Some musings

So, we’re all set for yet another Prime Minister – our seventh in the last ten years – an indication, if ever there was one, of how dissatisfied we have been with those who have sought to lead us. Which says as much about us, of course, as it does those we so quickly find wanting. That said, if as it seems likely, it is to be Andy Burnham, I wish him all the very best in a post that, let’s face it, isn’t easy no matter what the political persuasions might be of the one who holds it.

The problem of changing leadership is not, however, a new one. Back in Old Testament times, Israel also looked to a change of leadership in order to restore their fortunes. For years they had been led by a series of flawed Judges, the last of whom was Samuel. And when he grew old, and the sons he’d appointed as his successors were clearly not up to the job, the elders of Israel asked him to appoint a king instead – a move that would bring them into line with how the nations around them were ruled.

That is to say, they wanted to be like everyone else.

And therein lies the problem. Rather than retaining their distinctiveness as the people of God, they wanted to become indistinguishable from the nations around them.  Which was wrong of them – and all the more because, in asking for a king at all, one who would fight their battles for them, they were in fact rejecting the king they already had, the one who had just defeated the Philistines on their behalf. That is to say, they were rejecting God himself.

That said, their misguided rejection of the one who had looked after them so well ever since he’d brought them out of Egypt would not have come as a shock to God, who had anticipated their action many years previously when back in Deuteronomy 17:14-20 he had said this:

‘When you come to the land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you possess it and dwell in it and then say, ‘I will set a king over me, like all the nations that are around me,’ you may indeed set a king over you.’

God, therefore, had anticipated exactly what was going to happen.

But lest you think the words above suggest that God is giving His approval to the idea of a king, God predicting that someone will one day ask for something, in no way endorses that request – and neither should his conceding to the request be taken to mean it was a good one.

Which becomes even clearer in Romans 1 where God, surprisingly perhaps, manifests his righteous anger by giving those who did not honour him as God exactly what they wanted. Three times we read there that God gave them up to the lusts of their hearts, to dishonourable passions, and to a debased mind.

Which is a sobering thought isn’t it – for those of us who have ever assumed that God approved of our prayers merely because he granted our request? Because the degree to which our prayer is a godly one, is the degree to which it lines up with the will of God, as revealed to us in scripture, and not the degree to which the thing that we prayed for came about.

But more importantly still, perhaps, is the fact that, according to Deuteronomy 17:15-20, the only King that God is prepared to permit the people to have is one that He chooses himself – one who is an Israelite, who multiplies neither horses nor wives, does not accumulate excessive wealth, and, most significantly of all, fully obeys the law of God.

Which is not the sort of manifesto that many stand on today when it comes to seeking election. Not that we would be able to identify such a one if they did, given how easily we are fooled by outward appearances. Which is precisely why we should allow God – the one who looks on a person’s heart – to choose who will rule over us.

So then, when God tells Samuel to give the people the king they want, rather than being a benevolent act on his part, it can in fact be seen as an expression of his righteous judgment. But in urging Samuel to solemnly warn them of the consequences of what they are doing, by having him lay out in detail what they are letting themselves in for, even in judgment, God is being patient with them, giving them an opportunity to change their mind and showing how, as the apostle Peter will one day put it, he is not wishing that any should perish.

So how does God say the wrong type of King will treat the people? Well in short, he tells them, the King that they chose for themselves will be one who makes them his slave. [1 Samuel 8:17]

But thinking that they knew best, Israel didn’t heed the warning they were given, they continued to insist that they would have a king of their own choosing, in order that they could be just like the other nations. And rather than a king who would fight their battles, ended up with one who wouldn’t, one who, rather than being willing to serve them, would always put himself first.

God, then, gave them over to the consequences of rejecting his own perfect rule.

But it is not a fate that we need to suffer ourselves – not if we make a different decision, not if we are content to have Jesus as King, not if we are prepared to bow before him as our sovereign Lord.

Because unlike any fallen leader – be they those who remain in power for decades by oppressing the people they rule over, or whether they are here today and gone tomorrow, replaced, seemingly, on the whim of a people who are foolish enough to think that substituting one failed leader for another will put things right – Jesus is God’s chosen King, the one Israel should always have been looking out for.

Which is not to say that political leaders are all necessarily worthless. Not at all. Because it is possible to have godly leaders and by God’s grace good leaders who profess no Christian faith. As Martin Luther once said, ‘I’d rather be governed by a competent Turk, than an incompetent Christian.’

Furthermore it is possible for there to be good kings. For whilst the request of the elders was, as we’ve been considering, an evil one, it was one that was ultimately used by God for good. Because his granting of a king to Israel, whilst an act of judgement, was at the same time, part of his saving plan.

Because as would one day be the case again on Calvary, God’s sovereign plan and the people’s evil intention are, paradoxically perhaps, not at odds with one another.

Because after King Saul came King David – chosen by God having been recognised by Him as a man after his own heart.

But even David was a flawed leader. He was both an adulterer and a murderer – proving that an even greater king was required. One who, being both fully God and fully man, had a heart that was completely in tune with God.

For only such a one as he could ever fulfil God’s criteria of what a good King must be. An Israelite. One who did not multiply horses but entered Jerusalem on a humble donkey. One who did not multiply wives but remained single all his life. One who, without a place to lay his head, lived a life of poverty rather than accumulating excessive wealth. And most significantly of all one who lived according to God’s law, from the day he was born in poverty till the day he died on a cruel Roman cross.

That’s why Jesus is uniquely qualified to be the Christ – God’s anointed King!

And isn’t he the kind of King we want? A good king, a gracious king, a merciful king. A king who loves us, who really will fight our battles for us – as indeed he already has by defeating our greatest enemy, even death itself, by suffering and dying in our place and, in so doing, bearing the punishment for our sins so that we no longer need to bear it ourselves.

And isn’t that the kind of King we should be willing to follow. Just as he calls us to do – albeit by taking up our own cross and, if necessary, being prepared to suffer too?

If so, we must follow the same path as he did. Because it’s not just leaders who are called to follow the path of righteousness. Proverbs 4:27 urges us all to be obedient when it says: ‘Do not turn to the right or to the left and to keep your foot from evil.’

Which is a theme that continues on into the New Testament when Jesus cautions us by saying, ‘Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, [but] the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life.’ 

So, it’s not easy being a follower of Jesus. Like he was hated by the world, so too sometimes will we. But until the day Christ returns, we must be prepared to be a part of a church, a body of believers that unlike the elders of Israel wants to be distinct from the world. We need to be those who remain faithful to God and are content to walk in the way of the Lord by endeavouring to follow the path of righteousness illuminated as it is by the light of God’s word.

Sadly though, this is not always what some parts of the church seem to want – those that, desiring to be just like the nations, sometimes affirm what the world takes pride in even when it is clearly contrary to the word of God. And once that broad path is started down, one finds that it only gets broader – meaning that, when the church refuses to be salt and light in a dark and decaying world, the world only gets darker, and all the more rotten too.

But know this. Despite the challenges he knew the church would one day face, despite knowing those who would one day be a part of it – which includes me, and perhaps you as well – Jesus said that he would build his church and the gates of hell would not prevail against it.

So then, let’s resolve to be distinctive, let’s commit to be the ‘peculiar’ people of God and let’s endeavour to live as the people he wants us to be. Let’s be those who are joyfully content with the God who is, rather than miserably manufacturing a god who is content with us.

Let’s do the hard thing. Let’s be honest enough to ask ourselves how we may be turning aside from God’s word and, having recognised where we are falling short, let’s repent of our sin and ask the Holy Spirit to help us put that part of ourselves to death.

And let’s remember that 40 days after his glorious resurrection from the dead, and moments after commissioning his followers to go and make disciples of all nations Jesus ascended – not just to heaven but to a throne.

From which he continues to reign today.

And so, whilst we await confirmation of who our new Prime Minister will be, and whilst we should pray for him and honour his office, let’s not forget who’s really in control. Let’s not forget that Jesus is King – irrespective of whether the world recognises the fact. And let’s not forget that it is he who has been chosen by God to reign over us – in an everlasting Kingdom where one day, every tear will be wiped away, and death will be no more.

 

It’s hard being not okay – irrespective of the reason – whether it’s sickness, sadness or some other form of suffering.

Because they’ll be those who say you look okay, and assume therefore you are. And those who’ll like to insist it’s okay to not be okay, which it isn’t – not for you at least – not in practice, even if it is in theory.

And then they’ll be those who, no doubt trying to be helpful, will say that you’ve got this – whatever ‘this’ is – and so can make everything okay. Only you haven’t, and you can’t – and are therefore only made to feel worse as a result.

So what’s to be done?

Well perhaps you could try hanging out with the one who once hung on a cross.

The one who is no more okay with how things are than you are; who won’t underestimate the not okay-ness, won’t trivialise it by suggesting you can fix it, and won’t criticise you for not doing more to help yourself.

Because having once experienced a not okay-ness even greater than yours – only to come out the other side – he holds both you and your not okay-ness in hands that are far bigger than yours.

For he can carry what you cannot, and delights in what he will one day deliver – a day when every tear will be wiped away and death will be no more, when everything will be more than okay, because everything will be just perfect.

The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. [Psalm 34:18]

A bruised reed he will not break, and a faintly burning wick he will not quench. [Isaiah 42:3]

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Related blogs:

To read ‘Luther and the war in Ukraine’, click here

To read ‘When our joy will be complete’, click here

To read ‘When Bad Things Happen’, click here

To read ‘Weeping with those who weep’, click here

To read ‘Still weeping with those who weep’, click here

To read ‘All’s Well that Ends Well’, click here

To read ‘on the FALLEN and the FELLED’, click here

To read ‘What becomes of the broken hearted? Sorrowful yet always rejoicing on Palm Sunday’, click here

To read ‘Why do bad things happen to good people? Sorrowful yet always rejoicing on Good Friday’, click here

To read ‘Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things? Rejoicing, though temporarily sorrowful, on Easter Day’, click here.

To read ‘T.S. Eliot, Jesus and the Paradox of the Christian Life’, click here

To read ‘Monsters’, click here

To read ‘On Sleeping like a Baby’, click here

To read “Hope comes from believing the promises of God”, click here

To read ‘Reflections on the death of Leonard Cohen’, click here

‘No thank you – life’s too short’

That was my response to the very friendly barista in Coffee #1 when he asked if I’d like to start a loyalty card for that particular chain of caffeine dens that I found myself in this week.

To be honest with you, I’m not sure why the words spilled out of my mouth. Having done so, however, I felt obliged to reassure the poor chap that I was in no way suggesting that my state of health was so fragile that it was unlikely that I’d live long enough to imbibe the ten hot – or cold – beverages necessary for me to claim a free Americano. 

That said, now that I’m approaching sixty and my enthusiasm for unnecessary excitement is beginning to wane, were I ever to acquire a terminal diagnosis – something I suppose I ought to get round to organising before it’s too late – I suspect the goal of attaining such a drink-based reward would be just the kind of thing I’d likely put on my bucket list. 

Only I might opt for a macchiato – because, let’s face it, you only die once.

And so I was left wondering what I should make my primary goals for the few remaining months, or perhaps years – let’s not be pessimistic – that I have left. By which I don’t mean the writing of a will – I’m not that boring – but rather, for example, whether, on discovering I’d come out without my Waterstones card, I should dash home and return with it to make sure any points earned by my purchase of a book could be immediately added to my tally. I’m joking of course – that would be ridiculous – but in the unlikely event of my buying ‘War and Peace’ – or ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ come to that – it would be good to know if the points they’d accrue could be used to posthumously swell those I’d already collected!

And whilst we’re on the subject of how commercial enterprises deal with their deceased former customers, does anyone know whether those Sainsbury’s Bags for Life are transferable? Because if they’re not, I’m blowed if I’ll be buying any more!

This week I also had cause to buy a new lawnmower – the previous incumbent having ended its days through neglect rather than overuse. It came with a two-year guarantee which may or may not see me out, but what I am now looking forward to is the inevitable phone call offering me complete peace of mind – something it will no doubt be claimed can be mine simply by my paying to extend the length of the warranty. But if added years come at a cost, I’m minded to ask for a refund in the event of me not needing the full use of the 24 months my new purchase came with. 

Quite why I bothered with such garden equipment though, I really couldn’t say as I’ve recently been investing time and effort in trying to rewild my back garden. Well I say effort, but the truth of the matter is that none is required and, more pertinently, the beauty of the scheme is that after my death, it will continue on apace without me.

