In Every Part

Spiders.  They're like Marmite: you either love 'em or hate 'em.  I make no excuse, I fall into the latter camp.  My cousin is pretty much of the same opinion, and recently put me on to the idea of the ultrasonic pest repellent.  It's wonderful.  You plug it into an electric socket and it emits a constant sound - beyond our hearing range - that 'encourages' the little creatures to move out.  The device comes in multiple packs, not just to sell more of them (although obviously this is also true), but so that you can spread them around your home and avoid protecting one room at the expense of others.

My regular Bible reading led me the other week to Mark 4:3-8, the parable of the soils, sometimes known as the parable of the sower.  It's followed by Jesus' explanation to his disciples just what he was getting at, how the reaction to his Good News differed from one person to another, depending on their circumstances.  One commentary I read led me to an understanding of that parable that hadn't occurred to me before.  

We usually think of those four types of soil as referring to different people; it could apply to different phases through which our life passes, perhaps as our faith develops and we become stronger to overcome other demands on our lives and attentions.  It might also apply to different areas of our lives.  We might, for example, let God guide us as regards our future, or how we behave towards our parents or children, but at the same time be totally closed to ideas of caring for His planet by recycling our waste, or for the poor or disadvantaged people on the other side of the world - or of our own town - by giving to charities that are active in those fields.

One of my weekly habits is to listen to a radio programme, 'Beverley's World of Music'.  It's presenter, Beverley Humphreys, will sometimes follow a piece of music with the comment, "I love those words ..." and she then reads the words of the song we've just heard.  Often I find - and perhaps you do, too - that I've listened to the music and enjoyed it, but haven't registered just what the words say.  The spoken repetition certainly contributes greatly to the overall appreciation of the piece.

When I read that commentary about soils and people, I immediately recalled the first line of a hymn I'd sung long ago, Horatius Bonar's "Fill thou my life, O Lord my God" ... but couldn't remember what came next, so I looked it up.  It's worth applying the 'Humphreys technique' to that hymn, as I did that morning.  It is, in effect, a prayer for an all-pervasive faith: "I ask ... for a life made up of praise in every part", "Let all my being speak of thee and of thy love, O Lord" "So shall ... all my life ... be fellowship with Thee."

Have you, like me, got lots of spiritual spiders that need to be 'encouraged away'?

Trimming our Relationship

Have you noticed how even the most familiar people seen out of their usual context can seem total strangers?  I once met my hairdresser in the supermarket and just couldn't place where I'd seen her before.  I now patronise a different establishment and, when the lock-down is finally relaxed, I shall return there.  But one thing is common to all hairdressers, I believe.  The conversation is usually limited to 'Do you have a busy day lined up?' or something very similar.

One reason for my change was the fact that my previous hairdresser was leaving to have a baby; realising that that might be the last time I saw her, I wanted to express my appreciation for her services.  The conversation went something like this.  Me: 'You're so quick!'  HD: 'It's just practice; I've been doing this for nine years.'  Me: 'You know exactly what to grasp, where to cut.'  HD: 'Well, I know your hair ... I've cut it lots of times.'

Recalling this brief conversation now, I suspect that these four expressions: speed, practice, ability and familiarity, reflect our Creator's relationship with us.  I also remember a friend who spoke of her hairdresser as, 'the kind of best friend whom you can trust implicitly to tell you if you look rubbish'.  While not my experience, that seems to endorse this comparison.

Take practice for a start. God has had an eternity of practice dealing with other people just like us.  From creation, through Old Testament and New Testament times, through hundreds of generations, among millions of individuals down the centuries isn't it highly likely that there have been several like each one of us?  Even if our composite individuality has never been precisely replicated, God has seen - and heard the prayers of - many thousands of people who have experienced each separate circumstance we find ourselves in, every challenge we've faced, every difficulty met, every hill climbed.

As the psalmist reminds us, God is familiar with us.  He has "knit me together in my mother's womb ... my frame was not hidden from (Him) when I was made in the secret place ... (His) eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in (His) book before one of them came to be." (Psalm 139:13-16).  There is no aspect of us, no behavioural trait with origins lying deep in our growing-up, of which He is unaware and therefore no part of us that He can't deal with.  In the light of my opening analogy, Matthew 10:30 is even more amazing: "... even the very hairs of your head are all numbered."

I admired the way my hairdresser knew where to aim her scissors to achieve the desired effect; the multi-faceted nature of God's love simply embraces us to provide just what is needed in every part of our bodies and our lives.  Paul writes, "In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am convinced that ... (nothing) ... in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:37-39).  How fantastic to think that we are inseparable from the God who loves us.

And when the need is great, God is not slow to act.  After the temple in Jerusalem had been repaired and the service of God was restored, "Hezekiah and all the people rejoiced at what God had brought about for his people, because it was done so quickly." (2 Chron. 29:36).

About 250 years later, following the return from exile in Babylon, Nehemiah asked the Persian ruler for permission to return to Jerusalem in order to rebuild the walls of the city.  Nehemiah reports his conversation, "The king said to me, 'What is it you want?'  Then I prayed to the God of heaven, and I answered the king ..." (Neh.2:4).  Nehemiah thought nothing of praying in the split second before he opened his mouth to reply to the king's invitation, and many other instances of spontaneous prayer are recorded throughout this short book.

