Water, Water ...

How have you coped with the extremely high temperatures this last week or so?   It was nice to have sunshine during much of the lock-down period, but many of my friends have opined that the last few days have been a bit too hot, and for longer than they would have liked.  My mind went back to the songs of a former age and I thought, "The green, green grass of home" ... is turning white!  By the time the inevitable storms came, some no doubt were ready to run out into the torrents to celebrate, but I was happy to stand at the open window and inhale the wonderful fresh smell of the rain, glad that the day ahead would be more bearable.

Water is indispensable to life, of course.  If you've read the excellent historical novel, Cat and Mouse by Tim Vicary, you'll know that it contains vivid descriptions of a suffragette on hunger strike, who decided to stop drinking to add to her protest.  Aching limbs, headaches and spots before the eyes featured in the experience described and the woman was warned that, should she carry on this way, death would shortly follow.

John's gospel tells of an encounter between Jesus and a woman beside a well.  There's no question of this woman being in such a dire condition.  No doubt it was her daily habit to collect water at the well and she probably had good reasons for choosing to come in the heat of the day despite the exertion required to carry the water back home.  Her visit on that day, however, was far more productive than she had expected.  Jesus challenged the cultural differences between them by asking for a drink.  His next comment completely threw her as he offered her 'living water', in contrast to the water she gave him that she had just drawn.

He pointed out that, after drinking the water from the well, people would in time be thirsty again; what he offered was what Isaiah had spoken about centuries earlier: "I [i.e. God] will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground; I will pour out my Spirit on your offspring, and my blessing on your descendants." (Isa. 44:3).

What Jesus described as "a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (John 4:13) was nothing less than God's Holy Spirit, which Paul later described as a 'down payment' (the 'earnest' or 'guarantee') of the eternal life that is ours when we believe (Ephesians 1:14).

Next time you think, 'I could do with a drink,' ask yourself if you are also in need of Living Water.

Knowing Me, Knowing You ...

Many years ago, there was a TV game show called 'Mr & Mrs'.  Couples competed against each other to show how well husband knew wife and vice versa.  Each couple in their turn would be divided, one going to a sound-proof booth while the other faced questions about how their partner would react to specific comments or situations.  The 'silenced one' would then be released and asked the same questions, with the number of questions that got the same answer from each partner determining that couple's score.

A few days ago, I did something foolish and told myself off under my breath, using words that my father would have used had he caught me in that situation.  It wasn't a phrase that I would normally use and I started reminiscing about our respective vocabularies. (And that, incidentally, is a word he would never have used: he would probably have said 'the way we speak'.)  Each of us has our own vocabulary, assembled from what we hear or read day by day as we grow in age and experience.  I recognise words that my father would or would not have said because he was part of my life every day for more than twenty years.

These two examples illustrate the profound link between love and knowledge (that's knowing in the sense of intimate awareness).  A winning couple in the game would have shown the deep understanding of each other that could only come from true love; the fact that I still recall my father's words over thirty years after his death is an indication of how special he was to me in his life and still is today.

I invite you to look with me at Psalm 139.  It tells of a knowledge that is beyond our understanding (v.6) and a presence that is greater in its compass that is barely matched by the most modern of technologies (v.7 ff).  This is explained by a depth of intimacy far exceeding that of a human parent (v.13-16) and gives rise to the loyalty that matches the fiercest that we could expect within human families (v.19-22).  How do we react to such love?  Surely all we can do is to seek our own improvement (v.23-24), seek to know Him more and nestle into our heavenly Father's warm embrace.

These verses show the depth and intensity of God's love for us, the greatest expression of which was the gift of Jesus.  The significance of that gift is, for me, summed up by the words of Stuart Townend's hymn, How deep the Father's love for us, which you can hear here.  

It never cease to amazed me how the Psalms, though written thousands of years ago and couched in ways of life and cultures now long gone, reflect situations and relationships that are just as relevant to our lives in the twenty-first century.  

Which is your favourite Psalm?  

Hardcore!

What are you reading for pleasure?  Perhaps your taste is monochromatic, you only read one type of fiction, or perhaps no fiction at all.  Maybe your bookshelves boast a technicolor of literary delights.  In recent months, I've been working my way through the medieval mysteries of Ellis Peters' monk-cum-detective Cadfael.  I'm making that delight last longer by alternating these with anything else that takes my fancy among the many unread volumes I've collected down the years.

An interesting contrast has emerged.  Quite apart from the disciplines and ritual of the abbey, there is about Cadfael an unspoken and yet clearly understood spiritual dimension that is often - whether by accident or design - missing from the characters in other books, be they real or fictional.  I believe this is a reflection of life itself.  There are those people who have a true and deep-rooted faith that simply oozes out of everything they do or say, and there are others for whom any kind of religion is anathema.  Strung out between these two extremes is a whole spectrum of spiritual awareness along which most of us move this way and that as our life proceeds.

I cite as examples of these extremes, two characters from the Old Testament.  The first is Joshua who, knowing that he was coming to the end of his life, wanted to leave the Israelites the same encouragement that he had received from Moses, that they should follow God's commandments and would therefore enjoy all the good things that He had promised.  During their years of wandering in the desert, the people had picked up lots of bad habits from the tribes around them, and some of their beliefs and gods as well.  Joshua made it clear that they had a choice.  They could continue to live with the false promises and uncertainties of what they had become familiar with, or they could pack all these things up, leave them behind and turn back to Jehovah Jireh, the God who would provide for their every need (Genesis 22:14).  "But as for me and my household," Joshua concluded, "we will serve the Lord." (Joshua 24:15).

My second example is Saul.  This man was a weak leader; he was chosen as the people's king because he was head and shoulders above the rest.  This was a physical advantage only.  Apart from questions about his mental stability in the ways he behaved with David, his son-in-law, his leadership was dependent in large measure on the prophet Samuel.  In a spectacular failure, he had followed his own instincts and dealt with the Amalekites in ways that were directly opposite to what God had told him through Samuel, and shortly before his death, Samuel had reported God's displeasure with Saul.  Then came a day when Saul was faced with an important battle against the Philistines.  He was terrified.  He realised that he wasn't getting any help from God and so turned to a medium so he could talk to Samuel from beyond the grave.  The only help he got from Samuel was a repeat of God's anger.  When the battle came, he was defeated and met his end (1 Samuel, ch. 28 & 31).

One of my favourite hymns was written by two Irishmen, one from Dublin, the other from Cork and both graduates of Trinity College, Dublin.  Nahum Tate and Nicholas Brady wrote many metrical versions of the psalms and one that remains familiar today is that based on Psalm 34, "Through all the Changing Scenes of Life".  You can hear it here.   The words remind us that, whatever we have to face there is a source of help - if not to avoid a situation then to deal with it - simply by turning in prayer to our loving Father.  If we turn away from Him, we reject the eternal source of love, wisdom and hope who can guide us through all of life ... and beyond.

Where do you turn in a crisis?

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?