So at least I now know what my legacy will be. Which is just as well, as these days, much like an acceptable cause of death, you can’t die till you’ve got one to leave behind!

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Related post:

To read ‘A Dead Good Day’, click here

Imagine there was something of infinite value – a precious jewel that, though only just out of reach, could only be obtained if you were able to give your complete attention to a simple task that would make it yours to keep. 

Would you, I wonder, be able to claim the prize?

Because according to ‘Stolen Focus’, the book by Johann Hari that I’ve been reading this week, it seems likely that most of us wouldn’t. Why? Well, because of our ever-decreasing attention spans that are the result of us now being constantly distracted – principally by the electronic devices that so many of us have become so dependent on.

By which I mean addicted to.

The book gives a fascinating insight into what we are allowing to happen to our brains – one that is both sobering to read and something of a wake-up call for those of us who, with the latest smartphone in our pocket, believe we’re living the dream but are in fact sleepwalking into a more disaffected tomorrow. Because having promised to connect us with the whole world, what they have delivered has left us only more isolated and alone.

And in case anyone was wondering if I’m pointing a finger, I most certainly am. But first and foremost at myself – someone who is very much aware, not only of how I am more easily distracted than I used to be, but also of the obvious irony that, in the unlikely event of anyone reading as far as this, they have almost certainly done so on a social media platform – one of the increasing number that are, perhaps, most responsible for our growing inability to concentrate that, if we care to notice it, many of us are currently experiencing.

Last week I heard Grayson Perry and, if memory serves, Michael Rosen on Radio 4. They were being asked about the effects of the proposed social media ban for under 16s. And, interestingly, they both spoke of the importance of boredom as a stimulus for their own creativity – how taking time out allowed them to think and, in so doing, gave opportunity for original ideas to emerge.

All of which leads me to wonder if, in our desperate attempt to remain constantly amused – a word meaning ‘entertained’ but which might equally be taken to mean ‘without thought’ – we will lose what it is to both produce and enjoy art in all its many forms. And whether that will inevitably result, not only in us leading less interesting lives, but in becoming increasingly diminished ourselves.

In stark contrast to our relatively superficial thought life, Hari talks in his book about what he calls ‘flow’ – by which he means that blissful feeling we experience when we are ‘in the zone’ – fully focused on something that we are more than happy to give our full attention to. 

But in order for us to find ourselves in such a sublime state, Hari, referencing the work of Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, says there are three conditions that need to be met. Firstly we have to have a single goal – because multitasking as a means of greater efficiency has now been shown to be a myth which, rather than increasing productivity, actually achieves the complete opposite. Secondly that goal that Hari suggests we require is one that we must find meaningful. And thirdly, the thought that we are engaged in has to stretch us a little, taking us into areas of understanding that might be new to us and in which we might not normally feel comfortable.

And so the question inevitably arises: what, if any, of our life goals might come anywhere close to meeting these suggested requirements?

The possible answers to that question are no doubt many and varied, differing according to each individual’s particular interests. But for me, and perhaps you, one of the more obvious would be cricket – specifically the four-day county game which includes periods of play that are sometimes slow but which, far from tedious, allow time for variation and, as a result, make matches much more interesting.

Furthermore these are games played by players you are familiar with, those who, for the most part, have been part of your team for years. And so they are games played by people you care about. This is in stark contrast to franchise competitions whose truncated games tend towards homogeneity and where the team you are encouraged to support, despite largely having the same name each year, are made up of a markedly different set of players.  

You are therefore less invested in ‘your team’ and, as a consequence, less likely to stick with them through thick and thin. More than that though you are hard pressed to give any individual game your full attention, such are the distractions that you’ll quite literally be bombarded with – be that the music that incessantly spews out over the public address system, the big-screen crowd games designed to amuse (there’s that word again) or the prospect of a promotional T-shirt being thrown in your face, in all probability whilst a camera is being pointed directly at you. It’s almost as if the promoters of such tournaments have no confidence in what they would no doubt call their ‘product’ – it’s almost as if they know the format they’re espousing needs to be concealed with colourful but ultimately meaningless sideshows, due to its own inherent lack of depth.

There are of course more significant things than even county cricket – and I’m not talking here of Test matches which, for me at least, have become less interesting as a result of games no longer being shown on terrestrial television, and players rarely now playing for their counties. The result of these changes has been the ordinary supporter rarely has a chance now to watch international players in action – a ‘development’ that I would suggest has been ultimately detrimental to the sport as a whole. 

But be that as it may, at a time when genuinely important events are ever before us, when global conflicts and natural disasters wreak havoc in the lives of millions, and our own individual lives are themselves fraught with difficulties and distress, it seems a shame that the future of county cricket should continue to be threatened by those who are only interested in how much money can be made from it.

Because in these days when we have much we need to think about, pay attention to, and concentrate on, the opportunity afforded by the four-day game to practice these essential skills might just be of more value than most people appreciate – making county cricket a precious jewel that we can’t afford to let slip through our fingers. 

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Other cricket related posts:

To read ‘The true meaning of cricket’, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2025:

To read ‘The Untold Story of Finals’ Day’, click here

To read ‘Only A Day Away’, click here

To read ‘No smoke without fire’, click here

To read ‘Importantly, why cricket doesn’t matter’, click here

To read ‘I Spy Somerset’s 150th Anniversary Season’, click here

To read ‘A Spring Watch’, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2024:

To read ‘Reasons to be cheerful’, click here

To read ‘First of the Summer Wine’, click here

To read ‘Safe and Sound at the County Ground, Taunton’, click here

To read ‘Is Cricket Amusing Itself to Death’, click here

To read ‘A Purr-fect day at the cricket’, click here

To read ‘Worth Every Penny’, click here

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Emporium – 2024’, click here

To read ‘One Fine Day’, click here

To read ‘WWFD – what would Freddie do?’, click here

To read ‘A Shady News Story’, click here

To read ‘The Abolition of County Cricket’, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2023:

To read ‘20 Things we have learnt this summer’, click here

To read ‘When rain stops play’, click here

To read ‘Only a game’, click here

To read ‘The Hundred: is cricket amusing itself to death?’, click here

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Emporium – 2023’, click here

To read ‘for the third time of asking, CRICKET’S COMING HOME…surely’, click here

To read ‘Twas the week of the final’, click here

To read ‘Sharing the important things: on introducing your grandchild to cricket’, click here

To read ‘Somerset v Nottinghamshire T20 Quarter Final 2023’, click here

To read ‘Breaking News’, click here

To read ‘Lewis Calpaldi – Retired Hurt?’, click here

To read ‘Cricket: It’s All About Good Timing’, click here

To read ‘Bazball, Bazchess, Bazlife’, click here

To read ‘Online criticism: it’s just not cricket’, click here

To read ‘Cigarettes, Singles, and Sipping Tea with Ian Botham: Signs of a Well Spent Youth!’, click here

To read ‘A Historic Day’, click here

To read ‘Cricket – through thick and thin’, click here

To read ‘Stumpy: A Legend Reborn’, click here

To read ‘my love is NOT a red, red rose’, click here

Cricketing blogs from previous years:

To read ‘A Cricketing Christmas Carol: A Ghost Story’, click here

To read ‘Scooby Doo and the Mystery of the Deseted Cricket Ground’, click here

To read ‘Brian and Stumpy visit The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘A Tale of Two Tons’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘A Somerset Cricket Players Emporium 2022’ click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘At Season’s End’, click here

To read ‘A Day at the Cricket’, click here

To read ‘The Great Cricket Sell Off’, click here

To read ‘On passing a village cricket club at dusk one late November afternoon’ click here

To read ‘How the Grinch stole from county cricket…or at least tried to’. click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Tea Kind of a Day’, click here

To read ‘Life in the slow lane’, click here

To read ‘Frodo and the Format of Power’, click here

To read ‘If Only’, click here

To read ‘I’ve got a little CRICKET list’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Ben Green’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

And to finish – a couple with a theological flavour

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

Imagine there was something of infinite value. Something that, though only just out of reach, could only be obtained if you were able to give your complete attention to a simple task that would make it yours to keep. 

Would you, I wonder, be able to claim the prize?

Because according to ‘Stolen Focus’, the book by Johann Hari that I’ve been reading this week, it seems likely that most of us wouldn’t. Why? Well, because of our ever-decreasing attention spans that are the result of us now being constantly distracted – principally by the electronic devices that so many of us have become so dependent on.

By which I mean addicted to.

The book gives a fascinating insight into what we are allowing to happen to our brains – one that is both sobering to read and something of a wake-up call for those of us who, with the latest smartphone in our pocket, believe we’re living the dream but are in fact sleepwalking into a more disaffected tomorrow. Because having promised to connect us with the whole world, what they have delivered has left us only more isolated and alone.

And in case anyone was wondering if I’m pointing a finger, I most certainly am. But first and foremost at myself – someone who is very much aware, not only of how I am more easily distracted than I used to be, but also of the obvious irony that, in the unlikely event of anyone reading as far as this, they have almost certainly done so on a social media platform – one of the increasing number that exist and are, perhaps, most responsible for the cognitive decline that, if we care to notice it, many of us are currently experiencing.

Last week I heard Grayson Perry and, if memory serves, Michael Rosen on Radio 4. They were being asked about the effects of the proposed social media ban for under 16s. And, interestingly, they both spoke of the importance of boredom as a stimulus for their own creativity – how taking time out allowed themselves to think and, in so doing, gave opportunity for original ideas to emerge.

All of which leads me to wonder if, in our desperate attempt to remain constantly amused – a word meaning ‘entertained’ but which might equally be taken to mean ‘without thought’ – we will lose what it is to both produce and enjoy art in all its many forms. And whether that will inevitably result, not only in us leading less interesting lives, but in becoming increasingly diminished ourselves as well.

In stark contrast to our relatively superficial thought life, Hari talks in his book about what he calls ‘flow’ – by which he means that blissful feeling we experience when we are ‘in the zone’ – fully focused on something that we are more than happy to give our full attention to. 

But in order for us to find ourselves in such a sublime state, Hari, referencing the work of  Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, says there are three conditions that need to be met. Firstly we have to have a single goal – because multitasking as a means of greater efficiency has now been shown to be a myth which, rather than increasing productivity, actually achieves the complete opposite. Secondly that goal that Hari suggests we require is one that we must find meaningful. And thirdly, the thought that we are engaged in has to stretch us a little, taking us into areas of understanding that might be new to us and in which we might not normally feel comfortable.

And so the question inevitably arises: what, if any, of our life goals might come anywhere close to meeting these suggested requirements?

The possible answers to that question are no doubt many and varied, differing according to each individual’s particular interests. For me, for example, they would include cricket – specifically the four-day county game which I find meaningful, not least because, devoid of the distractions inherent in short-format franchise competitions, it includes periods of play that are sometimes slow but which, far from tedious, allow time for variation and, as a result, ultimately make matches more interesting.

But the summer game is just my personal passion, and what gets you up in the morning is likely to be very different. But be it carpentry, kayaking, or carnival, whether it’s ballooning, bellringing, or badminton, I’d wager a small coin that the level of satisfaction you derive from it is directly proportional to the time you are prepared to commit to it, and the effort you are willing to make to know more about whatever it is you’re in to.  

But for all that diversity of interests, I nonetheless wonder if there is another goal worthy of us all pursuing, one that is both greater and more unifying than any other, one that has the potential to satisfy every single one of us and give meaning to the lives of everyone.

Because if there is, might not the dissatisfaction that so many of us are currently feeling, be the necessary incentive for us to go looking for it?

Well I believe there is such a goal – one that, interestingly, satisfies all three of Hari’s conditions. Which suggests, to me at least, that in pursuing it, we might go some way towards being freed from the ennui that threatens to overcome us, and instead experience something of the joy that we all can’t help but think – or at least hope – we were made for.

So what am I referring to – what is the big idea I have in mind that might just be enough to satisfy us all?

Well simply but ineffably this – the knowledge of a transcendent yet immanent God.

Jeremiah 29:13 records the words spoken by just such a God who says to us as he once did to the prophet, ‘You will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.’

