claims on the West Bank and justify their settlements there, in contravention of a UN Resolution.
There is another political, and even more topical relevance, as Brexit takes effect and potentially hardens the borders of our own country against the rest of the world. We also related the verse more generally to the security offered by 'a home of our own'.
Paul, writing to the Corinthians, spoke of 'less honourable or unpresentable parts', that were 'treated with special honour or modesty' (1 Cor. 12:22-23). Was he talking about anatomy or elements of our behaviour? Either way, there are certainly things we would only do in the secure privacy of our own home. I won't embarrass my reader by offering a list. In centuries past, monarchs would invite nobles to attend their 'levée', or dressing. This started in France and Louis XIV raised it to a ceremonial level. It spread to England under Charles II, and thence to America, but had all but died out by the end of the eighteenth century.
You'll be glad to learn I'm not advocating the revival of the levée, but I wonder whether we might guard too carefully the secure nature of our homes. I recall a time in my accounting career when I had been accorded the privilege of an office of my own on the first floor. Not only did my position bring responsibility for a room full of people on the ground floor of the same building, but also for similar offices in two other towns. I found the isolation of my own office very counter-productive and it was easier to control the two outlying offices by driving there and working on the side of someone else's desk than it was the people at my 'home base'.
Perhaps there are times when we should think 'outside the box', as it were, both as individuals and as a nation. By valuing too highly the privacy of home, are we overlooking the potential benefits of having visitors? Instead of holding meetings in a public hall or across the table at the pub, should we consider inviting the participants to our lounge? I realise that for some of us, by virtue of our domestic situation, this would be impossible, but for others, it might prove beneficial. At a national level, have we forgotten the humanitarian kudos we earned in 1939 with Kindertransport? Should we be opening our borders to more refugees, rather than 'battening down the hatches'?
Are security and isolation two opposing sides of the same coin? Can we be paying too high a social price for our security?
'An Englishman's home is his castle', so it is said. It was established in common law in the seventeenth century and William Pitt (the elder) said in 1763, "The poorest man may, in his cottage, bid defiance to all the forces of the crown. It may be frail, its roof may shake, the wind may blow through it; the storm may enter, the rain may enter, but the King of England may not enter!" It's every young couple's dream, as they prepare for marriage, to have a home of their own, a front door that they can enter and lock behind them, secure from the rest of the world.
My attention was drawn recently to King David, and the Lord's promises related to him by Nathan the prophet, of which we can read in 2 Samuel ch. 7. Verse 10 has particular significance just now: "I will provide a place for my people Israel and will plant them so that they can have a home of their own and no longer be disturbed." In discussion at the time, we appreciated that this verse is held to support Israeli claims on the West Bank and justify their settlements there, in contravention of a UN Resolution.
There is another political, and even more topical relevance, as Brexit takes effect and potentially hardens the borders of our own country against the rest of the world. We also related the verse more generally to the security offered by 'a home of our own'.
Paul, writing to the Corinthians, spoke of 'less honourable or unpresentable parts', that were 'treated with special honour or modesty' (1 Cor. 12:22-23). Was he talking about anatomy or elements of our behaviour? Either way, there are certainly things we would only do in the secure privacy of our own home. I won't embarrass my reader by offering a list. In centuries past, monarchs would invite nobles to attend their 'levée', or dressing. This started in France and Louis XIV raised it to a ceremonial level. It spread to England under Charles II, and thence to America, but had all but died out by the end of the eighteenth century.
You'll be glad to learn I'm not advocating the revival of the levée, but I wonder whether we might guard too carefully the secure nature of our homes. I recall a time in my accounting career when I had been accorded the privilege of an office of my own on the first floor. Not only did my position bring responsibility for a room full of people on the ground floor of the same building, but also for similar offices in two other towns. I found the isolation of my own office very counter-productive and it was easier to control the two outlying offices by driving there and working on the side of someone else's desk than it was the people at my 'home base'.
Perhaps there are times when we should think 'outside the box', as it were, both as individuals and as a nation. By valuing too highly the privacy of home, are we overlooking the potential benefits of having visitors? Instead of holding meetings in a public hall or across the table at the pub, should we consider inviting the participants to our lounge? I realise that for some of us, by virtue of our domestic situation, this would be impossible, but for others, it might prove beneficial. At a national level, have we forgotten the humanitarian kudos we earned in 1939 with Kindertransport? Should we be opening our borders to more refugees, rather than 'battening down the hatches'?
Are security and isolation two opposing sides of the same coin? Can we be paying too high a social price for our security?
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