Living as we do in the midst of God's great love, we need to realise that nothing is too difficult, too embarrassing or too mundane for us to bring to Him in prayer.  If it's a matter of urgency, the answer can come surprisingly quickly.  Think for a moment of someone you love.  If they were in need or in danger, wouldn't you drop everything and run to their aid?  It's ironic that the speed of answered prayer should amaze us.

Sweet-smelling Lock-down?

As the bard put it, four-and-a-quarter centuries ago, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet." (Romeo & Juliet 2, ii).  I've heard many different terms used to describe these present circumstances: lock-down, quarantine, confinement ... even captivity.  And I suppose there are similarities between the lock-down and imprisonment.  It's a time of restriction, after all; we're restricted as to what we can do, where we can go, who we can see.  We're even allowed out for exercise, although the limits are more generous than simply saying 'hello' to the sun and walking endless circuits of a small courtyard.

So far as I was concerned, one of the earliest differences between lock-down and imprisonment was the need to find my own food.  It was a challenge that commanded an unfair slice of my attention during the first couple of weeks, until an arrangement had been made for a friend to do a weekly shop for me.  It was the first of many examples of carrying out as much as possible of normal life, but in a different way.  Instead of a leisurely stroll, or a tightly-programmed family car-ride to church on a Sunday morning, we can now lounge in our pyjamas in front of the computer screen and perhaps exercise some last-minute choice whose service to 'join in' with today.  If we're late, we can catch up with the whole thing on replay whenever it suits.

Many of us will have had the privilege (?!) of being able to work from home.  This will have taken on many guises, of course.  For some people it could simply mean spending five days a week doing something that had already been the norm on some days anyway.  Others would have found it a new and perhaps challenging experience, with the need to become instantly proficient with hitherto unseen software.  While money, in the sense of financial transaction, has played its usual all-embracing part in our lives, the means of using it will have changed, to the almost complete exclusion of cash as a means of payment.  I'm sure I'm not alone in saying that I still have the same physical coins in my purse, and notes in my wallet, that were there on March 23rd.

In these many ways, and more, we are growing used to a new way of living.  And when, one by one, the restrictions are lifted, a further adjustment will have to be made as we return to the former ways.  More likely, we'll find that life in the future will not be precisely as it was pre-Covid but will have taken on yet another 'new normal' form that will, it its own turn, need getting used to.

I've been wondering how the Israelites felt at the beginning and end of those forty years of wandering in the desert.  Exodus records how, at the beginning, there were many voices of protest that, in essence, 'we never suffered like this in Egypt'.  But, when Joshua finally led the people over the Jordan, the new freedoms brought their own problems.  What had become a familiar way of living in the desert had to give way to another new life pattern in the Promised Land.  It was all very strange for them, with other tribes to conquer, rival religions to extinguish ... or in many cases embrace, to the anger of God!  

Whatever coming out of lock-down might mean for us as individuals, it will all be very strange after so long a time of restriction.  As the conditions that imprison us are removed, one thing is important.  We can depend on the continuing presence of the Lord as we return to the wider world.  He has promised to be with us, as the psalmist reminds us, "When hard pressed, I cried to the Lord; he brought me into a spacious place. The Lord is with me; I will not be afraid. What can mere mortals do to me?" (Psalm 118:5-6).

How Forgiven is Forgiven?

In this present crisis and our lock-down situation, I'm sure I'm not the only one who has turned to history to occupy my time.  Like many, I'm addicted to the past and have many books on my shelves that wouldn't look out of place in the history section of a school library.  That said, my particular brand of history isn't taught in school ... at least, it wasn't when I was there, although I've a suspicion that things may have changed a little now.

I'm talking about family history.  It began long ago when I made a list of all my father's brothers and sisters and asked questions about them.  I've now built up a database of over 5,000 names, and it's still increasing.  Of course, it's not just my direct ancestors; there are their descendants, all of whom are various degrees of cousin, but also their spouses, parents, and all sorts, many of whom are not strictly my relatives at all, but lines I've followed up because they look interesting.

For what distinguishes family history from simple genealogy (a list of fathers' names, like in Matthew chapter 1) is the background stories.  One source of this additional detail is the wills they left and, with a little guidance, it's quite possible - and extremely interesting - to read these strange documents.  What was hidden, as if in a foreign language, can be revealed and understood.

To find such documents, one must search an archive; until recently, the only way was by personal visit but, with more and more being available on line, that is so much easier now and at less cost.  So long as the archive fulfils its purpose, history is not lost.  But if there's a tragic fire - during a war, for example - then not only the documents, but the historic detail they contain, is lost forever.

I recall some while ago suffering just such a loss at home.  I wanted to trace the name of a shop in Bristol that I'd been to a few years earlier.  I knew I should find it in my financial archives on the computer.  Panic!  Somehow  I must have checked a wrong box in the archiving process, and the file for that year just wasn't readable: the filename was there, but it had no volume, no contents.  That block of data was completely erased!  But then common sense began to assert itself.  I asked myself, what actually was the extent of that loss?  The transactions in that archive were no longer live; the cost has long since been borne, the debts paid; the records, if there, would be no more than history.

Now, I can hear you asking, what has all this to do with my usual Christian message?  Have the isolation and my twin obsessions with family history and money finally nudged my mind out of kilter?  Not at all.  Just take a look at Isaiah 44:21-22 ... aren't these the words of a devoted father, pining over his child sulking in the corner because he can't bring himself to face up to some dreadful misdeed?  Isn't this the way he looks at us through the lens of Jesus' death and resurrection?

But This is How We've Always Done it!

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?

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!

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.