God then is the one we are encouraged to go after even as He comes after us. And we are to do so single-mindedly, undistracted by lesser concerns, absolutely convinced that knowing him is what gives life its meaning. As Jesus himself said, ‘This is eternal life, that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent.’ [John 17:3]. Furthermore, scripture encourages us to go beyond a superficial understanding of our creator, to ‘leave the elementary doctrine of Christ and go on to maturity.’ [Hebrews 6:1]

Because He is beyond our understanding, and because His thoughts are far higher than our own, He is a God whom we will never fully comprehend and therefore never become bored of.

But God isn’t just interesting – he matters.

Instead we need to do something somewhat harder. Rather than focusing on the faults of others, we need to concentrate on our own. Rather than blame others for our difficulties, we need to reflect on how we may be contributing to them ourselves, and so take responsibility for all that we think, do, and say, as a result of our own inner restlessness that is made manifest by our all too apparent distractibility. 

That is to say, we need to take responsibility for the flawed people we are ourselves.

And having done so we need to turn to the One who really is of infinite value, as near to us as His word which is readily available to us and will, if we would only attend to it, teach us all that we need to know.

We need then to fix our eyes on Jesus – the author and perfecter of our faith who, for the joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame. We need to look to the One who, suffering and dying in our place, became sin for us, so that we might become the righteousness of God.

But more than receiving Him as our saviour, we need to accept Him as our Lord. For He is the only leader we will ever need, the only one who can be trusted, and the only one who guarantees that all that is currently wrong will one day be put right.

And that includes the wrong within us – not just our propensity to sin, but our restless and distracted inattention.

---

Related blogs:

To read ‘Contactless’, click here

To read ‘On not remotely caring’, click here

To read ‘On contentment’, click here

To read ‘On permanence – and the search for stability’, click here

To read ‘Me, myself and AI – interacting with the ghost in the machine’, click here

To read ‘Keeping it real’, click here

It’s almost certainly an apocryphal story but it’s one that I like just the same. Two pastors are chatting and one tells the other that he’s recently been diagnosed with cancer. To which the other replies, ‘Congratulations!’

Now I’m aware there is a time and a place for everything, that the process can be painful, and death brings with it a great deal of unhappiness for both the one dying and those who are left behind, but I hope that when I receive my terminal diagnosis, assuming that is, that I’m not taken unexpectedly, that I receive the news in the same spirit as our no doubt fictional ministers.

Because as a Christian, one who believes the Bible when it says that ‘to die is gain’, [Philippians 1:21] and that, notwithstanding the sadness of the perhaps one or two who might conceivably miss me a little, where I anticipate ending up is better by far than where I am now, surely I should at the very least not be wholly against the idea of shuffling contentedly off my mortal coil.

But I wonder if there is more we might learn from the apostle Paul’s positive view of death — and here I’m thinking, not simply about physical death, but the Christian concept of dying to self.

And the reason I ask is that, were that to be the case, then to follow one’s heart, to be true to yourself, and to pursue your ‘best life now’ might in fact be very bad advice indeed.

Recently I’ve been thinking about what is often referred to as the unconditional love of God – something that, up to a point, I wholeheartedly believe in. Now, whilst that might sound contradictory, my apparent double mindedness is in fact simply a consequence of considering it important, when making such a statement, to define carefully what exactly it is that we mean.

So let me do just that.

I am fully persuaded that God loves me unconditionally – that whilst he delights in my obedience and grieves over my wrongdoing, there is nothing that I can do to make him love me more or less. And nor is there anything he can do either – because his love for me, as well as being absolute, is not dependent on me, but him. It is a reflection of his never changing nature rather than a function of my constantly fluctuating behaviour.

He loves me then, not because I’m lovely – but because he is loving.

But there is at the same time something else I believe, something far less palatable and far harder to swallow, something that you may find as shocking as I myself still find unsettling — and that is that God hates sinners.

But hold on a minute. Surely, I mean to say that God hates the sin but not the sinner?

Well yes — and no.

Because whilst that is true, it is, at the same time, potentially misleading – for the very simple reason that it is not wholly supported by scripture. For as well as announcing God’s love for mankind, his unwillingness for any to perish, [2 Peter 3:9] and his sending Jesus into the world with the express purpose of saving sinners, [1 Timothy 1:15] the Bible also teaches us something that none of us, least of all me, should find comfortable to hear – and that is that God hates evildoers. [Psalm 5:5; 11:5, Hosea 9:15]

But rather than turning away, stay with me a while as I try to make sense of what I know will be deeply troubling for some – especially those who have already been made to feel wretched by a world quick to condemn and slow to show mercy.

Because I genuinely believe that sense can be made of what seems nonsensical – of an all loving God who hates.

But first we’ll need to understand that words in the Bible aren’t always used in the same colloquial fashion that we use them in the twenty-first century. 

And so, whilst there is certainly a tenderness to God’s love for us [Matthew 23:37], it isn’t merely some sentimental feeling he experiences when he thinks about us. Rather his love for us is a consequence of his deliberate decision to set his favour on us. Similarly his hatred is not an uncontrolled and unreasonable antipathy towards those who displease him. Rather than a capricious God who enjoys nothing more than coming down like a ton of bricks on anybody looking like they may for one minute be about to enjoy themselves, his hatred for evildoers is a settled opposition against all that falls short of his perfection.

Because our actions are always a consequence of who we are – what we think, feel, and believe – you can’t separate the sinner from their sin simply by asserting it.

And that is why the aforementioned well-worn saying that suggests that sinners are nothing more than loveable rogues, those who sometimes make what might euphemistically be called mistakes, is one that is overly simplistic. As indeed is that other all too commonly used expression – the one that states that God loves us just as we are, which, whilst true, is too often taken to mean that he’s content for us to remain that way.

So then what is the reason? Why does God hate sinners? And why ought he therefore, but for his grace, to hate me – on account of the evil that sadly I have been guilty of doing too?

The answer is not only because, as a holy and just God, he is the one who, knowing and defining what right and wrong is, knows most fully how my actions have sometimes both hurt others and spoiled the world that he perfectly created. That he is righteous and therefore necessarily abhors all that is evil, all that takes away from his glory, is of course part of it, a very big part of it – but in addition, I think, he hates sinners, because in behaving badly, they fail – both to honour him and be the better and happier people that, loving them so completely, he longs for them to be.

So here’s the thing. If God loves sinners – and he hates sinners – then it follows that God must love those he hates. Indeed, since he is opposed to what they’ve become, one might even say that God hates sinners because of how much he loves them! Which again is not a contradiction – but another of the many paradoxes that we can’t help but come across if we read the scriptures carefully.

And it’s one that can only be resolved by considering another paradox – specifically that God, in his infinite mercy, sent his beloved son to die in the place of those who he both loves and hates – and that on the cross, by laying on him the due penalty for all our wrongdoing, he dealt with all that he hates in us in order that only what he loves would be left.

Only because of the cross is the sinner separated from their sin. And only because of the cross can it be truly said that God loves us unconditionally. Because it was only on the cross that our sin was removed from us and laid on Jesus – the one who then bore the due penalty for it, even as we were credited with his perfect righteousness. [2 Corinthians 5:21]

All of which means that sin matters – to God as much as you and me – both when we are guilty of it and when we are those who come to harm as a result of the wrong actions of others. And that whilst God does, right now, because of Christ, love us unconditionally, [Romans 8:1] he isn’t interested in leaving us unchanged. [Romans 12:2]

There is then what might almost be considered a condition to his unconditional love – one that he will certainly fulfil as he goes about the often painful process of changing us from what we are now, into what we will one day be – that is, the people we were always meant to be.

So how does that transformation come about? Is it something he does – or something we do?

Well it’s wholly down to him. But, having now got used to the idea of there being paradoxes within the Christian life, you won’t perhaps be surprised to learn that our transformation is also something that we must battle to bring about ourselves.

And so having been saved from sin and death, having been positioned, by God, ‘in Christ’ – the only place that we are safe and loved by him without any accompanying hatred – we are, by the power of the Holy Spirit working in us, to put ourselves to death by denying our sinful nature. [Romans 8:13]

And if, as God’s much loved children, we do – if, having already been adopted into his family, we make Christ’s death and subsequent resurrection the template for our own life’s journey, and if we daily deny ourselves, take up our cross, and seek to follow Jesus, [Luke 9:23] – we will discover that, in stark contrast to the pleasures of sin that whilst real, are at best only ever fleeting [Hebrews 11:25], possessing new life in Christ – which is both eternal and wholly satisfying – is infinitely preferable.

Because whilst sin promises freedom, it does in fact enslave. And holiness, whilst seemingly costly, is ultimately both liberating and joy inducing. [Romans 6:6] Which is why dying to self is the way to become fully alive. And why self-denial, far from being an expression of self-hatred, is in fact the way we find true fulfilment. [John 8:36]

And here is some more good news wrapped up in yet another paradox.

Whilst any progress we make in this life may not be as marked as we would like it to be, the good work that God has already begun in us, will be completed on the day of Christ. [Philippians 1:6] And on that day, having spent a lifetime working out our salvation with fear and trembling, we will discover, when we are finally perfected, that God has been working in us to will and to work to his good pleasure. [Philippians 2:13]

And that having died, and been born again to eternal life, God will have made us what, in Christ, he has already declared us to be…just like Jesus.

That then is the benefit of death. For all of us – no matter how healthy we may be today.

And I for one can’t wait!

---

Related blog:

To read ‘Luther and the war in Ukraine – On becoming a theologian of the cross’, click here

Today is Pentecost Sunday, which is celebrated by many as the church’s birthday. It’s the day when Christians remember how the Holy Spirit, the third person of the Trinity, was poured out on the disciples just as Jesus Himself had promised immediately prior to His own ascension ten days previously.

So then, given how Jesus had said they would receive power when the Holy Spirit came upon those early believers, and Christians today believe they too are filled by the Spirit, why does the church so often appear weak and insignificant? Why do Christians continue to suffer as much, if not more, than non‑Christians? And why do those who claim to follow Jesus so often fail to live the way that both He, and they, desire?

The answer, I think, is because of the paradox that lies at the heart of the Christian faith, and which Paul expresses so perfectly in 2 Corinthians 12:9. There we see how Paul struggled with a thorn in his flesh – one that grieved him greatly, yet became the means by which he learnt that Christ’s power was made perfect in his weakness – as indeed it is in ours.

This is a core feature of genuine Christianity, demonstrated supremely by the One who brings about our salvation by allowing Himself to be crucified: an act considered so weak as to make it a stumbling block for Jews looking out for an all‑powerful Messiah, and foolishness to those who, along with most of the world, consider self‑promotion rather than sacrifice as the order of the day. [1 Corinthians 1:23]

So how does recognising this help us answer my earlier questions?

Firstly, why does the church so frequently look weak? Well, because rightly expressed, it does not seek health, wealth, and prosperity, but seeks rather to give itself in the service of others. The Gospel – that seemingly foolish message of a dying Saviour – is a treasure that we hold in jars of clay, “to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.” [2 Corinthians 4:7] This is a message that is as unpopular today as it was in the first century. And so it is one that, unless the Holy Spirit humbles the proud by renewing the minds of those He irresistibly calls, will never prove popular. 

Secondly, why do Christians suffer?  Partly because they are called to do so for the sake of the Gospel, by putting the eternal needs of others before their own immediate concerns. [1 Peter 2:21; 2 Timothy 1:8] 

But they suffer, of course, for other reasons too – just as unbelievers do – experiencing what some have referred to as the ‘severe mercy’ of God. And so it is that, through the work of the Holy Spirit, who sustains them in their affliction, the tested genuineness of their faith – more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire – may be found to result in praise and glory and honour at the revelation of Jesus Christ. [1 Peter 1:7]

And thirdly, why do Christians continue to fall short of the standards set for them by the One they say they love? Well, simply and sadly, because they are not yet what they are already declared to be.

The righteousness they are already counted as having by faith in Christ is in stark contrast to the unrighteousness that they all too often continue to display. And here too, the Holy Spirit is active: for whilst He does indeed come alongside us in our battle to put to death the deeds of the body, making us better than we otherwise might have been, [Romans 8:13] He also reveals the truth by pointing us to Christ and convicts us of our ongoing sin.

And so we become those who increasingly long to follow Jesus but, at the same time, possess a broken spirit – a broken and contrite heart – which, making us always dependent on Him, the Lord will not despise. [Psalm 51:17]

So Jesus was right when He said His followers would receive power when the Holy Spirit came. But the power He provides is more than just the strength to speak truth and serve – it is also the willingness to appear weak – to be humble, to endure, and to confess one’s sins, all the while relying on the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ which, being sufficient for even me, is more than sufficient for everyone else as well.

And it is the reason why, like Paul, we can boast in our weaknesses – so that the power of Christ may rest upon us – and say, also with Paul, that when we are weak, then we are strong. [2 Corinthians 12:9-10]

Because that is how the world is renewed, how Christ uses His church to make a difference today, and how, because of His own suffering, we can be sure that what for now is oh so wrong, will one day be made oh so right. 

---

Related posts:

To read ‘Pentecost and the war in Ukraine’, click here

To read ‘Speaking in Tongues’, click here

To read ‘Permanence – and the search for stability’, click here

To read ‘The Day that Never Ends: An Easter Reflection’, click here

To read ‘Good Friday – Good for those who know they’re not’, click here

To read ‘A Warm Welcome Awaited: From Hosanna to Hallelujah’, click here

To read ‘Visions of Blue: Echoes of Grace’, click here

To read ‘Minding the Gap’, click here

To read ‘And not just because baked beans get in the way’, click here

To read ‘The Kindness We Don’t Needand the Truth We Do’, click here

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Twenty Four Reasons for Hope this Christmas’, click here

Earlier this week I was asked if I’ve ever successfully completed a cartwheel, to which I had to answer ‘No’ – unless that is you consider the placing of one’s hands on the ground whilst simultaneously lifting both feet into the air, however briefly, sufficient to be deemed a success. Which, in my book, it doesn’t.

All of which prompted me to ponder why I am so physically inept. Is it, perhaps, the consequence of my genetic makeup, such as is the case for those who are born without the ability to roll their tongue? Because if it is, might it not also explain my inability to run a sub 4-minute mile, change a tap, or contribute meaningfully to a round-table discussion on the finer points of quantum theory.

Either way, of course, there are some things that, not being adept at, make life altogether more problematic. Which brings me to the book I finished reading this week: ‘A Normal Family – Everyday Adventures With Our Autistic Son.’

Written by Henry Normal and his wife Angela Pell, it’s an honest account of their ordinary experiences bringing up Johnny, who at the time of writing, was a 19-year-old with a diagnosis of severe autism.

The book is a hugely helpful and wonderfully worthwhile read, one that is funny and uplifting in places, yet desperately sad in others. I don’t mind admitting that some of the passages I attempted to read out loud to my wife I wasn’t able to, not because of some genetic inability, but because the words were just too tear-inducing.

Despite the authors’ occasional doubts about writing the book, I’m glad they did. And, should you read it, I think you will be too. Likely as not, though, Johnny won’t care what you do. He’ll not be turning cartwheels either way. But it’s nonetheless good to be reminded that for some the spontaneous sharing of a potato snack really is an achievement to be celebrated every bit as much as achieving a top grade in a GCSE. And not just because it might actually be more important. 

Whether autistic traits are genetically determined, the result of other factors, or as perhaps seems likely, a combination of the two is not fully understood. Indeed, the origins of the condition remain as mysterious as the world can seem for those who live with the realities of autism, and as uncertain as the future is for both them and their parents – those who carry the very real concern of who will continue to look after their grown-up children when they themselves inevitably get older and, because of frailty or death, are no longer able to care for them as they would wish.

But what isn’t in doubt, as this book so beautifully demonstrates, is both the inherent value of autistic individuals – no matter how severe the difficulties their differences cause – and the love that they deserve to be shown. 

Her name was Fiona – the bride that is, who it was suggested should now throw her bouquet to see who among the single ladies attending her wedding might next be married. Not that we were at the evening reception you understand – it was simply that as we walked along the sand at Perranporth, we couldn’t help but hear both the excessively loud music and the protestations of the DJ coming from the hotel that overlooked the beach.

It was, if I’m honest, a little intrusive – not that I’d begrudge the happy, and in all probability now severely deaf, couple their evening of celebration. Besides, the noise it generated was unable to draw my attention away from the impressive waves that continued to pound the shore unhindered. Furthermore, whilst the next morning the party, if not the honeymoon, was over, the waves remained – a constant to be relied upon in a world that can never stand still.

But here’s the thing – the brash and out of place music was both tame and temporary compared to the wildness of the never-ending waves. Which is something that could also be said about much of what seeks to distract us each day – the words of the supposedly powerful that are shouted today but forgotten tomorrow, the news events that generate headlines that are soon replaced by those heralding something still more cataclysmic, and the trivialities that those of us foolish enough to engage in social media waste countless hours scrolling through – the thoughts they generate as transient as the sandcastles that are washed away with each successive tide.

And even the genuinely significant and oftentimes very painful circumstances that, as C.S. Lewis suggested, act as God’s megaphone to wake a sleeping world, are light and momentary when compared with the weighty and eternal matters of God. 

For he is from everlasting to everlasting, his steadfast love never ceases, and his mercy never comes to an end. His never-changing word endures, his purposes stand forever, and, as we remember particularly today, Jesus’ ascension was not just to heaven, but to a throne from which he continues to reign, and so his kingdom is one that will never fall.

Even so, as C.S. Lewis also observed, God, while good, is not safe. And just like the sea at Perranporth is dangerous — as I discovered some fifty years ago when its infamously treacherous tides dragged me out of my depth and I had to be rescued by the RNLI — so too is the living God.

For the One whose love can buoy us up and bring immense delight is also infinitely holy. And so, conscious of our wrongdoing and subject to his justice, we ought to tremble before him and respect him as surely as we should the perilous sea. 

Which is where Jesus comes in. For just as the RNLI rescues those who disregard the advice given as to where it’s safe to swim, so Jesus, lovingly sent by his Father, saves those who have paid scant regard to God’s law and done whatever seemed good in their own eyes. Only more so. For not only has Jesus atoned for our sin, enabling us to be justly forgiven, he has also provided us with the perfect righteousness that we need to stand guilt-free before the one who wholly accepts and wonderfully welcomes us into his family as his much-loved children.  

And this salvation, as well as being complete, is permanent. Because those who, quite apart from their own efforts, find themselves reconciled to God – through the life, death and resurrection of the one who is the same yesterday, today, and forever – will never be lost again. 

And the celebrations marking their homecoming, and the discovery of the stability they’ve longed for, will be more joyful still than those of even the most exuberant wedding party.

---

Related posts:

To read ‘The Day that Never Ends: An Easter Reflection’, click here

To read ‘Good Friday – Good for those who know they’re not’, click here

To read ‘A Warm Welcome Awaited: From Hosanna to Hallelujah’, click here

To read ‘Visions of Blue: Echoes of Grace’, click here

To read ‘Minding the Gap’, click here

To read ‘And not just because baked beans get in the way’, click here

To read ‘The Kindness We Don’t Needand the Truth We Do’, click here

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Twenty Four Reasons for Hope this Christmas’, click here

I wonder if I might make a recommendation: ‘Sam and Ade Go Birding’. I have thoroughly enjoyed the Channel 5 series which is clearly hoping to piggyback on the success of the BBC’s ‘Gone Fishing’ but instead of Paul Whitehouse and Bob Mortimer messing about on riverbanks we have here Sam West and Ade Edmondson being friends whilst hiding away in Cornwall, North Norfolk and, best of all, the Somerset Levels.

Personally speaking, my interest in birds is only marginally more than it is for fish and, like Ade Edmondson, I can no more tell apart a lesser spotted woodpecker from those that I imagine are forever on all of the nation’s bird tables. But as with Gone Fishing, it’s not the hobby that’s being engaged in that matters, but the warmth of the evident friendship that the shared interest provides a setting in which it can be enjoyed.

But as well as enjoying eavesdropping on their sometimes deeply personal conversations and being genuinely impressed by Sam West’s knowledge of all things ornithological, what struck me most was Ade Edmondson’s obvious delight in robins – how he would be content to take pleasure in this common, but nonetheless always welcome, garden visitor whilst his companion went anxiously and often disappointingly in pursuit of more elusive avian encounters.

Which reflects, I think, a tendency of too many of us to no longer be content with the commonplace – those of us who, having believed what we were all too often told, that everything is awesome and we ourselves are special, can no longer delight in the ordinary, now that the every day everyday always disappoints.

And it’s a problem that’s becoming ever more pervasive. Recently I’ve become aware of an educational establishment whose tagline boasts that ‘Excellence is only the beginning.’ Which, whilst sounding aspirational, is in fact one more instance of the toxic positivity that only succeeds in placing excessive demands on those who, it would seem, can no longer be content to even excel – but must remain in the relentless rat race until, presumably, they eventually collapse having still failed to achieve the potential imposed on them by somebody other than themselves. 

And that, as well as being unrealistic and unfair, is unhelpful. More than that, it’s cruel. Because to be extraordinary is by definition unusual, to be exceptional is to be an outlier, and to be excellent is to exceed what’s generally expected.

Having undue pressure put on people is, of course, nothing new. What might be, however, is how we go about coping with it. Because whereas once we would, if we were wise, recognise the foolishness of what was being asked of us or, if we weren’t, become bitter and burnt out, now we are encouraged to lie. Or as it’s framed these days, curate reality and hold to the alternative truth that we create by writing a better story than the one that we’re actually living.

Because it’s not just the exaggerated narratives that we are sold by politicians and media outlets that we can no longer believe – we can no longer trust the stories that we now tell each other. Furthermore, so discontent have we become with how things actually are for us, we now willingly suspend disbelief and wholeheartedly accept the misinformation we tell ourselves – or allow our so-called artificially intelligent companions to.

And so, cocooned within our own private world, defined by our own personal truth, we become ever more alone. And as well as feeling lonely, we feel sad – because the stories we tell ourselves, no matter how idealised we make them, are false and, lacking any substance, cannot provide the one thing we all desire most.

And that’s a happy ending.

No wonder then that so many of us feel disconnected. No wonder we hanker after authenticity. And no wonder programmes that are principally about friendship are as popular as they are.

And no wonder too that ancient wisdom tells us that ‘godliness with contentment is great gain.’ [1 Timothy 6:6]

So then, rather than our ever more frantic attempts to create a world that doesn’t exist, one that, not being real, can never fully satisfy, perhaps we should open our eyes and step out into the world that is already out there, waiting for us to discover. The world described in the greatest story ever told, which, though not ours, were we to accept our invitation and become a part of it, would guarantee us the future we long for – one that’s both genuinely happy and never ending.

And with that, I’m off to say ‘Hello’ to the friendly little robin that daily frequents my back garden. 

---

Related blogs:

To read ‘Contactless’, click here

To read ‘On not remotely caring’, click here

To read ‘Me, myself and AI – interacting with the ghost in the machine’, click here

To read ‘Keeping it real’, click here

what if
the words we said
we meant –
would they be
what’s needed
to close the
widening gap

what if
the truth we held
was not ours
alone
but shared –
would it be
sufficient
to unite
us

what if
the ordinary
was our
everyday
enough –
would we
be
altogether more
content

or is that
simply
impossible
now

as we
continue
to individually pretend
by writing
our own
better stories

which have
no happy
ending

---

Related blogs:

To read ‘Contactless’, click here

To read ‘On not remotely caring’, click here

To read ‘Me, myself and AI – interacting with the ghost in the machine’, click here

To read ‘Keeping it real’, click here

Yesterday Somerset CCC announced that Brian the club cat has not been seen for some considerable time. Hopefully suggestions of his no longer being with us will have been greatly exaggerated, but were he not to enjoy lazy days at the county ground again, here, with apologies to W.H. Auden, is my tribute to everyone’s favourite feline friend.

********

Stop the howzats, turn down the appeals,
Prevent them from announcing, those half price pasty deals,
Silence the supporters in Lord Ian Botham’s stand,
Mark him in the scorebook as retired hurt, unplanned.

Now have those on the livestream turn their microphones to mute,
And players too, their cricket skills, no longer execute,
Let David Garmston of Points West, on his life reminiscing,
Break to the grieving faithful that their ginger friend is missing.

He was our River and Pavilion End, he was our boundary rope,
Our Friday night T20 blast, our Championship hope
Our early morning coin toss, our lunch and tea time break,
We thought Brian would never leave – that was our great mistake.

The floodlights, they’re not needed for there’s nothing more to see,
The scoreboards hold no interest now for neither you nor me
Take down the temporary stands, leave your retirement flat.
For we will never see again the county’s favourite cat.

---

Other cricket related blogs.

Cricketing blogs from 2026:

To read ‘The True Meaning of Cricket‘, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2025:

To read ‘The Untold Story of Finals’ Day’, click here

To read ‘Only A Day Away’, click here

To read ‘No smoke without fire’, click here

To read ‘Importantly, why cricket doesn’t matter’, click here

To read ‘I Spy Somerset’s 150th Anniversary Season’, click here

To read ‘A Spring Watch’, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2024:

To read ‘Reasons to be cheerful’, click here

To read ‘First of the Summer Wine’, click here

To read ‘Safe and Sound at the County Ground, Taunton’, click here

To read ‘Is Cricket Amusing Itself to Death’, click here

To read ‘A Purr-fect day at the cricket’, click here

To read ‘Worth Every Penny’, click here

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Emporium – 2024’, click here

To read ‘One Fine Day’, click here

To read ‘WWFD – what would Freddie do?’, click here

To read ‘A Shady News Story’, click here

To read ‘The Abolition of County Cricket’, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2023:

To read ‘20 Things we have learnt this summer’, click here

To read ‘When rain stops play’, click here

To read ‘Only a game’, click here

To read ‘The Hundred: is cricket amusing itself to death?’, click here

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Emporium – 2023’, click here

To read ‘for the third time of asking, CRICKET’S COMING HOME…surely’, click here

To read ‘Twas the week of the final’, click here

To read ‘Sharing the important things: on introducing your grandchild to cricket’, click here

To read ‘Somerset v Nottinghamshire T20 Quarter Final 2023’, click here

To read ‘Breaking News’, click here

To read ‘Lewis Calpaldi – Retired Hurt?’, click here

To read ‘Cricket: It’s All About Good Timing’, click here

To read ‘Bazball, Bazchess, Bazlife’, click here

To read ‘Online criticism: it’s just not cricket’, click here

To read ‘Cigarettes, Singles, and Sipping Tea with Ian Botham: Signs of a Well Spent Youth!’, click here

To read ‘A Historic Day’, click here

To read ‘Cricket – through thick and thin’, click here

To read ‘Stumpy: A Legend Reborn’, click here

To read ‘my love is NOT a red, red rose’, click here

Cricketing blogs from previous years:

To read ‘A Cricketing Christmas Carol: A Ghost Story’, click here

To read ‘Scooby Doo and the Mystery of the Deseted Cricket Ground’, click here

To read ‘Brian and Stumpy visit The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘A Tale of Two Tons’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘A Somerset Cricket Players Emporium 2022’ click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘At Season’s End’, click here

To read ‘A Day at the Cricket’, click here

To read ‘The Great Cricket Sell Off’, click here

To read ‘On passing a village cricket club at dusk one late November afternoon’ click here

To read ‘How the Grinch stole from county cricket…or at least tried to’. click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Tea Kind of a Day’, click here

To read ‘Life in the slow lane’, click here

To read ‘Frodo and the Format of Power’, click here

To read ‘If Only’, click here

To read ‘I’ve got a little CRICKET list’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Ben Green’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

And to finish – a couple with a theological flavour

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

Let me ask you a question. What’s the first thing you do each day? Clean your teeth, check your phone, or offer up a simple prayer. 

But if you asked me that question, I’d say something rather different. Because the first thing I do each day…is go to bed.

In Genesis 1, after recording what God made on the first day of creation, we read that ‘there was evening and there was morning the first day’. [Genesis 1:5] And a similar statement is made at the end of each of the following five days of creation. This, together with the fact that the Jewish sabbath began at sunset – not sunrise – suggests that, in God’s ordering of things, the day begins with the night, not with the morning. 

But what has all this got to do with Easter? 

Well, simply this. If in God’s economy, day follows night, might not life follow death – meaning that, far from being surprising, the resurrection of Jesus that we celebrate this morning was only to be expected?

Which in one sense, of course, it was. 

Because, as Peter proclaimed in his sermon at Pentecost, it was not possible for Jesus to stay dead. [Acts 2:24] On the contrary, as the sinless Son of God and everlasting Lord of life, the truly remarkable thing was that He died in the first place. 

And so, sinless as He was, and with death therefore having no rightful claim on Him, He died for the sin of others. 

Which is, perhaps, why, even in crucifixion, He did not simply succumb to death, but willingly yielded up His spirit and committed it into His Father’s hands. [Matthew 27:50] 

But be that as it may, it’s not just the ordering of the day that hints at deeper realities. The whole of creation does too.

And so, just as winter gives way to spring, and the seemingly lifeless rhubarb plant in my garden is now pushing its way back up through the soil, so too did Jesus rise from the dead.

No wonder then that new life is so prevalent at Easter time.

That said, the resurrection to eternal life is not automatic. Whilst freely offered to all, salvation is only for those who gladly accept it as something they know they need, those who, seeing things as God does, recognise their wrongdoing, repent of their sin and put their faith in Jesus. 

But having done so, with our sin fully atoned for, we can know, with absolute certainty, that we’ve been fully forgiven too. And so, with death no longer having any hold over us, we can anticipate a resurrection just like that of Jesus Christ himself.

For His being raised assures us that the sacrifice was sufficient.

For if it hadn’t been, Jesus would still be dead. 

Jesus’ resurrection is then the receipt that proves the price was fully paid. It is our cast-iron guarantee that God’s just anger at our sin has been fully satisfied, that we have been completely reconciled to Him, and that we can now look forward to an eternity with Him as our Father, and we as His much-loved adopted children. 

And just as the pattern of night followed by day speaks of rest before work, so too does the gospel reverse our natural inclinations.

Unlike all other religions, which put the onus on us to work our way towards heaven, the gospel of Jesus Christ invites us first to rest in His completed work. Only then, confident of our eternal future, do we go about the often painful process of sanctification, of becoming more and more like Jesus – a task that God, by His Holy Spirit, has promised to one day complete. 

Similarly, no matter how difficult our lives might currently be, we can be confident of better days ahead. Because whilst weeping may tarry for the nighttime, joy really will come with the morning – just as it did on that first Easter Sunday.

How long, though, will this repeated cycle of night and day continue? How long will even our most joy-filled days keep coming to an end? How long can we expect sadness to keep on raising its perpetually unwelcome head? 

Well, only for as long as night follows day.

Because here’s the thing: one day it won’t. 

Back in Genesis 2, the seventh day was the day that God rested after the work of creation. Unlike the other six days there is no concluding statement that says, ‘and there was evening and there was morning – the seventh day.’ In one sense then, the seventh day never ended – pointing to the fact that those who find their rest in God will do so eternally.

And so we can look forward to the day when Christ returns, a day when a new heaven and a new earth will be established, and God, having restored His people to sinlessness, will once again be with them in the way that He was in the Garden of Eden. 

And it will be a day of rest – of everlasting rest – on which night never falls. A day when God, whose glory then will light the skies, will wipe away our every tear and death will be no more.

That’s what the resurrection of Jesus Christ guarantees. That’s what gives us cause for hope. And that is why we celebrate Easter. 

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Related posts:

To read ‘Good Friday – Good for those who know they’re not’, click here

To read ‘A Warm Welcome Awaited: From Hosanna to Hallelujah’, click here

To read ‘Visions of Blue: Echoes of Grace’, click here

To read ‘Minding the Gap’, click here

To read ‘And not just because baked beans get in the way’, click here

To read ‘The Kindness We Don’t Needand the Truth We Do’, click here

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

Having been away for a while, it’s always good to be welcomed home. I for one enjoy being greeted enthusiastically – even if it is by a four-legged furry fiend who tends to make a lot of noise as he does so.

But then I guess he’s just excited to have his master home, no doubt anticipating how I will provide him with everything he wants – which, thankfully, is rarely anything more than a daily walk, never-ending attention, and something to fill his empty stomach – such as it is after devouring most of the plant life in our back garden.

Today, though, his actions remind me how Jesus was welcomed by those who made a good deal of noise when He entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.

In ancient times, when a homecoming King approached a city, the people would go out to meet him. And they would celebrate his arrival while escorting him along the final stretch of his journey.

So then, as the people waved palm branches and shouted their joyful hosannas, they too were welcoming the one they saw as the long-promised King – the Messiah they hoped would provide them with everything they wanted – specifically their liberation from the Romans who at that time occupied their land. [Matthew 21:1-11]

But what followed was not what the people anticipated. Because much like He sometimes still does with us, God often works in unexpected ways – and not infrequently in a manner that is not, initially at least, to our liking. 

Which is why Jesus, a King like no other, rode into Jerusalem, not on a warhorse, but on a donkey. And why He made his way alongside the great many Passover lambs that would also have been entering the city that day. 

For He too would be a sacrificial lamb – one that by His death would accomplish the liberation the people most needed – not from the Romans, but from sin and death instead. 

And that’s why, five days later, those who had once cried out to Him for salvation would cry out for Him to be crucified. [Mark 15:13] A clamour to which, had we been there, we might well have added our voice. 

But by submitting to what they thought they wanted, Jesus gave them – and us – what we did not even know we needed.

Because by allowing Himself to be nailed to a cross, by suffering and dying there in our place, He bore the full punishment that our sin deserves – in order that death would no longer have the final word. 

For that final word belongs to Jesus.

As was proved on the third day, when God once again subverted all our expectations by raising Him back to life. [Acts 13:30]

And then, just a few weeks later, Jesus ascended, not just to heaven but to a throne. One from which He has continued to reign ever since – and will continue to do so for evermore. 

For Jesus Christ is King – and God’s chosen King at that.

All of which means that when, as the Bible promises, He returns, He will come, not only as the Lord of lords, but the King of kings as well.

And, we are told, those who are His will meet Him ‘in the air’ [1 Thessalonians 4:17], not to be whisked away to some distant place, leaving the earth empty of believers, but to warmly welcome Him, and then, as with conquering kings of old, to escort Him to the place where His kingdom will be fully established – not in some small corner of the globe, but throughout the whole of the created order. 

When we will all sing again – not Hosanna, but Hallelujah. Because the salvation once longed for will at last have been secured.

As the Lord our God, the Almighty, reigns. [Revelation 19:6]

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Related posts:

To read ‘Visions of Blue: Echoes of Grace’, click here

To read ‘Minding the Gap’, click here

To read ‘And not just because baked beans get in the way’, click here

To read ‘The Kindness We Don’t Needand the Truth We Do’, click here

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

 

Today I did something pointless. And all the more so perhaps, given how cold it was, and with the grey skies overhead constantly threatening rain. 

But whilst the match at the County Ground in Taunton, being a pre-season friendly, had no points resting on it, my spending a couple of hours watching wasn’t in the least bit senseless. 

Because I, and the other couple of hundred who were there, experienced a shared reality – as we watched the game, quite literally, play out in real time. We saw what really happened – and not some version of events presented to us by someone with a particular story to sell.

Which these days, it seems to me, is increasingly rare.

I can’t trust everything that I see in the news because, no matter how truthful the reporter, whatever they say can only ever be a portion of the truth. And I can’t trust certain public figures who have a relationship with the truth that is, at best, flexible. But I can trust what my own eyes saw: that Lewis Gregory struck a cracking boundary from the 20th delivery he faced, only to be caught, just three balls later, by Norton off the bowling of Gorvin.

And in a world where far too much is fake, it’s good to experience something real once in a while.

And then there was the opportunity to see Jack Leach and Craig Overton batting – neither of whom, as far as I could tell, threatened to ‘unleash hell’ on the opposition or become their ‘worst nightmare’ if they weren’t offered up gentle full tosses.

Instead they just played cricket, putting on 93 together, whilst I watched. And we all forgot, for an hour or two at least, about the absolutely senseless things that continue elsewhere in the world. And remembered that some good things remain.

Which, on reflection, didn’t seem pointless at all.

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Other cricket related posts:

Cricketing blogs from 2025:

To read ‘The Untold Story of Finals’ Day’, click here

To read ‘Only A Day Away’, click here

To read ‘No smoke without fire’, click here

To read ‘Importantly, why cricket doesn’t matter’, click here

To read ‘I Spy Somerset’s 150th Anniversary Season’, click here

To read ‘A Spring Watch’, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2024:

To read ‘Reasons to be cheerful’, click here

To read ‘First of the Summer Wine’, click here

To read ‘Safe and Sound at the County Ground, Taunton’, click here

To read ‘Is Cricket Amusing Itself to Death’, click here

To read ‘A Purr-fect day at the cricket’, click here

To read ‘Worth Every Penny’, click here

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Emporium – 2024’, click here

To read ‘One Fine Day’, click here

To read ‘WWFD – what would Freddie do?’, click here

To read ‘A Shady News Story’, click here

To read ‘The Abolition of County Cricket’, click here

Cricketing blogs from 2023:

To read ‘20 Things we have learnt this summer’, click here

To read ‘When rain stops play’, click here

To read ‘Only a game’, click here

To read ‘The Hundred: is cricket amusing itself to death?’, click here

To read ‘The Somerset Cricket Emporium – 2023’, click here

To read ‘for the third time of asking, CRICKET’S COMING HOME…surely’, click here

To read ‘Twas the week of the final’, click here

To read ‘Sharing the important things: on introducing your grandchild to cricket’, click here

To read ‘Somerset v Nottinghamshire T20 Quarter Final 2023’, click here

To read ‘Breaking News’, click here

To read ‘Lewis Calpaldi – Retired Hurt?’, click here

To read ‘Cricket: It’s All About Good Timing’, click here

To read ‘Bazball, Bazchess, Bazlife’, click here

To read ‘Online criticism: it’s just not cricket’, click here

To read ‘Cigarettes, Singles, and Sipping Tea with Ian Botham: Signs of a Well Spent Youth!’, click here

To read ‘A Historic Day’, click here

To read ‘Cricket – through thick and thin’, click here

To read ‘Stumpy: A Legend Reborn’, click here

To read ‘my love is NOT a red, red rose’, click here

Cricketing blogs from previous years:

To read ‘A Cricketing Christmas Carol: A Ghost Story’, click here

To read ‘Scooby Doo and the Mystery of the Deseted Cricket Ground’, click here

To read ‘Brian and Stumpy visit The Repair Shop’, click here

To read ‘A Tale of Two Tons’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘A Somerset Cricket Players Emporium 2022’ click here

To read ‘A Cricket Taunt’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Brian’, click here

To read ‘At Season’s End’, click here

To read ‘A Day at the Cricket’, click here

To read ‘The Great Cricket Sell Off’, click here

To read ‘On passing a village cricket club at dusk one late November afternoon’ click here

To read ‘How the Grinch stole from county cricket…or at least tried to’. click here

To read ‘How Covid-19 stole the the cricket season’, click here

To read ‘A Cricket Tea Kind of a Day’, click here

To read ‘Life in the slow lane’, click here

To read ‘Frodo and the Format of Power’, click here

To read ‘If Only’, click here

To read ‘I’ve got a little CRICKET list’, click here

To read ‘Eve of the RLODC limericks’ click here

To read ‘It’s coming home…’, click here

To read ‘A Song for Ben Green’, click here

To read ‘Enough Said…’, the last section of which is cricket related, click here

A Jack Leach Trilogy:

To read ‘For when we can’t see why’, click here

To read ‘WWJD – What would Jack Do?’, click here

To read ‘On Playing a Blinder’, click here

To read ‘Coping with Disappointment’, click here

And to finish – a couple with a theological flavour

To read ‘Somerset CCC – Good for the soul’, click here

To read ‘Longing for the pavilion whilst enjoying a good innings’, click here

So having already bared my soul in regard to previous encounters with the police, I thought I’d continue in confessional fashion and tell the tale of another occasion when I fell foul of local law enforcement agencies – not this time as a result of their eagerness to take a photo of me as I, quite literally, sped by, but one during which I came face to face with one of their number.

The incident took place one Father’s Day as I was travelling, along with the family, to visit my Dad. And it was as I was driving along the North Devon Relief Road, happily minding my own business that I suddenly noticed a police car following along behind me.

‘So what?’ you might ask. Well, the thing is, not only was it following along behind me, it also saw fit to flash its lights at me. You know the ones – those rather striking blue ones!

And so, I thought to myself, I’d better stop – and see if the policeman wants any help with his enquiries.

And do you know what? He did. In fact, so keen was he to have me lend my assistance, that he invited me to step out of my car, and join him in his.

Now I should point out that I had absolutely no idea what it was he wanted to talk to me about. Miraculously, I hadn’t been speeding, the car was taxed and Insured, and, as far as I was aware, it was in an entirely roadworthy condition. 

And so, I thought to myself, perhaps it was simply because, proud of his own car, he wanted to show me just how much better it was than mine!

Once I was seated comfortably in his admittedly impressive vehicle, the police officer began. He started by asking me some rather easy warm-up questions: my name, where had I come from, and where was I heading.  All of which I answered without any great difficulty.

And then he told me two things:

The first thing that he told me was the law – and how I was guilty of breaking it. He told me that I had been driving too close to the car in front of me and that I had been doing so for all of the previous four miles. He told me that ‘only a fool, breaks the two second rule’ and, in so doing – though I hadn’t realised it at the time – I now appreciate that he was implying that a fool was exactly what I was!

And then he went on to tell me that my crime of ‘driving without due care and attention’ was worthy of a court appearance and six points on my licence.

Gulp!

Now the law is the law, and recognising I’d broken it, I acknowledged that it was the proverbial fair cop. Besides, there was no point my trying to argue otherwise since my actions had been recorded and were now preserved on film. His rather fancy car, you see, really was better than mine – it even had a built-in camera!

And so the truth could not be denied: I was guilty.

I was, of course, sorry for what I’d done – but being sorry, didn’t change the fact that he had me, as they say, bang to rights.

And so I found myself hoping that he’d show me leniency, that he’d spare me the punishment the law required, and treat me instead as one who’d been driving perfectly safely.

That is to say, I hoped that he’d be gracious, that he’d show me mercy, and not treat me in the way the law demanded.

Or, for that matter, in the way that I deserved.

But before I had the chance to beg…or cry…he went on. And my soon-to-be new best friend told me the second thing.

He told me the news – the very good news – that he’d decided to let me off!

I don’t know why he chose not to punish me that day – only that it was most assuredly not because of anything I had done.

It wasn’t because there were other drivers who were driving even more dangerously than me, it wasn’t a result of a promise on my part to never do it again, and it wasn’t even because I’d expressed sufficient remorse.

It was simply because, though I was guilty, he had chosen to be forgiving.

And so it was that, as a result of the policeman’s kindness, I kept a clean driving licence that day. Not because I wasn’t guilty of a driving offence but because I wasn’t counted as having committed one.

And no record was therefore kept!

Which is, it seems to me, a pretty good illustration of the difference between the Law and the Gospel.

Within the pages of the Bible, there are many laws, the most famous of which are the Ten Commandments that can be summarised by saying that we should love God with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind – and our neighbour as ourselves.

However, like the Highway Code that I have also failed to keep, these are commands that I have similarly broken. And so, just as I was that Sunday afternoon, I am conscious of my need for God’s mercy too.

But, like that announced to me by the police officer, God also has some good news for me to hear.

Namely the gospel – that announces to me that I am similarly acquitted – and again,  not because of any good in me.

It’s not because there may be those who have done worse things than I have, not because I’ve promised to do better in the future, not even because I’ve been sufficiently contrite.

Rather I am forgiven simply because, despite my guilt, God has chosen to be gracious to me.

Because that’s what God is like. He’s  gracious – and treats us infinitely better than we could ever deserve. Rather than punishing us as the law demands, He chooses, by way of Jesus’ bearing on the cross the penalty that we deserved, to pay our debt on our behalf.

But more than just choosing to treat us as those who’ve never done anything wrong – God also chooses to treat us as if we were those who’ve always done everything right. That is to say, He counts us righteous – as righteous even as His own beloved son – before adopting us into His family as His fully forgiven and much loved children.

The law then tells us how we would need to behave if we wanted to earn God’s acceptance. And crushes us with its unmanageable demands.

Whilst the gospel tells us what God has done to make us acceptable to Him. And fills us with joy by lifting the law’s heavy burden.

Which is not to suggest that the law isn’t good – on the contrary, everything about it is right. But just as the excellent rule that tells us we shouldn’t drive too close to the car in front of us is one that, however much I may agree with it, can’t, in and of itself, stop me from breaking it – so too the even more excellent command to ‘Love God’ doesn’t, in and of itself enable us to do so either.

But here’s the funny thing. Since that encounter with the policeman my driving has improved a little. And though, admittedly, it still isn’t as good as it ought to be, I nonetheless, find myself wanting to drive better. Not because of the law – but because of the policeman’s kindness.

And so it is with the gospel. God’s law does not have the power to change us, but the kindness of God, revealed to us in the gospel, can.

And so I’ll finish with a lovely little rhyme, said by some to be written by John Bunyan, that makes the distinction between law and gospel clear.

‘Run and work the law commands
But gives us neither feet nor hands
Far better news the gospel brings
It bids us fly and gives us wings’

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Related posts:

To read ‘Minding the Gap’, click here

To read ‘And not just because baked beans get in the way’, click here

To read ‘The Kindness We Don’t Needand the Truth We Do’, click here

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

 

Last weekend I travelled to London and, of all the lively places in the capital that I could have visited, I opted for a tour of Highgate Cemetery – an undertaking that might have had grave consequences, given I was with my wife and the following day was Mothering Sunday. 

But the atmosphere among those who gathered at the entrance of the cemetery, one of seven built in the 1830s to solve the problem of London’s overcrowded churchyards, was far from funereal. And as the stories of those in the tombs – to whom we were, in a sense, introduced – were brought vividly to life by our very able guide, my interest in death was instantly resurrected.

Among the more famous long-term inhabitants of Highgate was Douglas Adams, whose grave was marked by pens stuck into the ground by those wishing to say ‘so long’ and ‘thanks for all the finished novels’ he’d written. The gravestone of Michael Faraday, the ‘Father of Electricity,’ was a simple affair – a distinct contrast to that of Karl Marx, which included a larger-than-life representation of the long dead author of ‘Das Kapital’. And one of the most visited graves is that of the singer and philanthropist George Michael who lies alongside his mother and sister in a secluded area of the cemetery known as ‘Comfort Corner,’ and still commands such respect from local people that they won’t hear a bad word said against him.

And then there is Alexander Litvinenko, the former Russian spy who was assassinated in London in 2006 when polonium-210 was slipped into his cup of tea. The memorial that marks his grave contains a deliberately broken stone column that is meant to symbolise his untimely death – one that Litvinenko had long expected. Indeed, when he realised what had happened to him, he phoned the police and said he wanted to report a murder – his own – three full weeks before the poison took its inevitable effect.

Later we had pointed out to us the coffin of a once-eminent surgeon who, concerned about becoming the target of the grave robbers he might once have owed a debt to, had chosen to be laid to rest on the top shelf of the vault we were allowed to enter.

But, to me at least, the most intriguing of all was the final resting place of one who lay in a vault marked only by his name – one familiar to me, as it was the same as that of my uncle. This John Aird must have been wealthy, since his grave was in one of the most select parts of the cemetery. But of him I could discover nothing more – despite my extensive digging around in the hope of discovering more about his life. Not literally, you understand, as doing so, as well as being prohibited by law, drew unaccountably disapproving looks from our guide the moment I made even the most cursory attempt to unearth something of interest.

So while I learned about a once-famous bare-knuckle boxer and his devoted dog, a horse slaughterer who once boasted that he served by appointment to the royal family, and the desecration of tombs carried out by a mob following the imagined sighting of the Highgate Vampire in the 1970s, I failed even to discover the years in which my perhaps well-to-do ancestor lived.

Perhaps, I thought, as I wandered amidst the ivy-clad memorials, his reluctance to reveal the secrets of his past suggested an unholy preference for the darkness – one that hinted that, as that fearsome creature of the night, he might be, and evermore remain, undead!

And so, resigned to the fact that I’d never have a stake in his estate, when our time eventually came to an end, we made our exit through the cemetery gates, shuffled off to Hampstead Heath, and finally came to rest over a piece of cake in a bijou – or, dare I say it, fey – coffee shop just off Perrin Street. 

And there, where the prices were mortifying, we drew down the curtain on what had been a dead good day. 

So far this Lent, we’ve faced the grim reality of our indwelling sin, the weight of our guilt, and the gap between who we are now and who we were meant to be. 

But the Bible tells us that the person we are meant to be is the very person we will one day become. And understanding how that transformation comes about helps us live with the disparity we experience today.

Take Gideon, for example. His story begins in Chapter 6 of the Book of Judges where we find him hiding from the marauding Midianites – cowering in a winepress no less – when the Angel of the Lord appears and greets him as ‘a mighty man of valour’. [Judges 6:12] 

Which is a great comfort to me as one who, like Gideon, knows just how weak I am. Because if God could see Gideon as someone who is strong, perhaps he can see me that way too – despite all the evidence to the contrary.

But here’s the thing: God’s word is powerful — so powerful that he creates simply by speaking. And because God cannot lie, whatever he says is true — of us as well as of Gideon — irrespective of appearances. 

Which means that when God speaks reality must change.

Think about it. By a word of command, God created the universe. And by a word of command he spoke Lazarus back from the dead.

When God said ‘Let there be light’, there was light. And when Jesus said ‘Lazarus, come out’, Lazarus walked out of the tomb he’d been laid in having died four days previously.

God’s word is so powerful that all his promises are guaranteed to come about. Which means that in a real sense God’s promises belong to the present, even before they are fully realised.

Or, put another way, they are both ‘already’…and ‘not yet’ fulfilled. 

This is a pattern that is repeatedly seen in scripture. After God declares something to be so, there follows a process by which what is true by God’s decree becomes true in actuality.

So for example, God declared Gideon to be a mighty warrior.

And if God says you are a mighty warrior, then a mighty warrior is what you are – even if, at the time, you are quivering in a wine press.

But there then followed a process by which Gideon became just what God had told him he was at the outset – so that, by Judges 7, he is leading an unlikely band of just 300 men whom God then used to defeat the Midianites.

At the time of God’s decree, Gideon was both ‘already’ and ‘not yet’ a mighty warrior. And in time he became what he already was.

Similarly God renamed Abram as Abraham saying ‘I have made you the father of a multitude of nations.’ The only problem being that when God said it, Abraham had no children at all. 

But once again there followed a process by which Abraham became what God had already declared him to be.

Abraham too became what he already was. And the same is true for us. 

God declares us to be a chosen race, a royal priesthood, and a holy nation. And so we are. The only problem being that, as we’ve been confessing throughout this Lenten series, we all continue to sin.

If, like me, then, all too aware of your indwelling sin, you sometimes find yourself asking, ‘Can I really be a Christian?’, you too can take heart.

Because, whilst not for one minute encouraging complacency, we need to remember that we too are ‘not yet’ what we ‘already’ are!

God has declared us to be right with him. We are ‘justified’ solely because of what Jesus has done for us. And if God says we are ‘Not guilty,’ then ‘Not guilty’ is most certainly what we are in Christ. Having already been counted righteous, we are now in the process of becoming what God has declared us to be.

That is, we are being sanctified as, by his Spirit and through his word, he makes us more like Jesus – the mighty warrior we have always needed.

So make no mistake, every single one of us will die as a sinner – still imperfect, still the author of our sin, and still in need of forgiveness. 

But if our faith is not in ourselves but in Christ who has defeated sin and death on the cross, we will die as justified sinners – those who, though we still sin, have nonetheless begun the long and sometimes painful process of sanctification by which we become more and more like Jesus.

And, what’s more, God will complete the good work he has begun in us because that is what he has promised to do. And one day, on the day of Jesus Christ, we will rise again – perfectly righteous in our new resurrection body.

Then, and only then, we will become in actuality what today we are already declared to be. 

The gap we currently experience – between what we are and what we should be – will finally be gone. 

And I for one can’t wait!

So then, ‘there is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ.’ [Romans 8:1] 

‘Beloved, we are God’s children now and what we will be has not yet appeared. But we know that when he appears we will be like him because we shall see him as he is. And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure’ [1 John 3:2-3]

Which is very good news indeed!

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Related posts:

To read ‘And not just because baked beans get in the way’, click here

To read ‘The Kindness We Don’t Needand the Truth We Do’, click here

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

As a young boy it was drummed into me that you’ll never go to heaven in a baked bean tin – for the very simple reason that a baked bean tin has baked beans in. And, to the delight of my fellow cub scouts who gleefully sang of the fact on the way to summer camp, neither will we get to our celestial home in a Playtex bra – for, it seems, this branded item of feminine attire lacks the requisite elasticity necessary to propel an individual all the way to what is surely everyone’s preferred eternal home.

Now, whilst neither of these assertions will come as any surprise to many, what may be less well known to some is that we will never get to heaven by giving up chocolate for Lent. Or anything else for that matter – irrespective of whether our determined abstinence involves social media, mobile phone usage, or the pandering to black Labradors who, when indulged, are liable to leave fur all over the settee. 

But leaving all that to one side for a moment, for those who have opted to give something up during these weeks preceding Easter, how’s it going?

Are you remaining resolute despite that Yorkie bar in the top drawer of your desk, or have you caved in and found yourself now relying on the same excuses you made on January 2nd when your plan to run this year’s London Marathon ended in tatters, having failed to keep up with the couch-to-5k app’s suggested schedule?

Of course there is nothing wrong in abstaining from less than helpful habits in Lent. Such endeavours can be helpful. But we shouldn’t pretend they have any spiritual value unless they free up more time for us to ponder the things of God. For many, however, the decision to give something up is less about drawing near to God and more about feeling better about ourselves. And even then the self-sacrifice is only ever intended to be temporary as, come Easter, all our hard work is undone when we consume more confectionery in one day than we would normally eat in the six weeks we have gone without.

But even if we are successful in continuing to go without, our better behaviour will prove no more effective in getting us to heaven than vessels containing pre-cooked, nutrient-dense seeds derived from plants in the Fabaceae family. Because being good has as much to do with the state of our hearts as the actions they generate. 

For while I may succeed in cutting down on the number of people I murder, Jesus tells me that I must not harbour hatred toward anyone – or indeed be inappropriately angry or even speak unkindly about them. And whilst we may resist the temptation of falling into an adulterous relationship, Jesus says that to even look at another with lustful thoughts is, in effect, to climb into bed with that person. [Matthew 5:21-28]

Though it has been many years since I attended one regularly, I was brought up in the Church of England. So something else that I learnt as a boy, far more useful than the childish songs we sang on coaches, was the prayer of General Confession that I would say each Sunday morning whilst kneeling in front of a hard wooden pew. It goes like this:

‘Almighty God, our Heavenly Father,
we have sinned against you…
in thought and word and deed,
through ignorance, through weakness,
and through our own deliberate fault.
We are truly sorry
and repent of all our sins.
For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ.’

I still use these words today as they helpfully dismantle every imagined get-out clause that I’m tempted to employ in the hope of somehow justifying my own wrongdoing. That is to say, they stop me pretending that I’m not a sinner.

Which is the only thing we really need to be giving up during Lent. That and our foolish pride that tells us that we’re not in need of forgiveness. 

As has been rightly said, ‘the only thing we contribute to our salvation is the sin that made it necessary’. And so our journey begins by recognising our need of rescue, and crying out to God for help.

The help he is only too willing to give.

Because if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. But if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. [1 John 1:8-9]

And so the question becomes, not what we are giving up this Lent, but whether we’re prepared to confess who we truly are – and then throw ourselves on the mercy of the God who is ready to wash us clean. 

For if we are, we’ll find that we’re warmly welcomed – into heaven, which, not to stretch a point, is never so full that room can’t be found for just one more. 

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Related posts:

To read ‘The Kindness We Don’t Needand the Truth We Do’, click here

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

As we move deeper into Lent, I want to consider another way that we sometimes try to absolve ourselves of our very real guilt – by normalising our faults and claiming that the wrong we do is, in fact, absolutely right.

Recently I read of someone who spoke with regret of how he, like some of us perhaps, had consistently acted selfishly towards those he said he loved. Until, that is, he came across an article about a condition he came to think he was born with. Believing it explained everything he ever did wrong, he diagnosed himself with the condition and thus absolved himself of all responsibility for his behaviour. 

Furthermore, by claiming that God had made him the way he was, he reevaluated his behaviour as not only ‘not wrong’, but rather ‘beautifully right’.

Now don’t hear me wrong here – I am not saying that such conditions aren’t real, nor that they can’t profoundly affect an individual’s behaviour. 

But even when they do, explanation is not the same as exoneration. While the line between what is and isn’t avoidable may be fine, what may well be a factor must not be used as an excuse.

And nor is the growing tendency to describe every difficulty as a gift, and every limitation a superpower, helpful.

Which isn’t to say that some conditions – typically those causing less severe problems – don’t come with certain limited benefits. 

But I can’t help but notice that the parents of those with more severe developmental difficulties don’t romanticise their condition in this way. Which is not to say that they don’t enjoy being with their children – for how could they not when they love them so much. But their difficulties are a cause of great sadness too – for exactly the same reasons. And knowing how horribly hard life can be for those suffering with such disabilities – and for those who care so wonderfully for them – they don’t need the additional burden of being told they should be happy about the situation that they find themselves in.

Which is why framing real difficulties as benefits, whilst sometimes sounding kind, is in fact, often cruel.

That said, those born with such conditions are no less precious, no less loved by God, and no less His image-bearers as a result. Our value does not depend on what we can or cannot do, on what we have or should not have done, but on the worth bestowed on us by the one who created us. And since He is unchanging, it remains the same – irrespective of whether the care we need comes from novice parents, advanced palliative care experts, or those supporting individuals with the severest special needs.

Or, indeed, since nobody is beyond redemption, prison wardens in high-security detention centres.

Because the truth is that we are all born into a world that is not as it should be – and we all bear the marks of that brokenness at birth – at the very least the moral ones, and not infrequently the physical and psychological ones as well. And we make a mistake if we pretend that the faults we are all born with are, in and of themselves, part of God’s original design. 

So then, we must not think that being born with a sinful disposition makes that disposition beautiful – any more than we would call beautiful a genetic condition that promises nothing more than a tragically short life marked only by pain and sadness.

Because if we do, not only will we risk romanticising disability, which, as Jesus himself made plain, has no bearing on our moral status [John 9:1-3], we will risk romanticising our sin, which does. 

And seeing sin as beautiful will leave us blind to our need of repentance and, as a result, prevent us from experiencing the salvation we will no longer recognise we need. 

Accepting then that we are all broken, we honour those with life-long difficulties most by loving them – and not by pretending that the disability causing them such heartache is in fact something that they are fortunate to possess. 

For not all that God sovereignly permits is necessarily good – even if He can, and does, bring good out of it. Because not being part of God’s original design doesn’t mean that what we providentially experience today is somehow outside of His loving purpose.

And neither should those who are able to overcome significant hardship, often in remarkable and inspirational ways, be used to shame those who cannot. 

Life isn’t that simple. God often works in ways that we cannot comfortably comprehend, and things are frequently very different from how they may appear. 

Like, for example the crucifixion of Jesus Christ – that looked like ugly defeat but was, in fact, glorious victory.

So then, during Lent, we don’t need to be told we’re perfectly okay – because we’re not. And whether our faults are carefully concealed or on display for all the world to see, we are all sick and need to be offered a cure. 

Because our sin and our guilt are real – we are all in need of a Saviour – one that is as real as the rescue He secures. 

And his name is Jesus – the innocent Son of God who, suffering in the place of the guilty,  provides the perfect sacrifice required to fully guarantee both our future physical and emotional wholeness, and atone for all our sin.

Mine as well as yours.

Even so, there’s nothing pleasant about crucifixion, nothing beautiful about being nailed to a cross, and nothing romantic about substitutionary death – it was simply the remedy that was necessary.

If, that is, we are not to remain horribly broken forever. 

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Related posts:

To read ‘No Ifs or Buts’, click here

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

In a world where we’re constantly urged to shout about how awesome we are, the Lenten tradition of sober introspection seems strangely anachronistic. After all, if we’re all so amazing, why would we look inside and discover something far less flattering? 

Some years ago, a patient consulted with me having been sacked. But despite their dismissal being wholly justified, given their criminal misconduct in the workplace, they nonetheless felt that they had been unfairly treated.

And so I spoke to them about two types of guilt. Firstly the self-pitying guilt of those who are only concerned by how their wrongdoing has adversely affected themselves. And secondly, the healthy ‘gutsy guilt’ that admits one’s wrongdoing, accepts the responsibility for it, and seeks, where possible, to make amends. The guilt felt by those who say ‘sorry’ without adding a clause to their apology beginning with either an ‘if’ or a ‘but’ so as to either excuse the behaviour or suggest it was never really wrong in the first place.

I urged them to adopt the latter approach, but I’m not sure my advice was accepted, given that I subsequently had a complaint made against me for not being affirming enough of my patient’s behaviour. 

And therein lies a problem. 

Because whilst it is of course possible to feel guilty for things that aren’t our fault, it remains the case that sometimes our guilt is real. And when it is, our rehabilitation has to begin with an acceptance that we are to blame. Because only then is there a chance of genuine repentance – and with that the chance of genuine forgiveness.

That said, the one who inappropriately feels guilty for everything needs to be taken gently to one side to have it explained that their insistence that they are responsible for every evil in the world is, in fact, a form of arrogance. Because to believe that one is to blame for everything is to imply, albeit unknowingly, that one has god-like sovereignty over the universe such that there needs to be confession of pride and repentance of imagined superior significance.

But to return to genuine guilt, let’s now consider how gutsy guilt can prove beneficial, firstly by considering another story from my days as a doctor. 

One Sunday morning, I visited a patient at home. He was significantly unwell and undoubtedly warranted hospital admission. But thinking a blue light ambulance wasn’t required, I requested one within the hour. 

Unfortunately the paramedics arrived about an hour and a half later and, to cut a long story short, the patient died en route to hospital. Inevitably I felt bad about the decision I had made and the following day I discussed the case with my colleagues. 

Most of them kindly reassured me that I’d acted appropriately, that the late arrival of the ambulance was to blame, or that the outcome would have been the same even if I had called for a more urgent response.

But the response that helped most was from my senior partner who shared of a mistake he had once made which had tragic consequences and spoke of how hard it is to live with our mistakes. 

But here’s the thing – it’s always better to apologise for our mistakes rather than pretend they didn’t happen. I’ve messed up and had to say sorry to patients. And I was always glad when I did – such was the gracious forgiveness I received.

I am reminded of the day a Jehovah’s Witness came knocking at my door. 

After engaging me in conversation they asked me if I wanted to go to heaven. I said I did and was told that all I needed to do was to become a Jehovah’s Witness and live a good life as defined by their own set of rules. And so I asked them what difference it would make if I was a bad person. To which they replied by trying to reassure me that I wasn’t bad. 

That was all they had to offer me – denial – urging me not to accept what I know is true.

What a contrast that is to the gospel – that offers full salvation to the one who confesses their sins, repents of their wrongdoing, and asks God for forgiveness. 

Only Christianity offers a solution to the problem that we cannot deny – that we are guilty. Because on the cross, Jesus paid the penalty for all our sin – He took our place, bearing the punishment that our wrongdoing deserved. 

And so we are forgiven – with no ifs or buts. 

Because, ‘if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.’ [1 John 1:9-10]

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Related posts:

To read ‘Hope in the Ashes: Why Sin Remains But Does Not Reign’, click here

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent – a season traditionally set aside for self-examination and repentance in the run-up to Easter. 

Whether you would label it that way or not, I think we can all agree that we live in what I would call a sin-sick world. We only have to hear the news of mass shootings, knife crime, and sex trafficking to realise that there is something deeply wrong going on. 

That said, it’s not just those nasty people over there who spoil it for everyone else – it’s all of us as well, both inside and outside religious organisations. Because together we contribute, albeit perhaps in less obvious ways, to the pervasive nature of the world’s collective wrongdoing.

But since I’m a Christian myself, it is of the ongoing sinfulness of those within the church that I want to consider here. And, evil though they no doubt are, I don’t mean those who infiltrate faith communities with the express purpose of taking advantage of the vulnerable that they find there. Rather, I want to speak of genuine believers who, like me, continue to be troubled by their indwelling sin – even if it goes unnoticed by those they sit alongside each Sunday morning, as well as those who write the headlines in either the local or national newspapers.

Because, sad to say, we’re all still sinners – despite our perhaps largely successful attempts to maintain a clean-cut image. 

And not wishing to pretend otherwise raises some pretty important questions. Or at least it does me, as I continue to be deeply disappointed by the way I think, speak and act – not least as a result of my inherent pride that all too often causes me to think far too highly of myself, believe I deserve far more than I already have, even to the point of looking to benefit from the suffering of others. 

So what are those questions that I – and perhaps you – need to ask this Lent? Well here are just a few. 

Why, if we’re Christians, do we still not love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind – or indeed our neighbour as ourselves? [Luke 10:27] 

Why do we not consider others more highly than ourselves? [Philippians 2:3] 

And why do we continue to do things that we don’t want to, whilst failing to do the things that we ought? [Romans 7:19]

Which brings me to the Apostle Paul, to the author of half of the New Testament, who described himself as the chief of sinners – not because of who he once was, but because of who he continued to be. [1 Timothy 1:15] For whilst it doesn’t for one minute excuse my ongoing sin, the fact that such a ‘great’ Christian as Paul struggled in ways not dissimilar to myself would suggest that my problem, far from being an aberration, is part of what makes up, for some at least, the normal Christian life.

But while this is indeed comforting to know, it doesn’t answer my earlier question: why do Christians still sin? And why doesn’t God press fast-forward on the process of sanctification and make me more like Jesus far more quickly than He currently seems willing to?

The answer may not, of course, be fully ours to know, but there may at least be a clue in another of Paul’s letters.

In 2 Corinthians 12:7-9, Paul writes of a ‘thorn in the flesh’ – ‘a messenger of Satan’ – given to keep him from becoming conceited. He also says how, despite pleading for the Lord to take the thing that ‘harassed’ him away, the Lord declined to do so – the only explanation given by God being His rather enigmatic words, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’

Paul did not give details of what exactly the nature of the thorn was, and great has been the resulting speculation. But whereas some have suggested a physical ailment – perhaps poor eyesight – and others have suggested a persistent opponent of his ministry, some, myself included, have wondered if Paul might have struggled with some persistent sin, the inevitable consequence of the sinful nature we all inherit from the fall. 

But while that last suggestion is believed by few and therefore probably wrong, it’s true that my own indwelling sin produces in me something of what Paul experienced through his thorn. For what humbles us more than our perpetual wrongdoing? What better highlights the wonder of grace than a fresh awareness of our need for it? And what acts more readily as a messenger of Satan than that voice that whispers of our guilt and unworthiness?

So here, irrespective of what Paul’s thorn might have been, is the thing – without sin there would be no need for forgiveness, and without forgiveness there would be no need for the cross. And without the cross, the glory of which shines all the more brightly against the backdrop of sin, we could not begin to recognise the magnitude of God’s power, the marvel of His mercy, and the depth of His love. And so we would be left unable to enjoy God as deeply as we do once we have grasped the glory of His grace.

Even so, we must be careful, because God does not need sin to be glorious.  Not at all – His glory is part of who He is and not dependent on anything else. We should not think that when we sin it’s okay because in so doing we magnify God’s grace. Paul himself warned against such foolishness. [Romans 6:1] And nor should we imagine that by not preventing us from behaving badly, God is Himself responsible for our sin. 

Far from it. For God is holy even as He rules over a world whose wickedness is all too apparent. And our sin, which in no way is necessary for our salvation, is used by God in ways that we cannot possibly understand.

Just as was the case when Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, was crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men. [Acts 2:23]

There is then a paradox at the heart of the Christian faith, one that we must learn to live with: that what man means for evil, God can work for both His glory and our good. [Genesis 50:20]

Which is why I, for one, will not pretend that I am not still a sinner. On the contrary, like Paul, I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses – not because I delight in them but because they drive me back to Jesus, bearing witness to my ongoing spiritual life. 

And because His grace continues to be sufficient even for me, I find fresh cause for hope: one day I will become what I am both ‘not yet’ and ‘already’ declared to be in Christ. 

Sin then remains – but because of the cross, it doesn’t reign. 

And just as Lent gives way to Easter Day, so too will we who die in dishonour be raised in glory as we who have borne the image of the man of dust will one day bear the image of the man of heaven. [1 Corinthians 15:43,49]

One day we will be what we are not.

Perfect.

But in the meantime, we must work out our salvation with fear and trembling – for it is God who works in us, to will and to work for His good pleasure. And He who has begun a good work in us will bring it to completion on the day of Christ. [Philippians 1:6; 2:12-13]

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Related posts:

To read ‘Hope for the Guilty’, click here

To read ‘When our best isn’t good enough’, click here

To read ‘On Narcissism…an the Pot Calling the Kettle Black’, click here

What does it mean to be unconditionally loved?

It means that no conditions need to be met before the love is expressed.

It means that it doesn’t matter what condition you are in – you can be a physical wreck, an emotional wreck, a moral wreck, or a spiritual wreck and still the love is there for you.

And it means that irrespective of your prevailing conditions, whether they be comfortable or characterised by overwhelming difficulty, the love remains the same.

But what does unconditional love look like?

It looks like a man hanging on a cross and bearing there the punishment for everything that we have done that would otherwise have prevented us from knowing the never-ending love of God. 

Because what does it feel like to be unconditionally loved?

It feels like being home with a loving Heavenly Father who has adopted us into his family as his much-loved children. And finding oneself wanting to take on the family likeness.

‘See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.’ [1 John 3:1a]

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Related posts:

To read ‘Valentine’s Day in the light of the cross’, click here

To read ‘A good heart these days is hard to find’, click here

To read ‘True Love’, click here

To read ‘What becomes of the broken hearted? Sorrowful yet always rejoicing on Palm Sunday’, click here

To read ‘Why do bad things happen to good people? Sorrowful yet always rejoicing on Good Friday’, click here

To read ‘Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things? Rejoicing, though temporarily sorrowful, on Easter Day’, click here.

To read ‘Ascension Day’, click here.

To read ‘Speaking in Tongues’, click here.

Recently, after three incidents that occurred within the space of a few days, I’ve been thinking about how the world encourages us to believe that the unpredictable can be adequately anticipated, the average is in fact awesome, and each and every one of us is strong enough to overcome our own inherent weakness.

The first incident took place when I took my car in for a service. I had previously arranged to be supplied with a courtesy vehicle, but before I was able to take possession of it, the young woman who was dealing with the paperwork asked me if I was a professional entertainer.

But given the pitying look she gave me when I assured her that she wasn’t the first to mistake me for Brad Pitt, this wasn’t even remotely the reason for her questioning my occupation. Instead, it seems, when it comes to driving, professional entertainers are considered a greater risk to those wishing to insure them. This is something I find somewhat hard to believe – unless of course we’re talking about circus clowns who, as we all know, rarely check for square wheels or inadequately secured doors before taking to the roads.

Secondly, there was the shop that I’d visited with the sole purpose of purchasing some dried bananas – a singularly unremarkable endeavour, I’m sure you will agree. But as I paid for the aforementioned desiccated fruity comestible, I noticed a sign asking me whether my in-store experience had been out of this world and urging me to follow a QR code where I would be able to leave a favourable review. 

I politely declined, however, because my experience had been no more remarkable than I’d anticipated. I’d found the once elongated botanical berries, now reduced to short, shrivelled shells of their former selves, exactly where I’d expected to: on a shelf, alongside a label noting the not unreasonable sum I would be required to part with in order to buy them. 

And thirdly, there was the book I spent a few minutes glancing through in Waterstones whilst looking for something to read. It contained 365 daily readings, each one sharing the thoughts of a Stoic philosopher which, it was claimed, would provide me with a pathway leading to inner peace. 

But the advice offered – to worry only about what can be controlled whilst accepting the rest – seemed somewhat unrealistic. Because not everyone is together enough to be that together. Not when they’re falling apart just as much as their lives are disintegrating around them. 

And it’s rest that the heavy-laden need, not demands to work ever harder at being somebody they’re not. 

And finally there was one more incident – the exception, perhaps, that proved the rule. I was in a coffee shop, waiting to be served, when I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation that was taking place between the barista and the woman behind me in the queue. The customer was asking what the honeycomb iced matcha was like – to which the reply given was ‘Pretty disgusting if you ask me.’

I found her honesty to be wonderfully refreshing – even if, by all accounts, the cold caffeinated drink on sale was anything but.

So here’s what I’m getting at – the thing I think we all need to grasp together.

Life is frequently unpredictable, our day to day lives are often mundane, and pain and suffering are very much a part of what it is to be human. And we, like the barista’s less than rave review of the coffee, are sometimes sadly lacking. 

We need to stop pretending otherwise. Because only then will we cease relying on the self-help that we simply aren’t able to provide, and turn instead to the one who can – the one who is absolutely in control, genuinely praiseworthy, and strong enough to carry us – no matter how heavy the burdens we have to bear.

And honestly…that would do us all a world of good.